Timothy, staring into a small clearing not too far from the path, quickly decided that what with the darkening forest, there was no way he'd be able to make it to the next town before nightfall. Pulling a rolled up sleeping bag out of his backpack, he laid it carefully over the wet ground and retrieved his gun from where he always kept it, the pocket he had sewn into his jacket some months back especially for this purpose. Still poised to run at any moment, he picked up the book he had acquired in the last town and started reading in the dimming light. The wind buffeted him with its chill, but he barely felt it by this point, he was so used to it. Timothy didn't remember when he fell asleep, but he clearly remembered the times when he was jolted out of unconsciousness by some small noise, gun already in hand, ready to run if the Thing truly was there. Listening closely, breath already short, for Its approach. He couldn't see much past the fog.
That was one of the things he hated about the forest - for he couldn't see if It was there, ready to devour him in a mess of blood and guts, like it had all his friends. But at least the fog shielded him, made it harder for the creature to see him.
Waking up again in early morning, Timothy let out a sigh and buried his hands in his hair. The nightmare he had had was still running through his mind. He couldn't even comfort himself with the knowledge that it was only a nightmare, that the creature who plagued his mind was a figment of his imagination. He knew that the Thing was after him, that It wouldn't stop until It had torn him asunder.
Like usual, he hadn't slept for more than a hour or two at a time. He supposed, however, that seeing as how it was already morning, there was no point in trying to go to sleep again, and he could get an early start. Still blinking away the instinctual panic, he got to his feet and, grabbing his shoes from where they rested on the dew strewn grass,he set back off across the forest eternally cloaked with fog. At sometime around midday, he came across a relatively paved-looking road. Figuring he must be close to a town, Timothy left the packed dirt for the pathway. He clutched his backpack closer, the events of his nightmare still running through his head, over and over. He couldn't stop thinking about his friends and the unrecognizable mass of viscera they were when the Slenderman was done with them, the blood soaking into the wood and into him. He could still remember their last screams, their haunting echoes ringing through his ears, the wind chilling him to his bone just like the cries of terror he couldn't keep his mind off of. A time later, he didn’t know how long later, he saw buildings rising up in the distance, which was a relief, because he was rather worried he'd have to sleep in the forest another night. The buildings, fast looming over him, gave him a small illusion of safety. But, as he entered the small town, Timothy noticed a run-down, dusty bar. It looked like the sort of place that wouldn't care if you were of legal age so long as you could pay, and he just needed to forget right now. Forget about everything.