Slenderman, Slenderman, Take this Child

by McGeorge, Lee

  Slenderman, Slenderman, Take this Child

  By Lee McGeorge

  Copyright © 2015, Lee McGeorge

  First published in Great Britain by Speartip

  The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transferred, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real imposed on the persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.Lee-McGeorge.co.uk

  Cover Artwork: Miguel E. Santillan

  http://santillanstudio.deviantart.com

  SPEARTIP PUBLISHING

  ISBN: 9780954695378

  For Chris and Kerry

  Special Thanks

  Molgaard’s. Purveyors of the Macabre

  Santillan’s Fine Artworks and Prints

  J. Phillips Books & Media

  Ventsi & Company

  and

  The Enchanted Lady Islington

  Slenderman, Slenderman,

  Take this Child

  by Lee McGeorge

  CHAPTER ONE

  There were bodies across the whole width of the river. At least a hundred people had floated downstream to become a dam so thick they made a bridge of death. Were one inclined to try, a man could walk atop the corpses from bank to bank without getting his feet wet.

  We marched to the next village and found only the oldest people to speak with. “What has transpired? What tragedy has befallen your village that your folk are all drowned?”

  Their answer didn’t made sense. “A tall man took the children,” they said. “Their parents searched for them and vanished.”

  They hadn’t vanished. Their entangled bodies were clogging the river downstream; but the children truly had disappeared. The only clue was the story told by the old people. “A tall man took them,” they said. “A tall man came in the night and took all of our children.”

  The Diary of Tomaz Karner

  First encounter with Jacob

  September 10th, 1945

  --- CHAPTER ONE ---

  Jemima Collins was twelve years old and in less than five minutes one of her parents would be killed. There were four minutes and fifty nine seconds to go.

  “Jemima, would you like some juice and crisps?” Her mother, Anke, was leaning between the front seats of the car to hand her the treats.

  “I’m not hungry,” she replied. Jemima was rested against the door, staring at her own hand and lifting her fingers to jump across the fast moving pools of light made by the motorway lamps. They’d been in Devon for the weekend, staying at their holiday cottage.

  “But you haven’t eaten anything since lunchtime. Try and have something.” Jemima broke away from staring at her fingers to take the offered box of juice and packet of Monster Munch. “What do you have at school tomorrow?”

  “Double maths,” she groaned.

  ...Four minutes to go.

  “It’s double maths,” her father chimed in. “Even I know it’s double maths on a Monday. Worst day of the week, Am I right, Jay?”

  “It can’t be that bad. You used to like maths.”

  “Mrs Carmichael makes it boring. She treats you like you’re stupid if you don’t understand something. Nobody likes her class. It’s not just me.”

  “Well, you need maths,” her father said. “If you want to run your own business you need maths and if you want to work for somebody else you need that piece of paper that says you passed an exam.”

  “I want to be a vet, Dad. Why do I need maths to take care of animals?”

  ...Three minutes and thirty seconds to go.

  “Well, let’s imagine a dog needs an injection. You get the medicine and the label tells you to inject twenty millilitres plus five millilitres for every kilogram the animal weighs. If somebody brought you a dog weighing twenty one kilos, how much medicine...”

  “...Oh no, shut up, Daddy,” she interrupted. “That’s like an exam question.”

  Her father chuckled.

  ...Two minutes and forty seconds to go.

  “Wow, look at this,” her father said. “Jay, look. You see this transporter?”

  She sat up and watched as they slowly passed a car transporter carrying two cars on the lower deck and two on top. “What am I looking at?”

  “You see the cars on the transport? They’re Rolls Royce’s and I can tell you that each one is custom. They must cost half a million each. That’s two million pounds right there.”

  Jemima leaned back against the window. Her father could always talk about money and cars. He owned a garage in Finchley that specialised in vintage and restored autos. Expensive machines for rich people. Jemima found it just as boring as double maths.

  ...Two minutes to go.

  Rain started falling. The wipers made a squeaking noise. Jemima rested her hand back on the window and returned to her game of raising her fingers to jump over the orange pools of light as the raindrops on the window blew in horizontal streaks.

  ...Ninety seconds

  “I’m hopefully going to sell the Corvette tomorrow,” father said to mother. “The buyer is coming from Nottingham by train and I’ve sent him a lot of photos by email. He said on the phone it’s his dream car, the right colour, the right interior. He probably wants to drive it back. Which is brilliant because I’ve had it for a year.”

  “Daddy,” Jemima called. “Is there something wrong with that car? I’ve heard you mention it a lot.”

  ...Sixty seconds.

  “The car is beautiful, Jay, but it has a seven litre engine and too much power. It’s a rare model which is too powerful, too dangerous and costs a fortune to fill up the fuel tank.”

  Jemima’s mother looked to her husband. “What’s the margin?”

  “I’ve told him seventy five and he didn’t flinch. The base and refurb cost around thirty grand so it’s been thirty G’s sitting as stock for a year. We’ll make at least forty. More important, it will free up the cash flow.”

  ....Thirty seconds

  Jemima looked at her packet of Monster Munch crisps. There was a purple creature on the packet. She popped the bag and took one of the puffed out shapes. “Mummy, would you like a crisp?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied.

  “Daddy?”

  “Oh sure,” he said. Her mother leaned between the chairs to take one from the offered bag and popped it in her father’s mouth.

  ...Ten seconds.

  On the other side of the motorway was a flash as one of the motorway lights buckled and snapped with an eruption of sparks. It looked like a firework had exploded on the ground.

  ...Nine seconds

  “What the…” her father said.

  A truck on the other side of the motorway skewed sideways in the road, jack-knifing, the trailer swinging sideways. Jemima sat upright to see a huge wheel, probably from a truck, bounce past them at seventy miles an hour in the opposite direction.

  ...Five seconds

  The jack-knifing trailer hit the central barrier, the collapsible steel fencing doing its job to grab and slow the out of control vehicle, but something had detached from the trailer.

  ...Three seconds.

  Hundreds of steel pipes were being shed from the lorry and thrown towards them at full speed, tipping over the central reservation to scatter across the road. Jemima heard her mother scream out her father’s name, “Steven!”

  Her fath
er already had the brakes slammed hard and Jemima was pulled forward into the seat belt.

  ...Two seconds

  Then Jemima was hurled forward and her head was thrown back. A collision from behind and a terrifying sudden acceleration that held her back in the seat. Someone driving too close who couldn’t stop in time had hit them. The back of the car was raised and spinning anti-clockwise, turning to side slam the pipes.

  ...One second.

  Jemima looked through the window seeing their car rushing sideways at the pipes, but the car was still turning. She saw her Monster Munch crisps floating in mid-air. She saw headlights coming towards them. Rushing in. She heard her mother scream her father’s name again. “STEVEN!” and in the blink of an eye, the transporter hit them. Blinding, powerful lights that for a moment turned the inside of their family car as bright as day. The wheels rode up over the bonnet, the glass shattered into cubes, the heavy wheel and blinding light drove into the cockpit, peeling the roof off their car. The transporter and four Rolls Royce cars cut through their family vehicle like it was paper and crushed them under its wheels faster than Jemima could blink.

  ----- X -----

  Jemima could hear cars whooshing past, then the sounds of voices and scraping metal. It was difficult to see. Impossible to move. She kicked her legs. They were wrapped in a tight space but there was some wriggle room. She felt around herself and pulled the band around her neck. It was the seat belt, twisted and tight.

  She could smell petrol.

  The car had crashed. She was trapped… and she could smell fuel.

  “HELP!” she screamed. “Help Me… Mummy. Mummy…”

  “Hello? Are ye’ alright?” a Scottish man’s voice came back.

  Jemima wanted to answer but her words came out as a wail. She was trapped and in darkness. She could smell petrol. If the car caught fire she would burn. She tried to call her mother. She tried to call her father. But all that came out were high wails and shrieks.

  “It’s alright, Sweetheart, we’ll get you out, don’t worry,” the Scotsman broke away to shout instructions at somebody and Jemima thought she heard her father say her name.

  “Daddy!” she screamed.

  “It’s alright, Darling. Ye’ Daddies here, but he can’ne’ help ye’ right now.” Jemima felt something touch the back of her head and reached up to push it away. It was a hand and it took hold of hers with a firm grip. “It’s alright, My Love, I’m with ye’, hang on for a minute. I can see the fire engine coming and they’re gonna get ye’ out.”

  The Scot’s voice was right. Jemima could hear the sound of sirens. Another man’s voice came, crisp English in tone. “Who is in there?” the voice asked.

  “A little girl,” the Scot’s voice said. “Her father said her name is Jay.”

  “Hello, Jay. Can you hear me? I’m a policeman.”

  “Yes,” she said shakily.

  “Jay… you’re trapped in the car and the fire brigade need to cut the metal to get you out. They’re just getting the cutters now.

  “I can smell petrol,” she yelled, losing control and crying with the words. “It will catch fire.”

  “No, it won’t catch fire, Jay. The fire brigade are here and they won’t let you catch fire. Are you injured, can you see?”

  Jemima wanted to shout back, ‘I’m okay’, but when she tried she started crying and no words came out.

  “It’s alright Jay, we’re with you and I can see the firemen getting their tools. Just a minute longer now… They’re coming… I’m just going to talk to the fireman.”

  She listened. She could hear people talking. A noisy generator or hydraulic pump had started that blocked out most of the sound and suddenly a tiny beam of intense white light shone through a crack from above her. It ended in a spot of light the size of a small coin beside her face. She moved her hand into the light, trying to hold the beam and saw blood all over her fingers.

  “Hello, Jay?”

  “Yes?”

  “Jay, we’re about to start cutting the metal. This is very loud, okay? You don’t have to move. But just to warn you this is very, very loud, so if you can, try and cover your ears.”

  Before she had a chance to answer the cutting tool started biting into the car beside her, chomping on the metal like robotic scissors. With the cut, more light spilled in through the widening hole. A hand reached in wearing a latex glove. The gloved hand took hold of hers whilst another hand felt the back of her head and started to feel along the back of her neck. Then the door came away and she could see things. The first was a woman in a green jumpsuit, a paramedic. “Hello, Jay,” she said. “Stay there, don’t move. Let me check you first.”

  Another piece of metal was cut and moved away. She could see a fireman in a yellow helmet crouched beside the door. Then the car began to shake and the noise came again. The fireman was supporting the cutters whilst a second man guided the machine.

  The paramedic raised her hand to the fireman and they stopped cutting. “Jay, are your legs trapped, can you move them?”

  “I can move them,” she said, then kicked at the interior of the crushed car to make a noise.

  “Brilliant,” the paramedic said. Then to the firemen she said, “There’s no pinning or crush, we can take her straight out.” The firemen nodded and began cutting again. Another fireman approached and used a special tool to cut the seatbelt. With the cut Jemima felt her whole body relax and fall as though she had been tied up. A moment later the firemen were holding her arms and sliding her forward out of the car.

  She was born head first from the mangled metal to a world of flashing lights in every direction. Blue flashing lights from the police and fire engines. Yellow flashing lights from the motorway maintenance vans. The air was thick with fumes and she heard sobbing from further up the road. There was a car overturned with its front end jammed under the transporter. Paramedics were laying on the floor half inside this car doing first-aid to somebody trapped in the wreckage.

  It was like a dream. Standing as a ghost and surrounded by a chaos of flashing lights.

  She saw her father. He was standing by an ambulance. A male policeman had his hand on her father’s shoulder. “Daddy,” Jemima called. “Daddy!” He looked at her, but his face remained blank. Then his eyes drifted away. Why wasn’t he noticing? Why didn’t he come for her?

  “Hold this and press,” the paramedic said as she pressed a piece of gauze to her forehead, but Jemima was too focussed on her father. “Daddy?” she cried out again. He looked. She walked towards him, brushing off the paramedic. He looked to her as she approached then turned his gaze back to the scene.

  Why was he not looking?

  Why was he not…

  Jemima turned and looked at the car. It was completely crushed on one side, the roof sliced off, the metal folded and twisted like tinfoil on the passenger side. The transporter with the Rolls Royce’s was on top of their car. “Mummy?” She whispered.

  The front wheel of the transporter was exposed as it had peeled off the door and pressed the chassis of their car down to the floor. The wheel was where her mother had been sitting. Then from within the shredded metalwork and broken pieces she saw the pale white arm reaching up as though to grasp something. The hand had painted fingernails. It was by the side of the truck wheel.

  It was her mother’s hand.

  It was her mother.

  She was crushed beneath the giant wheel of a transporter and all that was left was a hand reaching out for help.

  ----- X -----

  The ambulance rocked as it took them to hospital. She sat beside her father and took hold of his hand, but he didn’t hold back. It was as though he didn’t notice her.

  Was she a ghost?

  Had she died and was no longer visible?

  With her throat tightening and her body beginning to shake she whispered, “Daddy,” expecting him to wrap an arm around her, to hold her, to comfort her… To do something… Anything.

  Please Daddy.
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  He looked to her for a moment with vacant eyes, his mouth slightly open. Then he shook his head and turned away, hiding his face, shielding himself behind his shoulder.

  Mummy.

  She sobbed at her father’s rejection then clamped both hands over her mouth so no sounds came out. Tears poured down her cheeks and she felt the urge to scream but somehow managed to make it a silent purge, blowing the air between her fingers. She couldn’t cry. It was too confusing. She needed Daddy to look at her, to hold her, but he wasn’t and crying out felt needy. It felt desperate… Oh God, Mummy was dead… She was Dead… She was DEAD… Her arm was reaching through the air but her head and body were below the wheel of a truck. She must have split open like a piece of fruit.

  Jemima screamed again, trying to make it silent, trying to blow air between the fingers clamped across her mouth but this time the air caught on her vocal chords and a strained, high squeal pierced the ambulance.

  ----- X -----

  “Let’s see what we have here,” the doctor said taking the bandage from her head.

  “Where’s my Daddy?” she whined. “Where did he go?”

  The doctor didn’t answer. He prepared an injection and said, “Don’t move,” then stuck the needle straight into the wound over her eye. Jemima yelped and hissed, sucking air through her clenched teeth. The pain lasted only a few seconds, then a numbness began to spread through her face right down to her teeth. “You’re going to be staying overnight on a children’s ward,” the doctor said as he prepared a suture. “I’m going to give you a few stitches; and then a lady is coming to speak with you.”

  Jemima stayed very still as the doctor worked on her eyebrow. She focussed her attention on keeping her head still but nothing could stop the tears coming. It was uncontrollable. Whenever she thought she had her emotions under control a sudden squeeze in her chest and a thought of Mummy brought it all back again.