Jemima felt a lump forming in her throat. “Daddy,” she whispered, “you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’m sorry I’m not there for you. I’m sorry I spend all my time at work. I’m sorry I don’t know how to cook you a meal. I’m sorry I can’t be strong for you at a time you need it. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop the car… I’m sorry I was driving and not your Mum… It would have… It would have…” he struggled to speak. “It would have been better if I had died and your Mum was here. She would know how to look after you.”
Jemima suddenly gushed with tears too. “Daddy, no.”
“Your Mum would know what to do. If I had died and you were sad she would have known when to pick you up, what to say, how to comfort you, when to hug you, when to give you space… Your Mum was organised. Your Mum was the best… and I can’t live like this.” His final words came as a sob. “I need her to come back.”
----- X -----
Jemima insisted she must not go back to school. They went to the bowling alley by Finsbury Park and she won both games. Her father wasn’t really playing and for a lot of the time he slipped into his own world. They played pool and air hockey then bought a bag of nuts and walked through Finsbury Park feeding the grey squirrels.
By mid-afternoon the sky was becoming overcast and grey and they decided to head home.
Slenderman was coming soon.
He was coming to take her and it would leave her father completely alone.
It couldn’t be helped. It was too late to change things. In a few hours she would be gone and he would be left to his wretched self. Although they did nothing special, the time seemed to fly by. It was five o’clock, then six, then seven, eight, nine… She needed to prepare herself.
In her bedroom she took a piece of paper and thought carefully about leaving a letter to her father, but there was no way to explain this. She wrote, ‘I’m sorry Daddy, but I have to go with Slenderman now. He is coming for me and I have to go with him.’ which felt like a stupid thing to write. She scrunched up the paper and dropped it into her waste paper basket.
She changed into her white dress and knee high socks. She wore her black shoes and brushed her hair forward then went downstairs to see her father sitting in the dark watching television. He had another bottle of whisky open. She wanted to say something, wanted to have a final goodbye or give him a kiss or something, but somehow she knew that would only make it harder.
She stepped back and closed the door to the lounge feeling the house growing colder and darker as she did so. A strange creaking sound came from the house timbers and the atmosphere changed to a fine mist. As she breathed out she could see her breath as though it was a cold winter morning.
She could sense him, circling the home.
Slenderman was here and it was time to go with him.
----- X -----
In Germany, Great Uncle Tomaz sat up in bed with a start. His heart was racing, his head light. He could hear laughter. Low, mocking laughter from a thing he hadn’t heard in decades. Unsteadily he climbed out of bed and turned on the light. He went straight for the Nuremberg dial.
It was rotating. The compass point spinning faster and faster until it seemed as though the Slenderman were flying around the home at incredible speed. Then the dial slowed as though the power driving it was withering away and with it drifted the gravelled laughter. It was a sound only in his head, but Tomaz knew what it was. The Slenderman had escaped his bonds. For years he’d been trapped here, but now, somehow, he’d been released.
The girl.
Anke’s daughter.
She was the only one who could have done it.
When he’d trapped the Slenderman last time he’d almost died and he was a young and healthy man back then. He couldn’t do it now he was old and weak with a failing mind… but he had to try.
In his mind he heard the final insult as words whispered to him, the sound thin and crackling as though coming from an old gramophone record. “Auf weidersehen,” it whispered. “Auf weidersehen.”
----- X -----
Jemima walked to the front door feeling the foreboding atmosphere of cold and damp permeate further, the light ebbing away to leave everything cast under a silvery moonlight.
She opened the door.
He was there. Stood three metres tall with arms and legs so narrow she could wrap her fingers around them. He wore a suit of black fabric with what looked like a cloth bag pulled over his head and from his back emanated tentacles of dark mist that swirled and slithered like snakes.
Jemima stepped forward into the netherworld that now surrounded her home and felt the door close behind her. She knew instinctively that the door would never open again. If she changed her mind and tried to run it would be futile; but she didn’t want to run.
“I am glad you came,” Jemima said.
“As am I,” the Slenderman said with a slight movement from the cloth bag across his face. “I am glad you came, my love… You do not know it yet, my princess, but we were together once before. We were in love. We were happy. Across a gulf of time we have been separated.”
“I know,” Jemima said. “I don’t know why I know, but I feel it… I feel it in my heart that we are in love.”
The Slenderman reached forward with one of his long spindly arms. Blackened, bone like fingers uncurled to reveal an open hand. “Then come with me, my queen. Help me. Make me whole again so that we may love once more.”
Jemima reached up and took his hand in hers. She stepped away from the house and together, the Slenderman and Jemima Collins vanished into mist.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Circle of the Eyes can be traced back to the sixteenth century and the Swedish Satanist, Johann Axel. It is uncertain exactly when Adalbert became involved with the Circle of the Eyes, but a painting commissioned by Adalbert shows the ritualistic rape of Silke by Satan, whilst held by men dressed in vestments of the Circle. The painting, by Mosely Barthe, is dated 1924 and titled, Silke’s Gift to the Lord.
In his diaries, Adalbert states this event occurred in 1922 and there is a marked difference in his writing about Silke following this incident. Following her lovemaking with Satan, Adalbert writes that Silke became gifted with an ability to see the hidden sexual desires of others. In one excerpt he writes, “Silke spotted an unknown woman in the street and hurried me to her. Accosting the stranger, Silke accused the woman of making love to dogs. The woman became so panicked she almost fainted right there in the street. Silke bargained that if she would perform bestial acts for our personal theatre, we would agree to keep her secret and not shame her to the world. In a heartbeat the woman agreed. Silke tells me she is gifted with the sight of Satan and I now find myself frightened and aroused by her in equal measure.”
Excerpt from The Dark Handshake
by Tomaz Karner
--- CHAPTER FIVE ---
Detective John Henry was looking at the back door of the police station. It was raining lightly and that tiny bit of moisture was dissolving his courage. Normally he intimidated people. He had an archetypal look about him; the huge black guy who looked like a boxer. Today he was pathetic, getting wet, without the strength of character to walk those few steps to open the door. Would it be all stolen glances and whispers? His one month suspension ended yesterday. Suspension pending further enquiries into a serious assault. Every time John Henry closed his eyes he was back there.
“What the hell do you mean, he’s twenty two? I thought he was seventeen.” The rage was coming out of him as he yelled, spittle flying from his lips.
Chantelle didn’t care. She was thirteen, she considered herself an adult. “You’re only mad because I’m sleeping with him. I’m not a kid anymore you know.”
John could almost see it happening again. He may be standing in the car park in the rain now, but in his head he was grabbing his daughter and throwing her across the room as Donna, his soon to be ex-wife, tried to separate them.
“Get off her, John, let go,�
� she shouted in his memory… Wife? Some wife and mother she turned out to be. “You need to accept that she’s a growing woman,” Donna yelled.
“She’s not riding in a car with a man for sex,” he’d screamed back.
“But he buys me clothes,” Chantelle raged. “He bought me a Gucci handbag because I let him be my first.”
That was the moment.
Everything seemed to stop.
It happened a month ago but with every recollection he endured the torment as though it was happening again. That expression Donna made as she looked down, breaking eye contact, caught in the lie… The handbag, the Gucci handbag. She said it was a fake but he hadn’t believed her, she said it cost only a few pounds but he could see it cost a lot. He’d not trusted her story. He thought it was stolen... the truth was worse.
John Henry stared at the back door to the police station trying to find the impetus to move his feet and go inside. The rain was light. First day back from suspension. Chantelle’s words seemed to hang in the air, “Because I let him be my first.”
Discovering your daughter is sexually active at a young age is harsh and discovering she’s being exploited by an older man is galling; but there’s no preparation to discovering she traded her virginity for a handbag; and nothing can prepare for the betrayal that your wife knew all about it, facilitated it and told lies upon lies to help keep it going.
One month ago.
Serious assault.
Suspended pending further enquiries.
This job was the only thing he had left and that was hanging by a thread. There could be no screw ups or problems. Everything by the book. Every ‘t’ crossed and ‘i’ dotted. He’d lost everything else in the space of a few weeks, he couldn’t lose his job too.
He walked in through the back door. The custody sergeant smiled at him. “Hello, John, back with us?”
He tried to say yes but all that came out was a shallow nod and a half smile. He made it towards the locker room and was buttonholed by the Chief Super before he made it there. “How are you, John?” Donovan asked. “How are things at home?”
He shook his head. “I’m not at home, Sir. I’ve moved into digs by Archway Station.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Donovan sounded genuinely sympathetic. “Is it that bad? Any chance of reconciliation?”
He shook his head. “We’ve agreed in principle to divorce. The lawyers say it’s cheaper if we separate and allow some time to pass. They said the longer we’re apart the easier it is to do the legal stuff.”
“Are you okay to work? Are you in the right headspace?”
“Yes, Sir,” he lied. “I’ve been looking forward to having something to throw myself into. I’ve spent the last three weeks either staring at the walls or visiting lawyers. I’m keen to get back to the job, Sir.”
----- X -----
William Warwick, Owen McNally and Christopher Howell arrived at school just after eight. They headed behind the school to the sports field, their intention to practice some rugby drop-goals. “Do you see that man?” William asked pointing. Owen and Christopher followed his gesture. The man was amongst the trees. He was tall, very tall, and supremely thin. It looked as though he wore a black suit but his face was covered by a shroud or mask of some kind.
The boys stared for a moment, then turned around in unison and walked back towards the school. Pupils were not allowed into the building until the bell rang at nine. It was a school rule.
They followed the corridor to the workshops. They entered the classroom of Mr. Wilfred.
“What are you boys doing here?” Wilfred asked. He was taking off his coat, hanging it up along with the tweed hat he sometimes wore. He pushed his grey hair back with his hand. “I asked you a question and you boys know the rules. Now answer me, what are you…”
Wilfred cut his sentence short…
The boys held woodworking chisels, gripped so tightly the boy’s knuckles stood white through their skin.
----- X -----
Mrs Woods arrived at the school at twenty past eight. It was the same, day in, day out. The mechanisation of education that believed in a one-size-fits all approach to children. Kids go in one end, all get the same basic teaching, before being flushed out the other end with a piece of paper to prove they were there.
A boy was in the corridor like a lonely silhouette, unmoving.
“Are you alright?” she asked… then she saw the blood. “Oh, my goodness.” She dropped her bag so that she could run awkwardly and get to him. “What happened?”
Christopher was covered in blood. Literally covered. His face, his hair, his clothing. His feet formed two wide puddles. Woods reached out to take hold of his head but stopped when she realised she didn’t know which part of him was injured. “Christopher, what has happened? Where are you hurt?”
“I’m not hurt, Miss,” he said with a whisper. “This isn’t my blood.”
Woods reached out again, her hands shaking, her body accelerating into fight or flight mode. “Christopher,” she took hold of his shoulders. “Tell me what’s happened.”
The boy pointed at the trail of bloody footprints he’d left. “There’s been an accident, Miss. A terrible accident.” Woods’ gaze went to the blood trail. “We tried to do first-aid, Miss, but I think we were too late… I think he’s dead.”
Woods backed away from the boy. Something in the way he spoke. No. Something in the way he looked. His eyes held an excitement, his lips curled at the corner into a smile. She backed against the wall of the corridor and circled past, keeping him in her sight. She followed the trail of footprints, the blood spots getting thicker the closer she moved to the source.
It was the workshop.
Wilfred’s workshop.
At first she was too frightened to go in. There were bloody fingerprints on the door frame, presumably from Christopher.
As she stepped into the room the first thing she saw were two other boys. William and Owen, both as covered in blood as Christopher, looking at her with the same self-satisfied glare.
“We tried to do first-aid, Miss. But I think we were too late… I think he’s dead.”
Woods heard the similarity. It was the same words, the same phrase, the same emphasis on the words as Christopher had used. “Who is dead?” she asked… then she saw before the boys could answer.
Her feet locked to the spot and her knees began to tremble so fiercely she felt as though she would faint. She wanted to tell the boys to leave the room but no words were forming. All she managed to do was raise her right hand and beckon the boys with a wave, trying to get them to come forward.
“We tried to do first-aid, Miss,” Owen said. “But I think we were too late… I think he’s dead.”
Woods let out a wailed purge and managed to gasp the words, “Come out. Get outside the room.”
The boys looked to one another then stepped around the body on the floor.
It was Hugh Wilfred… Oh, God!
What… had…
Hugh Wilfred was laying on his back with chisels buried to the hilt in his chest and face. Chisels rammed through his eyes, through his open mouth. Bloody wooden handles sticking out from his chest, the sharpened steel blades jammed into his lungs and heart. He’d been stabbed through his eyes. Oh, God… wooden handles protruding from his eye sockets. There was blood everywhere.
She didn’t have to check if he was dead… it was obvious.
“We tried to do first-aid, Miss,” a voice said from behind.
Woods shrieked and jumped around to see all three boys outside in the corridor, looking in. All three boys spoke together. “But I think we were too late… I think he’s dead.”
----- X -----
“I’ll go to work late,” Steven Collins mumbled to himself. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa with his head in his hands, trying to collect his thoughts. “I’ll drive her to school,” he said to the room. “I hope she wants that. I hope she’s not embarrassed to be dropped off by her Dad.
”
Talking with Jemima yesterday had been the first time since the accident that he’d spoken aloud about how he was feeling. He knew he was supposed to behave like a father and be her guardian, but he’d been incapable. Physically incapable. Yesterday was the realisation to snap him out of his bubble. God only knew what poor Jemima must be feeling. Her mother was dead... then her best friend had gone missing… and he as a father had been… had been… shameful. “I’m sorry, Anke,” he whispered. “I was lost. I’ll do better. I’ll learn how to do everything you did, I promise.”
He hadn’t looked after himself first. He’d put the business first. It was their income, their life, their future and he’d treated it like it was life-support at the expense of Jemima and himself. He’d cared too much about the wrong thing.
Denial.
He’d been in denial.
Isn’t that what they say is the first stage of grief? Go into denial and build an alternative reality to dwell in. Extreme denial to avoid dealing with the truth that he was now a widower and single parent to a twelve year old girl…
That thought made him cry.
Anke…
“Come back, Anke… I can’t do this alone.”
He’d looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Nine o’clock. Jemima would have already gone to school... except he hadn’t heard her and he’d been awake for hours. He switched on the TV. He put on the news. There had been a story all week about a crazy guy who locked a girl in a basement. The news today was that the police had found him, but he’d evaded capture and killed a man in Victoria. It was the top story. The second story was about the kids at Jemima’s school. Sabina King, Kerry Powell and Danesha... Danesha… Good grief, she’d been here so many times, she’d eaten here, he’d driven her and Jay on play dates… How was Jemima supposed to deal with this? The girls had all vanished from their homes during the night. None of their clothes, shoes, coats, purses or mobile phones were gone. The girls had simply vanished.
Slenderman, Slenderman, Take this Child Page 12