Slenderman, Slenderman, Take this Child

by McGeorge, Lee

  “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

  “I can embarrass myself easily enough, there’s nothing you can do to embarrass me more than I’ve already done to myself… This, what you do with CEOP, does it not hurt you?”

  Helen nodded. “Often. Yes it does. But, somebody has to be at the front.”

  “They’re scum, aren’t they? Men who desire children.”

  Helen shrugged. “Mostly, yes. Mostly they’re men but not always and mostly they’re monsters, but not always.”

  “Not always? Who could molest a child and not be a monster?”

  “Sometimes the abusers are children themselves,” Helen said. “That’s when it gets difficult. A parent finding out their child was molested is devastating, but the one thing you see on people’s faces is worse than that, is when a parent discovers that their child has sexually abused other children. Teenage girls babysitting young boys. Little boys holding little girls down and fingering them. That’s never an easy thing for a parent to discover about their own kid. Most of the time the kids don’t know any better, then there are times when you can see it in them, they’ll be only ten years old and you know… You can see what they really are… Monsters.”

  “How do you remain so pragmatic? It’s like you’re logical about this stuff. You’re composed. How do you keep a cool head?”

  “I don’t know,” Helen said sadly. “I really don’t. Experience I guess.”

  John Henry turned his coffee cup in his hands. He looked around the room to make sure they were out of earshot then returned his gaze to his drink. “I’d like to ask your opinion about something… I… It’s… This is personal, not connected to the case.”

  Helen softened her voice. “About your daughter?” John Henry nodded. There was something about his manner, some unspoken part of this big intimidating man that had become irreparably broken. “You can ask my advice. Although I would remind you not to compromise yourself in the investigation. Be careful you don’t tell me something that places me in an uncomfortable position.”

  Henry made a small laugh. “You know that pragmatism I was just talking about? There you go.”

  “So, what’s on your mind?”

  “Like I said, I found out my daughter, Chantelle, had a boyfriend… The guy was called Chris Dollim and he was a creep, I mean really. Greasy hair, spotty neck. A boy racer too, with a car faster than he should have… So she had been seeing him for a while before I found out how old he was. I kicked up a fuss with my wife… It turns out my wife, Donna, was encouraging the relationship. She thought it was cool that Chantelle had a boyfriend with a car. I think it was kind of Donna’s thing when she was at school, she coveted an older boyfriend with a car and money. I think it was what she dreamed of as a schoolgirl.”

  Helen sipped her coffee. “Yes. When you’re a fifteen year old girl, having a seventeen year old boyfriend with a car makes you look cool.”

  “Yeah, but Chantelle is thirteen,” John Henry held his hands out as though presenting a gift. “And this prick, Dollim, was twenty two. He’s a man. He was a man who could see exactly how old Chantelle was.”

  “Oh, no doubt,” Helen said.

  Henry’s head drooped low. He made fists as he stared at his coffee. “So I find out they’re having sex and that Dollim is paying her with clothes and gifts. So of course I freak out and have an ‘uncool dad’ moment, ranting and raving at Chantelle and that’s when Donna gets involved and I start learning the truth of what was happening.”

  Helen lowered her eyes. “I can see where this is going.”

  “You can, right?” Henry said with exasperation. “My thirteen year old daughter traded her virginity for a handbag… a frigging handbag... and her mother encouraged it. Donna could see it was wrong enough to hide it from me. She was smart enough to keep it hidden. But at the same time she encouraged Chantelle into casual prostitution.”

  Helen hummed. “I understand.”

  “This is impossible right? What do you do when your wife is encouraging it? Jesus…” Henry paused to massage his temples with his fingertips, reliving the encounter in his head before returning to the story. “So in the midst of this argument... right then... at the most perfect moment, the doorbell rings and I can see Dollim through the glass… I got hold of the little bastard and tried to stuff him back into his car but he hit his face on the doorframe and knocked out three of his teeth... Then, whilst Donna is pulling me off him with her arm around my neck, screaming and kicking in the street, the red mist came down and I hit her too.”

  Again, Helen hummed an acknowledgement.

  “So she’s divorcing me. My daughter thinks I’m a thug and won’t speak to me. On top of that, I was suspended pending the investigation.”

  “I heard,” Helen said. “It’s all dropped now, yes?”

  “I wish it wasn’t. Chris Dollim should be prosecuted as a paedophile and I should lose my job and get an ABH record. I can deal with that. I could sleep at night with that. But from somewhere, for some unknown reason, the lawyers of this kid, plus my wife, plus my own lawyers have all decided it’s best to forget the whole thing without anyone pressing charges against any other party.”

  “That’s probably the best thing. You have the moral high ground, but legally he would get away with a slapped wrist and you would pay the price. You would lose your job, your future benefits. You would lose everything.”

  “I have lost everything. I’ve lost my marriage, my daughter, my home, my bank balance and my self-respect… I feel like the whole world is telling me that I’m wrong and they’re right, but this little bastard screwed my daughter, who is barely a teenager, he wrecked my family, my whole life... he gets away with it and I’m considered the bad guy. All it cost him is three of his teeth, for which I have to pay for cosmetic dental work… I swear I’ll see this kid destroyed before I die.”

  “That’s understandable,” Helen said. “But it doesn’t help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She sighed a little. “If you ask people what is the best way to treat paedophiles, they’ll tell you to use a flamethrower. But imagine for a moment that you’re sexually attracted to children. What are you supposed to do about it? Imagine you’re a teenaged boy and you discover that you’re aroused by little girls. Are you going to tell anybody? Are you going to go to the doctor and tell them? Even if you did, what can the doctor do?”

  “They should be burned at the stake,” Henry said.

  “And that drives them even deeper into hiding. They know they’re despised and they know they’re in danger. There was a case a few years back of a man who asked a little girl to show him her private parts. She did, but then she told her mother what had happened. He was kidnapped by friends and family, tied naked to a bed and boiling water poured over his penis. They boiled the kettle, scolded him, then boiled it again. They tortured him for hours… Paedophiles know this can happen, so they hide, they go underground, they go to the internet and find one another and form little groups of safety and companionship… There’s nothing else for them. No treatment, no counselling, no help or guidance. The more we attack with fire, the deeper into the shadows they go.”

  ----- X -----

  Steven drove the car along the side of Highgate Wood. Tomaz held the Nuremberg dial. The whole thing, the idea of some kind of monster stealing children was preposterous, yet here was the old man claiming knowledge and bringing ancient artefacts. The distraction was welcome. It was better to be out driving and looking for Jemima than sitting in the house and waiting for another call from the police liaison officer.

  “I think is in here,” Tomaz said a few times as they went past the woodland.

  Steven brought the car to a halt and took the Nuremberg dial to examine closer. The compass dial pointed into the park, not North. “Then we walk,” he said.

  The men got out of the car and crossed the road to enter the park. Highgate Wood and Queens Wood were recreational parks in Muswell Hill. Highgate Wood was
woodland with twisting pathways that led to a large field for playing cricket at the centre. It was a popular place for children to ride bicycles, dogs to be walked and animal lovers to feed the squirrels. Today was grey and damp and the park was empty.

  Tomaz led the way, following the needle of the Nuremberg dial.

  “Where did that thing come from?” Steven asked.

  “It was made by a Swedish man called Johann Axel,” Tomaz said. “He was high priest of occult. He sacrifice many children for Satan.”

  Steven felt sick. He wished he hadn’t asked. “When was this?”

  “Many hundreds of years ago.”

  “Is he Gross Man?”

  Tomaz shook his head. “Gross Man has many times been here. Each time different person… This man, Slenderman, I know came from Berlin jazz clubs in nineteen twenties and thirties.”

  “Jazz clubs?”

  Tomaz nodded whilst stopping walking to watch the dial. He paused for a moment as though waiting for the device to react before carrying on with the story. “After first world war,” he continued, “Germany was in pieces. Much poor people and suffering. But, there are some rich people, always are some rich people and they have secret, how you say, underground society. They are rich and they have opium and jazz music.”

  Steven grimaced a smile. “Opium dens in nineteen twenties Berlin. Why should it be anything else?”

  “Yes. Exactly this… At this time, many people had died in war and many people want to contact the dead. Friends and sons and daughters, lost in war. They use occult. They use witchcraft to contact dead. Some people even believe so much in afterlife they make suicide to be back with their lost son and daughter… I track Gross Man back to this time. His name was Adalbert and he lost his love, a beautiful woman called Silke. When she died, Adalbert use occult. He kill himself and becomes the Gross Man.”

  “He killed himself?”

  “So he can become demon,” Tomaz added. He held up the dial to show Steven. Its little brass needle was slowly turning. “He is here. He is moving around us.”

  Steven took the dial from Tomaz and held it ahead of him. He turned on the spot with the dial so as to be looking where it pointed and felt a chilling and eerie sensation penetrate his bones. The old man’s story should have sounded idiotic. Yet here he was with an archaic device that could locate ancient evil forces; and the moment he looked at where the device was pointing, he could sense its power.

  A terrible force was at work. An insidious and evil undercurrent had surrounded them. It was everywhere and nowhere. It was a darkness that craved children and Steven could feel it surrounding him but couldn’t physically see it.

  “How do we find this thing,” Steven asked in a whisper.

  “Only in his darkness,” Tomaz replied. “You can only see when you look into the darkness… We must come back tonight… I will tell you what you must do.”

  ----- X -----

  John Henry sat outside the courtroom holding a written surveillance request. His mind drifted to Chantelle. Was he in the wrong? Kids seemed to have a different attitude towards sex and perhaps he needed to get with the times. In one generation the internet had brought porn to the masses and every kid with access to the net embraced sex as a form of entertainment. Maybe he was wrong and the kids were right. Maybe he was prudish about sex in the way the Victorian’s were about nudity.

  “Keep your mind on the job, John,” he mumbled to himself.

  To hell with that idea. Chris Dollim knew exactly what he was doing. Chantelle didn’t. She saw him as an older, cooler boy, whereas he viewed her as some kind of disposable...

  “Officer Henry,” the court clerk called. “You can come in now.”

  “A petition is made for surveillance and electronic intercept,” the court recorder announced.

  “May I see the petition?” the judge asked. Henry handed his carefully worded document over. The law said a telephone call could be recorded by anyone, but one person in the call must know it is being recorded to be legal. Henry wanted to record everything his murder boys and their families said to one another without their knowledge and that meant seeking permission from a judge. His petition was simple. ‘In furtherance of a murder investigation, the principal suspects to be surveilled for a period of eight weeks through telephonic and electronic intercepts.’ The judge read it silently as Henry looked around the courtroom. It was empty other than two law students taking notes. The public gallery was empty. It was the public gallery that made it necessary to have the petition in writing.

  “Yes, this is agreed,” the judge said.

  It was done. Those boys would be under the microscope within a few hours. He’d hold them until then.

  ----- X -----

  Steven brought Tomaz into the garage. The place smelled strongly of motor oil but was scrupulously tidy and bright. Four cars were in various states of refurbishments. Steven went to his office and opened a clothing locker. He pushed the hanging coveralls aside and pulled out a long leather bag from the back.

  Tomaz recognised what it was. He presumed it was a rifle but when Steven unzipped it he saw it was a double barrelled shotgun. “This is no use against Gross Man,” he said. “It may help, but it… to make him give up children we need fire.”

  Steven went back to the locker and brought a box of shotgun shells. “We can use fire,” he said. “I’ll give him fire.” Suddenly he stopped moving and put his hands on the table, his head hanging low, his eyes squeezed closed. “I felt it,” he said. “When we were in the woodland I felt it... and I felt Jemima.”

  “I felt her too,” Tomaz said. The old man shuffled his frame to the other side of the table and pulled a chair out to rest in.

  “No, I mean… I got the feeling that she was there… How did you discover this? How do you know about it?”

  “Kolberg,” Tomaz said. “It is a film. In war, I was too young to fight in war so they send me to make movie for Goebbels. Kolberg was the last film made by Nazi’s for propaganda... When we are walking back to Berlin we find village with no children. All taken by him. The adults went to fight Gross Man but he killed them. I find then this story.”

  Steven pulled out a chair. “Is that where your interest in the occult comes from?”

  Tomaz nodded. “Occult is mostly foolish people. Only very small is real.”

  “The Gross Man is real,” Steven said putting his hand on the shotgun. “I felt it and I can’t believe how powerful the feeling was. He was in there. He was in that woodland.”

  “He will stay there until we cleanse with fire.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “We throw fire on him… use your oil, your petrol… we burn him tonight.”

  Steven stood up and carried the shotgun to a vice. He began sawing the barrel down. The gun was legally owned but hadn’t been used in a long time; he used to go clay pigeon shooting some years ago. Although the gun was legal, the moment he began sawing off the barrel he made it criminal. The barrel fell to the floor with a ringing sound. Steven threw the metal into the waste bin, repositioned the shotgun and began cutting down the wooden stock. Within a few minutes he had his highly illegal sawn-off shotgun. He would need molotovs, too. Petrol bombs. Glass bottles of petrol with a flaming wick to throw at the Slenderman. He had lots of glass jars holding various screws, nuts and bolts. Anke had always saved jam jars, cooking sauce jars, various bits and pieces that he could repurpose to hold things. Now they would hold petrol.

  ----- X -----

  They arrived at Highgate Wood shortly before nine in the evening. “Part of me thinks this is stupid,” Steven said as he pulled the car off the Road. “But part of me knows it is true, I just can’t explain why I know it's true.”

  “With moonlight,” Tomaz said. “You will see him. Then you will know for sure.”

  Steven took two sports bags filled with molotovs from the back of the car. Mostly they were made from the small glass jars. He gave this bag to Tomaz. In his own bag they had r
aided the bins of a neighbouring restaurant to find wine bottles. Steven had six of them, filled with petrol with rags taped to the neck. He also had the sawn-off shotgun.

  They entered the park.

  “Is he in the same place?” Steven asked.

  Tomas took the Nuremberg dial from his pocket and opened it. Under moonlight it gave off a slight glow, like a fluorescent material under a blacklight. The brass dial had a thin sliver of some material through the compass needle which glowed or reflected the light to make it easier to see. “This way,” Tomaz nodded the direction.

  They walked deeper into the wood, barely able to see one another, following the paths whilst keeping an eye on the compass bearing.

  Tomaz slowed whilst staring ahead. Looking into darkness between trees. “What is it,” Steven whispered.

  “The mist,” Tomaz replied, pointing ahead.

  Steven strained his eyes to see, then noticed a fine white fog hugging the ground that seemed to be growing thicker and flowing towards them. Steven looked to the Nuremberg dial in Tomaz’s hand. It pointed straight ahead.

  The mist flowed with a sudden outpouring of energy, as though somebody had opened a door to allow it out.

  “Mein Gott… He knows we’re here,” Tomaz whispered. “He knows.”

  Steven pulled a bottle from the bag and readied his lighter. “Where is he?”

  The men stood silently, staring ahead as the mist passed them, rolling around their ankles and spreading out. It was a creeping presence but insidious and, without realising it had happened, the men found themselves surrounded and standing up to their knees in an icy mist.

  Then came the voice. It was soft and whispered, but it sounded otherworldly, the voice of a ghost speaking from beyond the grave. The single word it said was undeniable. “Karner.”

  “Did you hear that?” Steven whispered.

  “Ich kann dich sehen, Karner,” it whispered.