I’m alive. That’s the most important thing. Most people who go where I’ve been don’t leave alive, or whole. I walked out of Red Chapel alive and whole. Now I have to tell you how I got there and why.
Another group of proxies came at me today, four of them. I guess escalation is the name of the entity’s game. They never reached me. A fifth figure, wearing a hoodie; their face concealed by shadow, danced through them and each of them fell to a slashed throat. He then stood still among his victims as they bled out, gore dripping from his combat knife. I suspect he, or maybe she, was grinning. He raised his hand and time slowed. I could read his intent in every fiber of his being and I knew that I was going to die. He hand fell and his knife arced through the air towards my face. I tried to deflect it but I was too slow. Far too slow. The butt of the knife struck me between the eyes and I fell into oblivion.
When I came back to my senses the first thing I could smell was the overwhelming coppery scent of blood, the reek of shit and the smell of frying bacon. The ground beneath me was soft, spongy, wet. I opened my eyes to a reddish light. It was like being back in the womb, if the womb was a place of horror.
It had once been a glorious natural cathedral of stone, carved by flowing water through the chalky London bedrock. Now all that flowed here was blood and gore. It had been known as the White Chapel, a place of seclusion and home to a monk-like order of healers. Now it was the Red Chapel, a place of death. I was in the Red Chapel, back in the Under.
I vomited, which did nothing to improve the scenery.
In 1888 one of the White Chapel mendicants sought immortality for themselves. The first prerequisite for immortality is death; death of the mortal self. But the mendicant decided that to prevent their own mortal passing they would sacrifice others. Travelling to Whitechapel above he began to enact a series of grisly and ritualistic killings, bringing souvenirs of his victims back with him. With each death his legend grew and his mortality gently slipped from him.
On the 9th of November 1888 he killed Mary Jane Kelly and brought back her heart, placing it upon the altar of the White Chapel. In doing so he achieved apotheosis. The chapel’s walls began to run with blood and gleefully the killer sought out the mendicants and slaughtered them. Those that escaped traveled to caverns that run beneath Brick lane and now Banglatown is the centre of their order.
The killer, however discovered that there was a curse to their immortality after all. He could not leave the chapel. But he could spread it further and bring others to him. He recruited others to kill for him and to make their own Red Chapels. In the Under they know him as Red Jack, the God of Serial Killers.
Now I was a prisoner in his lair. Death was only moments away.
I heard a voice echo through the chamber. I turned and caught a glimpse of a shadow seemingly without a source. Then it was gone. The voice continued. It was singing.
“…I’ve seen diamonds cut through harder men; than you yourself, but if you must pretend; you may meet your end! Arm yourself because no one else here will save you; The odds will betray you; And I will replace you…”
I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye. A top-hatted figure was illuminated by a tallow candle. It did a little dance at the word “replace” before moving behind a pillar and vanishing from sight.
“…You can’t deny the prize it may never fulfill you; It longs to kill you; Are you willing to die?”
I turned to try and see my death coming, silent prayers to my family on my lips. I saw nothing.
“The coldest blood runs through my veins; you know my name.” These words were whispered in my ear. I spun and saw the mad-hatter visage of Red Jack looming above me. His name on my lips. He pressed his finger to them and shushed me.
“Do not fear. You are my messenger; I don’t kill messengers while they are still of use to me.” His eyes pierced mine. “when you next see the Slenderman sing my song to him. Tell him I am coming for him. Tell him he will not supplant me. They may think him un-killable but I am the God of Killers. I can kill anything. Even Gods. Even him.”
He released me and I staggered back. My senses spinning. He chuckled and faded into the shadows.
The next thing I knew I was being half carried into Banglatown. They’d witnessed me staggering out of the Red Chapel covered in blood, none of it my own. My department ID was they only thing that kept them from killing me then and there. They cleaned me up and sent me back up.
I’ve managed to find a Brick Lane restaurant with it’s own free wifi. I’m sitting here writing this against protocol, eating a curry, while waiting for recovery, examination and debrief.
I found the song on youtube. Remember this is a message for the entity from Red Jack:
I’m guessing that the hunter is about to become the hunted.