April 9
I am beginning this journal to attempt to make sense of the going ons of the last few days. For so twisted have events become that I fear I may be going mad.
I'll begin with the basics. My name is Charles Raslow, I am a professor of mathematics and physics at Oxford University, UK, and possess a PhD in General Medicine. Until recently, I have been a "Master Mason" in good standing with the Academia's Oxford Fraternity lodge of Freemasons.
Those who know me, know that several years ago my father, Johnathan Raslow, went missing during a sabbatical trip to France. The case searching for him is cold, and he is presumed dead.
These last few weeks, I've been doing a bit of spring cleaning, and attempting to organize boxes and collections of his old research notes. Three days ago, I found a reference note to a safe deposit box number that was unknown to me and unlisted in his estate. I went to the referred bank, and extracted from it a large binder that was unmistakeably my father's. I thumbed through it briefly, and then began making my way home to read it more thoroughly.
On my way home I was set upon by a group of ruffians, who must have been set to rob me. I did manage to fight them off, however (a little practical knowledge in surgery goes a long way) and made my way home, somewhat bruised and battered. Waiting for me there was a very imposing gentleman, who introduced himself as a representative of the Fraternity. He had an oily air about him that I immediately disliked. None the less the Masonic pin on his lapel was clearly authentic, so I asked him to forgive my appearance, and invited him in. He refused, saying he had elsewhere to be shortly, but that he had come simply to collect my father's binder to which he claimed I had no right. I refused him hotly. He simply turned on his heel, glanced back to tell me I'd best keep my nose out of where it didn't belong, and went on his way.
Offended, the next day I went to the lodge and tossed in my own Masonic pin and stated I'd have nothing further to do with them.
The binder I'd found was filled with the most extreme theoretical functions I'd ever seen, and even with my not inconsiderable knowledge in the field, I was a loss of what to make of any of it.
Bookmarking the binder, was a photograph of the house's brick fireplace that was bisected by a vertical and horizontal line. On the back of the photo was written "Charles… 12,16"
The x,y coordinates were too obvious to overlook, Odd as it was to imagine something hidden in the fireplace. I found the brick in question, and sure enough there was a seem around it.
I'll admit right now, this is where my view of things starts to go a bit awry.
Pressing on it, I felt it click, much as a keyboard stroke would. The whole fireplace then swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees with such force that it was only by some miracle that I was not thrown off and crushed in the gap. On the other side, was a cramped space, barely large enough for me to fit into, simply the hearth against a wall. With a lurch, the hearth began lowering, taking me to an unknown deep.
When I reached the bottom the darkness was absolute, and I could make no guess at any dimension of the space I occupied other than the wall at my back. I struck a match, and nearly dropped it at the sight which greeted me. Numerous shelves, packed with books and chemical apparati that were of enormously varied age… some being quite clearly recently published or manufactured, while others were definitely quite ancient.
By the light of my match I found a light switch near the hearth, and hastened to flip it before I burned myself. Incandescent lights flicked on, and reveled the cavernous space more completely. Not divided into rooms, the roof was easily twenty feet above, and the space felt to be much the same width and breadth of the house above. The walls were all shelved to the ceiling, and there were many free standing shelves in some areas, that were somewhat shorter. The center of the floor, was largely taken up by long tables displaying nearly every sort of chemical instrument I'd ever seen, and many that I hadn't.
A white powder covered everything in the room. At first I'd taken it for dust, but upon examination it proved not to be. Ash maybe… but I'd have to test it to be certain. It was when I was lifting one of the implements(a beaker, as I recall) to blow it off that I realized this, but was then met with such a disturbing vision, that the thought fled my mind until only recently. Reflected in the glass, was a young woman. I spun around to see behind me, but there was nothing there… Then a voice spoke saying "no, I'm here." Looking back a the beaker I saw the lady reflected still, waving at me now, despite the drastically different angle at which I was now holding it.
We spoke, rather awkwardly I admit, for some time about this and that. At length, however, she told me quite forwardly that she needed me to kill someone for her, and that when I was prepared to leave I should "bounce the ball" and indicated something behind me.
The very idea that I would murder someone, anyone, was bewildering, and that I would do it as a request was absolutely inconceivable. I was about to tell her this, and indeed had already opened my lips to do so, when I turned as she'd indicated and saw something that told me again that I must either be losing my mind, or going blind… though given consideration, I suppose talking to a girl in a jar should have been evidence enough.
It was a small yellow ball. What made it so extraordinary, was that it was sitting in a space I had been viewing not a moment before, and that it had clearly been there for some time as it too was coated in the white dust.
I turned back to the beaker, stammering out a refusal, but the reflection was gone… and I cannot say for certain that it ever was. The ball, however, was quite real, and I could not stop myself bouncing it on a lark.
When it struck the floor there was a brilliant flash of light, and I believe I was knocked unconscious… Though I had quite a vivid dream.
I was in a dim room, and there were two other men there. One was a Spaniard, who I believe was named Alfonse d'Rage, and the other was none other that the "Tonio" Romanov. I confess I live a somewhat sheltered life, but even I could not fail to recognize him. (though what he's doing in my dreams raises a number of questions unto itself, though I did get his autograph.)
They both, however, claimed to be here to "kill the yellow man," and I could make nothing of it, so I walked out the door into a maze of hallways. The dream quickly went from strange to bizarre as a buzzing chime intoned the opening notes of PAC-MAN, and we were set upon by an enormous, blighted, chomping yellow sphere… the yellow man, apparently.
My memory here gets a little muddled, but I remember fleeing for my life through the maze, and then turning to rashly attack the beast. I even recall ordering "Tonio" to feed me to it…
After some time I was indeed able to lay the beast low, and another brilliant flash found me wakening in the Laboratory, facing a number of problematic facts… I was injured quite severely and even still bleeding from a number of open wounds, likely inflicted by the blast which knocked me unconscious. However, nothing else in the area seemed to be damaged, and, most disturbing of all, the notebook which "Tonio" had autographed still bore his inscription.
