Reincarnated Cthulhu
Chapter 33: Red Carpet

The blood trail led to Cecil Road. (A statement that reads like a grotesque political cartoon, yet contained not a hint of humor!)

The university building of St. Henry VIII College was a labyrinthine ant colony. And that comparison was no exaggeration. Like ants constructing their nest stone by stone, this fortress—built by monks over centuries—had the laws of the universe embedded in each block. The geometrically entangled corridors, if viewed from space, would undoubtedly form some arcane pattern.

But I hadn’t been granted the privilege to glimpse such cosmic secrets. An ant cannot comprehend the shape of its own tunnel. I could only strain every nerve in my antennae, pray not to lose my way, and follow the pheromones. And blood—blood is the most potent pheromone a human can detect.

A wave of sudden madness washed over my mind.

What if I was merely going in circles? Like an ant with its neural pathways severed. The moment this paranoia took hold, every corridor looked like one I’d already traversed. The crying sound that had once guided me had completely faded, leaving only the tap of my cane against the floor and the rasp of my own labored breathing.

Then I felt it—a gaze upon me.

An unseen crimson presence bearing down from above. Since “above” remains such a nebulous concept, I could only vaguely interpret it as coming from the cosmos itself. That malevolent gaze seemed to mock my disorientation, or perhaps regarded me with utter indifference.

This must be the essence of wisdom they so often spoke about. As if wisdom truly descends from the universe, and the enlightened cannot possibly lose their way in earthly labyrinths.

Yet I was evidently not as wise as they claimed, for I had absolutely no idea where I was heading.

Amid my confusion, footsteps echoing from the distance jolted me to alertness.

The madness receded, my senses sharpening. No student would venture to such a secluded place. Most wouldn’t even know these passages existed.

I extracted a bullet from my ammunition bag and loaded it into the chamber. After several incidents, I’d become adept at determining how many legs the approaching entity possessed by the sound of their footsteps—and these definitely belonged to a biped.

I aimed my gun where a person’s torso or head would appear.

“Wah!”

What burst forth with that strange cry appeared to be a creature with a golden mane.

“It’s me! Don’t shoot!”

No—I realized it was the female student I’d encountered several times before. Having stopped so abruptly, her windblown disheveled hair slowly settled around her face. I lowered my gun.

“Good heavens, what are you doing here?”

“I… um… do you remember those brainless people I mentioned before?”

“Yes. I’ve been tracking them.”

Her cautious question struck me as rather odd.

It had been merely days since I was nearly captured by that thing. Even if decades passed, I doubted I would easily forget—yet here she was, treating me as if I suffered from dementia.

As this thought crossed my mind, something flickered across her face—surprise, as if at something unexpected. Then suddenly her expression brightened. The person I knew with the most mercurial expressions had been Marie, but this student surpassed even her. Since Marie’s face had grown rigid lately, this student now reigned supreme in that particular talent.

“Are you tracking them too?”

“Well, something like that.”

“What does ‘something like that’ mean to a question that’s either yes or no?”

At this, she furrowed her brow.

“I’ve been following the graduates. Do you know what it means to graduate from Oldcourt?”

“To be kidnapped by invisible monsters, with your jaw torn out and joints twisted?”

“Ah, that’s half right.”

She looked startled. My words had apparently allowed her to piece together the situation. She was remarkably perceptive.

“The other half is that they come running of their own accord. They ignore anyone who speaks to them and, without being commanded or restrained, they sprint off somewhere within the university building. After that, they simply vanish. And subsequently, no one inquires about them or searches for them. I’ve occasionally combed through the missing persons columns in newspapers, but I’ve never once seen a graduate’s name listed there. Isn’t that peculiar? Not a single family ever searches for them.”

“That’s impossible.”

I grew stern.

“I’ve encountered numerous Oldcourt graduates in the outside world. Are you suggesting they all forged their diplomas?”

“Well, I don’t claim to know everyone’s circumstances. But during my two years in the dormitory, there hasn’t been a single proper graduation ceremony. Everyone just screams loudly or runs off like lunatics… You do believe me, don’t you?”

By the end, her voice had taken on an anxious edge. My temples began to throb.

“You’ve witnessed all this and still remained at this university?”

“Ah, about that…”

At my question, she gave a sheepish smile, her expression awkward. It was the kind of smile that would endear her to most, but to me, it appeared only sinister.

“Do you know something? They’re easier to understand than fussy siblings. If you simply close your eyes and pretend not to see them, they never harm you. Isn’t it amusing that invisible entities are more predictable than one’s closest family?”

And she laughed with disturbing glee, as if she’d shared some delightful witticism.

What disturbed me most was that in this barely-of-age young woman, I recognized echoes of certain madmen I had encountered in my past.

Earl Phil Essex, Whitney Richmond, Dr. Jekyll, Dr. Frankenstein… lunatics who harbored inhuman vendettas and insanity. I could scarcely believe that she—lacking both wisdom and life experience—could emanate an aura so reminiscent of theirs.

Yet she lacked the miasma that typically surrounds the truly deranged—that festering abscess of unexploded hatred that seems to press upon the very air around them. It was thoroughly bewildering.

“If everything you say is true, then regardless of how this came to be, I know precisely what must be done. ■■■ ■■ ■■■ has graduated two students, and those innocent young people are in danger. That’s all I need to know.”

“You’re going to rescue them?”

I began walking in silence. Too much time had been wasted on this unexpected encounter. She hurried alongside me.

“I want to come with you.”

“No. Return immediately.”

“Why are you trying to save those people, Professor?”

“And you—why are you following me instead of pretending not to see, as is your custom?”

“Unlike usual, I had a feeling something extraordinary would happen today. And look—here we are, together.”

I swallowed the retort that had risen to my lips. Criticizing someone’s manner of speech only reveals one’s age.

“Now it’s your turn to answer me.”

“I’m a former soldier. What’s so strange about helping people when I’m able?”

“That’s not the whole truth, is it? There’s another reason, isn’t there?”

She had keenly identified what I was concealing. While I genuinely intended to help them, had I not been so prepared, I wouldn’t have departed immediately.

I also viewed this as an opportunity to uncover the secrets that Oldcourt University had been hiding.

“I knew from the beginning. You’re not an ordinary person, Professor.”

“I’ve lived too interesting a life to be called ordinary. That hardly means I should be your nursemaid.”

Though I had been walking as briskly as possible to lose her, my slow gait made it impossible to shake her off. I even felt a twinge of embarrassment, sensing that she was deliberately shortening her steps to match mine.

“You didn’t come here merely to be a professor, did you?”

“I don’t know what misconception you’re harboring, but until I signed the contract, I genuinely believed this was a respectable institution.”

“But you’re involved in all the bizarre incidents happening throughout London, aren’t you?”

“You must not have lived in London long. Nearly everything that happens in London is bizarre. Did you read that recent article about a hatter selling ‘uncreased’ silk hats with metal plates inserted in the crown? I assure you, I have no financial stake in such ventures.”

She shook her head with unmistakable conviction.

Perhaps she had approached me with calculated intent from the beginning. She seemed to understand more about me than I would have expected, and not knowing the extent of her knowledge left me with a sense of foreboding.

I finally understood Arthur’s discomfort around the dean. Being transparent to another’s gaze is truly unsettling.

“You can’t even see the monsters in the first place. I solemnly swear I’ll be genuinely helpful.”

Despite my growing unease, her behavior was decidedly childlike. Even that solemn promise sounded like a child trying to wheedle an adult. While there was certainly an age gap between us, she seemed rather old to be making such a promise.

“I’ve devised methods to deal with them.”

“Still, isn’t it better to have at least one person who can actually see them?”

“I’m being entirely serious—this isn’t some playground adventure for children. I finalized my will with a lawyer just yesterday. Are you prepared to that degree?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve already written mine.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Then hastily resumed walking.

“What? What did you just say?”

“I wrote about three pages worth. So there’s no problem.”

“That’s horrifying. When this is all over, I must meet your parents. Now I understand your father’s error. He should have kept you tied to your bed.”

“Must you talk like such an elderly person?”

I was so taken aback that I fell silent.

“If this weren’t an emergency, I would have turned back just to send you home.”

“So that means I can come along, right?”

“Promise me you’ll return immediately if you prove unhelpful even once.”

“Um… how about three chances?”

“Leave now. Or I will.”

“Ah, fine. I’ll go back immediately if I’m unhelpful even once.”

Having finally extracted this promise, she became notably less talkative. Reflecting on our previous encounters, I realized she hadn’t been particularly verbose to begin with. She must have been unusually persistent just now. With this realization, she seemed far more childlike than my initial impression or assessment had suggested.

Every aspect of this situation felt profoundly odd.

Meanwhile, the blood trail we were following had nearly vanished—yet another ill omen.

Apart from potentially losing our way, the fading bloodstains themselves indicated a weakening pulse. Perhaps we were already too late. I noticed she walked exclusively on those crimson marks.

The blood-traced path had become her personal red carpet. When the stains broke continuity, she would playfully hop over the gaps, like a child inventing rules for some macabre game. Despite her cheerful demeanor, the brutal reality remained undeniable.

We soon arrived at a familiar corridor. I wasn’t particularly surprised, having intuited from the beginning that we would end up here—the very passage where the hidden room had been concealed.

“Alert me immediately if you see anything.”

I clutched the medal inside my coat before gripping it alongside the barrel of my gun. The four-kilogram weight of factory-crafted wood and steel renewed our long relationship of trust. Though I had aged considerably these past twenty years, some things remained unchanged—like the obstinate faith that a pinch of gunpowder would ignite when needed, a conviction upon which I staked my life.

Perhaps responding to my grave expression, the student adopted a more solemn demeanor. A welcome change. Typically, excessive tension paralyzes people, but in her case, greater seriousness was preferable.

The student steadied my body. Maintaining an aiming posture while moving was exceedingly difficult with this accursed crutch. We rounded the corner.

“Nothing here.”

I lowered the gun with a deep exhale. She returned my cane.

“They went inside.”

“Let me—let me open it!”

The bloodstains terminated abruptly before the wall.

It appeared as though someone had phased through solid matter, but we knew a hidden room lay beyond. Stumbling over her words, she rushed to the wall and immediately located the concealed mechanism. Whether from exceptional memory or keen observation, it was impressive.

I nodded my assent for her to open the door. I aimed my gun at the spot where the bloodstains vanished, ready to fire should anything emerge.

Scrrrreeeech…

The wall parted, revealing an iron door. Fresh bloodstains—absent during our previous visit—glistened wetly upon the metal.

Grrrk… grrrk…

A strange, guttural noise emanated from beyond. Someone was inside. As this realization dawned, the student’s expression darkened dramatically. She placed her hand on the iron door.

“I’ll open it.”

I silently nodded. Against the pale iron, the outline of her delicate hand’s thumb metacarpal bone stood out starkly. With a rusty creak, light from within spilled into the corridor.

The interior scene was revealed.

Grrrk… grrrk…

Inside was a man.

It took a moment to recognize him as human, his features rendered ghastly. His eye sockets were empty caverns, and within his gaping mouth, the severed stump of his tongue flapped grotesquely, spraying blood with each movement.

Grrrk… grrrk…

In his hand was a hacksaw, which he was using to scrape methodically at his frontal bone. Strangely, there was minimal bleeding from his forehead—he was already hemorrhaging from his tongue and was meticulously avoiding major blood vessels as he worked.

Grrrk… grrrk…

The sound of bone being systematically sawed was unlike anything I’d heard in my darkest nightmares. But more disturbing than the sound was the man’s expression. I had seen such a look before. ■■■ ■■ ■■■. Just as the students had when they beheld him, this man was mutilating himself in a state of rapturous ecstasy.

I spoke with a voice tight with dread.

“Where?”

No answer came.

“Where?”

“Pardon?”

I repeated, urgency rising in my voice.

“Where do I shoot? I’m asking where those damned monsters are!”

By the end, I was shouting.

Something in the student’s expression made me realize something was terribly wrong.

“There’s nothing there.”

She said softly.

“He’s mutilating himself. He’s doing it all alone. There are no monsters holding his arms.”

“Damn it!”

With a curse, I reversed my grip and slammed the gun butt against his arm. The dull crack of breaking bone was accompanied by a silent scream from the man’s throat. I wrenched the hacksaw from his grip and hurled it into the corner.

“There’s a knife in the golf bag!”

While pinning the man down, I hastily shrugged off my coat. The student lunged forward to catch the toppling golf bag, frantically searching its contents.

“Wow.”

“Don’t gawk—find the knife and hand it over!”

Like trusting a fox with a henhouse. Barking the order, I tore off my shirt sleeve and stuffed it into the man’s mouth. Though I’d worn it since morning, it was preferable to pressing my coat—caked with London’s filth—against open wounds.

She finally passed me the hunting knife. A relic from my explorer days, it had become nearly an antique through years of rough use. Still, it sliced through my coat efficiently enough.

I bound the man’s limbs with strips of fabric, securing him to prevent further self-harm, then surveyed our surroundings. This wasn’t the graduate I had been pursuing.

“Is this the one you were following?”

She nodded. Another victim of this grotesque “graduation.”

“Will he live?”

“Uncertain. Can you take him to a hospital?”

The student shook her head. Understandably—a smaller woman could hardly manage a struggling man intent on his own destruction. Yet returning with him troubled me, as the other graduate remained missing.

Clinically assessing his condition, I noted his wounds weren’t as lethal as they appeared.

His survival despite the gouged eyes suggested clean wounds with minimal nerve damage—though even if the nerves were damaged, modern medicine offered little remedy. The skull scraping and excised tongue, while horrific, weren’t immediately life-threatening.

I decided we would retrieve him on our return journey. I secured the young man firmly against the wall, ensuring he couldn’t resume his self-destruction.

“Have courage.”

The words escaped me before I recalled his actions, and I shook my head.

“No, forget that. Perhaps it’s better you don’t fight so hard.”

I turned toward the passageway leading deeper into the chamber. The other graduate and those invisible abominations had proceeded through there. ■■■ ■■ ■■■, or perhaps the Royal Society itself, was conducting monstrous experiments within these university walls.

The truth awaited us beyond—through that black, putrid corridor that seemed to exhale decay with each moment.