Work Text:
*recording begins*
*door creaking open, creaking shut*
[Receptionist]: Hi there, can I help you?
[You]: Hi, I need to speak with the archivist here?
[Receptionist]: I’m sorry, you’ll need to be more specific than that. We have quite a few archivists here at the Institute.
[You]: The best one, then.
[Receptionist]: Hmm…(they consider this for a moment.) Alright, I’ll fetch him for you. You can take a seat in there if you like.
*rustling of fabric*
*a chair is drawn out, scraping the floor loudly in an otherwise quiet room*
*crinkle of paper*
[Archivist]: (distant) …didn’t even ask who they were--ah. Hello.
[Receptionist]: (to you) This is the head archivist at the institute.
*boots click as they walk away*
[You]: (to the Archivist) Hello.
[Archivist]: Uh…what brings you to the Institute?
[You]: (chuckling to yourself) It’s kind of a long story. And a weird one, at that. If you’ll indulge me for a little while, I’ll leave here and never return at your request.
[Archivist]: Sure.
*another chair is drawn out loudly against the quiet room*
*more rustling fabric*
*something rigid is placed on the table*
[Archivist]: I hope you don’t mind if I record whatever it is you have to say. We get our fair share of…strange stories that I’d rather be able to recall than not.
[You]: That’s fine by me. I was already sort of aware of the Institutes association with the paranormal and such.
*tape recorder clicks*
[Archivist]: Statement of…
[You]: Y/n.
[Archivist]: regarding…
[You]: Strange experiences involving the idea of the Magnus Institute.
[Archivist]: Original statement recorded live from subject on the ninth of March, two thousand and nineteen. (To you) Whenever you’re ready.
[You]: (hesitant) I don’t really know where to begin with this. Well, I guess I do. (sigh) I guess I should just say it. This whole ordeal started this past summer, in the beginning of June. I was fine one day, and then the next day, something felt different. I had always felt satisfaction in knowing all there was to know about something I was interested in, but after that date, it felt more like satiation rather than satisfaction. And I can say that in confidence because I spent many a sleepless night thinking about it.
In addition to the newfound satiation from learning, I also began to see…eyes. Everywhere. I was never that put off by eyes in general, I mean, hell, I have two of them, but it felt like an explosion of eyes. I thought at first it might have been Baader-Meinhof syndrome, but then I realized eyes weren’t new to me.
Another thing was that I started seeing the word Magnus pop up everywhere. This one was especially creepy to me. I had read the Magnus Chase series some years back and had the books on my shelf. The more I tried to ignore all of the eyes and the Magnus bullshit, the more likely I was to trip on one of those damn books in the middle of the night. It felt like Magnus Chase himself was out to get me. It actually worked in my favor, though. That’s how I found your Institute. But more on that later.
The last thing to start happening, and the strangest by far was all of the recording. My phone would just start recording sometimes. It would start and stop like it was being operated by someone. I choose to treat this ghost operator like a friend.
[Archivist]: Is it on now?
[You]: Yup.
*rustle of fabric*
*rigid item being placed on a flat surface*
[Archivist]: When did all this start?
*the tape recording begins to get staticky*
*the phone recording begins to have lots of snow and glitching voices*
[You]: I said. Last June.
[Archivist]: But when? What date?
[You]: Um…The 5th or 6th, I suppose. I’m not quite sure the exact date.
*static and glitches end*
[You]: Should I continue? (pause) Great. As I said, the appearance of the word Magnus everywhere was not limited to anything. Every guy named Magnus was commenting on my online posts. Any organization with Magnus in the name was coming up in my feed. Hell, even my top recommended artists on Spotify were people named Magnus.
Anyway, one day I opened my web browser and there was an article on the front page about paranormal activity. It mentioned some American media like Buzzfeed Unsolved, but also Ghost Hunt UK, and finally it mentioned the Magnus Institute at the end of the article as the UK hub for all things paranormal and creepy. They also mentioned that all of the employees were quite elusive and not likely to allow the general pubic to read their files. I see they’re somewhat right about all that.
That night, though, I had a strange dream. I often have dreams that make no sense, but this one felt like a warning or a call. I remember, in the dream, I flew to London. Then, I came here and spoke to someone who, now that I think about it, looked remarkably like you. And then the eyes started to show up and before I knew it everything was covered in eyes. That’s really all that matters anyway from that dream.
[Archivist]: There’s more?
[You]: The rest of the dream entails a strange sort of grocery-store police chase and then everyone ended up jumping off the side of a boat.
[Archivist]: …Interesting. Ever tried dream interpretation?
[You]: I don’t want to know what the rest of that dream means. The most important part was clear enough to me: something was telling me to meet you in London. So I made the arrangements, and I came to the Institute. And now I’m here.
[Archivist]: (bemused) I was expecting that story to be a bit…
[You]: More exciting?
[Archivist]: I suppose. Maybe a bit gorier as well.
[You]: Apologies. I could add some gore if you’d like?
[Archivist]: No! No, that’s…it’s fine as it is. I do have a few questions though, that may seem a bit…strange.
[You]: You think I care about some strange questions after seeing eyes everywhere for months?
[Archivist]: Touche’. (inhale) Have you ever experienced the ability to draw any sort of information out of someone, no matter how cagey they may be?
[You]: (heh) I guess you were right, that is certainly an interesting question. Uh, I can’t think that I’ve ever done that on purpose, though I like to think of myself as the type of person that people wouldn’t ever keep secrets from for no reason.
[Archivist]: Hmm…Have you ever experienced just…knowing things that you would not usually be able to know? Sort of like clairvoyance, in a way?
[You]: (scoffing) Clairvoyance is not real. I’m sorry, but as invested as I am in this institute and its paranormality, I do not believe in clairvoyance. No, I have never experienced that. Anyone who tells you that someone can see the future is probably too dumb to realize that the person is just really adept at reading body language and such.
[Archivist]: The pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?
[You]: How do you mean?
[Archivist]: You just told me a story of books throwing themselves off shelves and how you arranged to meet me in London because of a dream.
*deep sigh*
[You]: I’m sorry.
[Archivist]: It’s alright. I was skeptical at first as well.
[You]: How does someone become the head archivist here being skeptical?
*static and glitches begin again*
[Archivist]: I was an an archival assistant to the archivist before me. After she passed, my boss, who really runs this place, appointed me to the position. Sometimes I feel like someone else might have been a better choice but I’m in too deep to have thoughts like that…
*static and glitches end*
[Archivist]: (sharp inhale) How did you do that?
[You]: Do what?
[Archivist]: You just compelled me!
[You]: Compelled you to do what?
[Archivist]: To answer your question. You drew the answer out of me.
[You]: I didn’t do anything. You answered on your own volition.
[Archivist]: (chuckling confusedly) No, I didn’t. You asked me a question, and I had to answer. I need to test something. Will you excuse me for a moment?
*a pause before the chair squeals against the floor*
*shoes slap against the archive floor*
[You]: (to no one) I don’t need two recordings of this…
*phone recording ends*
*phone recording begins*
[You]: I guess I do need two recordings of this.
*footsteps approach*
*papers rustle*
*rigid item is placed on the table*
[Archivist]: This isn’t usually something we do here at all, but I need to test something.
*paper slides*
[Archivist]: I’d like to ask you to read this statement on recording.
[You]:(weirded out) …Alright.
[Archivist]: Great. Let me just turn this off…
*tape recorder clicks off*
[Archivist]: If you could turn off your phone recording as well, please.
[You]: I’ll try--
*phone recording ends*
*tape recorder clicks on*
[Archivist]: Just as I said it.
[You]: I don’t remember how you said it.
[Archivist]: Just read it, then.
[You]: Fine. Statement of Amaya Reynolds regarding the disappearance of the Davidson Family. Original statement given on September twenty-third, two thousand and nine. Audio Recording by y/n, guest.
*pause*
[Archivist]: (whispers) Statement begins…
[You]: Oh--statement begins:
*tape recorder clicks on*
*phone recording begins*
[You]: Woah…
[Archivist]: That’s strange…continue on anyway. I’ll protect you if anything dangerous happens.
[You]: I can hold my own, but thank you. Uh, statement really begins, I guess.
When I met the Davidson’s, they were a completely normal family. They were right up until the week they disappeared. I had put up an classified advert for babysitting, and they were one of the first ones to call. They had a lovely little boy--Max was his name. I played all sorts of games with Max, and the parents seemed to like me well enough. I only saw him on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, but we were still pretty close. The strange part began about a week before they disappeared. I was playing with Max indoors that day because it was pretty wet outside. We were about to round the corner when he suddenly came to a stop and shushed me. I remember it vividly. This little boy, no older than eight was checking around the corner as if there was someone with a semi-automatic on the other side. I asked him why we had stopped. “She’s coming,” he had said. I asked him if he meant his mum, but he shook his head. I began to speculate if maybe his mother was pregnant, but I didn’t ask Max about that. I asked him after a minute or so if “she” was gone, but he said no, and that he would tell me. We ended up waiting at the corner for nearly ten whole minutes. Then, Max turned to me, and he seemed a completely different boy when he asked me “Amaya, what are we waiting for?” Needless to say, I was thoroughly spooked. I asked Max the next day (which was a Wednesday) if he remembered hiding behind the corner. He said no. I was pretty sure he was being honest and not contrary, but you can never tell. The important thing I remember about that day was around dinner time. I was preparing a place at the table for Max, since the table was fairly cluttered, and I remember clearing away some papers detailing the purchase of a house somewhere in Sussex by Mr. and Mrs. Davidson. They didn’t seem to be packing up their house, though. That Thursday was fairly normal. But I remember asking Mrs. Davidson if they were planning on moving soon. She told me no, and asked me why. I told her I just had a feeling. Max did feel a bit off that day, though. Usually, at the end of each day, especially a Thursday, he’d give me a big hug and tell me he would miss me. That day, though, he hid behind his parent’s legs and just gave me a shy wave. I brushed it off and figured I would ask him about it on Tuesday. Only when I knocked on the Davidson’s door on Tuesday, no one answered. I peeked in the window and the house looked completely empty. No furniture, no nothing. I looked on the lawn to see if there was a sign or anything but there was absolutely nothing. I decided to knock on the neighbor’s door and ask about it, but both neighboring houses said the same thing: There hadn’t been a family living in that house for years, and there were no Davidsons. I seemed to be the only one who remembered them. Even my own friends and family didn’t remember the Davidsons. I talked about Max endlessly to them because to me, he was the cutest little boy ever. But they said they’d never heard of this family. I guess I just pushed down my anxiety about it until recently because it never seemed to bother me all that much. A friend suggested I come here after I told him the story.
Um…statement ends.
[Archivist]: The archival assistants followed up on that one, and it seems that the Davidson’s truly did disappear. They were on the most recent census before then, and then never showed up again, at least in England. And that house that they bought doesn’t seem to exist anymore either. No Davidsons matching the description of this family own any property in Sussex.
*heavy breathing*
[Archivist]: How do you feel?
[You]: Like I took a shot of the strongest shit there is…
[Archivist]: That’s what I thought. Recording End.
*tape recorder clicks off*
[Archivist]: I have something to tell you. At the moment it’s basically a theory, but I’m very inclined to believe it.
[You]: Alright.
[Archivist]: To make a very, very, very long story short: in the world there are entities that draw power from primordial fears such as darkness or falling. The fear of being watched or of being known is one of them. That is the one that the head archivist here is usually the patron of. Unlike the other entities, though, there is usually only one patron to the Watcher at a time. One takes over when the previous one dies and all that. Other than one exception, this is how it has been, and how I assume it will be. However, I had a…run in with death as one might say in the early hours of June 6th this past year. Clinically, I died for a few minutes and was in a coma for months afterward. The Watcher might have chosen a new patron during the time I was dead, not anticipating that I would pull through.
[You]: Like Buffy and Faith.
[Archivist]: What?
[You]: From Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Usually there’s only one slayer, Buffy, but she dies once and then comes back to life, and while she was dead, a new slayer appeared even though she was only dead for like 30 seconds.
[Archivist]: Uh…sure, then. Like Buffy and Faith.
[You]: Oh…but that makes me Faith. Sorry about that. I’ll try to not be evil and everything.
[Archivist]: Thanks. (he inhales to start a sentence, but stops himself; then starts again) Is that a CV?
[You]: This? Oh…yeah.
*paper rustling*
[Archivist]: Were you going to apply for a job here?
[You]: Yeah…but it was really on a whim…I guess that’s kind of obvious though seeing as it’s handwritten…
[Archivist]: Well, I mean with all the present information out in the open, I’d be willing to look this over and present it to my boss who is the real hiring manager…
[You]: Really?
[Archivist]: Well…if this were a normal job I would of course, but I should warn you if you are serious about this.
[You]: Excuse my bluntness, but you just told me essentially that magic of sorts is real. And that anything paranormal could have a legitimate explanation in a domain I didn’t even know about until a minute ago. And you also just told me you almost died and that’s why I’m here. And also no one is talking in here. Or if they are, it’s really quiet. That is not the sound of a lively, fun work environment.
*pause*
[You]: I have the feeling that you’re about to tell me that taking a job here is a death sentence. And I’m not suicidal, but reading that file felt amazing. I would love to learn everything there is to know about these primordial fear entities just for the sake of knowing, and maybe as a little side-quest, try to organize this place. It does not look organized at all.
[Archivist]: It’s not, but it’s better that way. (pause) It really is, I promise.
[You]: Right. Anyway, where do I sign?
[Archivist]: I think you might want to take back that bit about not being suicidal.
*tape recorder clicks off*
*phone recording ends*