Chapter Text
The swirling abyss is consuming. Blues and purples pass me by as I run from an unseen force.
There, in the corner of your eye!
Impossibly long joints reach out, but it’s all I can see. The laughter of the unknown being pounds in my ears. I just have to keep running. I can survive if I keep running.
Shapes bounce at the corner of my vision.
How long have I been here?
The obsidian walls tower above me.
Was that an eye?
The hall never turns, but it's like I'm running in circles.
When did I last sleep?
A fork in the road.
Follow the eye!
I turn left.
When did I last eat?
The laughing is closer, I can feel breathing on my neck.
Get through the door!
I hear the creaking of bones far too long and far too old.
GET THROUGH THE DOOR!
It's unlocked. I hurl myself through the void–
–and end up in a dusty storage room? I hear the door slam shut behind me. I don't bother to look back. Two women I've never seen in my life stare back at me. One of them is a tiny petite woman with spots of vitiligo dotting her dark complexion. Her dark brown hair stops right before her shoulders and her face is partially covered from her long bangs. The other woman is much taller than the other with a choppy bob that's electric blue at the tips. She's wearing what I think is mom jeans? And a shirt that has a ghost on it but I can't read it from here.
The smaller one takes a step back.
“What the-” I manage to choke out.
The taller one grabs a broom that was at her feet and holds it out towards me like a sword, “I-Who the hell are you?” she stammers.
Huh. Why is she British? “I’m- uh- Carmen?” I answer automatically. Stupid, now she has power over me.
“And ah-” the smaller woman speaks up, “Where the hell did you come from?”
Did they not see the massive oak door? Why is she British too?
"Oh! I just came through," I turn to gesture to the door and stop in my tracks. The door's gone. "Hey where did it go-"
The tall woman jumps into a defensive position, pointing the broom at me. "Did you cause that?!"
I stare at her for a second, and look back at where the door was supposed to be.
“I don’t think so? I mean,” I shrug. “I was walking around when I found it in the middle of the street.”
The two girls share a look. If I have to guess, and man, I am bad at guessing, the look is on the lines of ‘it’s about time to commit murder’ or maybe “we’re in deep shit.’ It’s really hard to tell.
“Yeah. Uh, Melanie? Wanna take this down to the Archivist? This is right up your guys’ alley.”
The taller woman, Melanie, dramatically rolls her eyes, “I am not going near him.”
While those two bicker, I take the opportunity to look around the room. It’s a massive dusty room with shelves and shelves full of books, cameras, and even what I think is a meat grinder.
“What is this place? Is this Night Vale? I’m fairly certain we don’t have a building like this unless this is the abandoned warehouse…” I trail off.
The women don’t answer me. They’re arguing over who’s getting this mysterious 'Archivist.'
"Fine! But you have to watch the door woman while I go get him," the smaller woman says, rolling her eyes as she walks out. Apparently she lost the argument.
Wait. Am I door woman?
She comes back a few minutes later seemingly out of breath and a little frazzled. I’m sitting on top of a desk that Melanie has all but banned me to.
“Jon’s on his way up,” the woman says. “Everything okay?”
“I’m more confused as to why she isn’t freaking out,” Melanie answers, nodding towards me.
I shrug. “I mean, this isn’t the worst thing I’ve gone through.”
The small woman stares at me, absolutely bewildered, “What do you mean?? You just- you walked through a door that didn’t exist, and then when you left the door it stopped existing again..that’s not bad to you?”
I shrug again, flipping some hair over my shoulder. “I mean it sucks, and it’s inconvenient, but I survived street cleaning day.”
A very tall man in the coziest grandfather clothes I've ever seen in my life walks into the room. The crumpled look of his clothes and the messy bun his long black hair is thrown into makes him look like he's both put together and completely falling apart. I think this is the mysterious Archivist who might be named Jon.
“Is this her?” he asks. I’m beginning to consider the fact that I’m the only American.
The woman who still has not told me her name nods at the man, but keeps her attention on me. “And what’s so bad about street cleaning day?”
I tense up. Something’s not right. Do they not know? “You’ve- You’ve never encountered it??” I ask, more than a little confused, and put a hand on my chest. “Oh, you poor lucky soul, you probably won’t survive when they come.”
The man suddenly clears his throat, catching all of our attention. “Who exactly are you, and why are you in our Artefact Storage?”
“Oh! My name is Carmen Gonzáles, and I walked in a massive old oak door that shouldn’t have gone anywhere as there was nothing attached to it, and now I’m here!”
All three of them stare at me with varying levels of confusion and possibly fear.
"...Right,” the tiny woman starts -she looks the most terrified out of all of them.”Hey, Melanie? Remember when I told you that this was right up the Institute's alley?”
I can practically see Melanie's internal groan. "I remember. Are you going to grab your weird tape recorder and lock her up, Sims?"
The man who might be named Jon- Or maybe Sims- but is most definitely the Archivist rolls his eyes. "We don't hold prisoners, Melanie, but I do already have my recorder on me."
The short woman immediately puffs up like a wild animal trying to be intimidating. "No, you're not recording any statements in artifact storage!" She practically shouts. "The things in here are weird enough!"
"Fine." He turns his attention over to me. "Ms. Gonzáles, please follow me. The artifact storage room is dangerous and I need a statement from you."
"But what if the door opens up again? I have a test tomorrow. I need to-are you the secret police?"
Stupid! Don't ask them that! This is a test- this has to be a test, and I'm failing miserably. Panic swells in my chest. I start frantically looking between the three of them for weapons or possible openings. There's something wrong. They're all wide open. Why aren't they prepared to defend themselves? I don't understand. I don't-
"Carmen, you're in central London. You're not in Night Vale."
Everything stops.
"I'm sorry I'm where ?"
I stare at the woman. One simple sentence, and she doesn't even realize that it's changed everything .
"You are in central London in The Magnus Institute," Jon/Sims, says like he's said it a bazillion times before.
"If you go with Jon, he can explain things a little better," she says, giving me a gentle smile.
So his name is Jon. Jon the Archivist, Melanie with the broom, and the tiny woman that hasn't stopped blushing since she came back. Three people who could very well be leading me into a trap. I can only see one exit and I don't know where it leads. I don't know if I believe a word they say about being in London, but I don't see any other option besides going along with it.
"Okay."
I follow Jon to the door, and before he leaves he mentions to the others something about getting someone named Elias. He takes me down a hallway and the reality of my situation really sets in. I'm in a strange building, with people I've never even seen before. The door might have actually transported me not to the desert wasteland it took my boss -Cecil's- boyfriend, but to London. London, England. That's halfway across the world and I've never so much as left my town before. I wrap my arms around myself for some semblance of comfort, and start pestering Jon.
"What do you even do here?"
"We at The Magnus Institute document and record paranormal or supernatural accounts and research them," he replies; it sounds like he's said this a million times before.
"Do you do anything with them?"
"No, we file it away."
We walk into a room that's covered in filing cabinets and bookshelves covered in folders and various books. From my view I can see a couple desks with old computers shoved aside in favor of laptops and piles of manilla folders. There's a few doors in various corners of the room and it takes everything in me not to open all of them to see what horrors lie beyond. If I'm unlucky, and usually I am, one of them will be holding the management at bay.
Jon leads me through the room, avoiding all of the piles of paperwork and filing cabinets with ease. In my stumble and half run to keep up with him, I notice a small tape recorder in the pocket of his cardigan.
"Why do you have a tape recorder?"
"That's not important."
I definitely disagree. He's been recording our conversation since the start; he knows I ask too many questions.
Before I can stop myself I blurt out, "Do you work with your city's secret police?"
I immediately slap a hand over my mouth, panic threatening to boil over once more.
"Sorry, I know I can't ask those questions," I mumble out, my voice greatly muffled by my hand.
Jon stops and turns to me as he's opening a door. "What? What are you even talking about, secret police??" He looks like he's going to say more, but instead he takes a deep breath and walks in the room.
I watch him from the door frame as he sits down at a plain wood table with a tape recorder in the middle. I think I might get murdered in here. He glances back at me and gestures at the chair across from him.
I take a small breath and walk in, sitting down in the chair criss-cross applesauce. The door quietly clicks shut behind me as Jon starts the other tape recorder.
"I'd like to ask you to record a statement of what exactly happened to you."
I nod, not exactly sure of what else to do. I don't exactly know what recording a statement means, but the put in my stomach is saying nothing good.
He clears his throat and the light flickers around us. "Statement of Carmen Gonzáles regarding the door that lead to the archive storage room. Statement recorded direct from subject. Whenever you're ready."
"Well, I was walking downtown a little after sunset. I had just finished a little ritual for my college class in anthropology and I was walking to my dad's-"
"Full names, please."
"Right, sorry." This feels wrong . "Luis Gonzáles' house. Everything was perfectly normal, I was ducking my head to avoid the hooded figures-," I need to shut up , "-as anyone would do and I started walking past this wall that's literally so plain there's not even any graffiti on it. And I- And I-" I need to stop!
I feel a tingle run up my spine and I shake my head frantically, trying to expel whatever spell he put me under.
"I-I'm sorry I'm not supposed to be talking about this."
Jon's eyebrows shoot up, "I'm sorry you're what?" He sputters out.
"I'm not allowed to talk about it! They'll come after me!" I practically yell.
The pot boils over, I can't contain it anymore. My vision is very quickly blurring with tears and it's taking all of my might not to run out of this room.
"Mx. Gonzáles, I assure you that you are perfectly safe inside The Magnus Institute. We have a very strict policy to make sure your file will not reach the public eye."
I shake my head and rake my hands through my hair almost definitely fucking up my space buns. He doesn't get it, why doesn't he get it?!
"No, no, no, no, you don't understand! There's bugs everywhere ! The Sheriff's Secret Police– I'll be sent in for re-education!" My voice is shaking, I feel like I can't breathe.
" Re-education? What the hell are you talking about?? What kind of town is this?!" He's yelling, and it's not helping.
"I-its just a normal town in America! If I go against the City Council's wishes, I'll be sent to the abandoned warehouse or the mines again! It's my second offense, they could actually kill me this time!" I let out a sob and hug my knees, burying my face in them. The tingling is back, and it won't stop. I just want it all to stop!
I barely register the knock at the door or Jon telling the person on the other side to come in. My ears are ringing and every orifice is screaming at me to continue talking to let out more information.
"Ms. Gonzáles you need to calm down, no one here is going to hurt you!"
I snap my head back up, " You don't know that! You can't see them, they're everywhere!"
The door opens and a very attractive older man steps in, the small woman from earlier at his heels.
"That's quite enough, Jon. I believe it may be best if I take over," he says.
He's unsurprisingly also British, but has more than a little of a posh touch to his voice. It's enough to make the ringing and the tingling stop. I take a shaky breath and wipe the snot away from my nose.
"But-" Jon goes to argue, but thinks better of it and just sighs. "Yes, sir." He gets out of his chair and takes a few steps back.
The DILF- no, that's not accurate, he doesn't seem homely- the very hot older man sits down at the table across from where I'm huddled.
"Helena, there's a small cafe just around the corner from the Institute. I suggest you and Jon take a break for a little bit. It appears the two of you have some catching up to do," as he talks he picks up the tape recorder and looks it over to make sure it's still running.
"Uh, s-sure, Mr. Bouchard," Helana (I finally figured out her name!) nods, backing out of the room entirely.
"Elias, are you certain? She could be dangerous," Jon hesitates.
"I'm not the one trying to get me killed!" I snap at him.
Elias gives me a "can you believe this guy" look and playfully rolls his eyes making me giggle.
"I'm certain, Jon. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, as I'm sure you're aware of."
Helena leans in and says something to Jon that I can't hear. He looks at her, and then back at Elias.
"Right- We'll be back," he says, shutting the door behind him.
Elias turns his attention back to me and folds his hands together, "Mx. Gonzáles, My name is Elias Bouchard. I see from your sweater you are from Night Vale, correct?"
"Uh- yeah, I grew up there," I nod.
"Is education on the subject of The Beholding still required in Night Vale elementary schools?"
I nod again, more enthusiastically this time. Finally, something familiar! "Yes it is! That's second grade learning."
"Then it should please you to know that I am an Avatar of The Beholding," he smiles, placing a delicate hand on his chest. "And I can assure you that you are safe. You can speak clearly about your experience here, you are in no danger.”
I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. This. This is good. This is familiar ground. I’m in an unknown place where everyone sounds weird, with too many people who don’t explain anything properly, but at least I know some of the benevolent forces at work. That feeling I had when Jon talked to me, that has to be the work of The Beholding.
“I didn’t know there were any Avatars outside of Night Vale.”
I swear his light grey eyes flash golden for a second as his reassuring smile slips into a smirk. “There are more Avatars outside of Night Vale than in. Now, shall we begin?”
That tingle I felt earlier shoots up my spine and spreads throughout my body. This man before me is powerful, and before I even register it words are spilling out of my mouth with no sign of stopping.