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It was three p.m. on a weekday with grey weather and a lot of organising "useless" statements. A pretty average day for Jon. So you could imagine his surprise when Martin came knocking wearily on the door to the archives.
"Erm, Jon.. there seems to be two people who want to make a statement." Martin muttered as he glanced back over his right shoulder.
" So? Send them in." Jon replied, not looking up from the smudged statement that he was currently trying to decipher.
"Will do. Erm, just a warning though, put some sort of strong smelling face cream, perfume, cologne or anything really just below your nose. Actually, maybe just a hazmat suit... Just trust me on this..."
"O-kay? Sure. Just send them in..."
Jon watched as Martin shut the door behind him and headed off down the hallway to grab the two supposedly smelly mystery people. In that small period of time that he had waiting for the statement givers to arrive, Jon found the strong hand sanitiser that he had bought after he found a dead rabbit's head lingering at the bottom of a drawer. He applied a generous blob under his nose, sputtering to get the bitter flavour out of his mouth when some of it accidentally made its way past his lips. He then found the emergency hazmat suit that he had got Elias to unknowingly buy by sneaking it at the bottom of the list of things he needed to sort out the archives. To be honest, he imagined its first use to be something less like meeting two apparently repulsive people and more like finding a really mouldy but interesting old book.
He was hoping that this would be a quiet statement that would be given. He was so very wrong. It was going to be a fucking interesting time. A really fucking interesting time.
As soon as he sat back in his chair, two... people (?) came hurtling into the archives and immediately started attacking each other about who would get to sit in the chair. Jon ended up getting a really old stool for the old woman as she had lost to her Oscar the Grouch lookalike of a husband. The woman's hair looked awful. It was matted and grimy. There were large blobs of bird shit falling out of it as well? It was gross. She also carried a distinctly beaten-up walking stick. It looked as though it had been used to beat up her husband, which, to be honest, is likely the most assumable answer. Her clothes looked as though they had been purposely stained by food, copious amounts of beer, and again, bird shit. Not to mention, she also looked like a storybook witch. Jon wasn't even being rude when he thought that. She genuinely looked as if she had been pulled directly from a child's book about witches. As for her husband, he had a large, horrid, black beard, a disgusting face and he mental capacity of a flea. They were gross.
Jon then spoke up. "May I have your names and the date of the incident?"
The grotty old man answered. "Yeah. I am Archibald Twit and this bitch is Agnes Twit." He pointed at his wife. "It happened yesterday. Those bloody birds." He spoke in an ugly voice, constantly accusatory and gritty. Almost like he smoked 8 packs of cigarettes a day.
"Thank you." Jon replied as politely as possible without gagging.
"Statement of Agnes and Archibald Twit regarding... Birds? Statement taken directly from subjects, 21st june 2016. Recording by Jonathan Sims. Head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London."
*There was an awkward silence for around 10 seconds before Jon ushered one of them into speaking.*
Mr Twit coughed and began the statement. "So. We needed money. I thought of the ingenious idea to enslave some monkeys from Africa to perform in Mr Twit's marvelous monkey circus! I went over to Africa and Kidnapped six monkeys, a family I think. Anyway. I then dressed them up and started to train them. I treated them really well!"
"No you didn't you fat bastard! You treated them badly! That's why they attacked us! " Mrs Twit screeched.
"I did not you old bitch! ANYWAY. I trained them and then one day while I were trying to catch some birds for bird pie those bleedin monkeys started talk to those birds and warn them of my arrival! So naturally I tried 3 more times. After the third I felt so angry that I dragged my ugly wife with my into town to go and buy some beautiful guns. But when we got back the birds were nowhere to be found! The nasty air rats then flew over my head and shat on me! Luckily my beautiful wife brought me indoors to go and clean it.. the thing is..."
As Mr Twit was about to speak his next sentence Mrs Twit piped up. "The bloody monkeys flipped our house upside down! Oh those mangy creatures tricked us! We thought we were upside down! So my idiotic husband suggested to stand on our heads to get back the right way around. We stayed there for three fuckin days! THREE! That the resulted with me contracting a case of the dreaded shrinks! When we finally get back the right way up and this little child of a 60 year old man had finished had finished temper tantrum, I was told that my head would shrink into my body, them my body into my legs and then my legs into my feet! So then that disgusting old man told me that I needed to be stre he'd with balloons! So I was. He handed them to me, told me he would 'never let go' and then fucking let go! I then floated up to the sky! I was scared out of my mind!
"Oh you think that's bad! Those fukin things surrounded me and started to sing songs from hell! Young person music! The rat Street boys I think? No! Backstreet birds. I threatened them but they didn't stop! Those fuckin things! Then that heavy woman fell right on top of me! Also she was lyin! She didn't go to the sky! She got caught in a tree!"
"OH FUCK OFF! I HATE YOU! AAAAGH!" Mrs Twit stormed out of the archives in a fit of rage, her husband trailing behind.
Jon turns the tepe recorder off, relaxing back into his chair and breathing a sigh of relief. He was hoping they'd leave. To keep them out for definite he locked the archive door. He then grabbed a can if shitty febreeze and sprayed it everywhere, removing his hazmat suit soon after. Granted, it still smelt of rotten flesh, but now flowery rotten flesh. Disgusting.
To be honest this didn't really need a supplementary in Jon's mind It felt like something that should just be left alone for now. Or forever. He didn't really feel like sending Martin to go and check out what was likely the most dangerous house they would ever visit. Really, they were a little too odd, and for Jon that is something he thought he'd never even approach thinking.
Over the next few day's Jon kept ruthlessly cleaning the room over and over again. He swore he could smell something off. Turns out 'Mr Twit' had dropped a large bird wing from his beard and it was growing some sort of spectacular new species of mould. Deciding that it was not his job to deal with it, Jon picked it up with a litter picker and down into the tunnels (along with the litter picker itself). Hopefully it could kill whatever lurked down there, and that's exactly what it did.
About a year later, while Jon was out on a smoke break Jürgen Leitner sat in the chair opposite to his. Elias Infront of Jürgen, holding a thick metal pipe. Just as Elias was about to cave Jürgen's head in, a thick layer of pink mold covered the book loving bastard's face and ate his head off. Feeling rather disgusted, Elias hit the stump of Leitner's neck to make it look less like a shitty science experiment had killed him and more like he was murdered. Elias then decided he wanted to leave the archives for a little while. He didn't really want to spend any more time with the mouldy corpse of Jürgen Leitner. And so he did.