Chapter Text
It was highly undignified, having to sit in the cargo section of a train amongst crates of goods, but the conductor had assured John that there had been no other options. It was either this, or return to the Magnus Institute empty handed, which of course was hardly an option. He needed this job. And, on some level, he was looking forward to it.
Retrieving research from a colleague and spending a few days learning about the local legends and culture sounded more like a holiday than anything. The fact that it was having a rather unpleasant start didn’t mean anything. He could do this. It would get better.
He was currently sitting on his coat to afford himself that little bit of comfort between him and the wooden floor, clutching his papers close. He’d made sure to bring all necessary legal papers in case anyone tried to stop him, and he even had his orders from his boss, Elias Bouchard. He was fairly well known and respectable in academia, surely his wishes would be respected if anyone tried to question John.
He had never been outside of the city before and he was perhaps more paranoid than he needed to be, but he just wasn’t sure what to expect. He thought he’d prepared for everything, but that was before a woman startled him by climbing out of a coffin on the far side of the train car. All he could do was gape in confusion, suddenly forgetting how to speak.
“Ah, hello,” she said as he closed the lid and sat down primly on top of it. “Not typically how I tend to travel, coffins aren’t usually my thing, but it is a touch ironic. What about you? Travel in coffins much?”
“N-no, can’t say I have,” John said, floundering.
“Annabelle,” he said.
“Jonathan. Sims,” he said, words stilted as he tried to get a handle on what the hell was happening.
“Well,” she said. “I think great things are going to happen in the weeks to come. Don't you?”
“I suppose,” he said. “I’m just a researcher.”
Well, Archivist, now, he supposed, what with his recent promotion. He didn’t think he needed to explain all that to Annabelle, though.
“Well, I wish you luck,” she said simply.
“Y-you too?”
Annabelle didn’t appear to be all that talkative. Once their introductions were complete, they fell into an uneasy silence. Well, it felt uneasy to John. Annabelle seemed completely content to sit there and ignore him. Eventually, John shoved his documents into his breast pocket and pulled his coat around himself before rolling over to get some sleep. If she planned to kill him, there wasn’t much he could really do about it anyway. Might as well get it over with.
-
He was dreaming. At least, he was pretty sure he was dreaming, because he wasn’t on the train anymore. He was walking across the steppe, able to see far into the distance with no buildings or trees to block his view. Looking behind him, it didn’t even seem like he was walking down any sort of path. Odd. At least it was a lovely day and he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
Opening his eyes again, he froze. There, on the horizon, was a smear of black. He didn’t know what it was, smoke maybe? There were insects that could swarm so thick that they looked like dark clouds from a distance, but it wasn’t the right season or region for them, but he had no idea what else it could be.
Regardless, he didn’t particularly want to find out, so he turned around— and immediately stepped into a dark cloud of what appeared to be ash. It was all around him, now, blotting out the sun and obscuring his vision. Turning around again, he couldn’t see the clear patch he’d been standing on. It was as if it had simply fallen down all around him, covering the entire area in the blink of an eye with no warning.
He was too late to hold his breath and coughed violently as he inhaled the particulates. It didn’t exactly taste like wood ash, but he tried not to think about that. Instead, he quickly pulled the collar of his coat up around his mouth and held it there in place. He wasn’t sure it would do much, but it had to be better than nothing.
With no other options, he stumbled forward. He had to find shelter of some kind, preferably another person who could offer assistance of some kind and explain what the hell was happening. Whatever this was, he was fairly certain he’d die out here unprotected like this. Even breathing just ash and smoke could kill him.
He saw a large shadow looming out of the darkness and, with a thrill of hope, he sped up. It was odd, he hadn’t seen anything before when he’d had a clear view of the skyline, but maybe he’d just missed it. Or maybe it was a rock formation that had blended into the scenery. That meant it was likely to be a cave and that would do well enough for the moment and he sped up in his relief. Once there, he could make a plan. This— whatever this was, couldn’t last forever.
He slipped on something and only had a moment to register that it had felt soft and slick and then he landed painfully on his hands and knees with a horrible squelch. Looking down at the ground, now, he saw that there seemed to be some sort of putrid liquid covering the ground, he could barely see bits of grass poking up through it, as well as glistening chunks of— something. And the smell was overwhelming, nearly causing him to wretch.
With a disgusted cry he scrambled to his feet, his hands and legs covered in the disgusting fluid, and he tried not to wretch. He looked up in the direction of the form he had seen and cried out as he came face to face with the rotting carcass of a massive bull. Its head alone was several times larger than John, he’d never seen anything like it. But the state it was in distracted him from the size.
Its glassy eyes stared blankly, its flesh sunken in as it decayed. And then he noticed the insects. There were maggots or small worms or something burrowing into the flesh of the great beast. His stomach turned as he realized the liquid he was now partially covered in had to come from the beast, a putrefied combination of blood and flesh, and the chunks seemed to be bits of flesh and organs.
He wanted to get out of there, he needed to get as far away from this thing as possible, his skin itching with fandom insects and he didn’t think he’d ever feel clean again. He somehow knew he was in grave danger, especially when the insects began to sing. Thousands, millions of voices crying out in ecstasy and rage, making him shudder, forming a single word.
“Archivist.”
How could they know who he was? He’d only just gotten this promotion. What did they want with him? He took a stumbling step back from this horrible sight, ready to turn and flee but so afraid any movement would draw the attention of all of those horrid worms. And then, impossibly, the long-dead bull’s eyes widened in terror and it raised its head to bellow—
And then John was sitting up from his makeshift nest on the train, the steady rocking suddenly feeling more soothing than annoying simply because it didn’t sound like those writhing worms. Blessedly he couldn’t smell the rot anymore, and as he slowly got his bearings and caught his breath, the dream-terror was beginning to fade.
He couldn’t help but notice that his companion and her coffin were gone and he wondered how long he’d been asleep and dreaming. With an annoyed huff, he turned over and tried to go back to sleep. This truly was going to be a miserable train ride.