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[CLICK]
[THERE IS A FAINT WHIRRING AND WHISTLING; THE AIR PICKS UP AND DRY LEAVES CLATTER ON WHAT WE PRESUME TO BE THE CONCRETE PAVEMENT. THE CLANKING SOUNDS OF FOOTPRINTS FADES IN.]
[SHUFFLING CAN BE HEARD AS THE ARCHIVIST HUDDLES IN HIS JACKET]
ARCHIVIST
[Soft, gradually increasing in loudness] Hel.. Hello? Is that- Is that you?
[A DIM, BARELY-THERE VOICE RESPONDS]
UNKNOWN
Hello, Archivist. Strange for you to call for me, I'm rarely ever sought after. What is it that you want? A statement?
ARCHIVIST
I-I'm sorry, is this…?
UNKOWN
Don't bother with names, I can barely hold on one for long enough before forgetting them.
ARCHIVIST
Right, right. So, so you're like… Michael in a way then?
UNKNOWN
That thing that calls itself Michael, The Distortion, it and I are nothing alike. Honestly, I'm quite offended that you'd even think so.
ARCHIVIST
There again with the titles: Archivist, The Distortion, do you have one too? Is-Is it like, what, a job title? Is Elias called The Head of The Magnus Institute? Do they all have one?
UNKNOWN
Not… Sure, actually. Probably only the really popular ones.
ARCHIVIST
But-But how can these things even be classified as popular? What even is the system? Is th-there, what, an entire underground network of you lot?
UNKNOWN
What, you want in?
ARCHIVIST
I'm just asking, what are the logistics of this? What are The Entities really? They feed on fear, but what of the Avatars? Are they, what, all interlinked? A-A, [he chuckles darkly] a hive?
UNKNOWN
How can one of The Eye know so little? I wonder, Archivist, does this tear you apart just as much as it tears me apart listening to your ramblings?
ARCHIVIST
Excuse me?
UNKNOWN
Do you ever stop asking questions, Archivist?
ARCHIVIST
W-Well, if someone could answer them, then maybe I wouldn't need to ask so many—
UNKNOWN
[Exasperated] Nevermind, I should've known. I've mingled with your lot enough to know that you could never stop. Don't know why I asked, really. Probably rubbed off on me.
ARCHIVIST
Your… Your lot? You mean The Institute? Were you once an employee? What's with all the avatars I run into being related to The Institute?
UNKNOWN
That's actually a good question. Probably Gertrude's fault. Hah, sacrifice for the greater good my arse, she probably made more of us than regular supernatural occurrences did. To answer your first question, you'll need my statement for that, no? Go on then, speak into that tinny tape recorder. Drag that statement out of me. You want that, right?
ARCHIVIST
[Quietly, to himself] I'm not sure I do…
[Clears throat] Statement of, uhh, John? Jane?
UNKNOWN
Isn't the gender neutral term, 'A Doe'? Couldn't you Know that?
ARCHIVIST
I- Listen, I don't even know— Whatever.
Statement of a Doe, regarding… Identity. Statement recorded directly from subject, April twenty-fourth, twenty-seventeen. Statement begins.
UNKNOWN
I-I know I goaded you into actually doing it—but, but I never—
[They shakily exhale]
Right, I should probably start from the beginning. I can't really recall childhood, I can't recall much of anything. I remember the move, the change that came from living in a completely different country, staying in one place for consecutive years when you've gotten so used to the security that came from moving homes constantly probably wasn't a good idea. I remember the fear I felt, the hatred. I couldn't act right, could barely speak the language and I hated it. I hated the people I was surrounded by, how they behaved so differently. So I decided that if I couldn't engage without their hidden laughter and snarls, then I wouldn't engage at all.
I was hidden away from view, I barely spoke a word if I had to. I found myself yearning for the rain and fog, the cool weather that came with London. Kurdistan was so suffocatingly hot and yet I still buried myself in a winter jacket every day, remind myself of where I once was.
I think, once I grew old enough, I travelled back here as soon as I could. I remember my mother chastising me, laughing at the thought of me having the ability to live alone. I… don't think I was very independent. Forgetfulness plagued me even back then. Some things never change, I guess, and honestly, she was right.
I believe I was down on my luck, stressed myself too much with the multiple art and chemistry classes back in uni, it's a wonder that I managed to get my degree. The university itself was a shithole and the job market here was as bad as it always was, I believe, so obviously I got into the last research facility I would've ever wanted to get employed in. The Magnus Institute. There has to be some science in the paranormal, right?
I worked in Artefact Storage, before I forced James to send me to Library. Thought I'd seen it all, then. I was sick of the job, hated the feeling that I wasn't ever fully alone. Wanted out. So, you can imagine my disdain that as I was typing out my resignation form, James called me up to his office. For a promotion.
Michael had been taken then, I… I'm trying to recall when exactly, but… even with the Compulsion doing all the work, I can't really… [They trail off] Whatever, it's not that important. I was a replacement for whatever happened to Michael, one more assistant. Eventually, I found out what they had planned for me and it shook me to my core. I was purely fodder, I held no weight in their gaze and I didn't- I didn't want to-
[They rant, gradually increasing in speed and desperation] I-I.. I, I went away, I went back to the shitty flat that I couldn't afford and I wasted away. I remember the black mold I pestered my landlord about, the one that spread and spread across my ceiling down to the walls and I recall the same black mold that infested one of my old childhood flats and the black mold that infested my old childhood home back in Hawler and-and I recall the stink and rot, and the smells and the dried sweat caked on my acne ridden back and face, and I recall the grease in my long long hair and the grease between my brows. I remember-I remember the stench, the maggot-ridden food, the flies and the ants, those same ants that followed me back in Hawler, and I remember how those maggots ate away at the dead skin on my legs and on my face and on my back and in between my brows, and I remember the— The…
[They slow down again, their voice as soft as a whisper and the howling of the wind blends in with it] I-I remember how long it took me to die, how long it took for the wet fog to settle in deep into my bones, the cracking ache of my jaw and back. I remember it quite clearly, I think, the way I got up and ran the tap of my bathtub. I turned the red nob as far as it could go but the water was still freezing. That was fine, as long as I could wash the filth away I was fine. I'd be reborn. Made anew. Just-just wash it all, wash it all away… be remade and renewed and reborn. I was reborn.
I never returned to that place. The Institute, I mean. And when news of Gertrude's death came to me, I smiled for the first time in as long as I could remember.
I don't really know why I'm still here. I don't want others to experience that same type of Lonely, I don't want the world to be plunged into empty fog. I… I hate you, Archivist for making me… for… It's—whatever, it's fine. It's fine. It's what I asked for. I shouldn't blame you.
I should really be… fully gone by now. There must be an end to this rebirth. I don't know what's really keeping me going, just feel like I have to.
[SOME SILENCE]
ARCHIVIST
Is… Is that it?
UNKNOWN
[A deep inhale and exhale] Yeah… Yeah, go ahead. I'm done.
ARCHIVIST
Okay, okay then. Statement ends.
UNKNOWN
I hate you.
ARCHIVIST
I—I know, and I can't really blame you.
UNKNOWN
…It's alright. What were your questions, Archivist?
ARCHIVIST
Are you sure you're able to answer them now? I-I mean—after that statement, it just—
UNKNOWN
Stop dragging this out, Archivist, and apologise by getting this over with. Tell me what you need to know, then leave me alone.
ARCHIVIST
Right, right. Sorry. Um-I just, just… Who.. Who do you serve?
UNKNOWN
The One Alone, I know my experience suggests The Crawling Rot but… I believe the two of them are much closer than most of us believe.
ARCHIVIST
So… Is it like my 'god' then? The Eye?
UNKNOWN
[ Humming] Mmmh… Somewhat, I'd argue that The Lonely's antithesis is The Eye, but… See, Archivist, these things, these gods as you may call them… They're not truly separate beings, I don't believe. I imagine them as a mash of metaphysical thoughts and feelings, manifestations of our greatest fears. The only reason why we're able to differentiate them is that most of those fears are able to be grouped up into a singular word, even though they're more abstract than that. Tell me, Archivist, isn't there a difference between being alone in the dark and being watched in the dark? Why would they be classified into one being, and how could they be classified as one? How can any of these things be separated into different boundless entities, when they're all so deeply and intrinsically connected? No, no, trying to classify these things, make sense of them, it's hubris at its highest form.
ARCHIVIST
So… all this, the sorting system, the fourteen fears… It's all a, what, sham? Useless?
UNKNOWN
There's use in classifying these things, obviously, there is. Helps us decide where we belong in the group. I just wanted to point out how… pointless and stupid it is. Doesn't make much sense once you give it a modicum of thought.
ARCHIVIST
I-I see…
UNKNOWN
Is that all then? Can you go now?
ARCHIVIST
Well—I do… have a few more questions but—
UNKNOWN
I know I've been very passive, Archivist, but don't take my mercy as a sign of an inability to make the world forget who you were.
ARCHIVIST
Under-Understood. Um. Do you… Have anyone else that can answer my questions?
UNKNOWN
[Sighs] I suppose I can direct you to Michael—not that Michael. Mike Crew. You might've heard of him in your statements. Here, I'll write the address down for you.
[THERE IS A RUSTLING OF PAPER]
[A PEN UNCAPS AND THERE'S SCRIBBLING, PRESUMABLY OF THE ADDRESS]
[THEY HAND THE PAPER OVER TO THE ARCHIVIST]
ARCHIVIST
Yes… Yes, I believe I have… Thank you, [He hesitates] Doe. You've been very helpful in figuring this all out.
UNKNOWN
Wish I could say the same, Archivist.
ARCHIVIST
Right.
[THE WIND PICKS UP AGAIN, THE WHOOSHING SOUND IS ALL THE TAPE RECORDER CAN PICK UP BEFORE IT FINALLY FADES TO A DIM HOWL.]
ARCHIVIST
[Sighs] Right…
[CLICK]