Chapter Text
April 17, 2016
It was another day in the Magnus Institute archives. Sasha had arrived at 8 o'clock on the dot, coffee clutched in one hand and her bag in the other. Martin was next, emerging from the room Jon had let him use after he'd had to flee Jane Prentiss. He smiled nervously at Sasha, his hair still wet from the on-site shower, his jumper slightly threadbare but clean. Tim rolled in at 8:59 as usual, whistling a jaunty tune.
“Morning all,” Tim declared as he pulled off his jacket to display his latest acquisition to the office. “Found this beauty in Oxfam for a couple of quid last week.” He preened. “Isn't it spectacular?”
Martin had been squinting at the latest batch of corrections Jon had scrawled on the report he'd finished the previous day. “It's certainly....bright,” he said tactfully.
Sasha smiled indulgently. “Pink hibiscus blooms against an orange and yellow sunset? Stoker, you've outdone yourself this time. I hope Elias didn't catch you on your way in?”
“Never,” said Tim. “Bitchard's got a meeting with a donor out in Clapham this morning so he won't be in 'til this afternoon. Rosie told me.”
Martin gave up trying to make out Jon's illegible scrawl. “Anyone ready for tea?” he enquired.
“Always are, Marto,” said Tim. He jerked his head towards Jon's office. “Is he in yet?”
Sasha turned back to her work. “Isn't he always?” she replied. “I don't think he even went home last night. Again. There was an unwashed mug in the break room this morning and I saw the remains of a microwave meal in the top of the bin.” She made a face. “I don't know how he does it.”
“I don't know why he does it,” said Tim, spinning his office chair around to his workstation and cracking his knuckles as he prepared to type. “God knows this place isn't going to get sorted out within our lifetimes, no matter how much Jon pulls all-nighters.”
“At least he doesn't expect us to do the same,” said Sasha.
Martin came back from the break room, two steaming mugs in each hand. “He's trying his best,” said Martin, softly. “He's got a difficult job.”
“Oh Martin,” said Tim with a sigh, “you've got to stop pining for the man.” He leaned over and took his mug gratefully. “You're too good for him.”
“It's true, Martin,” said Sasha, flicking an errant money spider off her desk tidy, “you could do so much better.”
“Now, if you'd met him while we were all in Research it might have been a different story,” said Tim. “Jon knew how to have fun back then, before he got the Head Archivist stick shoved up his arse.”
***
Tim managed to locate the phone numbers he'd been tasked to find within a few minutes. He really didn't want to make the calls yet though – he usually got a better response later in the day. He looked up at the ancient analogue clock above the archive's doorway which was running slow as usual. He grabbed his phone to check it actually was half past nine as the clock claimed. No, apparently it was coming up on quarter to ten. He drained his mug and stood, thinking he may as well get away from his screen while he could. “I'll rinse this out and head back to the 1800s stacks I was sorting yesterday,” he said. “If I'm not back by midday send out the search party.”
“Will do,” said Martin absently, staring hard at a particularly cryptic scribble written in red over his neatly typed report.
Sasha had a pen gripped between her teeth and a look of concentration on her face as she tapped over her keyboard at light speed. She grunted an acknowledgement.
Tim shrugged and headed to the dark recesses of the oldest part of the archives.
***
"It's looking very Pride-y back there today," said Tim, strolling into the assistants' office just before twelve o'clock. He was holding a very colourful file between his fingertips and wearing a pair of the disposable gloves they kept around for handling the more fragile documents.
Sasha was still busy working at her computer. “Pride-y?”
“Yeah, lots of weird rainbow paint splashed everywhere through the back archive rooms. I nearly got some on my new shirt. Bit early for Pride though isn't it?”
“Maybe the decorators are getting revenge for when you pranked them at the start of the month,” said Sasha.
Tim considered. “Could be. That was an epic April Fool's prank, but it's weird - it looks like a group of toddlers got hold of the paint supplies while high on a sugar bender. Jon's going to go spare when he sees, especially as it won't dry. Maybe it's oil based?” He waved the spattered file under Sasha's nose.
“Hey! Watch the drips!” She batted at his arm.
“Oops,” said Tim, snatching back the soggy cardboard. “All the ones in the back corner were like this. It's some weird ink, right?” A trickle of neon green liquid oozed onto Sasha's desk and started to spread.
Taking in the strange colours properly for the first time, Sasha glared. “What the hell is that?”
Tim looked nonplussed. “A file?”
“The paint, you idiot. You've got it everywhere!”
“Sorry, Sash.” He dropped the file onto his desk before realising the strange ink was slowly moving towards him, almost as if...
Tim dismissed the thought. This place was getting to him again. “Anyway,” he said, ignoring the growing mess on his desk, “Where is everyone?”
"I made Martin go out for his lunch. Jon's taking a statement."
"You got Martin to go outside?" Tim was impressed.
"Well he didn't want to go," said Sasha balling up a wad of tissues on top of the wet ink in a futile attempt to soak it up, "but I told him that he could at least go and sit in the institute gardens for a bit even if he's too nervous to leave the building proper." She made a face at the inky mess and went back to her typing.
"Good thinking," said Tim. "He might have to live here right now but he's going to get scurvy if he doesn't get some vitamin D soon."
***
Jonathon Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute sat back in his office chair. “Hmm. And you’re sure you weren’t… dreaming?”
Melanie King glared at the man opposite her. She snorted. “Are you serious?”
Jon arched an eyebrow. “I just have to check every possibility. Obviously working in your field, you must have quite a powerful imagination.”
Melanie threw up her hands and stood up from the cheap plastic chair, grabbing her bag from the scuffed floor and nearly squashing a spider hiding by the desk leg. “Great! Great! I should have known this was a complete waste of my time.”
“Probably,” said Jon, mildly. “The only corroborating evidence you have is so badly corrupted as to become almost unusable. But,” he continued, more conciliatory, “we will do what investigation we can.”
Melanie opened the door. “Well, thank you so much,” she said sarcastically. She headed out, the archivist still speaking into his stupid tape recorder.
“We’ll be in touch if we need anything else,” she heard him say as she closed the office door none too gently. He heard her yell at one of his assistants through the walls.
“Statement ends.” said Jon with a sigh as he pressed the stop button on the tape recorder.
***
"Rickets, not scurvy," said Sasha, without looking up from her screen. "Scurvy's lack of vitamin C; rickets is lack of vitamin D."
Before Tim could reply Jon's office door swung open. A furious looking woman came out and slammed the door behind her, Jon still speaking.
“Out of my way,” the visitor shouted, barging past Tim and heading towards the stairs. Tim and Sasha exchanged a knowing look; it wouldn't be the first time the head archivist had upset a statement-giver.
The woman strode to the rickety old staircase that led to the main part of the building, muttering angrily and not noticing Martin scrambling down the stairs in a panicked rush. They collided and the woman was sent sprawling onto the floor. Uncharacteristically, Martin paid her no heed. "Get back!" he shouted, his eyes full of panic. "There's something bad out there!"
"Worms?" asked Sasha.
Tim grabbed the fire extinguisher from under his desk. The weird ink on the file and Sasha's desk seemed to be spreading faster than ever, how strange. "We're ready, Marto."
"Not worms!" Martin was frantic. "Swirling colours! They're..." he flapped his arms in frustration, "blooming out of everything. They're eating people!"
Before anyone could say anything further the growing pool of colourful liquid on Sasha's desk finally reached her computer which suddenly emitted a loud burst of sparks and static. She yelped and jumped back from it.
Y'AI'NG'NGAH
YOG-SOTHOTH
The unearthly, guttering growl came from Sasha's machine.
"What the fuck is that?" whispered Tim.
H'EE--L'GEB
F'AI THRODOG
UAAAH
It was getting louder, now coming from all the assistants' computers.
Melanie struggled to her feet. “I don't know what stupid shit you people are into but I'm getting out of here.” She start climbing the stairs but only got up two before more of the ink appeared on the wooden tread. The spot grew, moving towards her foot.
Martin grabbed her arm and yanked her back into the room before she could fall. “Don't let it touch you,” he muttered. He raised his voice, “stay away from it! All of you!”
The static was rising, the unearthly chant building towards a crescendo...
OGTHROD AI'F
GEB'L--EE'H
YOG-SOTHOTH
'NGAH'NG AI'Y
ZHRO.
Jon came out of his office holding his tape recorder in one hand and his glasses in the other. "What on earth is going on out here?"
Before anyone could reply the room began to shake. The lights began to flicker. The walls of the archives began to glow. Bismuth swirls appeared around the cluttered office, colours that were false and bright and somehow very, very wrong.
Y'AI, Y'AI. Y'AI YOG-SOTHOTH
Everything went black.
Silent.
Jon whispered. "Martin, what have you done this time?"
And then the walls began to tear, cascading rainbows bursting all around them. Everyone screamed as a billion screaming squamous things swirled around them, oozing and clawing through the shattered tatters of their world.
Jon, Martin, Tim, Sasha and Melanie were dragged into the roiling nuclear chaos.
Reality shattered as the Bifrost swept through the Magnus Institute.
And the stars claimed them all.