Items In The Magnus Institute's Archive Storage

A bright red slide whistle. When played for a few minutes, the whistle is able to summon nearby rats. The rats do not appear to be fully controlled by the whistle, rather, they are called by the sound and then do as they please once they arrive. Intern Caleb wanted to play the whistle in the alleyway next to the Institute. Intern Caleb was not allowed to summon more rats than necessary to the Institute. 

A joystick and plug, with the connecting wire missing between them. When somebody holds the plug, they can be controlled by the joystick. From what we can tell, when somebody holds the plug, they can be controlled by the joystick regardless of distance. The experience of being “piloted” by the joystick is almost unpleasant, akin to walking through a hallway so narrow that when the hallway turns you have no choice but to turn with it. 

It's absolutely okay to ask! Intern Damien uses both he/him and they/them.

An exceedingly old knife. Somehow, it has maintained an edge, despite appearing to be at least several hundred years old. The accompanying statement claims that the knife can only kills after stabbing a victim 23 times. We obviously couldn’t test this with a living subject, but we were able to acquire a test mannequin. The knife, when used to stab, doesn’t make a single mark in the victim until the 23rd wound is made. After that, every stab wound appears at once, resulting in near instant ruination of the mannequin’s torso. The mannequin didn’t seem very happy with this result.

A plain metal water bottle. When knocked over, the water bottle sends out a small shock wave that only impacts other water bottles. So far as we can tell, the shock wave has a radius of around two kilometres, based on the volume of the confused yelling after about an hour of testing the bottle’s capabilities. It will be placed in a special box so that it doesn’t cause any more chaos. 

An old viola and bow, both missing the strings. Each week, almost like clockwork, the viola appears to play itself. The tune is short and haunting, and brings with it a sense of dread that feels almost akin to eager glee. About thirty minutes after the first tune plays, the viola animates again, as if closing the curtains on a short stage play. In recent months, it has lain dormant. Today, it played the familiar tune again. We don’t know what that song heralds, but there is a sense of finality to it. The end has begun. 

A ball of pale lavender yarn. The yarn is quite possibly the softest thing in existence, and feels like a thousand angora rabbits combined their energies into one area of the universe. It’s a fibre artist’s dream; merely looking at it causes an intense need to create something with it. Once a project has started, however, it very quickly goes downhill. The yarn, though soft as everything, breaks any needle, hook, or loom on contact, with no apparent cause of the breakage other than it is simply broken now. Despite this, the need to use up the yarn only grows, which could escalate into the ruination of an entire collection of crochet hooks and knitting needles. The yarn remains intact through all of this. 

A dollhouse that looks like it could vaguely be something barely akin to the Institute. The house is painted a bright yellow, with doors and hallways of all shapes, colours, and sizes, both possible and impossible. Looking at it induces migraines after twenty seconds. Each time the observer’s eyes shift to focus on another point, the whole layout of the house has changed. We’ve decided that the house is either an entrance to the Spiral or a shockingly accurate map of the Spiral. It’s been covered up with thick fabric to ease the pain of existing anywhere near it. 

A pair of steampunk style night vision goggles. They appear to be activated by the wearer excitedly shouting “my character has darkvision!” as they walk into a darkened area. The goggles then work until the wearer exits the area in question. The effect can be negated by another person stating “the darkness is magical, you still can’t see.” 

A paper bag filled with pistachio shells. We thought it was simply a discarded snack bag somebody forgot to throw away, but closer inspection revealed that the shells within the bag have teeth. Each individual shell has several concentric rows of tiny, razor sharp teeth, and spindly legs emerging from the back. One of the shells was dropped onto a desk, where it proceeded to skitter at an alarming pace directly towards the nearest hand. They seem to hunger for fingertips. We can only hope that the bag is sealed enough, as the shells also appear to have an ability to mark their victims and have no need for sleep. 

A plastic pencil sharpener. When used, it creates intensely satisfying shavings that end up much longer than one would think possible. It also breaks the lead of the pencil in precisely the right place that the user only realizes it’s broken when they try to write with the pencil again and the lead point falls out of the pencil. The sharpener is nondescript enough that it is often mistaken for one of the actual sharpeners we keep on hand, resulting in many an enraged shout and lost pencils. However, we have collected the shaving spirals into a decorative bowl in the break room. Helen seems to like it. 

A plain wooden box. When opened, it contains ten of the most important things that the user has ever lost. This could be an item or a concept; the accompanying statement claimed that the box contained the statement giver’s “lost childhood hope.” The consequence of opening the box appears to be that, once closed, the items within are once again lost, and the box is permanently locked to that specific person. Additionally, if any physical items are removed from the box, they turn to mist the instant the box is closed again. 

A nondescript tin can of what we can only assume to be pasta. Despite our best efforts, the can manages to roll off of whatever shelf we put it on. It seems to know exactly where to roll to get to the exit, even if there’s multiple doors between it and the outside world. We’ve tried boxes, higher shelves, even holding it ourselves, to no avail. By now the can’s label has worn off completely, and it’s so dented it can hardly roll anyway. It remains relentless. We’re seriously considering throwing it into the Coffin to see if it can escape that, too. 

A jar of strange wax with what appears to be a homemade wick stuck in the middle. The jar is labeled in faded marker with the words “Michael’s Science Project: Earwax Candle”. We’re unsure how this Michael managed to acquire enough ear wax to make such a thing, but the effect is intimidating nonetheless. We don’t know what lighting the candle would do, but given the colouration of the wax and the scent it puts off while unlit, we don’t want to try. 

A pair of hula hoops, one orange and one blue. When placed on flat surfaces, the hoops open a portal that allows someone to walk from one hoop’s location to that of the other. They’ve been incredibly useful in getting from Artifact Storage to the break room and back, especially in the middle of the night. We did, of course, try placing one hoop on the ceiling and one hoop on the floor directly beneath it. The vertical loop was fun at first, but few of us actually enjoy falling at terminal velocity.

A fan-made replica of the One Ring from the Lord of the Rings films. When worn, the ring appears to work just as it does in the movies; the wearer disappears from sight and can move about without detection. However, unlike in the movies, the wearer can’t see anybody around them, even if they put the ring on in a room full of people. They appear to transport to another place entirely, where nobody can see or hear them. Prolonged exposure to the ring causes stints of forgetfulness, causing the wearer to forget they’re wearing the ring or that the ring needs to be removed. 

A binder full of world maps, each inked in tiny red dots. The maps are labeled with a year at the bottom, starting in 1900 and continuing to the present year. Each map has different concentrations of dots in different areas, which seem to correspond to areas of human habitation. A few of the maps have areas so covered in dots that the ink soaks through the page. Our most likely conclusion we’ve been able to come up with is that the maps are essentially graphs of human death; each dot corresponding to one person dying at some point in that year. Close observation of this year’s map revealed that the dots appear in real time.