MIKE

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

I want to say from the very beginning that I am not the sort of man who ends up in places like this. I’m a medical doctor, I believe in the scientific method, and I have seen enough as a practicing army surgeon in Afghanistan to know human beings are capable of horrors most can’t even imagine. But the thing about the scientific method, is sometimes it relies on us to believe what is in front of our eyes and sometimes it relies on us to take the facts that are presented to us no matter how insane they may seem. Current science may not be able to explain the facts as they are, and whilst I believe it will be able to explain these so called supernatural concepts one day in the future it can’t now. In fact places like this seem to be the only ones even bothering to investigate such occurrences. As to why I chose this place… well, it’s because I could go into the building under the guise of using the library so my partner wouldn’t know I’m here. It’s also because I don’t want to go to some ghost hunting YouTube channel or podcast that will use my story for cheap thrills. No, I wanted an actual archive to document it in hope someone, somewhere one day may actually be able to explain what’s happening. This seems to be something of an academic institution so… I’ll tell you what happened. Or has been happening, rather.

You may have heard of my partner - both in a romantic and employment sense - Sherlock Holmes the consulting detective. He works with Scotland Yard, or against them often, to solve crimes they can’t. He’s been in the press a few times but never in the spotlight, not yet anyway. He prefers it that way. And he originally employed me- his flatmate- as a medical professional, but how it progressed from there doesn’t matter. My romantic life isn’t important right now nor is it what you are interested in. The point is I’m often by his side when he solves lots of crimes. Generally speaking there’s a reasonable explanation for everything we encounter but for these there isn’t. There isn’t anything remotely rational at all.

So, Sherlock has what he calls a “nemesis”, I know how ludicrous that sounds, called James Moriarty. Actually, he also considers his brother his nemesis. So, he has nemeses? Anyway, not important. Moriarty and Sherlock consider themselves the antithesis to each other, they have something of an obsession that has been brewing for some time. Moriarty has a devoted sniper named Sebastian Moran, which is what actually triggers this story. Now, he’s a military man and I knew that from the second I saw his work. He has a precision that I’ve never seen before. It’s the sort of thing you can only real perfect in combat situations. And to be honest that’s apart of why I’m here- because I’ve seen fantastic shooters than can get their bullet incredibly on target first time and his abilities are way beyond that. The guy can predict how the shell will bounce and shatter. I’ve seen him take out about six people with one bullet before, but I didn’t think it was anything supernatural. Not until now. No, what’s strange is what happened since he took my blood.

It happened at the beginning of January, just after the new year. I was at home typing up my reports from the crime scene we were focused on at the time. A really grim case that I’d rather not talk too much about involving a restaurant owner and some missing kids. Anyway, there was a knock at the door and when I answered it here was a tall south Asian guy wearing a pair of dog tags, over a black t-shirt and a pair of combat trousers. He looked like a wannabe Rambo type but with the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen. I swore his pupils were vertical and slit-shaped like a cats. I can see them in my head now, and at the time I thought maybe they were contact lenses, a trick of the light, or some kind of medical condition like a coloboma or something. It’s not like I specialised in ophthalmology and could recognise one on sight.

Anyway, he barged his way in, started throwing his weight around. Some military types are like this. They think serving once means it’s in your blood, and since he was a superior officer to me that meant he was always going to be above me. He despised that I was embarrassed about my military service, I signed up quite young mostly to get through medical school since the military paid my tuition fees and gave me a substantial wage. It meant I could send money home whilst I trained and worked, otherwise it would have been living at home and getting a full time job.

I thought that it was strange Sebastian was so high ranking since he seemed younger but I then Sherlock told me Moran’s dad is the minister of defence. Spoiled brats usually get fast tracked. Anyway, he pushed me around a bit, I fought back which pissed him off. Eventually he got physical and well, look at me. I was an army doctor, and whilst I had to be fit and have high stamina back then I wasn’t up to the same level as the soldiers, and I’ve let myself go since. Anyway, that isn’t important, basically: he battered me. That’s all you need to know- but the next part is weird. So, I’m there with a broken nose, a concussion, as well as some other injuries but instead of leaving he crouched over me, and inhaled. His breath shaking like he was … Well, like he was high or getting off on it. He grabbed my nose between his thumb and forefinger. He put his index finger under my nostril so my blood dripped onto his own, then he put it in his mouth. He sucked the blood off and paused thoughtfully. He then took a vial from his pocket to get a bit more. It was bizarre it felt like he was milking my nose and collecting the proceeds. I looked up at him baffled but I didn’t have much strength or cognitive awareness in me to do anything else. I was concussed, so at the time I thought I was confused or that I’d imagined it… but I think that’s what’s caused this whole thing.

So, okay I know this sounds crazy but cats have been… Following me. I didn’t think anything of it at first. So when I walked out of our flat building there was a cat staring at me, sure it was a bit odd. I mean, I remember it because it stared so intensely and it followed me to work. It stayed outside the surgery all day until I set off back home. It was a beautiful tortoise shell that ran over and rubbed itself on my shins but ran away when I bent down to stroke it. It was odd but not worrying. It didn’t look like a stray, it had a shiny coat and was clearly well groomed and taken care of. The next day, it was gone but another cat had replaced it, this time a pure black cat with big green eyes - similar to Moran’s now that I think about it. It did the exact same thing and sat in the same places. I pointed it out to Sherlock at the time but laughed it off, saying maybe I picked up some catnip by accident. I remember because he stared at me a little alarmed and wide eyed at the time, and I didn’t understand why. I mean, my jokes aren’t that bad.

After a month of this happening, the cats sometimes repeating themselves but usually being different ones, something else happened. It was definitely a month to the day because I remember it being the first day of the month, no special reason I just remember getting into work to see the receptionist, Storm, changing over the calendar because as a strange coincidence the one they picked out was of birds. They’ve got a bit of a special interest in them and always tell me what the bird is and some facts about it. I remember the woodpecker in February and the nuthatch in March. The cats started getting braver, I suppose. Just after Storm told me about how the bird I had mistaken for a blue tit was a nuthatch and how they collect nuts like squirrels do, I got into my office to see the tabby that had followed me to work was sat on my windowsill staring at me.

Normally I’d just ignore it but I had patients in to see me today. I was on edge because of it and knew it would effect my focus. It didn’t help that Sherlock was concerned. I hoped he’d laugh it off and explain to me about feline behaviour and what causes cats to do this but no. He was worried. He’d even talked about us getting a dog to scare them away and had started sending me links to various rescues and dog breeders asking for my opinion. That’s actually how we ended up with this beautiful Irish setter named Acorn, he’s eight months old now, but that doesn’t matter. He does come into the story later, but no, back to the cat on the windowsill. I felt a little guilty but I got up and knocked on the glass expecting it to run, it didn’t even blink. It didn’t do anything. I tried again to the same response. I ended up closing my blinds and if my patients asked I said that there’s lots of passersby and it was mostly for privacy. They bought that. It was easier than getting up to open and close them every time I needed to examine someone I suppose. Except when I looked at the end of the day the cat was still there.

It happened again the next day, I never opened the blinds but I peaked through in the morning just to see. I suppose they can hear and smell me, maybe the blinds didn’t make much difference to them. Then on the third month- April’s bird was a Siskin Storm said, usually you only found them in the north of England but they came south for winter- I woke up to see Sherlock out of bed, in one of my t-shirts and a pair of satin bottoms having a staring match with a cat. The window was open- which was strange in itself as Sherlock never allowed me to open them. He specifically bought an obscenely expensive air conditioner and had it fitted so that we wouldn’t melt during the summer. Sat in the window sill has a tortoise shell cat I recognised from a couple of months before. Stood directly in front of it was Sherlock who had his shoulders hunched forward as he snarled and hissed at it, he was standing up as straight as he could all stretched and baring his teeth and the cat did the same in response. I watched the two of them hiss at each other. Sherlock mimicked a sort of pouncing motion which resulted in the cat leaping from the window sill and he slammed the window shut.

I asked him what that was about, he said cats tend to see humans as being more similar to them as opposed to different and that they react to our body language in the same way they would another cats. He had hoped that it would intimidate it into leaving which it had for now. He then mentioned Moran, and it wasn’t until then I realised this had started ever since I had gone back to work after the attack. We actually found Acorn that afternoon and moved him in a few days later, that does seem to have done some good. I can’t take him into the GP surgery, of course, but when Sherlock and I walk him in the morning we’ve found the cats tend to back away even if they still watched from further afield. And Storm loves coming to say hello to Acorn every morning and evening when he and Sherlock accompany me for the walk. I think the smell of the dog must have contaminated something, I don’t know what, but after a couple of weeks the cats have gotten less prevalent. They do follow me but they can’t follow my scent as well, they are less likely to be at my door or window. Sherlock thinks that the canine pheromones have clouded the blood Moran did. He is concerned that the bastard might comeback so he won’t let me out of his sight except for work when he walks me to the door there and back. That’s why I had to say I was just going to the library whilst Sherlock waits outside with Acorn. He did say the cats won’t go near this place, which… I don’t know, maybe that’s a good sign.

Except all this suggests Moran is controlling the feline population of London and possibly using my blood has gotten them to stalk me. And that’s- that’s insane, isn’t it? I don’t know if these creatures are going to mean me any harm. I don’t know how this is happening. I do not expect you to explain anything that’s going on. Sherlock keeps mentioning various vague things, about beings called the hunt and the eye or something or other. But hasn’t really explained what that is. I don’t know. Take it, anyway. I hope this helps someone in someway.

ARCHIVIST

Statement Ends.

Hm. Well, at least this time the Hunt came with cats instead of the police. Martin chose to do a lot of following up on this case which I thought was strange since he avoids any research to do with the Hunt, but it seems he’s become quite fond of Acorn the dog. As has Tim who has been accompanying him on what is definitely not a two man job. And is not actually what they’re paid for at all, but him and Tim have managed to get quite a lot of information from Doctor Watson and Mister Holmes at the very least. It seems that they are not the only ones who’ve noticed the cats. As has the landlady, the employees at the bank below their flat, and the receptionist Storm - who is also fascinated by spiders Martin gushed. This means we have at least seven witnesses. Melanie and Basira have actually also been very helpful regarding this Sebastian Moran. Melanie has encountered an issue with him before, when she was investigating an old crime scene for her podcast. She described his as “an arsehole who looks like he could rip you in two” and confirms he does have “really fucking weird” eyes that do resemble a cat’s. Basira had a lot of experience with the names Moriarty and Moran but nothing direct. Apparently, if a case or victim’s statement comes in with either name in it the police will not touch it. It will disappear, no one will even allow the victims to press charges, and whether they die or not fully depends on what they do next. They are ‘untouchable’ Basira says, and not just because of this ‘bullshit’ to use her exact terms. Doesn’t sound that different from the police then to me, honestly.

End of recording.