I’m not sure what to think anymore. I’m also especially not sure how to feel or. Or how to process my emotions. I-- cope? Not. Not really. As if I. As if I ever really had a true incentive how to in the first place. I just. 

I read statements. That is my job as the Archivist, and it’s not as if any of this is even new to me. I worked at the institute as a researcher for four years, and even then, after it all, its not until now am I starting to cope with this as the new reality. It’s easier, maybe. To look at it all, judge with eyes that have never truly befallen the tragedies. The atrocities that tear down thousands, of thousands of lives. You never truly know what you’re going through until you’re in their shoes. What. What I mean to say is that I think. I think I’m in their shoes. And I see now. 

Today I saw something that had shaken me quite literally. Someone I’d known fairly well, an angel depending on your... personal, definition. They turned into a wooden. 

[ Jon swallows, dryly. ] A wooden puppet, if you will. I’d never truly ever seen anything like it. It. To have the very core of your being taken away so... swiftly. The. This puppet master, infuriates me to no end, and here I am. Helpless. Forced to watch the show. I. Tried my very best to act normal, to support him in his... During, his transition through and back. 

I. I don’t know what to think I. 

Martin. Also confessed his feelings for me today. It. Was abrupt, for sure. I suppose I. Confessed my feelings back but, do I even truly? Like them the same way? Or am I being selfish? I don’t. Dream about them my dreams are ah-- well. 

And Kirk. One of my most trusted companions so far. He’s humbled me more than once, and even now. He still enjoys my presence enough to entertain me once more. I. Enjoy his as well but I. 

Kirk. Madison. S. Hell-- even Moh. For christs sake. Melanie? We. 

I’m going to die. Next week. Or at least-- well. I suppose I’ll be replaced then? They’ll never be none the wiser.  [ Jon’s voice gets louder, as he grits his teeth into the recorder. ] This. is. my. real. voice. Martin. Tim. Melanie. Hell-- Elias. If you find this. THIS. is my real voice. Not whatever-- whatever might replace me if I might fail. 

It’s with great regret that I make this recording. That I bring you all down with me that I. I rope you all in to this sick game of friendship for my own selfish gain. Martin I. I would’ve greatly liked to continue that conversation but I can’t. I just can’t let you get close. Melanie, I deeply regret some of the discourse we’ve had. Tim-- Hell. Kirk. You. I’ve never met anyone better or-- or- Madison. Without you I.

This is it then. Isn’t it. Hah. Here I am. Blabbering on. Preparing my last few words before I try to kill whatever replaced---. Of course I’d have nothing but regrets. I suppose it’s for the best.  I’m going to kill it. I just. I hope you all understand. 

This is Jonathan Sims. Head Archivist.... of the Magnus Institute. 

[Sigh.]

I think I’m. Going to go lay down now.”

Melanie rolls her eyes. "Now hold on, I want the shirt you promised first."

Jon sighs. "Don't you think there are more important matters to be discussed. A shirt can wait."

Melanie: "Maybe I need a little more incentive to share my story. I promise I won't take it and run. It's chilly in here is all."

Jon: He doesn't respond for a short period, and just stares at Melanie before he yields and reaches down into his shoulder bag and pulls out a "I :heart: NY" shirt. He places it on the table between them.  "Don't see why a t-shirt will do you any service, but here."

Melanie: "Thank you." Melanie slides the shirt to her side of the table and takes a pocketknife to one of the shoulders, creating a row of parallel slits. She slides the shirt over her head, wary of her jewelry. "It's a bout the layering, Jon."  Melanie takes a deep breath then and shifts her focus to the table.

"Right, so my statement. Well uh, don't know if you know, but Ghost Hunt has basically gone belly up, it's just me now. Everyone's left and I've been continuing with that research I told you about when I first came in here. Just without a team. But I've found out quite a lot."

Jon: Jon’s caught off guard by the pocket knife and it'd be a lie to say he didn't lean back in his seat. He watches as she cuts into it.  "I haven't particularly noticed, but. Tell me whats worth of value."

Melanie: "Yeah I figured as much. Well, the best bit of this story is about an abandoned train car in a recycling plant. I had been reading up on this specific car for a while now. Following several different stories online and in forums and such. This car's been in and out of several different recycling plant but never goes into the queue. There was something about it, there was just enough tangible evidence that it worth checking out. Well currently it's sitting in the biggest train graveyard in the UK, so off I went. I watched it a while, looking for the best way in away from cameras. I successfully made it in without detection and then I found it." Melanie looks off to the side as she trails off for a second and pauses.

Jon: "So you broke in. Was this at night?" He says this with little judgement.

Melanie: "Well yeah that's when most breaking and entering happens. So I got in and I found it. It was large and old, the green paint peeling off the sides and just as the forums said, it reeked of blood." Melanie makes a face before continuing. "It still had it's serial number,  which I thankfully had the thought to write down before everything went to shit." She has been bouncing her leg throughout and in quick moment pushes away from the table to pace in a short line. "I thought I saw people sitting in the train, it could have been my eyes playing tricks on me, seeing things in the shadows that weren't there, but the body I saw on the gurney was very real. It was inside the train, blood was streaming from it steadily towards me and onto the floor. It twitched, and writhed a every so often. I felt sick. And then out of nowhere there was this man, dressed in fatigues and he," She pauses. "And he ran over the body, I didn't even hear him coming and he just plunged this scalpel into this...this person over and over. The sound was horrid and he just kept going, I wasn't processing it I guess because I didn't even noticed when he ran at me."

She stops pacing to close her eyes and take a shuddering breath. "And that's the story of how I got stabbed. I told you the rest already. I don't what happened between the stabbing and being dragged away by security guards. But I spent the whole time before being whisked away in an ambulance ranting and ravin about what I saw. Needless to say no one believed me."

Jon: Jon pauses, and he stares at Melanie before looking down at the table. He then eyes the tape recorder. "I. See. While, it is possible that you could've stabbed yourself in a state of--- well, psychosis or other. I'd like more details before I'm resorted to that conclusion. "

He props one leg over the other.

"Did you look into the history of the car, or is there any other details you might've missed."

Martin: There is a gentle knock at the door. Very gentle. Tiny knock.

Melanie: "That I stabbed myself? Are you serious right now? Are you going to do this--- this thing every time?" Melanie huffs and drops into the chair. "And just so you know, I did do my research. The car was active in World War II and then it crashed in 1945, 5 dead and 14 wounded, and this is the one car that somehow survived the derailment. And the most detailed account I can find on the crash is by one William W, Hay. Which is what brings me here to the Institute, he features heavily in your library."

Jon: Jon stares at Melanie with a deadened expression as he answers the door. "You may enter."

Martin: Martin peeks his head in. He can smell the tension in the room like a dirty sock. He pushes the door open with his arm and holds up a plate of tea and biscuits. "Hello Melanie. Sorry, I meant to get here earlier for your tea."

Melanie: Some of the tension leaves Melanie, just a bit. "Hi Martin and thank you for the tea. No need to apologize, we're pretty much done here."

Jon: "We're far from done."

Martin: "Well, whether you're done or not, have some tea. Brought milk and sugar. And I brought these biscuits from home, I hope you like them. Just shortbreads with some chocolate chips, so no worries if you have chocolate allergies." Martin comes in and sets the tray down on the table, and, oh! He looks like he just remembered something. "I almost forget!" He pulls out the very glitzy, ugly magnet from New York he got her. It's a yellow taxi. It's bedazzled. "Here you are!"

Melanie: "We are going to be done pretty soon if you keep acting like a pompous ass. Anyway," Melanie takes some time to prepare the tea to her liking and is delighted with the magnet. "Oh, I love this, Martin. Thank you! It's terrible in the best way."

Jon: Jon frowns, and sounds somewhat irritable, and he doesn't look up at Martin for a moment. "So you want to continue your research on this William W. Hay. After getting stabbed. And for what reason. To go back and start all over?"

Martin: Martin quickly looks between them for a moment, kinda nervous. So he slowly dips out. And just. Uh. Waves to Melanie before scooching out the room.

Melanie: "Yes. I mean I could do without the stabbing bit. But I need to get to the bottom of this. I want to know why it happens. What causes is it. Don't act like you don't know what I mean, I heard the way they talk about you upstairs, you know. You're exactly the same. So don't you sit there and lecture me on how to curb my curiosity."

Martin: Martin is totally eavesdropping.

Jon: He reaches up to scratch his jaw. "I wouldn't go as far as comparing our situation as I did not get stabbed. " Jon pauses. Knowing he's gonna go to far. "Sasha can lead you to Sonya. If you want the damned book."

Melanie: "You--- ugh!" Melanie just sighs. "Yeah alright, whatever. I don't why I continue to bother talking to you. I don't know if this is some kind of game to you or if you get your kicks out of confusing people but it's a pretty shit thing to do. It's no wonder no one upstairs can stand you. But yeah I'll go, I'll leave you to keep sulking in your basement alone."

Melanie pauses to fiddle with the magnet for a moment.

"What happened to the other Sasha? I wanted to talk to her. You didn't drive her away did you?"

Jon: Jon's ABOUT to say something mean and stupid, but he pauses. "What do you mean. She brought you in."

Melanie: "Yeah, that was Sasha but I'm talking about the other one. The one I met in what? April? When I came here the first time. That one had glasses."

Jon: Jon shakes his head. "You're not getting me. That. Is the same Sasha."

Melanie: "I'm not trying to get you. You're the on who plays those games not me. The Sasha who led me down here is not the same woman I met before."

Jon: "No. I'm not playing a game. There's just sasha. We've never had more than one. The one who escorted you was sasha."

Melanie: "This isn't fucking funny anymore, Jon. There is absolutely no way that is the same woman from before. You can drop it now."

Jon: Jon sounds irritable at this point, and he clenches his jawn, standing up slowly. "There is--. You, can drop it, Melanie. Sasha has never changed. She's same as she was the first time you met her. We've never had two sashas. "

Melanie: "Oh my god. What is wrong with you? You know what, I'm not doing this emotional tug of war with you anymore, Jon." Melanie pushes back from the table grabbing a handful of biscuits and storms out slamming the door behind her.

Martin: Martin jumps when the door opens and takes a step back. Looking very guilty for listening in and being caught. He looks between the two of them and tries to call after her.

"I, uh, um, Melanie! Are you-- uhh. Do you need...?" He's having a hard time with words.

....................I don’t know whether it’s ownership of the thing that makes it write your fate or just reading it. Either way, I will keep it as long as it will let me. Until I reach an end that may be more gruesome, but is fundamentally no different than that which awaits us all.

Statement ends. 

Mr. Murray disappeared shortly after making this statement. As far as we can determine, it was a voluntary disappearance, as the lease on his flat was cancelled shortly beforehand, and he resigned from his post as an administrator with Birmingham City Council-----. 

[ There’s a faint knock, and the door creaks open. ]

Elias: “Jon.” Jon: “Hello, Elias.” Elias: “I’m here to talk about your little excursion to the States.” Jon: “Right. Well, before you start to badger, we were investigatin--” Elias: “Martin, investigates. It’s rare if at all for you to be investigating things as Head Archivist, Jon. Don’t get me started on going as far as overseas for something so-- frivolous.”

Jon, irritably: “Right then. Well, if we’re going to play it like that. I did not use the Institute’s money, I used my own. I also DO think that a vacation was in ord--”

Elias: “Jon. As head archivist, you make statements. You discredit, or credit them, and have them investigated by Tim and Martin. This is your job. You’re behind on your work, and to make up for it, I think you should stay overtime to correct your impractical mistake.”

Jon: “I.”

Elias: “If you so please.”

[ A pause. ]

Jon, whose voice softens: “I. Right. I’ll.  I’ll stay,  for a couple more hours. Spend the weekend on it. “

Elias: “Thank you. Now. No more senseless excursions. I’ll be sure to talk to Martin as well. And need I remind you that if I get another complaint from Tim, we’ll have to talk again. “ Jon: “I haven’t been to his since--.”

Elias: “I know. The first time. Regardless, if I do hear anymore foolishness from Tim, Sasha, and Martin, we’ll have to have another entirely different conversation. “

[ Jon’s jaw clenches. ]

Elias: “Right then. I’ll see you later. I expect to hear an update soon.”

[ The door creaks closed. ]

I feel as though no matter where I start. This statement will remain to be an amalgam of dubiety and disconcertment. Every time I think back on it I wonder how I even got away at all. If not for the tape recorder I wouldn’t have believed my very own eyes the next day. I haven’t slept since then, well-- not really. I. 

I just about convinced myself that I was fine. Four months, and I still haven’t truly elucidated the true diagrammatic nature of those tunnels. The only light down there is what you bring yourself, and I’ve learned to bring torches, food, water--- I’ve even gone as far as bringing a sleeping bag. Murphy’s Law. You prepare for anything that can go wrong, because it will go wrong. But I know, more than anything, I did not lock myself down there. I left it propped open, the same as I do every night.

Was it Elias? Or Tim, attempting to rid the Institute of another Archivist like Gertrude. Or maybe Martin. Sasha? Only Martin would have an inkling of me staying so late after work but does he know? Would he do that to me? Lock me down there?

Or was it Jane Prentiss. The ghost of her revolting and twisted husk, becoming anew through the thousands of worm carcasses down there. Something so... so absurd, so similar to the recurrent subject of death. Recent statements have suggested a transformation, or a step in evolution once you’ve crossed the line and accepted the reaper as your savior, like Kirkland Langstrom, Madison Lindquist, and Jennifer Walters. 

Is that thing that watched me. Like that? Did it die, and somehow transform. I can’t stop feeling those eyes. I mean I never have been able to truly stop. Not since I started excavating the tunnels, but the night of November 10th it was all I could feel. Maybe whatever was down there was the thing that locked me in, why? I’ll never know. 

In my attempts to calm myself I met someone. Someone by the name of S. Is that a joke? That something so powerful would demand that he only go by a single letter. Or does it mean something.... sinister, or stalwart. He probably takes me for a fool. I insulted him, unable to accept the nature of what he truly is. 

S told me he could teleport, and even now that I look back I almost, I almost laugh. It was incongruous, the way that he somehow made it into the Archives without detection. I checked the security cameras, and he was right, there was nothing. He said that he could also smell me, more importantly my fear. It makes me wonder about almost every other statement I’ve read. Can they all? Do I reek of it. How far away can you smell me? Is it distinct from the rest. And does it draw you in, like a predator to its prey. 

In all he helped me out of there. He pulled the hatch free and. If I described to you how I ended up in the garden you might as well lock me up. We were in my office, then we weren’t. I think what shocked me most was his. How perfect he was. Not a blemish or--- or imperfection in sight. He had silver long hair and bright green eyes. As brash as he was to begin with he was kind. I asked him what he was.

That I. I will make a second statement for. Prepare everything I have and interview him. Ask for evidence of some sort. Part of me wonders whether I should bring Martin into this, but something, or someone this powerful--. I’ll keep it to myself. For now. As for Kirkland, Jennifer, and Madison. I will also expand as I go.