Chapter Text
[The sound of a tape recorder clicks on. The following audio is accompanied by faint static crackling and whirring tape.]
“Test…Test…Test…1, 2, 3…
Right.
Ahem.
My name is Jonathan Sims. I work for the Magnus Institute, London, an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal.
The head of the Institute, Mr Elias Bouchard, has employed me to replace the previous Head Archivist, one Gertrude Robinson, who has recently passed away.
I have been working as a researcher at the Institute for four years now and am familiar with most of our more significant contracts and projects. Most reach dead ends, predictably enough, as incidents of the supernatural, such as they are - and I always emphasise there are very few genuine cases - tend to resist easy conclusions.
When an investigation has gone as far as it can, it is transferred to the Archives.
Now, the Institute was founded in 1818, which means that the Archive contains almost 200 years of case files at this point.
Combine that with the fact that most of the Institute prefers the ivory tower of pure academia to the complicated work of dealing with statements or recent experiences and you have the recipe for an impeccably organised library and an absolute mess of an archive.
This isn’t necessarily a problem – modern filing and indexing systems are a real wonder, and all it would need is a half-decent archivist to keep it in order. Gertrude Robinson was apparently not that archivist.
From where I am sitting, I can see thousands of files. Many spread loosely around the place, others crushed into unmarked boxes. A few have dates on them or helpful labels such as 86-91 G/H. Not only that, but most of these appear to be handwritten or produced on a typewriter with no accompanying digital or audio versions of any sort.
In fact, I believe the first computer to ever enter this room is the laptop that I brought in today.
More importantly, it seems as though little of the actual investigations have been stored in the Archives, so the only thing in most of the files are the statements themselves.
It is going to take me a long, long time to organise this mess. I’ve managed to secure the services of two researchers to assist me.
Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.
I plan to digitise the files as much as possible and record audio versions, though some will have to be on tape recorder as my attempts to get them on my laptop have met with... significant audio distortions.
Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have. I’ll try to present these in as succinct a fashion as I can at the end of each statement. I can, unfortunately, promise no order in regards to date or theme of the statements that are recorded, and can only apologise to any future researcher attempting to use these files for their own investigations.
That’s probably enough time spent making my excuses for the state of this place, and I suppose we have to begin somewhere.
Statement of Nathan Watts, regarding an encounter on Old Fishmarket Close, Edinburgh.”
[The whirring sound of the tape begins to grow louder and the static begins to build intensity.]
“Original statement given April 22nd 2012.”
[The static crackles more and more often, beginning to distort slightly.]
“Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.”
[The whirring sound increases to almost drown out the voice, static and distortion almost making it unintelligible.]
“Statement begins.”
[The sounds of the tape reaches a crescendo, peaking for a moment just as the last word is spoken before the roar of millions of spools of tape rewinding overtakes the audio.]
[The sound begins to recede enough to hear voices again.]
“--ck, what the fuck.”
“JON, Jon, Jon, c'mon Jon, look at me,”
“Boss? What're–, oh shit, uh. Guys?”
[There's the sound of a deep, staticky inhale before the tape distortions finally reach a volume similar to before the interruptions.]
[This voice is overlaid with a thicker layer of static.]
“M'tin, you ‘kay?”
[A staticky groan fills the air, almost overtaking the sounds of sobbing and unintelligible yelling.]
[Another voice begins to speak but the tape begins to distort once more before the sound of sparking and flame cuts off the audio.]