Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

(Tape recorder clicks on. Archivist clears their throat.) 

Ar: Right, statement, plea- O-oh, wait. Sorry, name first. Statement of-

Evan: Evan.

Ar: Ah, full names please. We need them for a more accurate curation process and for follow-up research.

Evan: (Sighs heavily. Sound of fabric as he shifts in his chair.) Evander G. Studgens…

Ar: Right, regarding, uh… (Papers flipping) a-am I reading this right? Time spent outside of… existence? At the Tesco on Dean Street in Soho. Correct?

Evan: Seven years.

Ar: (Pause while they blink in astonishment) C-come again?

Evan: It was seven years spent, just… not existing. Impossible to describe, really. Especially to someone whose job it is to be skeptical about this sort of thing. I mean, what can I say to convince you?

Ar: I-i mean- (Clears throat) that's what you're here for, right? To convince me?

Evan: You know, I remember exactly the day it started. When I stopped existing. Or… maybe it's more accurate to say that everyone else stopped being people. It was my eighteenth birthday.

Ar: (sortly to self) Oh, alright. Statement begins, I guess.

Evan: I was getting things ready for college. I had a job, at the Tesco, obviously. Planned to save up and have some spending money for school. I wanted to be an audio designer. Maybe produce for musicians, rappers or maybe blues. I love that stuff. The American music scene pioneered so many genres, but I still got respect for our own artists. Like Mumford and Sons, but they're folk rock technically so I guess I'm a little inspired by some of everything.

(Evan laughs shortly.) You gotta take that one to your grave, mate. I can't have my friends… (He trails off.)

Evan (continued): Anyway. My parents got me a going away present. Just something small to say they supported me. They were a sleek pair of grey headphones with this shiny, silver trim. Real nice specs, too. They feel great, the sound quality is crisp, and the outside noise dampening is insane. You slip these on and play anything and the world just melts away.

I wanted to try them out as soon as I could. I ran to my room and damn near slammed my door. I was so excited. Played a new up and coming artist I'd been keeping my eye on. Got their mixtape bumping and the sound was so clean. I swear I can still hear it now if I just stop and listen…

(Evan runs his hand over the headphones around his neck before shaking his head.)

Evan (continued): I lost track of time. I must have… it was dark when I took the headphones off. I just got ready for bed like normal. Took a shower, went to sleep. When I woke up nobody was home. Not my mom or dad or my younger sister Lizzi- sorry, Elizabeth M. Studgens.

Ar: Yeah, alright. Please continue. No need for the snark about our organization system…

Evan: Yeah, so I'm about to look around for my family when I see the time. I think, damn I must have slept in. Gonna be late for work. So I start running down to the store. My new headphones are wireless so they were great for the commute. Now that I think about it… it definitely started there. The whole way there, nobody was outside. Lights were off in stores, no customers anywhere, not even any cars or buses. I didn't even think…

When I got in nobody was there. I just thank my luck for not running into my manager. Always hated getting chewed out for being late or screwing something up. The manager was a self-important prick stuck in a deadend clutching whatever power his position afforded him. I knew it, he knew it, everyone there knew it. Didn't matter to him, he just liked to lord over people.

It didn't hit me until I started to get into the aisles, really. They just stretched on. I could get to the ends of them, sure, but each aisle took at least fifteen minutes to walk end to end. There always seemed to be palettes of goods in each aisle so I just… worked. I stocked shelves, put up topstock and filled up backstock. And, oh god the back room… that place was like a nightmare! The shelves went up to a ceiling I couldn't see and there was no end to how far they went left and right. There was so much… I was scared to even touch anything back there. Everything was stacked on each other so precariously. Every towering pile or cans and boxes teetered back and forth. I just left back to the aisles. I couldn't wrap my head around any of it!

Then the customers started coming. That's all I could call them. They wore approximate human clothing and had a vague human shape… (Evan trails off as he shakes his head.) I- I'm sorry, I wish I could describe it better but that's really how it felt! Like they were just affecting humanity! Like, look, okay.

Mate, do you have a pen or something? And some paper?

Ar: Oh! Uhh, yeah! Here. Use these. (Drawers open and close. Paper and a pen are set on the table in front of Evan.)

Evan: Right, look. (Sounds of scribbling.) So, they had hair but it was only ever half styled. Comb overs that came apart at the tips, ponytails with hairs sticking out of the rubberband, bobs cut unevenly. A-and their clothes! Suits that were wrinkled or shiny to the point of looking plastic, discolored and splotchy dresses, oh! The worst one I saw was a child whose shirt and jeans were one piece. Not stitched together, like joined so seamlessly that you could see exactly where the shirt stopped and the jeans started.

But none of them had any faces. They just looked… like, on television. The news, or interviews, where someone doesn't consent to their face being used? Like that! Their faces just weren't allowed to be seen. They looked all smudged out, but it was real. Like the features melted off or were just really poorly wiped clean.

They…walked up to me. Me specifically. They would shop, sure. I'd watch them pick things up and put them in carts, look at prices and pretend to balk, but most of the time they would seek me out. Sometimes there would only be one. Others it would be a husband and wife and their kids. Never more than one family or group at a time, though. Never more than one request.

They'd… well, I say request, but it's not like they could talk. They would just walk up to me o-or wave me down. It was like I was compelled to sit there or greet them and just listen. I couldn't walk away until they were… done. They would gesture slowly but they couldn't talk. They'd just… expel air. They didn't have mouths, much less vocal chords or lungs, so I don't know how they did it, but they did! These long, ragged drawn out breaths like… like a person who was out of breath trying to force more air out of their lungs. It went on too long, and when they were done I just… knew. I knew what they wanted from me, and I knew I couldn't do it.

Find something. Tell them the price of something. Get something from that hellish backroom wall. I couldn't do any of it. The tags were all wrong, or it was an item we didn't carry. And like hell was I going to try to fish out anything from the back room pillars! So, when they realized I couldn't answer their questions or give them what they needed, they… changed. A crack split their faces open, and then the skin would twist like a liquid slurry into that crack. I felt like they were sucking me in whenever it happened. All I could do was run from them. Eventually they'd tire out and walk away, muttering those exhaled breaths, like they'd gone off to go tell my manager. I'd never see the same one twice…

The first day was so long, but eventually the store closed. I was so tired. My feet ached from all the running, and there were cracks and bruises all over my skin from whenever they got mad and tried to swallow me up like my whole body was tearing at the seams or the blood in my body was trying to leap out.

I walked back to the break room, an endeavor that took me 30 minutes as I weaved through the aisles, and then… as I approached the front of the store… the dark of night suddenly flipped to day. It was as if I'd blinked! B-but I didn't! I saw it! It just changed from night to day, blindingly fast!

I didn't know how much time passed after that… I just tried to… work. The customers kept flowing in and out, in and out. I tried to work with them, plead them for mercy. They didn't want to hear it… none of my excuses, I couldn't reason with them, making suggestions did nothing. My only escape was running

And the headphones. The only time I would know peace was when I was playing music. I put the headphones on, turned the volume up, and got to work. Customers still came, but it was like they didn't see me. I could breathe, I could relax… I could sleep. It would have been fine if that was it, but I should have known I couldn't be that lucky.

The longer I wore these headphones, the larger the store became and the bigger the workload. Things started to fall off shelves while I worked and I swear one time I saw figures up top that hid when I looked. In all those seven years I never once saw what had been knocking things loose. But then by that point the shelves were so tall it could have been anything, really…

When I finally correlated the headphones with the size of the store each aisle was forty minutes across. I never even got to see the breakroom again. I just slept in the shelves sometimes when I needed it. Hid away from the customers. That made them angry though. I got faster through the years but so did they so the gap never widened. I ended up eating whatever stock we got, so that was nice at least. Always seemed to be plenty of fresh stuff coming in…

Couldn't let the customers see me eating, either. That'd really piss them off. They'd end up chasing me until closing time if they caught me eating or sleeping. It was actually something like that that led to me getting out of there.

At some point, I guess it was six months ago according to the date… I got caught by a larger customer. I was eating an apple as I rounded into an aisle. Careless on my part, but I just really stopped caring at some point. The terror I always felt had dulled, slowly but surely. As I bumped into that customer something inside me just… snapped. I knew what was going to happen. I saw the crack forming in it's face and before I knew it I just drew my fist back and… I punched it. It never occurred to me before then to just hit them. To fight back.

When my fist cracked against it and it crumpled to the floor I just… started cackling. It was so funny! This whole time I'd been so scared and then… nothing! All that fear, and for what!? I mounted that customer and beat and beat and beat his face in until I became aware of several voices around me calling out, crying, screaming, telling me to stop.

Those were the first voices, the first words, I'd heard in seven years from another, real person. I looked around and saw people, real people with real clothes and real faces, gathered around me. Watching as I beat some poor man's face to a bloody pulp. He didn't die, thankfully, but I was arrested. Six months I spent detained. When I got out I went back home to find it completely barren. My family was gone, with no sign they'd ever even lived there. But a man met me on its steps. He handed me a letter, and inside was the deed to the house. It's mine now. I guess. Whatever that means. I've checked online and it doesn't appear when searched, so, I guess I don't… pay property tax on it. So that's nice.

That's it. That's my story. Do with it what you will. I'm not sure how you'll find me afterward, but if you do find something out about what happened… Please, try to find me. I-I can't find my family, so, i-if you find anything… I want to know.

(Evan's chair screeches as he stands up.) Oh. (Evan removes the headphones and places them on the table.) You can have these. I shouldn't keep them. I don't know when I stopped listening to music, but the stuff doesn't sound like anything to me anymore. I almost forgot that I'd had them this whole time. You can keep them. Put them in a tungsten box and sink them for all I care.

Ar: Alright. Statement ends.

(Click on the tape recorder. Recording begins again.)

Ar: Archivist's notes. Any follow-up with Evan Studgens has proved impossible. The address given by Evan, as he stated himself, does not appear in any search engine. What's worse is that any instance of trying to even utter the address out loud has resulted in the speaker effectively forgetting what they were about to say entirely. If not for an offhand conversation with Tim it would have completely gone under my notice. Even his phone number answers to discontinued service.

As it stands I can confirm that Evan Studgens was an employee at the Tesco on Dean and was reported as a missing person one month after being hired, on the day of his birthday no less. Strangely enough, in the same way that I cannot find any record of the address, I also cannot find any record of the Studgens family existing at all. There are aunts, cousins, and uncles on either side of Evan's reported family, but the mother, father, and sister that Evan says he has simply do, not nor have they ever existed. Unless Evan comes in under his own power I fear that his concerns will go unanswered as we have no way of getting into contact with him again.

As a final note, the headphones have been safely stored in artefact storage. They were noted as having a… faint music emanating from the speakers. When I asked the staff on site about the music they'd heard, both of them reported hearing different music. Notably, they were each hearing their favorite songs. I've decided that Evan Studgen's idea of a tungsten box was not a bad idea at all.

End recording.

Chapter Text

Shelley: (open sobbing, sniffling.)

Ar: Take your time.

Shelley: (Loudly blows her nose, then raises her hands in defeat before letting them slap against the table.)

Ar: (Surprised.) Oh! U-uh-

Shelley: My boy's a good boy! I swear it, my son's a good boy, he's just- (Her voice cracks and trails off. Shelley tries desperately to find the right words.)

H-he's just misunderstood! Yes, that's it! He's got a very active imagination! Boys his age, they all… t-they all… (She chokes back another sob. Quietly, to herself.) God, I wish that were true…

Ar: I'm sorry Mrs. Brachus. I know this has all been a horrible time for you, but I can't offer any assistance without your story. Are you able to recall anything about this… (papers shift on the table.) ‘Mister Stitches’ that your son Nathan spoke of?

(Silence and the occasional soft sob.)

Shelley: Y-yes. I can try.

Ar: Very good. Now, Statement of Shelley Brachus about her son's imaginary friend-

Shelley: No, no. Not imaginary. He was very clear on that. And… and I believe him.

Ar: Right. Statement, please?

Shelley: (Heavy sigh.) R-right, well, I-i suppose I should start at… well, at the start. Nathan is such a brilliant child. He always has been, really! Ever since he was a babe he was always so bright. He could figure out any puzzle. For a while, my husband and I clapped and cooed as he put the cube block in the square hole and the circular block in the circle hole. He was so cute, then.

We were dumbfounded when we took him to his grandmother's and, in the two hours we'd spent there he'd managed to puzzle together one of her jigsaws! Mark and I, we were astonished! Dumbfounded. Nathan was only… what, four years old at the time? My mother was just ecstatic about it. She said that he would grow up very smart.

She was right! Nathan is a very logical boy. He loves puzzles still, started to read high level books very early on, and watches documentaries! We've started to say he's an old soul! (Shelley laughs heartily, then wearily sighs.)

I don't know exactly when Mr. Stitches started to be a part of Nathan's life exactly. He was so clear minded and educated and analytic we were just happy that he was letting his imagination free for a change! It gave him some strange tendencies, but…

Ah, right, I should explain. You see, around the time Nathan turned ten he started to watch a lot of videos about astrophysics. Theorems, news, experiments, and conferences. He became suddenly enamored with space and stars. Now, that's not that weird. A lot of kids want to be astronauts! B-but when we asked him what he loved so much about space he said the darkness. There was so much of it, it couldn't all be empty. There had to be substance to it.

Now, we didn't have any clue where to even begin to form a response to that. I mean, we just wanted to know what kind of toys or things to get him for his room, but you can't exactly get… space itself! We bought him glow in the dark star stickers to put up on the ceiling. When we looked in his room the next day, somehow… they all had stopped glowing. We went to take them down, but Nathan stopped us! He said they were perfect like that.

We didn't want to make him upset, and he said he liked them so we just… (She trails off.)

One evening. I called Nathan for dinner and he didn't respond. He was always so diligent and orderly. My boy is routine, he's not like to ignore me. So I called again and still no answer. Well, I marched right up there and knocked on the door. I heard shuffling and Nathan whispering to himself inside. I didn't hear what he said. When the door creaked open he looked a mess! Pen marks on his hands and his hair and glasses askew. I told him to go wash up right away and that dinner was ready! I couldn't be mad at him, he looked so frantic! So scared…

Later at the dinner table I had asked him what had him so… so spooked, and he said that Mr. Stitches was teaching him about space. Mark and I shared a look. We asked him who Mr. Stitches was, because that was the first we'd ever heard about him. At that Nathan stopped and got that wide eyed look again. He thought about it in silence for almost a minute. We learned by then that we don't interrupt Nathan when he's thinking so we gave him time. A minute later he looks up with a smile and says, “He's my friend, I think.”

Mr. Stitches became Nathan's second biggest obsession after space. He would tell us whether or not Mr. Stitches was in the room but never what he was doing or where he was. He'd show us these… rough sketches and diagrams of machines and give us these lengthy explanations about them, saying that he was working on them with Mr. Stitches help.

One time I came into his room with a snack. Cucumber sandwiches and chocolate milk, one of his favorites! Well, he was working away at his diagrams. He said it was the next blueprint they would need to refine for their big project. I looked over his shoulder. Couldn't make out a single bit of it at all. It just looked like a bunch of scribbles and chicken scratch. His handwriting was normally so neat for his schoolwork. He was being so messy that he'd gotten ink all over his wrists again! I went to grab his wrist and look at how bad his arm had gotten when I felt a… (Shelley gesticulates before grabbing her left wrist with her right hand.)

A hand, if you can believe it, grabbed me and wrenched my arm away. It didn't feel like it was very forceful, didn't… hurt, but it didn't feel like I could resist it! I shuddered at the time and my son just looked up at me with those wide eyes! O-or, maybe now that I think about it… he was looking over me. I tried to joke at the time that Mr. Stitches didn't want me touching him or his little drawings, but Nathan, he- (Shelley takes a moment to choke back another sob.)

He just looked at me and pursed his lips before returning to drawing. He thanked me for the sandwiches and I turned and left. I wrote it off as a muscle spasm, but then I looked and saw a deep scratch on my wrist! Here, look! (Shelley pulls down her right sleeve and holds out her wrist, revealing a now healed scar about four inches long and one inch wide.)

Ar: Oh, good lord! Were you alright!?

Shelley: (Shelley shakes her head frantically.) No but that's the thing! It didn't hurt at all! Still doesn't! The skin around the mark had been black and cold! It was right above the vein! I made sure never to touch Nathan again in his room, that's for sure…

(Shelley shakes her head. She gently places her hand on the table. It's trembling.) That wasn't it, though. If that was all I think we could have been fine! (Shelley takes a shuddering breath to steel herself.) Last Thursday was what did it. It was the final straw. Something needs to happen with Mr. Stitches.

Nathan was outside that afternoon. It was after school. He had finished his homework and stood below the tree in our yard reading. I was just happy he was outside. I would glance at him every now and then from the kitchen window. It felt… uneasy, seeing him look up at a person who wasn't there, pointing at specific lines, and nodding as though he had just received some brilliant clarification.

Then an older kid came along on a bike. He hopped off and I knew he meant trouble for my Nathan. He sauntered right up to my boy with a cruel look in his eye and I just knew I had to stop him. It wasn't… (Shelley sighs.)

I'm not a bad mother. I love Nathan and I respect his boundaries. I am firm, but I'm not overbearing or a helicopter. But when I ran out there I'll admit it wasn't to protect Nathan… I knew that if that boy started trouble with Nathan… I just knew something bad would happen.

Sure enough… As I took off my kitchen smock and slipped on my shoes, even as quick as I could manage… especially after the screaming started… I didn't see what happened. It stopped the moment I opened the door and stepped outside. There stood Nathan, standing up wide eyed in terror… or maybe just shock? The other boy was gone. Nowhere to be seen…

I ran right up to Nathan, asking him what Mr. Stitches had done. I just… knew it had to be him. I knew it. He just watched me as I approached, gawping. When I got under the shade of the tree I- (Shelley openly starts sobbing again.) I-i-i froze… The grass was soaked in this… foul smelling water. It felt thickly under my feet, but I couldn't even be bothered to care about that! Those shoes were ruined for good, stained with murk, and all I could do was look up and up and up into the deep shadows of the tree…

No sunlight cast through the leaves… The only form of light came in the two pinprick white spots that were set in the gaunt face of Mr. Stitches… he was easily over two meters tall. His skin was black and drawn tight over… well, I guess over a skeleton! He had to be standing with something after all! His limbs were so gangly and thin but his hands ended in these finely sharpened claws that were like butcher knives! I couldn't say anything… I just stared at Mr. Stitches… and he smiled back at me… and waved.

I passed out and apparently I had just woken back up yesterday. I came here as soon as I woke up and got some food and drink in me. Nathan apologized for what happened, and he said that so did Mr. Stitches… but I don't believe that one bit. 

There was a missing person's report filed for that boy, but they won't find him. I looked into those beady white eyes and… I-i heard that poor boy's screaming the entire time. I know he's not coming back.

(Beat)

So what are you going to do about Mr. Stitches?

Ar: W-well, we may ask to talk to your son Nathan, and then do some research regarding whom he's been in contact with. Maybe see if there is anyone who he has seen or spoken to during school hours, and-

Shelley: What? No, it's Mr. Stitches! There is no one else! You need to do something about that- that THING before it takes my son! That is what you DO, isn't it!? You're some paranormal organization that handles these things?

Ar: Not exactly, Mrs. Brachus. We are an archive first and foremost. We document these instances and try to find reasons that these things occur. Yes, we may try to see if there is a method for bringing about an end of the events in question, but my job is just to archive incidents!

Shelley: (Scoffs loudly. The chair scrapes as he stands up, gathering her purse and waving her finger at the archivist.) Oooh, this has been nothing but a waste! You're all charlatans here! Some institute you are, you don't do anything to help! I'll take care of this myself as I should have to begin with! You'll see!

Ar: Mrs. Brachus, wai- (The door slams shut. The archivist sighs.) Statement ends.

(Click on the tape recorder. Recording begins again.)

Ar: Archivist's notes. It has been one month since the recording of this statement. I apologize for my lateness on this follow-up, but… it seemed the most appropriate. Mrs. Shelley Brachus passed away less than two days after the initial statement was made. The cause of death was reportedly blunt force trauma after falling down the stairs. However, the coroner notes there were black marks along her throat and arms that seemed to be rotting skin. Mark Brachus was not at the house at the time. The only resident that was present was Nathan Brachus.

I arrived at the Brachus household on behalf of the Magnus Institute personally with my assistant Martin. Mark Brachus was… less than happy to see us. He said that his wife became manic after arriving home from the institute and that we filled her head with terrible thoughts and ideas that caused her death. He also said he had no intentions of feeding our sick need for information and that we can leave, but not in so kind of words.

Martin actually stepped forward and assured him that we had no intentions of forwarding our investigation with him. That we were simply there to offer our condolences after a respectful amount of time and space were afforded. Mark appeared to relax and sheepishly apologized to us for his outburst. He welcomed us inside and offered us coffee. 

We spoke of many things. Nathan does seem to be coming along. He seems to be about the same as Shelly Brachus described, though he kept to his room the entire time we were at the house. Apparently Mark hired a special tutor for him to help Nathan excel in more advanced classes recently. We asked for a name before we departed and Mark obliged us.

The name of the tutor is Harold Pryer. The name struck a chord with me. I could have sworn I saw the name before in a separate statement tying back to The People's Church of the Divine Host, but I would need to find it again to be certain. For now, all I can do is hope that Mark and Nathan are safe and don't intertwine themselves too deeply with the people's church.

End recording.

Chapter Text

Ar: Statement of Bradley Clauss regarding… (sighs.) The most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his life…

(Shuffling of papers. The chair squeaks as the archivist leans back in their chair.) In Geneva! France, huh? Makes sense.

Uhm, original statement given December 11th, 2023. Recording performed by Wesley Williams, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. Whew! Still get a rush when I say that! Ahem. Okay, right.

In my line of work you really get to see the world. Meetings all over the globe and plenty of time spent for oneself to enjoy the local cuisine as it were. Plenty of wonderful morsels to enjoy from Cairo to Rio and Amsterdam. I used to think the most gorgeous woman I ever saw was from Bermuda, but then I saw her.

What I do for work doesn't matter, not really. Never did now that I really think on it. Only thing that ever mattered was her. I was just going through the motions until I met her. Or maybe that's just what she wanted me to think?

I'm sorry, it's all been a blur since I came back. I haven't been able to focus. She's always on my mind now.

Sorry, right, I've got to focus. I met her in Geneva. Funnily enough I wasn't actually even out there on business. I was out there on holiday with a couple of mates. We were going to hit the skiing scene in the French Alps. Planned that trip for weeks, even paid for a rustic little cabin to stay at as well near the venue.

It was me, my friend Danny Rollins, Geoff Craig, and a guy we met through work. Foreign guy, funny as hell, he was American. I feel terrible about asking him to come with us now… don't think I can go back there ever again. His name was Matt Houston. I remember each of them like it was yesterday…

We'd rented out a nice little cabin, just two stories, indoor full coverage heating, a fireplace for added effect, built-in bar. You know, nothing too fancy.

So, we had just dropped in. Drove all the way out to the lifts and got kitted up when suddenly the most beautiful woman any of us had ever seen steps out of a car.

It was me and Matt who noticed her first. He hit me in the ribs and whistled and I could help laughing and, just— God, she was beautiful! I felt like I was back in Secondary, all giggling and slapping my mates! I mean, she was drop dea—

That is to say, she was impossibly beautiful. The most gorgeous and flawless tan skin, sleek black hair that caught the light perfectly, those sharp emerald eyes and full lips that sparkled like diamonds, that nose, narrow and dainty. Even her ears were so perfect peaking out from her winter cap…

But anyway, it was actually Danny who walked up to her. Smooth man he always was, chatted her up and got her to come along with us to the lodge. He sat with her of course, while the rest of us sat on a different lift watching them…

I think I heard Geoff… muttering something under his breath, too. I heard him say that… Danny was a lying snake of a man. A greasy, slimy, schemer and that she… didn't belong to him.

I looked at Matt, too, to see if he'd heard any of it, but before I could say anything his face stopped me. I'd never seen Matt look like that before. Stone cold, staring daggers into the back of Danny's head. I… didn't want to admit that I agreed with them, but mostly because who were they to decide the target of her desires, right?

Anyway, we rode the lift and went down a couple of times. It was great fun and all, but we just… Couldn't enjoy it properly. Not without making a show of ourselves in front of her. She was a fantastic skier, and each of us had just gone for the first time so we had to learn fast.

We were… fools, the lot of us lovesick fucking fools. Each of us performing more idiotic stunts than the last and paying the price. Up and down we went, each of us making our moves on her and—

And we hadn't even known her name yet! That's the strangest thing, she… she never even mentioned…

Geoff was the first. He figured it all out before the rest of us, the whole balancing and skiing thing. Showed off his skills to her and bragged to the rest of us. Called us all a bunch of incompetent donkeys and laughed away, catching up to the woman as he laughed. The rest of us were seething!

Down we went again, and this time it was Matt who found a tidy hill to jump off of. He did a flip and howled with laughter. He said that us ‘brits’ couldn't possibly compare to home grown American engineering, and that he's living proof of why we lost the war.

Oh, that sent Geoff down a spiral. We'd almost come to blows then and there, but we were making a scene and called it off. I mean, we were mates, weren't we?

Geoff got it the worst… he… really attacked the mountainside. Told us all to watch this, or maybe he was talking to her because he never once took his eyes away from her…

He tore down the designated path, even ahead of her. It was when we came to the first right bend that he went off course. Took a hard left through the treeline and broke the barrier to enter it. We slowed down, called out to him about how dangerous it was, but he ignored us…

Next thing we knew we heard a loud thud, a sharp, wet crunch, and Geoff screaming at the top of his lungs…

Matt, Danny, and I followed his trail carefully. We talked about retiring for the day back to the cabin. I tried to protest, I know I was being an arsehole, but I wanted to have my turn to show off… they just gave me the dirtiest looks.

Geoff had gone hoarse by the time we caught up to him. Matt and Danny moved to help her up. I was still slipping my gear off when I looked at her again… I could have sworn she was smiling.

I could be misremembering of course, I mean I was so furious that Geoff had stolen my thunder with this little injury, but she was so placid about it. If anything, her smile had only gotten wider when we finally found him dangling from a thick branch with his leg wrapped around it like a wet towel.

We dragged him back to the cabin, promising to contact the proper authorities, but… we never got the chance… I don't think we were going to even if we did. 

The entire walk to the cabin we were rife with making targeted statements about each others’ worst proclivities. Geoff's inability to score the big fish at work, or how Matt leans against everything in spite of chairs being present or how loud he was. Danny was shaking with rage when Geoff mentioned that Danny only uses the toolet seated or else he can't do the deed.

I thought it was all in good fun so I made a couple of digs myself. Took a couple, too, though I of course will not be telling you any of those. They're not important.

Well, no sooner than when we had arrived at the cabin did all hell break loose. The mounting infighting amongst us grew with each playful titter she gave and every eyelash flutter. She touched Matt on the shoulder and I swear I think he damn near climaxed on the spot!

The cabin was as nice as advertised. There was a flight of stairs leading to the bedrooms upstairs. A centralized living room with a fireplace that was also attached to the open concept kitchen behind it. It was meant for wood fire cooking or something. Under the stairs was a small hallway that led to the bathrooms. It was out of sight and out of mind, tucked away.

I kicked off my snow covered boots and flung off my coat. My gear lay in a heap just outside. I had to rush off to the lav so I left preparations to the other lads. Geoff was sat in a recliner by the fire, and she sat on the couch beside it. They were talking while Danny retreated to the kitchen and attached bar to make drinks. Matt started up the fireplace with some stored wood.

I had the door cracked so that I could watch and listen, talk back when spoken to. I could see them, but from my spot they all had their backs turned to me.

Geoff was entertaining the woman, and judging by her peals of laughter I'd say he was doing a damn good job of it, too. Danny rounded the fireplace with a handful of open beers held by their necks between his fingers, and a cocktail of some kind for her. He said something, then… something about Geoff, but… I couldn't make it out. Whatever it was must have been truly horrid. Matt opened his mouth wide, trying to mask his smile and huge eyes by feigning shock. The woman put a hand to her mouth, looked from Danny to Geoff, then cracked up laughing again. Like, a true belly laugh. It made the ones Geoff got out of her feel like fake schoolgirl tittering given out of pity it was that loud.

…Geoff was pale faced. Mortified. That's why he threw the first punch. He hopped up in spite of his broken leg and gave Danny a clean one right in the mouth. I hissed, figured I should hurry up and get out there to break things up. But when Danny wheeled back around and cracked him across the head with all four of the open beers. Three of them fell out of his grip and clattered noisily onto the floor. The fourth f them shattered on his cheek.

I remember hearing Geoff scream again, seeing a shock of blood behind his hand as it clapped over his eye, but then Danny was on top of him before I could see anything else. I yelled for Matt to do something, to STOP them!

But Matt, he… he had already grabbed the fire poker. I lost my voice when he brought it down on Danny's head. I'm sure he was unconscious after the first one, dead by the third, but Matt kept swinging almost twenty more times. Maybe he switched to Geoff after a point… it was hard to tell.

When he was done he didn't even sit to ruminate on the brutality of his actions. I don't think he even thought about it even once before he turned to her and… knelt down. His eyes were wide and he didn't say a word. Just sat there staring at her in reverence.

She and walked around the massacre. When she turned back around she still wore that same smile as she looked down at Danny and Geoff's corpses. Her thin smile broke out into a toothy grin as she walked back to Matt. She stood behind him with the firelight masking her front, but I could still see her teeth.

She put her hands on Matt's shoulders and he went still as a statue. Then she told him to raise his hand. When he did she put something small and shiny in his hand. I couldn't see it at the time, but I know now it was a razer blade.

She called him a good boy and then boldly told him to slit his throat.

I wish I said something. I wish I'd screamed at him to stop. …Maybe if I had he'd have killed me next and nothing would have changed… I don't know. He did do it, though. He didn't even hesitate. Any ounce of difficulty came in the act of actually clutching the damn tiny strip of metal as he dragged it across his neck. He tore up his fingers just holding and slipping with the thing. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the fountain of red running down hus chest. The tears running down his face as he spluttered and coughed, utterly compelled to finish the job properly.

He sat there in that upright kneeling position even after his arms hung slack at his sides. I could hardly breathe. I think I'm still shaking… The way she was… toying with us, it all became so clear to me right then and there.

She finally looked up from Matt and straight at me. She was still smiling. I didn't waste any time when I saw her start moving for the bathroom door. I jumped up and climbed out of the bathroom's window. I circled around to the front of the cabin, jammed my feet into my skis, and I strapped them on as best as I could without my snow boots and I raced back to civilization.

Well, I say that, but I collapsed from the cold after a short time. Apparently some kindly German family had turned up on me while touring. They brought me to a hospital where I was treated for hypothermia and delusional psychosis. I gave the authorities my statement from the hospital about what happened. They found the bodies, found that I had left nothing to implicate me to their deaths, but there was no sign that that woman was ever there. There were no trails other than mine and my mates’. The case whatever there was has probably gone cold by now, I don't even want to think about it.

Even now, with everything I saw that night, the only thing that really stands out was how much her skin looked like polished bronze. So smooth and perfect. She was just so damn beautiful… I still see her smile in my dreams.

Statement ends.

Archivist's thoughts? Bradley's story about his friends' actions check out. The autopsy reports show that Geoff Craig and Danfo- D-danforth? I thought that was only a surname! Well, sorry, uh- Danforth Rollins suffered repeated blunt force trauma to their heads and torsos. One Matthew Houston was found with a bloody razor on the floor near his knees and having cut his throat. There are no reports of any other people at the scene of the event other than Bradley himself.

There is very little to go off of about who this mysterious woman could be. A woman with flawless bronze skin, dark hair, a thin nose, and green eyes. That gives us a description, but very little else to go off of, though… I could have sworn that I've seen this description pop up in a statement or two. Bradley has denied any further questioning, quit his job due to trauma, and has since moved. Any attempts made at further contact have been met with failure. I'll have to have some cross referencing done to track those statements down, but until then there's very little follow up to be done.