16-fear-au

[16-fear-au]

Statement of Melanie King

Jonathan Sims: Melanie? Back again so soon? I thought you didn’t respect us as an organizat–

Melanie King slams an old N64 cartridge onto the table, one Jon has never seen before. She looks up and glares at him before sitting down.

Melanie: Just shut it and take my statement or whatever you do.

Jon looks at her concerned before clearing his throat.

Jon: Statement of Melanie King regarding…

Melanie: An– old game series..

Jon: …Regarding an Old Game Series, Statement taken directly from subject, September 13th, 2017. Recorded by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London, Please Begin.

Melanie takes a long sigh before beginning.

Melanie: Have you ever remembered something from your childhood and just– couldn’t get it out of your head no matter how hard you try? I’ve had a few of those, like a kids show with a fog that eats people who use technology or some big dysfunctional sitcom, but there's one in particular that has been on my mind for a while, Primordial. It’s some old RPG that has a very small cult following like– probably only 10-20 members. It was not a big game.

I remember in that small community it was absolutely praised for its soundtrack specifically, something about it made it sound ethereal to them. It was never anything special to me. I spent about a year searching for it and this week I finally found it. Was a few.. Hundred… dollars… but it was worth it! I finally found this game from my childhood and as soon as I got my hands on it I dusted off my N64 and plugged it in.

As soon as I saw the title screen slide onto screen I felt a wave of nostalgia and relief and I started playing. It’s the normal RPG format, some random kid is chosen to slay a big evil and save the world, you know the deal. The thing that was supposed to make this different was everything was based around music, all the attacks, heals, all that stuff, even the big bad. They called it the Everlasting Chorus, someone trying to curse the world to make them sing forever.

What– made me come here about it is… they weren’t lying about the soundtrack, it sounds beautiful… too beautiful. It feels– unreal they didn’t have the technology to make something like this back in the 90s. And the more I went on into the game and started paying attention to the lyrics, the more personal it got. It started bringing up things from my life, it was small things it could have just been coincidence but– I don't know it just felt intentional somehow.

The game also started getting really dark, stuff that very much shouldn’t have been in a kids game, the Enemies started looking more and more inhuman and some of them even looked gory. The lyrics for the songs started getting into really dark topics and when I finally made it to the final boss–

It felt unreal, like something that could never have been possible was staring right at me, the music felt like a cacophony of noises but even with it sounding horrid, it still felt enchanting. It felt like I was being pulled in, entranced. I felt trapped, unable to move as images of my life started flashing on the screen, images of me. I tried to get it or run or yell but I couldn’t. It landed on a single image, Sarah Baldwin. Text appeared on the screen that was talking to– me. It told me what I saw was real, and that it can show me more. It began to start typing something else out but one of my friends came in and snapped me out of it.

Apparently by that point I had been gone for 4 days, completely MIA. They wanted to come check in on me. When I looked at the game again it was at the end screen, I won. I told my friend I just got engulfed within an old childhood game and tried my best to convince them I was fine. They left soon after and I came right over here with the game. I don’t want it anymore, I don’t want to know what that was. This is something for your place not mine. Please just– take it, get it away from me.

Jon: …I get that this is an important situation and all but did you just tell me one of those “creepypastas” the kids are talking about? Melanie: Are you making fun of this??

Jon: No no, I’m sorry, that's not what I meant.

Melanie: If you won’t take this seriously then I’m out, I don’t care at this point just get that game away from me.

Melanie gets up and leaves, slamming the door. A knock comes from the door.

Jon: Hm? Come in!

Basira walks in holding a tape.

Basira: Hey, I was able to sneak another tape over to ya, found out anything so far? Jon: Not really… Hey, do you like old games? Basira: What do you mean? Jon: One of my statement givers left this game with us and– it doesn’t seem to actually be paranormal, just a delusion so I was wondering if you would want to take it.

Basira: Sure I guess, got nothing better to do. Thanks.

Jon: No problem. End Recording.

The tape clicks off.

[16-fear-au]

Statement Of Olivia Reynolds.

[Disclaimer, allusions to child harm and mental instability]

Regarding sounds of infants crying and whailing in her place of work.

Original statement guven June 3rd 2002

Recorded by Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant, Magnus Institute, London.

Statement Begins:

I need you to believe me, everyone else that Ive told has either called me crazy or paranoid but I swear on my whole life that a few days ago while I was doing my night shift I heard it, screaming, crying, whailing infants. I was working a double because one of the other nurses on staff that night fell ill and honestly the pediatric wing doesnt allow sick people to handle sick children, their immine systems not even developing and all, so I had to cover for her.

I agreed ofcourse, I needed some extra time, the money would do me some good, afterall it'd only be for a few days before she'd came back well and take care of her hours, I was a night person so I decided why not, then 2 days passed, then 3...then five, then a whole week, apperantly she had gotten a infection in her tonsils and had to get them removed, So I eneded up working more overtime, and by the time the second week rolled up I started hearing it...every time I passed by the nursery tears...soft tears and sniffles. Usually the nursery would be dead silent but no, not this time. I went inside quietly to check on the infants but they were all sleeping soundly, I swear you could've dropped a pin in that room and heard it, thats how silent it was. Now I suppose this is where you could assume I was starting to have these 'episodes' and say it was my lack of sleep, or overtime, it wasn't. I am a very strict person about my mental health, I eat healthy, sleep 6-9 hours when I'm at home and meditate, I am the least paranoid person ever.

Thats how I know what happened then was wrong. 2 or so days after that incident I was eating lunch in the cafeteria when suddenly I heard it: a shrieking of a child that startled me so unexpectedly I slid off my chair. Scrambling upwards I looked around as I steadied myself on the table, luke warm tea over my scrubs, with a shaking breath I kept looking, that whailing cry still there in my ears, just screaming for help in the tone of voice that felt like a child was badly wounded or broke a limb. People rushed to me and asked if I was okay, when I asked them if they also heard that cry they looked at me confused, some with worry some already with pity. They sat me down and told me I was overworking myself, asked if they could cover my shifts for me. I refused. Ive always been a stubborn woman.

In my state of fear that a child was harmed I got out of the cafeteria, not even stopping to change my scrubs. I scanned the halls, fellow nurses and doctors expressing their distress to me but I ignored them. They didnt hear the child, no one but me did and that was wrong. I started thinking this might have been a practical joke...before I passed the nursery...the door...was covered in small...stubby fingered handprints...red...dripping....handprints...

I should have ran away, I should have paged a doctor, I should have called someone with me...but...I...I didnt....I walked in, hands shaking, feet hitting the cold ground echoing my steps....once I entered the room I wanted to vomit...they was a child...standing there...looking at the other infants...his ears were...popped...as if someone screamed in them so hard the esrdrums ruptured and shot out right away. He had a violin in his hand, the strings were crimson and the clothes he wore were tattered remains of a suit...I tried calling out to him, to grab his shoulder gently but he turned at me, backing away, fear in his eyes and opened his mouth.

I didnt hear what he said...maybe he screamed...but thats when I was 'woken up' by the infants crying in their incubators...I was....suspended with pay and ordered to have therapy...I still hear the cries when I pass by closed doors...Im scared that child is there...ready to scream in my ears again...Im scared...I'll see a dead infant again...

Statement Ends.

[Deep breath] Jesus...Jon wasnt kidding...ahem

Miss Reynolds quit her job as a nurse and turned herself into a nursing home, being of 60 years of age currently she couldn't give a follow up statement, her nurses say she just sits there in her room sometimes staring at the door while its open and flinching anytime someone speaks to her. She refuses to wear a hesring aid because she says it'll let her be vulnerable to the violin child as she calls him.

The hospital were she works has records of her working there and records of her therapy sessions, I asked around if zi could get the recording or footnotes but I was denied because of the Hippa violations it would cause. Other than that...just a poor woman...traumatized by something. God knows what it was but...I'm telling Jon as soon as he returns.

Recording Ends.

[16-fear-au]

:0

Statement of Stephen Banks regarding a mysterious Choir found in an abandoned opera building.

Recorded By Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement Taken January 13th 1973.

Statement Begins:

I am not a very literate person, nor am I one for the arts but I am a man of my word. I work in construction and architecture, but I did not join this line of work to create; I joined it to destroy. I was not a very pleasant child in my youth, I did not enjoy playing and running around, I only enjoyed lumber work with my father before his passing.

My father taught me how to chop wood and ever since then I loved when he allowed me to hold his axe and cut apart smaller logs. I enjoyed breaking them apart, cutting them apart, then I grew up, helped him take down large great oaks, birch and the such. But as I grew up I yearned for more destruction, it made people around me hate me, I wouldn't appreciate gifts, I would tear apart my friends tree forts.

So this resulted in my study of demolition. I destroyed old buildings, cracked open walls, broke wooden doors, used TNT to blow up compacted concrete. My ears ringed with joy every time I broke everything.

Then recently I had this job: an old opera building, used to be popular a couple of decades ago, slowly losing its popularity to theater now a days. I drove up with my crew, picked up my sledgehammer and went inside to check its stability. I usually did that because I had this hobby of exploration as a kid.

I found essentially nothing of note but then I went into the main stage of the opera, it was the cleanest part so far, less debris you see, I was spelunking around a lot so I decided to sit down and take a breather. I cleared some dust off a seat near the stage and sat down, looking at the stage I wondered what kind of shows they played.

Then...then the humming started...it felt wrong, like a broken voice painfully struggling to belt out a gentle note. I tried getting up but I couldn't, my legs were numb and I couldn't move them. The humming changed to a soft tune, getting louder, more people joining the song, it hurt my ears, the glass shards on the floor cracked and broke as the noise grew louder. It scared me for a moment but then I saw some people in tattered suits and robes. I instantly thought this was a practical joke but it wasn't, I tried shouting up at them, telling them this place was meant to be demolished. But my voice was drowned out by the noise. They kept walking down the stage, some walking down the stage and treading around the ruble and the chairs, I lifted my head and saw that in the balconies had people in them too, some just staring, tapping their fingers on the broken varnished wood railing, despite the soft tapping it felt loud, my skin shook as they sang more, eventually my legs felt better and I picked up my hammer eventually escaping.

The moment I left the building I informed my crew and they informed our foreman, they hated the fact that our demolition would be delayed, the police investigated. I lost my hearing 3 days later, I can still hear the ringing...sometimes I turn around hearing a song behind me, but there's no one. I can even hear them here...they told me some details while writing....its so off tune...Goodbye.

Statement Ends:

Mr. Stephen died 10 years later of a heart attack. His ears were blown out and he couldn't be saved.

This statement has given me questions...I don't know yet, I need to investigate they're odd and i suspect there's more statements of this "choir" they don't sound familiar. I asked martin to find some information about this old building, it apparently was demolished and turned into a dance studio after being passed around for ownership.

Recording Ends.

[16-fear-au]

[16-fear-au]

Statement of Stephen Banks regarding a mysterious Choir found in an abandoned opera building.

Recorded By Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement Taken January 13th 1973.

Statement Begins:

I am not a very literate person, nor am I one for the arts but I am a man of my word. I work in construction and architecture, but I did not join this line of work to create; I joined it to destroy. I was not a very pleasant child in my youth, I did not enjoy playing and running around, I only enjoyed lumber work with my father before his passing.

My father taught me how to chop wood and ever since then I loved when he allowed me to hold his axe and cut apart smaller logs. I enjoyed breaking them apart, cutting them apart, then I grew up, helped him take down large great oaks, birch and the such. But as I grew up I yearned for more destruction, it made people around me hate me, I wouldn't appreciate gifts, I would tear apart my friends tree forts.

So this resulted in my study of demolition. I destroyed old buildings, cracked open walls, broke wooden doors, used TNT to blow up compacted concrete. My ears ringed with joy every time I broke everything.

Then recently I had this job: an old opera building, used to be popular a couple of decades ago, slowly losing its popularity to theater now a days. I drove up with my crew, picked up my sledgehammer and went inside to check its stability. I usually did that because I had this hobby of exploration as a kid.

I found essentially nothing of note but then I went into the main stage of the opera, it was the cleanest part so far, less debris you see, I was spelunking around a lot so I decided to sit down and take a breather. I cleared some dust off a seat near the stage and sat down, looking at the stage I wondered what kind of shows they played.

Then...then the humming started...it felt wrong, like a broken voice painfully struggling to belt out a gentle note. I tried getting up but I couldn't, my legs were numb and I couldn't move them. The humming changed to a soft tune, getting louder, more people joining the song, it hurt my ears, the glass shards on the floor cracked and broke as the noise grew louder. It scared me for a moment but then I saw some people in tattered suits and robes. I instantly thought this was a practical joke but it wasn't, I tried shouting up at them, telling them this place was meant to be demolished. But my voice was drowned out by the noise. They kept walking down the stage, some walking down the stage and treading around the ruble and the chairs, I lifted my head and saw that in the balconies had people in them too, some just staring, tapping their fingers on the broken varnished wood railing, despite the soft tapping it felt loud, my skin shook as they sang more, eventually my legs felt better and I picked up my hammer eventually escaping.

The moment I left the building I informed my crew and they informed our foreman, they hated the fact that our demolition would be delayed, the police investigated. I lost my hearing 3 days later, I can still hear the ringing...sometimes I turn around hearing a song behind me, but there's no one. I can even hear them here...they told me some details while writing....its so off tune...Goodbye.

Statement Ends:

Mr. Stephen died 10 years later of a heart attack. His ears were blown out and he couldn't be saved.

This statement has given me questions...I don't know yet, I need to investigate they're odd and i suspect there's more statements of this "choir" they don't sound familiar. I asked martin to find some information about this old building, it apparently was demolished and turned into a dance studio after being passed around for ownership.

Recording Ends.