archivistseye - Tumblr blog

[archivistseye]

[there is a small vine curling out of a wall in the archives]

- @fractalingfern (it won't let me properly tag it for some reason which is homophobic)

👁️

[archivistseye]

ARCHIVIST

[THE ARCHIVIST HUMS IN CONCERN]

I see. Right. Um, excuse me? I'm afraid you'll have to leave, Mx. Work is work, y'know?

[THE ARCHIVIST TRIES AND FAILS TO PUT EXCITEMENT INTO HIS WORDS]

( Harper slams the door open, breathing heavily and clutching the file in their arms like a lifeline )

VESTER- Vester I-

( They freeze, eyes wide at the sight of Spectrum standing in the office. They don't move at all, staring at Spectrum with zoned-out eyes )

(@ladybug-bestie)

ARCHIVIST

OH! Harper, fuck- What? What's wrong?

[archivistseye]

ARCHIVIST

Why- What- What the fuck is going on. Harper, what's wrong? And you- What's your name, again?

Oh, hello Archivist...

-@spirallusions

ARCHVIST

What? Oh, hello. I didn't see you come in. Welcome to the Archives, this is my office. Have you come to make a statement?

[archivistseye]

( Harper slams the door open, breathing heavily and clutching the file in their arms like a lifeline )

VESTER- Vester I-

( They freeze, eyes wide at the sight of Spectrum standing in the office. They don't move at all, staring at Spectrum with zoned-out eyes )

(@ladybug-bestie)

ARCHIVIST

OH! Harper, fuck- What? What's wrong?

[archivistseye]

ARCHIVIST

Which one? Melody? Harper?

Oh, hello Archivist...

-@spirallusions

ARCHVIST

What? Oh, hello. I didn't see you come in. Welcome to the Archives, this is my office. Have you come to make a statement?

[archivistseye]

ARCHIVIST

Oh? Then you're here for research? I'm afraid you're in the wrong place, then. You ought to be looking for the library. This place is far too much of a mess to be of any use, unfortunately.

Oh, hello Archivist...

-@spirallusions

ARCHVIST

What? Oh, hello. I didn't see you come in. Welcome to the Archives, this is my office. Have you come to make a statement?

[archivistseye]

Oh, hello Archivist...

-@spirallusions

ARCHVIST

What? Oh, hello. I didn't see you come in. Welcome to the Archives, this is my office. Have you come to make a statement?

[archivistseye]

Uhh- Sure! Yeah- I've uhm-

( They take out a group of papers from the file )

Alright uh-

Statement of Rosery Olis, regarding- a mushroom patch? In her backyard.

I feel like I should give some backstory before I start. I just moved into my parents house after I divorced my now-ex husband. He can keep the house for all I care, but moving was harder than I expected.

My parents are quite old now; nearing their 80's. They couldn't help me move the boxes, and the sudden change was a shock to them. My twin sister, Angela, had to help while my younger brother, David, attended to my parents.

Apart from the annoying amount of sympathy and "I'm so sorry you had to move"'s from everyone, life wasn't so bad. After the shit show that was my marriage it was for sure an improvement.

My parents house is,, not in the best conditions. It's the same house that my father lived in since he was young, and has been in our family for generations.

A lot of my parent's renovation money is being spent on renovations and repairs for various pipes, supports and floors.

The one thing in good condition? The garden. My mother spends most of her time outside, attending to the plants. My father simply watches from the back porch.

Shortly after I moved in, she noticed a new addition to her garden that she had never seen before.

Next to the daisy's, was a small patch of mushrooms. We couldn't identify the type of mushroom, but it didn't bother anything so we left it untouched. My mother is a- firm believer that all plant life is special and should be preserved.

After a couple of weeks we noticed the patch had,, grown. Quite a lot. It completely overtook the daisy's and several other flowers around it.

My mother still didn't touch it. Thus is the way of nature, I suppose.

For the next little while I was very busy. I worked three jobs to help my parents out, so I wasn't home much; when I was at home it was usually sleeping.

Another month or so later and I realized I've been seeing my mother less and less, and then hardly at all.

I checked the whole house for her. Every single room, every single hallway, even the attic. The one place I didn't have access, as it required a key, was the basement.

My father was succumbing to his amnesia at this point, and had no idea where it was, so he wasn't any help.

It took me another week to get the lock open. It was rusted and jammed and it would. Not. Break. Off. There was something holding that doorknob on there, and I still to this day, have no explanation for what it was.

Once the lock was undone, I struggled for another day to get the door itself open. By that point I hadn't realized it, but my father wasn't anywhere to be seen, either.

I- I am not a fan of what I saw in the basement.

The mushrooms from the garden had somehow gotten inside the house, and covered every part of the room.

They were thick, twisting trunks covered in a sticky dew and sprouting smaller mushrooms from the tubes that carpeted the floor and climbed the walls.

In the middle of the room, impaled in multiple spots, eyes replaced by fungi, mouth dripping mold, was my mother.

I've never run faster in my life. I ran to the backyard.

The whole area was covered in the mushroom. My father, suffocated by them next to the porch.

The mushrooms were- incredibly,, flammable. My siblings don't believe my story, the police didn't believe my story, everyone thought I burnt the house down and killed my parents.

No trace of the mushrooms were left.

They couldn't prove me guilty in court for murder, but they did prove the arson. I did my time in prison, and then I came here, hoping one of you would listen to me.

I don't care if you can prove the mushroom part or not, I just need someone to look at me with sympathy again. I was a fool to resent it.

( They pause, eyelids fluttering and swaying slightly before staggering and catching themselves on the door frame of the Distortion's Door. Quickly righting themselves, they clear their throat )

That was,,, I didn't like that. I think Vester might have been- I think he was right. About- not reading the statements. My uhm- my head hurts I-

( They sway more as they back up, eyes clearly looking at anything but Spectrum )

I- I think I should uhm. I think I should go and- finish delivering these.

(@ladybug-bestie)

Don't you feel good? Something like you...

[archivistseye]

Oh! Yes, right. I'm Vester Moth! It's nice to meet you, Marte!

-@archivistseye

Sure, pleasure to meet you too, or however it goes.

[SOUND OF A CHAIR CREAKING AND A BOOK SLAMMING SHUT]

I'll be leaving now. See you around, Archivist.

[SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS FOLLOWED BY A HIGH PITCHED STATIC, FOLLOWED BY SILENCE]

[archivistseye]

[AWKWARD, AND UNCOMFORTABLE]

I'll uh. Leave you alone. My apologies, .... ?

[HE PAUSES IN AN ATTEMPT TO GET A NAME]

-@archivistseye

[AGITATED SIGH] Marte. Just call me Marte. Does this mean I can get your name, Archivist?

[archivistseye]

[HE SOUNDS DISAPPOINTED, AND AS THOUGH HE WASNT EXPECTING THE HOSTILITY]

Oh! Right, okay. Yeah. Um. So.

[PAUSE]

What are ya... reading?

-@archivistseye

A book I found in your library. There's no name on it but the story is interesting enough I guess.

Do you need anything or are you going to leave me be?

[archivistseye]

[DISTANT, AS THOUGH THE ARCHIVIST IS A BIT FAR AWAY]

Hey, um, excuse me?

[CLOSER, CLEARER]

Hey! Hi. I apologize for interrupting your reading, but I couldn't help but notice the libary is... incredibly cold. Freeze your arse off cold. Are you sure you're alright in here? We have other rooms that are warmer, I'm sure of it.

-@archivistseye

Oh so you're the new guy, eh? I can assure you, Archivist, I'm just fine. I've got a jacket and it ain't even that cold.

[VAGUE SOUND OF COLD PAPER]

[archivistseye]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Jonah Hare, regarding a boy they met at summer camp. Original statement submitted September 24th, 2012. Recording by Vester Moth, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Before we continue I must apologize for any inconsistencies or vagueness. You see, this all happened a long time ago, back when I was about fourteen or fifteen. I'm in my thirties now, and my memory was never my strongest point.

But, my statement. Right.

It was at a summer camp.

School had ended for break, and parents were trying to figure out ways to get rid of their kids for just a bit longer. My parents were no different.

So despite my protests they tossed me into a summer camp. It was six weeks long for kids of ages eight to sixteen. I had just had my birthday so I didn't want to hang out with anyone younger than me. I didn't want to hang out with anyone, actually.

I was never the most social child. I had a multitude of reasons, but it was mostly a cycle of deciding I wanted to be alone, to bullies targeting me because I was alone, to me deciding I wanted to be alone because I didn't trust people, to bullies targeting me.

During the first week I kept to myself. I stayed quiet, I spoke when spoken to, and participated in activities as little as possible.

As an alternative, I took to reading the many books on fungus they had in the main cabin. I had always had a bit of an interest in them, something about them being such large contributors to the decay part of the life cycle had me enamoured, so when I saw their large selection of books from local fungi to those even across the world? Well, I was ecstatic.

I spent hours going through the books, reading each page over and over. I loved it.

And I wasn't the only one. I forget his name. I believe it was Stanley or Stokely, perhaps even Sydney. It's not all that important, but what was important, is that he loved fungi just as much as I did.

After years of being alone I finally had a friend who loved what I loved. It was a feeling I'd never felt before.

We would spend all of our spare time talking about our favorite mushrooms and how fascinating each type was. It was some of the most fun I'd ever had.

One day, the camp counselors revealed to us that we would be going on a hike, and that we were to bring journals and write down, draw, and describe all the things we found interesting. It was only natural that the boy and I team up.

At the end of the hike, the kids had the choice to go back to camp, or spend some more time finding things in areas of our choosing. Most kids went back to camp, with only a few of us staying behind. We all decided to split up, save for the boy and I.

It was just the boy and I in the area of the forest we had chosen. We were supposed to be watched by a counselor, but she disappeared at one point and we didn't particularly care to look for her, too wrapped up in our search for fungus.

And fungus, we did find. Of all different shapes and sizes. We had so much fun identifying what mushroom was what, going mostly by our memory of the books we'd read pretty much dozens of times.

It was all smooth sailing, until the boy stumbled across something he didn't recognize. When he called me over, I prepared to identify it and one-up him, but when I looked at it, I was completely and utterly stumped.

It was a bright cyan, frilly and covered in bulbous orange spots. It was beautiful. And something I had never, ever seen before, book or reality.

We stared at it for a moment. My mind was going a mile a minute, debating on whether this may be a mushroom from a county or two over that somehow managed it's way here or if it was an unidentified species.

That thought thrilled me. The idea of finding something new was so incredibly exciting, especially when it was something fungal.

It was then I noticed that during my inner debate, the boy had started poking at the mushroom with his finger. He was tapping and poking at the large orange spots. It snapped at him, told him that he ought to stop. What if this was a mushroom no one had seem before? We must tell someone!

As I say this, he gives one final poke to the bulging spot, and it bursts.

Puss spews out of it, covering his hand in a vile liquid. Some even managed to land on his cheek. It reeked of a smell I would later discover was rot.

I bite back the bile rising in my throat, and tell him we should head back and get cleaned up. He says nothing, and merely nods.

I, fortunately, was far enough away from the mushroom when the spot burst that I didn't get any on me. I certainly felt as though it had.

The boy was... Odd. After that event. He woke me up that night. He asked me to come with him, to see our "secret mushroom." I said no, and that I was sleeping. I told him he should he asleep too. I couldn't quite tell in the dark, but I think his face may have scrunched up. He sighed, and told me he'd go back to bed.

I dont think he did.

He wasn't quite right the day afterwards. Or the day after that. Or the day after that one. He disappeared often. In the time between activities, it seemed no-one could find him. One night, I'd awoken from a puss-filled nightmare and glanced over to his bunk. It was empty.

I knew where he was going, but I didn't say anything. I mean, it wasn't harmful. He was just looking at a mushroom. I figured it would be fine. And it was! For a few days. He... He went missing after the sixth. He left after some camp activity, I don't remember what it was, and he just didn't come back.

I could've told a counselor where he was, should've told them where he was, instead of watching them run around trying to find him. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I felt like I'd be in trouble for not telling them sooner. Maybe I didn't want them to see the mushroom.

A week after he disappeared I thought it had been long enough. I would go out and find him and that damn mushroom he was obsessed with.

And I did.

I found him. He was sitting next to that cyan abomination. The fungus covered every inch of his arm, it crawling onto his chest and buried itself into where his heart were once located. There was even some on his cheek, right where that foul puss had gotten him.

Everything combined with the smell, a hundred times stronger now that it was a much, much larger mushroom, was too much, and I threw up.

He didn't spare much glance to the vomit. He simply smiled as he looked at me. He told me about how happy he was. How much he loved this revolting fungus and how much it loved him.

He spread his arms open, and his smile widened as he told me it loves me, too. He told me we could continue being friends if I joined him.

I turned, and I ran.

I never saw him again. The counselors had to call his parents. Camp continued on as normal, barely a dent in schedule.

I didn't say anything for the rest of camp. I didn't say anything for a long, long time.

And there we have it. My memory of what happened gets fuzzier and fuzzier each day, so I figured I'd give you my statement now before I forget too much. Thank you for your time.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

Interesting. Mushrooms, decay, love. What do they mean?

I wonder how much of this actually happened. It's not that I don't believe M. Hare, I simply can't help but notice their mentioning of their bad memory. But, due to the fact this statement didn't record digitally, I'm compelled to group it into the real statements.

M. Hare didn't give us much information to do research with. They did not tell us when or where this took place, and I found it very difficult to find anything

I really need some assistants.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

[archivistseye]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

[THE ARCHIVIST CLEARS HIS THROAT]

Hello? Test? Hello, hello?

[THERE IS A PAUSE]

Right. Well.

I am Vester Moth, current Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, an organization that researches and archives instances of the paranormal. I was promoted not long ago, after the quitting of the previous Head Archivist, Jonathan Sims.

I will be using these tapes as a means to, one, record statement that refuse to record digitally, and two, note down my own thoughts.

I'm looking forward to organizing these statements, as it appears Mr. Sims did not have the time to complete it all.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

tma oc roleplay sideblog! main is @wlttebane

interactions with @fog-enjoyer will be tagged as #fog

interactions with @adrenaline-hush will be tagged as #adrenaline

interactions with @spirallusions will be tagged as #kaleidoscope

interactions with @ladybug-bestie will be tagged as #ladybug

interactions with @fractalingfern will be tagged as #fractal