#what is going on do we just have loads of people jumping in now tma is over

[slow-writer]

TMAGP (and TMA, indirectly) Spoilers and Thoughts...

You have been warned...

I wasn't part of the original TMA crowd back when it was first airing. I'd heard mutterings of it, but never really thought much about it. To be honest, I probably wasn't mentally ready for it back then. Instead, my younger sister started listening to it last year and then kept talking about it until something she said made me go, "Y'know what? Okay. I'm in."

I ended up bingeing through it during work this past October, and holy sh*t. I fell down the rabbit hole hard. (Maybe, in this case, it would be more akin to running face first down those coffin stairs? I digress.) Being so new to it when everyone else had already been swallowed up by the sky, it was cool to dig into the Wikis that had already been made, to see the links and foreshadowing.

But now, it's the beginning of TMAGP, and I actually get to listen the day they release, to jump on here, or reddit, or tiktok, or wherever to be a part of the theorizing AS IT HAPPENS. And boy oh boy, I'm happier than Simon Fairchild in the stratosphere.

Do I have a notebook to jot down my thoughts as I listen? Of course, I do. Do I have multiple tabs open, some with ARG info, some with TMA info, and yet more with references to alchemical symbols and practices? Duh. Have I started my own spreadsheet for it all? Well, if you knew about my Lego Dimensions spreadsheet.... nevermind. Yes, I have.

But nothing beats being able to talk (or type) about it with other fans, like my sister, or those faceless avatars (lol) of the interwebs. And man, has my brain been CHURNING.

First, let me get out of the way that I wasn't able to take part in the ARG as it was happening, and my goodness! I'm so happy there are other people out there like me who were able to sum up and load it up for the rest of us to learn about. No idea how much of it will be *necessary* to unlock all the secrets, but I'm the kind who loves to know trivia just cos. And the details I am learning definitely pull me deeper.

Second, I feel like in the beginning of TMA, there was barely anything for the listeners to dig through. One guy working on behalf of an organization, trying to dig through seemingly implausible and overly spooktastic first-hand statements dating back centuries that are in crazy disarray from the previous archivist, and he's laying on a hefty helping of "this is utter balderdash, complete poppycock, and absolute piffle" opinion. It was a slow burn, something that (as an American, and being exposed to so much more instant gratification in storytelling than necessary) UK storytellers seem to be experts in, and was even more expertly done in this case, since so many little things had to eventually build up without listeners automatically assuming what would happen next, without them getting bored.

But TMAGP is already so full of so much extra stuff, so many little things (even before it was released) that we may all get BURIED in the sheer amount of data we think is vital. We're not listening to tapes this time, we're definitely listening via internet-connected devices, like computers, mobile phones, and security cameras. So, while TMA had old tape recorders magically appearing (or were they being dragged by hordes of spiders?) and switching themselves on so they could hear all the random happenings within the archive, TMAGP is no longer reliant on such hand-wavery. Whatever/whoever is listening can do so from anywhere to anyone they want. That makes the world of TMAGP

SO MUCH BIGGER.

Third, I know not everyone who listens to these things is like me (or, let's face it: us--there are so many fans doing regular deep dives on here, we should have our own categorization on the wiki). There are bound to be listeners who just leave everything at face value and wait for the story to unfold itself organically, and when it's done, it's done. But even as an adolescent, when I got into something, I did my best to listen to, watch, or read everything I could find on that very niche thing. At least for a while. (Hello, undiagnosed ADHD!)

So, I watched/listened to a couple interviews and Q&As regarding the new show prior to release. And while both Alex and Jonny have been clear saying you don't have to have listened to TMA to enjoy TMAGP, I kind of think just saying that is leading us TMA fans in a very specific direction. And I think it's very intentional, and that a lot of fans either haven't heard about it yet, or are choosing to ignore it.

They say that TMAGP is tangentially related to TMA in that there will be familiar themes, but

it's taking place in a completely different universe from TMA;

time in TMA worked differently (especially during the Entity Torturepalooza in S5) towards the end, so dates of events there may not line up with dates or events in this universe; and

the main or overarching theme is different.

In TMA, the story was "what makes a monster a monster?" As in, is there a line one crosses that they can't return from? Is it a physical manifestation, like it alters their appearance? Is it an action they have to take? And does that action have to be done willingly, or can it be coerced? Does becoming the monster to protect someone else, or to achieve a greater good... does any of that matter?

In TMAGP, they've already said that the story will be "what makes a person a person?"

The implications of that sentence are many and mind-boggling.

I first thought it had something to do with the idea of the humane (not human): kindness, empathy, compassion. The ties that bind us together as people (like being fans of a little horror podcast from across the pond) could be part of this.

But, now that we have 5 episodes out, and a metaphorical army of lore-deep-divers digging through every word and sound effect and episode title, I think we can truly start to figure out where we're heading.

Artificial Intelligence.

It struck me as I was re-listening to the first episode this morning. (I really am trying to fill out my spreadsheet in a semi-logical manner and with as many pertinent details as possible, really. That's the main reason I was doing that this morning. At least, that's what I tell myself.) We are hearing all these happenings over web-connected devices (don't think I don't see you, Alex and Jonny, and your oh-so-hilarious punning!), the OIAR employees are working on a modified business-forward version of Windows NT 4.0 that precedes Windows 95 that has a name that we interpret as 'Freddy' (or Freddie, depending on where you are in the transcripts), one of the documents from the ARG was a spreadsheet called 'Klaus' (which IS the name of the former IT guy Gwen's asking about because she heard/saw young Lena arguing with him), and we have at least 3 text-to-speech "voices" that Alice has given names (Chester, Norris, and Augustus).

All of that was running through my brain, and then I heard this passage within the first few minutes of the episode:

LENA - Nonsense. Sam is the only one who has had any cake so far. GWEN - And that was only because you practically forced it down his throat. SAM - No, no, it was… nice. LENA - People like chocolate cake.

People like chocolate cake? She didn't even ask her employees (all 5 of them at that time) what flavor they'd prefer, or if they'd want something else? No. She just knows a fact that "people" like chocolate cake, so of course, her employees--who are people--would like chocolate cake.

Almost like a computer following a logic-based workflow, perhaps?

Lots of people have been trying to figure out who in the office is the Big Bad, and many are saying Gwen just because of her ambition and her last name (Bouchard), but I think her name is a red herring. Others are saying Alice knows more than she lets on (and so many are hating on her, and I will NOT ABIDE THE ALICE DYER SHADE because I love her and I would very probably hide bodies for her) but I agree that certain things she's said are a little sus, though they really could just be her personality. I really have known some women like her, and they are some of my favorite people. (Plus, the fact that we now know that she's the most tenured employee at the OIAR--save possibly Lena--does make the brain churn some more.)

But with this line about chocolate cake, and how she was unable to join them at the pub, and how we haven't had a scene with her outside of the OIAR office, it makes me think that Lena might just be part code.

[Let me also add this really quick: I've seen A LOT of people trying to make the current episodes fit into Smirke's 14 +Dekker's 1, but I don't think the Entities as we codified them are what we're dealing with in this universe. I think trying to link everything back to that show will be a lot of wasted thought, because as they said, this isn't a direct sequel. (Do I think it's actually Jon, Martin, and Jonah--yes, Jonah, not Jurgen--trapped in the computer system? A bit, but it won't shatter my appreciation if the voices are something else entirely.)

Plus, I've seen others saying that the statements we've heard, while creepy, aren't all necessarily to do with fear. Most of them are about desires and obsessions.

The woman who wanted so desperately to see her dead husband again that she'd get scammed over and over to possibly resurrect him;

the person who wanted to spelunk an 'unsolved' site to the point of crime;

the woman who wanted to finally feel comfortable in her skin to the point of disfiguring herself;

the man who wanted so badly to climb out of his assigned station and achieve fame that he'd regularly 'feed' his violin blood from other people;

and the man who wanted to feel the same terror he felt when watching scary movies with his dad when he was a kid to the point of chasing down 'borderline illegal films' and ignoring LITERALLY ALL the red flags to the end.

I think that theory is the closest to what we may actually encounter.]

I've seen others on reddit saying they think that this series will be about the race to create the philosopher's stone--the stone that creates the elixir of life and, essentially, immortality. I think it's a valid idea. But, what if it went further than that?

Because with all the alchemical hints dropping in the show's logo, the ARG, and the 3-category system to the statements (yes, I'm keeping track) that could make one think of the spirit, the mind, and the body in alchemy....

What if they're trying to create life from software?

What if these entities or desires or whatevers have been working through some ancient busted code, feeding off statements from "real" humans experiencing strong emotions, watching the employees that work with it every single night, so they can create something as close to a human as possible from just wires and 3 decades of unreadable code?

Oh lord... it just occurred to me that--due to this being a HORROR podcast--they might need to collect a skin suit for the Not Quite Human. Is that what happened to Klaus? Ick. And now I'm hoping I'm wrong.

[punk-lucifer]

.

[jothowrote]

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

(I wrote this unfinished TMA/Mechanisms crossover as a warm-up for Nano two and a half years ago and just found it again on an old hard drive - it’s set around season 2 TMA. I thought I’d let it see the light of day, since we live in interesting times and it hopefully might distract people for a time, like it did me.)

Faulty mechanism (warm-up)

The Jon that walked into work on Monday was not the same Jon that had been left working late in the archives on Friday night. Martin was pretty sure that anyone with eyes could see it – and perhaps eyes were not even necessary, what with the pungent aroma of tobacco and alcohol that hung around this ‘other’ Jon like a haze. Not to mention he was smiling.

Martin immediately suspected foul play. If you had read the kind of statements he had, then it wasn’t completely unusual for people to vanish and be replaced, although usually the changeling made a bit more effort to blend in.

The Monday morning had begun strangely anyway, as Martin had been surprised to find himself the first at work. Jon had become more or less of a permanent fixture at the archives, working so late and arriving so early that one could almost assume that he simply didn’t go home. The small cot bed remained untouched, however – Martin had checked. And so, on coming in to work and finding Jon’s office empty, Martin had decided to take advantage of that fact and hang around outside it, hoping to catch Jon before he mired himself in work and stage a sort-of intervention. He’d even tried to recruit Tim and Sasha to his cause as they both arrived at the institute for the morning. Sasha had said something about being too busy and slipped off – Tim had snorted and said some very rude things about Jon before vanishing into the tiny kitchenette for his morning coffee.

Not one to be deterred by something so insignificant as no back-up, Martin had squared his shoulders and continued to lurk outside Jon’s empty office. As the morning ticked by, and there was still no sign of Jon, he had grown steadily more anxious.

`He’s probably just having a breakdown at home,’ Tim said, on his way past with his third coffee of the morning. `Makes a nice change from him having it here. Just leave it – I’m not doing your work too.’

Martin decided to give it until lunch.

At one minute to twelve, the door by the stairs swung open wildly – startling Martin, who had been staring unfocused in the opposite direction at the lift doors in steadily decreasing expectation – and Jon sauntered through.

It was only `Jon’ in the loosest sense of the word. As Martin watched, the Jon-impersonator swaggered up the corridor with no limp to speak of, a bottle of something smelling strong as petrol sloshing in one hand. The other hand, Martin couldn’t help but notice, was hovering over a gun in a hip holster.

Martin was frozen in confusion and perhaps a little fear as the stranger-Jon walked right up to him and paused in front of the office door. When he made as if to open the door, Martin let out a small squeak of indignation. He was promptly engulfed in thick tobacco smoke.

Coughing, his eyes watering, Martin did nothing but watch as the stranger winked at him and went straight into the Head Archivist’s office, slamming the door behind him.

`You’re telling me that Jon’s been replaced by some kind of steampunk cowboy that looks exactly like him?’

Tim, on his fourth coffee, looked unimpressed.

`We’ve been attacked by flesh-eating worms, but this is where you draw the line?’

`Are you sure it isn’t actually Jon just having a midlife crisis?’

`It may have looked like Jon superficially, but apart from that he’s a completely different person.’

Tim squinted at Martin, and reached forward as though to feel his forehead.

`Are you feeling ok?’

Martin slapped his hand away irritably.

`I’m not hallucinating Jon dressed as a steampunk cowboy, that would be really weird.’

`And yet would explain so much. Are you sure it’s not just –‘

The door to the kitchenette slammed open and fake-Jon strolled in.

`Is that coffee I smell?’

He pushed past Tim and Tim’s gaping mouth and poured the rest of the pot into a mug. To Martin’s annoyance, it was his mug.

Fake-Jon swigged at the coffee – Tim’s thick black tar that Martin avoided – and sighed.

`Anything stronger? Only I’m out of whiskey.’

`Who the fuck are you?’ Tim said, finally getting over his shock as he watched the rest of his precious coffee quickly vanish down the stranger’s gullet. `You’re not Jon.’

`Well, I am Jon – Jonny d’Ville, to be exact.’

`You’re not our Jon,’ Martin said, his voice going embarrassingly squeaky again. Jonny d’Ville grinned, and it was a violent grin.

`Ah, sweet. Your Jon isn’t here at the moment – I’m afraid I’m what’s here instead.’

Elias, apparently disturbed by Tim’s indignant shouting, chose that moment to poke his head around the door to the tiny kitchen with a supremely disapproving expression.

`Don’t you all have work to do?’

Martin opened his mouth, but all he managed was another squeak. Tim, who had gone back to gawping, said nothing.

`Oh, and by the way, Jon – you really need to start being a little more considerate with the people who come in to give their statements. I’ve been getting more complaints.’

Then Elias paused, and looked Jonny up and down.

`And is that get-up really suitable for work?’ he sniffed.

Martin saw Jonny’s hand twitch towards the gun in his hip holster, and had a sudden moment of complete dread, but Elias had already let the door swing shut behind him.

`That’s the big boss man, then?’ Jonny asked, his grin starting up. `Isn’t he a ray of sunshine.’

He turned to Tim and Martin, his grin wide and dark. It was unsettling to see such a look on Jon’s usually sour bur harmless face.

`So,’ he said, twirling the gun in his hand, `what is it you do for fun around here?’

*

Martin had been summarily dispatched to the nearest off-license in order to provide his new boss with more whiskey, and Sasha caught him in the corridor on his way back to the archives, clutching the plastic bags and wincing every time they made incriminating clinking noises.

`What’s with the Jon look-a-like?’ she asked in a whisper.

`He wouldn’t say until he had more whiskey,’ Martin said dejectedly.

`Makes a bit of a change from the old Jon, though,’ Sasha said, grinning. `Even though they look exactly the same, this one somehow manages to look kind of hot.’

`Eww, Sasha.’

`What?’ she shrugged. `Everyone likes a bad boy, Martin.’

`He looks deranged,’ Martin hissed.

`Yeah, that too. Maybe it’s the crazy eyes, maybe it’s the leather, maybe it’s the eyeliner. Maybe it’s that he’s not stalking us all and watching our houses at night.’

`Jon’s having a hard time right now-‘

‘Oh, please don’t start with all that shit, Martin. I don’t know why you’re so desperate to make allowances for him – I mean, I know you bonded or whatever,’ Sasha made sarcastic air quotes around the word, `when Prentiss attacked us, but honestly, even you must be able to see that he’s going completely off his rocker.’

`I just… he means well…’

`He treats us all like shit, Martin. You can’t keep defending him if you value yourself at all.’

Martin gave a deep sigh. The bags clinked.

`To be honest, it’ll be nice having a break from Jon. And this Jonny guy sounds like he has loads of great stories.’

`Oh, I do,’ said a strange parody of Jon’s voice from behind them, making Martin jump. `And you can hear them, just as soon as I get a drink or four. Is that my whiskey?’

Martin nodded, and Jonny’s smile grew wider.

`Well then, let’s get this party started.’

*

It ended up being Martin, Tim, and the new weird Jon in the Head Archivist’s office, as Sasha – who had been very distant lately – had pushed off to see her new boyfriend. Elias remained completely oblivious to the change in Jon, and probably assumed they were hard at work.

Jonny poured them each a whiskey and downed almost a full bottle by himself. Then he settled back in Jon’s chair, put his feet up on the desk, and sighed.

`So, where would you like me to start?’

Tim opened his mouth, eyes wide, but Martin got there first.

`Where’s our Jon? Is he ok? Is he going to come back?’

Jonny grinned.

`Your Jon is most likely on my ship right now. No doubt my crew are… looking after him, in their own way. He’ll be back. Eventually.’

`Does he have to come back?’ Tim muttered. Martin elbowed him. `Ouch,’ he grumped. `Your elbows are really sharp.’

`Why is he on your ship? Where is your ship? Why do you look exactly the same?’

Jonny laughed, and drank some more.

`Aren’t you full of questions? I should perhaps clarify that my ship, Aurora, is a starship – and it’s not so much a question of `where’ as `when’.’

`A starship,’ Tim said, blankly.

`As for the resemblance – well, I’m only making a guess here, as I’m stuck with you and not on the Aurora – but it’s a very well-educated guess. I can only assume that when space-time tends towards infinity in universes like ours that these strange resemblances do occur simply due to statistics. And for some reason, your Jon and I have swapped places.’

`It might be something Jon touched in artefact storage,’ Martin said, biting his lip anxiously. `God knows there’s enough weirdness in there to cause something like this.’

`Why should we believe you?’ Tim asked. Jonny laughed.

`Why would I lie?’

Tim shot Martin a look. Martin shrugged.

`Good point,’ he said, taking a swig of his whiskey and resigning himself to the complete mess his life had become. `Carry on.’

&

Jon had for once made it back to his flat rather than just collapsing into the airbed in the archives, but it was late and he barely had time to register the dust and neglect before collapsing onto his bed and passing out.

He woke up with his face pressed to cold metal, which was ever so gently vibrating. He flung out an arm to feel around for the light switch, and the resultant crash woke him fully.

It transpired that he’d inadvertently upset a precarious pile of bottles, all empty and smelling strongly of old alcohol. They’d rolled across the floor, clanking and crashing as they did so, and Jon looked properly at his surroundings.

The small room, which had metal walls and apparently the entire contents of a bottle bank, was neither his bedroom nor the archives.

Jon looked around, blinked a few times, and really wished the bottles weren’t all empty.

It took him a while to get to the door without his walking stick, but using the wall to prop himself and sheer determination, he made it and began to hobble down the corridor beyond.

The background humming – along with the gentle vibration of the walls he clung to and the floor beneath his socked feet – made him feel faintly queasy. This was not helped by the panic rising up in his throat.

Something small, many-legged, furry, and glowing green dropped from somewhere above him. Jon screamed.

The small green thing squealed back and shot off in the opposite direction.

`For fuck’s sake, Jonny,’ someone said behind him, in a thick Russian accent. `Do you have to keep shooting them?’

Jon turned rapidly and lost his balance, only just catching himself on a nearby bit of pipe. The newcomer squinted at him from underneath a furrowed brow and a pissed expression.

`Just how drunk are you?’ she asked, incredulously.

Jon pulled his body, his dignity and his bravery up.

`Who are you, and why do you know my name?’ he demanded, his voice suitably strong, albeit a little squeaker than he might have liked. `And where the hell am I?’

The woman just stared at him.

`Jonny – just what have you been drinking?’ she asked. `Or – wait – did you eat that reconstituted spinach I left around the mess? I told you it killed an octokitten!’

Jon felt overwhelmed but pushed on. The woman was strange – hell, the whole situation was absolutely mental – but there were no flesh-eating bugs in sight, and that meant he wasn’t having a nightmare, at least.

Although if this was a fever dream, maybe he should go to the doctors when he woke up.

`I’m sorry,’ he said, snippily, `but do I know you?’

The woman just stared at him.

Another gently glowing creature dropped down from the ceiling, screamed at the sight of him, and skittered away down the corridor.

The woman sighed, deeply.

`You’re not Jonny, are you,’ she said, finally.

`My name is Jonathan Sims,’ Jon said.

`Hmm. Well, this is a strange day. I’ll get the others together – come with me, not-Jonny.’

The `others’ consisted of a motley selection of people in various strange outfits, some of whom were more metal than flesh.

Jon was feeling more and more out of his depth, and sure that his imagination was not so good as to dream this up.

`So, this isn’t Jonny?’ asked one.

`Isn’t it obvious?’ said another. `He’s clearly a completely different person.’

`Looks exactly the same to me,’ the woman Jon had met first, whose name turned out to be Nastya, said. `Even scared the octokittens away.’

`Are you kidding?’ said the one who’d introduced themselves as Ashes O’Reilly, quartermaster. None of the others had given their names. `He hasn’t shot any of us since we came in here.’

There was a chorus of agreement.

`Good point,’ said man who was more brass than skin. `Can we keep this Jonny? He seems a lot nicer than ours.’

`We should probably try and work out what happened,’ Ashes said, although they made no move to do so and looked distinctly bored by the proceedings.

Jon’s leg finally gave way on him, and he sagged, defeated, onto a nearby bench.

`Look,’ he said, head in his hands, `I don’t know who any of you are. I don’t know who this `Jonny’ is who you all know, but he’s not me. I just… I need to get back home. To the archives.’

They all looked at each other.

`This is definitely not our Jonny,’ said Nastya. `So what do we do now?’

&

Jonny toyed with his gun, bored out of his mind. For an archive full of creepy stories, he was disappointed in the lack of things to shoot. He supposed, if he could be bothered, he could poke about in the dreaded `Artefact storage’ the two research assistants had spoken about in such grim tones, but he didn’t think their uppity boss would appreciate him shooting up a priceless antique. Although maybe then he could shoot the boss… he hadn’t liked the look of him.

Martin – the one who seemed most upset by his supplanting the `real’ Jonathan, had talked a bit about the time they’d been overrun by flesh-eating worms, which sounded like a lot of fun – sadly, it had apparently been sorted out long before Jonny arrived.

He clicked his safety on and off, sighing. There weren’t even octokittens to terrorize. He didn’t think he’d ever actually miss the blasted creatures.

And yet here he was, pining for his ship, surrounded by dust and paper and fear. There was a story here, somewhere, but they already had a way to tell it – they didn’t need the help of the Mechanisms.

He pulled his harmonica out of his waistcoat, played a little tune. His go-to currently was the anthem of General Snow’s resistance. He felt attached to the defiant tune – he had been there just before Jack had gone down in battle, seen the kid sink his last drink.

Jack the giant killer hadn’t wanted to be made into a hero in a story he didn’t deserve, but he got made into one anyway. It made Jonny feel a little nostalgic for that bloody war, in all honestly. There hadn’t been a good war like that in a while.

The best wars were always when the two sides became mirror images to one another, in the end.

A hesitant knock snapped him out of his reminiscing. Martin poked his head around the door, his face falling almost comically.

`Oh,’ he said. `It’s you.’

`Sorry,’ Jonny grinned. `Still the wrong Jon, I’m afraid.’

Martin looked at the harmonica.

`You play that?’

`No – I keep it around for decoration. Yes, I fucking play it,’ Jonny said. `It’s something to do with my hands that isn’t shooting people.’

`Oh, good,’ said Martin, squeakily. `That’s… that’s good.’

`Anything interesting happening?’

`Not much – although Elias will probably be along soon, so you might want to… I don’t know... pretend to be more like Jon?’

`What does your Jon do all day?’

`Well, record statements, mostly.’

`On this?’ Jonny dangled the tape recorder between two of his fingers, looking at it distastefully.

`Careful!’ Martin lunged for it, knocking over a pile of statements and tripping over some dusty boxes. Empty CO2 canisters clanked around his feet. Jonny laughed.

At that moment, the ajar door opened farther, and Elias Bouchard walked into the room. He was greeted by the sight of Jonny cackling, feet still up on the desk, tape recorder still dangling from his hands, Martin on the floor and surrounded by old yellowing statements and empty fire extinguishers.

`I thought I heard you… laughing,’ Elias said, slowly. Jonny met his gaze with a violent grin.

`I tripped,’ Martin said, breathless, scrambling to his feet. `You know me, so clumsy.’ He tried for a laugh, but it sounded a little panicked.

`Hmm,’ said Elias, still locked in eye-contact with Jonny. `Well… as long as there’s not a problem.’

`Nope,’ Jonny said, still grinning.

Elias shut the door behind him.

`He knows,’ Jonny said, smile abruptly dropping as he turned to Martin.

`He knows?’

`That I’m not your Jon.’

`We all know that, though,’ Martin said, shrugging. `It’s not exactly hard to tell.’

`No – he knows. I don’t think he knows what I am, exactly, but he knows more than he’s letting on.’

`But it’s just Elias,’ Martin said, as he attempted to gather together the spilt statements. `Oh god, Jon is going to kill me – I’ve probably ruined his system…’

`To be honest,’ said Jonny, `I think he’ll be so relieved to be back that he won’t care.’

`That doesn’t sound like Jon,’ Martin said, still manically trying to make some order out of the chaos his flailing limbs had created. `He’s been struggling lately – I don’t know what this will do to him but it’s not going to be good…’

‘Well, you get on with that, then,’ Jonny said as he swung his legs to the floor, spurs clacking.

‘Where are you going?’ Martin called after him, as he swaggered to the door.

‘I’m going to look for something to shoot,’ Jonny said, winking, as he disappeared out of the office.

‘You can’t just… leave!’ Martin said, but Jonny had already gone.

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

Case #014278 “The Bird House”

Summary: "Statement of Rita Langston regarding what she referred to as the Bird House. Original statement given August 27, 2014. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins."

-in the style of a Season 1 script format episode, no spoilers except for some themes

Warnings: Blood, Canon-typical violence, paranoia, fear of being watched, grotesque monster, eye-trauma, peer pressure, taxidermy animals, canon-typical fear

Fandom: The Magnus Archives/TMA

Characters: Jonathan Sims (The Archivist), (Martin, Tim, and Sasha are only mentioned), Original Characters for the sake of the statement

Word Count: 5,302

Ao3 Link

[Click]

 Archivist: 

Statement of Rita Langston regarding what she referred to as the Bird House. Original statement given August 27, 2014. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. 

Statement begins.

Archivist [Cont.]:

I really don’t know why I’m here right now. I know what I did was stupid, but I don’t know why I’m telling you this. [Slight Pause] I guess...I guess because you’re the only people who will believe me. 

This is what you do, right? All the supernatural and spooky stuff? If I had met you before I would have chocked it up as a load of hogwash, but now…I’m not so sure.

See really I was just being a stupid teenager, a stupid kid really. I’ve never been very bright, not because I wasn’t smart. No, I aced all my classes. No, I was stupid because I did stupid things. Dangerous things. Things that will get you in trouble. 

I wasn’t a stranger to the odd bet and occasional peer pressure. Didn’t have much restraint if I’m being honest, didn’t care much. Just kept looking for something thrilling to do to keep from being bored. I should’ve stopped, but I didn’t. I guess this time I took it too far.[A break, as if considering] Well, not really. All I did was be somewhere I clearly wasn’t supposed to be, not that unusual for me. But I guess trespassing was going to have consequences one of these days.

[A deep breath in and out]Maybe I should give you some context. See, I mentioned I did a lot of stupid stuff, yeah? Well, a lot of that is due to my buddy, Nicole. [Slight breathy laugh] Nicole and I got into all sorts of trouble, mostly me though, since I was the one they bet to do most of the stupid things. Like the time they bet me to egg Mr. Benedict’s house because he was being a real arsehole to them after they flunked their last test. Or the time Nicole bet me to skinny dip in the Thames in the middle of the night because they said it’d be funny. Not sure how funny it was, but you get the idea. 

The point is that Nicole and I did this sort of stuff all the time, so it wasn’t that odd to me when they bet me to go into that house. 

See, there was this house that we noticed coming home from school one day. We had decided to change up our route home to pass by the market and pick up some snacks on the way to my house since Nicole was planning on staying over that night. Coming back from the market, my backpack full of the snacks we had bought with Nicole’s pocket money, we passed a house we had never seen before. I had lived in this area my whole life, and I had never seen this house before. Neither had Nicole, and we were both pretty confused, especially with how big it was.

It was large, and wooden, and dark brown, and looked sagged down with age, as if it had been there centuries but then recently restored. It had recently rained too, y’know, so the wood looked even darker and more sinister against the steely gray sky. 

And, though I don’t think I noticed it at the time, there were an unusual number of birds around the house. Y’know, crows perched on the shingles, ravens circling overhead, even the odd owl or two tucked into the corners of the high rafters on the porch. It was bloody creepy, I tell you. I think at first Nicole and I just assumed it had been newly constructed and we just hadn’t passed by the area in a while, but as we got closer, we got a better look at the detail on the thing, and it seemed down right Victorian. It had all the, I don’t know the word exactly, but all the fancy things that you could tell it had been built to look Victorian. I think it also had all these intricate carvings on the posts and the trim on the roof and porch that you could just tell. So my point is that we could tell it wasn’t new. And the whole thing was surrounded by this iron gate, real old fashioned thing and went up to about my mid section. Real brazen old thing, and I could tell it’d be so easy to jump over, that it was basically begging to be trespassed in.

If I’m being perfectly honest here, the thing was a little weird, but not enough to be too bothered by, not enough to just Waltz in. I was planning on excusing it to just not noticing it before due to the Mendela effect, or whatever it is that I’d heard about online, and going home, but apparently Nicole had other ideas. They told me that they would bet money it was haunted. I didn’t really believe in ghosts that much, but as old and grand as the house looked I wouldn’t have doubted them if they had walked in there and came out screaming that they had seen one. I’d said, yeah, I could buy that, but that we really had to get home if they were going to stay over. They asked me if I was scared, and I said no. Thinking back, I can’t remember if I was really scared or not, but knowing what I know now, I know I definitely should have been. 

They asked me to prove I wasn’t scared, and I asked how? I already knew what they were going to say, but I let them say it anyway. They said I could prove it by going into the house. I asked if now was really the best time, didn’t we have to go home? They proposed a compromise. We would go to my house so my parents wouldn’t worry, but then after dark, when everyone was asleep, we would sneak back here and I would go inside and Nicole would stand watch. I said this didn’t really seem like a fair deal to me, since Nicole was making all the rules, but Nicole said it was compromise enough to prove I wasn’t a coward. I didn’t know if I agreed with that, but I didn’t like being called a coward, and, like I said, I wasn’t shy to the forces of peer pressure. Besides, even I had to admit I was curious. Eventually I agreed and we put Nicole’s plan into motion.

Sneaking out wasn’t that hard since this was hardly the first time Nicole and I had done something like this, and to this day, I still don’t know if we were never caught because we were just that good, or if my parents simply didn’t care, but either way we left the house without issue. 

We made sure to bring torches and Nicole brought my bag with the snacks we had bought because they said they’d get bored and hungry if we were out there all night. We walked to where we last saw the house and I swear it looked even more ominous at night. With it being cloudy and all, it was real dark too, the only light other than our torches being from a street lamp a block away. Gave the house a weird looming feel to it. And...I know it seems weird, but it felt like the house was watching us. As we got nearer it just seemed real quiet and you could just barely see the outlines of all the birds perched on the house. It felt like they were watching us, and waiting for...something. At the time I didn’t know what. [Static, barely audible, slowly starts to buzz on the recorder]

Regardless, the closer Nicole and I got, the more nervous I became. I started to worry someone was looking at us through the windows of one of the other houses nearby, that they would somehow know what we were doing. I don’t know why thinking about that started to freak me out, I’d never been afraid of getting in trouble before. Not really. I’d done enough stupid stuff to almost forget to be afraid of getting caught, but for some reason with this house...I don’t know. What we were doing wasn’t even supposed to be that bad, just walk into a probably abandoned building, prove I wasn’t a coward, and walk out. Nicole seemed to be feeling some apprehension too, but I knew that we were both too stubborn to not go through with it. Not after they had bet me. We were both too competitive for that.

We got to the iron gate and Nicole gave me a bit of a look, as if to tell me to ‘get on with it’. I rolled my eyes at them, but jumped over the gate regardless. This is where things got really weird. 

[The static begins to grow slightly more audible, but still deftly in the background] 

I suddenly felt as if all the birds perched on the house were watching me. As if all their heads turned in unison to look at me. I couldn’t tell this for sure, like I said it was dark, but it just gave me this feeling. 

[Static fades away almost imperceptibly] I must have frozen up or something because I heard Nicole ask what the fuss was about? I said I didn’t know, something just felt...off. They taunted me and said I really was scared then, and for a moment my anger and pride overcame my apprehension. I shot them a glare then strode off towards the front of the house, ignoring the prickle on the back of my neck that made it feel like someone was looking at me. I reached the front door and Nicole asked what I was waiting for. I know it’s a bit childish, but I stuck my tongue out at them for that, then I gave a tug at the door. 

It was unlocked for some reason, though at the time I thought that made sense because it was likely abandoned, and I opened the door. I turned back one last time to look at Nicole’s face as I gave them a smug look and I went in.

As soon as I passed the threshold, a breeze rushed behind me and pulled the door closed. I think at this point it was starting to set in how much of a bad idea this was turning to be, but I had made my bed now, might as well lie in it.

[A deep, steadying breath] I turned on my torch and swallowed thickly as the dusty air sank down my throat. In the torch light it was just as creepy indoors as it was outdoors. Everything seemed to be made out of the same dark, old wood: the walls, the floor, the ceiling, it all began to blend together. The furniture seemed to be made of a dark red velvet and was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. I thought back to Nicole’s earlier theory about the house being haunted, then I shook my head. Just because it was a spooky old house didn’t necessarily mean there were ghosts, it just meant it was creepy. I thought about turning around now that I’d gone in and going back to Nicole, since I’d technically done my end of the compromise. Then I thought of their face and their taunting and how they’d make fun of me for being in there less than five minutes, and I stubbornly resolved to stay in the house as long as possible, I’d show them I wasn’t a coward. 

My mind made up, I ventured further into the foyer then turned into the living room. I shown my torch around and saw what I would consider to be a ‘classic haunted house’ aesthetic. There were stuffed birds on pedestals and mounted on the wall and in ornate, decorative cages. Crows and ravens and owls and ducks and mocking birds seemed to be looking at me from almost every surface. There were portraits too, portraits that lined the mantel to the fireplace in the center of the room. Portraits of more birds, not in flight as you’d expect of a painting of a bird, no they were close ups and side views so the viewer got a real detailed view of their eyes. And that’s another thing, whoever had decorated this room had positioned all the stuffed birds and the portraits so it looked like they were watching whoever walked in from the foyer, looking at them straight on. 

[The static faintly begins to fade in again]

I was very unnerved by this, already feeling an uncomfortable ‘watched’ feeling, like someone knew I was in their house. But the house still looked like it hadn’t been lived in in years, so there couldn’t have been anyone there. As I stepped further into the living room, I half expected the birds to turn their heads to continue watching me, but they kept diligently looking at the same spot in the foyer, which I’ll admit, did relieve me somewhat. 

There were doors on either side of the walls to the left and right of the living room, and I thought as long as I was staying, I might as well explore. So I did. I pulled open one of the doors to the left and looked down to see a long hallway. I stepped forward and the old wood creaked under my sneakers, and I suddenly felt very sure I wasn’t alone. [Static volume increases ever so slightly] I’m not sure what did it since I had done a load of things that would have drawn someone’s attention since I had been there, had there been anyone, but in the very instant, I didn’t just feel it, I knew I was being watched. 

I didn’t know where and I didn’t know who, but there was someone in this house with me, and they knew I was there. That overwhelming realization sent me off on a quick pace down the hall because for some reason, I felt if I went back to the room with the birds, it would give away where I was. It...it’s silly but, I thought whoever knew I was there would be able to see me through the birds’ eyes, like they were security cameras or something. So I took off down the hallway, for some reason now so sure I was being watched, chased even, and now overtaken with this urge to hide, to run, to make sure I wasn’t being watched anymore, that no one was looking at me.

[Fear begins to lace into his voice] Doors lined the hallway, blurring past, my squeaky footsteps giving my location away to the presence I felt was drawing ever nearer, looking at me, judging me, tracking me, knowing me. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew something was following me. I didn’t like it. Feeling seen. Exposed even.

I opened one of the doors to my right and ducked inside, shutting off my torch and holding my breath.[A beat of silence] After a moment, the feeling passed, and I breathed out, [Audible exhale as he continues] feeling slightly more at ease now that there was a door between me and whatever was causing me to feel like I was being followed. I thought rationally again that there likely hadn’t been anyone in this house in a long time, so I was probably just overreacting. I hadn’t heard anybody else’s footsteps, I hadn’t heard any breathing, so no one was chasing me, I was alone. That’s what I told myself to help keep myself calm, otherwise I'd have nearly had a heart attack. [Static that had been faintly buzzing in the background fades again]

After another few minutes of heavy breathing, I finally turned my torch back on and looked around the room I had hid in. 

It looked to be a study of some sort. There were bookshelves and a desk with  a couple of what seemed to be thick old volumes of childrens’ stories strewn about its surface. There was also a small table with an ornately detailed tablecloth surrounded by chairs and also piled high with books of different sizes and shapes and colors, though they all looked incredibly old. I got closer to investigate them, the books I mean, because while they looked like ordinary books, something just seemed not-right about them. The children’s books on the desk were most visible as they had large illustrated covers that were the easiest to see from a distance. As I got closer though, I saw what unsettled me about them. 

Most of the covers depicted children laughing and playing, or otherwise some vaguely-cartoonish animal, all together each volume remaining unique in comparison to the others around it, except for one feature. The eyes. [The whine of the recorder can be heard along with a brief, but audible crackle]

The eyes on all of the figures were too large, and they looked like they had been pasted on from another drawing. Staring at them, it just filled me with this overwhelming sense of dread. It felt like as soon as I had made eye contact with them, this one novel with a girl in pigtails on the front in particular, that I was suddenly known. Like all my secrets, all my thoughts, all the things I would never tell a single soul, they were all found out. [Voice becomes slightly more hysterical, more fast, more afraid] That by looking at them, they now had all this information, my whole life, and it had been sucked up and written down for anyone to read. Anyone to know. It made my skin crawl. I couldn’t stand it, I had to look away,[Suddenly sounds exhausted] I thought...I thought it might help to ease the sudden pain and fear from realization of being known. And just when I broke eye contact, that’s when I heard it.

Faintly, just outside the door, I heard the smallest bit of breeze, and I knew, I knew it was the thing in the house again. I’m not sure how but I did. I quickly dived under the table with the tablecloth and turned off my torch again. There was a slight pause, but then I heard the tell-tale creak of a door opening, [in the background we can barely hear the faintest creak] and I knew that Something was inside. 

[Voice drops to that of a whisper] I stayed as still and quiet as I could, and I’m not sure how long it was, but it was enough for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I had the feeling that something was in the middle of the room, just waiting for me. I was hoping and praying it didn’t know I was there, when I looked up. My eyes had adjusted, but it was still dark, even so, I could just barely make out the underside of the table and the tablecloth. I squinted to try and make it out and lifted up my hand to touch the table. [An inhale] My stomach sank. I had been right. Under the table, I thought I had seen dozens upon dozens of eyes carved into to underside of the table, and the intricate designs on the tablecloth that were too hard to see properly from afar were thousands of tiny embroidered eyes. And I was hit by an awful realization.

Whatever it was just outside the tablecloth, it saw me. It knew I was there. It had been watching me the whole time. And it knew I was under the table, it was just waiting for me to figure that out. 

As if on cue with my realization, I felt the thing in the room draw closer, and, agonizingly slowly, begin to lift the edge of the tablecloth. 

I felt panic begin to swell in my throat and I didn’t know whether to freeze or push myself back to the far end of the table to create as much distance between me and it as possible. I barely had time to make up my mind however, because a long, slender, black cone-shaped thing jolted beneath the cloth and grabbed my ankle.

At this, I thought, to hell with standing still, and I began thrashing and squirming and clinging onto the legs of the table as it began to drag me out. [In the background we hear the soft sound of a person being dragged along a wood floor, interlaced with a now growing static] Wasn’t enough though, and as I got pulled further and further out, I realized what had grabbed my leg was a giant black beak.

And that beak was connected to an enormous bird. It loomed over me, feathers pitch black except for a frill around its face that made it look as if it were wearing a pure white mask. And the mask accentuated the most striking feature about this living nightmare-bird, its eyes. Its eyes were stunning, an indescribable color, and very very large.

Sharp too. It felt like they pierced my very soul, as if I were being slowly torn apart and digested the longer I looked into them. I felt overwhelmingly like this bird was learning everything about me, pulling it out of me, like it was eating my thoughts, experiences and memories.[The crackle of the recorder becomes more audible and weaves its way into his voice]

I was overcome by fear. I didn’t know what to do. I think I would have just sat there in terror and let it pull out everything I had ever known if it weren’t for my torch. It must have bumped the ground just right, or maybe I squeezed it on in my immobilized panic, but it turned on right then. [Static abruptly cuts off]

Light flashed into the creature’s eyes and it blinked and recoiled at the sudden change. It wasn’t much, but it blinking seemed just enough to break me out of my stupor. I fell back, standing and leaning as far away from the thing as possible.

I stumbled into the desk and my hand brushed against something. Might’ve been a pen, might’ve been a letter opener, all I know is that it was long and sharp. My torch was dropped on the ground from when I retreated, but it still lit up the room. I went to look back at the creature and it seemed to have just enough time to recover because it let out an unnatural, guttural screech, and looked back at me with those God-awful eyes again.[Voice becomes more hysterical again, almost enraged] I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand being looked at, couldn’t stand it being there and knowing it. It filled me with such fear and rage. Next thing I know the thing tries to leer closer, and I think this was the point where it was too much.

There was another guttural screech, but this time it was coming from my throat and it was burning it raw. I lunged for it with the thing in my hand. [Voice increasing in volume and emotion until it’s practically shouting] I just couldn’t stand it looking at me anymore. Couldn’t stand its Goddamned eyes looking at me anymore. I couldn’t stand it! Couldn't stand it! Couldn’t stand it! [A deep, steadying breath]

It’s kind of foggy what happened next. I’m not sure how many times I stabbed that thing before I dropped what I was holding, but it was certainly enough to blind it. [A sick sounding, terrible whine starts faintly in the background] God, it made such...awful noises, and the space where its eyes used to be oozed this terrible, thick blood. It was slumped down and seemed to be moaning with pain. I was horrified. I knew I had to get out of there.

I ran past it and through the hall, not looking back until I reached the door to the living room with all the birds. I slammed the door shut behind me and saw all the stuffed birds seemed to be recoiled on their perches in pain. Even the portraits seemed frozen in awful terror as their now hollow eyes dripped blood. 

I bolted into the foyer and out the front door, sprinting across the lawn and leaping over the iron gate. I didn’t stop until I heard someone shout and grab my arm. I spasmed again, trying to pull them off me, until I realized the person who caught me was talking to me and sounded familiar. It was Nicole.

They had to practically tackle me to get me to stop, and I think they were going to make some joke about me being scared when I saw the blood run out of their face as they realized I was covered in blood. Thick, dark, blood. 

They jumped away from me and asked me what happened. I don’t know what I answered, if I answered at all. I was in a right state.  And for some reason I still had the terrible feeling we were being watched. I looked around desperately, I’m sure I looked right paranoid to them. I’m pretty sure I was stammering to them about this and that but I don’t remember what. Eventually I just said I wanted to go home and they helped me back to my place. We washed the blood, or whatever it was that was oozing from that thing, off of me as quietly as we could in the bathroom, and we never told my parents. I still haven’t. 

I wasn’t able to talk about anything for the next few days. Nicole kept coming over and prompting me, but I don’t know if I was just in shock or some of that same fear of them knowing, them judging me, that kept me from talking. I think I eventually told them their initial ghost theory had been right, because I don’t know what else could’ve been inside that house. They looked...disturbed, though maybe also intrigued, I don’t know, I was only partially looking at them since I hadn’t been able to force myself to make eye contact with anyone since that night. 

They recommended I come here, said they had heard this place investigated all sorts of paranormal happenings, and it might help with getting what happened off my chest, since I still hadn’t told them the whole story. I said I wasn’t sure, but we all know how that conversation ended, given where I am now. I always gave in so easily to peer pressure.

The thing is though, this did help me get things off my chest. [Slightly panicked] But...I can’t help but equate it to that terrible feeling from before. Being here, I still have that terrible feeling of being watched. And after you handed me that pen and paper when I walked in, I started pouring my words out, easily, and I feel once again, that I’m being known. I. Do. Not. Like. It. 

You have my statement now, so quit looking at me. Quit it! Please, please I just want it to stop. Maybe then, I can finally have some peace. 

Statement Ends.

Archivist:

I’m not sure what to add to this statement. We were unable to locate the house that Ms. Rita Langston claims she encountered as the address she provided does not exist. I had sent Martin to investigate the general area described where Ms. Langston’s neighborhood is, and he reported back that there was no such house to be found, even after searching in circles for what he said was two hours, so it appears we have a dead end there. Though that doesn’t seem that unusual given the nature of how Ms. Langston claims it appeared. We were also unable to get a follow up interview with Ms. Langston as she stated she ‘wouldn’t be going to that hell-hole again’, in reference to the institute, when Sasha tracked her down. However, with some digging, Tim was able to locate Ms. Langston’s friend Nicole, whose full name we discovered was Nicole Frank, and ask for details regarding her case. 

Nicole confirmed that Rita and them had seen what looked to be an old abandoned house pop up in Rita’s neighborhood and that they had dared Rita to go inside. According to Nicole, Rita was in the house for about thirty minutes before running out at a full sprint. She did not respond to Nicole’s shouts and said they were forced to grapple her to get her to stop. They also confirmed that Rita had a thick, dark substance of some sort splattered on her arms and shirt and began babbling incoherently when they questioned her. What I find most disturbing about this apparent confirmation that prevents me from writing this off as some prank by a couple of juvenile delinquents is that Nicole provided a video that confirms what Nicole had witnessed at least. Apparently they were playing on their phone whilst waiting outside the house and heard a noise. Wanting to have footage to tease Rita with later at being scared, they pressed record just in time for Rita to run out of the house.

The video is a minute and twenty-four seconds long and shows a 14 to 16 year old woman, who Sasha confirmed to be Ms. Langston, running out of an old wooden house. The video continues as the camera starts to shake, as presumably the person holding it began chasing after her, until the camera is dropped suddenly at what Nicole claims to be the impact where they tackled her. The camera now is facing upwards towards the blacked sky and after that all we have is the audio before the camera moves a bit as Nicole picks up their phone and stops recording. I’ll play the audio for you now.

Audio Transcript:

[Heavy breathing and mumbling]

[The audio sounds distant and not close to the phone, as if it had been dropped nearby]

[A scared and almost incoherent female voice, presumably Rita Langston]

“Please, no, gotta get away, it..it’s blind, it’s blind. I think I killed it. Oh God, Oh God, stop, stop, no, get away...Stop it! Stop looking at me! Looking..looking at me…”

[Another voice, presumably Nicole Frank]

“Rita? Rita! What the hell happened in there? Snap out of it!”

[The muttering continues but becomes quieter and trails off]

[We hear fabric rustles and the sound of a small scrape on the tarmac, presumably as Nicole picks up their phone, and the audio abruptly ends]

Archivist:

While there certainly seems to be supporting evidence of this event occurring, there’s not much we could follow up on. The books in the house are what give this case most of its credence, though, as any of them could potentially be Leitners, [Slight pause] and if they are...well, it’s probably a good thing we can’t find that house then. If I’d found a study full of Jurgan Leitner’s books, I’d have half a mind to burn down that house myself. I have far too much experience with Leitners to know how dangerous they can be.

If some person or creature encountered a particularly dangerous Leitner, it is not outside of the realm of possibility to consider they might have transformed into the creature Ms. Langston described. And if they did...well...I pity the monster on the receiving end.

[Click]