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There's a polite knock on the Archive's door.

((ooc: for Miguel,author of the Cheshire statement))

Oh! I’ll be right there!

(There is a general commotion as drawers open and close. After a bit something clicks and a door creaks open.)

Come in. Would you like anything? Tea?

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Click

So…Leon Walker is it?

Yes. That is me.

The flick of a lighter is heard. A loud exhale is picked up. Miguel coughs a little.

Can you please not smoke in here? It’s very flammable and not ventilated well.

Just get on with your statement thing.

But I’m not here for a statement I just want to know more—

Then why is that thing recording?

Oh. They turn themselves on sometimes.

How spooky. Anyways. What do you want to know more about again? The Kindlers?

Yes that would be appreciated.

Tough luck. You only know more about them if you join.

But you said you would—

You, someone I’ve never met before, come into my house while I’m trying to sleep and call me by my full name, proceed to make me confirm I am a member of the Kindlers of the Insatiable Torch, and then tell me to meet you here the next day to talk more. And for some reason I feel compelled to play along. But what made you think I was actually going to tell you something?

Well I just thought…Maybe…You know…

No. You’re not getting that. But you are going to get some advice from me. Don’t go looking for trouble with them. They aren’t the type of people to just give up and let you have it.

So why did you come then?

Because I knew you would eventually do something stupid and I’m here to stop that. Despite being an annoyance it would be a shame if you were dead so soon. And because you happened to give me some cookies when I arrived. That kept me from strangling you. Anyways, we are done here.

Oh. Sorry the door is over there…

Thanks. And you should stop poking around. One of these days you’ll end up strapped to a chair in a basement. Just warning you.

Got it. Thanks.

The tape recorder clicks off.

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I sometimes wonder if my life was planned for me from the start. If I was always meant to be what I am now. Now, don't take this as me saying I hate my life,or being like this.

My father raised me to follow in his footsteps. To be successful in the traditional way: a well paying and respected career, traditional marriage,all of that. He was so certain that I will follow his path blindly.

But this is not about that. This is well behind me. I do find it fascinating that,looking back, I didn't have much control either way.

At first,two different Powers claimed me,yet in the end I still ended up being with The Mother Of Puppets. I still ended up being the one that pulls the strings,not the pulled one. And I enjoy it, I enjoy controlling. Yet sometimes...

I wonder how much of this is my own will. How much of this is just me being a thread to a whole tapestry? Was this always my fate? I don't know,but I don't think I mind it.

-Cheshire

That is an…interesting submission. Mother of Puppets. Hmm.

I will try to reach out to Cheshire for a follow up. I would like to know more about the “powers” mentioned here as well as the Mother of Puppets.

I have sent a letter to the included addresses in the statement. I suggested a meeting in the archives, although I am open to meeting in another location. Hopefully I get a response soon.

-Miguel S.

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Case 19800718En. Statement of David Ferns, July 18 1980. Statement regarding an accident at the tar pits that happened during his supervision. Statement read by Miguel Slater, Archival Assistant.

I wish to preface this with a warning. Do not go anywhere near the tar pits. In general. I cannot be sure of which one it was, so stay away from them if you visit.

I work as a research assistant at the relatively new museum founded upon the tar pits. We’ve been finding many different preserved specimens in the tar pits and we’ve displayed some. Every now and then a researcher would stop showing up, something I attributed to simply finding better work after collecting enough experience. It is a tough field, paleontology. It is difficult to find a job, and much harder to actually get hired. I’m lucky to have gotten this position and wouldn’t dream of going out there and risking it all.

But now I’m a little suspicious. See recently I’ve been assigned to be a guide. I still do work in collecting and putting fossils together, but I also guide tours at times. It’s been nice to talk about all the things I’m doing at the museum and the history of the place. But sometimes I have to deal with rather unruly people.

Yesterday I had a group with these unruly tourists. They were all pretty young, definitely younger than I am. I think they were drunk, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. The tour started off fine, we went through exhibits and they asked me some questions. Mostly on the bones and what animals they were, some of them on how they were excavated, one or two on the tar pits themselves. By the time they took a break from walking around I had to return to the lab to cover for an assistant who was out sick. I would be helping one of the researchers excavate a new fossil we had been able to locate. I left them with a new guide and ran back to the lab.

The work had gone smoothly for a while. We were beginning to remove the matrix from fossils when I heard some commotion. It sounded like someone wandering about the tar pits somehow. I looked over at my supervisor who told me to check it out. As I got up there I spotted a woman. She looked familiar. As I got closer I realized that she was one of the tourists from earlier. I think I picked up her name from a conversation they had. Lisa, I believe. I called out to her to tell her she couldn’t be here but she didn’t respond. She just continued walking forwards.

I ran after her and caught up just before she stopped. She was in front of this large pit I hadn’t noticed before. It was bubbling a lot more than I was used to seeing and much deeper than I could ever imagine. As I approached I could make out a figure in the black. It appeared like that of a woman, with long matted hair. She was covered in tar, with tattered clothing stained pitch black. She smiled at us and opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. I turned to Lisa who seemed to be almost entranced by the figure.

As she rose from the tar I could see white dotting the black goo. They appeared to be bones, various animals sunk into the pit before. They were almost coming out of the pit, crawling and stumbling their way onto the ground as best they could with no joints to maneuver with. Jennifer let out a scream so shrill I had to plug my ears. One of the bones grabbed my foot and when I looked closer I realised it was an intact human hand. I looked over at Lisa who was covered in hands, each one of them pulling in a different direction. I looked into the tar and saw a cranium and parts of a spine floating around. I saw the twisted shape of a radius bone weakly rolling around on the soil and a femur flipping itself forwards up the wall of the tar pit. They made horrible crunching sounds as some of them fell, breaking on the rocky walls of the pit. Then I watched as the tar reached out and took Lisa. The last thing I saw before she sank into the murky gunk was her eyes meeting mine in despair.

Statement Ends.

Well that was. Something. I did the standard research and it seems that for a while people did disappear in the La Brea tar pits, which seems to be the tar pits this statement refers to. As for the visions of a woman in the pits…that one is a little confusing.

Some sources say at times they see gunk in the pits and some research logs we…accessed did mention the form of a person in the pits that seem to match the description provided by David.

The other interesting thing about this is the presence of a small bone wrapped in paper with this statement. We had it analyzed and it didn’t match any specific person, but it was most definitely from a human being. I’ve kept it in our ever growing jar of miscellaneous bones, which would concern me more if I wasn’t used to the other things we keep. I’ll look into this further soon.

Recording ends

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Case 20180305, Statement of Mason Warn, March 5, 2018. Statement regarding an old book his father used to own. Statement read by Errin Baylor.

Sorry for all the mud I tracked in. Ever since I picked up the book I’ve been bringing mud everywhere. And dust on drier days.

I know that my father bought the book online a little bit before his death. It was someone he used to know in high school who claimed he had written a book recently. Florence Manny was the name my dad said, though the book was signed under J-Vennie. It was a very old and tattered geology encyclopedia, something that he could not have written at all. But my father wanted another book for his collection so he bought it for about five dollars without tax and shipping.

My father loved rocks. He always wanted to be a geologist. But he decided to go into law instead. So he spent his passion on collecting. Any rocks he found on the ground he hadn’t seen before would go into his pocket. Sometimes he would buy expensive jewelry just to pry out the gems and display them. This made my mother very mad. She said he didn’t spend time with her at all, and he really didn’t. They waited until I left for college to get divorced, leaving my father with a sizable dent in his savings. He moved into an apartment with his rocks. I was there to help him move because he couldn’t afford to get movers. And that’s when he found J-Vennie.

He thought the book was worth a lot more money than J-Vennie was selling it for. So he bought it. When it arrived half-hazardly wrapped in brown paper he immediately cracked it open. I watched as a cloud of dust came out, making him cough a lot. That only cemented the idea that this book was older and thus more valuable. The cover was pale with faded lettering. The Rockfaces of North America. There was a sketch of a rock arch on the cover. He looked interested so I left him to it.

It sounds ridiculous, I know. But the more he read that book the more dust I was finding around the house. Then that dust turned into mud. Whenever I tried to clean it it would just come back. It began to harden and turn into almost solid rock, encasing the window and door. I realized we were trapped and rushed to call someone but I got no service. I tried to go check on my father to see if he was okay but I couldn’t lift my feet. They were encased in a thick layer of stone. The more I tried to free myself the more it climbed up my body. Soon I couldn’t move my legs at all. They felt like they were being crushed from all sides.

I have a horrible fear of not being able to move. Being stagnant for so long makes me feel like I’m going insane. I desperately wanted to move at that moment. I was shaking and I think I cried at some point. But only mud came out of my eyes, coating my face in thick stone as well. I was suffocating. I tried to break the rock open with my hands but it just caught my arms in the mess. I tried so hard to move. Everything was coming in from all sides and I couldn’t breathe. My ribcage was compressing into my organs and it felt like I was going to get pressed into mush. I didn’t dare open my mouth in fear it would get into my throat. Sometimes it would loosen up a little, give me hope I could break free. But when I tried to move it would press my arms into twisted positions and held me down tighter. It felt like I should've died of suffocation long ago, but I was still choking anyway.

It felt like days before I was broken free. I think the floorboards broke and I fell into the apartment below us. That was enough to break the stone encasing me and release me at last. The stone turned to dust when I was out, making me cough. I ran back up the stairs to see what had happened to my father. On the chair I found a large mass of rock in a vaguely humanoid shape. I searched for a hammer and began banging at it with all I had. It cracked open, revealing a hollow geode inside. In the middle of the sparkling red crystals was this book, and nothing of my father.

Statement ends

J-VENNIE! My boy! Love that guy’s youtube channel. It is a little concerning that my guy is popping up in a statement. Though I can’t say it’s the first time he’s been mentioned. Whatever this book is, it clearly isn’t… right. This story does appear to be validated by a case I was able to dig from 2018. Evan Warn had been reported as a missing person, while neither he nor his remains had been found this statement makes it pretty clear what happened. If… If it does turn out that J-Vennie has intentionally aligned himself with something nefarious, then… I don’t really know what to do. I guess I’ll start by keeping a closer eye on his writing career.

Recording Ends.

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Statement of Lucile Philips, regarding moths. Statement taken July 6, 2025.

Hello. I… don’t know why I’m here. They said you would like me. Said you wanted to listen to me. I don’t know why you’d want that. I’m not very interesting. But they tell me I am. They’re very nice.

My first memories are when I was nine. My mother gave me my first moth. A Luna moth named Luanne. She’s here with me now. I’m twenty seven now. People always say moths don’t live that long. Say that I’m crazy. Say she’s a monster. I’m a monster. But she’s so kind. How can something be a monster if it’s so kind? She gets me out of my head. When I cry. She sits on my hand and tells me it’s alright. Just like she always did.

When I was ten, my mom got sick. She made me promise to take care of the moths. I would’ve promised even if it wasn’t her dying wish. I love them. We grew close after my mother died. Me and all of them. I think it was because of isolation. They only had me, and I only had them.

They got me to eat again. To talk again. To be a person again. They taught me how to look at myself and think I’m pretty. Well, Carlos helped with that too. The cashier at the store where I would buy their food. He always called me pretty. He called my moths pretty to. That’s how I knew he had good taste in what was pretty. He had to move away a while ago. We tried to keep in touch but he met a new girl. She was also very pretty. I didn’t blame him for loving her. I would’ve loved her too. Her eyes were the color of Saturn, one of my atlas moth. I would love to meet her someday.

Now it’s just me and my moths. They live on me. They make their chrysalises in my hair. They pretend to be charms on my necklace. They make me feel very pretty, and I make them feel safe. Sometimes on cold days the little ones like being in my mouth, but they can’t be in the wet for too long. They’re very sensitive, moths.

A lot of people call me insane. You wouldn’t call me insane, would you? I’m not insane. I just like my family. My moths. They’re kind. You’d understand if you met them. But no one ever meets them. They all try to take me away, say they can fix me. Then they touch me, and I get scared, and my moths get angry, and then they’re gone. They’re not monsters. They’re just protecting me, like my mom wanted them to do. And then the police start asking me questions, and then they tell me I’m crazy, and then they grab me to take me away, and my moths get mad again, and no one listens! They love me. They just want to protect me. But no one ever listens. And the they die. I don’t want anyone to die. I just want friends. I just want family. I just want my moths. They’re kind to me. No one else is kind to me.

They say I need to make more friends. Say I’m isolating again. Say it’s not good for me. This is good for me. You know about me now. Maybe you could be my friend. We could go out for coffee sometime? I don’t know when you’re reading this, but you have my information, don’t you? I put it on the paperwork, just like you asked! You could tell me about you, since you already know about me. I’m sure you’re very pretty. I’d love to see you. My moths would to. They’re very kind, I promise!

Please? Just to talk?

Click.

I’ve sent a reply to the statement Lucile sent in. The fact she’s willing to talk more is incredibly rare around here! There might be some danger involved in speaking with her again, but it’ll be worth it! And I can defend myself if shit hits the fan, and I can’t get the fuck out. I’m good at that. Plus-

They pause.

I’ve- well, I heard of bugs similar to this. They weren’t moths, but they were documented by an intriguing individual I interviewed Errin about- I’ll have to look back at those clips, especially if she agrees to speak with me again.

I’ve told her to meet me on June 22 at Vidrum Teahouse, a favorite of mine. 11:35 AM, sharp. Hopefully she shows. I’ll be bringing the tape recorder either way. Will update if anything changes.

The recorder stops.

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Click

You can’t be in here-

There is the sound of a wet coughing.

Oh? Something in your throat? Water perhaps?

Miguel seems to be struggling to breathe. The sound of water rippling is picked up.

Now don’t panic. It’ll only make it worse. Breathing is somewhat hard to do underwater.

The sound of waves crashing is heard. The voices grow warbled through the water.

How? The files! No-

Is that really what you’re worried about? All the other things in the world and you’re worried about some pieces of paper? But don’t worry. I won’t soak your precious little papers. I just want to make my statement and take back what’s mine. That’s all.

There is the sound of a struggle in the water. Eventually one of them seems to slow down.

Hey now, you know I can kill you right now right? I’m trying to be kind to you. So stop trying to bash my head in. Besides, you won’t do much with a coffee mug.

Fine. Statement of?

Sean Lornes.

Regarding?

An unfortunate undersea accident on August 18, 2024.

Statement begins.

When I was young I had always loved the sea. I used to surf and swim all the time when I could. I would spend hours in the waves, feeling them crash down on me. If I was ever at the beach you wouldn’t find me until the sun had set and the water was too cold to swim in. It was a wonderful time for me, and my parents would be glad to have me out of their hair for a while.

As I got older I would have to spend less time with the sea and more time involved in studies. The sea wasn’t just a little walk away from my house anymore and I certainly didn’t have the time to drive all the way to the sea. But every summer I would come back and spend all my time out at the beach swimming. One time I even found a small

I was lucky enough to have a well paying job. I scraped enough money to buy a small boat and learned how to use it. It wasn’t flashy but it got the job done. I’d bring my parents or my friends along with me out to sea for a bit and we’d spend the day in the middle of the ocean. They would fish and I would sit under the sky, watching blue meet blue in all directions. It gave me a sense of calm. That in the end we were all just a bunch of ants sandwiched between two fields of blue, so what’s the point of worrying what we do in between?

One day my mom called me out of the blue. She was really excited about something. She told me to come over to the house right away. So I did. She took out a little wrapped box and told me it was my birthday gift. When I opened it I saw a small little ticket inside. It was for a submersible tour of the ocean floor. They would dive down in the sea near a kelp forest and see what it was like underwater.

I was admittedly excited to go. When we got on the boat I was itching to go down. It was me and four others, though I don’t remember their names anymore. It was a simple thing really, just one hull with a large window at the front and a panel to control its movements. There was a small statue of a wave on the hull, made of a deep blue rock. The more I stared into it the more it pulled me in. As we felt the submersible sink we could look through the window at the endless strands of kelp twining their way in and out of each other, gently swayed by the waves. We watched some fish swim in and out. But that wasn’t what I was paying attention to. I watched the statue. And there was this urge. This urge to go into the sea. To let it push me around in the vast expanse of it. But I knew I would drown. Unless I could give it something in return. Four things in fact.

The submersible was not very well manufactured. As we went down I could almost feel the water press into the hull. I could feel the fear that the other people felt, wondering if they would be lost at sea forever. I doubted it would actually survive an extended stay at the bottom of the sea floor. We were only meant to reach halfway down the kelp forest before we went back up. So I waited.

Once we were at the depth we needed to be I grabbed hold of the control panel and sent us plummeting down. As much as they tried to drag me off I stayed firm. It was thrilling to sink, deep down into the murky waters. Their screams were drowned out by the sound of the waves. The window began to warp and shift into an almost wavelike pattern. And then it cracked open, filling the submersible with that salty water.

Statement ends.

I drowned with everyone else of course, except that the sea took me in. I took a deep breath and let myself float in the ocean for a while. Eventually I came back, which brings us to today. I think that for some reason that statue is in your storage. And I would like it back.

I’m sorry but I really can’t just give it to you.

Shame. I thought you’d be reasonable about this.

The sound of water filling the room comes back. Miguel begins to cough violently.

Okay! You can have the statue! I’ll bring it out for you.

Good. I knew you’d agree eventually. I’ll leave you alone after this. Well, unless I find you out at sea.

The recording clicks off.

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A door opens and footsteps come into the room

Just what are you two talking about? I can hear you from artifacts storage. Whats so funny that-

The footsteps stop. There is a groan heard.

Not him. Really? The weird lizard guy? You know a couple of the books we have in storage are from him right? He’s given me enough headaches with those.

There is the click of another tape recorder. The words “Statement of Wren Cass regarding a book of poems by J-Vennie” is heard. It warbles incomprehensibly and turns off.

And what’s worse is this is the only recording of that statement. And filing still hasn’t gotten back to me on locating the written version. It’s the same for all of them. I’m half tempted to buy a book of his just to see exactly what they do. Florence Manny is a pain in my ass.

Click.

The tape recorder turns on. Someone is already half way through a sentence.

Rin- okay okay okay Rin speak into the recorder- We need to have all of the background information on record before I get into the everything!

A muffled voice can be heard in the background.

It’s fine, we can tell Rower later, just get over here!

Luci clears her throat.

Okay. Time to be professional. Interview conducted by Luci Dreme. I am speaking with fellow employee Errin Baylor in regards to a-

They seem to crack a little, barely holding back a laugh.

strange man, Florence “J-Vennie” Manny. Errin, could you please go over how you discovered him, and what you know?

[usher-foundation-lincoln-branch]

Click.

This is uh-

Sniff.

Luci Dreme. Rower said I should just have Errin record this, but I’d rather

Sniff

just do it myself. Current archival assistant Luci Dreme has been given mandatory sick leave, due to-

They let out a cough that sounds suspiciously like dry heaving.

Serious illness. It is suspected to be the flu, it remains unconfirmed. The sick leave is to only be voided by Head Archivist Ian Rower, once he has deemed it safe for the employee to return to work. Employee will-

Sniff.

Not be allowed near any work related equipment, as to keep the illness from spreading. Anything that has already been tainted will be kept in an airtight container until further notice from the Head Archivist.

It’s uh-

They cough a few times.

A- a bit overkill if you ask me. I can push through at work. But it is what it is I guess. Hopefully I’ll be over this whole sick business soon, it’s unejoyable and inefficient.

The recording ends.

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I don’t know what happened but I’m going to find out. The others are still asleep right now and I’ve locked myself up in the bathroom of the place we’re staying at. I’m only doing this because I need to finally face it. I can’t keep this case away if I want to solve it.

Case 20250607, Statement of Miguel Slater, June 07, 2025. Statement on the subject of Cody Wrabel’s disappearance.

Cody Wrabel. He was a friend of mine back in high school. We were…close. He never had much time to spare. He was always busy when I was free. He was a part of track, sprint specifically. We would only see each other during class and when he got lucky and didn’t have practice that day. We would go out together to a cafe that was nearby and catch up. We didn’t need to, we would still chat during class and all that. But I liked to talk with him outside of just school.

On my seventeenth birthday he gave me a camera. It was a small polaroid with two extra packets of film. I had talked about finding a way to make a memory book before we graduated so we would remember it in the future. I was a little ashamed actually, he had spent a lot of his own money on it. When I said I didn’t know how to repay him he told me he just wanted a photo album of us on our last year before I moved out to college, so when we were old and didn’t talk much we would still remember each other. I took my first picture that day. Me and him with matching party hats and a party horn in his mouth.

For a while I continued this. I had pictures of us at the cafe. A few of us at the park sitting up a tree or laying in the grass. One or two of us at the beach, although I hated going. One on Cody’s birthday, where he was wearing a sweater I knit for him. Why couldn’t it had stayed like that.

We were on a school trip. Camping in the mountains. I snuck a photo of him under the stars. He was gazing up at them, babbling on about which constellations were made from what stars. He noticed of course and snuck a picture of me fast asleep on his shoulder. He had given me his jacket so I would stay warm. When I woke up he wasn’t there.

I didn’t notice he was gone. Not for a while. Nobody did. We all thought he was still there when we got on the bus. And I was talking to him on the way back about how excited I was to be done with school. I didn’t notice anything was wrong until about a week later. By then we were graduating. I took a picture of us in our gowns, his medium black hair was getting in the way of his face a little. I could barely see his eyes, a deep green in that photo. I went home that night to finish up our albums. When I opened it, I saw a person in my photos. Someone who looked nothing like Cody. He had short fluffy light brown hair and blue eyes. He was a little taller than Cody, with a little more muscle on him. I compared the photos from today to that person. They weren’t the same person at all. I looked back through all of them. They all had this mystery person. The one who wasn’t Cody. The one wearing the same blue denim jacket I was, with the patches I made for him displayed faintly under the starlight.

I kept the album. I burned the photos I took that day. I never talked to that “Cody” again. I don’t know what that thing did to Cody, but I know that it was not him. I don’t know what happened to it, but I’m glad I got as far away from it as I could.

Statement ends.

The denim jacket wouldn’t have fit it. It’s still a little oversized on me, even after all this time. Ten years almost. Cody would have been glad to tease me about that. Not sure how he’d feel about me going into this job instead of going into mycology like I said I would. He always wanted me to try. If he was still here then maybe…

A sigh is heard, followed by the sound of sniffling. Miguel's voice sounds a little broken.

I just don’t remember him. I know he was the person that wore this jacket. I know his name was Cody. But I don’t remember why we were friends. What we did together. These photos are all I have left of him and for the life of me I can’t remember anything other than this? My best friend, the person I cared about most, and I couldn’t tell you his favorite color or the song he listened to the most or the secrets he would whisper to me? I just…I’m so sorry Cody. You deserved better than this. Better than-

The sound of a throat being cleared is heard.

That’s enough for now. Recording ends.

[usher-foundation-lincoln-branch]

Okay Okay,

The sound of muffled giggles come from the other side of the room

so there’s this man, J-Vennie.

J-Vinnie, legally known as Florence Manny is a this youtuber who for some reason a couple months back kept getting recommended to me. Now I understand how that seems kinda normal but you kinda have to watch his videos to understand. All and I mean ALL of his videos start with some insane visuals one sec one sec…

There’s a bit of rustling and tapping before the voice of a man begins to say “Hey guys I’m here chilling with a couple of lil dudes in the Florida everglades,” followed by more muffled laughter.

Yes, yes that is in-fact 6 lizards he’s got in his hand, this man is such a guy. As I said all of his videos are like this. He’s on some hunt to nab an 20ft snake but yoinks a bunch of other animals as well. That’s pretty much all the channel is. He’s got at max 200 vids and his channel isn’t even that popular. His average is probably somewhere around like 40 views. But somehow I’ve managed to stumble across him and it truly is a wonderful experience.

Ok wait I almost forgot he also writes books…

But only when he’s high off his ass.

A cackle can be heard coming from the same place the muffled giggles had been located

Click.

The tape recorder turns on. Someone is already half way through a sentence.

Rin- okay okay okay Rin speak into the recorder- We need to have all of the background information on record before I get into the everything!

A muffled voice can be heard in the background.

It’s fine, we can tell Rower later, just get over here!

Luci clears her throat.

Okay. Time to be professional. Interview conducted by Luci Dreme. I am speaking with fellow employee Errin Baylor in regards to a-

They seem to crack a little, barely holding back a laugh.

strange man, Florence “J-Vennie” Manny. Errin, could you please go over how you discovered him, and what you know?

[usher-foundation-lincoln-branch]

Click.

The tape recorder turns on. Someone is already half way through a sentence.

Rin- okay okay okay Rin speak into the recorder- We need to have all of the background information on record before I get into the everything!

A muffled voice can be heard in the background.

It’s fine, we can tell Rower later, just get over here!

Luci clears her throat.

Okay. Time to be professional. Interview conducted by Luci Dreme. I am speaking with fellow employee Errin Baylor in regards to a-

They seem to crack a little, barely holding back a laugh.

strange man, Florence “J-Vennie” Manny. Errin, could you please go over how you discovered him, and what you know?

[usher-foundation-lincoln-branch]

Hello, soon-to-be friends! I must begin with an apology, as I am not offering up a statement. Especially not to your like. However! I am rather here to invite you to the upcoming performance at The Baron Skinner's Bazaar!

As much as we do not very openly discuss excursions, I am certain that you will find it quite an interesting performance that you do not wish to miss!

- Your favorite clown, ♠️

M! We have mail. It’s a circus ticket? With a note attached. Sounds like they want us to go take a gander at their show.

An invitation to the circus? I haven’t been to a show in a very long time. Maybe we should do a little “field research". Besides, even if we don’t find anything there, it would be fun! A break from work. What do you think Errin?

Yeah sure. Sounds like a good time, well ignoring the typical results of doing anything at this job. Love me a good circus.

I guess it’s settled then. Let’s hope Rower approves our little excursion.

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Case UN0000001C, Letter sent by Dr. Horatio, undated. Statements on the subject of a parasitic mushroom. Statement read by Errin Baylor.

Letter Begins

Dearest Alexander, I hope my letter finds you well. How I wish I could be chatting with you over a cup of tea and a warm scone, but I need this letter to find you faster than I will be able to see you. I am writing to you as I believe I have discovered a new species of mushroom, but it seems to be more in your realm of knowledge than it is in the realm of the sciences. And as you know I trust you with my life, and I know you won’t ridicule me like my peers shall.

It began when my team and I departed on a trip to Oregon to study the mycological species in the dense forests. Here is where we came across a rather interesting specimen. This specimen was a dull blue, similar to that of blue mold. It was almost a perfect sphere and grew rather large, six inches in diameter was the biggest we observed. However, when we tried to procure some samples to send to our laboratory something strange began to occur. As Jack attempted to pick one of the mushrooms it exploded into a cloud of spores, similar to that of puffball varieties. We didn’t think much of this and instead collected spores in order to attempt to artificially cultivate them at our lab.

The next day we were meant to go into the forest and collect some more specimens, however Jack wasn’t feeling well. He hadn’t left his tent despite multiple crew members informing him of the itinerary of the day. He only responded when we attempted to open the tent, to which he shied away from any light. We decided it would be best if we let him rest for the day and watch the camp. We could no longer find any of the blue puffballs in the woods though we did procure what appeared to be chanterelles and boletes, among others.

When we returned to camp it was almost dark, and we noticed Jack was now out of his tent. I attempted to speak with him about what had happened earlier that day but he didn’t respond. And I swear to you Alex that Jack had some sort of growth on his hand. It was very small, and appeared to be a rather serious bug bite, but he would not allow anyone to treat him.

This went on for the rest of our trip. We would go out and collect specimens, and Jack would always stay behind. Every day he would get more and more “bites”. Until the final day.

That last day we had packed all of our equipment and were about to take off when I noticed Jack had gone from our campsite. There was a trail of muddy prints in the ground. A group of us went out into the woods to find Jack. We were beginning to get extremely worried about his mental state.

We found him after a while, lying in a ditch. He was dead. His skin was covered in thin blue strands that weaved their way in and out like mycelium. As we got closer we saw all those bites on him were beginning to grow. They burst out of his skin with a terrible popping sound and rapidly puffed up. They were dull blue growths in varying sizes, the biggest of which were around 8 inches in diameter. I ran backwards before they burst. The rest followed.

Parasitic mushrooms do not target people. We haven’t discovered any other species that does this, and we haven’t had any luck growing them in the lab. You are my last hope Alexander. This is far from being in the realm of science now. I’ve sent you a sealed ampule of the spores and some pictures. Perhaps your team has seen something similar before?

Your dear friend, Wyatt Horatio.

Letter ends.

Obviously there isn’t that much follow up to be done, Wyatt Horatio some researcher, despite my best attempts to find any studies conducted by him or mentions of his name he seems to have vanished. Even if anyone on the team managed to get a hold of a lead chances are he’s dead, just judging by the looks of this letter. Probably somewhere around the start of the 1900s. There’s not a lot of letters written anymore and despite some preservation this paper looks like it’s seen some things.

Anyways.

Recording Ends.

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Case 20160430W, statement of Liam Woodman, April 4, 2016. Statement read by Miguel Slater, archival assistant. Statement on the subject of an old teapot. Statement begins.

I know I sound crazy and well maybe I am. But I also know that my husband has been intoxicated by that thing and I don’t know who else to go to now. And I know it’s the teapot. I just do okay?

It was a gift from Thomas’ grandmother before she passed. It was a porcelain teapot with a silver rim and a floral pattern on it. We never used it. It always seemed to be filled with cobwebs, and no matter how many times we cleaned it out and any tea made in it would feel strange. Almost stringy, I guess? We had planned to throw it out and be done with it, but we would always forget to take it out with us whenever we went out to throw away our trash. So for a while it just lived with us, sitting on our kitchen counter and not really doing much of anything.

Then one morning I found Thomas drinking some tea. I asked if he could make me a cup and a few moments later he called me over to sit and drink with him. When I looked in the mug I saw these spiderwebs floating in the tea. I asked him if he had forgotten to rinse out the mug first and he just looked at me with a confused expression on his face. I glanced over into his mug and there were clearly webs in it too but it was like he hadn’t noticed, or that he didn’t care. I picked up the mugs to drain them out but he grabbed my wrist tightly and told me to put it down. I thought he was just in a mood and needed some space today so I left for work as usual.

He seemed pretty calm when I got back but he didn’t mention what had happened in the morning. He asked me about my day and I told him about how my boss had been giving me a hard time lately. He said that I should rest and that he’d “take care of it” for me. When I woke up I found Thomas drinking a cup of tea, and that my boss had quit for some unknown reason. A few days after he was declared missing.

For the next month or two anyone I complained about to Thomas would go missing. I knew something was up but whenever I tried to talk with him about it he said he was doing it for me and that I should be glad he’s making my life easier. I felt so weird, like I was being ungrateful and a bad husband to him, even though in our six years of being together he had never acted like this. I was beginning to get scared of saying anything to him in general.

Then some of his friends began to disappear. And some of mine. Whenever the police came to ask us about it I would say I hadn’t known them very well or that we had a falling out. He would glare me down, making sure I was saying the right thing. All while drinking a cold cup of tea.

Yesterday was when I saw it. I woke up in the middle of the night and saw Thomas was dragging someone's body across the floor. I didn’t recognize them as they were cocooned in thick white silk. I watched from the bedroom door as he took it over to the teapot. Then a spider crawled out of the spout. It was almost pure black, and larger than any spider I had seen before. I could have sworn it was the size of Thomas when fully out of the teapot, almost as if it was growing the closer it got to the body. It stuck its fangs into the cocoon and I saw a stream of a black liquid spew out of its mouth and into the body. The cocoon thrashed weakly as the liquid filled up the sack. Then it made a terrible sucking sound, like it was drinking whoever was in there through a straw. It was bigger when it had finished its meal, unraveling the silk to reveal nothing. There weren’t even any bones left behind.

I think I fainted. The next thing I remember was Thomas cradling me in his arms. I was so glad he only had two. He kept whispering to me that he had taken care of her and that I should trust him. I do trust him, and I don’t want anything to happen to him. But I’m also scared about that spider in the teapot and I know it did something to Thomas. He told me I could make a statement about it and that he wouldn’t get into any trouble, and that’s why I’m here. I’m just worried that Thomas is going to get taken by the spider. I still haven't gotten over my fear of the things.

Statement ends

Spiders…eugh. I hate them. They crawl everywhere and their webs are too sticky and easy to walk into.

It appears that everyone in the story is under an alias. And they seem to have traced their steps very well, I haven’t been able to find anything identifying. I’ve been looking through disappearance cases via our back door access to police reports and haven’t found much. The closest I found was that there was an increase in disappearances in the Tucson area of Arizona between 2015 and 2016. I’ll get another assistant to look into this further.

Recording ends.

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(Just wanted to say it explicitly, because this is autism the website, please send us statements through asks if you have some! You don’t have to or anything obviously, but if you want to, please please please do, we’d love to get some statements)

- mod star

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Case 19981028H, Statement given by Jim Hall, October 28, 1998. Statement in regards to an old hunting rifle. Statement read and archived by Luci Dreme.

I’m coming here because I feel like I have to. I don’t know how much longer before I’m forced to do it again. I really don’t want to do it again. But when that thing makes me do it…well it won’t be an animal. 

It started when I found this old hunting rifle in a box in the attic. I assumed it belonged to my pappy, and I had inherited with the rest of the stuff in his cabin. And hunting season had just started so I wanted to go out and try my hand at using pap’s old riffle. When I picked it up it felt like any old gun to me. It was only when I went out into the woods that it started. 

The first day I went out there wasn’t much to find. I found a couple quail nesting about and that was that. When I fired the bullet, that’s when It began. The satisfaction of having killed. I had never felt that rush before. The second day I found some quail again, but no matter how many I slaughtered I couldn’t feel satisfied. The woods were a bloodbath, and I never once questioned why the gun hadn’t run out of bullets. The urge to kill only stopped when I found a rabbit and shot it dead. That was not the first time the woods were painted that dark carmine. By the end of that week I had a dozen pigeons, ten rabbits, two turkeys and one deer. Whenever I picked up that gun I could feel it again, the need to fire, to kill. 

Yesterday I couldn't find any game. That’s when I realized what this thing was. It had to take a life, or I would be next. I knew it somehow, that if it didn’t spill enough blood it would be me who would wake up with a bullet to the chest. That fear that I would be prey, that is what made me kill Donna. 

I loved Donna. She had been nothing but kind. We had been married for almost twenty five years, brought up a child. Ryan doesn’t deserve to know what happened to his poor mother. How she screamed when it struck her. The wicked glee I got when I saw her fall. That wretched feeling of finally ending the chase, of killing

I ran. But no matter how hard I tried I still couldn’t let go of that gun. So I came here. Because if anything, one of you knows how to stop this. But don’t get too close alright. If any of you get any ideas of taking my only defense away from me I swear I will-

Statement ended.

Jim Hall, huh? I looked into him before reading this one out. I prefer to know my facts first. The cops found out about what he did, and he ran. Was a serial killer for a few years, but eventually they caught up to him. His own son, what was it- Ryan. Right. He refused to visit him at first. Only came to yell at the security guards for letting Jim die after only a few months in jail. I tried to reach out to him, to try and get a statement on his perspective of the whole thing, to sniff out some more details, but he was…uncooperative.

We can’t know if this was a man giving into his worst thoughts, or if that gun was as potent as he said it was without more information. I mean, we’ve all had thoughts like that. But acting on them is different. God, if I could just get Ryan to interview it’d be-

They let out a sigh.

Can’t change that. Need to stop focusing on it. You’ve got work to do. Luci. There’s other shit to record, and you’ve got to finish up this recording.

They pause again, awkward silence overtaking the recording.

Right, well, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to end one of these- I’m sort of talking to no one. Not until someone decides to listen back to it. So, bye future employee, I guess. See you in the future.