#MAG030

[badgrav-31]

so funny to me that an episode that keeps referencing slaughterhouses and slaughter and the creepy probably-an-avatar guy says ‘closing the door won’t stop the slaughter’ and then the entity is the flesh and not like. the slaughter.

[martinbabywood]

god I remember so much of the abattoir episode 😭😭 too much tbh

[tmisaccidentreportbook]

MAG030, Killing Floor

Case #0130111, David Laylow Release date: August 3rd, 2016 First listen: 5th November, on the walk home. I remember walking past the Rushy Lake wall as the statement was starting.

In which I sat down to start writing, pulled up the episode, saw the title, and walked away to go make dinner early… I’m also going over my messages with dodgylogic at the time of the first listen and this one is in her Top 3 episodes.

- So I’ve done a little looking and I was somewhat shocked to see that Dalston is actually in London. Now, disclaimer, country bumpkin here, but it’s within the A406 ring road so as far as I’m concerned, it’s London. And the fact that I’m shocked, is exactly what I think this statement is going for; the fact that this sort of work is going on so close to major populations. Ok, now, I’m probably going to fumble this, but I don’t think it had computed in my brain, I’ve just always envisioned abattoirs out in the countryside, close to farms and with plenty of room. Or alternatively, the whole process handled by a butcher, because, yes, I grew up in a the sort of village you’d expect to see on the front of a biscuit tin and we have a traditional family butchers. They did damn good work during the pandemic, chased out folks who’d driven in to buy up their stock when they have an ageing an immobile population that depend on them. Taylor's Family Butchers, big respect. Anyway, I’m examining this now because historically, yeah, the animals would be driven into town to be butchered and processed in the community they were going to be sold. Makes sense. So I think it may be quiet telling that my brain had just glossed the concept over. Bit embarrassing and stupid really, my university town had an abattoir site until it was torn down in 2014. I think it’s a Premier Inn now.

- ‘I won’t say which one.’ I get that fear. There’s been so much I want to write about, about my work. Exciting things, entertaining things, things that need to be muttered into the ears of law makers with all the threat of King Claudius’ poison. But I haven’t and when I do, I keep it vague, although the discerning could probably work it out. Because my employer hasn’t the clearest guide lines on social media use and such and it became a whole lot easier just to not. Which made it all the more galling when the social media teams did put up stuff and got it wrong. It’s not like they had the experts to ask a few offices away, or failing that, the internet to ask, but I will leave that rant for the foot soldiers being kept from saying their piece for another time. But yeah, saw folk higher up the chain posting whatever they want and I was there in the knowledge if I put anything up, it would come down on me like a tonne of bricks, so forget it. Also, my industry is pretty niche and fairly incestuous, and I’ve seen stuff come round to bite folks in the arse.

- ‘I never did (get a weird vibe)… Maybe that says something about me, though.’ I work with animals. Have done for near a decade now. And people always ask me how I take the deaths, because there are a lot of them. I’m not sure if I’ve hardened or if my mentality of ‘Every day is a knife fight with God’ has solidified, but in most cases, it elicits a sigh and a small swear before I start the process of preparing for our vets to perform a post mortem. Not often does an animal’s death impact me to the point I where I grieve, it has happened, but not often. These aren’t pets of mine, they’re more like strange little work colleagues, that have a natural life expectancy much shorter than my own.

- ‘…every damn animal in that place knew exactly why they were there.’ I can believe. It doesn’t matter how well it’s cleaned, but cattle alarm pheromones will stick around and induce fear and stress to other cows. You spook one, you spook the herd. And the herd that comes after that. And the one after that. That’s before we even talk about the stress of a new environment, noise, travel etc.

- Hearing David talk about the ‘casual human brutality’ is difficult. Really difficult. Because you know it happens, not just the abuse itself, but the fact that the observer can become so numb to it. Can disassociate what is happening given time and practise. I’m thankful to say I’ve never witness what I’d consider ‘human brutality’ to animals, but I have seen ‘unnecessary carelessness’ which has often had me gritting my teeth and saying something. It’s typically down to a difference in husbandry practises. And I try and be civil. And if I couldn’t be civil I’d go get our vet, who is a woman who takes exactly zero shit and has no problem telling the collection manager exactly where he can stick it if he refuses to wear gloves despite me asking him, twice.

- ‘… just noisy meat.’ prolonged pained conflicted noises

- ‘…you start to kind of see people as meat too.’ I wonder if that’s the case in other professions too. Probably not to such a severe level of disassociation maybe, but do morticians look at people and measure them for a coffin? Do forensic pathologists try and see what would be cited as the cause of death? Do surgeons think about how much pressure they’d need to apply for the first incision?

- ‘…it’s hard to believe in any special spark that makes us humans any different.’ Mood. The only thing that makes us special is that we figured out agriculture and domestication of other species. All goes down hill from there.

- ‘…we could turn into a lifeless carcass just as easily.’ The human body is so fucking ridiculous. I am saying this as someone with a first aid level of medical training, I am very much a layman here, but the fact that we can lose limbs, multiple limbs, and pull through is incredible and wild. But you roll over funny and you can say good bye to walking or you hit you head just wrong and it’s lights out. Humans are so squishy. We make no sense.

- ‘I only worked it for a few months, and now I can’t work on any killing floor anywhere.’ Very sensible, good working practise and all, but this is a terrible jump for my brain to make and I can’t decide if it’s terribly disrespectful or poignant or both, but I recently learnt about the Sonderkommandos that worked the crematoria of Nazi death camps and how teams were liquidated at random intervals and… yeah.

- Yeah, I need a mug of tea now.

- ‘Of the people who’d worked the killing floor for over ten years, do you know what percentage went on to commit murder? One hundred percent.’ I’d like a citation of this study please. I would like to read it. But I’ve also done a quick search of more recent studies, and I realise that it’s too long since I’ve needed to read any scientific paper with anything more than surface level understanding. And while study David references would have been carried out in the 50s, there are still concerns to this day. A 2021 study, drawing data from U.S., Australia, South Africa, Turkey, Brazil, Denmark, and Ireland, found that there is a higher prevalence rate of mental health issues, depression and anxiety in particular, those affected tended to employ a variety of both adaptive and maladaptive strategies to cope, and there is some evidence that slaughterhouse work is associated with increased crime levels. Worrying, as the U.K. slaughterhouse industry has a 70% migrant workforce, people already vulnerable.

- ‘They call it “stunning”, but that’s never sat quite right with me.’ Yeah, that’s… that’s just lobotomising. more concerned distressed noises

- ‘The Bleed Crew’ is at once a horrifying concept and a baller band name.

- Tom Haan. Interesting, complicated one. The fact that he is from China and doesn’t appear to speak much English is a good representation of how the U.K.’s slaughterhouse industry relies on an immigrant work force who may otherwise be short on options for employment and are, unfortunately, easy to take advantage of. On the other hand… yikes. I have ague memories of this being discussed and Jonny unintentionally feeding back into some unfortunate stereotypes. I don’t know what prompted him to make Tom Haan Chinese, whether it was an honest desire to have more cultural variation in his characters, but he accidentality walked face first into the wall of racist stereotypes.

- ‘…but in practice no-one asks to be moved (from the killing floor). It shows a weakness that most of the people working there aren’t comfortable with.’ Iiiiii��m gonna go out on a limb here and say ‘most of the people working there’ are under the influence of toxic masculinity and a protestant work ethic amongst other things.

- ‘My feelings weren’t really working back then.’ (Hears this.) Concerned noises. (Remembers my darker days of late 2020.) Concerned noises at half an octave higher.

- ‘… in perfect English, ‘You cannot stop slaughter by closing the door’.’ Sinister in many ways; the actual words, the supposedly hidden grasp of English, and also, ok he doesn’t specify the accent, but if it IS in perfect BBC English… look, we’re the bad guys in movies for a damn good reason. And considering the British Empire’s historical relationships with mainland Asia… yikes.

- I’ve done some jobs where I was able to just switch my brain onto idle and go through the motions. I would find it therapeutic, especially one volunteer role I had at a foodbank processing stock takes. And it was wonderful because it was like reverse retail therapy, I had some semblance of control over something for 2½hrs on a Monday morning because I put the cans where they went on the shelves, and the background was a lovely group of recent retirees and stay at home dads who were happy to be a listening ear to a twitchy early 30s lass who was just trying to get her bearings. The point is, it worked because that trance like state made me very receptive, and thankfully what I was receiving was good vibes, kind advice, and tea with slightly stale biscuits. David is receptive to a circle of hell in that state.

- ‘It was the silence that finally brought me back to myself.’ The troupe of ‘it’s quiet… too quiet.’ is one of the most unnerving ones for me. Especially when there’s meant to be animal noises about; livestock, bid song etc. Because they’ll know things before we ever could.

- ‘There was no clock in that room.’ Is that typical? Or safe? Or is this just for spooks?

- ‘I surprised myself a bit with how quickly I accepted this situation.’ Another example of someone accepting the situation and dealing and processing it. I wonder if there’s a part of the psyche that realises that realises that what’s being experienced is something eldritch and unknowable and so shuts down logic and reasoning and instead concentrates on survival.

- Ok, so we’ve got a labyrinthine complex, our lone hero, and we’ve had cows coming through… Theseus and the Minotaur anyone? Also, sidebar, did you know the Minotaur of legend actually had a name? Asterius or Asterion, meaning ‘child of stars’.

- ‘These rails would never normally follow the passages of the slaughterhouse like this, and that fact bothered me, though I’m not quite sure why.’ Some little animal part of the brain still screaming ‘WRONG, NOPE, BAD’. I’ll do that, I mean, you’ve seen how I try to make the timelines behave when it can so easily be explained with ‘eldritch fuckery’. But I think I remember getting real bogged down in the delicacies of the heart surgery in Iron Man 3 that the science of the Extremis procedure completely washed on by.

- ‘Meat-bone separators, splitting saws, scald tanks.’ Delightful names.

- ‘… I don’t know how long I wandered. It felt like hours, though.’ Wibbly wobbly ooky spooky timey wimey.

- ‘The sky was a dull pink – the colour of blood being washed into a drain.’ … Yikes.

- ‘… and I began to cry. It was like something numb within me had shattered, and I couldn’t… I just couldn’t.’ I think it’s clear that David had been struggling with his mental well being before the incident took place, struggling and aware as he asked to be removed from the killing floor team. But this emotional and mental self awareness is refreshing in these statements. Especially from a man in an industry as rife with toxic masculine ideals as this.

- ‘(The scent of blood) had a strange sort of comfort to it, as it was the smell of the slaughterhouse as I had known it.’ I think the underlying horror of this other place, this abattoir in waiting is exactly that, it’s waiting. The threat is there and it hasn’t been actioned yet, it’s just waiting.

- ‘Pigs, cattle, sheep, I think I even saw a few humans in the pile, though without heads or limbs it’s hard to tell the difference between them and pigs.’ YUP. There a reason pig carcasses get used in forensic science to demonstrate the changes a cadaver goes through.

- ‘But (Tom Haan) didn’t make me fire it. I did that myself.’ Ooof, buddy.

- ‘I wish I felt bad about his death, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything at all.’ Good grief, please seek professional help.

- It got discussed in one of the Q&As that for an Avatar to… ascend shall we say, that a death was typically involved, or at least a metaphorical death. With some Avatars, the deaths have been of others; Peter Lukas’ with Jon becoming the Archivit, Jude Perry with her banking colleague, Agnes Montague with her own mother. Tom Haan’s death seems to be his own chrysalis, if this is indeed the point at which he ascended from agent to Avatar. Seems fitting, that it should be the case for The Flesh.

- I did a surface level google and couldn’t find an Aver Meats in Dalston, but there’s reason to believe that this London is not Our London, so I might leave it there. It might be Jonny has had to invent a business, it might be that if there is an abattoir in the area, they have a discreet web presence that I’m missing.

- ‘…which I would say are symptoms of PTSD, but he has strongly declined to seek treatment.’ Oh buddy, no, seek help. David was aware that he wasn’t well mentally and he’s emotional state was declining. If anything, he’s well on the way to the mental state that was so often referred to in the studies done on slaughterhouse work and crime.

- ‘… he had been renting a house in Clarence Road for almost a decade, and it was in quite a state of disrepair when he left.’ Between this and MAG018 The Flesh really seem to be murder on property, don’t they? Dread to think what the fridge looked like.

- ‘Immigration authorities are somewhat useless…. No official effort has been made to locate him, and the police were reluctant to open a new case, so we didn’t push it.’ Well… doesn’t that just make you feel fucking warm and fuzzy on the inside. Oh what? That’s rage? Oh no, yeah, that tracks.

- ‘… having trouble retaining builders, four of which have already quit.’ Interesting, considering it’s another male dominated field. I wonder if that was indeed Tom Haan’s ascension and the transformation has left a permanent scar on the site having it ‘already seemed to be way too big’.

- And I think there’s some very important discussion to be had about the industrialised meat industry. It has gotten monstrously big, and faceless, and removed, and wasteful. That image of carcasses just falling off conveyor belts and into a pit for presumably grinding up, is a terrible, wasteful image, of animal and human life and of the meat as a resource itself. I don’t know enough about butchery to know what sort of percentage of an animal goes to waste when processed for meat these days. I don’t know, I know small scale butchers will work differently but small scale and specialist butchers are harder to find and can be more expensive to buy from. I will buy local from suppliers I trust as best I can, but I’ve got the privilege of living in a market town in a rural area. And while I have the resources now, between working for a charity and the cost of living crisis, I’m having to think carefully, And I have the resources, a lot of folks may not. It grinds my gears how, like with fossil fuel burning and global warming, the ethical guilt of meat, egg and diary production is foisted onto the individual consumer who may have limited access and financial freedoms to chose, when really animal welfare and husbandry should be protected and held to a higher standard legislatively and support offered and research done properly. I know they try but I’ve heard some DEFRA horror stories and a few bad apples, whole barrel, you know the drill. Still not over the hell they put us through during the 2020 AI outbreak. Ok, I’m getting off the soap box, it’s gone midnight, I’m ranting with no receipts.

- I’ve done a little bit of butchering in my time. I’ve been part of keeper teams that’s tended tigers and lions. I’ve butchered what I think was horse meat, delivered in blue plastic barrels and thawed overnight. I’ve worn the butcher’s gauntlet, got 2 as curios on my bookcase Mum found at a car boot for me. I’ve plucked more quail and gutted more rats than I care to remember. But I’ve only ever had to kill a handful of animals, and that was always as humane euthanasia after veterinary training. Still fucking sucks.

[two-idiots-one-thought]

MAG030 - Killing Floor

[webtable]

dreams and the flesh

mag030 // mag072 // mag103

ID under the cut

[ID: Screenshots of various transcripts with teal text on a pale yellow background. The first image reads: “It wasn’t a dream, though, or a vision. Everything had changed, and I was somewhere new.”

The second image says: “I kept dreaming of a paint can impaled on a rotary kebab skewer. The liquid dipping from it bubbled and boiled in the heat, but it wasn’t paint.”

The last image says: “I keep having this dream. I used to watch the rehearsals for the Carley Brothers’ performances, and I can clearly remember Angus Dale’s voice, or at least his clowning voice. I was watching him perform, but instead of a comedy skit or a bit of slapstick, he would sink his teeth into his limbs with this crunching, cracking sound, gradually eating himself.” /ID end.]

[tma-latino]

MAG030 - Caso 0130111 – Matadero

Testimonio de David Laylow, sobre su tiempo trabajando en un matadero industrial cerca de Dalston.

[Disclaimer/ Aviso]

[MAG029] | x | [MAG031]

[tma-traduzioni]

MAG030– Caso #0130111 – “Mattatoio”

[Episodio precedente]

[pdf con testo inglese a fianco / pdf with english text on the side]

ARCHIVISTA

Dichiarazione di David Laylow, riguardante il tempo che ha passato a lavorare in un mattatoio industriale vicino a Dalston. Dichiarazione originale rilasciata il primo settembre 2013. Registrazione audio di Jonathan Sims, Capo Archivista dell’Istituto Magnus, Londra.

Inizio della dichiarazione

ARCHIVISTA (DICHIARAZIONE)

Lavoravo in un macello. Un “impianto di trasformazione della carne”. Non dirò in quale. Non voglio cacciarmi nei guai. Era vicino a Dalston, però, quindi probabilmente potrete capire quale. Non ce ne sono molti da quelle parti quindi non è difficile. Non ce ne sono molti in generale. Non è una cosa che in molti vorrebbero avere vicino. Puzza terribilmente se non ci sei abituato e le persone mi dicono che gli dà una strana sensazione. Io non l’ho mai sentita, almeno non prima che tutto questo accadesse. Forse, però, questo dice qualcosa su di me.

Non c’è molta differenza tra gli animali e le persone, sai? Non sto dicendo che ucciderei una persona, o che gli umani siano tutti stupidi. No, sto dicendo che gli animali sono più intelligenti di quanto gli diamo credito. Sembrano stupidi, vero, ma so di che parlo quando dico che ogni dannato animale in quel luogo sapeva esattamente per quale motivo si trovava lì. Non devi essere intelligente per sapere che sei circondato dalla mutilazione della tua stessa specie.

All’inizio quando cominciai mi occupavo di guidare, e dal momento in cui venivano caricati, lo potevi sentire nei loro mugolii. Sanno che cosa succede, sanno dove stanno andando. Ho sentito molti ingegneri e scienziati parlare di “fattori di stress”, “novità” o “livelli di cortisolo” quando discutevano sul modo migliore per evitare di “attivare reazioni di paura o fuga”. Se questo gli permette di continuare a godersi la loro bistecca, possono usare qualsiasi parola desiderino, ma ogni mucca con gli occhi sgranati che ho messo nel corridoio che conduceva al macello sapeva esattamente cosa l’attendeva alla fine.

Si sentono storie orribili su come gli animali vengano tormentati nei mattatoi, e le cose che gli vengono fatte dai freddi macchinari inarrestabili, ma molto spesso la brutalità non necessaria delle persone viene ignorata. Un lavoratore e un abbattitore sono valutati per molte cose, e una di quelle è quanto sono crudeli o angoscianti per il bestiame di cui si occupano. Se sei violento con i tuoi animali, non otterrai un buon punteggio, ma questo è il massimo. Non rischi di perdere il lavoro a meno che non esageri veramente, e a volte ti capita di avere una brutta giornata. Il tipo di giornata in cui è bello potersi sfogare su un pezzo di carne di maiale, mentre va in contro alla sua fine.

Voglio dire, non avrei detto che quel livello di crudeltà era comune se non per qualche calcio occasionale o l’usare il pungolo elettrico anche quando non serviva. Era solo che, se anche lo vedevi, non te ne importava. E sapevi anche che a nessuno sarebbe importato se avesse visto te. Nonostante tutto il ragliare, il mugolare e l’urlare, alla fine si trattava solo di carne rumorosa.

La cosa più strana è che in un certo senso inizi a vedere anche le persone come carne. Non nel senso di cibo, sai. Non voglio mangiare i miei colleghi. È solo che, quando passi tutto il giorno a prendere queste creature che sono vive e che respirano - animali che si muovono e urlano e tremano dalla paura - e li trasformi in pezzi senza vita di carne morta, è difficile credere che in noi umani ci sia una scintilla speciale che ci renda diversi. Corriamo e urliamo e archiviamo le nostre vite proprio come ogni mucca, e dopo un po’ non puoi fare a meno di realizzare che potremmo diventare una carcassa senza vita con la stessa facilità. Più facilmente, addirittura, visto che siamo molto più piccoli. Voglio dire non sono un qualche strano killer o roba simile, ma dopo del tempo è difficile non vedere tutti come carne che si muove.

Ho lavorato al mattatoio, sai? Non a lungo. Non ti ci fanno lavorare per molto. Durante la tua vita, intendo. Non so precisamente per quanto tempo sei autorizzato a lavorarci, ma non è molto. Io ci sono stato per qualche mese, e ora non posso più lavorare in nessun altro mattatoio. Mai più. Onestamente è un sollievo, sapere che non dovrai più lavorarci, ma sei ancora là, capisci? Non è che te ne sei andato dal macello. Ho sentito che quelle regole sono venute fuori dopo che hanno fatto delle ricerche in America. Questo sarà stato una sessantina d’anni fa, ma hanno iniziato a controllare le percentuali di crimini e omicidi dei lavoratori dei macelli che operavano il mattatoio. Delle persone che hanno lavorato in un mattatoio per più di dieci anni, sai quante hanno poi commesso un omicidio? Il cento per cento.

Non so se è vero. Me lo ha detto Tony Mulholland, quando si è licenziato. Forse stava solo provando a incasinarmi la testa o a dimostrare qualcosa, ma mi sembra una cosa vera. Voglio dire, ci ho lavorato solo per qualche mese, ma ammazza abbastanza cose che non vogliono essere ammazzate e poi inizi a guardare la testa di una persona e a chiederti dove dovresti posizionare la pistola a proiettile captivo.

Mi dispiace, so che non sono qui per questo, ma mi sembra di dover tentare di farvi capire come sia, uccidere cose e macellare la loro carne per vivere. Voglio dire, non lo faccio più, ovviamente. Comunque, dovete capire da che situazione vengo.

È iniziato tutto nel mattatoio. Dovevo operare la pistola a proiettile captivo. Tecnicamente, gli animali che macelliamo muoiono per dissanguamento, qualcosa riguardo alla qualità della carne, credo, ma è la pistola a far sì che non se ne accorgano. Lo chiamano stordimento, ma quel termine non mi è mai sembrato giusto. Spari una punta di ferro proprio nel nel cervello dell’animale, distruggendo proprio la parte giusta affinché possano dissanguarsi senza opporre resistenza, e apparentemente senza dolore. Io mi sono solo occupato dello stordimento; non sono mai stato nel gruppo del dissanguamento, quindi credo che in un certo senso si potrebbe dire che non ho mai ucciso uno degli animali. E certo, forse potrebbero continuare a muoversi un poco dopo il colpo, e i loro cuori continuano a battere, ma per quanto si parli di stordimento o trauma cerebrale irreversibile, pigiando quel grilletto mi sembrava comunque di ammazzarli.

C’era anche un altro uomo che lavorava al mattatoio, dissanguando gli animali. Il suo nome era Tom Haan, e non ci ho mai parlato davvero. Per la maggior parte del tempo non sapevo neanche quanto inglese parlasse - veniva dalla Cina, credo, e diceva raramente una parola. La prima volta che sentii davvero la sua voce fu quel giorno, il giorno in cui tutto iniziò. Mi sentivo combattuto per quel che riguardava il lavoro, da quando avevo iniziato al mattatoio, e alla fine avevo chiesto di essere spostato in un'altra posizione. Ora, ufficialmente la politica aziendale è che ogni richiesta di abbandonare il mattatoio deve essere garantita, ma in pratica nessuno chiede mai di essere spostato. Mostra una debolezza con cui la maggior parte delle persone che lavorano lì non si sentono a loro agio. Io lo feci comunque, avevo appena saputo che, dal giorno seguente, sarei stato trasferito a macellare le carcasse. Non ricordo come mi sentivo. I miei sentimenti non erano proprio funzionanti in quel periodo.

Comunque, era mentre stavo processando l’ultima delle mucche della giornata che Toma Haan si avvicinò. Non gli prestai molta attenzione, ma si sporse in avanti, mi afferrò la spalla e mi disse in un inglese perfetto, “Non puoi fermare il macello chiudendo la porta.” Mi sentii attraversato da brivido, e volevo girarmi e chiedergli di che cosa stesse parlando, ma era già tornato dalla squadra del dissanguamento. Rimasi scosso per il resto della giornata, e sapendo che quelli erano gli ultimi animali che avrei dovuto uccidere direttamente rese premere il grilletto ogni volta più difficile, non più facile. Scollegai la mente e lasciai che i miei movimenti meccanici prendessero il sopravvento. Mucca nella gabbia, blocca la sua testa in posizione, pistola contro la tempia, premi il grilletto. Di nuovo e di nuovo, fino a che non mi sentii come se fossi stato in trance.

Fu il silenzio a farmi tornare in me. Stavo aspettando che portassero nella stanza il prossimo bovino, e notai che non riuscivo a sentire nulla. Non c’erano il muggito spaventato degli animali, o il lamento lontano delle seghe o il rombo di nessuna delle centinaia di macchinari che ronzano e battono e che tengono in funzione il macello. Aspettai e aspettai, ma non arrivò alcuna mucca. Guardandomi in giro non vidi nessuno. Non c’era un orologio nella stanza, e io non ne portavo uno. Un campanello solitamente suonava quando era l’ora delle pause, e io non avevo sentito nulla.

Non sembrava che sarebbe arrivato altro bestiame, quindi posai la pistola, e mi avviai verso la zona del dissanguamento. Non c’era nessuno lì, e inoltre, il luogo era pulito. Immacolato. Come se non ci fosse mai stata versata neanche una goccia di sangue. Ero rimasto lì, svenuto o qualcosa del genere? Era finita la giornata e il posto era stato pulito e io non me ne ero neanche accorto?

Andai verso la porta d’uscita, decidendo che o avrei trovato qualcuno a cui chiedere che cosa stesse succedendo, o me ne sarei tornato a casa. La porta si aprì su un corridoio che non riconobbi. Assomigliava ad ogni altro corridoio del macello, tranne che non era quello che conduceva verso l’uscita. Provai verso le altre porte che conducevano fuori dal mattatoio, ma nessuna conduceva dove mi ricordavo. Dietro a ognuna c’era un altro corridoio che sembrava portare sempre più verso ll’interno del macello. Rimasi lì per qualche secondo, e onestamente mi diedi un pizzicotto. Dovevo essere in un sogno o un’allucinazione o qualcosa del genere. Non si trattava di un sogno, però, o una visione. Tutto era cambiato, e io ero in un posto nuovo.

Rimasi sorpreso da quanto velocemente avevo accettato questa situazione. Passai dalla porta verso la quale ero andato prima, pensando che se non conoscevo la pianta del luogo, allora avrei potuto iniziare provando a seguire la vecchia strada per quanto possibile. I corridoi sembravano condurre l’uno all’altro e presto mi persi completamente. Notai, comunque, che alcuni sembravano avere binari sul soffitto, come quelli che si usano per spostare le carcasse appese. Alcuni avevano addirittura degli uncini, lucidi e puliti. Questi binari in una situazione normale non si sarebbero mai trovati lungo i corridoi del macello così, e questa cosa mi infastidiva, anche se non so bene perché.

Urlai, almeno all’inizio, sperando che ci fosse qualcuno, da qualche parte in questo labirinto, che potesse udirmi e rispondere. Non c’era nulla. Alcune porte conducevano a stanze vuote, contenenti solo macchinari puliti. Separatori di carne e ossa, seghe, vasche bollenti, tutto era lì immobile, brillante e in silenzio. In attesa. Non rimasi a lungo in quelle stanze. Come ho detto, non indossavo un orologio, quindi non sapevo per quanto tempo vagai. Mi sembrarono ore, però.

A un certo punto, girai un angolo e vidi una piccola scala metallica che saliva a spirale verso l’alto. Non avevo alcun motivo per pensare di essere in un piano interrato, ma era la prima cosa che avevo trovato che non era un groviglio di corridoi e stanze silenziose, quindi salii. Le scale salirono girando per molto tempo.

Quando raggiunsi il piano superiore, il mio cuore sprofondò nel vedere altri corridoi che si estendevano di fronte a me, anche se questi avevano tutti i binari per la carne che serpeggiavano sul soffitto, e molti non erano illuminati. Rimasi lontano dai passaggi più bui. Uno di loro dava su una finestra, e tutto quello che riuscii a scorgere fuori era il tetto di metallo di una macelleria che continuava fino all’orizzonte. Il cielo era di un rosa spento - il colore del sangue che viene lavato via in uno scolo. Lasciai la finestra molto velocemente. Infine, per puro caso, notai una porta che riconobbi. Era la porta d’uscita verde scuro che avrebbe dovuto condurre fuori dall’edificio. Non mi fermai neanche a prendere in considerazione che potesse non portare fuori; semplicemente l’aprii e la attraversai.

I miei piedi non si posarono sull’asfalto dell’esterno. Non si posarono neanche sul cemento o il metallo o le mattonelle del pavimento del macello. Era scuro, quindi non capii immediatamente che cosa stessi calpestando, ma si spostò leggermente sotto il mio peso. Guardai in entrambe le direzioni, e vidi le barriere di metallo intrappolarmi, e il nastro trasportatore sotto di me iniziò a muoversi. Capii dove mi trovavo, dove avrebbe portato, e urlai.

Girandomi per scappare, mi aspettavo quasi una mandria di bestiame dietro di me, che mi avrebbe spinto in avanti come i corridoi sono progettati per fare, ma non c’era niente, e fuggii dalla porta. La sbattei dietro di me e… e iniziai a piangere. Era come se qualcosa di intorpidito dentro di me fosse andato in frantumi, e non potevo… semplicemente non potevo.

Fu mentre sedevo là, accasciato contro la parete, che iniziai a sentire quell’odore. L’odore dolciastro e metallico del sangue. Era stranamente confortevole, perché questo era l’odore del macello come lo conoscevo, prima che finissi ovunque mi trovavo in quel momento. Iniziai a seguirlo, camminando avanti, girando nella direzione in cui l’odore di sangue era più intenso. E diventò più intenso, molto più intenso. Mentre giravo angoli e attraversavo sale buie l’odore diventò spesso, pungente, molto più di quanto non fosse mai stato prima. Per quando mi ritrovai davanti alla porta di metallo opaco da cui proveniva, riuscivo a malapena a respirare. Dall’altro lato veniva un rumorosa cadenza meccanica. Non avrei dovuto aprirla, ma altrimenti dove sarei potuto andare?

Conduceva a un piccolo camminamento sospeso, lungo il bordo di una larga stanza circolare. No, larga non le rende giustizia. Era… immensa. Riuscivo a scorgere a malapena l’altro lato, in lontananza. Lungo i bordi si trovavano le estremità dei nastri trasportatori, e potevo vedere delle carcasse macellate rotolare giù da questi, e andare a nutrire il vasto pozzo che occupava il resto della stanza. La montagna di corpi maleodoranti e insanguinati, molti più di quanti riuscissi a contare. Maiali, bovini, pecore, credo di aver visto anche qualche umano nella pila, anche se senza teste o arti è difficile distinguerli dai maiali. Il vasto mucchio si spostava e muoveva, come se qualcosa di meccanico molto più in basso lo stesse masticando, ma veniva continuamente rifornito, nutrito da quei nastri trasportatori, carcasse che cadevano flosciamente l’una sull’altra come bambole. Non riuscivo a vedere il fondo, anche se qualsiasi cosa stesse processando il mucchio era così rumorosa da annegare quasi i miei pensieri.

Cos’altro potevo fare, se non girarmi nuovamente, e fuggire?

Non ho la più pallida idea di quanto tempo corsi. So solo che a un certo punto caddi in ginocchio nel buio e rimasi lì disteso per un bel po’. Il suono e l’odore del pozzo erano svaniti, e riuscii a sentire un altro suono, lo scatto rumoroso di una pistola a proiettile captivo. A quel punto ero stufo di seguire strani suoni e rumori in giro per quel maledetto posto, quindi mi voltai e iniziai a camminare nella direzione opposta. Non aiutò. In qualunque direzione andassi, il suono sembrava farsi sempre più forte, riecheggiando per i corridoi deserti.

Quando aprii la porta che portava al mattatoio, non avevo più di che sorprendermi. Seduto lì, davanti alla gabbia per lo stordimento, si trovava Tom Haan. Era rivolto in un’altra direzione, ma riuscii a vederlo puntare la pistola, lentamente e deliberatamente, contro diverse parti di se stesso - le sue gambe, il suo stomaco, le sue scarpe - e premere il grilletto. Quando lo raggiunsi, lui era poco più che un ammasso di ferite sanguinanti. Senza una parola mi passò la pistola e io la presi. Con la sua mano funzionante, guidò il mio braccio fino a che la pistola non si trovava contro la sua fronte. Ma non mi fece sparare. Quello lo feci io. Cadde flosciamente sul pavimento. Non sapevo se fosse morto ma spero di sì. Avrei odiato se quel luogo lo avesse dissanguato.

La porta dietro di lui conduceva a un corridoio che riconobbi, e la porta che trovai dopo con la scritta ‘uscita’ si aprì su una giornata così luminosa che riuscivo a malapena a vedere. C’erano delle persone lì, altri lavoratori, ma nessuno mi prestò attenzione. Lasciai il macello, e non ci tornai. Continuavo ad aspettarmi che la polizia mi chiamasse per Tom, ma non sentii più menzionare il suo nome. Nemmeno quando consegnai le mie dimissioni. Vorrei sentirmi in colpa per la sua morte, ma no. Non sento niente.

ARCHIVISTA

Fine della dichiarazione.

Hmm. Altra carne. Interessante. Ho fatto controllare a Sasha alcuni particolari del racconto del signor Laylow, e tutto sembrerebbe essere più o meno accurato. È stato assunto da Aver Meats a Dalston dall’Aprile del 2010 al 12 Luglio 2013, a quel punto ha lasciato il suo incarico, che è stato confermato essere stordire il bestiame per la lavorazione, nel mezzo del suo turno, assieme a Thomas Haan, uno dei suoi colleghi. Se ne andarono dall’ingresso principale, ignorando gli altri lavoratori, anche se nessuno li aveva mai segnalati per comportamenti strani a parte quello. Nessuno dei due tornò al macello e Tom Haan non è più stato visto da allora.

Abbiamo contattato il signor Laylow per un’ulteriore dichiarazione, che ha rilasciato abbastanza prontamente, anche se riguarda principalmente i suoi persistenti problemi nel mangiare carne, che io direi sono sintomi di un disturbo da stress post traumatico ma ha fortemente declinato il consiglio di andare in terapia.

Tim e Martin hanno avuto un po’ più di fortuna nell’investigareTom Haan, anche se solo per confermare che sembra essere svanito completamente dopo aver lasciato la Aver Meats il 12 Luglio. Nessuna denuncia per persona scomparsa è stata presentata, e sembrerebbe non avesse né amici né parenti. Il proprietario della casa che aveva affittato a Walthamstow, afferma che l’ultimo affitto che ha ricevuto da Haan risaliva all’inizio di Luglio. Questo proprietario è rimasto abbastanza infastidito quando è scomparso, in quanto apparentemente aveva affittato una casa in Clarence Road per quasi un decennio, ed era quasi in uno stato di disperazione quando se ne è andato.

Le autorità dell’immigrazione sono pressoché inutili. Ci hanno informato che ha mancato un appuntamento con il suo consulente più tardi lo stesso anno, ma questo era a Ottobre, quindi ci dà poco su cui continuare. Anche il suo conto in banca non ha più registrato alcuna attività dal 6 di Luglio. Non è stato fatto alcuno sforzo ufficiale per rintracciarlo, e la polizia era riluttante ad aprire una nuova indagine, quindi non abbiamo fatto pressioni.

C’è poco altro da controllare, in quanto la descrizione del signor Laylow di un macello sconfinato è, per dirlo gentilmente, non verificabile. Detto questo, ci sono stati recenti tentativi da parte della Aver Meats di allargare il loro impianto a Dalston. Hanno avuto l’approvazione del progetto, ma stanno avendo dei problemi a ingaggiare costruttori, quattro dei quali se ne sono già andati. Uno di loro, Darren Lacey, ha acconsentito a parlare con noi, ma tutto quello che ha detto a Tim era che la struttura “sembrava già essere fin troppo grande.” E ha anche detto che non riusciva a sopportare l’odore del sangue.

Fine della registrazione.

[Traduzione di: Victoria]

Episodio successivo

[dykehozier]

hearing this in his very serious voice was v funny ngl

[bananonbinary]

Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

.

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

.

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

.

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

.

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

.

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

.

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

.

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

.

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

.

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

.

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006. 

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

.

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

.

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

.

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

.

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

.

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

.

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

.

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

[lyrebright]

I mentioned in my last TMA post that I wasn't sure if I wanted to take a break or go charging on ahead--well, the answer was both, apparently, because I did go charging on ahead, but then I hit MAG030 and halfway through had to take a break. I don't think I like the meat episodes.

I am jumping ahead here a bit but I just needed to get that out!! I was cooking beef mince for dinner while I was listening to that episode and it made me unbelievably queasy!! No Thank You!!

Jon's closing statement for it did get a chuckle out of me though. Yes, precisely, my thoughts too, my guy.

MAG027: I actually have immense paranoia about being alone at night so this one Got Me. Outside of the "oh I can relate to that" vibes though I honestly didn't find it very...visceral? I get the vibe from the writing style that the horror in TMA doesn't come so much from making you afraid as it does just simply making you feel, and this one was like. Too generic spoopy horror story to carry that through?

MAG028: another live statement! It's cool to get some further fleshing out to the worldbuilding; this is someone from an established YouTube channel, and also apparently the Magnus Institute has an established reputation, which. Hmm. Interesting.

I liked both the focus of the statement this time and Melanie King. Since the only other live statement givers we've had so far are the...first one? And two 'recurring' characters I wonder if that means they're all like...important? I'll have to to back to the first statement giver and remind myself of her name so I can keep an ear out for it in case she turns up again.

I hope Melanie turns up again too I like her and I wanna know more about her IRL spooky YouTube happenings.

In the first live statement I actually did feel like Jon was trying to be tactful in his words to the woman at the end and she simply took them the wrong way, but oh no the bitch energy came out full force for Melanie (she gave as good as she got though!)

OH I am looking through the episode transcripts as I write these to remind myself of what went on in them so I know what points I wanted to ramble about and that's right. Jon said something in the closing statement about Sarah Baldwin being a familiar name Hang On.

Yes I Am Going To Go Backread The Prior Transcripts What Of It

Oh I did. Not have to dig too deep I was just going to skim through them from episode one and There She Is.

Hmm.

Much to think about.

MAG029: this was an episode I listened to the same night as MAG030 and it was ALSO not a pleasant one to cook dinner to.

At least I wasn't cooking meat at the time? I was frying onions.

I don't have much to say about this one other than that I am Updating my Worldbuilding Databank.

MAG031: I actually just finished this one today (I also finished MAG030 today and it's still BLEGH) so it's a lot fresher in my mind. Also I was doing the dishes while listening, not cooking, so it made me feel MUCH less queasy.

Oh my god I know Jon like gets really into delivering those statements but the like. The poshness he slips into for this one had me cracking up.

Sounds like something that would happen in America, yeah.

The whistling hovered between sinister and taking me out of it entirely tbh. I do not think it would have felt nearly as cringe if Jon did not sing along at that part in the statement.

Like I dig the commitment but Come On. He was totally a theatre kid.

Closing statement was the most interesting part once more.

So it's been two months since Martin endured a worm siege and he's just living at work? That poor man.

Jon's work/home balance sounds atrocious and he does NOT have the excuse of living at his workplace get some sleep???

He sounds so like...exhausted ): and the worms keep just turning up...sounds like some psychological warfare to me!

Wormfare, even,

Does make you wonder though. Jon aren't you meant to just be archiving these? Digitizing these historical records? Jon won't people listen back to these for study one day and hear all the personal shit you are saying?

Imagine being a uni student in like. Current day listening through some tapes for, idk, your thesis or whatever (I have no idea how higher education works) and you get taken through this wholeass journey of this man being snide to his coworkers before worms and you are just. I am just l. I am just listening here.

I'm pretty close to the season one finale now!! I'm excited!! Worms!!

[martinbabywood]

FIRST MEAT PIT 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[tma-latino]

MAG031 – Caso 0100912 – Primera Cacería

Testimonio de Lawrence Mortimer, sobre su viaje de cacería a Blue Ridge en Virginia.

[Disclaimer/ Aviso]

[MAG030] | x | [MAG032]

[tma-latino]

MAG029 – Caso 9720406 – Engañando a la Muerte

Testimonio de Nathaniel Thorp, sobre su propia mortalidad.

[Disclaimer/ Aviso]

[MAG028] | x | [MAG030]