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0bticeo · 5 months ago

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j. sims, e. bouchard | knowledge is a double-edged sword

part two of four. (part one.) (part 3.) (part four.)

summary:

a low hum. there’s something sharp in elias' smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face.

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

wc. 3k

tw. reader's creeping paranoia, shockinlgy nothing smutty happens in this chapter, manipulation, graphic description of eyes, mild ptsd, nightmares, elias bouchard being a creep.

working in the archives has always been… a little off, for a lack of a better word. you are supposed to research and archive statements regarding “supernatural happenings” in a world where said supernatural has been swiped under the carpet, dismissed with a haughty scoff. still, it pays well. which is why you find yourself clocking in day after day.

your colleagues… you don’t know what to make of them. not really. sasha’s been… off. you think there’s a void in the shape of her roaming about the place. she’s calm and focused. formal. has trouble logging in her computer - that’s… not right.

martin seems to be taking it well enough for someone who’s spent the past two months sleeping in the archives and then getting attacked by worms. sounds silly. definitely wasn’t. you think there’s much, much more to him than meets the eye and and accept the cups of coffee he hands you with a warm smile. you mean them. you like martin. his poetry a bit less.

tim… is silent. he’s lost his smile. you haven’t fallen victim to one of his pranks in ages and fear you won’t ever have to worry about a sketchy statement being one of his little jokes. you feel anger bubbling inside of him at the mere mention of having to work in the archives. yet…

yet he’s helping you.

the library is a quiet affair, the muted sort of silence that hangs like a comforting blanket over your shoulders. dust flutters away in the air, drawn by your steps. tim’s sigh cuts through the silence like a knife.

“why are we doing this again?”

you tuck back a book in its shelf. thankfully, not a leitner. still, nothing to do with architecture.

“because it is our job, tim.”

he scoffs.

“yeah, right. i wasn’t aware it involved risking my life.”

“look, you’re not forced to help me. if it makes you feel better to slack off, then i’m not stopping you.”

he laughs, mocking, almost cruel. the pressure at the back of your neck is near unbearable. you want to scream. you want to tear something apart.

“look at you! acting like everything’s normal! three months ago, you were bleeding out on my lap! how can you-”

“it’s either i focus on something else or i go mad.” you snap a book shut with a sharp intake of air. “you won’t like me mad, tim. now shut up and help me find robert smirke’s books, will you? i’m pretty sure they were there, but-”

his hand clasps around your wrist.

“hold on. why are you looking for smirke’s books?”

“follow up on a statement involving urbex in the former church of saint james in west hackney. built by, you guessed it, robert smirke himself.”

you watch a flash of… something in his eyes. it looks like guilt in mourning, and you’re itching to pry, pry him open and unearth whatever secrets he keeps buried under a thick layer of good humour turned bitter.

“it should be around here.”

you end up with three heavy volumes in hand, none of which feel like they’ll help with erin gallagher-nelson’s statement. then, something catches your attention. a small leather volume, tucked away behind the books you’re currently holding. tim’s already on his way out, much to your chagrin. you don’t feel too guilty when you reach for the small little book and tuck away those he’s helped you find, neatly ordered in their rightful place.

the little book in your hand is… not a leitner, which is a relief as you are not wearing gloves. no, it’s bound leather, with no title in sight. you open it, carefully, cradling it against your breast like something fragile, and cast your gaze upon its first page. the juts out in ink far too dark for its age.

the fears that bind us.

turn another page and see the summary. fourteen entries, neatly labelled. the Web. the Dark. the Spiral. the Buried. you pause.

the pinprick pain at your neck sharpens. you’re Watched. there’s nobody but you in the library, but there’s something, watching, always watching, and you can make eyes in the corners of the shelves and they’re peering down at you and they Know you’re starting to suspect something’s terribly wrong with this place and-

thud.

the book falls from your trembling hands. dust rises up, clings to the hem of your trousers. you stare at the dull, unassuming little leather cover and feel its magnetic pull. you Know there’s more to it than it lets on. you pick it up.

(somewhere, the chittering mass of the many-legged mother of puppets spins a chain of events into motion, weaving a pretty plan.)

these days, stepping in the institute feels like being strapped down to a vivisection table and having your brain prodded at. it’s oppressive. you become aware of just how many eyes there are in the institute. coworkers from other departments glancing disinterestedly at you. strange motives in the nooks and crannies of the wooden doors and shelves and corridors and floors, eyes half-lidded. pictures and their faded edges, you, tim, martin, jon and sasha (?) huddling close, smiling. portraits - jonah magnus, high and mighty, immortalised in his seat of power. you think his painted lips are curled up a little more than they normally are. you’ve seen that floating smile before.

you take to having your lunch outside of the institute. you find you can breathe easier through the sharp cold of london’s winter air. needle-sharp, it pierces your lungs, scrapes your throat with every mouthful of curry you swallow. you don’t mind. you have jon to huddle close to, no matter how much he rolls his eyes and tells you to take a warmer coat with you. still, he wraps his arm around you and intertwine his fingers with yours.

tim and martin make no comment - you do feel the weight of their gaze on your shoulders as you make your way back to your desk ten minutes sharp after jon comes back to his office. doesn’t matter. by now, you’re used to being watched.

you’re growing tired of it.

going home is no relief - that damned gaze is there, too. you clench your teeth and turn all the mirrors around and tuck away what little pictures you have. your breathing stutters in your throat. there’s a cork board on your wall, now, and you think of the one that lies in jon’s office, red strings stretching and stretching and it still doesn’t make sense. not yet.

gertrude’s dead - somebody’s murdered her, three bullets, bang, the body falls, bang, bang just to make sure the old bat is dead, a waste of an Archivist.

jon wants to know who. he tells you, fingers threading through his hair, tape recorder still running, that it could be anyone at that’s been working at the institute since five years. you’ve been hired two years ago, so you’re good, but tim? martin? sasha? elias?

(you’ve pressed your lips to jon’s and sworn to help him, forehead pressed against him in the sweetest oath.)

there are scraps of hastily jotted down notes, pictures faded at the edges. recurring people from statements - gerry keay, michael shelley, simon fairchild, prentiss, salesa. hilltop road. recurring themes, artefacts you took pain to research, asking sasha for help - she did work in artefact storage before, right?

(her smile was sharp when she nodded. too sharp. she laughed as she led you to the basement floor, something like a deadly private joke. you didn’t ask for her help again.)

you take a step back and stare at the board. the strings make no sense, red over red over red, and you have an eye staring back at you, unblinking, thread burned in your retina.

smirke’s book lies open on your couch. your cat wisely stays away from it. you’ve named him socrates for a reason. you wish you could be blessed with the sage’s foresight.

fears bind you. there’s a classification, Entities that sometimes bleed in the corners of this world, out-of-sight-but-there. you’ll only notice when they strike. when they show themselves, when you realise there’s something terribly wrong with the stranger’s edges peering out of an alleyway, anglerfish luring its prey. poor smoker’s fate.

a classification. fourteen primal fears straight out of the lovecraftian mythos. the stranger. the Spiral - think of michael, smile curling endlessly in all his sharp edges, laugh like an alarm bell ringing long after he’s gone. the Corruption - jane prentiss and her loving smile and worms burrowing in her flesh and in yours.

the Eye.

you take in a sharp intake of air and read.

IT KNOWS YOU.

you cannot move. you’re crushed by the sheer magnitude of the structure spreading around you in concentric circles of power. panopticon. he who stands in the centre watches and knows all. is there anyone at all in its centre?

you. you’re kneeling, skin bare and bruised and scraped, the stone harsh and unforgiving, scraping the tender skin of your knee. humidity seeps in through the open pores of your skin.

you can’t see. it’s too dark, the penumbra stretching and stretching for miles, near corporeal with how thick it is. you think it might be reaching out for your eyes with too long fingers, chipped claws sinking below your eyelid to rip them off.

you startle.

eyes.

so many eyes, staring at you from the darkness encasing you, with no eyelids so they do not blink. there’s the dreadful suspicion that their optic nerves join, mingle into something you do not want to see. ocular globes, little gelatinous spheres surrounding you, Watching you, Knowing you. you, on your bloody knees, heart stammering under your ribcage like a chased rabbit, your bare flesh cold, cold, cold.

it’s cutting you open, scalpel gazes making careful, careful incisions in the marrow of your psyche. they’re carving open your head, your skull a neat, organic little box housing the grey matter of your brain. cerebrospinal fluid drips down your cheeks.

you shudder. you can feel them, Watching, Knowing, the mere thought of it a burning streak in your consciousness, they’re picking you apart, they Know what you’ve done, how you break-

you only start screaming when you look up and See.

you startle awake with a shuddering gasp, trembling so badly you can’t even make out the familiarity of your bedroom. breathe in. the darkness isn’t cloying, the street lights worming their way beneath your shutters. breathe out. you can hear the cars running, the nocturnal hustle and bustle of london’s night life. the chatter, the laughter.

you let out a trembling sigh and run your hand over your face. you find it damp with sweat and tears. a beat of silence. you rest your forehead on your palms, hands gliding down until the heel of your palm is over your socket and you push there until you feel the bone, the gelatinous fragility of your eye. it is not the first time you have these dreams. you wish you could sleep.

you trace the edges of your temples, those you know were left gaping, those you know had been wrenched open- closed. no scar. only those on your thighs, on your forearms, on your hands from these wretched worms.

you close your fingers, nails digging in your bandaged palm and feel a pinprick of pain. the other side of the bed is cold and empty. you glance at the analog clock on your bedside table. the time blares, angry red flashing 5:32 in your retina. three hours left before going to work.

you get up from the bed and set about changing your sweat-soaked sheets. you’re not going to fall back asleep. might as well get ready for work. you do, body set in autopilot. breakfast. shower. lather hydrating cream over the expanse of you. disinfect the many, many patches of scarred tissues left by the flesh-hive. get dressed - black tailored pants, cream crispy ironed shirt. a spritz of perfume. white flats. a quick glance in the mirror - there you are, the epitome of professional perfection, little miss trust-me-i-have-everything-under-control.

you don’t.

you’re tired. so, so very tired. exhaustion settles like a heavy weight in your bone marrow, anchors you down until your whole world is clouded. foggy. you don’t remember the last time you’ve pushed the door to the archives without a thin veil clouding your eyes.

you think of the Narrator, unnamed, bone-deep tired, staring emptily in the camera in a film you can’t say the name of. first rule: you do not talk about it. second rule: you do not, talk about it. everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.

as it goes, you push the door to the archives, step inside the quiet room, shrug off your coat at your designated desk, and go about making yourself some coffee. nobody’s there to plot your bloody murder as you blankly explain that, to you, tea is nothing but bland leaf juice. not that tim or martin would bother these days.

it’s quiet. nobody’s here to see you climb the stairs to the break room on the second floor. the one used by the human resources department. lucky bastards. bastards, period. refusing to hand over the necessary funds to buy another coffee machine for the archives after the first one broke during prentiss’ infestation. and they say their mission is to foster a safe work environment. such a shame your morning murderous urges are only quelled by your second cup of the day.

you grab a mug and press the button. whirring rises in the dry silence of the room. slowly, slowly, the mug is filled up. you inhale and feel your shoulders relax by half a fraction. the heavenly scent of grounded coffee beans percolating feels the room and you find yourself smiling. it doesn’t ease the fogginess clouding your mind. it will do.

large window panes offer a wide overview of the streets below, the early morning fog clinging to humid asphalt, the rare cars passing by. you let out a slow exhale, your breath clouding the window.

your mug is ready.

“is that one for me?”

you startle.

elias bouchard stands behind you, hands clasped behind his back, picture perfect manager in a crisp suit - too stiff, too out of place in his employee’s break room. he’s wearing a phthalo green suit, the one that brings out the green-grey of his eyes. your favourite. and he’s waiting for your answer, you realise after an embarrassingly long amount of time.

there are two mugs in front of you. you blink.

“oh. oh, yes.”

you hand him the first mug and reach for your own. he thanks you with a floating smile and takes a sip. a low hum.

“so you do have taste.”

you blink.

he’s reclining on a table, watching you. you and your impeccably ironed shirt, cradling your mug like one would something precious. you and the bags under your eyes, so dark they might be embedded in the preciously thin skin below your eyelids.

you snort.

“just because i have a massive sweet tooth doesn’t mean i’d put sugar in coffee. i’m french, not a complete barbarian.”

you earn a quiet chuckle. something like satisfaction purrs inside of you - you made him laugh, the sound low and rich and deep.

“one might argue that you are, in the literal sense of the term, a barbarian.”

“one might argue that the etymological definition of a barbarian doesn’t apply to me, as i speak your language.”

you watch him, from over the steaming rim of your mug. something like… elation flashes in his eyes. the thrill of debate, maybe.

“do you, now?”

you tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing by a fraction as you assess him. the perfect curl of his lips in that damning razor sharp half-smile. the relaxed slope of his shoulders. the soft stillness of his long, gloved fingers on the table. the glint in his green-grey eyes, daring you to take the bait.

you do, crossing your legs at the ankles, leaning back against the window.

“at first glance, yes.” you point an accusatory finger towards him. “but you, monsieur bouchard, don’t like sticking to first glances and faux-semblants, you’re sharper than that.”

a low hum. there’s something sharp in his smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face.

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

he shakes his head.

“it’s convenient, isn’t it? not to have to bear the weight of your mother tongue.”

your shoulders tense. there’s that pinprick pressure at the back of your neck, standing poised and sharp against your vertebrae. he’s watching you, needle-gaze pinning you like a butterfly to a wall.

“it’s a pain. english and french bleed into one another too much and it messes up my syntax.”

“you’re deflecting.”

“wasn’t your question rhetorical?”

silence. it feels like a loss. one beat, two beat, unsteady, hammering wildly like your heart, beneath layers of flesh and fabric, all perfectly controlled thank you very much.

he’s before you before you know it, close, close enough for you to smell his cologne - something sharp and cold with a faint hint of ink. you raise your eyes and meet his gaze. you think there’s a faint glow to it, irises flashing green for the briefest moments.

“you’re hard to pin down, my dear.”

you can feel the heat of him, creeping closer and closer as he leans down ever so slightly, one gloved finger curling under your chin, tilting your head up, up, up until the angle makes you wince.

“coming from you, i’ll take that as a compliment.”

a low hum. the building pressure at your nape has you clenching your teeth. then, finally, he lets go, apparently satisfied with whatever it is he’s found in you.

“thank you for the coffee. it has been most… insightful.”

with that, he leaves, and you stand alone in the break room, coffee mug now cold. even without the unbearable weight of his gaze on you, you feel watched. the only thing remaining in the room with you is the portrait of jonah magnus, peering down at you with storm-grey eyes. somehow, it feels familiar.

you want to scream. you gulp down your coffee and leave an empty mug behind.

#obticeo writes #tma x reader #the magnus archives x reader #the magnus archives x you #the magnus archives x y/n #tma x you #tma x y/n #jonathan sims x reader #jonathan sims x you #jonathan sims x y/n #elias bouchard x reader #elias bouchard x y/n #elias bouchard x you

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radoesart · 1 year ago

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The End of the Tunnel.

Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson, regarding an urban exploration trip beneath St Paul’s Church West Hackney.

#the magnus archives #the magnus pod #tma podcast #tma fanart #the end of the tunnel #magnus archives

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dear-indies · 4 months ago

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hello!! could i please get help with finding a fc that has seer vibes? someone that can pull off an off-putting, but benevolent and curious vibe? the muse is meant to be between 22-25, but i’ll absolutely accept older fcs who can pass for those ages! tysm!

Asia Kate Dillon (1984) Ashkenazi Jewish / Unspecified - is non-binary (they/them) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Emma D’Arcy (1992) - is non-binary (they/them) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Freddy Carter (1992) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Anna Leong Brophy (1993) Irish, Chinese, Kadazan.

India Eisley (1993) English, Argentinian [Spanish, possibly other], Scottish, German.

Yves Mathieu East (1994) Afro Asian - is queer - has spoken up for Palestine!

Hanjin Ni (1994) Chinese.

Adeline Rudolph (1994) Korean / White - vibes in Resident Evil.

Jazzelle Zanaughtti (1995) African-American - has spoken up for Palestine!

Josha Stradowski (1995)

Alejandro Speitzer (1995) Mexican.

Juliette Motamed (1995) Iranian - has spoken up for Palestine!

Sasha Calle (1995) Colombian.

Joy Sunday (1996) Nigieran - in Wednesday.

Rhea Ripley (1996)

Tati Gabrielle (1996) African-American 1/4 Korean - in Sabrina and Uncharted.

Lauren Jauregui (1996) Cuban [Spanish, possibly other], likely some Basque - is bisexual - has spoken up for Palestine!

Aria Shahghasemi (1996) Iranian.

Jake Kiszka (1996)

INIKO (1996) Afro-Jamaican - genderless (they/them) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Nat Ćmiel / Yeule (1997) Chinese-Singaporean - non-binary (she/they).

Kaiit (1997) Papuan / Gunditjmara, Torres Strait Islander - is non-binary (she/he/they) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Blu del Barrio (1997) Argentinian - is non-binary (they/them) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Mollie Gallagher (1997)

Sierra McCormick (1997)

Nijirō Murakami (1997) Japanese - in Alice in Borderland.

Kassius Nelson (1997) Black British - in Dead Boy Detectives.

Ariela Barer (1998) Mexican, Ashkenazi Jewish - uses she/they - did make a post saying that she's non-binary but deleted so if anybody knows more information please let me know - has spoken up for Palestine!

Erin Kellyman (1998) Afro Jamaican / White - is a lesbian.

Benedetta Porcaroli (1998) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Ethel Cain (1998) - is a bisexual and autistic trans woman - has spoken up for Palestine!

Emma Laird (1998)

Simone Baldasseroni (1998)

Ally Ioannides (1998)

Brianne Tju (1998) Chinese / Indonesian.

Nell Tiger Free (1999)

Charlie Plummer (1999)

Jayden Revri (1999) Indian, Black, White - in Dead Boy Detectives.

Kenna Sharp (1999) - is queer - has spoken up for Palestine!

Lizeth Selene (1999) Mexican [Black and Unspecified Indigenous] - is genderfluid and uses she/they.

Odessa A'zion (2000) Ashkenazi Jewish and other European - has spoken up for Palestine!

Thomasin McKenzie (2000)

Azul Guaita (2001) Mexican.

Rhea Norwood (2001) - has type 1 diabetes - has spoken up for Palestine!

Freya Allan (2001) - has spoken up for Palestine!

Rachel Zegler (2001) Colombian / White - has spoken up for Palestine!

D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai (2001) Ojibwe, Cree, Chinese Guyanese, Afro Guyanese, White.

Ooo this ask was difficult but I think these can all pull off a character with that vibe!

#fc help #rph #rpc

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slightlyloomingone · 4 months ago

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At first, Jon thought he could just… scare Erin and her brother-in-law away from the entrance into St. James’ Church underneath St. Paul’s. He was rather scary, after all. He found his way inside the church shortly before midnight (he was getting better at this breaking and entering thing), and waited for them near the spot where he thought he could sense the Dark, assuming that would be the entrance they would take. He hadn’t counted on Erin Gallagher-Nelson’s response to his voice saying “you should leave this place” being to brain him with her torch. “Erin, what the fuck! Did you just kill a guy?” (S5 Jon goes back in time to pre-canon 2014 and tries to help a statement giver... it doesn't go like he expected).

I posted this here back in 2020 with a vague idea of turning it into a series, but it never happened, so impulsively decided to clean it up and post it on AO3 as a non-canon compliant one shot. Hope someone enjoys it!

#tma fic #time travel cryptid jonathan sims #s5 au i suppose #looming writes stuff

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alightinthelantern · 11 months ago

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Books read and movies watched in 2023 (July to December):

Bolded verdicts (Yes!/Yes/Eh/No/NO) are links to more in-depth reviews! Should you watch/read them?

Books (fiction):

The Starless Sea (Erin Morgenstern): No

The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (Zoraida Córdova): Yes

Brave New World (Aldous Huxley): No

The Association of Small Bombs (Karan Mahajan): No

Pond (Claire-Louise Bennett): NO

Heaven (Mieko Kawakami): No

The Verifiers (Jane Pek): No

The Old Capital (Yasunari Kawabata): No

Falling Man (Don DeLillo): No

A Free Life (Ha Jin): Yes

People of the Book (Geraldine Brooks): No

The Spectacular (Fiona Davis): No

Klara and the Sun (Kazuo Ishiguro): Yes

Children of the Jacaranda Tree (Sahar Delijani): No

This Place: 150 Years Retold (anthology): Yes

Books (nonfiction):

The Forgetting River (Doreen Carvajal): Eh

Valiant Women: The Extraordinary American Servicewomen Who Helped Win World War II (Lena S. Andrews): Yes

Mozart's Starling (Lyanda Lynn Haupt): Yes

Poetic Form & Poetic Meter (Paul Fussell): No

Western Wind: An Introduction to Poetry (David Mason & John Frederick Nims): No

A Poetry Handbook (Mary Oliver): Yes

We Should Not Be Friends (Will Schwalbe): No

Seen from All Sides (Sydney Lea): No

Books (poetry):

Afterworlds (Gwendolyn MacEwen): Eh

Sailing Alone Around the Room (Billy Collins): Yes

Be With (Forrest Gander): No

Pictures from Brueghel and Other Poems (William Carlos Williams): Yes

Horoscopes For the Dead (Billy Collins): No

The Wild Iris (Louise Gluck): Eh

Moon Crossing Bridge (Tess Gallagher): Yes

Who Shall Know Them? (Faye Kicknosway): Yes

Great Blue (Brendan Galvin): No

Collected Poems (Basil Bunting): Eh

Paterson (William Carlos Williams): No

Selected Poems (Donald Justice): No

Dear Ghosts, (Tess Gallagher): No

The Death of Sitting Bear (N. Scott Momaday): No

Evidence (Mary Oliver): No

What Have I Ever Lost by Dying? (Robert Bly): Yes

Blessing the Boats (Lucille Clifton): Yes

Source (Mark Doty): No

Tell Me (Kim Addonizio): Eh

Zoo (Ogden Nash): No

Alive Together: New and Selected Poems (Lisel Mueller): No

“A” (Louis Zukovsky): NO

Flying at Night (Ted Kooser): Yes

The Man in the Black Coat Turns (Robert Bly): Yes

This Tree Will Be Here for a Thousand Years (Robert Bly): No

Nine Horses (Billy Collins): Yes

Arabian Love Poems (Nizar Kabbani): Yes

Delights & Shadows (Ted Kooser): Yes

This Great Unknowing (Denise Levertov): Yes

Young of the Year (Sydney Lea): No

Pursuit of a Wound (Sydney Lea): No

The Life Around Us (Denise Levertov): No

Red List Blue (Lizzy Fox): No

It Seems Like A Mighty Long Time (Angela Jackson): No

Some Ether (Nick Flynn): Yes

Divide These (Saskia Hamilton): No

The Simple Truth (Philip Levine): No

Saving Daylight (Jim Harrison): Eh

Midnight Salvage (Adrienne Rich): No

The Trouble with Poetry and Other Poems (Billy Collins): Eh

My Brother Running (Wesley McNair): Eh

Whale Day (Billy Collins): Eh

Talking Dirty to the Gods (Yusek Komunyakaa): No

A New Selected Poems (Galway Kinnell): No

The Dolphin (Robert Lowell): No

Star Route (George Longenecker): No

Brute (Emily Skaja): Eh

No Witnesses (Paul Monette): Yes!

Blood, Tin, Straw (Sharon Olds): No

Town Life (Jay Parini): No

Dead Men's Praise (Jacqueline Osherow): No

Stag's Leap (Sharon Olds): No

Sleeping with the Dictionary (Harryette Mullen): No

Looking for the Parade (Joan Murray): No

Sparrow (Carol Muske-Dukes): Yes

You can't Get There from Here (Ogden Nash): No

Carver: a Life in Poems (Marilyn Nelson): Yes

The House of Blue Light (David Kirby): No

Ariel (Sylvia Plath): No

Caribou (Charles Wright): No

The Collected Verse of Theodore Roethke: No

Letters from Maine (Mary Sarton): No

Diasporic (Patty Seyburn): Eh

The Five Stages of Grief (Linda Pastan): Yes!

Not One Man’s Work (Leland Kinsey): Yes

Wise Poison (David Rivard): Yes

The Continuous Life (Mark Strand): Eh

On the Bus with Rosa Parks (Rita Dove): Yes

Fuel (Naomi Shihab Nye): Yes

Ludie’s Life (Cyntha Rylant): Yes

Wise Poison (David Rivard): Yes

My Name on His Tongue (Laila Halaby): Yes

Messenger (Ellen Bryant Voigt): Yes!

Unfortunately, it was Paradise: Selected Poems (Mahmoud Darwish): Eh

The Collected Poetry of James Wright: No

The Unlovely Child (Norman Williams): No

The New Young American Poets (anthology, 2000): Yes

The Black Maria (Aracelis Girmay): Yes!

Night Sky with Exit Wounds (Ocean Vuong): Yes!

Thoughts of Her. (Casey Conte): NO

Standing Female Nude (Carol Ann Duffy): Yes!

The Tradition (Jericho Brown): Yes

Girls That Never Die (Safia Elhillo): No

Repair (C. K. Williams): No

The Big Smoke (Adrian Matejka): Yes

American Wake (Kerrin McCadden): Eh

Collected Poems (Jane Kenyon): No

E-mails from Scheherazad (Mohja Kahf): Yes!

I Had a Brother Once (Adam Mansbach): No

Holding Company (Major Jackson): No

Hunting Down the Monk (Adrie Kusserow): No

Happy Life (David Budbill): No

Prelude to Bruise (Saeed Jones): No

Wade in the Water (Tracy K. Smith): Eh

Penury (Myung Me Kim): Yes!

Commons (Myung Mi Kim): Yes!

The Final Voicemails (Max Ritvo): No

Pieces of Air in the Epic (Brenda Hillman): No

Gone (Fanny Howe): No

A Vermonter's Heritage: Listening to the Trees (Rick Bessette): No!

Roget's Illusion (Linda Bierds): No

First Hand (Linda Bierds): No

The Other Side (Julia Alvarez): No

Pig Dreams: Scenes from the life of Sylvia (Denise Levertov): Yes

Movies:

Winter Evening in Gagra (1985, Karen Shakhnazarov): Yes

My Tender and Affectionate Beast (A Hunting Accident) [1978, Emil Loteanu]: No

Fate of a Man (1959, Sergei Bondarchuk): Eh

Ordinary Fascism (aka Triumph Over Violence) (1965, Mikhail Romm): Yes

The Most Charming and Attractive (1985, Gerald Bezhanov): Yes

Gals/The Girls (1961, Boris Bednyj): Yes

Drunken Angel (1948, Akira Kurosawa): Yes

Stray Dog (1949, Akira Kurosawa): No

Viy (1967, Konstantin Yershov/Georgi Kropachyov): No

Battleship Potemkin (1925, Sergei Eisenstein): Yes

Amarcord (1973, Federico Fellini): Yes!

Charade (1963, Stanley Donen): No

Dreams (1990, Akira Kurosawa): Yes!

Barton Fink (1991, Coen Brothers): No

Kidnapping, Caucasian Style (1967, Leonid Gaidai): No

Unbelievable Adventures of Italians in Russia (1974, Eldar Ryazanov & Franco Prosperi): Yes

By the White Sea (2022, Aleksandr Zachinyayev): Yes

Ivan’s Childhood (1962, Andrei Tarkovsky): Yes!

The Third Man (1949, Carol Reed): Yes!

The Kitchen in Paris (2014, Dmitriy Dyachenko): No

Optimistic Tragedy (1963, Samson Samsonov): Eh

White Moss (2014, Vladimir Tumayev): Yes

Oppenheimer (2023, Christopher Nolan): Yes!

Scarlet Sails (1961, Alexandr Ptushko): Yes

We'll Live Till Monday (1968, Stanislav Rostotsky): Yes

Vladivostok (2021, Anton Bormatov): No

Ballad of a Soldier (1959, Grigory Chukhray): Yes

The Theme (1979, Gleb Panfilov): Yes

A Haunting in Venice (2023, Kenneth Branagh): Yes

Barbie (2023, Greta Gerwig): Yes

Is It Easy To Be Young? (1986, Juris Podnieks): Yes

Badlands (1973), Terrence Malick: Yes

Satyricon (1969, Federico Fellini): No

Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972, Werner Herzog): Yes

Fitzcarraldo (1982, Werner Herzog): No

The Illusionist (2006, Neil Burger): Yes

The Duchess (2008, Saul Dibb): Yes

Pride & Prejudice (2005, Joe Wright): Yes!

Emma (1996, Douglas McGrath): No

And here’s Part 1 of my 2023 list!

#film reviews #book reviews #movie reviews #films #movies #cinema #books #reviews

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goalhofer · 3 months ago

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2024 olympians representing non-birth nation by country part 4

Guinea: Safiatou Acquaviva, athletics (France); Aliou Baldé, soccer (Senegal); Marie Branser, judo (Germany); Rayane Doucouré, soccer (France); Mariana Esteves, judo (Portugal); Haladj Keita, soccer (France); Soumaïla Sylla, Soccer (France) & Abdoulaye Touré, soccer (France) Guyana: Aliyah Abrams, athletics (U.S.A.) & Chelsea Edghill, table tennis (U.S.A.) Haiti: Lynnzee Brown, gymnastics (U.S.A.); Emelia Chatfield, athletics (U.S.A.); Mayah Chouloute, swimming (U.S.A.); Alexandre Grand'Pierre, swimming (U.S.A.) & Philippe Metallus, judo (Canada) Honduras: Julimar Ávila, swimming (U.S.A.) & Melique García, athletics (U.S.A.) Hong Kong: Ian Ho, swimming (U.S.A.) & Chengzhu Zhu, table tennis (China) Hungary: Pylyp Akilov, boxing (Ukraine); Anna Albek, handball (Serbia); Zoran Ilić, handball (Serbia); Tóth Krisztián, judo (Germany); Geraldine Mahieu, water polo (France); Bányai Márk, water polo (Romania); Gulyás Michelle, pentathlon (U.K.); Ismail Musukaev, wrestling (Russia); Rebecca Parkes, water polo (New Zealand); Pedro Rodríguez, handball (Spain); Nataša Rybanská, water polo (Slovakia); Omar Salim, taekwondo (U.S.A.); Szabó Szebasztián, swimming (Germany); Nadine Szöllősi-Schatzl, handball (Germany) & Márton Viviana, taekwondo (Spain) India: Tanisha Crasto, badminton (U.A.E.) Indonesia: Waida Rio, surfing (Japan) Iraq: Hussein Ali, soccer (Sweden); Josef Al-Imam, soccer (Sweden); Kumel Al-Rekabe, soccer (Switzerland) & Youssef Amyn, soccer (Germany) Ireland: Victoria Catterson, swimming (U.K.); Madison Corcoran, canoeing (U.S.A.); Michaela Corcoran, canoeing (U.S.A.); Ross Corrigan, rowing (U.K.); Daniel Coyle, equestrian (U.K.); Erin Creighton, cycling (U.K.); Tim Cross, field hockey (Australia); Grace Davison, swimming (U.K.); Philip Doyle, rowing (U.K.); Jeremy Duncan, field hockey (Australia); Thomas Fannon, swimming (U.K.); Eric Favors, athletics (U.S.A.); Conor Ferguson, swimming (U.K.); Jude Gallagher, boxing (U.K.); Ben Healy, cycling (U.K.); Danielle Hill, swimming (U.K.); Liam Jegou, canoeing (France); Stephanie Kallan, golf (U.K.); Erin King, rugby (Australia); Natalie Long, rowing (South Africa); Abigail Lyle, equestrian (U.K.); Rhys McClenaghan, gymnastics (U.K.); Max McCusker, swimming (U.K.); Ciara McGing, diving (U.K.); Rory McIlroy, golf (U.K.); John McKee, field hockey (U.K.); Peter McKibbin, field hockey (U.K.); Harry McNulty, rugby (Bahrain); Bryan Mollen, rugby (Kenya); Ryan Mullen, cycling (U.K.); Chay Mullins, rugby (U.K.); Kelly Murphy, cycling (U.K.); Sean Murray, field hockey (U.S.A.); Matthew Nelson, field hockey (U.K.); Nguyen Nhat, badminton (Vietnam); Kate O'Connor, athletics (U.K.); Ashleigh Orchard; rugby (U.K.); Nick Page, field hockey (U.K.); Jake Passmore, diving (U.K.); Michael Robson, field hockey (U.K.); Shane Ryan, swimming (U.S.A.); Alice Sharpe, cycling (Germany); Nathan Timoney, rowing (U.K.); Aidan Walsh, boxing (U.K.); Michaela Walsh, boxing (U.K.) & Daniel Wiffen, swimming (U.K.) Israel: Girmaw Amare, athletics (Ethiopia); Ethane Azoulay, soccer (France); Daniel Bluman, equestrian (Colombia); Ashlee Bond, equestrian (U.S.A.); Lonah Chemtai-Salpeter, athletics (Kenya); Artem Dolgopyat, gymnastics (Ukraine); Daria Golovaty, swimming (Ukraine); Robin Muhr, equestrian (Monaco); Andrea Murez, swimming (U.S.A.); Peter Paltchik, judo (Uraine); Lihie Raz, gymnastics (U.S.A.); Sergey Richter, shooting (Ukraine); Isabella Russekoff, equestrian (U.S.A.); Ayla Spitz, swimming (U.S.A.); Maru Terefi, athletics (Ethiopia); Mikhail Yakovlev, cycling (Russia) & Misha Zilberman, badminton (Russia)

0 notes

corens-relisten · 5 months ago

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MAG 63 The End of the Tunnel

Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson, regarding an urban exploration trip beneath St Paul’s Church West Hackney. Statement given 26th march, 2014

well, until he got eaten by the darkness. LMAO I LOVE HOW NONCHALANT HE IS ABT IT

so he just breaks in (cool) but not without making fun of how little valuables they have

the shadow there OMG love it and the paranoia, the arguing, the ignoring it and denying it haha

the statement giver just continues describing how cool the place it, how the composition was great like nice but not the time dear TT

pff not him seeing the shadows, more and nore, 2 or 3 sometimes, and just was like. this is fine (:

AAAAA THE THIRD SET OF BREATHING !!!

It was far more dreadful than the others because of how familiar it was – though I had never heard it in such a manner before. It was Luke’s voice, and it was screaming in agony.

AAAAA ×2

and the camera flash oh my !! love this statement its so AAAAAAAA

ofc it was build by fucking robert smirke

jon sounds so done with this. like. so over it he just cannot and tbh? go off. "and now a violent, murderous dark." lmao TT

supplemental:

TT just trying to break into Gertrudes computer

HIII MELANIE (: HELLOO HI (:

aww theyre friends (: "i noticed that you werent updating anymore" awwee

hihi theyre nice (:

spoilers

i am going fucking INSANE AAAAAAA melanie noticing that sasha isnt right ;-; that theres a "new" girl ;-;

anyway this is the dark TT

spoilers done

and have a nice day!

0 notes

fantasticallygaysstuff · 5 years ago

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The loves of my life 😍

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themagnustournament · 2 years ago

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Redemption Round 3 - Match 30

These two episodes are almost consecutive in the alphabetical order watch order (The Eye Opens falls between them)! The End of the Tunnel stuck through with 133 votes, and The Eyewitnesses comes with 167 votes from RR2!

MAG 063 - The End of the Tunnel | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson, regarding an urban exploration trip beneath St Paul’s Church West Hackney.

MAG 082 - The Eyewitnesses | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Alice "Daisy" Tonner, regarding the crimes and death of Calvin Benchley. Statement never given.

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tma-latino · 4 years ago

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MAG063 – Caso 0143103 – “El final del túnel”

Testimonio de Erin Gallagher-Nelson, sobre un viaje de exploración urbana debajo de la Iglesia de San Pablo en West Hackney.

[Disclaimer/ Aviso]

[MAG062] | x | [MAG064]

#tma #MAG063 #the magnus archives #the magnus archives pod #magnus pod #Rusty Quill #tma translation #tma spanish translation #traduccion en español

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awellboiledicicle · 5 years ago

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TMA Statements In Chronological Order

But, not by when the events happened, by the order when the Statements were entered to the Institute. Because that wasn’t on the wiki timeline.

Below the cut because i’m not a monster.

Format is:

Episode // Entity // Statement Giver// Statement Given // Event Date

• #140 The Movment of The Heavens // The Dark // John Flamsteed // 1715 • #116 The Show Must Go On // The Stranger // Abraham Janssen // 2 November 1787 • #23 Schwarzwald // The Eye // Albrecht von Closen // 31st March 1816 // Winter 1815 • #127 Remains to be Seen // The Eye // Jonathan Franshawe // 21 November 1831 // April – November 1831 • #152 A Gravediggers Envy // The Buried // Hezekiah Wakely // 1837 - 1839 • #50 Foundations // The Buried // Sampson Kempthorn // 12th June 1841 // 1836 • #58 Trail Rations // The Flesh // Mrs. Carlisle // 10th November 1845 // October – November 1845 • #105 Total War // The Slaughter, The Eye // Charles Fleming // 1862 • #98 Lights Out // The Dark // Algernon Moss // 14 May 1864 • #138 The Architecture Of Fear // The Eye // Robert Smirke // 13 February 1867 • #7 The Piper // The Slaughter // Clarence Berry // 6th November 1922 // 1917-18 • #133 Dead Horse // The Hunt // Percy Fawcett // 27 June 1930 • #99 Dust to Dust // The Buried // Robert E Geiger // 20 February 1952 // April 1935 • #137 Nemesis // The Slaughter // Wallis Turner // 3 July 1955 // Winter 1942 • #29 Cheating Death // The End // Nathaniel Thorp // 4th June 1972 // 17th June 1775 • #60 Observer Effect // The Eye // Rosa Meyer // 12 July 1972 // April – July 1972 • #95 Absent Without Leave // The Slaughter // Luca Moretti // 2 November 1977 • #44 Tightrope // The Stranger // Yuri Utkin // 2nd March 1979 // November 1952 • #85 Upon the Stair // The Spiral // Unknown // 1980 – 1990 • #86 Tucked In // The Dark // Benjamin Hatendi // 2nd March 1983 • #84 Possessive // The Corruption // Adrian Weiss // 1 December 1990 • #125 Civilian Casualties // The Slaughter // Terrance Simpson // 19 July 1993 • #77 The Kind Mother // The Stranger // Lucy Cooper // 15 September 1994 //August 1994 • #93 Contaminant // The Corruption // Lester Chang // 5 March 1995 • #96 Return To Sender // The Stranger // Alfred Breekon // 15 May 1996 • #53 Crusader // The Eye // Walter Heller // 5th September 1997 // November 1941 • #2 Do Not Open // The Buried, The Stranger // Joshua Gillespie // 22nd November 1998 // 1996 -1998 (?) • #46 Literary Heights // The Spiral, The Vast // Herbert Knox // 21st December 1998 // September 1997 • #17 Boneturners Tale // The Flesh // Sebastian Adekoya // 10th June 1999 // 1996 • #66 Held in Customs // The Buried // Vincent Yang // 22 February 2000 // January 19 2000 • #78 Distant Cousin // The Stranger, The Web // Lawrence Moore // 12 June 2001 • #21 Freefall // The Vast // Moira Kelly // 20th October 2002 // 3rd-5th or 7th June 2001 • #35 Old Passages // All // Harold Silvana // 4th June 2002 // June 2002 • #9 A Father’s Love // The Dark, The Hunt // Julia Montauk // 3rd December 2002 // 1990-95 • #155 Cost of Living // The End // Tova McHugh // 3 December 2002 • #68 Tale of a Field Hospital // The Corruption // Joesph Russo // 3rd June 2003 // 1st June 2003 • #27 A Sturdy Lock // The Spiral // Paul Mckenzie // 24th August 2003 // July 2003 • #146 Threshold // The Spiral // Marcus Mackenzie // 1 September 2003 • #88 Dig // The Buried // Enrique MacMillian // 4 November 2003 • #70 Book of the Dead // The End // Masato Murray // 9th December 2003 • #52 Exceptional Risk // The Dark // Phillip Brown // 9th April 2004 // 1st November 2002 • #24 Strange Music // The Stranger // Leanne Denikin // 17th Jan 2005 // August 2004 • #59 Recluse // The Web, The Desolation // Ronald Sinclair // 29th November 2005 // Early to Mid 1960’s • #134 Time of Revelation // The Extinction // Adelard Dekker // 22 January 2006 // 2005, 1867 • #75 A Long Way Down // The Vast // Stephen Walker // 7 November 2006 // Early October 2006 • #139 Chosen // The Desolation // Eugene Vanderstock // 30 November 2006 • #115 Taking Stock // The Flesh // Michaele Salesa // 4 January 2007 // Autumn of 1999 • #8 Burnt Out // The Web, The Desolation, The Spiral // Ivo Lensik // 13th March 2007 // November 2006 • #67 Burning Desire // The Desolation // Jack Barnabas // 18 March 2007 // October – November 2006 • #3 Across the Street // The Stranger, The Web // Amy Patel // 1st July 2007 // 7th April 2006 • #51 High Pressure // The Vast, The Buried // Antonia Hayley // 7th January 2008 // August 2006 • #106 A Matter of Perspective // The Vast, The Eye // Jan Kilbride // 10 February 2008 • #49 The Butchers Window // The Flesh // Gregory Pryor // 11th March 2008 // June 2007 • #62 First Edition // The End, The Eye // Mary Keay // 3rd July 2008 // 1955 • #154 Bloody Mary // The Eye // Eric Delano // 21 July 2008 • #130 Meat // The Flesh // Lucia Wright // 19 December 2008 • #18 The Man Upstairs // The Flesh // Christof Rudenko // 12th December 2008 // 22nd October 2007 • #156 Reflection // The Extinction // Adelard Dekker // 4 January 2009 • #5 Thrown Away // The Flesh etc. // Kieran Woodward // 23rd February 2009 // 8th August 2008 • #97 We All Ignore The Pit // The Buried // Jackson Ellis // 3 March 2009 • #57 Personal Space // The Lonely, The Vast, The Dark // Carter Chilcott // 4 April 2009 // September 2007 • #145 Infectious Doubts // The Desolation // Arthur Nolan // 2 February 2009 • #114 Cracked Foundation // The Web Shtranger or Extinction // Anya Villette // 22 April 2009 // 23 April 2009 or 9 April 2009 • #37 Burnt Offering // The Desolation // Jason North // 6th August 2009 // August 2009 • #108 Monologue // The Lonely, The Stranger // Adonis Biros // 20 August 2009 // August 2009 • #144 Decrypted // The Extinction // Gary Boylan // 3 October 2009 // August 2009 • #126 Sculptor’s Tool // The Spiral // Deborah Madaki // 11 October 2009 // Spring 2004 • #72 Takeaway // The Flesh // Craig Goodall // 20 October 2009 // 27 September 2009 • #107 Third Degree // The Desolation // 1 February 2010 // January 2010 • #48 Lost in the Crowd // The Lonely // Andrea Nunis // 25th March 2010 // September 2009 • #10 Vampire Killer & #56 Children of the Night // The Hunt, the Web // Trevor Herburt // 10th July 2010 // 1959 (first event), Winter 2009 • #69 Thought For the Day // The Web // Darren Harlow // 18th November 2010 • #31 First Hunt // The Hunt // Lawerence Mortimer // 9th December 2010 // 30th November - 1st December 2010 • #33 Boatswain’s Call // The Lonely // Carlita Sloane // 2nd January 2011 // Late November 2010 • #45 Blood Bag // The Corruption // Thomas Neil // 9th February 2011 // Spring 2010 • #148 Extended Surveillance // The Eye // Sunil Maraj // 3 April 2011 • #14 Piece Meal // The Flesh // Lee Rentoul // 29th May 2011 // Early 2011 • #19 Confession & #20 Desecrated Host // The Spiral, The Web, The Desolation (Hilltop Road) & The Spiral, The Flesh // Edwin Burroughs // 30th May 2011 // November 2006 • #112 Thrill of the Chase // The Hunt // Lisa Carmel // 13 November 2011 • #113 Breathing Room // The End // Adelard Dekker // 2012 • #12 Page Turner // The Desolation, The Eye // Lesere Saraki // 11th February 2012 // 23rd December 2011 • #153 Love Bombing // The Corruption, The Flesh // Barbara Mullen-Jones // 2 March 2012 • #110 Creature Feature // The Web // Alexia Crawley // 14 March 2012 • #1 Anglerfish // Stranger //Nathan Watts // 22nd April 2012 // March 2010 • #38 Lost and Found // The Spiral // Andre Ramao // 6th June 2012 // March 2012 • #36 Taken Ill // The Corruption // Nicole Baxter // 19th November 2012 // August – September 2011 • #136 The Puppeteer // The Web // Alison Killala // 1 December 2012 // 2012 • #124 Left Hanging // The Vast // Julian Jennings // 11 December 2012 // 2012 • #149 Concrete Jungle // The Extinction // Judith O’neill // 13 May 2013 • #54 Still Life // The Stranger // Alexander Scaplehorn // 23 June 2013 • #4 Page Turner // The Vast, The Spiral, The End // Dominic Swain // 28th June 2013 // 10th November 2012 • #90 Body Builder // The Flesh // Ross Davenport // 7 August 2013 • #157 Rotten Core // The Extinction, The Corruption // Adelard Dekker // 14 August 2013 • #30 Killing Floor // The Flesh // David Laylow // 1st September 2013 // 12th July 2013 • #129 Submerged // The Buried // Kulbir Shakya // 4 September 2013 // July or August 2013 • #83 Drawing a Blank // The Stranger // Chloe Ashburt // 19 October 2013 // September – October 2013 • #42 Grifter’s Bone // The Slaughter // Jennifer Ling // 3rd November 2013 // Autumn 2013 • #32 Hive // The Corruption // Jane Prentiss // 23rd February 2014 // Pre-2014 • #63 The End of the Tunnel // The Dark // Erin Gallagher-Nelson // 31st March 2014 // 26th March 2014 • #102 Nesting Instinct // The Corruption // Francois Deschamps // 4 June 2014 • #103 Cruelty Free // The Flesh // Dylan Anderson // 2 July 2014 • #135 Dark Matter // The Dark // Manuela Dominguez // 14 July 2014 // 2007 • #87 The Uncanny Valley // The Stranger, The Desolation // Sebastian Skinner // 10 October 2014 // September 2014 • #15 Lost Johns’ Cave // The Buried // Laura Popham // 9th November 2014 // 14-15th June 2014 • #150 Cul-de-sac // The Lonely // Herman Gorgoli // 9 November 2014 • #6 Squirm // The Corruption // Timothy Hodge // 9th December 2014 // 20th November 2014 • #122 Zombie // The Stranger // Lorell St. John // 1 February 2015 • #11 Dreamer // The End // Antonio Blake (Oliver Banks) // 14th March 2015 // 12th March 2015 • #16 Arachnophobia // The Web, The Corruption // Carlos Vittery // 9th April 2015 // Early 2015 • #25 Growing Dark // The Dark // Mark Bilham // 19th April 2015 // January – March 2015 • #64 Burial Rites // The End // Donna Gwynne // 20th May 2015 // 2012 • #74 Fatigue // The Spiral // Lydia Halligan // 8 June 2015 • #123 Web Development // The Web // Angie Santos // 1 August 2015 // January 2015 • #13 Alone // The Lonely // Naomi Herne // 13th January 2016 //30th & 31st March 2015 • #22 Colony // The Corruption // Martin Blackwood // 12th March 2016 // March 2016 • #26 A Distortion // The Spiral, The Corruption // Sasha James // 2nd April 2016 // 1st April 2016 • #28 Skintight // The Slaughter, The Stranger // Melanie King // 17th April 2016 // January 2015 • #34 Anatomy Class // The Stranger // Lionel Elliot // 12th July 2016 // January – March 2016 • #39 Infestation // ATTACK ON THE INSTITUTE // 29th July 2016 • #40 Human Remains // Post Attack Debrief// 29th July 2016 • #41 Too Deep // Buried and Dark suspected // 2nd September 2016 // mid-august – September 2016 • #43 Section 31 // The Desolation, The End // Basira Hussain //19th September 2016 // August 2011 and 18 July 2014 • #47 The New Door // The Spiral // Helen Richardson // 2nd October 2016 • #55 Pest Control // The Corruption, The Desolation // Jordan Kennedy // 3rd November 2016 // 2011 & 2014 • #61 Hard Shoulder // The Hunt, The Stranger, The Buried // Daisy Tonner // 1st December 2016 // 24th July 2002 • #65 Binary // The Spiral, Extinction // Tessa Winters // 7th January 2017 • #71 Underground // The Buried // Karolina Gorka // 25 January 2017 // 6 January 2017 • #73 Police Lights // The Dark // Basira Hussain // 11 February 2017 // 10 February 2017 • #76 The Smell of Blood // The Slaughter // Melanie King // 13 February 2017 • #79 Hide and Seek // The Stranger, The Spiral // 16 February 2017 • #80 The Librarian // All // Jurgen Leitner // 16 February 2017 // 1994 • #81 A Guest for Mister Spider // The Web // Jonathan Sims // 18 February 2017 / 1995 • #82 The Eyewitnesses // The Eye, the Slaughter // Daisy Tonner // 18 February 2017 • #89 Twice as Bright // The Desolation // Jude Perry // 24 April 2017 • #91 The Coming Storm // The Vast, The Spiral // Michael Crew // 28 April 2017 • #92 Nothing Beside Remains // The Eye, The Lonely // Elias Bouchard, Barnabas Bennett // ? [Possibly 28 April 2017] • #94 Dead Woman Walking // The End // Georgie Barker // 29 April 2017 • #100 I Guess You Had To Be There // The Desolation, The Dark, The Spiral, The Web, The Lonely // Lynn Hammond, John Smith, Robin Lennox, Brian Finlinson // 2 May 2017 – 26 May 2017 • #101 Another Twist // The Spiral, The Stranger // Michael // May-June 2017 // October 2009 – 2011 • #104 Sneak Preview // The Stranger // Timothy Stoker // 14 June 2017 // August 2013 • #109 Nightfall // The Dark, The Hunt // Julia Montauk and Trevor Herbert // 29 June 2017 // July 2010 • #111 Family Business // Multiple, The End // Gerry Keay // 30 June 2017 // September 2008 • #117 Testament // The Eye // Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain, Melanie King, Martin Blackwood, Timothy Stoker, Daisy Tonner // 2 – 4 August 2017 • #118 The Masquerade // The Stranger // The Unknowing Begins // 6 August 2017 • #119 Stranger and Stranger // The Stranger // The Unknowing Ends // 7 August 2017 • #120 Eye Contact // The Eye // Elias Bouchard // 9 August 2017 • #121 Far Away // The End, The Web // Oliver Banks // 15 February 2018 • #128 Heavy Goods // The Stranger // Breekon // 3 March 2018 • #131 Flesh // The Flesh // Jared Hopworth // 20 March 2018 // 2016 – January 2018 • #132 Entombed // The Buried // Jonathan Sims and Daisy Tonner // 24 March 2018 • #141 Doomed Voyage // The Vast, The Spiral // Floyd Matharu // 11 June 2018 • #142 Scrutiny // The Eye, The Buried // Jess Terrell // 12 June 2018 • #143 Heart of Darkness // The Dark // Manuela Dominguez // 16 June 2018 • #147 Weaver // The Web // Annabelle Cane // 20 July 2018 • #151 Big Picture // The Vast, The Lonely, The Extinction // Simon Fairchild, Martin Blackwood // 14 August 2018 • #158 Panopticon // The Eye, the Extinction, The Lonely // Martin Blackwood, Peter Lukas, Basira Hussain, Jonathan Sims, Daisy Tonner, Elias Bouchard, Gertrude Robinson // 25 September 2018 • #159 The Last // The Lonely // Peter Lukas // 25 September 2018 • #160 The Eye Opens // All // Jonah Magnus, Jonathan Sims // 18 October 2018 • Vigilo, Audio, Supervenio. The World Ends • #161 Dwelling // No // Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Elias Bouchard, Jonathan Sims, Jurgen Leitner // No Longer Applicable // Unknown • #162 A Cozy Cabin // No // Gertrude Robinson, Gerry Keay, Sasha James, Timothy Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable // 2013 – 2015 • #163 In The Trenches // The Slaughter // Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable • # 164 The Sick Village // The Corruption // Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable • #165 Revolutions // The Stranger // Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable • #166 The Worms // The Buried // Jonathan Sims // No Longer Applicable • #167 Curiosity // The Eye, The Web, Others // Jonathan on Gertrude Robinson // No Longer Applicable • #168 Roots // The End // Oliver Banks // No Longer Applicable

#tma #the magnus archives #timeline #tma meta #eldritch bingo au #tma reference #tma ref

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red-archivist · 4 years ago

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Statement of Erin Gallagher-Nelson, regarding an urban exploration trip beneath Saint Paul’s Church, West Hackney.

urban exploration is a funny way to pronounce b&e

#the great tma relisten #tma #tma 063

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tma-traduzioni · 4 years ago

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MAG063 - #0143103 - “La fine del tunnel”

[Episodio precedente]

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

[CLICK]

ARCHIVISTA

Dichiarazione di Erin Gallagher-Nelson, riguardante l’esplorazione urbana sotto la chiesa di Saint Paul, a West Hackney. Dichiarazione originale rilasciata il 31 marzo 2014. Registrazione audio di Jonathan Sims, Capo Archivista dell’Istituto Magnus, Londra.

Inizio della dichiarazione.

ARCHIVISTA (DICHIARAZIONE)

Sono sicura che saprete che cos’è l’esplorazione urbana. Sono sicura che qui avete avuto abbastanza zotici dilettanti che hanno incontrato un fantasma in una qualche vecchia fabbrica abbandonata, quindi vi risparmio la spiegazione di come funziona. E se non sapete cos’è, beh, esiste Internet. Cercatelo.

Sono la cosa più vicina a una professionista che puoi trovare per quella che è praticamente violazione di proprietà privata per sport. Lavoro come fotografa, e se mi gioco bene le mie carte, posso ottenere più soldi da una stazione di pompaggio abbandonata che dal fotografare una Barbie viziata per il mensile “Odia te stessa”, o simili. Siamo sempre stati io e Luke Nelson. Era il fratello di mia moglie, e si occupava delle luci in tutti i nostri servizi. Per lo meno, fino a che non venne divorato dall’oscurità la settimana scorsa.

È per questo che sono qui: perché non me lo sono sognato. È successo. Non m’importa di quello che dice Steph, non ho bisogno di parlare con uno strizzacervelli, devo parlare con voi.

Ci trovavamo sotto la chiesa di Saint Paul a West Hackney. Edificio orribile, simile a una scatola, ti lascia davvero pensare agli standard abitativi di Dio? Cioè, sto solo dicendo, che se fosse stata casa mia, sarei alquanto incazzata. Comunque, credo che se Lui non l’avesse voluta, avrebbe dovuto proteggere quella precedente dalle bombe naziste, perché Saint Paul era St. James prima di essere ridotta in macerie in un raid.

Tutti si dimenticano sempre di quanta Londra ci sia sotto Londra. Voglio dire non è messa male come alcuni posti come Edinburgo, dove hanno letteralmente seppellito metà della città e ce ne hanno costruita una nuova sopra - ma in alcuni posti ci si avvicina. E avevo fatto molte ricerche su Saint Paul-che-prima-era-Saint James, perché sembrava potesse essere proprio uno di quei posti.

Le planimetrie delle fognature e dei seminterrati del vicinato sembravano indicare la presenza di una grande area sotterranea direttamente sotto Saint Paul che sembrerebbe essere stata evitata da tutte le opere pubbliche - eppure le piantine della chiesa moderna non indicavano niente sotto il livello del terreno.

Ciò che questo mi diceva era che la vecchia chiesa di Saint James probabilmente aveva dei notevoli locali sotterranei, che non erano stati completamente distrutti dalle bombe. E che il suo sostituto non usava.

Sotterranei vittoriani della prima metà del XIX secolo, rimasti indisturbati per 70 anni? Era esattamente il tipo di cosa che andava di moda al momento in una certa nicchia di riviste artistiche, ed ero sicura che avrei potuto venderne qualcuna a Getty e una manciata ad altri siti di stock photo. E poi, non era la prima volta che mi intrufolavo in una chiesa.

Fortunatamente, Saint Paul a West Hackney è una chiesa anglicana, il che vuol dire che non la chiudevano con la stessa cura di altri posti. Le chiese cattoliche possono essere una vera rottura, visto che hanno cose di valore all’interno che devono essere protette? Ma questa, come la maggior parte delle c.a., dentro era semplice e spoglia. Quindi mentre si preoccupavano molto degli uffici, non erano altrettanto scrupolosi nel chiudere l’edificio principale della chiesa, perché abbastanza francamente, non c’era molto da rubare - a meno che non t’interessassero i libri degli inni.

A me e Luke servì meno di un minuto per entrare. Era lo scorso martedì, il 25. Suppongo che, tecnicamente, fosse mercoledì 26, in quanto era già passata la mezzanotte quando facemmo la nostra mossa. Una volta dentro, tenemmo le nostre torce basse, sistemammo la nostra attrezzatura, e andammo a cercare qualcosa che ci permettesse di scendere.

All’inizio pensai che ci potessimo essere sbagliati, e che non vi fosse un accesso per i sotterranei. Ma poi Luke individuò quello che sembrava essere un pannello removibile poco alla sinistra di quello che passava da pulpito. Era più pesante di quanto non sembrasse, ma dopo un po’ di lavoro con il piede di porco, venne via.

Sembrava che non venisse rimosso da decenni - forse da quando la chiesa era stata costruita. Ma quello che mi sorprese fu la folata d’aria che ne uscì quando si spostò. Sospirò, come se avesse trattenuto a lungo un respiro, e l’aria che uscì da quel buco era gelida, e umida. Non inaspettata, ma quello che mi sorprese fu l’odore pulito che aveva. Come di una notte autunnale dopo la pioggia.

[Rumore di statica in sottofondo inizia a farsi sentire]

Non c’era alcuna scaletta o scalinate, ma avevamo portato tantissima corda, quindi scendemmo. L’oscurità sembrò ingoiarci. Avrei giurato che a tratti la potevo sentire stringersi fisicamente contro di me.

Come venne fuori, c’erano solo un paio di metri al pavimento del tunnel sotterraneo, e le nostre torce ci mostrarono esattamente quello che avevo sperato: mattoni vittoriani.

Il passaggio che si allungava lontano da noi in entrambe le direzioni era assolutamente perfetto, e non sprecai un istante nell’organizzare degli scatti, mentre Luke piazzava i cavalletti delle luci. Là sotto i flash sembravano quasi accecanti, ma ero sicura che stavamo ottenendo delle foto eccellenti. Fu solo quando diedi loro una rapida occhiata sullo schermo della mia reflex che iniziai a irritarmi. Chiaramente, Luke si era trovato di fronte alla luce quando avevo iniziato a scattare.

In ogni singola immagine, dove la parete di sfondo era illuminata dalle luci potenti, potevi vedere la nitida forma dell’ombra di una persona.

Ebbi quasi una discussione con Luke al riguardo. Lui insisteva che non avrebbe mai fatto un simile errore da principiante. Gli dissi che poteva discutere con me, ma non con la fotocamera. Alla fine, si allontanò per continuare a esplorare più avanti.

Scattai un’altra foto prima di seguirlo. L’ombra era ancora lì, e sembrava essere leggermente più vicina.

Non so perché la ignorai. La mente umana è sorprendentemente brava a ignorare le cose che non hanno senso, che non vuole vedere. Mi convinsi che era uno scherzo dell’angolazione in quel punto. Non mi permisi nemmeno di considerare l’idea che potesse essere stato un problema della mia costosissima macchina fotografica, quindi di sicuro non considerai la possibilità di una spiegazione soprannaturale.

Seguii Luke più avanti fino a che, dopo circa 20 minuti, arrivammo alle rovine di una specie di camera. Il soffitto era collassato, probabilmente a causa del bombardamento che aveva distrutto la chiesa di Saint James, e i detriti ne occupavano la maggior parte. Sembrava che un tempo fosse stata una sala circolare, e ad ogni lato dell’ingresso, potevo vedere delle porte bloccate dalla pietra caduta.

Non esisteva che fossimo capaci di spostare abbastanza detriti da accedervi, ma era strano: quando i raggi delle torce passavano oltre quelle, anche se erano coperte per la maggior parte in muratura crollata, comunque non sembravano tanto buie quanto il corridoio da cui eravamo arrivati.

Feci delle foto. La composizione del posto era ottima, e le soglie delle porte bloccate avevano una strana sorta di rigida regalità. Erano di sicuro di buona fattura, se erano riuscite a sopravvivere a quello che sembrava essere un colpo diretto di una bomba tedesca. Controllai le foto, e non c’erano ombre, il che fu un po’ un sollievo.

Andammo nell’altra direzione. Quando raggiungemmo le nostre corde che penzolavano dal buco sopra di noi, Luke iniziò ad avere delle preoccupazioni. Beh, dico preoccupazioni: lui voleva uscire di lì. Voleva che preparassimo le nostre borse e che ci arrampicassimo fuori e che ce ne andassimo, mi diceva che stava ricevendo strane energie dal luogo, e stava provando a convincermi che avevamo visto abbastanza. Guardando in su verso quel quadrato brillante, illuminato in modo invitante dalla luna che filtrava dalle finestre della chiesa, fui mezza tentata di dargli ragione.

Il problema era che, a causa dei problemi con il primo set, avevo una, forse due foto di qualità utilizzabile, e non erano neanche lontanamente abbastanza. Gli dissi senza mezzi termini che non avevo abbastanza, e che se io non fossi stata pagata, lui non sarebbe stato pagato. Vidi il conflitto sul suo viso: voleva uscire di lì, certo, ma a quanto pare non tanto quanto voleva pagare l’affitto.

Quindi: proseguimmo, più avanti nel tunnel. Non so quanto andammo lontano. Mi fermavo ogni circa 10 metri per preparare e provare a fare una bella foto, ma le ombre erano tornate, e peggio di prima. Ora ce ne erano due o tre in alcune foto. Non erano proprio una nitida silhouette umana, quindi riuscii a convincermi che doveva essere una particolarità del modo in cui il tunnel rifletteva la luce - anche se, col senno di poi, non ha alcun senso.

Comunque, continuai a proseguire, sperando di trovare un luogo dove poter fare delle foto dei tunnel spogli e bui, con mattoni così neri da sembrare quasi carbone. Ci spostavamo, ci preparavamo, scattavamo, controllavamo, e poi io imprecavo alla mia fotocamera. Non so quante volte lo ripetemmo. Luke diventava sempre più nervoso per tutto il tragitto.

Non mi sembrava che l’avessimo fatto per molto più di 10 minuti, ma quando controllai il mio orologio, eravamo stati là sotto per quasi due ore. Eravamo finalmente arrivati alla fine del sentiero, ed era semplicemente quello: una fine. Uno spoglio muro di mattoni a indicare la fine di un tunnel che sembrava snodarsi sotto buona parte di Hackney.

A questo punto, alla fine decisi di lasciar perdere la cosa e di tornare indietro. Fu quando mi girai verso Luke per dirglielo, che la mia torcia morì. Non ci furono cerimonie: tremolò per un un secondo, poi si spense con un debole pop. Guardai verso Luke sul punto di chiedergli di passarmi le batterie di riserva - quando vidi la sua faccia. Non credo di aver mai visto nessuno tanto spaventato quanto lui in quel momento. Poi anche la sua torcia si spense, e non ci fu altro se non oscurità.

Lo sentii frugare alla ricerca di qualcosa che pensai essere le luci per la fotocamera, e un secondo dopo sentii il click... click... click di lui che provava ad accenderle. Non successe nulla. Lui continuò a pigiare i pulsanti, ancora e ancora, e potevo percepire la sua disperazione, ma eravamo ancora intrappolati nel buio pesto.

A un certo punto, smise, e ce ne restammo semplicemente lì. Volevo dire qualcosa di rassicurante, ma avevo paura a rompere il silenzio. C’era solo il suo respirare, affaticato e spaventato. Divenni consapevole del mio stesso respirare: rapido, e stava tradendo il panico che fingevo di non sentire.

E poi li sentii: i terzi respiri. Erano silenziosi, all’inizio, lunghi e lenti, e molto intenzionali. Più ascoltavo, più forti sembravano farsi, come se chiunque fosse là sotto con noi si stesse assicurando che potessimo sentirli. E poi altri respiri si unirono a quelli, profondi e gutturali. E poi i quinti - i sesti - poi di più. Eravamo circondati su ogni lato dal suono di respiri, che diventavano più forti, che si avvicinavano.

Luke si lasciò sfuggire un piccolo mugolio, e tutti assieme, si fermarono. Al loro posto, giunse il rumore di un raschiare, qualcosa di metallico, che sembrava essere trascinato sui mattoni, molto lontano dietro di noi, ma che si avvicinava, e velocemente, Gli si unì una cadenza di colpi pesanti: passi che venivano verso di noi, regolari e senza fretta.

Pensai quasi che potesse essere il battito del mio cuore, che mi pulsava nelle orecchie - ma l’eco mi confermò che proveniva da più avanti nel tunnel. Poi venne di nuovo il raschiare, ora dall’altra direzione, e collassai sul pavimento, stringendo la mia macchina fotografica al petto come se fosse stata un qualche talismano protettivo.

Ci fu silenzio, di nuovo,

Il rumore che ruppe la quiete questa volta è quello che ancora mi risuona nelle orecchie. Fu molto più terribile degli altri a causa di quanto era familiare - anche se non l’avevo mai sentita così prima. Era la voce di Luke, e stava urlando in agonia, uno strillo acuto, angosciante di dolore e paura che spazzò via tutti i pensieri e li rimpiazzò con puro panico. Volevo scappare ma le mie gambe erano paralizzate.

Da qualche parte nella mia mente, mi ricordai del flash della mia fotocamera e istintivamente il mio dito schiacciò il tasto.

Quando schiacciai il bottone, le urla cessarono. Con uno schiocco bagnato, e nel peggiore istante della mia vita, un’esplosione di luce balenò nell’oscurità.

Vidi Luke in aria. Non c’era nessuno attorno a lui, ma sul muro, in nitide, scure sagome, vidi due ombre troppo lunghe e sottili accanto a lui. Su ognuna, vidi un braccio affusolato afferrare la sua ombra per le spalle, mentre l’altra teneva su l’ombra della sua testa strappata.

Di fronte a me, quella vera penzolava lassù, dondolando come da un qualche filo invisibile, il sangue che gocciolava sul corpo sottostante. I suoi occhi mi fissavano come se stessero scongiurando la mia debole fotocamera col flash di salvarlo. Urlai.

La cosa che mi ricordo dopo era la luce dolorosa di una dozzina di torce puntate sul mio viso. Era il parroco di Saint Paul, e un piccolo gruppo di quelli che pensai essere fedeli. Non disse una parola mentre mi condusse gentilmente verso l’ingresso. Mi guardai intorno per vedere se il corpo di Luke fosse ancora lì, ma sapevo sotto sotto che l’oscurità lo aveva divorato. Se ne era andato.

Il parroco fu alquanto comprensivo, anche se non ero molto coerente. Disse dolci parole di conforto, mi portò fuori nell’azzurro pallido dell’alba, e chiamò un’ambulanza per farmi controllare. Non capii il suo nome, e fu solo dopo essere arrivata all’ospedale che mi accorsi che lui aveva preso la mia macchina fotografica.

Da allora, sono rimasta sotto osservazione all’ospedale. Nessuno crede alla mia storia, e Luke è stato ufficialmente dichiarato come scomparso. Steph mi ha dato molto supporto, ma riesco a vedere il dolore nei suoi occhi. Lei sa che sono stata io l’ultima a vedere suo fratello, e la cosa la distrugge. Ora non so davvero che fare - tranne tenere le luci accese.

ARCHIVISTA

Fine della dichiarazione.

Non dovrebbe sorprendermi che la prima pietra della chiesa originale di Saint James a West Hackney sia stata posata il 17 Novembre del 1821 da Sir Robert Smirke. Comunque, speravo davvero di trovare almeno una stranezza architettonica nascosta sotto le strade di Londra che non portasse il marchio suo o di uno dei suoi studenti.

Quest’incontro in particolare non sembra avere molto in comune con le manifestazioni in edifici simili. Avevamo una qualche scala per lui e i suoi: tumulazioni in ragnatele, problemi di orientamento, e ora un’oscurità violenta e omicida.

Il mio primo pensiero è stata la Chiesa del Popolo dell'Ostia Divina, in quanto sembrano avere una certa affinità per l’oscurità, ma non riesco a trovare alcun collegamento tra loro e la chiesa di West Hackney.

Non che il personale là sia stato di molto aiuto. Tutti dichiarano di non aver alcuna memoria di aver incontrato la signorina Gallagher-Nelson, nonostante i registri di ammissione dell’ospedale riportano chiaramente che sia stata trovata lì la mattina del 26 marzo 2014. Tim è convinto che almeno qualcuno di loro abbia mentito, ma c’è poco che possiamo fare per ottenere delle informazioni che non desiderano darci di loro spontanea volontà.

Non siamo riusciti a ottenere un colloquio di approfondimento con la signorina Gallagher-Nelson. Tutti i tentativi di contattarla sono stati bloccati da sua moglie, Stephanie Gallagher-Nelson, che ha reso sufficientemente chiaro che non siamo i benvenuti, e che non dobbiamo tentare ulteriori contatti.

Luke Nelson rimane disperso.

Fine della registrazione,

[CLICK]

Supplemento.

[frustrato, parlando veloce] Ho provato ad accedere al computer di Gertrude, ma per ora non ho avuto fortuna. Nessuna delle password più ovvie che ho provato ha avuto successo, e non sono sicuro su chi potrebbe darmi sia aiuto che discrezione. Potrebbero esserci ulteriori indizi sugli altri nastri, ma per ora non ho ancora ricevuto nessuna notizia da Basira! Sono così vicino a scoprire qualcosa, forse dovrei semplicemente andare là sotto -

[Porta che si apre]

MELANIE

Scusa, hai un attimo?

ARCHIVISTA

Signorina King - uh - come hai, come hai fatto a entrare qui… ?

MELANIE

Mi ha fatto entrare la ragazza nuova. Stai bene?

ARCHIVISTA

Hm? Prego?

MELANIE

Hai un aspetto orribile.

ARCHIVISTA

Sono stati dei mesi abbastanza difficili. Guarda, posso aiutarti? Perché se sei qui solo per un’altra scenata-

MELANIE

No! Io, um - Io ho davvero bisogno del tuo aiuto.

ARCHIVISTA

...

Hm. Interessante.

MELANIE

Okay, ce la fai a non essere uno stronzo? Ho solo bisogno di accedere alla vostra biblioteca.

ARCHIVISTA

Allora parla con Diana, è lei che la dirige.

MELANIE

Sì, non ho esattamente le credenziali accademiche che voialtri richiedete, quindi apparentemente ho bisogno di qualcuno che mi faccia da garante -

[Jon sospira] -e tu sei in pratica la cosa più vicina a un amico che ho qui.

ARCHIVISTA

[heh] Ci siamo parlati una sola volta, e abbiamo finito per urlarci addosso a vicenda-

MELANIE

Già! Ed è molto più di quello che posso dire per chiunque altro qui. Inoltre, uh, Georgie ha detto delle cosa carine su di te. Quelle sono state sorprendenti. Non mi hai neanche detto che la conoscevi.

ARCHIVISTA

Io- è stato molto molto tempo fa. Prima che iniziasse a fare What the Ghost.

[Melanie fa 'Hm']

È una sorpresa anche per me, onestamente. Non è che ci siamo salutati nel migliore dei modi…

[Melanie fa ‘Hm' con più enfasi]

Che cosa ti serve esattamente da noi, comunque? Non possono aiutarti i tuoi amici del mondo dello spettacolo?

MELANIE

No, io, uh - la maggior, la maggior parte di loro non mi rivolge neanche più la parola.

ARCHIVISTA

Che è successo? Si è venuto a sapere che hai rilasciato una dichiarazione a noi, com’era, “idioti creduloni”?

MELANIE

Non esattamente. Guarda, nel mio ambito, la tua reputazione è tutto quello che hai. Il business è pieno principalmente di scettici che fingono di crederci, ma che fingono di essere scettici -

ARCHIVISTA

Credo che il termine che stai cercando sia ciarlatani -

MELANIE

Potresti smetterla? Per favore? Sto provando a -

[abbattuta]… guarda, Ghost Hunt UK si è sciolto. Voglio dire, non ufficialmente, ma beh, sai, Pete è sempre stato un voltafaccia sin dall’inizio, e gli altri si sono semplicemente allontanati…

ARCHIVISTA

[più gentilmente] Mi dispiace sentirlo. Ho notato che avete smesso di postare.

MELANIE

Ho provato a mettere insieme un nuovo team - ma è stata dura. Continuo ad andare in esplorazione da sola, ma non ho proprio le competenze per mettere assieme del materiale utilizzabile. Ho visto un po’ di cose strane… poi sono, poi sono stata arrestata.

ARCHIVISTA

…vai avanti.

MELANIE

Sì, io… mi sono introdotta nel cimitero di treni vicino a Rotherham. Sono stata beccata dalla vigilanza, e io - io non stavo bene. Mentre venivo tirata fuori, un tizio che portava fuori il cane a tarda notte mi ha fatto un video mentre urlavo loro qualcosa su dei fantasmi. [ride amaramente] Quando è finito online…

ARCHIVISTA

La tua importantissima reputazione professionale è morta con quello.

MELANIE

Sì. Guarda, ho delle piste che devo veramente seguire, ma per quello che riguarda i miei colleghi, in questi giorni, sono io il fantasma.

ARCHIVISTA

Beh, per quel che può valere, mi dispiace. So cosa vuol dire non avere il rispetto dei tuoi pari. Parlerò con Diana, per vedere se posso farti accedere alla biblioteca.

MELANIE

Grazie. Davvero, Ora, uh, come esco da questo posto?

ARCHIVISTA

Oh. Sasha può indicarti la strada per l’uscita.

MELANIE

Sasha...?

ARCHIVISTA

Sì. Dovrebbe essere qui in giro da qualche parte.

MELANIE

Oh. Okay...

Beh, fammi sapere per la biblioteca, okay?

[Porta che si apre]

ARCHIVISTA

Lo farò.

[Porta che si chiude]

… Che strana donna.

Fine del supplemento.

[Traduzione di: Victoria]

[Episodio Successivo]

#gli archivi magnus #tma ita #tma traduzioni #mag063 #tma #the magnus archives #MagnusPod #jonathan sims #jon sims #melanie king

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