#ghostchives au

[piedpip3rrr]

Ghosty boys

[ginzburgjake]

Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding his encounter with a ghost. Statement given January 25th, 2017.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Sasha says gently. Tim is beside her, wearing a worried expression, while Martin is sitting on the opposite end of the table with a running tape recorder placed in front of him. His hands are wrapped around a steaming cup of tea.

“Ooof,” he sighs, bracing himself. “Alright, I — alright.”

“So, the day started as normal, I think — maybe it was a bit more cloudy than usual, but nothing too out of the ordinary. I took the tube, arrived to the Institute on time, signed in with Rosie, all that stuff. I came in, and Sasha was there, already recording, so I decided not to interrupt her and busy myself with my own case. I sat at the table, laid my things out — because I had to bring them home, you know, what with the mysterious haunting of this place. Didn't want to lose track of any more pens than necessary, heh.

I did some follow-ups, called a couple of contacts to check the details for, er, for that, that 'uncanny students' report? Yeah. So, it was about eleven-ish when I heard something... weird from the document storage. It was like… a whisper, or a call. A very quiet one.

Now, the thing is, that was far from the first time I heard something like that in the Archives. Those whispers, and sudden brushes of cold wind, I suppose, have been following me since, um, the middle of September. I’m not the most superstitious person, but I can’t very well deny the uneasiness that flooded my mind with every such… incident. Still, there weren’t any words being said in an ominous voice, no blood oozing out of the walls, no foggy mirrors, or, or anything, to indicate that it wasn’t just me freaking out without reason, so I kind of — let it be? I mean, it’s not like I could do anything. There isn’t a, a ghost manual or whatever, and you guys never noticed the things I did.

I must admit that I… am sorta fan of Ghost Hunt UK. I’m not big on conspiracies and deep scary mysteries, but their channel is — it’s honestly really good. They conduct proper investigations and stuff, and I know we as academics are supposed to, to despise their work out of principle, but… I simply never saw them as rivals. They do a lot of what we do — breaking into places, unearthing evidence, recording their findings — even if they lack the resources we possess. I’ve watched some of their content regarding old haunted basements, a while back. You know, the Archives are actually unbelievably good-fitting for the ‘haunted basement’ profile; the Institute was built in the early 1800s, and its structure has remained the same since. Despite there being only one exit, at least two archival employees have managed to vanish without a trace from what is essentially a closed room. There was blood found on the desk, for god’s sake.

I’ve emailed to Melanie King — she’s the main host — asking for her opinion. That was back in December, and I didn’t hold much hope for a proper answer. She must be quite busy, after all. But, surprisingly, she replied, uh, two days later? She needed more details — were there signs of possession or compulsion; have I seen, heard or smelt anything else odd or unnatural; was there seemingly a problem with electricity, heating or pipes that refused to go away, yada, yada. Based on what I’ve told her, she said it might indicate a minor poltergeist, possibly an Archivist, trying to finish their mission on this plane. I didn’t know whether I believed it. Anyhow, true or not, it’s a terribly sad way to exist, don’t you think? Permanently tied to your place of work, bound to fill out papers until the end of time. Ugh.

Melanie said ghosts such as these are usually deemed harmless, and unless I cared to confront it and discover its goal, there’s, as I suspected, very little that could be done. I wasn’t worried, not then. A disgruntled workaholic ghost? Pshh, just another strange thing about this job, right? Hah. And, well, today… today the issue became a lot more real.

As I said, there was a whisper coming from the document storage. I registered it, which was almost routine at that point, and waited for the cold to pass. After five minutes or so, its presence lessened significantly — although it hadn’t gone away completely. I had two layers of clothing on, so I was fine.

It’s — hard to remember what exactly I wanted to do? I know I went in to retrieve a box of files, probably related to the reports of… uncanny… um, skin people. I entered the storage — I held a reference file in hands, I think — and… there it was. A hand. Transparent, floating, detached from anything that might have resembled a body, human hand. It — it was kind of positioned where a person’s hand would be if they, uh, reached for something above their height. Which sounds ridiculous, of course — ghosts can levitate, can’t they? Or maybe I’m thinking of the vampires…

Anyhow, the hand, it — it grabbed a, a file from an open box at my eye level, and it pulled — and, and the file moved, like there was real physical force behind that gesture. I think I screamed. It was just so… impossible. There’s scary movies and books, and spooky podcasts that you listen to while going to sleep to shake yourself up a little — and then there’s that. I didn’t expect to see it because it shouldn’t have been real. I didn’t… I didn’t.

The next thing I know — I’m sitting on the floor, breathing heavily, with a very concerned Sasha crouching down besides me. She — she asked me what happened, led me to the break room, offered some tea. I turned to look back when we were exiting the storage — and there was nothing. No hands, no chill, no levitating objects... Just a bunch of dusty old boxes lined up in rows. I’m not sure whether I felt relieved or not. And, well, then Tim arrived, apologising for oversleeping, so that pretty much wraps up my experience, I suppose.

S-statement ends.”

< part 2 part 4 >

[piedpip3rrr]

Ghostchives au pt 2 electric boogaloo the archival staff

[piedpip3rrr]

Ghostchives au doodles

[ginzburgjake]

Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding the events before his alleged disappearance in January of 2016. Statement never given.

Somewhere, in another universe, Jonathan Sims didn’t watch his feet. It’s not that he was always so clumsy, but the current case research was stagnating, driving Jon into sleepless restlessness that, he found, could only be alleviated through hard work.

He’d been working at The Magnus Institute for over a year by that point, which was not a dream job, exactly, but it paid the bills alright. One day, as he was carrying a rather large cup of black tea, looking through the brief notes on his phone, a tall lean guy crossed his path, causing Jon to trip. He regained his balance quickly, sloshing his drink in the process and, to his utter mortification, staining the stranger’s shirt. Jon apologized awkwardly, while the stranger loudly bemoaned the loss of his favorite expensive piece of clothing (personally, Jon thought he’d accidentally done humanity a favor. The shirt was abysmal, with a garnish pattern of pink oranges and blue orchid flowers). Jon, as politely as he could, offered to buy the man a coffee in exchange.

“Nah, probably not a good idea,” the guy said, “I’m on my third espresso already. Let me, hm—” Then he squinted, contemplating, and Jon detected something akin to mischief glinting in the stranger’s eye. “Say, uh — I’ve seen you before in the, er, Research?”

“That is correct,” Jon replied stiffly. Was he going to be sent an official invoice, or something? God, he hoped the shirt didn’t cost more than his weekly rent, otherwise his savings would be in serious trouble. “Jon Sims.”

“Oh! That’s neat, ‘cuz I’m from Research as well! Name’s Tim, Tim Stoker.” The guy —Tim — stretched out his hand eagerly. Jon shook it with no small amount of hesitation. “I was thinking — uh, it’s kinda weird, to be honest — but me and a couple of others were planning to go on a trivia night, yeah? And we need a team of three, actually, but no-one else is available, and, well. You should be real smart, so I thought, why not, y’know?”

Jon decidedly did not know. He hoped his blank expression conveyed this feeling accordingly. “You want me… to go… on a trivia night. With you.”

“That’s right!” Tim grinned, pointing to the brown stain across his chest. “I really liked this shirt, okay? And it hurt. A lot,” he added, almost as an afterthought. The whole pity act wasn’t particularly convincing — although, in all honesty, Jon was often told he simply misunderstood how people conveyed their emotions. Maybe Tim always expressed himself in such an exaggerated, jovial manner. “And if you come to the trivia night, your debt will be forgiven and forgotten.”

Jon made a face. He specifically avoided crowded social gatherings — he had no time for such pointless, nerve-wracking, chaotic engagements. But something told him now that Tim found a way of retribution, Jon wouldn’t be able to escape his grasp easily. And anyway, better get this over with quickly, so that he could continue his existence in peaceful solitude.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But I can’t promise I’ll be of any help.”

“Brilliant! Meet you down by the reception at five. The bar is fifteen minutes away.” Tim clapped his hands excitedly. “And if I don’t see you on time, I will come hunt you down.” He winked, waved his hand and was off, leaving Jon standing there in complete stupor.

Jon bought himself another cup of tea, worked on the case until the appointed hour and, as promised, was packed and ready to head out at five o’clock sharp. Tim and a girl Jon didn’t know were already there, and Tim shot his finger guns at the newest arrival.

“That’s our savior! Jon, welcome aboard. This here is my accomplice, Sasha. Sash, meet Jon.” Both of them nodded at each other, and Sasha smiled. “Now off we go!”

This occurrence was not, in fact, the last time Jon saw this Tim Stoker. Tim, like a pest, started finding him during the lunch breaks and accompanying him to the tube station. It didn’t matter that Jon was curt and blunt with his replies — Tim filled in the gaps for the both of them, ranting about movies, urban legends, pizza flavors, and llamas, for some reason. Sasha was also quick to join the party. She was sharp-minded and curious, and a troublemaker — sometimes even worse than Tim.

Jon had learned fast enough that his stand-offish attitude and general unpleasantness had no effect on those two. He’d gradually grown to tolerate them, contributing to their conversations when he deemed it impossible to stay quiet. Then they started sharing their lunch when Jon, in his obliviousness to his needs, forgot to bring his own. Before he knew it, they were going out for drinks every Friday and spending the weekend evenings at each other’s flats, picking apart scientifically inaccurate television.

And just like that, Jon, surprising everyone, and himself especially, had… friends.

This all, however, happened somewhere else, in a different story, with a different Jon.

In this story, a sleep-deprived Jonathan Sims was carrying a cup of black tea when a tall lean man crossed his path. Jon looked up from his phone just in time to prevent a collision — he nearly avoided ruining the guy’s (frankly, quite ugly) Hawaiian shirt. Jon muttered a sort-of apology and continued on his way to get some bloody work done.

He never met Sasha James or Martin Blackwood.

He never requested assistance with the Archives — he didn’t know anyone well enough for that, and he refused to deal with a bunch of potentially incompetent strangers on top of his usual headache-inducing workload.

He worked alone in the basement for seven months, interacting only with Elias (when he graced the Archives with his presence) and Rosie at the reception.

He had no family or friends to miss him.

He had nowhere else to be.

And then, one day, he was suddenly nowhere to be found at all.

< part 1 part 3 >