Statement 1

It’ll get you too. You can stare all you want, make your notes and your inquiries, but all your beholding will come to nothing. When the time arrives, and all is darkness and butchery, you’ll wish you had stopped listening and run.

Statement 2

[The statement] is longer, and it’s from a man—Nathan Watts—who claims to have encountered a strange figure floating slightly off the ground that asked him for a cigarette without moving its mouth. Nathan ran...

Sasha did some followup research on the statement of Nathan Watts since Lev saw it first. While the investigation at the time turned up no corroboration, there have since been a chain of disappearances from the same place Nathan claimed to have seen the figure: Jessica McEwen in November 2005, Sarah Baldwin in August 2006, Daniel Rawlings in December 2006, Ashley Dobson and Megan Shaw in May and June of 2008, and John Fellowes in March 2010. Some or all of them might be coincidence, but it’s a worrying pattern. At least two of them were definitely smokers. 

She also found the last picture Ashley Dobson texted her sister, captioned “check out this drunk creeper lol”. The alleyway and the stairs appear just as Nathan Watts described them. There appeared at first to be nobody in the picture, but increasing exposure and contrast enough revealed the outline of a long, beckoning hand. 

Sasha shows him through artefact storage, staying farther away from the artefacts than is really necessary ("it's a good habit to be in"). This is an origami how-to book that results in geometrically impossible shapes! This is a wooden-handled gun that's safe to use as long as you don't get splinters, which give severe violent impulses until they're pulled out! This is a gumball machine; it's a perfectly normal gumball machine except that if you try to buy a gumball you will instead get a stream of animal bones! 

Then Sasha pulls a face. "What is it?" Martin asks.

"Here's where I worked," Sasha says. "Uh, that chair over there? Does hallucinations. I slept in it, once. Couldn't tell when I was dreaming and when I was awake for a week. It pays the best in the institute, but I do not miss it. Gave up a memory to that book over there. I--wouldn't have written anything important, but still." She sighs. "--Oh, I know what I should show you! This necklace, see? The pendant changes entirely every few hours. If you take a picture with most modern cameras, the picture will change too, but if you use something with actual film, it preserves what you remember. It's what we usually show to new people, since as far as we can tell it's otherwise safe."...

“Sure! So, the one I know the most about is an abstract painting? It shifts, when you stare at it. It’s not at all a picture of a person, you know objectively that it’s not, but it feels like it’s obviously a person. If you look at it for longer than a glance out of the corner of your eye you just... disappear. No clue what happens to you, just— gone. There’s a water purifier that creates new strains of virus when you use it, nasty ones, the sort that would be called superbugs. The ones that compel you to pick them up and keep them also get put here, even if we don’t know how dangerous they are, just in case the answer is very; we have a set of kitchenware that’s like that. The rumor is that they had to cut someone’s finger off to get them away, but the gossip’s only occasionally true.” She walks as she talks, heading back to the archives. 

Statement 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Six of the statements refuse to digitize, including both confirmed-real statements, three of the 'suggestive' statements, and one with no proof either way.

The first statement is by Joshua Gillespie in 1998, who was offered £10,000 to look after a package. He agreed; the package arrived a year later. It was a large wooden coffin, with the words 'DO NOT OPEN' carved into it. It was closed and locked, but the key was with it. Occasionally, there would be scratching noises from inside it; whenever it rained, there was a low moaning noise. Whenever he slept, he began sleepwalking, getting the key and walking towards the coffin; to prevent himself from opening it, he stored the key inside the freezer, where the cold would wake him up. He lived with the coffin for a year and a half, at which point the same men who had delivered it came to pick it up; their van read "Breekon and Hope Deliveries". The two delivery men were tall; other than that, he could recall no distinguishing features of them or of the man who made him the offer. There is no evidence supporting the existence of the coffin; however, Tim's research found that--despite living in a large building with eight available flats--during the two years Joshua Gillespie lived at the address given, nobody else lived in the building, and it was demolished shortly after Joshua moved out.

The second statement is by Amy Patel in 2007. While walking home from a university course with an acquaintance, Graham, she felt like she was being thrown into the street despite nobody else being on the road. She got a concussion from it, and agreed to go to Graham's flat for a few hours to recover; when she arrived, she realized that Graham's flat was across the street from her own. She began to stare at his table, which seemed hypnotic, with the pattern on it almost like an optical illusion, drawing her eyes towards the center, where there was nothing but an empty square hole. Over the next several months, she began watching Graham when they were both home, and noted strange behavior: he panicked over every noise, wrote frantically in journals that were already full, and ate all the pages of one of his journals. One night when she was doing this, she saw a monstrous figure crawl through Graham's window and called the police. A man who looked very different from Graham (several inches shorter, with curlier blond hair contrasting with Graham's straight dark hair) answered the door; the police checked his identification, and seemed satisfied. In follow-up research, all photos that were found of Graham appear to be photos of the short man with curly blond hair, except for a few polaroids which match Amy's description of her memories of Graham. One of Graham's journals was also found. It says nothing except the words "keep watching", over and over again, even on top of each other.

The third statement is by Dominic Swain in 2013, about a Leitner-owned book he temporarily had in the winter of 2012. The book was titled Ex Altiora; it gave Dominic a strange feeling of vertigo when he looked at the pictures it contained, as well as the smell of ozone. He walked randomly for several hours, feeling that "walking felt as natural as falling", until he ended up outside a bookstore, Pinhole Books, where he had previously been told he might be able to sell his book; here he encountered Mary Keay. Mary Keay was bald, very old, and painfully thin; every inch of her body seemed to be tattooed with words. Death metal music blasted from upstairs. It was at this point that he realized he had been walking until 2am. He followed Mary Keay inside, where he noticed a painting of an eye while she searched her book collection. She then pulled out a Leitner; when she passed it through shadows, animal bones dropped out of it and to the floor. Passing Ex Altiora through those shadows revealed the image of a Lichtenberg figure in the picture that caused such dizziness; it caused Dominic to think of his childhood friend, Mike Crew, who had been struck by lightning and marked with that same branching pattern, the same smell of ozone. Dominic went home with his book. Later that night, a man in a black leather coat with poorly-dyed hair introduced himself as Gerard Keay, who bought Ex Altiora and then burned it. He discovered at this time that Mary Keay had been murdered in 2008. Photos of Mary Keay matched the woman he saw, though at the time she was untattooed and had a full head of hair. Large swathes of her skin were peeled off and hung up with fishing wire; Gerard was tried for her murder but acquitted due to a lack of evidence. Tim's research with the police revealed that these pieces of skin were also written on in permanent marker.

The fourth statement is by Timothy Hodge in 2014. He picked up a girl, Harriet Lee, at a club. She was very jumpy, very quiet, and scratched a lot at her skin. At his house, she confided that she had been attacked by a woman in a red dress who moved strangely; Harriet felt as though she had been stabbed, and lost consciousness, but when she awoke she could find no trace of any injury. Since then, she was intensely nauseous and itchy, as well as having the feeling that she was being followed. Her and Timothy Hodge had sex; afterwards, Timothy felt something squirm underneath her skin, and she experienced a bout of intense pain. He was just about to call the ambulance when he heard a strange sound, like an egg breaking; he turned on the light to see a pile of flesh, covered with pale, writhing worms, and claims that immediately afterward he set fire to the flat. In followup research, it is found that the police found no evidence of arson or human remains, though they did find nonhuman organic matter. Lev's assistants reported that the Institute is aware of a woman named Jane Prentiss, a parasite-infested woman who has killed multiple people; she was wearing a red dress and in the same area as Harriet and Timothy when this statement took place.

The fifth statement is by Staff Sergeant Clarence Berry in 1922. He reports that, during his time fighting in WWI, he heard the sound of a piper playing music. He served with Wilfred Owen, who is hit by a shell and found several days later clutching the tags of a man named Joseph Rayner. Wilfred claimed to have "met the war" and described it playing pipes; he begged to remain, and it gave him a pen and told him to write its tune. After that, Clarence began to notice that some men seemed distant, listening to music that nobody else could hear, and those men would always be the ones to die. One day, suddenly, a bullet hole opened in Wilfred's forehead, and Wilfred fell dead, though he was not shot; later, Clarence discovers that Wilfred had died at the same moment the overtures of peace began. No follow-up research was able to be done, due to when the statement was given.

The sixth statement is by Ivo Lensik in 2007, about his experience working construction on a house on Hill Top Road. He saw a large dead tree in the garden, which cast strange shadows; he dismissed this until a man named Raymond Fielding entered the house. Raymond Fielding claimed to be its owner and then vanished in a fire that didn't damage anything else. Ivo fell and got a deep cut on his temple, at which point he went to the hospital; the nurse there, Annie Willet, explained that the house used to be a halfway home for teenagers with nowhere else to go. A girl named Agnes, much younger than the rest, moved in; there was speculation about her relation to Raymond Fielding. She behaved strangely while she was there, staring at people and refusing to talk, and, in 1974, several years after her appearance, many pets and one five-year-old disappeared from the neighborhood. A week later, the house burned down, and the body of Raymond Fielding was found, missing a hand. On the nurse's request, a Catholic priest (Edwin Burroughs) met up with Ivo Lensik to bless the house. While he was blessing the house, Ivo Lensik uprooted the strange tree in the garden; it bled, and beneath it was an intricately carved wooden box containing an apple, which rotted and burst with spiders as soon as it was removed from the box. The statement giver also discussed his father's schizophrenia, which manifested as an obsession with fractals and a terror of a tall man with strange hands and too many bones who was following him. The father refused medication and committed suicide. Ivo Lensik worried that his experience was also a result of psychosis, but after the incident, he has had no further symptoms and was told by his doctor that it was highly unlikely he was developing schizophrenia. There is a note in the files saying that Father Burroughs also left a statement elsewhere in the archives, though it does not say where. Martin's follow-up research discovered that, the same day Ivo Lensik uprooted the tree and Father Burroughs blessed the house, a 26-year-old woman named Agnes Montague committed suicide by hanging. A severed hand was attached to her by a chain.

[After reading a statement]

His openness to experience is significantly elevated! This is most pronounced in the intellectual curiosity facet and least pronounced in the aesthetic sensitivity facet. His other Big Five traits are normal.

His attachment style has not changed.

His life satisfaction has not changed.

He does not appear to have a behavioral addiction.

His RIASEC scores have not changed.

His dark triad scores have not changed.

His affective empathy is somewhat lowered; his cognitive empathy is somewhat elevated.

Both the ‘stretching’ aspect of curiosity (motivation to seek out new experiences) and the ‘embracing’ aspect (willingness to embrace the unpredictable nature of everyday life) are elevated, but stretching is more so.

His EQ and SQ are both higher than they were, the SQ moreso than the EQ.

His five moral foundations have not changed. 

Statement 9, 10, 11

In the next week, he finds three more non-digitizable statements, alongside thirty or so; all three of them are suggestive of being genuine.

The first statement is by Julia Montauk in 2002, regarding her father, the well-known serial killer Robert Montauk. When she was a seven, she awoke to sudden noises; when she went downstairs to investigate them, she saw that the back door was open and her mother's silver pendant with a closed eye design was on the table. When her father saw it, he became very concerned, though it was later found that he never filed a police report. After that, throughout her childhood, the lightbulbs would periodically break, and dirty water would come from the tap. He began to spend a lot of time in his shed, and seemed to always be injured; one night, when he thought she was sleeping, he whispered a promise that “it wouldn’t get [her] too”. A man named Rayner called the house; when he did, Robert visibly paled, and became angry, saying "No, not already. Do it yourself." After a long conversation, he agreed to whatever Rayner wanted, and spent the rest of the day in his shed. He also developed an obsession with film photography, but always kept his darkroom locked. Once, when Julia noticed that it was unlocked, she sneaked in to see what was there: photographs of corpses, with strange symbols drawn on them. She speculates that these may have been her father's victims, but they didn't match any of the photos the police showed her. She told him what she had seen, and he gave her a long hug and told her that it would be over soon before leaving the house. That night, at 2:47a.m., the streetlights all began failing: faraway ones at first, then closer and closer, until the lights inside their house broke as well. Someone began knocking on her door, at first politely but then devolving into thumps and growls; she called the police. After telling the police her location, the door broke, and she ran out the back door into the darkness. It seemed to envelop her entirely until she saw a strange blue light from the shed. She opened the door of the shed to see her father, standing over a corpse and glowing, holding the man's still-beating heart and chanting. The dead man wore the same closed eye pendant as her mother. The walls were covered with jars, each containing a preserved heart. Before she could react, her father plunged a dagger into the man's heart, and the glow and darkness both vanished. The police, responding to Julia's call, discovered Robert Montauk's shed. Follow-up research shows that the symbol on the pendant is that of the People's Church of the Divine Host, a cult headed by Maxwell Rayner. It also establishes that Robert Montauk died in prison after being stabbed 47 times, with no suspected culprit, weapon, or other evidence, right after the lightbulb in his cell broke.

The second statement is by Trevor Herbert in 2010, who claims to have killed multiple vampires as well as one human who he mistook for a vampire. These vampires do not appear to create more of their kind through feeding; they also do not speak, but are able to make themselves known through unclear means; if not actively paying attention, people interacting with them do not notice that they are communicating through anything other than the normal method. They seem to avoid direct sunlight if possible, and may be somewhat weaker in it, but are not truly harmed by it. Their primary sense is smell. They have sharp teeth, and catch fire with extreme ease, burning so completely as to leave nothing behind. For the time of his encounter with at least one of the vampires he encountered, he was on heroin; the vampire tried to bite him but reacted very negatively to the heroin. Trevor Herbert notes that he believes that vampires are very rare, and feed only infrequently. The statement seems to end abruptly; Martin mentions that this is because Trevor, who at this point had late-stage lung cancer, took a break from writing the statement and died before in the Institute before he could finish it or get medical care. There is a photocopy of a bag of teeth, which are similar to shark teeth; according to correspondence with the zoology department of King's College, the teeth do not match any known species. If Lev tries to find the bag of teeth, he will learn that they were requested by local law enforcement, and the Institute complied with this request.

The third statement is by Lesere Saraki, given in 2012, about her experience working the night shift at St. Thomas Hospital on 23rd December 2011. At about 1:30, the ambulance arrived with two unconscious burn victims. The burns were second-degree, which is not typically severe enough to require hospitalization, but these burns were unusual. In the first patient, they covered his entire body, including beneath his undamaged clothes. The same was true of the second patient, except that the burns stopped at a clean line on his neck; at every joint, he had small, tattooed eyes. The skin around each tattoo was entirely unburnt. The first man had nothing on him; the second had a zippo lighter with an eye design, a brass pendant with an eye design, a small book bound in red leather, and a passport identifying him as Gerard Keay. Later, the first man began to chant quietly but intently in various languages, without waking up; in English, the words were 'the lightless flame'. Lesere Saraki returned to the reception area of A&E; it was entirely empty, including of staff, despite the fact that five minutes ago there had been thirty people waiting and a full team behind the admissions desk. Freaked out, she checked the other areas; all patients that were not unconscious or too sick/injured to move had also left. Back in the waiting room, there was a strange noise; when she looked around, she saw that the vending machine was shaking. As she got closer, she saw why: every drink in it was boiling, exploding their bottles and collecting at the bottom. She then tried to leave the hospital, but the metal handle of the door was also intensely hot. She searched for another exit, but as she did, she heard that the first patient's chanting had gotten much louder. Going into his room, she saw that his eyes were now open. She tried to put her hand over his mouth, but Gerard Keay, now walking, grabbed her arm and shook his head. He was strong, despite the bandages on his hand, and he radiated heat. She screamed; he apologized, saying that touching the man would have been bad and that he wanted to protect her. He asked for the pendant and the book; as she got them, the saline solution in the IVs began to boil. Lesere delivered the book, and Gerard nodded in appreciation, saying, “Yes. For you, better beholding than the lightless flame.” Lesere left the room again, but this time the hospital was once again full of people, and the heat was gone. Gerard was back in his bed, sleeping, as was the other man. The other man was later identified as Chris Parker; after a short recovery time, both he and Gerard were discharged from the hospital. In the follow-up research, Sasha gained access to the hospital's CCTV footage. At 03:11:22, it shows all 28 people in the waiting room standing up and calmly filing out of the doors; over the next 15 minutes, Lesere Saraki enters and leaves the waiting room three times; at 03:27:12, the 28 people walk calmly back in. Sasha also noticed that at 03:22:52, the feed cuts out for a single frame, and is replaced with a close-up of a human eye looking directly into the camera.

Statement 12

It was given by a man named Antonio Blake, regarding his dreams about Gertrude Robinson, previous Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, one day before she died...

The man claims that he has been having strange dreams for approximately a decade, of dark tendrils criss-crossing the streets of London, wrapping around the ghostly figures of people. One day he visited a previous workplace of his in the dream, to see his old coworker hanged by one of those tendrils; on researching him, he discovered that the man had indeed hanged himself. Despite the content of the dreams, he never awoke from them feeling like he had a nightmare; he felt invigorated rather than anxious. He began doing research into the supernatural and got a job selling crystals at a magic shop, but could not find anything similar to his experience. Eventually, he saw his father in the dreams, with a tendril through his chest; Antonio immediately booked him a doctor's appointment and otherwise worried over him, but despite all efforts, his father died of a heart attack just over a week later.

He went to sleep one night in 2015 to discover that his dreamscape had changed: the tendrils had grown massively, covering almost everything and pulsing red. At the center of them was the Magnus Institute, which seemed to glow; as he moved further and further towards the center of the tendrils and the light, he was led into the Archive, and specifically to Gertrude Robinson, previous Head Archivist. He decided to leave a statement when he woke up, as a warning to her, trying to prevent her fate or at least give her time to prepare.

Looking into the statement proves impossible: all the contact details "Antonio Blake" gave return error messages, and there seems to be no record of any Antonio Blake matching his description, making it likely that his name was similarly false.

Statement 13

I’ve... never really been the social type. I’ve always been more comfortable alone, you know? I wasn’t bullied in school, or anything like that. It just never really bothered me. I got lonely sometimes, but for the most part, I knew my own company and was comfortable with it. I didn’t need other people and they certainly didn’t need me.

Anyway, the point is that when I graduated three years ago, I left Leeds with no real friends to speak of. And that was fine by me. I was working as a a science technician, but I was close enough to London that I could apply for the various lab jobs that I actually wanted. It was interviewing for one of these where I met Evan.

He was going for the same position as I was - lab assistant in one of the UCL Biochemistry departments. He got the job, in the end, but I didn’t care. He was so unlike anyone I’d ever met before. He started talking to me before the interview, and I amazed myself by actually talking back. When he asked me questions, I didn’t feel uneasy or worried about my answers, I just found myself telling this stranger all about myself, without any self-consciousness at all. When he was called in for his interview, I actually felt a pang of loss like nothing I’d known before. All for a stranger who I’d met barely ten minutes ago.

When I came out of the building after my own, somewhat disastrous, interview and saw him standing there waiting for me… I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than in that moment.

We started dating, and then living together. I’d had two boyfriends in the past--short-lived relationships. They said it was because I never felt like I actually wanted them around, and in hindsight it was kind of true. With Evan, it was different. It felt natural.

He had friends, as well, plenty of friends, how could he not? And he would take me out to meet them when I wanted to, and when I didn’t, he let me be. After a year with him, I actually had what could perhaps be called a social life and, more than that, I didn’t hate it. I always used to roll my eyes at people who said that their loved ones ‘completed them’, but I honestly can’t think of any other way to describe how it felt to be with Evan. I proposed to him after only two years, and he said yes.

I’ll skip over the bit where he dies. It’s only been a year, and I don’t want to spend an hour crying, even if you do say I can come back whenever. Congenital, they said. Some problem with his heart. Always been there, but never diagnosed. No warning. One in a million chance. Blah. Blah. Blah. He was gone. Just gone. And I was alone again.

There was no one I could talk to about it. All my friends had been his friends. I know, I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded, they would have said they were my friends too, but... It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone.

I don’t remember the week between his death and the funeral. I’m sure it must have happened, but I don’t have any memory of it at all. After leaving the hospital, the next thing that is properly clear in my mind is walking into that big, austere house. I don’t remember where it was, somewhere in Kent, I think, and I must have been given the address by someone in Evan’s family who had organised the funeral.

It was strange. Evan never really talked about his family. He said he wasn’t on good terms with them because they were very religious, and he never had been. I’d never met or visited them, or even been told their names, as far as I remember. But they must have known me enough to invite me.

The house was very large, and very old. It had a high gate separating it from the main road, which has the name “Moorland House” carved into the stone of the gatepost. Evan had once told me that his family had a lot of money, and looking at this place I realized why the funeral was being held there. You remember that storm that hit at the end of last March? Well, I hardly noticed it. Thinking back, I really shouldn’t have been driving at all, but at the time, it barely registered. 

I don’t know what I expected from Evan’s father. I knew he couldn’t be anything like the easy, charming man I’d fallen in love with, but the hard-faced stranger that confronted me on the doorstep still came as a shock. It was like looking at Evan, but as if age had drained all the joy and affection from him. I started to introduce myself, but he just shook his head and pointed inside, to a door down the corridor behind him, and spoke the only words he ever said to me. He said, “My son is in there. He is dead.” And then he turned and walked away, leaving me shaken, with no option but to follow him inside.

The house was full of people I didn’t know. None of the lovely, welcoming faces I’d come to know from Evan’s friends could be seen among the dour figures of his family. Each wore the same hard expression as his father, and I might have been imagining it, but I could have sworn that when they looked at me, their eyes were full of something dark. Anger, maybe? Blame? God knows I felt guilty enough about his death, though I have no idea why. None of them spoke to me or to each other, and the house was so quiet and still that at times it seemed like I could hardly breathe under the weight of the silence.

Finally, I came to the room where he was laid out. Evan, the man I was going to marry, was lying there in a shining oak casket that seemed too big for him, somehow. The coffin was open, and I could see him, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. I realized I had never seen him wear a suit before. Like everything else in his death, it seemed utterly alien to the life that had he had created for himself.

I remember going to my father's funeral, when I was five. My father had looked serene, peaceful, like he had calmly accepted the reality of his passing. There was none of that on Evan’s face. In death he seemed to have that same hardness and reproach that I saw on every one of the silent family that claimed him for their own.

I don’t know how long I stood there. It felt like seconds, but when I turned around I almost shrieked to see dozens of black-clad figures stood there, staring at me. The rest of the Lukas family were standing, waiting without a word, as though I was between them and their prey. Which I suppose, in some ways, I was. Finally, an old man walked forward. He said, “It’s time for you to leave. The burial is a family affair. I’m sure you want to be alone.”

I tried to reply but the words stuck in my throat. I realized the old man was right. I did want to leave, to be alone. I didn’t care where I went, but I had to go, to get away from that awful place with its strange quiet watchers. I ran past them and out into the storm. Inside my car, I just turned on the engine and began to drive. I didn’t know where I was going, and could barely see a thing through my tears and the driving rain, but it didn’t matter. Just as long as I kept going, as long as I didn’t have to stop and think about what had just happened. Looking back, the only thing that surprises me about the crash is that it wasn’t bad enough to kill me.

When I became aware of myself again, I realized I was in the middle of a field, quite a distance from the road. Luckily I hadn’t hit anything or flipped over, but smoke billowed from the engine, and it was clear I wasn’t going anywhere. It was five hours after the funeral. Had I been driving for hours, or had I spent even longer with Evan’s body than I thought? I hadn’t hit anything, so I couldn’t have been knocked unconscious. Had I just been sitting there in my smoking car all that time?

It didn't matter. I needed help. I tried to call the emergency services but my phone just said NO SERVICE. I started walking. I was going to use my phone GPS, but then I realized that the rain was too harsh and my phone wasn't working. I didn’t have a watch, so without my phone I have no idea how long I walked. I was very cold and utterly alone. 

Eventually, the rain stopped, and a fog gathered. I kept walking, though, as the clinging mist made me feel somehow even colder. The fog seemed to follow me as went and seemed to swirl around with a strange, deliberate motion. You’ll probably think me an idiot, but it felt almost malicious. There was no presence to it, though, it wasn’t as though another person was there, it was… It made me feel utterly forsaken.

I don’t know exactly when the hard tarmac of the road became dirt and grass, but I realized after a few minutes that I had strayed off the path. I tried to backtrack, but it was gone. All that remained was the fog. So I kept moving forward.

I realized afterwards that the night should have been far too dark to see the fog. There were no lights there to show it, and the moon had been shrouded in storm clouds all night, but I could see clearly. As I walked I saw more shapes nearby. Dark slabs of stone, sticking out of the ground, leaning and broken. Gravestones, spreading out in all directions. 

I kept moving until I reached the center of what I can only assume was a small cemetery, and there I found a chapel. The top of its steeple was lost in the gloom and the windows were dark. I started to feel relief, as though I might have found some sign of life at last, but wrapped around the handles of the entrance was a sturdy iron chain. I would find no sanctuary here.

I started to shout, to scream for help, but the sound seemed muffled and disappeared almost as soon as it left my throat. It was useless. No one heard me.

Then I started to look around the ground for the heaviest rock I could find. I was going to get inside that church, even if I had to break a window to do it. Anything to get out of the fog.

I noticed that one of the graves had been slightly broken by age, and a small chunk of it could be seen on the ground. It had an engraving of a cross on it, and the weighty lump of stone now lay embedded in the graveyard soil. I bent down to lift it, but as I did so I saw something that froze me in place. The grave was open. And it was empty.

It wasn’t dug up, exactly. The hole was neat, square and deep, as though ready for a burial. At the bottom there was a coffin. It was open, and there was nothing inside. I backed away, and almost fell into another open grave behind me. I started to look around the cemetery with increasing panic. Every grave was open and they were all empty. Even here among the dead, I was alone.

As I stared, the fog began to weigh me down. It coiled about me, its formless damp clung to me and began to drag pull me gently, slowly, towards the waiting pit. I tried to back away, but the ground was slick with dew and I fell. My fingers dug into the soft cemetery dirt as I looked around desperately for anything I could use to save myself, and my hand closed upon that heavy piece of headstone. It took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor, as I slowly dragged myself away from the edge of my lonely grave. Flowing around me, the very air itself willed me inside, but I struggled to my feet. I realized with a start that the door to the chapel was open, the chain discarded. I ran to it as quickly as I could, crying out for help, but when I reached the threshold I stopped, and could only stare in horror. Through that door, where the inside of the chapel should be, was a field. It was bathed in sickly moonlight, and the fog rolled close to the ground. It seemed to stretch for miles, and I knew that I could wander there for years, and never meet another. I turned away from that door, but as I looked behind me I could have wept - beyond the graveyard’s edge lay that same field. Stretching off into the distance.

I had to make a choice, so I ran into the graveyard. The fog seemed to be getting thicker, and moving through it was getting harder. It was like I was running against the wind, except the air was completely still.

And then, as I found myself in the middle of that open, desolate field, I heard something. It was the strangest thing, but as I tried to run I could have sworn I heard Evan’s voice call to me. He said, “Turn left”. That’s it. That’s all he said. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that’s what he told me to do. And I did it. I turned sharply to the left and kept on running. And then… nothing. Just a second of headlights and then... nothing, until I woke up in the hospital."

Lev’s dreaming of a peaceful, moonlit graveyard. He hears a woman calling from one of the open graves. It’s the only grave that has anyone in it. 

He can move, but he can’t help her. All he can do is watch. 

He tries to run towards the grave for a better look. He sees Naomi Herne, dressed in soaked-through funeral clothes, her face streaked with tears. She’s screaming. She sees him, and for a moment her face is bright with hope. “Help me,” she gasps. 

He reaches out to help her. 

He can't.

He mouths "sorry."

Her face falls again when she realizes he’s not going to do anything to help her.

She keeps crying, keeps screaming. 

Statements 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20

The first was given by Lee Rentoul in 2011, a criminal with a grudge against one of the men he used to work with (Paul Noriega) for turning on him and sending him to jail. He consulted one of Noriega's victims, Toby McMullen, on revenge; Toby recommended that he speak to an old woman named Angela, who had magical abilities to hurt people. Lee agreed. Her walls were covered with framed jigsaw puzzles, and she asked Lee Rentoul for an item of Noriega's. Upon providing one (a lighter), Rentoul went home. After three weeks during which Paul Noriega seemed to be healthy, Lee Rentoul devised his own plan: Noreiga was going to be meeting alone with a fence named Salesa. Lee decided to use the opportunity to kill Noriega himself. Salesa arrived first, a tall Samoan man carrying a large box, and then Noreiga arrived, alone and limping slightly. An hour later, Salesa left, carrying the same box and looking unhappy, and Rentoul went inside. He killed Noriega, noticing several wounds that appeared to be old wounds and yet that he had never seen before (missing fingers, missing teeth, a glass eye). Five days later, he began getting packages, containing body parts; whenever he received one, he would shortly after lose the own corresponding part of his own body, the wound healing instantly. He tried to go after Angela, but when he tried to strangle her, he chewed off his own hand instead. He disappeared from his flat soon after; when the landlord went to clear out the flat, all he found was cardboard boxes. No woman matching Angela's description was able to be found.

The second statement was given by Laura Popham in 2014. Laura Popham was a caving enthusiast who usually went on one trip a year with her sister, Alena Popham. In 2014, they went on a trip to Lost Johns' Cave, taking all relevant safety precautions such as informing the CNCC and Laura's husband. The day was perfect for caving, but nobody else was there. They began to follow the map; things were normal at first, though some of the squeezes were far tighter than indicated. They began a cave dive; Alena played a prank on Laura, making her think she was trapped underwater by holding a rock above her head, and Laura got mad and asked to go back. Alena agreed, but when Laura turned away, she heard a low voice asking her how lost she was. She replied that she wasn't, but Alena just looked confused. When Laura started to head back, the underwater tunnel was far longer than it had been on the way there, and when she was finally able to surface it was into an even more claustrophobic tunnel than the one she was leaving. Laura waited there for Alena for a long time, but she never surfaced, and eventually Laura decided to continue. The passage got smaller and smaller, until the rocks started to cut into her skin, and at last she couldn't move any further; she tried to push herself backwards instead, and her feet hit solid rock that hadn't been there a moment before. Her headlight went out, and she remained there, screaming, for what felt like hours. Eventually, she saw a faint light at the other end of the tunnel. It looked like a candle flame and felt malicious, like it intended to harm her. From the same place, she heard Alena, calling for help. Unable to move, Laura just shut her eyes and wished it would go away. When she opened her eyes again, it had; she was able to move again, though it was still difficult and painful, and she was moving towards daylight. She emerged and screamed, at which point the cave rescue team found her. She had been gone for 24 hours, and Alena was recorded as a fatality. Followup research reveals that the CNCC have no record of Laura and Alena Popham going caving in 2014, but they do have records of many other people who were exploring Lost Johns' Cave on the same day. Laura was also not found aboveground; she was, instead, found a few yards from the bottom of the hole, unresponsive and kneeling next to a small pile of burned out candles that she had not packed. She became responsive only once brought aboveground. Also unmentioned in the statement is that she brought a camera; most of it is typical caving footage, but there is also a video almost three hours long, set just past 2 o'clock on the day that the sisters disappeared, in which Laura repeats "take her, not me" in increasingly panicked tones. The video itself is entirely black. (Martin declines to do follow-up research on this one, since he's claustrophobic; Tim teases him a little, but picks up the extra work.)

The third statement was given in 2015 by Carlos Vittery, an arachnophobe who claims to have been stalked by the same spider he killed as a child; no matter how many times he killed it, and despite moving houses, getting a cat, calling exterminators, etc., it kept returning. He wanted to run away from it, but felt compelled to destroy it instead, "as though willed by something else." Shortly after giving the statement, he was found dead, having choked on "foreign organic matter"; his entire body was encased in web.

The fourth statement was given by Sebastian Adekoya in 1999. The statement giver used to work at Chiswick Library when a strange book turned up: the bar code and ISBN registered as being Trainspotting, by Irvine Welsh, but the book was clearly titled The Boneturner's Tale. According to the records, the man who had last returned it was named Mike Crew. At this point, a man named Jared Hopworth entered. Jared had used to be Sebastian's friend, but since then had become a violent stalker. He took the book, intending to hit Sebastian with it, but once he had the book he got a strange look and left with it. On his way home, he noticed a rat outside of Sebastian's house that appeared to have a very strange injury: it looked as though the back half of it had been run over by a car, but there was no blood or actual visible sign of injury. Several weeks later, Jared's mom turned up at the library, her arm in a sling, in order to return the book; she swore at Sebastian, telling him to keep his books away from her son. Sebastian picked the book up with a tissue and returned it to its place. At 2 am that night, plagued by thoughts of the book, Sebastian went back into work to investigate. He returned to see that all the books surrounding The Boneturner's Tale appeared to be bleeding. Putting on gloves, he read a few pages of the strange book. It appeared to be a modern parody of The Canterbury Tales, describing the pilgrims in disturbing terms. He got sixteen pages in before he almost threw up due to the gore and closed the book. The label marking it as belonging to Chiswick Library was peeling; beneath it was the label for another library, a Scandanavian name that started with J. Jared then arrived again, or at least something that was using his voice, though he seemed larger and stranger, with additional limbs. Sebastian screamed and let him take the book. Sebastian was found dead in 2006, lying in the middle of the road; he was not bleeding, but his death was ruled a hit-and-run due to how mangled his body was.

The fifth statement was given by Christof Rudenko in 2008, describing a number of strange encounters he had with his upstairs neighbor, Toby Carlisle, while living in Welbeck House in Wandsworth: terrible smells, hammering noises, stains on the ceiling, etc. He complained, but the man owned the building, and so there was nothing he could do apart from finding a different place to live. After several years of this, culminating in his ceiling caving in, he discovered that the door to his upstairs neighbor's flat was open. Inside was Toby Carslile's rotting corpse, surrounded by meat nailed to all the walls, windows, even the light fixtures. The various kinds of meat seemed to move, shift, and open its eyes; the next thing Christof remembers, the police were there and the meat was gone. In followup, Sasha discovered Toby Carlisle's financial records; he had very little income, and what he had was going to pay council tax. There are no records of him buying anything at supermarkets, delivery firms, or butchers.

The sixth statement is significantly longer than most statements. It was given in 2011 by Father Edwin Burroughs via a letter from Wakefield Prison. He discusses his time as an exorcist, particularly two incidents that occurred during this time and that led to his eventual imprisonment. He is largely unable in the letter to write the words "God", "Jesus", etc., and when he does the handwriting shows visible effort. The first relevant incident is that of Bethany O’Connor, a student who requested an exorcism/blessing at her house, 89 Bullingdon Road. He saw nothing strange there at first, though he blessed it anyway, but in her bedroom he noticed the word "mentis" ('mind' in Latin) on her wall, and she was unable to see if when he pointed it out to her. Soon after, she tried to attack a housemate with a kitchen knife, and fell into a mirror. In the hospital, she demanded that Father Burroughs come to perform an exorcism; the nurse Annie Willett relayed this to him, and he arrived soon after. During the exorcism, Bethany said “I’m so sorry, it wants your faith,” before dying. He was wracked with guilt and refused to perform any exorcisms for a time, but eventually the nurse Annie Willett contacted him again, asking him to bless the house on Hilltop Road. While there, he had an intense burning sensation, and something that was not him moved his lips and mouth to say "I am not for you. I am marked." The tree was uprooted outside and the burning sensation ended. He only got a few streets away from Hill Top Road before he fell to the ground, weeping and vomiting, unable to pray. He took out his Bible, searching for comfort, but it appeared to be stained dark. As he walked, it felt as though he had never seen the streets before. He decided to talk to a fellow priest, Father Singh; halfway through their conversation, Father Singh demands that they do it in the confessional. Inside the confessional, Father Singh recites a list of all the sins Father Burroughs has ever committed, including many that Father Singh did not know about. Halfway through, Father Burroughs notices that Father Singh's Jaipuran accent was gone, replaced with a crisp RP; stumbling out of the confessional, he sees Father Singh in the hallway outside. He stumbled through the streets for a time again until he came to The Oratory, a church on Woodstock Road. There, a tall, pale altar server informed him that it was time for him to lead mass, and he followed the other man into the church. He was given and put on a yellow cassock and stole, too confused and sick to question the color. The pews were full of ill-looking people staring blankly, and whenever any words from the Bible were read, there was only the ringing of a bell. As he began the Liturgy of the Eucharist, the pews slowly emptied, the parishioners disappearing. He bit into the communion wafer only to come back to himself, in a dingy basement, eating the skin off a bound corpse. He chose in that moment never to take further actions, as he could not trust that anything he did was having the effect it appeared to. Follow-up reveals that Bethany O'Connor was listed in living in the dorms when the incident occurred, and 89 Bullingdon Road was empty according to legal records; the person she attacked with a knife was not her housemate but a porter. Tim also discovered that, three days prior to Father Burroughs killing and eating two students, Christopher Bilham and James Mann, The Oratory received a delivery from Breekon & Hope Deliveries of a yellow stole that vanished the day after they signed for it. Father Burroughs pled guilty to all charges and is serving three life sentences.

The seventh statement was given by Moira Kelly in 2002. Her son, Robert Kelly, became a skydiving instructor with Open Skydiving, rarely coming home, until one day he showed up at her door panicking and unwashed. Once he calmed down, he explained that he had been doing a charity jump with an 85-year-old man. Just before he jumped, the old man yelled "Enjoy sky blue!", at which point he felt a wave of dizzy vertigo wash over him before jumping. He should have been falling for thirty seconds before needing to open his parachute, but before he could, the ground disappeared from beneath him. His watch stopped, and he couldn't tell how long he was falling for, but it was for enough time that he got thirsty and hungry. It felt like hours at least. He couldn't tell what direction was down, because every direction was more sky. At last, he saw the ground again, and opened his parachute. When he landed, he was greeted by the other instructor there, Sasha Fairchild. He told Robert that Simon, the old man, had left, and that it had been almost fifteen minutes. Robert quit on the spot. Moira took him out to a picnic lunch, and they spent a pleasant hour together. On the way back home, Robert was climbing a hill when he reached the top and screamed. He pushed Moira down the hill, but when he kept walking, he kept walking up, until the sky closed around him, as though it was eating him. Followup research reveals that the company Open Skydiving does not exist, and never has, though there are news articles referencing events hosted by them. 

Lev's Rant That Was Sadly Retconned Out

[branches here]

Elias: “Did Martin’s openness score change, Lev? On some level, you wanted this. Wanted to see the world differently, wanted to learn more, wanted to understand people. You could always stop taking statements, tell Research you don’t want them to send you any more people. But you haven’t.”

Lev: "You know what you could do if on some level I wanted it? You could have explained it to me when I took the fucking job and let me make an informed decision and then if I actually wanted it I could have expressed it the way we do in civilized countries, with my fucking mouth. It's called ethics. I understand this and I have fucking mind control that is turning me into a fucking sociopath. --Also it is far from obvious to me that that's why Martin's scores didn't change, there are a lot of other differences between us including that I'm the Archivist and he isn't."

Statement 21

Statement of Timothy Stoker, 12 March 2016

Regarding an encounter with Jane Prentiss

A couple weeks ago, I was looking into the statement about the arachnophobe. Carlos Vittery. I went to go visit his flat down in Boothby Road. It was early, and finding the building wasn't a problem. It looked just like Mr. Vittery said it did in his statement, and there’s a big thick door on the front, that looks like it leads into the hall and then to the flats. It was locked, obviously, so I tried the buzzer. Nope. Everyone's at work. The basement window was open, though, and--I know I shouldn't have gone down there, alright? I've been beating myself up about it the past two weeks for being a bad horror movie protagonist, I get it. But I wanted to know if there was anything there. I saw a worm on the way, too--it looked like a little piece of metal, at first, maybe a screw or something that someone threw away, but no. It was a worm, a silver segmented worm with a black head, about an inch long. But I looked around and it was the only one, so--I went down. Into the basement. It was a bit of a tumble, really, since the window was ground level for the outside, but I checked and I wasn't hurt, so I figured I had got off okay. It was pretty dark, but I thought, right, okay, I've got a torch, how bad can it be, it's just a basement! Stupid, I know. The air was... musty. And it was warm, which was weird, it was cold out, but I took a look around with my torch and I saw... nothing. Just some old spiderwebs, I mean real old, like, I don't think there were any spiders actually still living there old. That's when I realized how stupid it all was, that here I was, breaking in to this old house to look for ghost spiders... That's when I heard movement.

It was quiet, but I was sure I had heard it. I didn't want to check it out, I've looked into enough of these cases that I know what usually happens to the people who follow the spooky noises, and it's usually bad. But I panicked, flung my torch around, trying to see what it was, and that's when I saw her. Jane Prentiss. She was facing away from me, just staring at the corner of the wall. Her hair was long and black, though it was so twisted and dirty it was hard to tell if that was its original colour. She wore a threadbare grey overcoat, though beneath it her legs were bare, and covered with what I at first I thought were spots. In her right hand she held a stained, green handkerchief. She stood there, totally still, either not noticing the torchlight that was shining on her, or not caring. I froze. I don't think I was even shaking, I was just--completely still.

Then, with a quick, jerky movement she brought the handkerchief to her face and coughed. Or--did something that looked like a cough, because it didn’t sound like any cough I've ever heard. It sounded like... like wet meat. I saw something drop from the handkerchief onto the floor. It was about an inch long, silver, and it wriggled as it fell.

And then she turned around and saw me. Her head snapped towards me and she locked eyes with me. Her pupils seemed ragged and collapsed, and when she smiled her teeth were chipped and blackened. I started to stagger backwards, expecting at any moment for her to lunge at me, but instead she slowly reached up and… let the overcoat fall to the floor.

Her skin was pale, almost grey, and full of holes. Deep, black holes just honeycombing every bit of flesh. Like a wasp's nest. And those worms, crawling in and out of her. She didn't look human anymore. Maybe she wasn't, I don't know. I just know that seeing those worms, twitching, squirming through her, like she was a hive--I was barely able to move. 

She took a step towards me, then, and as she did the worms began to writhe out of every hole and every cavity, falling to the floor in a cascading wave and starting to crawl towards me. I'd never seen worms move that fast. I was able to move then, and I took my phone out, to call for help, but I was shaking badly enough that I dropped it. I didn't bother trying to pick it up, just left it to the worms and ran.

I made it, though. Ran all the way back to my flat. I was exhausted by the time I got there. It was the middle of the day but I just fell right back onto my bed and shook.

Must've fell asleep eventually, because the knocking woke me up. It was still bright out, so I don't think I napped for too long, but it's hard to say, because I didn't have any power. No power, no phone, and I don't own an analog clock. Maybe I'll get one after this, I don't know. But I looked out the peephole of the door and--there she was. And then I looked down, and saw those worms, making their way under my door.

I shoved a towel in place before more could get through, at least. Made my flat as close to airtight as possible. At least none of them tried the ventilation, I guess, or the pipes. 

And then I stayed there. For thirteen days, I stayed in that room. Sometimes I would think it might be safe, and then the knocking would start up again, or I'd see a worm through the peephole. I had food, but I had to ration it. Drank lots of tap water. Honestly, I think the worst part was the boredom. The isolation. No one to talk to, no power, no phone. I had books, but I didn't have light except during the day, and I wasn't exactly sleeping well. She never talked to me, did you know? I could have heard her, if she had. Could've heard her easy. But she didn't. Just... knocked.

Finally, I woke up this morning and she was gone. I don’t know exactly how I knew. The musty smell was gone, that was the first thing I noticed, and it was quiet, like, actually quiet, like--when you listen to white noise for so long your brain tunes it out, and then it disappears. And there was no knocking, and when I checked the peephole and the windows--gone. So I ran here. Statement ends.

Statement 22

And then he finds a statement given by Jane Prentiss.

Nothing happens in it. There is a wasp nest in her attic. It calls to her, it sings, it tells her it loves her, that she is a home, that she is beautiful. She is so afraid and she loves it so dearly and it itches and it makes her feel things she's never felt before and she is so very, very afraid. It didn't want her to come to the Institute, so she did, in the hopes that they would have something that would help her. She is certain, by the end of her statement, that the Institute is not there to help her. That the hive chose her, that the hive had always chosen her. She mentions fractals, spiderwebs, beholding.

The whole thing is written in a strange style, though that might just be because she admits to not having slept in quite some time.

Statement 23, Part 1

I’ll start with the first thing I noticed. I live up near Finsbury Park, and my building is old. Victorian, I think, and though it’s been repaired and maintained quite well, it’s got all sorts of strange little quirks. One of these is the windows. The actual windows in the flats are fine, but the stairwells have slightly warped glass, where the windows have those little bubbles. Looking down on the street below can be a bit strange, as the glass bends the light and distorts whatever’s below it. I never really paid much attention to it until a few days ago, but it’s not a new thing.

It was the day before yesterday when I first saw it. When I’m heading down the stairs in the morning, I sometime like to spend a few seconds looking out of the window at the people on the street below. I’ll move my head so that I see them through the warped glass, and they’ll distort like a fun-house mirror. It’s a bit daft, but I have a pretty dreary commute down to Victoria, so I take my fun where I can get it. Well, on that morning I paused before the window, and noticed one of the warped figures below was… off, slightly. It looked too tall, the limbs and body were very thin and almost wavy, like they didn’t have any structure or bones in them. I couldn’t make out a face, but it was the hands that were the most bizarre. They seemed to be stretched and inflated by the distorted light, until they were almost the size of the rest of the torso. The fingers were long and stiff, and seemed to end in sharp points. It stood completely motionless, and I could feel it staring at me.

Moving my head to the side, I saw that the actual person I had been looking at was a large man with long, blond hair. He was neither stood still nor facing me, instead moving around the display of the flower shop opposite my building. Nothing about the guy seemed especially out of place, but I made a mental note to keep a lookout for him. I checked again through the bubble of bended glass and again I saw that tall figure with its limp arms and huge hands.

I’m not exactly the bravest person in the world. I generally avoid horror and I tend to stay off roller coasters in the rare situation I have a chance to ride them. So I was as surprised as anyone that this undeniably sinister figure wasn’t causing me more distress. I mean, I was a bit nervous, sure. I’ve never had any direct experience with the supernatural before outside the Institute and the more I looked and checked and double-checked, the more sure I was that supernatural was exactly what it was. To be honest, I was surprised how quickly I accepted that. I’ve always considered myself a bit of a skeptic, and until recently I’d have said working at the Institute only made me more so.

Anyway, I watched it for about ten minutes, until the blond man bought a small bunch of lilies and walked away. Once he was gone, the distorted figure with the long hands disappeared as well. I headed down into the street and over to the flower shop. The woman working there gave me a bit of a confused look when I asked if there had just been a tall, blond man in her shop. She said yes there had, and no, she hadn’t noticed anything strange, and was I looking to buy some flowers. I was quite confused myself, and on a bit of an edge when I left. I was already late for work, though, so I decided to ignore it and just keep an eye out.

Sure enough, it wasn’t too long before I saw him again. There’s a small café I generally pop into when I head to work in the morning. I love the Institute’s building, of course, it’s beautiful, but from a money point of view, I really wish it wasn’t in Chelsea. Everything around here is so expensive. I generally walk down from Victoria Station. It’s a long walk, but quite pretty, and it gives me a chance to pick up a coffee on the way. As I said, I was running late that morning, so I was a bit conflicted about whether to get one, but as I looked in the window I saw a familiar figure at one of the corner tables. Again, the blond guy wasn’t looking in my direction, nor did he seem to give any indication that he was aware of my existence. He was there, though, and I was on the verge of walking in and confronting him when I noticed the time and decided getting to work was more important. Besides, what’s that old saying? “Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action”. I decided that if he turned up a third time, then I would ask him… something. I don’t really know what I was planning to ask him. “Are you secretly a monster?” probably would have been a great opener.

It was a quiet day in the Archives. I mean, it usually is, you don't usually come out much. I got on with my work, did some filing, kept looking through statements to see if any mentioned Jane Prentiss. 

Nothing else had happened until I left work. It must have been about half past six, so the sun was just about starting to go down, and I headed back up towards Victoria. The first thing I noticed out of the ordinary was that the café was still open. Normally they shut up about six o’clock, but the lights were on and the door was open. I couldn’t see anyone behind the counter, though, and there was only one customer. He sat there in the exact same position he’d been that morning, drinking what could easily have been the exact same coffee.

I looked around to see if there was anyone else who could confirm what I was seeing. The street was empty, but as I looked, a car drove past. In the curving glass of its tinted windows, I saw him there, the weird distorted body, rail thin and limp, the hands huge and sharp. And then the car passed on and I turned back to see a normal-looking man. But now, for the first time, he was looking at me. He gestured to the chair across from him, clearly inviting me inside. I don’t know why I wasn’t more scared going in there, but I wasn’t. My curiosity apparently conquered my nervousness.

He didn’t speak when I sat down, and I saw his coffee cup was empty. Whatever was inside had dried up hours ago. He seemed to be waiting for me to ask him a question. So I asked him what he was. He laughed at this, the first sound I’d heard him make, and it sounded… unnatural. Like he was laughing very quietly, but someone had turned up the volume up so I could hear it. He said it didn’t matter what he was, that he couldn’t describe it even if he wanted to. What was the phrase he used… “How would a melody describe itself when asked?”

This put my back up a bit to be honest, and I told him if he was going to talk in cheap riddles I was just going to leave. He actually apologized, told me I could call him Michael. I didn’t want to call him Michael; it didn’t seem to fit somehow, and the way he said it made me think that it definitely was not his name. Still, it wasn’t like I had any other name for him it.

It sat there, clearly waiting for me to ask another question, so I did. I asked it what it wanted, and was told that it wanted to help.

I asked if it want to stop Jane Prentiss. It laughed that weird laugh again and told me that I had no idea what was really going on. It didn’t sound like it had any intention of telling me, though, it just seemed like it was amused by my attempts to understand. Then it said it didn’t care if I or my companions lived or died, but that “the flesh-hive was always rash”. It said it wanted to be friends. When it said this it put its hand in mine, and it may have looked like a human hand, but it was heavy. It felt like a wet leather bag full of heavy stones. Sharp stones.

I pulled my hand away quickly and got up to leave. By this point I was just about sick of this weird thing that looked like a person but was not a person and talked in riddles. It made no move to stop me as I headed towards the door. As I was about to exit, though, it called after me, and said if I was interested in saving your life it would be waiting at Hanwell Cemetery. It said your name specifically, and Martin's, and Tim's.

Statement ends.

Statement 24

t's a letter from Albrecht von Closen, addressed to Jonah Magnus, dated March 31st, 1816. Albrecht was visiting his nephew, Wilhelm, in the Schwartzwald (the Black Forest) for the winter. Albrecht went on walks frequently; on one of these walks, he found a very old graveyard. In the center of the graveyard was a mausoleum with the name "Johann von Württemberg". It was a strange place for a graveyard, being far from the nearest town, but he didn't think much of it. The next day, he went to visit the graveyard again, and encountered a short man, who asked him if he was planning to explore the mausoleum. He warned Albrecht von Closen that the crypt was a dangerous place. Albrecht responded with confusion, asking what he had to fear from the dead, and the stranger laughed and said “No, sir, you have nothing to fear from the dead.” Albrecht von Closen was unsettled by this but pressed onwards into the mausoleum. He enters a room whose walls are covered in bookshelves. The books on them were wet and rotten, but the shelves, made of marble, were fine, and periodically along them were carved open eyes, which caused a strange fear in him. Before leaving, he noticed in the corner of the room a gold coin (engraved with the message “JW, 1279, Fur die Stille”) and a book in Arabic. He took them to study and left. That night, he learned from one of the servants that there are ghost stories told by the children who live nearby, claiming that those who go into the mausoleum disappear. Three days later, the man from the cemetery started to attack him. His eyes were missing, just empty sockets, but he still gave the strong impression that he was staring at Albrecht, before he disappeared suddenly. 

If Lev does any genealogy research, he might notice that Wilhelm von Closen is the great-grandfather of Mary Keay.

Statement 23, Part 2

Continued statement of Sasha James, April 1, 2016.

I checked the cafe on the way home. I even went down there on my lunch, but ‘Michael’ wasn’t there. Martin tried to talk me out of going, but... I didn’t know if what Michael had said was a threat or a warning or just a lie, but I decided I couldn’t take the chance. So I went to the cemetery.

The sun was starting to go down when I got there, and the gates of the graveyard were lit with the bright orange of the dying light. It had been raining earlier that day, and the pools of water reflected the vivid colours of the sky. Hanwell is an old cemetery, and past the walls I could see the weathered old gravestones standing silent. As it turned out, I didn’t have to go inside. Michael was waiting for me next to the tall iron gates when I arrived. I caught a glimpse of its reflection in one of the deep pools of rainwater, and shuddered as I saw again - the warped body and swollen bony hands.

It didn’t say anything when I arrived, just nodded at me to follow. I have no idea how long he had stood there waiting for me. I expected to go into the graveyard, but instead Micahael started walking down the road towards a nearby row of houses. The sign on the road said Azalea Close. Most of the buildings were in good repair, but there was one at the end that looked abandoned. It might have been a pub at one point, but now all the windows were boarded with metal sheets, and covered with dirt and graffiti. The door, however, was open and swinging gently. Michael went inside, clearly expecting me to follow, so I did.

Inside was dark and dusty. I was annoyed with myself that I hadn’t thought to bring a torch, but just enough of the setting sun came through the door for me to see by. It clearly had once been a pub, and the bar appeared to be intact, though riddled with woodworm. Sitting on top of it was what looked like a builder’s kit, with a toolbox and a small fire extinguisher. I was just about to ask Michael why we were here, when I heard it. A low, wet groan coming from the far end of the room, where the light didn’t reach. It sounded like someone in a great deal of pain.

I walked towards the noise. As I got closer my eyes began to adjust, and I saw the floor was covered in pale, writhing shapes. I had talked to Tim after he gave his statement, so I knew what to expect. But hearing about something doesn’t even come close to seeing it. To smelling it. I expected to see what Tim described, a squirming mass that was once Jane Prentiss, but the figure slumped against the wall looked like it was once a man. The worms wriggled out through the holes in his skin. The ‘flesh-hive’, Michael had called it, and the silver things formed clustered knots where his eyes used to be. I couldn’t help it. I gasped.

It wasn’t a loud sound, and given how sick the whole situation made me feel I think I actually was quite composed. It was loud enough, though. The head snapped around to face me, dislodging a small cascade of twisting shapes. The mouth opened as he tried to scream but that wasn’t what came out of his mouth. The worms also seemed to have taken notice and began to move towards me at an alarming speed. I backed away, but slipped on a piece of loose wood and fell into the bar. I glanced desperately at Michael, but it just watched me, its face unreadable.

I started to try and stamp on the worms as they approached, but there was just too many of them. Staggering to my feet, I felt my hand come to rest on something cold and metal - the fire extinguisher. Without thinking, I pulled the pin out and squeezed the handle. A cloud of gas shot out and, to my surprise, the silver worms began to shudder and recoil, shrivelling and dying. I began to walk forward, catching every last one in the jet of gas. Finally, I found myself standing over the mass of pitted and hollow skin that was once a man. He shuddered violently as the gas engulfed him, and then lay still.

I was breathing heavily, and the CO2 from the fire extinguisher was making me feel light-headed. For some reason I felt like I should check his pockets. They were empty except for a wallet. It was stained with blood and other substances, but the name on the driver’s licence was still readable: Timothy Hodge.

As I stood there, staring at the wallet, I felt a sharp pain in my right arm. I looked up to see Michael, reaching into my shoulder. Its fingers were long and distorted as they reached through my skin, cutting it like paper. I screamed. After a few seconds, it withdrew its hand. Held there was a single silver worm, wriggling pathetically in its grip. I hadn’t even felt the thing burrowing into my arm.

After that it’s all a bit of blur. I remember I was going to phone the police, but Timothy Hodge’s corpse was gone, and I was worried about trespassing, so I just sort of wandered away. Michael, or whatever it was, had gone as well. Eventually I found my way back to the Institute; it was after hours, but Tim was there, and he drove me home. Said I was too shaky to drive. He was probably right, honestly. At home, I bandaged up my arm. It wasn’t a deep injury, but I didn’t want it to get infected. And then I fell asleep. I thought about not coming in today, but I didn’t want you all to be panicking about me being missing, so, well, here we are.

Statement ends. 

Statement 25

The statement is by Leanne Denikin, given in 2005 about events from 2004. Leanne is the granddaughter of a circus man, Nikolai Denikin, who she was closer with than her parents. When he died, he left her his possessions. In the attic, she finds a steamer trunk full of wooden dolls; all but one have their jaws torn off. The lid of steamer trunk keeps opening on its own. There is also a calliope organ which works even though, mechanically, it shouldn't. There is an inscription on it: "be still, for there is strange music." Her boyfriend, Josh, is freaked out by the clown dolls, and after she plays a song on the calliope, he goes pale and asks her to stop. Afterwards, he keeps hearing the music, far off, when he’s alone; it slowly gets closer and closer. She breaks up with him, and soon after, she finds a clown doll in the trunk, which looks exactly like him. The calliope organ and steamer trunk were stolen a week later. Four days after that, Josh was found dead with his jaw torn off.

Institute records confirm that Artefact Storage obtained a calliope organ matching Leanne's description in 2007. It is kept very firmly locked, but does not seem to need other precautions.

Statement 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

The first was given by Mark Bilham in 2015. His girlfriend’s roommate Natalie Ennis started spending all her time in “church,” after her mom died, and acting strangely, unscrewing all the lightbulbs and singing discordantly in a strange language at night. Even when she was out of the house, strange thumping and shuffling noises came from her room. One night, Natalie tried to convert Mark's girlfriend, Kathy Harper, saying that Kathy could still be saved; Natalie made a cold, pale, mushy dinner and said she was going to move to a new home, saying that “300 years was a long time to wait” but it was “near the end” and they would soon be “collected by Mr. Pitch.” Kathy was scared and declined politely; Natalie replied “You’re a natural for Them. You’re worshipping as we speak.” Kathy ran out of the house and went to visit Mark. Mark got angry and went to the house, but by the time he arrived, Natalie was gone. Her room was empty; even the carpeting had been torn up in order to cover the window. The only thing left in the room was piece of paper saying “Hither Green Dissenters” with a closed eye symbol. Mark drove to Hither Green Cemetery and its chapel; inside was pitch black and seemed significantly bigger than it appeared from outside. Dozens of people inside were chanting, coming together for the words Ny-Ålesund. He suddenly remembered that he had his phone, and pulled it out to use as a torch; as soon as the light is on, the chapel appears to be its normal size and entirely empty, the singing gone. Natalie was never seen again. Follow-up research reveals that a month later, on the same day that Gertrude Robinson died, police were called to the chapel because a neighbor heard screaming. They found nothing.

The second statement was given by Paul McKenzie in 2003. Since his wife died four months ago, he's had trouble sleeping. One night, he noticed someone trying to open his bedroom door; he held onto the doorknob, preventing them, and they stayed like that for twenty minutes. He called the police, who found no signs of any intruder. The next night he locked it; this time, the door shook violently but didn't open. He called the police again, but they implied that if he continued calling them without proof, they would have him put in a home, so he stopped calling them. This recurred every night, and he decided to get proof. He asked his son to stay with him for a few nights, but nothing happened those nights; he set up a camera, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary on it. Two months after giving his statement, he died of a stroke. Martin reaches out for an interview with Marcus, Paul's son, but he declined, saying that he had already given a statement. (Assuming it exists, Lev isn't able to find it easily.)

At this point, Lev receives a new statement from research, from a woman named Melanie King, who has a Youtube show called Ghost Hunt UK. She, her co-host Andy Kane, and her sound engineer Peter Warhol were set to break into Cambridge Military Hospital to look into reports of a grey lady ghost there. Peter pulled out at the last minute, forcing Melanie to contact Georgie Barker, host of the What the Ghost podcast, for a replacement. Georgie suggested Sarah Baldwin for a replacement, but admitted that she was "a little bit unsocial." Melanie contacted Sarah, who agreed. When the group arrived to pick up Sarah, she didn't come out of the house she'd said she lived in, instead knocking on the door after Melanie called her. Sarah smoked for the entire two-hour drive, and Melanie could faintly smell something sharp and floral under the cigarette smoke; when they arrived at the hospital, Sarah was angry that Melanie hadn't told her the location. They entered the building and started up the shoot; they found the graffitied phrase "Silk will not stitch the butcher's meat," along with more standard graffiti. Sarah agreed to take the 2am - 4am shift, but when Melanie went to wake her for the start of her shift she appeared to not have been sleeping, and at around 3am Melanie woke up to find Sarah missing. She took a camera with night vision settings and started to look for her; there was a strong smell of copper and ammonia. Melanie went upstairs to find Sarah in a room, pleading and gesturing wildly and apologizing for trespassing to something in the room that Melanie couldn't see. As Melanie recorded the scene Sarah was flung across the room and crashed into the wall; Sarah stood, shouted something in a language Melanie didn't recognize, and proceeded to peel back the skin from her left arm, before pulling it back on like a glove and staple it together. Melanie fled back to the camp, Sarah returned 15 minutes later, and after the shoot was over and they'd dropped Sarah off, Tony asked that they not work with Sarah again. The research department couldn't find any external proof of any of this and the footage Melanie has is mostly just distorted static, save for when it shows a figure of a tall man, who is not touching the ground, pointing at the kneeling Sarah. Notably, Sarah Baldwin had disappeared ten years prior to this statement.

The fourth statement was given by David Laylow, regarding his last day working at an industrial abattoir. At the end of the day, his coworker Tom Haan, said “You cannot stop slaughter by closing the door.” An odd silence followed; everyone seemed to be gone, even the cows, and the place was suddenly clean. David tried to exit, but instead of the door letting him out, it brought him into an unfamiliar corridor. As he walked, he noticed that all the corridors in the building had become unfamiliar, although some had rails along the top, like those used to move carcasses. Searching for a way out, he found a metal staircase leading upwards, and followed it for a long time. After going through more corridors, he found an exit door. Going through it dropped him on a conveyor belt; he screamed and ran away. He began to smell blood, and followed it through the corridors, eventually leading him into a large circular room with a pit full of bodies falling off conveyor belts -- both animal and human. Running away again, he discovered the killing floor, where Tom Haan was shooting himself repeatedly with the bolt gun. He took the bolt gun and shot Tom Haan, who went limp, and he was then able to find a corridor he recognized. He left the building and sent his resignation letter in the next day. According to colleagues, what happened was that he and Tom Haan left in the middle of a shift; Haan was never seen again. Recently, the company that employed David and Tom made plans to expand the building, but were having trouble due to four construction workers quitting in quick succession. Tim interviewed one, who refused to say anything other than that the building “already seemed to be way too big.”

The fifth statement was given by Lawrence Mortimer in 2010 about a hunting trip he took to America. While hunting, he heard someone whistling A-Hunting We Shall Go, and encountered a hiker with shaggy hair and ragged clothes who carried no pack. The hiker asked him and his friend, Arden Neeli, a bit about where they’re going; as he left, he said, “Tomorrow will be a good day for a run." At 2am that night, Lawrence heard laughter from outside his tent, but there was nobody there when he checked. The next day, while hunting, Arden suddenly vanished; Lawrence found him in a clearing with his throat torn out. The whistling started again, and Lawrence turned to see the hiker with Arden's blood on him. The hiker grinned and then began to chase Lawrence. The hiker chased him on and off for a long time, sometimes singing or whistling, and in the moonlight he looked like a wolf. Eventually, Lawrence managed to shoot the hiker. Despite emptying all his bullets, the wolf-man doesn't die, but is slowed down enough that Lawrence managed to get to a road and call for help. The hiker was never found, and no follow-up research was possible.

The sixth statement was given in 2011 by Carlita Sloane. Due to a discrepancy on the ship she was previously working on, she ended up having to search for a new ship in Brazil, which was difficult as she didn't speak any Portuguese. Eventually, she found an English ship, the Tundra, and approached the captain, Peter Lukas, at a bar. When she approached him, the bar was suddenly empty, but she had no other job prospects, so she agreed to his offer. Whilst on the ship she noticed that the crew was exceptionally quiet, not talking at all except to give orders or short replies to direct questions. They also all had blank faces and avoided eye contact. She didn't see the captain at all, but met Tadeas Dahl, the first mate, and Sean Kelly, a Scottish man who seemed scared. One day, she noticed that the shipping containers were rusted together and shut, with a new layer of paint over them. Investigating further,  she decided to open one of the containers and found it totally empty. Just after this, the first mate came around gathering the crew. They went into the lifeboats, which were regular rowing boats, and traveled away from the Tundra. When at sea, Tadeas blew the boatswain's whistle; it gave a piercing but distant sound, as though it was loud but far away. A thick sea fog rolled in, hiding the Tundra entirely. Carlita realized that Sean was not on the lifeboats with the rest of the crew. Eventually the smoke cleared and they returned to the ship. The crew became more talkative, but there was no sign of Sean, and when Carlita asked about him she was told that she should be grateful, as "it hadn't been an easy choice". She returned home safely and was paid extremely well, but decided against returning to work with them. 

If Lev tries to do the standard amount of follow-up research, he will get a tensely-worded email from Elias, informing him that the Lukases do not like to be disturbed and doing so anyway could have serious funding repercussions for the Institute. Without interviewing the Lukases, he can find that the Tundra is still active and operating for Solus Shipping PLC, a company founded and majority owned by Nathaniel Lukas. All crew records have stayed the same for 10 years, and despite being listed as a cargo ship, there are no records of any cargo ever being loaded or unloaded from it. Four months after the statement was given, and six months after the events described in it, the body of Sean Kelly washed up on the shores of Morocco; the coroner examining his body ruled that he had only been dead for five days before being found.