Tma Statements - Tumblr Posts
THE SHADOW WEAVER
An original Magnus Archives statement
Masterlist
Tw: None
[Tape recorder click]
JON: Statement of Carwyn Cooper, regarding a highly unusual encounter with a classmate. Original statement given October 22nd, 2014, audio recording by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins.
JON [STATEMENT] :
This whole situation started around a month ago, when my classmate, Meryl Jackson began acting weird. Which is honestly quite the feat since she's always had a reputation around school for being a bit of a freak. Now before you write this off as a cruel prank from a secondary schooler to make fun of the quiet kid, please hear me out on this. I know Meryl, and while I wouldn't exactly call us friends, we are on good terms, what with me being one of the very few people she's willing to tolerate. I've been classmates with her since nursery school, so believe me when I say I know her idiosyncrasies. She's always been quiet, if a bit unnerving, preferring to read a book than play sports, never raising her hand but always having an answer ready when she gets called on by the teacher, standard loner kid things. Then the weirder things she does, like the way she moves almost as if she's gliding across the floor, she doesn't have any of the usual up and down movement that you get from walking. Even the people she's around outside of school are weird, there's this one fellow who occasionally picks her up from school in a pastel blue sports car. I found out a while ago that he's actually her cousin, and that he's been her legal guardian since her parents passed away a few years ago. It's just so odd to think that someone that cheerful is related to Meryl. Then there's the other person who picks her up more rarely, a woman with short brown hair and glasses who's almost always wearing a Jimmy Buffet shirt, who pulls up in a bright red convertible. Not sure how she and Meryl know each other, but I'm pretty sure she might be Meryl's cousin's boss.
All of the weirdness started happening when the light above her desk stopped working, not unusual on its own. But when they tried to replace it, they found that there was nothing wrong with the bulb, it wasn't burnt out it had just. Stopped working. And when they tried to put in the new bulb, it wouldn't work, so they checked the wiring. Nothing was wrong with that either. The teacher asked her if she wanted to move to a different spot but Meryl just shook her head and stayed where she was, perfectly content to sit in her dark corner of the classroom. After this was when the changes really became noticeable. She became even more closed off, which to be honest I didn't think was possible before this whole thing. She started wearing long sleeves and gloves constantly regardless of how swelteringly hot the day was, but the heat never seemed to bother her. And she got quiet. But when I say “quiet” I don't mean the “she isn't very talkative” kind of quiet she'd been before. I mean it in the “if she wasn't standing in front of you moving and breathing you would think she was dead” kind of quiet. She just appears behind you like she teleported or something. The weirdness got to the point that people started whispering about her being a vampire. Now all of these things could be written off as her being in a bad mood or having poor circulation, but you can't ignore all the weirdness with the lights.
There's one specific incident that comes to mind. It happened a little over three weeks ago when classes were over for the day, in the school's garden, absolutely lovely place with tall neatly trimmed hedges and charming gravel pathways leading you through it. Anyways, it was an overcast day so I was alone in the garden, sitting on one of the stone benches texting someone, when she suddenly appeared! It wasn't like I was paying particularly close attention to my surroundings, but one second I was by myself, the next her shadow was bearing down on me. Thinking back on it, the shadows being so deep was weird, because the sky had been steadily becoming darker as the clouds thickened, so there wasn't a lightsource behind her strong enough to cast such a pronounced shadow. There was an awkward pause where I waited for her to say something or ask me a question. Nothing. So I tried striking a bit of small talk along the lines of “oh you scared me!” And “what are you doing in the garden?” To which I got absolutely no response. She just stood there, her eyes standing out starkly against the oppressively dark shadows that were cast over her face as if she had on some sort of mask. The unnerving silence was really starting to freak me out, so I tried asking, closer to demanding if I'll be honest, that she tell me what the hell her problem was. But she just continued to stand there and stare at me with those eerie eyes of hers. Her eyes have always been this dull grey colour, not a blueish grey or anything, just grey like a pair of old tarnished coins.
She stared at me for a few moments, but it seemed like hours with the horrible way it felt like her gaze was gouging into me, pinning me in place like an insect on a corkboard, forced to just sit there being observed unable to do a damn thing about it. But then, without saying anything or even blinking for that matter, she simply turned and started walking away and it was as if she was taking the shadows with her. I managed to snap myself out of whatever odd stupor I had been in, stood up and I went and grabbed her wrist to stop her from leaving. The thing is, when I touched her wrist, a few of my fingers landed in the small gap between the end of her sleeve and glove. Her skin was absolutely freezing; it felt like I had plunged my hand into a frozen lake. Then there was the horrible creeping feeling, as if the icy cold water was slithering its way up my arm, through my veins, and into the rest of my body. I yanked my hand away and stumbled a few steps back, somehow managing to keep my balance and not fall on my arse.
Even after that, the horrible cold remained, although it had stopped spreading at least. Throughout this, Meryl barely reacted aside from tensing up when I grabbed her, she didn't say a thing, she just… tilted her head and continued studying me with those placid grey eyes. We stared at each other for a good long time as I stood there clutching my shaking hand to my chest in an effort to chase away the biting cold, neither of us saying anything just… staring. Her head suddenly whipped to the side as if she heard something, before promptly turning on her heel, and continuing in the direction she had been going as if the whole interaction had never happened to begin with. But I noticed, even as she practically glided away down the path and disappeared behind a hedge, the only sounds I could hear were the wind rustling the vegetation around me, along with my own haggard breathing and pounding heart. She made no sound as she moved, no rustling of fabric or crunch of gravel underfoot; just complete and utter silence in her wake.
I stood there by myself for a long time. At least until the first faint patters of raindrops landed on my skin, which snapped me out of the shock I'd been in after such a bizarre experience. I quickly left the garden and headed back inside, still not quite processing what the hell had just happened. I still don't understand it if I'll be honest. And I know I wasn't just dreaming this up, because the fingers on the hand that had touched her wrist had started turning white. They were so cold and stiff I used my good hand to pull out my phone and do a quick search for what the hell I should do because I had frostbite on my goddamn fingers. I spent a long while, just sat in the bathroom running my hand under warm water and trying to come up with some sort of explanation for what had happened. It sounds really stupid and I honestly can't believe I'm saying it but my mind kept going back to that stupid rumor about her being a vampire, it doesn't entirely fit but I can't think of anything else. The aversion to bright lights, pale skin, the absolutely freezing body temperature. But even in the insane case that it's true, it doesn't explain the lights' weird aversion to her.
I decided not to tell anyone what had happened, they would've just called me crazy or thought I was making a cruel joke about Meryl. So I just kept quiet about the whole thing and acted like it hadn't happened in the first place. And fortunately for me it looks like Meryl is doing the same, she's still acting really weird (as in her new standard of weird), but she doesn't seem too concerned about me telling anyone. Probably because as well as I know her, she also knows me. She knows I'm not one for rumors and drama, especially when I'm the one in the spotlight of said rumors and drama, which is exactly what would happen if I showed up to school raving about her being a vampire of all things.
All of that aside, you're probably wondering why I felt like I needed to write a statement if she technically didn't do anything and doesn't seem to be planning to do anything. Well, about a week and a half after the incident, I noticed something was off about my hand, aside from the fact my fingers still go numb sometimes. No, what really scared me and the thing that made me come here was my shadow. Part of my shadow is missing. The hand I used to grab her wrist is missing from my shadow. There's no hand there anymore, the wrist just. Fades off into nothing. I brought some pictures of it if you need it for your record or whatever, as proof, keep them or toss them in a shredder, I couldn't care less. The last thing I have left to say is, I think it was lucky that it was me. That's not to say I'm glad that I experienced this. But because I get the feeling that if she had wanted to, she could have made me disappear then and there. And if I had been anyone else, I get the sinking feeling that she probably would have.
JON: Statement ends.
[heavy sigh] It seems we've received yet another statement about… an alleged vampire, one with a description vastly diverging from Mr Herbert's accounts of… alleged vampires. In spite of Mr Cooper's insistence to the contrary, I am more so inclined to believe that this is, in fact, “a cruel prank made by a secondary schooler”. While we've successfully been able to contact Mr Cooper, he has declined to make any further comment. Then there's the matter of the pictures included in the statement’s file, three polaroid photographs taken from different angles, each one depicting Mr Cooper's right hand and forearm casting a shadow, which as he stated, fades away at the wrist. I must admit he's rather skilled at doctoring photos, I'm half inclined to believe they're genuine.
End recording.
[Tape recorder click]
___________________________________________
Thank you for reading! This is the first time I'm posting something I've written so I hope you enjoyed. Also I am American so please forgive anything that isn't Britain Accurate.
KILLING THE DANCEFLOOR
An original Magnus Archives statement
Masterlist
Tw: gore in this one lads, and brief implications of vomiting
[Tape recorder click]
JON: Statement of Joseph Markus, regarding his experience at a club he visited in Scotland. Original statement given May 12th, 2016, audio recording by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins.
JON [STATEMENT] :
This happened on a trip to Scotland four years ago, me and a group of friends were staying there for three days. We'd been out drinking for a good few hours, so we were all tipsy veering into outright drunk. The others started suggesting that we should go back to the hotel, they told me that I should be done for the night. Every time I think about what happened, I regret not listening to them.
I'd been at the club for around 20 minutes, I think it was called “Veil's” or something like that. I was already a few drinks in, when I noticed… her. The first word that came into my head when I looked at her was “sharp”. I'm not sure why, it just seems like the best word to describe her. She was tall, and I mean tall. She easily had a few inches on anyone else in the club, looked like she was in her mid twenties, and had wild red hair with streaks of blonde and bright cherry red. Her eyes were also a vibrant red, but I just figured that she was wearing colored contacts, it wouldn't have been out of place with her outfit. I feel the need to give a description of her, so at least someone else knows what to look out for. She was wearing a spiked choker, ripped black jeans, and a tattered band shirt. I can't remember the exact name of the band. I think it was something like, Gravity's Bond? I don't think that's right but such a small detail wasn't really something I was too focused on. I was more preoccupied with the fact she was carrying a giant blood soaked axe. And no one seemed to acknowledge it, they were acting like this massive woman with a giant blood soaked axe wasn't anything out of the ordinary, so I naively assumed that it was a prop. God, what I would give for it to have just been a prop.
I'd been focused somewhere else, but my attention snapped back to the dance floor when a deafening crack echoed through the club. It was so loud, that for a moment I thought it was a gunshot. My eyes landed on her just in time to watch her drop a limp body with its neck bent at an unnatural angle. Before I had time to even process what I was seeing, she whipped around and swung the axe down. I will never forget the sound the axe made when it buried itself into that man's skull. The horrible wet crunch of metal splitting bone and embedding itself in brain matter, it seemed to drown out all the other noise in the club. I don't know if you've ever heard the noise that a raw egg makes if you crush it. I'm sure you can imagine why I'm mentioning such a thing. She planted a booted foot against the man's chest and pushed the corpse away so she could tear the axe out. I honestly think that noise might have somehow been worse than the initial blow. Then, before the body had even finished its landing, lunged at the next unfortunate person and mercilessly slashed open their throat. I could practically hear the blade smoothly slicing through the flesh, but what I definitely could hear was her last feeble gurgling breaths as she choked on her own blood. She kept going. I don't know how many more people she got, because my eyes darted around the room looking to see if anyone had already called the police.
I felt my stomach drop when I realized that no one else seemed to see her, or at the very least see the gruesome results of her actions. I don't know how that could have been possible, she was in the middle of the room surrounded by people and she wasn't exactly being quiet. My mind was racing trying to figure out what I should do, should I call the police? What if they didn't see her as out of the ordinary and just assume that I'm a crazed drunk? While I was caught up in my inner dilemma the woman ambled off of the dance floor towards the bar, sweaty and laughing like she had just been partying like any normal club goer, like she wasn't covered in the blood of the people she had just slaughtered. And I will admit, while I wasn't drunk enough to not remember the night, I was definitely far enough gone to make a stupid decision. A very, very, stupid decision. I made the idiotic and borderline suicidal choice to confront the woman.
She had casually dropped herself down in the chair at the end of the bar, the one near the wall, and slung one of her legs up on the empty seat next to her. As well as setting her axe, still dripping with gore, on the bartop. While she was settling herself in her seat, the bartender placed an already prepared drink in front of her, which she cheerfully thanked them for. Thinking back to it, I'm scared of the implications that has, because it means that this woman is a regular there, meaning that the casual axe murdering is a regular occurrence. As I got closer, I picked up on more and more details about her appearance that left me with a sinking feeling in my gut. Her skin was oddly pale, even by redhead standards, as if she only went out at night to go partying, and the shape of her teeth seemed just a bit off. Then she turned and looked at me, and even in my drunken state, I had enough clarity to recognize the way her pupils shifted under the continually changing lights of the club, sober enough to realize she wasn't wearing contacts; that her eyes were red.
We stared at each other without saying anything for a few moments, then she suddenly threw her head back and barked out a loud laugh. Which I will admit made me jump a bit. Then she leveled those horrible red eyes at me, she had a glint in her gaze that unsettlingly reminded me of a kid with a magnifying glass that had just come across an anthill. Then, still chuckling a bit, she spoke in a slightly raspy Scottish accent. “Oh, this is real exciting, you can actually see what's going on here. That's a bit rare but it's always entertaining, makes it more fun.” Then, while looking me in the eye, she wiped a still wet splatter of blood from her cheek with her thumb before licking it off.
She continued “I'll tell you what, it's always a treat when someone can see through me, and I'm feeling nice tonight, so I'll give you a 30 second head start.” Then she began to count, I wasted at least five precious seconds of my grace period standing there like a deer in headlights. When I snapped out of it, I took off towards the door, weaving through the other club goers as fast as I could internally kicking myself as the adrenaline partially cleared my head from the haze of the alcohol. I burst outside onto the street, and I swear that the club wasn't in the same place as it was when I went in, none of the landmarks I was seeing looked familiar. But I didn't have time to think about that, the only thing running through my head was “get away” over and over again as I forced my burning legs to carry me down the street. I ran for a block or two before I decided to slow down a bit to catch my breath, and to… let my body get rid of some of the alcohol. Even as I heaved for air after being forced to empty my stomach, I was still listening for any sign that she had followed me. Then I heard the whistling. It was a cheerful little tune that definitely did not match the scenario, and I realized with growing dread that it was getting closer. I forced myself to continue forward, making twists and turns in an attempt to lose her, but all I really accomplished was getting myself lost. The whistling continued to get closer and closer, and now I could hear her unhurried footsteps behind me. I don't know how she could possibly be keeping up with me at such a casual pace while I was quite literally running for my life. As I was about to round another corner, a sudden weight slammed into me sending me crashing into the pavement. I've never been hit by a car before, but this is what I imagine it felt like. While I was blinking the flashing lights out of my vision, she took the opportunity to pin me down with one knee forcing itself into the center of my chest, and pinning my right hand next to my head with her other foot. When my vision cleared I was met by a sight that has haunted me since that night. She was staring down at me, with a wild grin and a borderline feral glint in her bloody red eyes, with bits of viscera splattered across her face and body, raising her axe above her head, preparing to bury it into my face. I thought to myself, “This is the last thing I'm going to see.” And I clenched my eyes shut hoping that it would be like getting a shot, if I can't see it coming it won't hurt as much, right? It's stupid, but it was oddly comforting in the moment.
As she was about to bring the axe down, and I was waiting for my inevitable demise, she was interrupted by her phone ringing. I was scared that she was going to get a call from someone saying that they needed parts of me in one piece to harvest my organs or something, but that theory went out the window when I realized that she had set the ringtone for whoever it was to Rick James’ “Super Freak”. It was so jarring that I probably would have laughed if her knee wasn't grinding into my sternum and crushing the air out of me. She sighed, flipped the axe slamming the head of it down right next to my ear before pulling out her phone and answering it. Only got her side of whatever conversation was being had, something along the lines of “What do you want? I'm busy right now.” A pause “Can't you ask someone else to help you with it, I'm kind of in the middle of something.” Another pause followed by a heavy sigh, “Fine, I'll be over there in like 10 minutes but you owe me big for this one.” She ended the call, slipped her phone back into her pocket, turned her attention back to me and said. “Looks like it's your lucky day, we'll have to reschedule this for another time. Don't be too sad about our little game being put on hold, we'll meet again eventually.” Then she was up, twirling her axe and slinging it over her shoulder, and whistling that same damn tune as she jauntily made her way down the street, disappearing around the corner, and the whistling faded into the distance. I stayed on the ground for a long time, just trying to catch my breath and figure out what the hell just happened.
I managed to limp my way back to the hotel, I'm still not sure how I managed to find my way back. I quietly slipped back into the room to not wake up the others. I didn't sleep that night for obvious reasons, so I used the time I spent lying awake debating what I should do. In the end I decided to pretend that it never happened, I didn't want to get my friends involved with that woman lest they become her next targets. And I felt like I couldn't call the police, for all I know it's some weird underground murder club and everyone else there was in on it and they're paying off the police or something. So I've been pretending it never happened, pretending that I'm not kept awake at night by the sound of a neck snapping, a skull being smashed open, the sound of someone drowning in their own blood, and the image of her, staring down at me as I was seconds away from being murdered.
So I'm sure you're probably wondering why I'm giving this statement now after so many years. I'm sharing this story so that someone knows what happened to me when I go missing or turn up dead. Last night, I was walking home through the downtown area of London, and I felt my heart stutter to a stop when I heard someone whistling that damn tune. One that I had hoped to never hear again. There she was. She was right. There. Walking down the other side of the street, thankfully without the axe, next to someone who was somehow even taller than her. I can't really remember what the other person looked like, only that they had long dark hair. Anytime I try to think about other discerning features I get a terrible headache, but I can't shake the feeling that I've seen him somewhere before. As if she could feel me staring, she suddenly turned and looked directly at me. I was met by the same unnatural piercing red eyes that I'd seen four years ago. I could tell that she recognized me as well, because her expression quickly shifted through irritation, surprise, before finally landing on that sharp devilish grin. I stood there frozen, unable to make myself run or even look away, the sound of the street around me was drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears. Then she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers at me in a mocking little wave, like she knew that I couldn't move. And, as the final nail in the proverbial coffin, she mouthed three words to me; “I told you.”
I don't remember how or when I got home that night. But I do know that she's going to kill me. There's no doubt in my mind about that. It's only a matter of when, who knows how long it'll be before she decides she's had her fill of tormenting me.
JON: Statement ends.
I have a sneaking suspicion that the band shirt this mysterious Axe Woman was wearing was merchandise for the infamous Grifter's Bone that has been mentioned in a previous statement. Attempts at looking into a club by the name of “Veil's” have turned up nothing except a few offhand internet posts, but no records of an establishment by that name ever existing. Attempts at contacting Mr Markus for a follow up have turned up that he is, as one might anticipate, deceased. Three weeks after this statement was given, he was found murdered at a street corner with the official cause of death being a hit and run, resulting from the illegal removal of a stop sign by a vandal. Although the stop sign seemed to be less stolen by hooligan teenagers, and more like a bodybuilder suffering from severe steroid related mood swings, as in the photographs I have here it looks as if it was forcibly ripped straight from the ground. Then there's the fact that the injuries on the autopsy report that Tim managed to get his hands on, as expected, do not line up with the official explanation. Fractured skull resulting from a blow to the head with a semi sharp object and his landing on the concrete, a multitude of rough gashes across various parts of his body similar to injuries caused by an extremely blunt axe, with one of his legs being amputated below the knee and found several yards away. And lastly, but certainly the most disturbing, the fact the upper and lower halves of his body were completely bisected from each other, seemingly done using the same weapon as the other injuries, with his upper half having been thrown to the other side of the street with enough force that it hit the wall of the building there. All of this paints a rather nauseating picture of what actually happened. [Shaky sigh]
End recording.
[Tape recorder click]
____________________________________
[Tape recorder click]
JON: Supplemental, I'm in the tunnels again searching for potential clues regarding who has been sneaking into the archives–
???: [a young woman's voice with a quiet deadpan but melodious tone] What are you doing?
JON: [screaming as you can audibly hear his soul exiting his body]
???: Well that's rude.
JON: [wheezing] Who are you?????
???: Well, who are you?
JON: I asked you first!
???: Well, I asked you second and two is a larger number than one so you have to answer first.
JON: [sputtering] I– you– wh– I'm Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute.
???: Hmm, I wouldn't suppose you've been leaving trash lying around down here? Because I don't particularly appreciate someone dirtying such a nice dilapidated tunnel system with litter.
JON: I– no, I am not the one who has been leaving trash down here, I'm actually trying to figure out who has been.
???: Hmm, while it seems our motives are different, our goal of finding the one who's been leaving garbage in my tunnels is the same.
JON: I'm sorry but, your tunnels?
???: Yes, my tunnels. I've been wandering this system in my spare time for years, and this invader is sullying them with litter.
JON: Uhm, not to be rude or anything but, er, aren't you a bit young to be wandering abandoned underground tunnels by yourself? You don't look like you could be out of secondary school.
???: Aren't you a bit too old to be in the habit of trying to cover the fact you haven't had a shower in the last nine days by using too much deodorant?
JON: [indignant sputtering]
???: Regardless of our goals being aligned, I think I'd prefer to stay out of the institute’s business for a multitude of reasons. Also I can tell you wouldn't be much help in figuring out how to remove this pest. Along with the… woman who's been sneaking down here from the archives.
JON: You mean Sasha?
???: No, Not Sasha.
JON: How would anyone other than her be getting down here from the archives? She's the only woman who has access to these tunnels from the archives.
???: Yes, that woman.
JON: But you just said that it wasn't Sasha?
???: No, I said that it was Not Sasha.
JON: You're not making any sense.
???: Hmm, most things tend to not.
JON: You know that this is really not helping either of us get closer to either of our goals, neither of us have gained any information from being down here.
???: Perhaps you'd be able to gather more information down here if you didn't scream like a little bitch every time something potentially relevant happens.
JON: [shocked stuttering] You– well– I– Wait where did you go!
???: [faint singing echoing down the tunnels fading into the distance] ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
JON: Well, that was… thoroughly uninformative, [muttered] it was like trying to talk to Cirrus. [Return to normal volume] That girl seemed to only speak in insults and riddles. She also seemed to be– wait– SHE NEVER TOLD ME HER NAME.
[Tape recorder click]
___________________________________________
If you're wondering who the hell Cirrus is, he's another one of my oc's that hasn't been introduced yet (at the time of posting). I'm writing these very out of order but I should hopefully have him properly introduced soon. Thank you for reading!
would anyone care to read a TMA-sona statement fic if I wrote it?
would anyone care to read a TMA-sona statement fic if I wrote it?
“Statement of Nigel Roberts regarding his experience with an art piece he created of a skyscraper.”