The Magnus Archives - MAG 122 - Zombie

Episode Date: January 17, 2019

 Case #0150102Statement of Lorell St John, regarding zombies. Original statement given 1st February 2015.Thanks to this week's Patrons: Paul Clemens, Jess Osterhout, Opalineillyria, Nick Dunn, Callum Ayres, Diana Restrepo, Stuart Finlay, Ambre marshall, Danielle Carter, Dive Riley, Josh Wein.Edited this week by Elizabeth Moffatt, Brock Winstead & Alexander J Newall.Performances:"The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims"Georgie Barker" - Sasha Sienna"Basira Hussain" - Frank VossSound effects this week by OwlStorm, Tombombadil1988 and previously credited artists via freesound.org.Content Warning for:body horrormortalityundeadstalkingexistential horrorimposter Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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Rusty Quill Presents The Magnus Archives Episode 122 Zombie Episode 122 Zombie Well? It was just there. Could he have come back? Moved it? I guess. And you're sure you didn't recognise him?

No, no, he was... I'd never seen him before. But? He felt like death. didn't recognize him no no he was um I've never seen him before but here he felt like death what capital D death yeah you know one of your dark gods they're not look I'm trying to help you came to me I came to Melanie. Well, sorry. Right now, I'm it. So John told you, then? Some of it. Not everything. Right. So how exactly is it that you're able to identify an avatar of the end on sight?

Honestly, Basira, it's not your business. Sorry. Alright. And you don't know why this guy would have left the tape recorder? You're the detective. And you're sure it was him who left it? I mean, the nurses said there were no other visitors, so... Unless it appeared by magic? What, seriously?

I don't know. The whole tape thing is... I don't know. Right, well I showed you like you asked so... Down here. I told you. This is the one. Sure. You don't sound very sure. I mean I don't know it might be a different, maybe. I thought it was plastic. But, yeah. So, what does it mean?

That's a very good question. John, Jesus! Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I'll get a nurse. Wait. For Sarah. John, is it still...

you? Uh, yes. Yes, I think so. I don't know how you'd prove it, though. Enough. Just stay still. I'll get a nurse. No, I... I'm all right. Stop it. I'm okay.

John, you are not okay. You have been in a coma. Wait. Wait. How long? Six months, give or take. Six. The others. Tim, is he... Daisy too? I'm sorry.

Yeah. John! It's alright! Just stay still, please. How are you feeling? Honestly, I... I think I'm alright. I mean, that's...

good. Right? I... After a six-month coma? No. It's not. This isn't how it's supposed to go, John. I...

What? You'd prefer I was... brain-damaged? Dead? John. What? Georgie, could you give us a minute? There's some things we should probably discuss. Fine. Georgie, I...

John, if this really is a second chance, please try to take it. But I don't think that it is. Georgie, I don't... Take care of yourself. What about you? Disappointed to see me alive? Sarah? We can deal with it later. Yeah.

Yeah, okay. Do you want me to grab you some water, or... No, the statement in your bag. Oh. Yeah, I... I just grabbed one on the way out. I thought maybe you'd need it. You were right. I think it would do me some good.

Do you have a table? Oh. How did you know I brought one? Right. Thank you, Vizera. Hmm. Hmm. Statement of... L'Oreal St. John.

Regarding... Zombies. Original statement given 1st February 2015. Recording by Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Statement begins. People always used to tell me I was solipsistic. They said that I never really engaged with other people,

never acted like they really existed or mattered, at least not in the same way that I did. And I suppose in many ways they were right. It's hard to explain without sounding stupid. Obviously other people are real. Obviously the way a building is real, or my watch is real. They exist. building is real or my watch is real. They exist. If people weren't real, I'm sure I would find them much less of a chore. So no, I don't not believe in other people. I just

find it very difficult to feel for others. I can't understand them and they've always seemed... Well, there's no tactful way to say it. They've always just seemed a little bit pointless. I know what my pain feels like and I know what my joy feels like, but when I see those same things on the faces of my friends or my enemies, I feel... of my friends or my enemies, I feel... Well, that's it, isn't it? I don't really feel anything. Their emotions and suffering feel as distant to me as a character on a movie screen.

More distant, really. In many ways, I find those crude caricatures that wander through ridiculous plot after ridiculous plot more relatable than the people watching next to me. That said, Danielle did tell me once that films tend to depict characters like that so it's easier to project yourself onto them. So maybe it isn't quite as surprising as all that. I like animals, too. They don't pretend to be important. So, assuming you can understand anything,

I would hope that you could understand why the philosophical concept of zombies might worm its way into my mind. Danielle studies philosophy. Well, she studied philosophy. zombies might worm its way into my mind. Danielle studies philosophy. Well, she studied philosophy. And she was one of those people who loved to talk to others about it, try to explain it as a way of internalising the information. So come exam season, her favourite revision method was to try and explain a year's worth of dusty old white men thinking about existence to me. She said it really helped, and, well, sometimes I didn't have anything better to do. It never stuck, of course. It's all kind of rubbish, really. People trying to think the universe into making sense,

coming up with all sorts of nonsense, and trying to claim that because they can imagine it, it must be true. I'm grossly oversimplifying, of course, but I don't care. I don't think Danielle did very well in her exams. I remember the night she told me about zombies. It was dark outside and must have been late. It was high summer and the days were long and sweltering. Our building really kept the heat and had very few opening windows,

so even in the evening that humid warmth seemed to stick around. One of our housemates, Liam, was sat at the other end of the living room playing some obnoxious video game. He had the lights at that end of the room turned off and the screen lit up his blank, gormless face as he stared at some space monster or other that he had to kill. Danielle explained that a philosophical zombie is someone who outwardly displays all the signs of life and consciousness. They talk, they laugh, they scream, they even appear to think. They even appear to think. But they have no inner life at all, no actual subjective experience.

It's all a ruse, a conjuring trick. If you cut them, they'd bleed, they might even cry out, but they wouldn't actually feel any pain because they can't actually feel anything. It's all just an act. actually feel anything. It's all just an act. I said to Danielle, like Liam, and she laughed at what she assumed was a funny joke, and tried to explain it again, told me they weren't real, that it was all a thought experiment, and the fact that you could imagine them was supposed to counter some other philosopher who sounded equally meaningless. But, like I said, I don't think she got a very good grade, and looking at Liam, blankly staring into that glowing square on the wall, I knew that she was wrong. I knew that she was wrong.

They were real. His eyes were so dark and dull. Empty windows to a soul that he didn't really have. I started to do some experiments on him. Not many, just a few little ones here and there to see. I suppose you might have called them cruel if Liam was capable of suffering. He certainly pretended to cry out in pain when I accidentally cut his hand while chopping onions, and he did a good impression of grief when his but his eyes were always the same cold and empty I didn't do anything about it, obviously what would have been the point?

there was no real harm in him going out into the world pretending to live his life it was no skin off my nose, certainly it wasn't just him though there were so many more of them out there. At one point, I did legitimately entertain the notion that they might all be zombies. Every one. That it was just me.

That I was the only real person that existed. But, no, that wasn't right. It was just certain people. I'd watch them and see their reactions, the emotions they didn't quite get right, and I knew they were a facade. It became like a game to me, watching out for those soulless husks. Whether on the bus, the street, or even meeting a client for work, I would look into their eyes for just a second and see the emptiness inside. I tried to make it a game, at least. Truth was, they scared me very deeply. What were they? How did it happen? Were they born hollow, or did something scoop them out and leave them like that

and the question that kept me up staring into the darkness late at night why did it seem like i was the only one able to see them i saw so many people real people chatting with these zombies talking to them as if they were able to understand what was being said to them rather than simply pretending. How was it that they couldn't see the quiet void that lurked behind each of their smiles? There seemed to be more and more of them every day. Sometimes I found myself utterly alone, facing down a room full of nothing eyes, willing myself to take action. I never did, though. Not even when one of them started following me. I first saw him in the street. It wasn't difficult to guess what he was.

Half the people around him were just as hollow and soulless. But there was something else to him. He was tall, but not so tall as to stick out. Thin, but not unhealthily so. He wore a blue t-shirt despite the falling temperature, and his short, dark hair and pale skin surrounded a smile so fake it practically glowed. He stared at me as I walked past, not making a move to follow or stop me, nor did his eyes seem to actually move. It was like one of those paintings that watch you. It just seemed that whatever place I looked at him from, he just happened to be focused on me, inasmuch as there was any focus in them at all. Vacant. The next day he was there again, this time in the hallway outside my office, standing in the centre

so that I had to hug the wall to avoid touching his motionless form. He was identical, except that his t-shirt was now a dull orange. I asked my colleague Norma what she thought of him, why he was there, and if she noticed anything strange about him. She looked out into the corridor then, looked back at me and shook her head. She told me he seemed normal enough, but her eyes were like blank pits, and I knew she was lying about all of it. Had he done this? Had he taken Norma's self, her soul, or had she always been a zombie? Crapped into her little open plan desk, patiently listening to client complaints, and I just hadn't noticed.

I looked around my office, a low dread starting to build as he waited outside. A numbing cavity wrapped in skin. A low dread starting to build as he waited outside. A numbing cavity wrapped in skin. I tried to talk to him when he stood next to me on the bus. I played it as casual as I could, trying not to seem afraid as I asked him how his day was going. Just fine, thank you for asking, came the flat, uninterested response. Then I asked him his name. "'Just fine. Thank you for asking,' he said.

I have never wanted anything as much as I wanted in that moment to cut him and see if he pretended to scream in pain. By the time he appeared outside my house, this time wearing a rotten green T-shirt, I could feel a numbness in myself even as I looked at him. Was I finally becoming like them? My internal world melting away into nothing but a pantomime. I remember I ran at him, all my rage burning inside my chest as though desperate to remind myself that I could still feel something. I think I might have been screaming, but the memory is fuzzy.

I remember I punched him in the face, though. I remember I punched him in the face, though. When my fist connected, it was like punching a canvas, taut, dry, and yielding ever so slightly until all at once it broke with a tearing pop, and all that resistance was gone, my fist falling into the empty space behind it, inside his head. I pulled my hand back in sudden disgust, and he looked

at me through the torn and bloodless hole in his head. I could see one blank eye hanging down off his face, still following me, as his split mouth moved to try and form the words that I could hear clear as day. Just fine. Thank you for asking. They're all like that now. You're all like that, I suppose. I have no reason to believe anyone will read this who would be any different. No reason to believe you'll be able to read this, that he won't simply stare blankly at this page

before performing your response, your artificial opinion. There is every chance that I am the only one left. The whole world has fallen to a soulless horde, devoid of life and feeling. Even so, thank you for pretending to care. Statement ends. Well, that certainly helped, I think.

No notes or follow-up in the statement, and obviously no research done by myself or my team. I think we can safely say that Miss St John is not the only real person left in the world, though, whatever she might be doing now. And whatever might be with her. It can be hard, though. Sometimes other people... feelings...

I'm trying to focus. Trying to make sure I'm the same me as before, but... How can anyone really remember that? How do you know you're the same person that went to sleep? Yes, I'm done. Georgie, is she... She's gone. Didn't see where.

No, I wouldn't have... Probably for the best. Yeah. Better? Yes. Yes, thank you. Right. Then I've got questions.

So do I. Me first. What are you? Then I've got questions. So do I. Me first. What are you? Honestly, I don't know.

I don't feel inhuman or... I want to say I'm the same. But I don't really know if that's true. I know I'm different. I feel more real, somehow. So what does that actually mean? Probably nothing good. My turn. What happened to me? How much do you remember?

I don't... Music. Everything was wrong. Gertrude was there, and then... Dancing, I think. Then, pain. And I was somewhere else. Dreaming. Dreaming. Dreaming? Yes.

You're sure about Tim? Yeah, they, um... They found his remains a few days later. And Daisy? They still haven't found her body. Probably never will. I thought for a while she might, um... But it's been months. She's gone.

Just you and me. And Melanie and Martin, I guess. Honestly, I'm surprised Martin isn't... What? Oh, God, the plant, it's... Martin, is... Is he okay? What did Elias do? No, nothing. Elias isn't the problem. So, what? Elias is locked up. Wait, Martin's plan worked? Yeah, a bunch of sectioned officers took him in. He made some sort of deal, I think, but he's not getting out any time soon.

Oh. Wow, okay. Great, so what's the problem? He appointed an interim director. A guy named Peter Lucas. Oh. Yeah. Read about him?

Yeah, I hunted down some of those old statements and... Yeah. What did he do to Martin? I don't know. We don't see him around the archives much these days. Best I can figure, he's working on something with Lucas. No, that... There must be something else. Maybe. I don't know.

And Melanie? A lot's happened while you've been gone. Right. Well, I guess we should probably let one of the nurses know I'm awake. I'm sure they have all sorts of tests to do. Make sure I'm not a zombie, or... I don't suppose you brought in any clothes? No, I just, you know, grabbed that statement on my way out. Right, well, I kept some in the archives in my office. Yeah, those got...

We had to throw those out. What? Like I said, a lot's happened. Since I've been... Fine. I'll get you some new ones. Better ones. Anything else?

Water, please. Sure thing. Oh, or a cup of tea. Okay. End recording, I suppose. license. Today's episode was written by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J. Newell. To subscribe, view associated material, or join our Patreon, visit RustyQuill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us at TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook, or email us at mail at RustyQuill.com. Join our communities on the forum via the website or on Reddit at r slash the Magnus Archives. Thanks for listening. To be continued... Audible has everything you need. Audible is the leader in audiobooks, so you'll always find the best and freshest selection of mysteries and thrillers to choose from.

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