The Magnus Archives - MAG 145 - Infectious Doubts

Episode Date: July 18, 2019

Case #0090202Statement of Arthur Nolan regarding the life and death of Agnes MontagueAudio recording by Gertrude RobinsonThanks to this week's Patrons: Michael Manomivibul, Marina Vermilion, Astrid Gustafsson, Greg O'Neill, Robert Crouchley, Scott Shanks, Cory Trickler, Chunktusk, Elizabeth Brooke, Katherine Waltz, Jason Scully-Clemmons, Bobbie Parker, Distant Egg Song, E. Forney, Lavonne Staley, Debra Lewis, Kellie Wills, Jesse Fyffe, JRA, Nichole ChisholmIf you'd like to join them be sure to visit www.patreon.com/rustyquillTo find out more about MacGuffin & Co, check out their;Website: https://www.macguffinandcompany.com/and Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/macguffinandcompanyEdited this week by Elizabeth Moffatt, Brock Winstead & Alexander J Newall.Written by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J Newall.Performances:- "Gertrude Robinson" - Sue Sims- "Arthur Nolan" - John Henry Falle- "The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims- "Georgie Barker" - Sasha SiennaSound effects this week by CGEffex,HunteR4708 & previously credited artists via freesound.org.Check out our merchandise at https://www.redbubble.com/people/rustyquill/collections/708982-the-magnus-archives-s1 You can subscribe to this podcast using your podcast software of choice, or by visiting www.rustyquill.com/subscribePlease rate and review on your software of choice, it really helps us to spread the podcast to new listeners, so share the fear.Join our community:WEBSITE: rustyquill.comFACEBOOK: facebook.com/therustyquillTWITTER: @therustyquillREDDIT: reddit.com/r/RustyQuillEMAIL: [e-mail] Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill Ltd. and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 International LicenceContent warnings for:- Elder abuse- Supernatural torture Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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Infectious Doubts You don't mind, do you? Of course I do. Well, that's a shame. If I really wanted to kill you, that thing can stop me. If that were a possibility, Arthur, I should hardly have agreed to meet you. Yeah, you would. You'd have set something up. Try to get me first. If I wanted you dead, Arthur, there are much simpler ways to do it. Yeah. Think you know how? I do, yes. And I am very willing to, if necessary. Well, I am sure I'm shaking in my boots. Look, Arthur, I need you to understand

that this isn't simple posturing. I don't see a way we can meaningfully progress this conversation while you're under the impression that your threats mean anything to me. Big talk. But Agnes is dead. And I don't know if you heard, but your little woodland circle's been broken. So I don't really see anything getting in my way if I wanted to burn the flesh off your snarky bones. I assume you haven't checked on Eugene, then? What? Eugene. Well, whatever his name was, Vanderbilt or some such.

You sent him to intimidate me a couple of years ago. You must remember. Of course, you know him. Used to live in Beckenham, but moved out to that flat in Ilford last year. Yeah. Well, he hasn't been at your little meetings the last two weeks, has he? I suppose no one's looked into it yet. Not surprising. He seemed a thoroughly unpleasant little man. Oh, he... Tell you what. Why don't you make a few calls?

Check it out. And then we can continue our little discussion. All right? Well? How do you do it? You don't need to know that. What you do need to know to you, or any of your lackeys if I need to. Not mine anymore. Oh, no, I forgot. Your authority isn't what it used to be these days. Yeah. Well, if a warning from you isn't going to convince them, let me know.

I'd be happy to provide a further example. You've made your point. Good. Eugene, it hurt him. Oh, yes. I'm sure your master was delighted with how awful his death was. Don't push it. You know, thinking about it,

the amount of pain and loss and legitimate devastation I've caused among your little cult over the last, what, 40 years? I think the desolation is probably very fond of me. That's blasphemy, that is. Is it? Or maybe you just picked a bad god. Shut it. I don't have to listen to this. Then feel free to try and leave. Now, here's the problem for you, Arthur.

The way I see it, you came here believing that whatever defences or assurances I might have had died with Agnes, or were broken along with the Circle. And whether or not you actually killed me, you were really hoping to use me to restore your standing with the Lightless Flame. Murder? Kidnap? Torture? Something to impress the church group. Unluckily for you, I've had almost four decades to prepare for this, and now... Well, you just don't know if killing Eugene was the end of it.

Or maybe I have something special prepared for you as well. You're so goddamn smart. And you're all lazy fools. So used to it being easy. To picking off the vulnerable and the unprepared. You can barely conceive of anyone actively working against you. Of being ready. You honestly thought when she died, I'd just be struck dumb with terror.

Just waiting for one of you to finally get around to revenge. Paralysed with fear. Because that's all you've ever known. You've made your point. I'm pleased to hear it. And do you? Do I what? That's something for me.

So I end up like Eugene. Why don't you try to leave and find out? Good. Now we can have a proper conversation. You mean you ask me questions now? Well, spill my guts. No need to be petulant, Arthur. If it would make you feel better, you could ask me a question first. All right. Agnes, how'd you do it? Never did understand it, not really. That's a fair enough question. It was the web. I didn't know it at the time, of course. I would call it an accident, but it never is with them.

It's only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations. I was very new to it all, of course. I mean, I was, what, can't have been older than twenty-five. Would you believe that you were the first proper ritual attempt I'd encountered? I really thought you were unique, special, an infernal cult raising their demon messiah to bring about hell on earth. You can imagine all the heroic fantasies that that played into. So I began researching what I thought was a counter-ritual of sorts. Like I said, I was young, naive. I somehow found just the right books, made just the right connections, and even got what I

thought was a piece of blind good luck when I found a tin box in the ashes of Hilltop Road containing some perfectly preserved cuttings of her hair. Of course, what I thought was a banishment ritual turned out not to be. The circle I'd constructed was more of an invitation. It let the mother of puppets bind me to Agnes, interweave our existences at some metaphysical level, as it had with Fielding and the house. It was the most painful experience of my life. I mean, I'm sure it's nothing to you, but I'd never had my lungs try to burn me alive from the inside out before. I survived, though, and you know the rest. I'm not sure exactly how it manifested on your end. You certainly seemed to get the message.

I kept the circle over the years, laced it through with signs and symbology of the desolation to ward off the worst of the side effects and keep its attentions elsewhere. Don't envy whoever broke it. Yes. It went very badly for them indeed. So where was it in the end? I spent years looking for it. Nowhere special. The middle of a forest in the Scottish

Highlands. Furthest place I could find from anything and anyone. Yeah, fair play. Not like we were ever going to find that. So, your turn. Go on. What was Agnes like? Well... Well, for all the web bound us together, I never actually met her.

What was she like? I... I don't know. Not really. You got as many answers to that as folks who met her. Never really knew what she felt about any of it. Not really. Not in her own words.

Guess that's the thing about being the chosen one. I mean, Agnes was always quiet. But even if you spend all day, every day, throwing out commandments and laying down parables, at the end of it, it's just the point of someone else's story. Everyone clamouring to say what you were, what you meant, and your thoughts on it. All don't mean nothing. And were you this introspective when she was alive?

Well, that's the thing about a fall from grace, isn't it? Makes you look at things from a new angle. I miss her. I'll tell you that for nothing. Wish I'd... I don't know. Actually, no, no, when she was alive.

Maybe that coffee shop twit did have a point after all. Couldn't tell you what I saw, at least. Which was? I saw the sun. So much power and fire and rage inside of her. Enough to burn the world and leave it nothing but desert. But to look at her, oh, it was too much for most.

But it seemed so still, so stable. But it wasn't calm. It was just distant. She never told us how she felt about being bound to you. Never even called you by name. Just called you her anchor. The thing weighing her down and tying her to this world, stopping her destiny. I'm surprised you didn't come for me immediately.

Come for you? We ended up protecting you more often than not. Diego was convinced if you died a violent death it would be catastrophic for Agnes. He even talked me around. And I spent decades convincing the others to wait it out. You couldn't outrun age forever. And we had time. But it didn't need to be forever, did it?

Just long enough for a Messiah to doubt. The sort of doubts that spread to her disciples. You've never really had to bother with it, have you? You got him upstairs to point the way as often as not, and the rest of the time you're just figuring out people. Or things that used to be people. You never tried to talk with that eye of yours. You never had to second guess at God.

Because that's what it comes down to, isn't it? We feel its joy and its anger it warps us and changes us and feeds on us though not in the ways we expect the one thing it never does is just tell us what to do it seeds us with this aching, impossible desire

to change the world, to bring it to us. Then it leaves us to guess and bicker and fight over how the hell you can actually do it. If it's possible. Sometimes I think they understand us as little as we understand them. We don't think like they do. I'm not actually convinced they think at all. You might be right. But Agnes did.

That's the thing about incarnation, isn't it? She was a child and person as much as she was a god. And we messed that right up. I still remember when Diego bought us a book on childcare. Roger's body was still in her room, flackened and smoking from when he tried to feed her.

I thought for a moment he brought another one of his damn likeness, but no, it was just a regular old book on looking after children. I was an idiot. Saw it as attacking my leadership. Burnt the thing. Diego wasn't happy.

He's in charge now. Of all of us that are left, at least. He can look for the answers in whatever books he likes. No skin off my bones. I didn't actually ask. Figured if you're going to pull this stuff out of me, I might as well get some of it off my chest anyway. Not like I can vent to the others about what a prat Diego is.

Got a lot of funny ideas. Still calls the Lightless Flame a sag. Like he was when he was first researching it. i just want to tell him to get over it i mean the sag was traditionally a force of destruction sure but as a church we very much settled on burning in terms of the face we worship so some fish boiling sumerian demon doesn't really match up does it plus there's a lot of disease imagery with a sag that i reckon is way too close to filth for my tastes. But no, he read it in some ancient tome,

so that's that. Well, I can't say I... Reckons he always knows best, cos he's read a few books. Well, big deal. The way I see it, if a writer can't even save themselves, they probably don't have a lot worth knowing. Find me one so-called expert on all of this who didn't end up regretting all of it.

That's the trouble with overthinking any of this. You ignore your gut. And to my mind, that's the only part any of them beyond actually care about. They don't give a toss about your rules or systems. They only care about what feels right, what freezes your belly with terror. I rather like to think I've managed. Yeah.

But you don't actually care about them, do you? Not really. You forget, we've been watching you a long time. And I know you, Gertrude. You don't actually care about the fears you're too practical all your energy is focused down here on monsters and murderers and all the things doing the dirty work for them beyond you know plenty sure but you don't have that obsession, that stupid urge to try and understand and classify things that use logic and reality like weapons.

Hmm. Perhaps. Always respected you for that. Takes a strong stomach to not give a shit. You'll forgive me if I'm not overjoyed at the compliment. Suit yourself. So. Now Diego has taken over, where does that leave you? Slumlording over a nest. A nest of what? Found a mass of the crawling rot growing a while back. Managed to get hold of the property before it became

too big. Got to wait till it blossoms before we can properly burn it. So until then, just playing landlord. It's alright I guess. You'd be surprised the misery and pain you can cause when you have control over someone's home. If you're careful, if you're smart, you can burn their love to ashes as thoroughly as any fire. And worst comes to worst, you can burn their love to ashes as thoroughly as any fire. And worst comes to worst, you can still do it the old-fashioned way. Had an elderly tenant last year. She was in a terrible state.

I had her trapped. Too poor and immobile to do anything but sit there. Then I broke her boiler. So the cold started to get her. Not exactly my usual, but agony is agony. But then our son and his wife moved in with her to help her out. Not much I could do against that. So I just waited until all three were home and set the place ablaze.

They went up nicely, screaming all the way as the flames started to reach them. Doors were locked and handles too hot so they didn't have a hope of escape. Yes, that's quite enough, I think. Oh, I'm sorry. There I was thinking you liked the gory details. My mistake. I think we're just about done here. All your burning questions answered. I'm certainly convinced you don't know anything else useful. So, I'm free to go?

You're not gonna... You know. I suppose you'll have to wait and see. Suppose I will. You tell the others. Make sure they know what happened to Eugene. Sure. Can't make any promises, though. Especially for Jude. She really hates you. Tell her she's welcome to try. Oh, and tell them I'm extending my protection to young Mr. Barnabas.

and tell them I'm extending my protection to young Mr. Barnabas, they hurt him any more, then what happened to Eugene will seem like a mercy. You're really pushing it. You know that. Feel free to push back. But until then, get out of my archives. The more I listen and learn, the more it seems to me we're all just

groping about, trying desperately to find out what we're actually meant to be doing. These things that loom so large over our lives trap us and push us and sometimes kill us. But they never actually tell us what we're supposed to be doing. So we scheme and we plot, lash out at each

other without ever really knowing why. I think Gertrude knew this. Knew to focus her attention on those parts that could be understood and... well, and killed. But I'm really starting to worry that there aren't any answers. Not like I want there to be. There aren't any answers at Nihal Asund. There aren't any answers in the past. I've been inside the Buried, and there were no answers there. Elias always seemed to know what was going on, to have a plan, but I sometimes wonder just how orchestrated some of it really was.

We've been back in London for just over a week now. I'm more or less recovered physically. It's just this nagging sense of unease that won't leave me I was so sure I'd find something up there but instead it was just another broken person trying to come to terms with the wreckage of their life and here I reached out, I took another tape hoping for a bit of guidance

but to be honest, this hasn't helped. I did some more digging into Eugene van der Stock. I thought he was still alive and working at the steel plant, but it looks like he's just listed on one of the old directory pages on their website. I really miss having people who know their way around a computer better than I do. A Bit More Digging found a rather bizarre case. Apparently he disappeared in late 2009, leaving behind only one thing. A life-sized statue of himself, crafted from candle wax and sawdust, missing its head. I wish I didn't know how painful it must be to be alive while your whole being is infused with agonising grit.

But as I was investigating, it came to me. Eugene is still alive, frozen in place by the razor-sharp particles that are mixed up into what he chose instead of flesh. I don't know where Gertrude stored his head, but I do know it desperately wants to scream. Perhaps I can... Knock, knock? Oh, Georgie, what are... Oh, um, sorry, I thought, um, is Melanie about? Melanie? Uh, yeah, I saw her a couple of hours ago, in the other office, I can show you? Oh, I'm sure I can find it. Don't worry yourself. All right. Why are you, uh, well, here? If it's not too personal a question.

It is a bit. It's not really my place to discuss it. Therapy! You're taking her to therapy? She told you then? Yes. Well, you don't need to sound quite so psyched about it. She gets nervous travelling there alone.

Yes, of course. I forget you two know each other. So... How are you doing? I'm... I'm all right. I'm trying to rest up a bit. Take it easy.

Really? Because I'm pretty sure I heard you talking about a screaming headless corpse just now. Oh, were you listening? Oh, um, didn't mean to You know, these doors are not that thick Fine, I'm deep in it Had some close calls I'm sorry to hear that You should probably get some therapy too.

Would you go with me as well? No. Yeah. I thought as much. The other office, you say? Yeah. Thanks. Take care of yourself.

You too. End recording. This has been a production of the Rusty Quill, and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 International 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. from the Magnus Archives, letting you know about our sponsor, Audible. For fans of heart-racing, bone-chilling, and mind-bending stories, Audible has everything you need.

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