The Magnus Archives - MAG 182 - Wellbeing

Episode Date: October 8, 2020

Case ########-22Notes on healing.Recorded by the Archivist in Situ.Content warnings:HospitalsSurgery (inc SFX)Extreme medical malpracticeInvoluntary commitment & treatmentBody horrorTortureCharacter deathSuicide (inc assisted) / Suicidal ideationMentions of: Mental deterioration, chronic pain, needles, stillbirth imagery, strokes, rotSFX: screaming, high-pitched sounds, blades, drillingThanks to this week's Patrons: theflyingpiano, Ana, Christian Nabli, thisistrashking, Catherine N., Shane Crowley, Robert Johnson, catsandbolts, Sarah Kitchen, schneefink, Spookyghostboy, Lyssie, Indigo Lee, Kait Sanchez, TheCookieOfDoom, Dana Milligan, David Michalek, XBFNoodles, .vouivre, Caisey Robertson, Kris Tsvirkun, Amelia Ford, Mistodon, Mia Cong, Alice Erebus, Nine, Alice Kneipp, HoloXam, Aaron Mitchell, Christina Connolly, Emily Brooks-Martin, Caroline Schmitt, Rebecca Bonomi, Falcolmreynolds, Kirsty Proctor, Parker, salem helgadóttir, Rebecca Burrows, A.C., Amber, Eternitarian, Buffmothman, Stuart Platt, Michael Goulish, Lauren Fisher, A Grue, Daine, ilikecetaceans, scp2521 If you'd like to join them visit www.patreon.com/rustyquillEdited this week by Annie Fitch, Elizabeth Moffatt, Brock Winstead & Alexander J NewallWritten by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J NewallProduced by Lowri Ann DaviesPerformances:- "Martin Blackwood" - Alexander J. Newall- "The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims  - "Dr Jane Doe" - Ms Mabel Syrup- "Breekon" - Martin CorcoranSound effects this week by patchytherat, tedlundwall, SpliceSound, Anthousai, tim.kahn, conleec, sethlind, smithw027, hyderpotter, zolopher, giddster, ivolipa, afterguard, kyles, OroborosNZ, kylepyke, alec_mackay, alienistcog, Svanne78, Cell31_Sound_Productions, dheming, Archeos, Volonda, bulbastre, klankbeeld, megmcduffee, pimstoltz, RavenWolfProds, ProductionNow, 1histori, sethlind, taure, Soundmark_Melbourne, samfk360, bcginn, ReiyaManor, The_Funktasm, daboy291, sturmankin, neohylanmay, Brotherprovisional, LittleRobotSoundFactory, 7h3_lark, dav0r, bbrocer, MTJohnson, DanielVega, leonelmail, ultradust, spanrucker, misjoc, Perel, ProductionNow, cabled_mess, morgothFLOW, altfuture, duckduckpony, Hitrison, EricsSoundschmiede, JanKoehl, Zigzag20705, Eelke, LamaMakesMusic, Snapper4298, jpkweli, chimerical, mikerie, smithw027, nofeedbak, tmkappelt, david_sounds, daboy291, bewagne, sturmankin, Iceofdoom, dheming, ThunderQuads, Ama_Dis, RutgerMuller, courter, LPA134, BeeProductive, Vidrik, BenjaminNelan, Daniela-Santos, univ_lyon3 & previously credited artists via freesound.orgAdditional sound effects from https://www.zapsplat.comThanks to this episode's sponsor: Maeltopia.Find Maeltopia: A New World of Horror Fiction on your favourite podcast platform or visit maeltopia.com for more information.Check out our merchandise at https://www.redbubble.com/people/rustyquill/collections/708982-the-magnus-archives-s1You can subscribe to this podcast using your podcast software of choice, or by visiting

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Know your risks. Visit heartandstroke.ca Hello everyone, Lydia here. I play Melanie in the Magnus Archives and Sel in Rusty Quill Gaming. Letting you know that today's episode is sponsored by Maltopia, a new world of horror fiction. Maltopia is a diverse collection of original horror and dark fiction featuring interconnected standalone stories, limited series, and long-form serials, all set within the ever-expanding literary world of Maltopia. The series explores our modern-day world in the aftermath of the Great Darkness of 1999, a year-long global amnesia that not all survived. Maltopia is a small team of three writers who have spent years creating a richly textured world

with a deep mythology. Find Maltopia, a new world of horror fiction, on Acast or your favourite podcast platform, and visit Maltopia.com. That's M-A-E-L-T-O-P-I-A.com to learn more. Rusty Quill Presents The Magnus Archives Episode 182 Wellbeing Seriously? Yep. Not an hour from an oasis and we're already at Sinistar Hospitals. It's the next stop on our journey.

Of course it is, and of course there's no chance for a warm-up. A warm-up? Yeah, you know, something a bit more manageable. A chance to get our bearings a bit first. What exactly did you have in mind? I don't know. You know, like a creepy bus stop or something. I'm afraid not. Truth be told, I'm actually feeling pretty great. Which isn't necessarily a good thing, I suppose. Yeah, I know. We stayed in Salasis as long as you could.

A bit longer, actually. I was not really holding it together by the end. Why don't you say something? It's fine. I'm fine. Yeah, now. I just thought, with Daisy and Basira, you needed a break. Some time to process. We both did. But apparently I'm the only one who got to. It's okay. I deal with things differently these days.

I just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay. Was I wrong to hold off? No. No, you weren't. Just getting the chance to sleep again was... Oh, well. No, you weren't. Just getting the chance to sleep again was... Oh well. Good while it lasted. Come on then.

Nightmare hospital it is. Would it help if I told you we were actually starting to get a bit closer to London? Well, what was London? Actually, yes. That does help a bit. How many more? Depends on... a few, at least. Right. Right, let's get on with it then.

Okay. Could be worse. Good. Ah! Hmm, worse. It got worse, worse. Martin, be polite. Hello? Pleasure, yes. Hello. I am Dr. Doe. Jane. Welcome into my hospital, yes. Hello. I am Dr. Doe. Jane. Welcome into my hospital, Inspector. Inspector?

You have come here to over-observe, yes? To Inspector. I... I suppose so, yes. Then follow. Let us tour our well-being centre. Keep your screams inside, if you want to be polite. Right. It's a beautiful building. Do not insult me. Okay. What's it called?

Called? The hospital. Ah, St. Bleeding Centre for Wellbeing. Right. Martin, keep your eyes forward. I'm the doctor. Seriously? She's all kinds of horrible. The better that walks in the rooms. Trust me. Right. Better than what's in the rooms.

Trust me. Right. You must look in here to see one of our 400 operating theatres, where we ensure any well-being is swiftly and awfully dispatched. Right, right. Sometimes it's an anatomical wellness. Sometimes the well-being they possess is mental. In both cases, we have grinding machines and anti-drain doctors on nails to deal with it.

Nobody who comes into the hospital leaves right. Or at all. Oh. Good. Good Lord. It is a thing to look at, isn't it? How much do they suffer, Inspector? What? I help to cure them of their well-being, but I cannot know if my work is appreciated.

I can only guess if you know. Does it work? Do they hurt? Yes. Yes, they hurt. This pleases me. Is there anything here that isn't surgeries? There are all sorts of machines, plenty of medicine. Any wards? Beds maybe? Sometimes rooms. Sometimes we throw them in a pit. A pit, right, yeah. We have a canteen. Don't ask about the canteen. What am I going to ask about the canteen?

Um, Dr Do, thank you so much for the tour. There is more. Oh. Good. John. John, over there. Is that... He is a janitor. You are allowed to ignore him. Right. John.

John. Doctor, is there an empty room he can use, please? What is he doing? He needs to talk about all the horrible things this place does. Oh, wonderful. This way. Patient, Jeremy W. Date and place of birth, 4th August 1977, North Manchester General Hospital Date and place of last contentment, 8th July 2013, sunrise, on Arthur's Seat hilltop, Edinburgh

Complaint, generalised pain and creeping ennui Surgical procedures thus far, 802. Prognosis, delightful. They always wore masks when they stood over his bed, those thin blue, or were they green, surgical masks, but they somehow covered the entire faces of the doctors and the nurses and the orderlies that swarmed in and around him. Jeremy didn't know how they could see with their eyes covered, but it was a long time since he had realistically thought there might be anything human behind the medical garb. They wore loose baggy scrubs, head coverings that gave no sign of hair, and thick, waterproof aprons.

Whenever they were about to touch him, they would snap on another vinyl glove over the layers and layers of similar gloves that would have long since cut off all the blood to their hands, if they had any. There was no way to tell the time here. The window in his room grew bright and dark, but the light was wrong for the sun. At some point he'd broken the glass in a desperate attempt to escape, but was confronted by a fluorescent light installed in front of a brick wall. He had tried to count how long it was on for and how long it was off, but it seemed almost random, and the pain grew worse when he tried

to keep track of time. At some point, in each lighted time, they would come, unlocking the rusty iron door of his hospital room and surrounding his bed three deep. Some were tall and narrow, others wide or crooked. None of them were quite the right proportions to be convincingly human. They mumbled among themselves, meaninglessly saying words like intubation, radiology, or stat. Occasionally one of them would touch him. The strange texture of their bodies was clear even through all the layers in which they hid. Eventually one of them, and it was always a different one, would push to the front.

I am the doctor, it would say. Are you well? This was it, the moment of truth, the point at which all Jeremy's anxiety came to a head. They all leaned in, hidden faces focused on him as though drinking in his desperation. He had to make an answer, a simple yes or no. He'd learned the hard way that nuanced answers or stoic silence only made it worse. So he picked one, a roll of the dice. In many ways it didn't matter which he chose, as there was no way to determine if the doctor of the day considered his wellness an aim to be achieved, or a condition that required curing. Yes, he might say, I am well. And if he he had chosen right the mask would widen as though the face

behind it extended in a smile wonderful would come the response keep it up and the crowd would file out and lock the door behind them leaving jeremy to wait for his next assessment. But he rarely seemed to choose right. The rest of the time a shudder of anticipation would pass through the medical things around him. Well, let's see what we can do about treating that, the doctor would say. And they would descend upon him and drag him away for treatment. Patient, René T. Date and place of birth, 27th November, 1990. Royal Hallamshire Hospital. Date and place of birth, 27th November 1990 Royal Hallamshire Hospital Date and place of last contentment

27th November 2015 Birthday party prior to father's stroke Complaint Facial paralysis Surgical procedures thus far, 560 Prognosis Exciting Surgical procedures thus far, 560. Prognosis, exciting. She always thought she hated the diagnosis the most.

Those long, excruciating minutes of probing and poking, of temperature-taking and needles drawing blood and mucus and tears and black bile and yellow bile all to be tested and tasted and twisted. A dozen staff flapping around her like carrion birds, stealing a little bit more of her each time for their own clumsy guesses and painful assumptions. All the while the dread was building, focusing to a hot, tight little ball that settled just below her stomach and shot it through with agonising reminders of her fear. Her face, of course, remained impassive, unable to show her mounting dread. Finally, one of say, or liver, or bones. And once, only once, soul.

Then the treatment would begin. Surgery was the most common treatment, and one for which the doctors often reached. Renée would be strapped down tighter to her chair and wheeled into the lift that smelled like ammonia and rot. It would descend far, far down into the belly of the hospital, before she was wheeled down the longest corridor in the building, barely wide enough to fit her trolley. The soon-to-be surgeon walked in front, whistling a tune that never resolved itself into a melody. Finally, she would be placed in the centre of the theatre, bright lights rendering the rows upon rows

of silently watching doctors nothing but silhouettes. Sometimes there was enough anaesthetic to lock her limbs in place, other times they simply let her thrash. It dulled the pain, but the pain was never the problem. Regardless, they always strapped the anaesthetic mask tight to her face before they began to cut. The procedure varies depending on the diagnosis an organ diagnosis was simple open her up, dig around inside her until they could remove something that could conceivably be a liver or a pancreas or a gallbladder

then put something back in its place sometimes what they put in was hard and sharp digging into her when she tried to move. Sometimes it was soft and putrid, and she could feel it rotting away within. Occasionally, it was alive, and she could feel it clawing to get out. When the diagnosis had been skinned, they had peeled her piece by piece, before they painted the inside of it with something dark and sticky, then sewed it back on. All through she could do nothing but watch as they cut and swapped and conjectured her

body, unable to speak, to move, to do anything but watch these anonymous things play with everything she was. But worse, perhaps, were the medicines. If they prescribed her medicine, she tried her best not to take it, but the pills would crawl down her throat when she wasn't paying attention, and the solutions would pour themselves in her ear when she lay down to rest. They might have done nothing, been gnawed with dust and sugar, but she could never be sure. The sickness, the seizures, the spasms, the sadness. If it wasn't the medicine, then it was inside her. And it had always been inside her.

And she just didn't know. Patient, Kelly M. Date and place of birth, 1st April 1982, Bournemouth Hospital. Date and place of last contentment, not recalled. Complaint, headaches. Surgical procedures thus far, 220. Prognosis, unwise. In her locked and darkened room she waited for the doctors to come. She looked for the small strip of fluorescence that spilled beneath the

door but nothing disturbed it. When would they come? When would they give her her next treatment? The last doctor had told her it was her heart. They had rushed her down to the theatre and tore open her chest with something that looked like a pastry crimper and reached inside. Her bile rose at the memory of those strange, boneless fingers brushing against her lungs. Then they had gripped something and pulled it out of her slowly and almost tenderly. and pulled it out of her slowly and almost tenderly. Kelly remembered it had at first looked like a child, a baby, but it had her face and stole away her smile.

She didn't see what they did with it, but in its place they put a cold and glassy thing, a frozen tube that beats and pumps out ice water that makes her shiver all through the deepest parts of herself. It still pumps now, as Kelly sits shivering in the corner of her room. How long has it been? There is no way to tell, not here. But they will come back. They must come back, they always do. They must swap out this cold and hollow emptiness for some fresh pain and torture. She longs to feel the pain, as it is at least a feeling. But the fear has grown inside her now. What if the doctors have finished?

What if she is treated and this is all there is now? What if she is well? Kelly looks to the door and waits. Excuse me, Doctor. Just cleaning up. Oh, I'm not a doctor. Whatever. I've got work to do.

Hang on. Hang on, are you... Wait, which one are you? Hope or... Breakin'. Hope's dead. Do I know you? Hm. Hope's dead? Bit on the nose, isn't it? Glad losing half my existence has given you a funny little metaphor. Oh, well, I mean, that's not actually a metaphor per se, so... Piss off.

Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to be sympathising? After everything you two did to people? Guess not. Who are you waiting for? Maybe I can rip them away from you. See how you like it. You're welcome to try. Wait.

No, I do know you. We gave you a delivery, didn't we? Years back. You're one of Magnus's lot, right? I was, yes. Wait. So does that mean in there? The Archivist? That's right.

Okay. I'll wait with you. I thought you had work to do. Just spreading the smell around. Doesn't matter. None of it matters. Right. Hello again, Breakin'.

Yeah. He hasn't been bothering you, has he, Martin? Hello again, Breakin'. Yeah. He hasn't been bothering you, has he, Martin? Well... Nah. Just been chatting. Naturally. So you've come to me.

Didn't mean to. No, but you have. Because there's something you want? Isn't there? Yeah. Say it. Kill me. Wait, what? The way I figure, you're the one who made all this.

So if anyone can end it, you can. Can you do it? Yes. I can. But, like, why would you want him to? Isn't this whole thing like a dream come true for all of you monsters? You think I dream of mopping floors? No. We're... I'm a delivery man. We arrive somewhere, deliver terror and death, then leave, never to be seen again.

Not much call for that now everyone's in their little kingdoms. Maybe if we were complete, we could have done something. But as is, no. Can't say I want this to be my forever. I see. Besides, it hurts all the time. The eye won't ever stop watching and it isn't great for an anonymous thing like us. Like me. Very well. I warn you, though.

It will hurt. Only until it doesn't, though. Right? Right. Good luck. Whatever. Whatever. Ceaseless watcher, gaze upon this thing. This lost and broken splinter of fear.

Take what is left of it as your own, and leave no trace of it behind. It is yours. Right. I suppose we should find Dr. Doe. Finish our tour. Do we have to? Probably not. I don't really know how to feel about that. About Breakin'?

Yeah. Me neither. I didn't enjoy it, but... I don't know. Almost felt like doing a favour for an old friend. An old friend who hated us? I guess. Maybe we don't have to feel any way at all?

Come on. This place is starting to get to me. To be continued... written by Jonathan Sims, produced by Laurie-Ann Davis, and directed by Alexander J. Newell. It featured Jonathan Sims as The Archivist, Alexander J. Newell as Martin Blackwood, Ms. Mabel Syrup as Dr. Jane Doe, and Martin Corcoran as Breakin. To subscribe, buy merchandise, or join our Patreon, visit RustyQuill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us at TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook, or email us via mail at RustyQuill.com Rate and review us online Tweet us at TheRustyQuill Visit us on Facebook or email us via mail at RustyQuill.com Join our community on the Discord via the website

or on Reddit at r slash The Magnus Archives Thanks for listening Hi everyone Thanks for listening. Shane Crowley, Robert Johnson, Katzenbolz, Sarah Kitchen, Schneefink, Spooky Ghost Boy, Lissy, Indigo Lee, Kate Sanchez, The Cookie of Doom, Dana Milligan, David Michalek, XBF Noodles, Voivre, Casey Robertson, Chris Zvirkin, Amelia Ford, Mr Don, Mia Kong, Thank you all. We really appreciate your support. If you'd like to join them, go to www.patreon.com forward slash Rusty Quill and take a look at our rewards. Hello, it's Kareem, the voice of Simon Fairchild from the Magnus

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