The Magnus Archives - MAG 193 - A Stern Look

Episode Date: February 4, 2021

Case ########-33An examination of Elias Bouchard.Recorded by The Archivist in Situ.Content warnings:Paranoia & anxietyEmotional manipulation & gaslightingCompulsions (supernatural)Spiders & arachnophobiaBody horror & eye traumaDrug use (marijuana)StalkingMentions of: death, apocalypse & mass suffering, instances of memory loss & identity crisis, blood, physical violence, human remains, classism, deceased parent, scopophobia, parental disapprovalSFX: discordant static & chanting, flies, retchingTranscript:PDF - https://cutt.ly/6kkt8AODOC - https://cutt.ly/NkktZbBThanks to this week's Patrons: Mahum Farhan, Snerful, Jordan J, Wil Holmes-Roys, Cashi, 4ReasonsUnknown, Mila, MuddyHippy, Ori rokah, Allison M, Diana Raphael Cameron, haunted moon, Orionne, Tim, Grace Lang, Avi Critz, Pipe Zellin, Will 'Wouldn't It Be Nice' Casey, Kai, Beppa, Mat Stogner, Aallst ., InsideAcesHead, Alexander Jiggles Newall, Mo Dooley, Juliette, Pasticche Candioli, Creagh Dorman, Victoria Taylor, Badgerhat, Jwatta, lewis mac, Lydia Obenshain, Red McKinnley, Lindsey Bradford, justsimplegabby, Victorystorms, urbanforaging, Morgan Gillaspie, Shelbie, Ashlee Duarte, Diana Lopera, Chris Sanders, Jess, HipHarp101, Jay Schriber, Dismas Novoa, Caldkay, Seb.If you'd like to join them visit www.patreon.com/rustyquillEdited this week by Nico Vettese, Elizabeth Moffatt, Brock Winstead, Jeffrey Nils Gardner & Alexander J NewallWritten by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J NewallProduced by Lowri Ann DaviesPerformances:- "The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims- "Martin Blackwood" - Alexander J. Newall- "Elias Bouchard" - Ben MeredithSound effects this week by Adam Wayne Gistarb, altfuture, amholma, Angel_Perez_Grandi, animatik, athenspublic, CUeckermann, daboy291, daveincamas, FractalStudios, georgisound, Joao_Janz, kemcdonald11, MAJ061785, Mortifreshman, OwlStorm, rkeato, sacredmatt, SpliceSound, sturmankin, VithorMoraes, cabuster9, dheming & previously credited artists via freesound.orgAdditional sound effects from https://www.zapsplat.com & https://www.SoundsCrate.comMusicFuneral March by Chopin, from the Youtube Audio Library https://studio.youtube.com/Check out our merchandise available at https://www.redbubble.com/people/RustyQuill/shop and https://www.teepublic.com/stores/rusty-quill.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:

This is the first radio ad you can smell. The new Cinnabon Pull-Apart, only at Wendy's. It's ooey, gooey, and just five bucks for the small coffee all day long. Taxes extra at participating Wendy's until May 5th. Terms and conditions apply. Rusty Quill Presents The Magnus Archives Episode 193 A Stern Look What do you mean he's won? I mean he's done it.

He's ascended, become a part of the eye. He's beyond us. Just shut up! Christ! He can't hear you. So what? He's not aware of us? Of any of this?

No. Or if he is, it's only as a minuscule speck amongst a flood of knowledge and fear that's passing through him. He has become the conduit between this new world and the thing that watches it. It's all running through him. Sounds awful. To someone so close to it, I imagine it will be a state of agonized bliss. I can feel it.

The completeness of it all passing out from him. I can see everything from here, and that's just a hint of what he must be feeling. He watches a man run, screaming, down endless dark alleys that close and

crush. Stay with me. Sorry. It's a lot. dark alleys of clothes and crush. John! Rest in peace. Stay with me. Sorry. It's a lot. I can see that, but you need to keep it together. Sorry, I think I can handle it. Right, so what's the play?

I'm not sure. Well, we came here to confront Elias. Jonah, whatever. So, how do we do that? He's too far gone. He's barely even aware we exist. And I'm guessing you can't just destroy him like the others? God knows what would happen if I called upon the eye to try and destroy a vital piece of itself.

In the best case scenario, nothing happens. And worst case? No idea. An enormous explosion that destroys the world? We get torn apart but still suffering? Or cast off to the edges of the fearscape, maybe? I don't know. Okay, so not that then, but what about something, like, physical? What? Look, I know it's all about dream logic and metaphor and all that stuff, but, you know, what if we just grabbed him and, you know, pulled him down? Or just threw something heavy at him? Uh, I don't know.

Or what about, um, that's Elias' body, right? I mean, yeah, they're obviously Magnus' eyes, but that's still a Bouchard body up there, so maybe Magnus' original body's just still lying around here somewhere. That was a weakness before the transformation, so maybe we could still use that.

It's gone. Ashes swept away by the winds of ecstatic terror. What you see up there is all that remains. Right. Right, right, right. Is the original Elias still in there somewhere? He's... Maybe we could get through to him somehow. No, he didn't that...

Again? You just did one for Ru... Ru... Oh, no. Oh, no. He recognises those eyes. He's seen them all his life. Watching him.

Judging him. Cutting through him so no part of him was secret or safe. They peel away the armour, his carefree smile and practised shrugs. They are the eyes of his father, and they stare at Elias over an old mahogany desk, sat in the face of a man who said his name was James Wright. His interviewer smiles with his mouth, but the eyes are the same. So tell me, Elias, what are you afraid of? Elias Bouchard freezes in place. The question catches him completely off guard. Why would he ask him something like that? Elias is applying for a research job, what the hell does that matter? Why do you ask? He gets the words out through a throat that doesn't want to speak.

In the Institute we are keenly interested in the anatomy of fear. Much that is stored here is disquieting. It is important to know if anything here might... upset you. His mind races. He can't tell the truth, obviously. Elias can't look this man in the face and tell him that he is what scares him. That his eyes, the curiosity and judgment that pulses out of them, they terrify him in a way he can't put into words. He feels that

prickly panic building in the back of his skull, that worry that spills through. He knows. He knows I'm high. The thought leaps to Elias's mind for only a second before he remembers that he's not he hasn't lit up all day, of course not, he's got an interview but even so he can't shake the familiar paranoia he looks again at his would-be employer who seems like he's about to repeat the question the spiders, Elias says quickly

I'm afraid of spiders James Wright nods, the smile curling into one of satisfaction, though Elias is sure the man doesn't believe him. Those eyes break contact for a moment, flicking up to the corner of the office where, at the edge of a bookshelf that sags with age and weight, a small cobweb has started to form.

Very wise. A very sensible fear. It is. Yeah, it is. But is it true? For a moment, Elias really can't remember. Right here and now, the thought of a spider genuinely repulses him. The image of a scuttling, filthy creature, eight eyes glinting out in the darkness, crawls into his mind and he shudders, looking away for a second. But the uninvited thought keeps going. He imagines the spider moving up his leg, his body.

He imagines feeling its bristling hairs against the skin of his shoulder, his throat, his cheek, His body. He imagines feeling its bristling hairs against the skin of his shoulder. His throat. His cheek. Its spindly, probing legs finding their way up his face. Elias can't stop himself picturing that spider sat there, venom dripping from fangs that hang poised over his eye. He can't shut his eye. A cough from over the desk breaks his train of thought. His interviewer is staring at him, and all at once he's back

with himself, burning with embarrassment. Those eyes stare, impassive and stern as ever, but is that a twinkle of satisfaction? As though he has been given an answer he likes. The next question comes slowly, and Elias tries to squash down the fear growing in his chest. So tell me, have you ever had an experience that you would consider supernatural? And immediately Elias is in that room again, fumbling for the light switch, smelling the coppery scent of old blood mixed with the crusty odour of a room that has been hotboxed a little bit too often.

The memory is as fresh and vivid as the day it happened. He knows that Alan is dead, but he needs the light to be sure, to see it for himself. He finds it, and the switch feels slippery beneath his fingers. When the light comes on, Elias has no idea how much of the crimson that bathes the scene is from the blood on the walls, how much from the blood that tints the lightbulb, and how much is simply the shading of his memory. But he remembers so clearly what he was thinking as he looked at what was left of Alan Schreber. Where are his eyes? What did they do with his eyes? No, Elias tries to say, though his mouth is dry and his head is swimming.

"'No, I don't, er, I don't think...' James Wright says nothing as another memory bubbles up from inside Elias, like the last scream of a drowning diver. Alan is in the library, irritated at the interruption, but happy to see a friendly face. The whites of his eyes are riddled with the scarlet veins of sleeplessness, but his hand trembles with a feverish energy as he tries to explain the significance of the book he's found. Even sober, Elias couldn't have followed what his friend was saying,

lost in layers of theological scholarship, but he smiles anyway to see the reserved young Alan so passionate about his subject. He looks at the book itself. It's old, crumbling, with none of the usual college library markings. He asks Alan where he got it, and his friend doesn't answer, instead glancing around with a sudden self-conscious suspicion. Elias shuffles round to get a closer look at the pages, then stops in confusion as he realises they are all blank. Alan only laughs when he says so. Was the laughter really that cruel?

Or is it just the warping of memory, the past he tries to forget, mixed with the nightmares that came after, the faces he dreamed of seeing in those pages. Well, uh, Elias is shaking all over. That is to say, another one. Alan is curled up behind the sofa in the living room they share. Elias stares at his weeping friend, bleary-eyed, trying to follow his housemate's strange monologue. Half confession, half conspiracy theory, half

urban legend. It saw me, Alan keeps saying, over and over again. It saw me through the pages, and it's coming. He sees it, he says, in every mirror, every distant doorway, a silhouette on every skyline, coming closer each and every time, finding its way towards him step by step. It has no eyes, Alan sobs, so it has to feel its way towards me. But it knows. It knows. Elias has no way to comfort him. He can't even understand what he's talking about. And so on that, the last night of Alan Schreber's life, he just gets him high and leaves him to sleep it off. and leaves him to sleep it off. I don't know, Elias says at last.

You can never really be sure, can you? Beyond that stretch of polished mahogany, so well waxed that Elias' pale, sweating face is clearly visible, James Wright's smile remains unchanged. Indeed. Now tell me, why do you want this job? Elias tries not to visibly sigh with relief. This, at least, is a question to which he has prepared an answer. He clears his throat slightly, shaking off the lingering image of Alan's body. Oh, well, he begins, I've always had the greatest respect for the work put out by this institute on mythological traditions,

especially some of the recent papers on Indo-European traditions, which was very useful for my dissertation on... He stops. Those eyes. They know. They can see right through all his bullshit right to the core of him they know what he really thinks a position in a small, obscure little academic organisation the first step on a path to the position he actually deserves

this place could be anything as far as he's concerned medical research, a grant foundation. It doesn't really matter. So why choose the Magnus Institute? Barely known outside its own little sphere of influence. Hardly respected among the wider academic community. His father's words came to him again, as they always had. Through childhood, boarding school, university.

You're a smart boy, Elias, but you're lazy. You have every advantage that I in this world could possibly provide, and yet you insist on squandering them. Don't think I don't see you looking at those other children with envy, as though their meaningless little lives could contain anything of substance, anything for a Bouchard to aspire to. You are better than them, and they know it, and it is your job to prove worthy of that distinction. Elias's stomach tightened at the memory, the fierce judgment in his father's eyes. Even laid out in a casket, it was as if he had looked at Elias with disdain. What should he say? That he had no idea why he wanted this job?

That he was all alone in the world, no friends, no family, nothing but the deep certainty that he deserved better? That he was destined to be important? That it was in his blood? Where had he heard about this job opening? Had it been in a newspaper? He knew no one who worked here, but received a letter anyway inviting him to interview. Now that he thought

about it, he hadn't even sent out a CV. Yet somehow he found himself sat across from this man whose smile hadn't moved the whole time, and whose eyes seemed to know why he was here far better than he did. I, uh, Elias's voice wavered, paused. I've always had the greatest respect for the work put out by this Institute on mythological traditions, especially some of the recent papers on Indo-European traditions which was very- Enough.

Tell me. Why are you here? I... I don't know. Were you drawn here? Yes. I was. Against your will? No. Then why did you heed the call?

Because this is the place I know I should be. Good. The job is yours. Elias has the briefest of flashes. A sudden burst of terror. An image of himself strapped down, helpless. The vanishing of well-known faces and the harsh sneers that replace them as they stare at him. He cannot move.

He cannot scream. What is happening? What is it that he feels deep down in his skull? What are they doing to his eyes? This presence, old and rotten in his mind. He can do nothing but watch. The moment passes and Elias returns to himself. He tries to smile and thanks his new employer for the opportunity.

Are you alright? That was... intense. Yeah, um, I just... Was that the real Elias? Is he still in there, then? No. No, it was... an echo. The last spasm of a corpse. It's far too late for either of them. Damn. There was never anything we could have done But I saw What? You were right

About what? His body is vulnerable, at least to me What's the catch? I could kill his body Sever the link Break the ice power And Jonah Magnus would die. Okay, that sounds good, but... But that wouldn't actually harm the eye itself.

And with him gone, it would choose a suitable replacement. Oh. If we kill Jonah Magnus, I take his place. Choose a suitable replacement. Oh. If we kill Jonah Magnus, I take his place. Oh, God. And I think... That's exactly what it wants. To be continued... produced by Laurie-Anne Davis and directed by Alexander J. Newell. It featured Jonathan Sims as The Archivist,

Alexander J. Newell as Martin Blackwood, and Ben Meredith as Jonah Magnus. 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. Thanks for listening. Muddy Hippie Ori Rocha Alison M Diana Raphael Cameron Haunted Moon Orion Tim Grace Lang Avi Kritz

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