The Magnus Archives - MAG 195 - Adrift

Episode Date: February 18, 2021

Case ########-35An approach to hidden depths.Recorded by The Archivist in Situ.Content warnings:Second person POVThalassophobia & drowningSuicidal ideationMental disorientation (inc vertigo)Futility / InconsequenceMentions of: loss of time, scopophobia, cults, death, isolation, police, spiders, injury, nausea, mass sufferingSFX: extensive water sounds, coughing, cryingTranscripts:PDF - https://cutt.ly/ik5vWayDOC - https://cutt.ly/Ek5vUyIThanks to this week's Patrons: Michael Sebba, Ally Miller, Ben Milne, Quill, Mari Long, Angela Walters, Anna Piskadlo, Carolyn Thraves, Clara, Felix Kaisar, Jennifer Haskell, Skoegul, sophieZbx, AlexandraThePosh, Ali Melody McGowan, Andrew Huffman, Anna Smidebush, beck, Brenna Haney, Carly Baxter, Dez, hannah d, Margaret Rigotti, Marijayne, Polina Cedric, 0, Alexzandreta Ravenor, Fantasy Costco, Kiera Brook, Miranda Stevens, Petra, roxy hale, Stella Paradise, Ashley, Ashten Lucael Ezra Rose, Ben Mabee, Emma Moesen, hana, Hannah McCarthy, Harry Barnard, lady of the labyrinth, Magie Fotovatian-Calderon, Michael Shelley boi, Morgan#1997, Six Rudolph, Aerasani, Amanda-Marie Goode, Armored Victory, Caeruleum.Edited 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 DaviesSensitivity consultation by Alexander Linde NielsenPerformances:- "The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims- "Basira Hussain" - Frank VossSound effects this week by Abolla, BeeProductive, bhanco3, bulbastre, CGEffex, DaNi7337, dawidwmika, Eelke, Fission9, InspectorJ, jakobthiesen, jamesrodavidson, julius_galla, kbnevel, Kinoton, kyles, leonelmail, lwdickens, markb, ohnobones, scratchikken, shatterstars, Tim_Verberne, yeopot, YleArkisto, gastonsaenz, DaNi7337, zoneblanche & previously credited artists via freesound.orgCheck out our merchandise available at https://www.redbubble.com/people/RustyQuill/shop & 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: 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 Licence Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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Episode 195 Adrift. THE END Come on. How much further can it be? One time I'm on my own and it's this domain where... Really? Now? Fine. Now. Down in the depths, there is a cold beyond cold. An icy liquid chill that surrounds you, embraces you, pierces every inch of your naked goose-flesh skin with its needling touch

and gets inside your bones. The marrow frozen into nothing but agony. The shivers that wrack your body are so intense that when you stretch your arms or kick your legs to swim, their movements are wild, uncontrolled, pushing you through the water in shuddering bursts. Water? Yes, you remember. The darkness around you. The forever of it all.

Sometimes you forget just what it is that keeps you gripped so tight, suspended in place above nothing. But the thought comes to you quick enough when your lungs begin to burn. When did you last breathe? How much longer can you hold out? You consider for a moment opening yourself, simply letting it in, drowning. What are you so afraid of? But you know there is no release in it.

You have been drowning as long as you can remember, and to invite the impossible cold into yourself, through your lungs and into your core, will bring no end to it, no relief. So you hold on. You hold out as long as you can, ignoring the agony, straining against the pressing darkness that has consumed you, and that implores you to consume it in return. you, and that implores you to consume it in return. There is air above you, you know that. Far, far above is the surface, the inky stillness of that silent barrier between water and sky, motionless as black glass, an obsidian expanse that stretches away. You could break that stillness, shatter its peace as you emerge, clawing, spluttering into the air.

But the idea repels you. Your heart seizes at the thought and your blood shoots through with a cold that has nothing to do with the water. that has nothing to do with the water? Why does your mind recoil and beg you to stay down, to hold fast in the darkness, to simply keep drowning? Just swim. That's the key. Pick a direction and swim until you find something. Someone. Land, perhaps. Or just another who is suffering as you are.

Were you doing that already? Which way have you been going? The shivers that pass convulsively through your body make it so hard to tell for sure, and no light will condescend to reach down here. But still you press on, try to keep moving through the pain, through the fear that attempts to paralyse you, to lock you in place as surely as the water that presses all around. How long have you been moving now? Seconds? Years? Your lungs still burn and beg you to succumb.

Something moves, something deep and old and larger than your frost-bitten imagination can conceive. You cannot see it, you cannot hear it, but you feel it. The water shifts and pushes against you, spinning you around and tearing apart your thin idea of up and down. It is coming closer, its smooth motion relentless as an iron bell tolling in the silence. It is close. Closer. It is here. You can feel its titanic bulk moving past, just below you, or perhaps above. It almost brushes against you and, despite the pressure of the water all around you, you cannot fight the frantic instinct to run. Your legs begin to move, flailing, and where your feet press against it you feel its skin rough and leathery, strangely almost dry despite the ocean through which it moves,

and sharp enough that you feel it tear through the soft flesh on the soles of your feet. There is no pain, simply a wave of sickened nausea that passes up through your legs and into your stomach. You keep moving, limbs splaying in that strange pseudo-run, moving along it and begging for this thing to end. Sometimes your feet do not land upon its skin, but press on something else. moving along it and begging for this thing to end. Sometimes your feet do not land upon its skin but press on something else something smooth and hard that feels like bone or tooth.

And then it is gone passed away from you and out into the expanse of dark and quiet cold. You cannot stay down here. The darkness hides terrible things and your whole chest screams for air. You take a moment and focus, concentrate on the feeling of the water around you, the gentle pull that promises to be down. And then you begin to swim, a desperate crawl up through the black towards the vague hope of a surface. You do not know how long you have been swimming, how far you have climbed. But when you thrust your hand forward you feel something change. It is a sudden release, a weightless freedom that seems so alien to you now. When you thrust your hand forward you feel something change.

It is a sudden release, a weightless freedom that seems so alien to you now. A new panic begins to overtake you but it is too late as your whole body rips through the unbroken surface of the sea and into open air. You feel dark water explode from your throat in something that is half screaming,, half-disgorging, foul and icy liquid. And you take a breath. The air burns. Perhaps a new feeling,

or perhaps one long forgotten. And you open your eyes. There is nothing. You look around you, neck twisting violently, trying to take it all in. But the ocean that stretches away is smooth against the reddened sky, unchanging. changing. There is nothing else. No boat to save you. No land to make your escape. Not even another lost soul who shares your torments. Deep down in the icy depths, you could imagine. You could hope. The darkness hides terrible things, but it could also hide salvation. You cannot know what is down there, but up here it is laid out in such terrible, stark detail that there is nothing. You only know you are crying because the water on your face is warm enough that it feels like fire upon your cheek.

And beyond that, up in the sky you feel it, looking down on you in something approaching delight, drinking in your despair and bitter dread, enjoying your misery and terror as you cast about for something that might be hope. It disgusts you with the waves of smug satisfaction that pervade your being as it stares at you. You cannot bear for it to see you like this. It makes you want to scream, but you know your screams are exactly what it wants. You choke it down and slip once again below the surface, into the concealing darkness of the freezing waters below, and you leave behind the nothing that waits above. Not quite nothing.

Not for me. There you are. John? Need a ride? Uh, sure. How did you find me? Oh, right. Obviously. Thanks. Oh. You're welcome.

What? Nothing. I just... I was worried you might be upset if I interrupted your whole solar reflection thing. It's fine. I mean, I would have at first, but honestly? There are a bunch more hells between me and London than I thought. I've been hoping for a friendly face for a while now. Glad I could oblige.

Not that I couldn't make it on my own. Of course. You're not... You're not here to just give me a lift, are you? I need your help. You need my help. I thought you were basically a god now. Annabelle Kane has Martin.

Shit. Yeah. When? How? I think she's taking him to Hilltop Road, and I don't know, I just... I needed someone I could trust, and I couldn't ask Georgie or Melanie to come all this way, so...

They're alive. Oh, uh, yes, I, um... They're alive. Oh, yes. I... Oh, it's fine. You can catch me up later. Let's focus on the Martin situation. Right. Can you, you know, see him? No. Annabelle has a...

She can block the eye. There's a camera. It's an artefact. It was protecting Salasis. Right. So, shortly after we left you, we found... Magic camera that keeps them hidden. Got it. Yeah. So, they're at Hilltop Road? Yes.

And you're sure? Even if you can't see them? Yes. And you know the way? Yes. So, what are we waiting for? Stop messing around. Let's go. I'm not messing ar- Right, of course. It's lucky for me you needed help.

I just got out of this weird mirror maze thing and then I was just... on an island. I was seriously considering swimming. That would not have been a good idea. I don't remember there being a huge lake between London and Oxford. It's because there wasn't one. Right. I'm a bit over the whole horror geography thing at this point.

That makes two of us. So, I'm guessing it represents academic isolation or something. Maybe something to do with the dangerous unknown skimming to the surface. That kind of thing? Maybe it just represents the feeling of sore arms. Been rowing a while, then. Hard to say. Certainly feels that way.

Yeah. You look like crap. Thanks. You're welcome. I'm trying to think of it as a metaphor. And that helps? Not at all. I'd be more than happy to let you take over, if you'd like.

No, I wouldn't want to cramp your style. At this point, that's just about the only part of me that isn't cramping. All right, give him here. Here you go. Okay, so what do we know about Hilltop Road? Not much. Another blind spot? No, it's... I could look at it, but it was... It was like a... A hole. You know that feeling you get when you look down from a great height, like you're being pulled into the abyss? Kind of.

And it was... It was like that. Normally, I can see it. I can't see the webs and feel the power of the spider emanating from it, but as I would look, it's like my mind follows the paths of the web, the strands going down and out. It's quite disorientating.

So what? It's like a... A web-fast team-up. Almost, but... No, it... It's different. Something else. Either way, the important thing is that

right now, I can't see it at all. So we know they're there, with the magic camera. Exactly. We're charging off into the unknown again. It's just like old times. Old times wasn't actually all that long ago. True. Feels it though, doesn't it? Well, hopefully this one will go a bit better. It would be hard for it to go worse. Yeah. So, how was the trip down? How are you doing?

Not great. I think I'm doing better having done it. Yeah? I always used to think I was helping people get what they deserved, you know? And then you see people suffering like this, with their deepest fears everywhere, and... It's people who I'd say were good people, or bad people, or... And there are avatars. Jailers and torturers and...

Some of them seem to hate it as much as the people they're guarding. But they still do it. I don't know. I guess it's... It's hard to look back on what I did as all that different. Bit late for self-discovery, though, right? After the world's ended. We're still here. True.

But I don't really know what I even am anymore. After the world's ended? We're still here. True. But I don't really know what I even am anymore. Am I an avatar or what? Technically, yes. I think you might have effectively inherited Daisy's role. That's very much the Hunt's thing, isn't it? You kill and then you become. Yeah.

Sorry. What I mean is Daisy moved through the domains, tormenting you with the chase, but also spreading fear wherever she went and watching the results with hungry eyes. I think that's what you're doing now. Travelling through, seeing places and feeding the eye with your observations. And your revulsions. So I'm what? Just a freelance watcher? If you like. You'll probably end up with your own domain, eventually. But if it's the hunt, what am I supposed to be chasing? All I've been doing is wandering around, hoping I might find something to do, somewhere to help.

Ah. Damn it. And there it is. So catch me up. What's been happening? You found Melanie and Georgie They found me So I was right then

I don't know what you mean Yeah you do Just after that meat factory we were talking and I said maybe you couldn't see them because Georgie couldn't feel fear And Melanie had cut herself off from the eye And you said that I said it was plausible off from the eye. And then you said that... I said it was plausible. Yeah.

But you did the face when you said it. Fine. You were right. So does this mean there are others? What do you mean? Like, they can't be the only ones like that, right? Maybe there are other people out there? Naturally immune, wandering around, or hunkered down?

Maybe. I mean, probably. But, well, I can't see them, can I? Oh, yeah. I suppose not. I also killed Helen. Oh. Right. Oh. Right.

Yeah. Didn't expect that. She was dangerous. And not like the others out there. It was only going to be a matter of time before... No, no, I get it. Honestly, it's kind of a relief. How did Melanie take it?

Melanie? Yeah, she and Helen were pretty tight back when... What? Back when you were in your coma. I see. Well, I haven't told her yet, so I suppose I have that to look forward to when we get back. If we get back. That's not the part I'm worried about. He'll be okay.

I know a good way to take your mind off it. I wouldn't want to cramp your style. Huh. Besides, we're almost there. So we're just going to leave the boat? Would it make you feel better to know that it's not technically real? No. Look, it's fine. We probably won't even be coming back this way. If you say so.

So, anyway, run this by me again. They're like a proper cult cult. Ish. They all seem fairly normal, given the circumstances. Bit of a letdown in some ways. But, like, they actually worship Melanie and Georgie. Worship is maybe a bit strong.

They just... revere them. Melanie must hate that. That's the issue. I'd say it's as culty as it can be when the leaders are actively trying to stop it. It must have been funny, though. Hang on, is that...

That's the real son, isn't it? Yes. We've entered the... John? Sorry, I should have said the camera. It blocks my connection and I... It's hard. Are you okay?

It doesn't matter Martin's here and we need to find him Okay How do we do that? I don't know We'll have to Do you hear that? There in the

The spider web Great It's not exactly breadcrumbs, but... You're sure you're okay to do this? I'll be fine. Mr. Spider wants more. Hello, it's Kareem, the voice of Simon Fairchart from the Magnus Archives, letting you know about our sponsor, Audible.

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