Chapter Text
It had been weeks since that first encounter, and day in day out that.. *thing* would show up at a new door in the cafe and come in. It would order its Orange Pekoe tea with 3 milk and 3 sugars in a medium cup— And every time, in succession, it would not drink. It would stare at you.. watch, smile. As if you were the most interesting thing in the world, as if there was something that danced and spun around you that you just couldn’t see.
Every day he would come in, he’d pull his coins out before you announced the price, and his hands would linger against yours for a few seconds too long. A few times you ended up finding little scratches on your skin, beads of blood that he’d laugh and apologize for in his oh so soft voice. He always sounded a bit too condescending to truly apologize, just a little too… off. As if he were somewhere else entirely.
Eventually, you got fed up. Who wouldn’t? You were practically being stalked.. at least, you assumed this counted as stalking. Being watched every day by the same exact man. He would never hurt you, never get too close.. he’d just *watch,* and perhaps that was the worst of all. You started feeling like you were crazy, none of your fellow employees ever acknowledged him, the cafe always fell too silent when he’d come in.. and you physically had to be seeing things to hallucinate both doors and giant monster men in windows.
You decided you needed to visit the Magnus Institute. It was not far by any means, literally just across the street from your place of work. It wasn’t hard to bike down to the building and make preparations. You called in sick for a day, you packed a notebook detailing your experiences, and you took a deep breath in.
This place was known for crazy people, for drug addicted drunkards sharing scary stories to try and get the paranoia off their minds. Normal people didn’t go here, no one in their right head came anywhere near this damn place unless they were searching for academic resources.. but you were at your wits end.
As you passed by the front.. you noticed a few signs up. ‘Moth infestation, beware of bitten books!’ And ‘Looking for new hires, join your local archive today!’ .. You didn’t pay much mine to them. The lovely lady at the front beckoned you in, down down.. deep into the basement of the ancient looking building. It smelled of jasmine and old books, reminded you of what a Harvard library must’ve looked like in its grandeur. The deeper in you descended the heavier the building began to feel. Like it was dragging you down.. claiming you as its own. You watched as employees scurry about in the basement of the archive, this was where the archive proper must’ve been— the above simply appeared as a library, maybe even a drab looking office if you squinted or a shitty study hall.. but this was truly an archive.
You saw cabinets stacked high up against eachother, files upon files that left you feeling grandly insignificant compared to the scale of it all. And as you were about to zone out, you saw someone wave. “Uhm.. hello!” It was a larger man. Ginger, chubby.. stacked head to toe in layers of clothing. You could count a button up collared shirt, a sweater, and a cardigan on top of eachother. He looked.. cozy. In his hand held a mug, it was in the design of a calico cat. “You’re here to record a statement? Rozie just told us, so you’re in good luck! Jon should be somewhere in his office. Just.. try not to frighten him. He’s a bit jumpy.” The man laughed softly, his laugh was… nice. Gentle.
“..Right, thanks.” You couldn’t help smiling back, and with an usher he guided you towards what must’ve been the head archivists office.. Jon was it? You weren’t in the time or place to remember names, not with the situation you had on your hands. “Oh, right! Almost forgot. My names Martin, it’s nice to see someone down here. Usually it’s just us.” Just us.. that must’ve meant the employees here. This place did feel awfully lonely when you stacked yourself against the expanse. Martin led you to the door, and knocked against it to alert the man inside of someone’s arrival, then toddled off to.. assumedly do his job?
With a small *woosh* the door opened up, and within you found yourself in a small and cramped office. It somehow held even more files, more folders.. and a small cassette tape stack along with a player accompanying. There was some modern technology in the room.. namely a laptop. The man who greeted you at the door was of average height, with long brown hair streaked with grey tied up into a half bun and shifty eyes that never rested one place too long. It was clear he had a limp he refused to address, a cane somewhere within the room that he likely never used as much as he should’ve. He dressed a bit too formally for it to be business casual, and had an odd tone of annoyance in his voice once he did speak.
“Miss..” he trailed off, and before he could spit the words out you cut him off; “I’m here to give my statement. That’s what you guys do, right? Take statements?” Your voice sounded a bit more bitter than they felt on your tongue at first, and while he cocked an eyebrow he seemed to get the sentiment. “Right. Yes.. I appreciate someone who can at the very least get to the point.” He shut the door behind you two, and walked off to his desk where he slumped against his chair like a heavy sack of paper. With a flick of his wrist the tape recorder next to his computer hit play, and you heard the gentle whirring of clanky old machinery.
“You’re.. going to have me speak into that thing? Can I not just write it down, or.. y’know, record on the laptop?” You asked with a confused voice, your expression unsure and your sentiments.. not entirely kind. You didn’t know what exactly you had expected from the haunted house of a library, but it certainly wasn’t technology that threw you back to your childhood. He began with a slightly more peeved voice, “The laptop isn’t working.. files keep corrupting. Trust me, this isn’t ideal for me either. Just.. speak into the tape recorder. We’ll have your statement filed away and looked into as soon as we can.” He seemed to sink deeper into the chair as he spoke. He looked so.. tired. He was probably only acting bitchy because he didn’t do anything other than work.. you could sympathize.
A pause befell the room, a deep breath in before a confession of “I.. think I’m being stalked?” Rolled off your tongue. Although Jon seemed intrigued by this comment (and likely, concerned,) he didn’t dare speak while you were giving your account. “There’s this man. He comes into the cafe I work at every single day around.. what, twelve thirty? Somewhere around that time. And he always gets the same order, and he always sits by the back.” At first, jon was about to dismiss you. While yes, being stalked sucked, (was this even stalking, at that?) this wasn’t paranormal, this wasn’t the institutes realm. He was about to cut you off before you continued.
“He never- drinks the tea he gets. And everytime he’s finally gone away to sit I look at the door across the counter and it’s gone- and.. and there’s a new door there! It’s.. this gross, old looking yellow door. Like.. imagine your grandmas house. It’s something your grandma would have.” You said your as if you ever got a chance to see your own grandmothers house.. but that was besides the fact. “And then every time I look at him, and I catch his reflection in the mirror, there’s.. something else there. It’s like.. god, probably thirteen feet tall? It has these.. wrong looking hands. Like they’re knives. And it’s *smile-* god.. sorry, I just feel gross even describing it.”
“Right.” Jon nodded, and prodded on for a bit more information. “Do you know the man’s name? And.. could you say when this started happening?” He pulled out a small notepad to take jot notes, likely for their investigation half of this meeting. You wracked your brain for an answer, coming up with “three weeks, maybe? I never caught his name. We don’t do the whole.. name thing. Too many customers would complain when we got it wrong.” Your hands fell by your lap, eyes shifted to the side as he scribbled down onto the small yellow square.
“As much as I believe this is just sleep deprivation from working a customer service job.. we’ll look into it. You gave your information to Rozie when you came in, correct?” As Jon spoke, you paused. No. No you had not. You admitted this to the man and he let out a sigh, almost about to roll his eyes as he handed the notepad towards you. “Put your contact information down.” The request was simple, so, you obliged.. you chose to write down your phone number. He took it back with a nod, “we’ll get back to you as soon as we find anything. Is that all?” As you nodded, he ushered for you to leave. Damn, not even a good day?
All was fine as you left the room, but finally stepping into the next room proper you felt something.. change. The room wasn’t right. And before it fully dawned upon you that someone was directly standing behind you you heard a voice like a thousand headaches. “Do you really believe that they’ll help you?”