Artefact Storage

Welcome to the Magnus Institute. As the new head of Artefact Research, you will be responsible for examining, cataloguing, and securing or disposing of items donated to the Institute, as the situation warrants. New items must be thoroughly examined before cataloguing. Pay particular attention to any claims made by the donor regarding the item's alleged properties. Make note of any unusual behaviours i.e. unexplained corruption of digital photographs, movement, sounds, odours, physical sensations, or other unexpected properties. For reasons which will become clear in the course of your duties, tasting of the items is strongly discouraged. Please deliver any books or other printed material found in the course of your duties to the Archive immediately. You may be tempted to read some of these books. Do not under any circumstances read these books. [[Get started->Day 1]] [[Content warnings]]

Good morning. Several new items arrived yesterday. Most of them seem pretty harmless. Let's start with [[a miniature skeleton in a cage.]]

You open the box containing the next item in your queue and--oh, good lord! Several small silvery worms leap out of the box and onto the table. They wriggle around aimlessly for a moment, and then they start towards you. These aren't the item, they're--well, you don't know exactly what they are, but you know you've been told to stomp on them if you see any. You grab the nearest heavy object that won't be missed--an old phone book--and slam it down on the worms, crushing them. Well. That was unpleasant. Now... [[what's in that box?->A creepy-looking doll]]

<center><img src="leitner1.png"></center> An old book, bound in brittle green leather. The title is unreadable. On the inside of the front cover is a bookplate reading "From the library of Jurgen Leitner." You remember being warned about the books that turn up--particularly the Leitners. Probably not a good idea to keep reading. You deliver the book to the Archives. The Head Archivist gives it the once-over, glances at the bookplate, nods solemnly, and takes it away. You don't know what the Archive does with books like this, and you don't really care. There are some books in Artefact Storage, most of those locked up in steel boxes and kept under close watch, but most of the books aren't your problem. You return to Artefact Storage and glance up at the clock. It seems your little excursion to the Archives has taken you right up to quitting time. [[Go home.]]

A ratty old Raggedy Anne doll. Her clothing is threadbare and what remains of her red yarn hair is matted into dense lumps of wool. There is a pocket in the doll's chest--not in her dress, in the sickly-looking off-white fabric that passes for her skin. Research Assistant R.K. reports a strange "dizzy" sensation when he looks at the doll's eyes. [[Check the pocket]] [[Look at her eyes]] [[Nope, straight to the bin with it->Throw it out]]

This is a... you're not sure exactly what it is. It's some kind of small, possibly decorative abstract form made of glazed ceramic. The donor claims to have found it in a charity shop, and further claims that it changes its shape. It is not said outright, but it is heavily implied that this piece has taken some rather disturbing forms. [[Take a digital photo for the catalogue]]

In the pocket in the doll's chest, you find a small anatomically correct human heart carved out of wood. It's a perfect reproduction, aside from the rusty iron nail driven right into the center of it. [[Examine the doll further->A creepy-looking doll]] [[Enough of that, burn the thing->Throw it out]]

Instead of the usual button eyes, this doll has two small dark smoked glass mirrors sewn into its eye sockets. They seem slightly warped, reflecting a distorted view of the doll's field of vision. [[Examine the doll further->A creepy-looking doll]] [[Get rid of it->Throw it out]]

The doll is creepy, and handling it makes you want to dive into a vat of hand sanitiser. But it photographs as it should, and there don't seem to be any odd temperature fluctuations or strange odours (other than the sort you'd expect from a ratty old cloth doll, anyway). It's probably not haunted. At least, not in any way that warrants letting it take up space in Artefact Storage. You toss the doll into the bin marked "to be incinerated" and [[get on with your day.->A book bound in green leather]]

You arrive at work to find your research assistants busily checking in new items, and more new items waiting for your personal inspection. [[Check on the ceramic sculpture first]]

₸he sculpture haᵴ not changed. <center><img src="glitchy2.png" alt="A glitchy digital photo of a strange ceramic sculpture. It looks exactly the same as it did yesterday. exactly the same. exactly the same."></center> [[Start on the new items->A strange-looking cookbook]]

The first item in your queue is a cookbook, or at least that's what it appears to be. No Leitner bookplate so it's not one of those books, that's something. At first glance, it looks like any cookbook from the mid-sixties to early seventies. The title and all the blurb text on the cover is in a language you don't recognize. The photographs are all variations on a theme of "things embedded in gelatin that should never have been." Clearly, the mid-century was a dark time in the culinary world. But upon closer inspection, you see some things embedded in that gelatin you wish you hadn't. Things that should not be on one's plate at all, much less embedded in gelatin. Things that should not exist in a universe that makes any sense. You take the book down to the Archives, and you think perhaps you'll skip lunch today. The Head Archivist takes one look at the cover, visibly shudders, and echoes that sentiment. [[Back to work.->A leather pouch]]

It's a soft kid leather pouch, of the sort some of your friends carry their gaming dice in. When you handle it, you can feel something inside it, like small stones, and you hear the soft clicking of their little collisions inside the bag. You open the bag and empty it onto the table. A number of smooth, rounded stones pour out. [[The stone with a face]] [[The black stone]] [[The sky-blue stone]] [[The patterned stone]] [[The lump of coal]] [[The stone marked with a closed eye]] [[The stone marked with a spider's web]] [[The blank stone]] [[The mottled stone]] [[The stone marked with an arrow]] [[The white-streaked red stone]] [[The flat-ended grey stone]] [[The blood-flecked stone]] [[The heavy stone]] [[Put them in storage]]

You pick up a box of small items to move it aside and--ugh! More of those damn worms! They seem more aggressive this time. One of them jumps at you. You manage to dodge, and you stomp it and the rest of them. You don't want to know what would have happened if it had landed on you. [[Back to work.->A skull]]

A human skull, or else a very convincing replica thereof. The top of the skull has been sawed neatly off and replaced, like the lid of a jar. [[Look inside]] [[Do not]]

A sturdy black leather case containing a pair of well-made but otherwise unremarkable binoculars. They appear to have been manufactured by a company called Optic Solutions, Ltd., based in Ny-Ålesund, Norway. You've never heard of either the company or the city, and they don't ring any particular bells with your assistants, either. You go through the motions of photographing them for the catalogue, not expecting much of note, and to your surprise the digital photograph comes out completely black. You figure you must have left the lens cap on, but when you check the camera, you find the lens unobstructed. You try again, in the brightest possible light, with the flash, and the photo still comes out black. Right. It's one of those, is it? You consider, just for a moment, trying to look through the binoculars and decide that would be a spectacularly dangerous idea. [[Put them in storage and move on]]

This smooth beige stone has a face. Or at least, it has all the features of a face. Eyes (or rather, depressions where eyes would go). Nose. Mouth. Ears. All present, all more or less human, and yet... wrong. You're not sure how--you can find no seams, no evidence of anything applied to the stone--but you get the impression that this face is hiding something under it. Something even more unsettling. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

You've heard in passing of something called Vantablack, a paint or pigment or something darker than anything ever produced, so dark you could shine a laser pointer on it and see nothing, so dark that a ball painted with it looks like nothing so much as a hole in reality. You look at this stone and you think Vantablack would look pale in comparison. The stone is so black it seems to be actively absorbing the light around it. The shadow it casts on the table is thicker and darker than it should be, and even the lights in the room seem weaker than usual. The light above the table flickers, and you shove the stone back into the bag. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

A translucent piece of what looks like polished moonstone, except of a deep sky-blue hue. It's lovely. At least, at first it is. But the longer you stare into its depths, the more aware you become of the sensation of falling from a great height, falling and falling and never even seeing the ground, and all around you in every direction you see nothing but clear cloudless blue-- You shake it off and put the stone back in its bag. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

This stone has been painted--at least, you think it must have been. The patterns covering its surface are far too regular to be natural colouration. Your eyes follow the lines and angles as they intersect, curve apart, and come together again, smaller and smaller. There comes a point where your eyes can no longer follow the pattern but you know, you are certain, that it continues on. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

It's a dark, glossy piece of coal. You pick it up and with a yelp, you immediately drop it back onto the table. The table should be smouldering where the coal sits on it, you think as you stare at the angry blisters rising on your fingertips. Against your better judgement, you gingerly pick up the coal again. This time, it's just a smooth, cool piece of coal, sitting in your hand. You tuck it back into the bag and go off to find some ointment for your burned fingertips before you continue. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

You are being watched. There are no cameras in this room, and your assistants are all busy with their own research tasks, but you know you are being watched. You can feel the weight of eyes on the back of your neck. You look down at the stone with the closed eye symbol graven into it, and you wonder what will happen when it opens. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

A dark grey stone with a white spider web design. You can't tell if the web is painted on, or some sort of natural colour variation in the stone. When you put the stone down, you feel something odd and sticky, and you see fine strands of spider silk connecting your fingertips to the stone. They brush away easily enough, but you know you're going to spend the rest of the day checking your clothes, possessions, and person for spiders. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

There is nothing on this dark, smooth stone. No images, no symbols, no streaks, no pits, no bumps. Nothing. When you look at the stone, you feel as if it's closing you off from the rest of the world. You can imagine being trapped in a small room as blank and empty and featureless as the stone, cut off from all human contact. The sounds of other human beings going about their business around you fade into heavy silence. With a start, you look up to see everything as it should be. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

"Moss agate," you think is the proper term for this kind of stone. It's been polished to a smooth lustre, but it's as if the layer of polished beauty hides something foul and rotten underneath. The mossy spots on the stone remind you of sores, of mould, of holes in which any number of things might be crawling... The stone feels strangely slick and clammy when you put it back in the bag, and maybe it's just your imagination but you thought you felt it yield a bit under the gentle pressure of your fingertips. You wonder what would happen if you squeezed it. On second thought, let's not go there. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

There is an arrow engraved into the surface of this stone--the sort of arrow that's fired from a bow, not the kind that indicates direction. When you handle the stone, you think for just a moment that you can smell something coming off it. You can't quite put a name to the scent but it's something raw, primal, animal. It sharpens your senses and makes your stomach growl. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

This stone is bright red, with thin white streaks of what you think might be quartz shot through it. It looks like... well, not to put too fine a point upon it but it looks like meat. Like a little round nugget of raw meat. You think you can smell, ever so faintly, the coppery tang of blood in the air as you handle it. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

This stone looks for all the world like a miniature tombstone. You turn it over and find markings on it, too small to read, that reinforce this particular illusion. You wonder whose name is engraved on it. A stranger's? A relative's? Yours? [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

A lovely specimen of bloodstone--deep greenish-black with livid flecks of bright red spattered across its surface. You know the red spots are jasper inclusions in the green chalcedony. This knowledge does not keep you from picturing a violent spray of blood splashing across the stone and somehow frozen there, the stone the only witness at the scene of whatever massacre it was recovered from. You quickly put the stone back in its bag. It feels like staring at it too long will awaken something you'd rather let sleep. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

It's a lump of sandstone. At least, you think that's what it looks like. You're not an expert, but you didn't expect a piece of sandstone this size to be so heavy. You can feel the weight of it as you hold it, pressing down in the centre of your palm. You turn it over and see tiny fossilised bones embedded in the other side, arranged in the shape of a skeletal hand that looks far too human for your liking. [[Check the other stones->A leather pouch]]

You sweep the stones back into their pouch, tie it shut, and file it away. There is something dangerous about them and you get the feeling that continuing to play with them might attract the attention of something you don't want to rile up. Right. [[Moving on.->Worms]]

You lift the "lid" of the skull and peer inside, and--oh, good lord! The inside of the skull is lined with human teeth, or equally convincing replicas thereo--no, you know better. Those are real human teeth. You're sure of it. They cover every inch of the inside of the skull, packed tightly along its inner surface, most of them gleaming white, some of them yellow, some of them filled with silver, some of them brown and rotten. As tempted as you are to just send the damn thing off to the incinerator straight away, you run a series of cursory tests on it just to be sure that won't release anything dangerous. It doesn't seem to be displaying any anomalous properties (aside from the fact that it is a human skull lined with hundreds of human teeth), so you carefully pack it into a red plastic medical waste bag and send it off to be dealt with by people who are paid enough to make dealing with ...whatever the hell this is worth their while. [[Back to work.->A pair of binoculars]]

You decide you really don't want to know what might be inside that skull. After the standard series of cursory tests, you decide to err on the side of caution and treat this thing as medical waste. You carefully pack it in one of the red plastic bags reserved for such things and send it off to be dealt with. [[One more for today.->A pair of binoculars]]

Sent anonymously by post. There's a letter in the box going on about a string of "bad luck" the donor experienced after buying the item from an unspecified charity shop. The skeleton is made of plastic and has "Made in China" stamped on its... on the back of its pelvis. The cage is made of cheap pot metal. It photographs exactly as it should. It does not move, or make noises, or emit unusual odours, or behave in any other way that a cheap and sort of tacky Halloween decoration should not. After a brief but heated argument among your assistant researchers regarding who saw it first, you release the item into the custody of Research Assistant J.A. [[Next item->A small ceramic sculpture, subject uncertain]]

You attempt to take a picture of it with a digital camera, as per standard procedure, but the photo comes out... well... <center><img src="glitchy1.png" alt="A glitchy photo of a weird ceramic sculpture"></center> You try the Polaroid instead. That comes out fine. <center><img src="polaroid.png" alt="A polaroid photo of a weird ceramic sculpture"></center> Hmm. Well, this thing seems pretty harmless, but you've been told to watch out for items that don't photograph digitally. You decide to keep this one under observation for a few days and see if it does anything interesting. [[Next item->Several small silvery worms]]

As interesting as your job is, the idea of staying here late, alone, in this room with all of these possibly cursed knickknacks is not exactly appealing to you. You gather your things, clock out, and head home by way of the curry shop. You eat your dinner, watch your shows, and put the things you've seen today out of your head. But when you sleep that night, you dream about worms. Small silver worms, by the thousands, breeding in the walls. [[The next day...->Day 2]]

You take a Polaroid of the binoculars, put them back in their case, tag the case, type up the catalogue entry, and tuck the binoculars away in storage. As you're coming back to your desk, you see two very large delivery men coming to meet you. They look exactly the way you imagine delivery men should look. "Delivery for Artefact Storage?" the first one says in a Cockney accent so thick you are certain it must be fake, thrusting a clipboard into your hands. The form you're to sign claims these two are from a company called "Breekon and Hope." You've never heard of it. "Yes," you say, signing your name to the form. "I'll take it." "Right," says the second, also in a thick and possibly phony Cockney accent. Faux Cockney. Faux-ney, if you will. He gestures towards a very large wooden crate. "Where d'you want it, then?" You motion to a space against the wall large enough to accommodate the crate. The two delivery men scoot the crate into place, take their clipboard back, and take their leave. Hm. That was... odd. Well, whatever they've brought you, it's going to have to wait until tomorrow. Time to lock up for the evening and [[head home.]]

You head out the door and into the street, and you are certain that you are being watched. That's silly, of course. Nobody is following you. There are probably security cameras here and there along the street, watching shop fronts and whatnot, but nobody is watching you. And yet. You can't shake the feeling of eyes on the back of your head, all the way home. You lock yourself into your flat, eat your dinner, watch your shows, and try not to think too much about the things you saw today. It's best to leave your work at work, at least that's what Elias told you when you took this job. That's right. Just stare at the television, try to forget about the worms and Ny-Ålesund and the aspic cookbook straight from the ninth circle of Hell. Hope that tomorrow's offerings are more tacky Halloween decorations and ugly but perfectly harmless charity shop knickknacks. You fall into an uneasy sleep, and you dream about that bag of stones. You reach into the bag blind, and your hand closes around one of the stones. You withdraw it and open your hand. You've drawn the stone with the closed eye, and as you look on, frozen to the spot, the eye on that stone begins to open... [[The next day...->Day 3]]

You arrive at work and as you step into the Artefact Storage room, you are immediately overcome by a deep, visceral feeling of dread. Something about the array of items waiting for your inspection has you on edge. The crate is still sat where those two delivery men left it yesterday. You're eager to take a look inside and at the same time, you very much do not want to take a look inside. But first, you should [[check on that cera̖̞mic thinͯͦ̋̅g.->check on the sculpture again]]

thᴇ c̵̡͇̲̳̹̗̙͚͎é̶̗ͅr͉̫̹̤͖̯aᵯic SculṖturᵊ hἋs no̴͍̪̯͓͔͘C̵͕͕H̶̭͈ͅanged <center><img src="glitchy3.png" alt="exactly the same exactly the same exactly the same the same the same the same the"></center> [[Check the next item.]]

It's another book. There doesn't appear to be a title or author printed on the brown leather cover, and when you pick the book up, dust falls gently onto the table from within the binding. You open the book. On the inside of the front cover is one of those bookplates identifying it as coming from the library of Jurgen Leitner. On the facing page is printed one word: "Dig." [[Close the book and take it to the Archive.]] [[Keep reading.]]

Something inside you desperately wants to continue reading the book, but you force yourself to shut it. Gripping it tightly with both hands, you hurry to the Archive and hand it off to the Head Archivist with a stern warning to not open it. The Head Archivist takes your word for it but tells you this one is your problem, that it's to be sealed up--preferably in a steel box, welded shut--and put on the "do not access" list. As you head back to Artefact Storage and give one of your research assistants the book with specific instructions to seal it up and not look inside, you remember the delivery you still haven't checked out. Better [[take a look inside that crate.]]

Dig. [[Keep reading->keep reading 2]] [[Enough of that, take it to the Archive->Close the book and take it to the Archive.]]

Dig. [[You should stop reading.->Close the book and take it to the Archive.]] [[But you don't.->keep reading 3]]

You find a pry bar and carefully lever the lid off the crate that was delivered yesterday. Inside the crate is a table made of dark wood. There's a strange pattern covering its entire surface, a web of dark wavy lines that seems to draw your gaze in. There's a hole about six inches square in the middle of the table. You wonder what goes there. [[Keep examining the table]] [[Put the lid back on the crate and put it in storage]]

[[Dig.]]

[[DIG.->dig2]]

DIG. DIG. DIG. DIG. DIG. DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG [[DIG DIG DIG]]

dig dig dig yes dig yes dig and dig and dig down down down into the earth into the soil and clay and sand and stone dig dig dig must dig must dig must see what's underground must see must see the empty space all Eyes point towards dig dig dig dig yes yes the Archivist's office digdigdigdigdigDIG [[must DIG]]

Fortunately, you don't remember much of what happens after you read that book. You cause quite a commotion when you break down the Head Archivist's office door and claw at the floorboards where, if you were in anything remotely near a sound mind, you would see claw marks from someone's very recent previous attempt to dig through the boards with their bare hands. You don't notice when several of your fingernails peel free of your fingertips. You don't notice the splinters driving themselves into your flesh as you dig and dig and dig. It takes four strong men to subdue you. You are stuffed into the back of an ambulance, but you are dead on arrival at the hospital. The official cause of your death: asphyxiation, though no apparent cause is ever found. You have died. [[Would you like to try again?->Check the next item.]]

That pattern on the table is fascinating, isn't it? [[Take a closer look.]] [[That's enough.->Put the lid back on the crate and put it in storage]]

You tear your eyes away from the table and slam the lid back onto the crate. Whatever this thing is, it's clearly dangerous. You nail the lid back on tight, slap DANGER stickers all over it, and add it to the "do not access" list. Still, you can't help wondering what was meant to go in that hole in the middle... ah, forget it. [[Let's see what else we've got.]]

The pattern draws your eyes to the hole in the centre of the table. Something was meant to go there, though you can't imagine what. When you look up again, you notice the clock on the wall and--that can't be right. Can it? Were you really stood here all day staring at this table? Why didn't anyone say anything? Your assistants have left for the day. Most likely everyone else, too. You've got keys, but... you're here alone. In the Artefact Storage room. With this damn table. Your eyes light on it again--what is it about this table, why can't you stop staring at it-- There's movement, out of the corner of your eye. Something tall and spindly, with too many joints in its arms and legs. You try to run, but the thing is faster. [[It hurts.]]

The next morning, someone who is not you comes to work. Nobody notices. Nobody except that one student researcher whose name you could never quite recall. Nobody believes him when he tells everyone the person sitting in the office of the Head of Artefact Research isn't you. Nobody believes him until it's too late. You have died and been replaced by the Not-Them. [[Would you like to try again?->take a look inside that crate.]]

The...thing in front of you appears, at first glance, to be a large wasp nest. The good news is, there don't appear to be any actual wasps crawling or flying around it. The bad news is... on closer inspection, you become horribly sure this is not a wasp nest. The surface of it looks wrong. Wasp nests should look dry and papery, right? This... whatever it is... doesn't. It looks oily. Clammy. You're so morbidly fascinated by the thing you almost don't notice the worms charging towards your feet. With a yelp of disgust, you stomp on them. But you look at that "wasp nest" and you have the sudden sick feeling that those damn worms are connected to this thing somehow. The last thing you want to do is touch it. And yet, you feel the strangest compulsion to... no, you can't, you won't, that's disgusting! [[Touch it anyway]] [[ABSOLUTELY NOT]]

You really shouldn't have done that. You know that as soon as your hand sinks into the surface of the nest and the worms come pouring out, burrowing into your skin, swarming over your body. You itch. That's a very pale word to describe what you feel now, but it'll have to do because there are no other words that even come close. You itch, and you hear their song, and underneath it you hear the resigned disappointment of another Flesh Hive who had been planning her siege on the Institute for a very long time. You are eventually killed by several research assistants wielding CO2 fire extinguishers, but not before you do significant damage to Artefact Storage and the Archives. It will be weeks, even months before your successor realizes just how many dangerous artefacts have gone missing in the chaos. [[Would you like to try again?->Let's see what else we've got.]]

You raise your hand towards the "wasp nest." This thing is disgusting in ways you can't even put words to and yet... And yet... What the hell are you thinking!? You snap out of whatever trance this thing put you in just in the nick of time. You don't know what would have happened if you had actually touched the nest and you don't want to know. You scream at your assistants to evacuate. On your way out, you grab the phone and call ECDC to come deal with it. Whatever this thing is, disposing of it is far above your pay grade. You're unable to return to your duties for the rest of the day. By the time the ECDC people leave with their suits smudged with soot and with several heavy bags marked with biohazard symbols in hand, you've no time left to get anything else done. Maybe just this once you should put in some overtime. [[Just this once.]]

You don't much like the idea of being here alone at night. Especially after the sorts of things that came through today--that book, that table, that--that whatever the hell it was. Ironically, those things are the reason you're not sure you'd be able to leave your work at work tonight even if you did leave. You are alone here. Your assistants have left. So has everyone else, far as you know. But you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched. [[It's probably nothing.]]

Much to your relief, most of the other items on your docket for today are duds, and the few that do exhibit anomalous properties appear to be harmless. They might be cursed, but at least they're the not kind of cursed that could literally kill you. Also not the kind of cursed that gives you any trouble photographing them with the digital camera. There are connections here, you think. The items you've been told to watch out for. The books. The items you can't take a digital photo of. Those are the truly dangerous ones. You think back on that pouch of stones you put in storage yesterday. You think back on the way handling them made you feel. it's the same feeling you get with the dangerous items. There is something powerful behind those, and you think perhaps you can just begin to make out the faintest hint of a pattern-- [[You are being watched.]]

You're sure of it. Someone else is here. "Hello?" you call out, in what you hope is a firm, vaguely annoyed tone. The cleaners, maybe? No, the cleaners know better than to come in here and besides, they would make some noise if they did. "Is someone here?" There is nobody here. It's quiet enough, for long enough, that you're sure of it. But as you turn to head back to your desk, you see a figure stood there, and before you realize who it is you let out a yelp. "Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." Elias. God. You all but collapse into your chair, nervous energy leaking out of you in a stream of weak laughter. It's just Elias. You don't know what he's still doing here, but it doesn't matter. "No, no, it's--it's fine," you stammer. "I--I was just about to finish up for the night, it's just--that business with the wasp nest or whatever the hell that was, it sort of put me behind schedule." Elias just nods, but as he does he glances down at the notes on your desk. The ones you've been making about the connections you think you're starting to pick up on. "You've had a few close calls today, haven't you?" he asks. "A few particularly dangerous items?" You open your mouth to offer some vague handwaving-off of the threats you've dodged today, but what comes out instead is: "I am quite certain that three of the items I examined today could have killed me." "Right." Elias nods again. "And yet here you sit, alive and well." You feel like your head is being carefully pried open like one of the crates and boxes that show up here. Like curious fingers are leafing through the folds of your brain as if through pages in a book. "You've got a good Eye." You're not sure why you hear that word capitalised. "A bit of advice," Elias goes on. "There are things you don't want to examine too closely. Learn when to look away." ...did he just threaten you? Or maybe... maybe he's saying this out of genuine concern for your safety. After all, he knows what kind of dangerous things come in here. He did mention that, when he interviewed you for this position. The turnover rate in Artefact Research is the highest of any department in the Institute. Most of the time, the researchers come to a point where they just can't stand the thought of examining another potentially deadly item and transfer to another department. Sometimes there are accidents. People poking on things they know they shouldn't poke. And that's not even factoring in the mundane hazards, all the sharp objects and body parts human and otherwise and exotic germs bound to find their way into Artefact Storage. So you just nod and stand up and get your coat. "Thank you," you say as you gather your things. "I appreciate the concern." "Don't mention it. It's hard to find good researchers." Elias turns to leave, then stops, staring at the observation enclosure, where that weird ceramic sculpture still sits. "Has this thing changed at all since you brought it in?" [[It hasn't.]] [[It has.]]

You head home by way of the curry shop. You eat your dinner. You watch your shows. You try not to think about books or tables or wasp nests or the weight of eyes on your back, the eyes you can still feel tracking you, the eyes watching you even now... You are being watched. You live alone. Your blinds are closed. You don't have any security cameras or anything of that sort. You have a good Eye. Learn when to look away. You should quit this damn job, you think. Quit and run away, as far from the cursed knickknacks and evil books and the goddamned Magnus Institute as you can. But you can't. You know you can't. You could have taken another job. There might have been a time when you could still quit, before you drew the notice of whatever it is that's watching you. You know it's far too late for that now. The Eye is open, and you can feel it on you. [[End.]]

Artefact Storage An interactive fanfic by Alex Beefgnaw Based on the most excellent podcast <a href="http://rustyquill.com/the-magnus-archives/">The Magnus Archives</a> Final note: this thing was meant less as a serious fanfic and more of an exercise in "how make Twine go." As you probably noticed, I played extremely fast and loose with canon and the timeline. There are items showing up at the same time that couldn't possibly have shown up at the same time in canon (i.e. Dig and the web table). ...which is part of why the Head Archivist is never mentioned by name. It could be Gertrude! It could be Jon! It could be someone else entirely, because this is clearly not the canon universe and it could be anyone! But maybe once I get caught up with the series and get a little more comfy with trying some more canon-compliant stuff and a little more comfy with Twine or Inform or whatever engine I end up gravitating to, I'll try another one of these. Also I'm sure I'm not the first person who headcanons Elias' Spooky Eye Powers granting him the ability to see beyond the fourth wall but I'd like to think I've at least handled it in a somewhat new and exciting way? Ahaha. ("ummmm excuse u Beefgnaw you forgot to make a stone thingy for The Extinction" no I didn't, I did not ~forget,~ that was a deliberate exclusion and there's a very good reason for it, and that is <strike>I'm a bare handful of episodes into S3 and I know jacksh!t about The Extinction</strike> the stones were made before The Extinction emerged)

Content warnings for: <ul> <li>Bugs/worms</li> <li>Unreality (fourth wall breach)</li> <li>Mind control, sort of</li> <li>Teeth where teeth shouldn't be</li> <li>Uncanny Valley type stuff</li> </ul> There are no loud noises, screamer images/videos, or any other sort of jumpscare. No sound at all, in fact. No flashing or animated images. No images of blood or gore, no detailed descriptions thereof. [[Back to Artefact Storage->Artefact Storage Room]]

"No," you say. "Hm." Elias makes a soft sound that might be a laugh. Before you can ask him what's so funny, he's gone. Christ. What the hell just happened? [[Get out of here.]]

"It has," you say, and Elias seems to stiffen at the words. "Has it really," he asks you, and there's something in his voice you don't like. "How do you know that?" You open your mouth to assure him it has even though you haven't seen it change, you even start towards the thing's file to show him the Polaroids. But then you remember. You only took the one Polaroid, didn't you? When it first came in. Your eyes tell you it hasn't changed, but--but you know it has-- "How do you know it's changed?" Elias repeats, turning to face you. You don't like the way he's looking at you. Looking through you. You open your mouth to say something, anything, and he shakes his head. "I'm not talking to you," Elias says. "I'm talking to whoever is looking through your eyes right now." One corner of his mouth turns up in a way you don't like, not at all. "Same advice to you as well." And before you can say another word, he's gone. Christ. What the hell just happened? [[Get out of here.->getout4thwall]]

You go home. You eat your dinner. You watch your shows. You try not to think about books or tables or wasp nests or eyes, eyes on your back, the eyes watching you even now... You are being watched. You live alone. Your blinds are closed. You don't have any security cameras or anything of that sort. I'm talking to whoever is looking through your eyes right now. You don't know what Elias meant by that, but replaying it in your head makes you shudder. Please, you silently beg the eyes you feel tracking your every move. Please leave me alone. [[Look away.->End.]]