Hatchetfield.

The Hatchetfield Statements

"Hey Jon?"

Jon peered upwards, despite knowing who it was. Melanie stood in the doorway, a box of cassettes nestled in her arms. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his newest scar itching. Whether she was as uncomfortable as he was, she had the courtesy not to say. Instead, she rattled the box emphatically.

"We got a special delivery today."

He frowned. He Saw the delivery being made, but he assumed it was regular mail for Rosie to handle.

"It isn't from-"

"No, not them. Daisy killed one of them anyway, you said. But it came in the mail all the way from America. Addressed to you specifically from some town in Michigan? I dunno. But it came with a note. I think you should take a look."

She dumped the box unceremoniously on his desk and left.

The note was in a neatly sealed envelope, his name scrawled in elegant cursive. He scowled at the spider postage stamp, and his fingers twitched. Even he could sense the threads of gossamer silk ensconcing the paper, and if the Web was involved with this delivery, it couldn't be a good sign.

He couldn't refuse the letter though. He didn't he didn't need infinite knowledge to understand that refusing correspondence from the Web was a very good way to get yourself suffocated by spiders when you fell asleep.

He groaned, steeled his nerves, and opened the envelope.

"To the Archivist,

6 statements for you. This isn't a decision I take lightly. I have recorded these myself, as I know what would happen if you did. Do not remake these statements, Archivist.

You will not feed on them.

I don't know if you can See them. For their sake, I hope you can't.

It is my belief that this knowledge is in safer hands with the unblinking eye than it is shrouded by the darkness of this place.

Share this knowledge with those who need it.

-H"

Owing a favor to the Mother of Puppets was never a good thing. He eyed the statements with no small amount of trepidation. He could See the town the tapes came from, an island surrounded by thick forest. But he couldn't See whoever "H" was. All he Saw was a flash of red hair tangled with web, and a pair of blue eyes gazing passively back.

Selecting the first tape with a weary sigh, he loaded it into his recorder and silently pressed play.

A pleasant and melodious voice warbled from the crackling speakers.

"Statement of Officer Doug Jones, regarding the disappearance of the Duchess Lucy Stockworth..."

Chapter Text
"Statement of Officer Doug Jones, regarding the disappearance of the Duchess Lucy Stockworth. Statement begins. Go on ahead, officer."

"Look, I don't know if I'm supposed to talk about this? I mean, I want to. This isn't gonna get me in trouble or anything, right? No? Okay.

Like, I've wanted to talk about this for a while. But everyone who was with me on the Stockworth case doesn't talk about it. Last time I brought it up, Sam told me to shut the hell up. Which, y'know, isn't unusual or anything, but there was something in his face that told me I should really pipe down.

He looked scared. I've never seen him look so scared as he did at the mansion.

So I'm guessing you heard all about the Stockworth case, huh?

Yeah. Rich white lady goes missing, everyone panics and boo-hoos about it because it's such a tragic loss of life, yadda yadda. You get the gist of it.

Except here it's not so tragic as it is... weird. Four people went missing in the Stockworth case, right? Only two bodies found.