Statement #120315

A/N: this fic is my first one I've ever written and is also cross-posted on ao3 :)

[Tape recorder clicks]

[ARCHIVIST]

Statement of an unknown individual regarding their time spent in a series of hotel corridors. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

[ARCHIVIST, AS STATEMENT]

Sickly yellow lights buzz overhead as I make my way down the endless corridor. The buzzing is taunting me. It is never a consistent noise and rotates between a deafening hum and an eerie silence. The buzzing felt as if it was cutting through my skull like a knife.

Where was she? She promised she'd meet me here! Wait... who is she? We were friends! ...I think? But god I've been here so long I can't remember her. Or have I? Time is peculiar here...

I run my hand across the peeling edge of the beige wallpaper and it crumbles into dust in the palm of my hand.

I reflect on how I ended up in this strange hotel of closed doors and empty corridors that led nowhere. Me and... what was her name? Well we arrived at a hotel in I think it Manchester. No it can't be there. Can it? Why did we get a hotel and not just drive home? I remember the reception being dark and in desperate need of repair. The lights flickered and hummed and the place stank of moist carpet. I think she went back to the car to retrieve our bags while I went to find our room because we split up and I haven't seen her since. Where did this pen come from or the journal? I guess that doesn't matter now if I can't get out.

Who am I?

What is this place?

I am trapped in this continuous labyrinth of lies and deceit with the true pathway forged by the mind of a madman. Every attempt I make to understand my situation the corridors change like a game where only one person knows the rules and refuses to tell the other players. Are the lights getting brighter? I swear I've been down this corridor? There is no logic or reason to this endless lie.

I hear screams of those who have met the same fate as me and I run through doors and more corridor to help but I know now they aren't real but yet another way this place try and torment me.

Every so often I would feel drawn towards one of the wooden doors but deep down I know that if I go in there is no way I'm coming back. I also know that at some point that urge will consume me and that will be the day I won't have any chance of escape.

What is that door? Where did this pen come from? I don't think I had any paper. Where am I? What is my name? Do I even have one?

My hand rest on a door knob as I hear an echoing laughter from behind.

I turn round to face it.

It's weird what small details your brain notices when in distress because before anything else I notice that it's arms are too long. It's long, swirling, blonde hair shook as it laughed.

Was it even human? What even is a human?

It's sharp and twisted mouth revealed jagged teeth as it laughed. It's twisted hands reach out to my forearm

Oh god...

[ARCHIVIST]

The statement ends here; I can't find the rest if there even is any more of this statement. Someone left this on my desk this morning. I do not know where it came from and neither do the others. All I know is that it is here now when I know that it should not and is covered in a substance that seems to be blood. However, I do not believe that any of this statement is real as it was clearly written by someone who is mentally unwell as the handwriting gets more and more incoherent towards the end of the page paired with the constant questioning of their own sanity. However, the one thing that does concern me is the description of an entity who calls itself Michael. It seems to keep appearing in these statements. I don't know what these means but I'm sure it is not good. There is no follow up that can be done.

Recording ends.

[TAPE RECORDER CLICKS]