There’s a fucking ghost in the Archives.
At least, that’s the simplest reasonable explanation Martin can put forward if asked. Nobody will bother to ask, probably, but in the depths of his mind, Martin still knows: there must be a damn ghost haunting the Archives he works in, and Martin has no idea what to do.
Okay, so maybe he’s being slightly paranoid. Maybe the new job is getting to him, a bit, what with the unexpected transfer to a dusty old basement full of dusty old papers and taped, label-less boxes. But there’s no denying that, apart from the general creepiness of the place and a feeling of being constantly watched (which he will not explore further, thank you), there’s something… well, weird going on.
It all starts with a pen. You see, Martin has a favourite pen — black ink, sits in his hand perfectly, presses onto the page at just the right angle. When not in use, it rests innocently inside a tall froggy cup, along with a few other pieces of stationery. So imagine Martin’s confusion when, one day, he returns from the lunch break to update his notes, takes a seat at the desk, holds out a hand to grab his pen, only to find — nothing. His pen is gone. He searches around his workplace, on the floor, in the drawers, even looks under the unassuming, grey carpet. Both Sasha and Tim claim they haven’t borrowed it, and no-one else could have entered or left the Archives without passing by Sasha’s office.
Martin is, understandably, sad, although not too surprised — his mother always told him off for getting his head stuck in the clouds. Probably misplaced the pen by accident, it happens. And he wouldn’t think anything of this unfortunate event — if not for the fact that when he comes to work next day, the pen is back. It is, once again, sticking out of the froggy cup, as if it’s always been there. Martin picks it up to check — and yes, it’s definitely his pen, with the ink halfway spent and the tip demonstrating a clear evidence of Martin’s nervous chewing habits. He decides it must be Tim pulling a prank (not even a clever one, mind) and lets the issue go without bringing it up. Still, something uneasy gnaws at Martin’s mind until the end of the day.
It becomes something of a regular occurrence — objects disappearing and turning up hours, days later in random places. Usually it’s office supplies — pens, pencils, a ruler, a stack of highlighters, sticky notes, and once even a roll of two-sided duct tape. Less often it’s case files or personal belongings. And never — food. At first, Martin seriously considers bringing this up with Tim or Sasha, forcing one (or both) of his colleagues to come clean, because the constant re-arrangement of everything is starting to drive him insane. However, it soon becomes evident that his friends also fell prey to the mysterious kleptomanic forces; Sasha’s hairbands go missing from her desk and are then found in the trash bin, along with Tim’s fidget cube. Tim complains that his collection of small superhero erasers is out of order (Martin has no way of knowing whether it’s true), and Sasha struggles to find her colour-coded paperclips.
Every morning in the Archives from then on begins with hunting down the essentials and then keeping a close eye on them, never leaving any treasured possessions overnight. Sasha uses her clearance level to access the tapes and staff recordings to confirm that nobody enters the Archives except for the three of them. It’s a pity the basement itself has no cameras, and Elias is no help in the matter whatsoever. Thus, the small archival crew has no other choice but to cope.
Life continues like that for a while, and Martin even gets used to the oddness of the whole situation. Then, the whispering starts.
It’s like someone is muttering unintelligible nonsense under their nose, too quiet and far away for Martin to catch the exact words. He can’t even say where the voice is coming from. It appears suddenly, akin to a gust of cold wind, and passes by before Martin registers its presence properly. He hears it for the first time around mid-September and promptly falls out of his chair, turning his head from side to side in alarm. The incident is just spooky enough to convince him that it’s awfully late (which it is) and he really should go home to lie down.
The next time happens a month later, and Martin, who absolutely forgot about the previous encounter, has to spend several long minutes on his knees, cleaning up a rather large stain of spilled tea on the break room floor. The whispered rantings proceed to greet Martin every two weeks, occasionally bringing the feelings of cold and damp weather, even though Martin knows for a fact that the heating works just fine. Neither Sasha nor Tim report any similar experiences, so Martin keeps his ghost idea to himself, waiting for a better opportunity to bring it up. Frankly, the perspective of meeting a real ghost excites him almost as much as it is terrifying. They do study paranormal stuff, but it’s not like Martin has ever seen it before. He’s not entirely sure he wants to find out what a potentially vengeful ghost might want with his poor soul, especially considering that two previous Archivists disappeared without a trace, and one of them left a quite concerning amount of blood behind.
So Martin puts up with the chills, and runaway pens, and a weird odour of salt well into the winter. He brings extra sweaters, makes more chamomile tea to calm the nerves and helps around to relieve some of Sasha’s stress. It’s fine, good even, with the company he finds himself in, and the whole ghost thing ultimately doesn’t bother him that much.
That is, until January 25th, when he comes to the document storage to retrieve a couple of unnamed boxes and sees… oh shit.
He sees what can be nothing but a blue, transparent, floating hand.
part 2 >
