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Statement begins...
hello, my name is Jonathan Sims, head archivist for the Magnus Institute. From where I am now there are thousands of statements I will organize. It is going to take me awhile since the last archivist only did a half decent job. *ahem* I have two researchers to assist me. Tim and Sasha. And Martin i suppose, but I dont really count him. Statement end. (Blog Info is below the cut :3)
ID: #0092409
Statement of June Yung regarding a garden and its gardener. Statement originally given September 24th, 2009.
Statement begins.
I’m not expecting you to believe me. The police certainly didn’t when I told them. They said they didn’t find anything and told me not to make false reports. No, I think at this point I just need to tell one other person before…
Anyways. It started a couple months ago. I haven’t been having the best time financially or mentally. My mother had recently passed away, and I was struggling to keep up with the rent. I didn’t have any friends, really, even at work. They were acquaintances at most.
I felt alone, with nobody to help me. It was almost suffocating.
Maybe that’s why it found me.
My flat is near a local park that sits in the middle of everything. I often tried walking through it to avoid getting near the loud sound of traffic walking along the sidewalk. It was there I typically felt the calmest. It almost felt as if all my worries didn’t exist when I wandered across the brick paths and underneath the tall branches of grand trees.
The frequency by which I always walked through that park was probably why I noticed the dirt path leading into a clump of trees I didn’t remember being there.
It was obviously strange, and I opted to ignore it at first, but then there was… a whistle. Just the sound of someone whistling, and yet it…
It drew me in, for lack of a better way of describing it. I found myself wandering down that dirt path and into that clump of trees. The dirt was soft under my feet, and the shadows of the tree canopy swallowed me up quickly.
It wasn’t long before I emerged somewhere else.
It shouldn’t have been possible. I ended up walking for what felt like hours, despite the park only being an hour walk from one end to the other at most. And yet I walked along that dirt path for a long time, with an equally impossible thicket of trees lining the path.
The air smelled of honey and flowers.
And then I was there.
It was… a garden. Red, blue, yellow, pink… all sorts of flowers were dotted about the place, crawling across the ground in uneven patterns and twirling up pillars and stone statues. The soft burble of a nearby creek even filled my ears.
It was nothing like I’d seen in my borough, and I must’ve stood and just.. stared for minutes on end.
And then the Gardener (- .... .) showed up.
“Are you lost?” He had asked me, appearing next to me while I wasn’t looking, “This garden isn’t for everyone.”
I profusely apologized, obviously. Anyone would after hearing that tone of voice. He had stern, brown eyes and already seemed to be getting grey hairs under that sunhat of his. His overalls had been muddy and covered in flower petals around the knees. He seemed out of place in that garden of his.
And yet, those stern eyes of his softened to match the atmosphere of the garden, and he simply stopped me from leaving with a hand, asking, “You wish to pick out a spot?”
He didn’t explain what he meant before I found myself being given a tour.
It really was a beautiful garden. He showed me the chrysanthemums and the lilies, the forget-me-nots and the marigolds. All the while, he kept speaking about the care he gave to the flowers. “I water them every day, unless it rains. There’s no worries about sunlight here.. and the soil is fertile. It’s calm here.”
Then he showed me a bare patch of ground.
It sat between a bush of roses and a patch of cobra lilies, open for… whomever.
“The choice of flower is up to you.” The man had said. He looked at me with such kindness in his eyes, as if he knew the struggles I was experiencing. As if he knew how tiring life had become. As if he could help.
… I ran.
Maybe it was some sort of clarity finally reaching me when I stared at that patch of soil. The weight of what he was offering. The flowers all around me. The uneven shapes they were all in. The grasping way the leaves stretched towards the sun and towards me.
The way they breathed.
It, the pathway to the Garden, disappeared after I called the police. Again, they didn’t believe me.
But they don’t need to.
Just a couple days ago, it appeared again.
I guess this statement is my last testament. My last mark on this planet as a person. I lost my flat the same day it appeared again. It had to be a sign.
I won’t make the same mistake again twice.
And I’ll finally be able to let go of everything.
Statement ends.
- 🪷
(Holy peak)
this investigation at the time did not get very far as no one could find evidence of the garden that June Young describes in the park. Though Sasha was able to dig through police reports and housing records. June Young did get evicted in 2004 and the police reports were written down. Her dissapearence also matches the date the statement was sent in.
Recording ends.
after seeing nothing but tma on my dash for the last week i finally started listening and let me say this. jon is annoying as fuck. i really like him
