MAG 164 - The Sick Village
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Case ########-4
Statement of an outbreak.
Audio recording by the Archivist, in situ.
Thanks to this week's Patrons: caroline yepsen, Salsa, Prince Hess, Anne Schindler, gwain, Rebecca McElfish, Piper Cooke, Estrid Nielsen, lairn, Mari, Lucy Bresgal-Waters, steph Leddington, Honeybee, Abigail Trevor, Jenniferr Fleming, Emily Deutsch, annie wold, Charlotte Shih, Dave Palmer, stephanie santos, Jam-Jamz, Anna Ivanyos, Kellan B, Sarah S, Gabriella Cigarroa, Ashley DesertWillow' Wilson, Ashura Sumeragi, Kenzie JP, Catherine Evans, Jess Riley, Elodie_L, Anna Walker, Eri Martinez, AJNR, isabella bestfriend, Tracy T, Beaujester Real, Jake Cazden, Vinetabris, Quatermoose
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Edited this week by Annie Fitch, Elizabeth Moffatt, Brock Winstead & Alexander J Newall.
Written by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J Newall.
Produced by Lowri Ann Davies.
Content warnings: - Plague - Rot / Putrefaction - Pandemic - Quarantine - Xenophobia / Racism - Bigotry / Mob justics - Maggots & flying insects (inc SFX) - Self-harm - Human sacrifice - Immolation
Performances: - "The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims - "Martin Blackwood" - Alexander J. Newall - "Helen Richardson" - Imogen Harris
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Jonathan Sims
Alexander J. Newall
Imogen Harris
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Jonathan Sims
00:14
Rusty Quill presents
The Magnus Archives
.Share
00:33
Episode 164: The Sick village.
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01:13
There is a sickness in this village. Perhaps you would not see it from a distance and the faint sting of rot on the breeze is easy enough to dismiss. But as you get closer, that infectious feeling of wrongness is harder and harder to shake. The grass is not the green of nature, the buildings are warped by more than age, and the voices that come from behind the inhabitants' masks a hoarse and wet. They move with exaggerated casualness, a parody of idyllic village life. And when they have a break from weeping, they reassure each other how wonderful it is in their village, or at least how wonderful it used to be.
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02:02
Each is covered from head to toe in thick, black fabric and they never, ever touch. Take a deep breath. The air feels thick and soupy in your lungs, swarming with a thousand contagions digging into you, begging for you to join the village. "It's so quiet there, and everyone cares for each other, far from the din and compacted flesh of the city."
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02:36
In the centre, a maypole stands, mildewed strips of coloured cloth hanging limply from it like shreds of ragged skin. The base of the pole is ashen and charred. The disease itself is nothing special. It begins as a small patch of discoloured skin, the tiniest blemish. Scrub it off, and it is gone! For a few hours at least. But it returns again and again and begins to spread, a mould with tendrils that burrow deep.
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03:13
It ranges in colour from rancid yellow and corpse-fat white to the dull, angry purple of a fresh bruise. It itches and burns and you can feel it growing and spreading inside you, looking for the core of you. At least until it worms its way into your bones. Beneath the coat of each terrified citizen of this sick village lies a lurking possibility. A nightmarish suspicion of infectious constellations of hungry mildew, a mutating technicolour atlas of rotten and pockmarked flesh. But who can know for sure? Their coats are oh, so thick.
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04:00
There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you. It has always been in the village, always festered in the dark corners where nobody could stomach to check. Where good neighbours wouldn't dream to speculate. But those who live here will tell you different. From behind their masks, those friendly voices will tell you how it used to be, clean and hygienic and always bathed in sepia sunshine. They know in the guts of them this sickness has come from outside, that it is those from beyond the village that have done this to them.
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04:39
"They brought it here," they whispered to each other in the unnamed pub, hunched and bloated over their pale and stinking beers, lifting their masks to take a mouthful, puce faces and frightened sneers exposed for just a moment. "They couldn't leave us well enough alone. They wanted what we have, our perfect peaceful life, and so they dragged their sickness here and damned us all."
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05:06
The patrons speak quietly,'cause who can say for certain whether the face behind a mask is a good honest village face, or a sickness bearing harbinger from beyond? And people do still come to the village, for however thick the paranoia, however terrible the disease. There are worse things beyond. They are stopped, of course, beaten and stripped and checked head to toe for signs of infection. The village council sees to that.
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05:38
Most are uncontaminated, though that does little to save them, while others are already laced right through with fungus of their own. A few are spared brutality and treated with such cordial politeness you must have thought their inquisitors old friends. Though there seems on the surface no rhyme to such decisions, were you to look beneath the coats, you might see the patterns of their mould were matched.
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06:08
It is, alas, those who are unblemished that suffer worst. So incomprehensible is it that any from outside could be clean, that there might be another source or vector. The inspectors devise another theory. An invisible infection. A hundred
Typhoid Marys
spreading mildew and decay. They keep them in the post office wrapped in chicken wire, prodded and jeered and watched. Should they begin to show signs of the rot, then maybe, just maybe, they can stay for now, though, nobody will doubt that it was they that brought the illness.Share
06:47
But if they stay clean, if they continue to act like they are better, like they are above the sickness that it is certain they must have brought to the village, then that cannot be endured. So they are taken to the village green, and the scorch marks at the base of the maypole get darker. The villagers stand on the green to watch, ignoring the bending of the grass as it tries to worm its way through their boots. They watch the screaming outsider, as the fire purifies them, and inside feel the gnawing panic of their own secrets.
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07:27
For how long ago did they really come to the village? How deep do their roots go? Do any of them truly remember? What if they are an outsider? What have they found out? No. Such fears aren't to be quashed and swallowed, they must stand strong, they must stand together as one body against the mass of those beyond the village who would see them degraded and destroyed. They cannot allow such secret terrors to break their unity. And the maypole watches over all.
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08:06
There is no house in town that has not found itself marked with the red cross of plague, but paint is fleeting and the villagers are so desperate to hide their state. Night still falls here, if only to give those that wish it a chance to try and hide their frantic denials. As the weak dawn breaks, you may count the doors now painted white, and see who is more conscientious in covering their spongy skin. The deception is pitiable, and yet deep down every villager knows the mould has marked them deeper than any of the others, and carries it as their most secret shame.
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08:49
Foremost in their denials of the village council, those loud and hardy souls who have taken it upon themselves to police this place, to safeguard their traditions and denounce the infection that is the right and proper punishment of those who would allow the village borders to be breached, and their ancient way of life to be compromised. Their masks are blue and red and white, and their coats are the colour of fresh ivory, stained sometimes with streaks of crimson from their dutiful ministrations.
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09:24
None would dare accuse them of infection, and to cross them or draw their eye is to invite the strongest diagnosis. Head of the council is Jillian Smith. Her father's father's father's father's father built the maypole, carved from a jackalberry tree and painted in the colours of the village. This place is her home and her right and her duty, and woe to any fungus-riddled outsider who might believe it otherwise. For no one would speak up if Jillian Smith were to mark you infected or declare you foreign. No one would lift a finger as they dragged you to the green.
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10:08
Her gloves are purest white and never sullied, and they hide a cerulean mould that covers every inch of her, through skin, muscle, and organ, though she has no idea it runs so deep. By night, she sits in the quiet darkness of her perfect cottage, peeling herself with a straight razor, layer by layer, desperate to reach the pure flesh she is so sure must still be in there somewhere.
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10:42
Her living room is the same suffocation blue as the rest of her, every surface piled high with her own discarded bloody skin, and she has no terror deeper than the thought she might be discovered. As she pulls spongy strips free one agonizing fibre at a time, she stares from her window at the house of her neighbour, Mrs Kim. Mrs Kim is not on the village council. Mrs Kim keeps to herself. And Jillian Smith is certain that Mrs Kim is not infected, and hates her for it.
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11:23
What Mrs Kim is, is scared. Scared of her neighbours, scared of her friends, scared of the moment when someone will smell the spreading patch of darkness on her back and decide she is infected, or remember she has only been in the village since her grandfather's day, and judge her to be an outsider. Should she accuse someone else? Send them to the village green? Perhaps she might petition to join the council, though that would invite their attention as much as anything might.
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11:55
Even through the masks, Mrs Kim knows the looks she gets in the pub. But what can she do? When she hears the shouts outside and sees the smoke pouring from the thatched roof, she knows it is too late. They dragged her to the maypole, their masks hiding the tears of terror and angry shame, and lash her there with those strips of cloth that never seemed to burn.
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12:20
Mrs Kim does not fight, though she screams and screams and screams as all her fears are realised. Jillian Smith tries to smile as she watches her neighbour burn, but fungus is too thick around her lips, and her face no longer moves. As the flames consumed the last of Mrs Kim in thick and acrid smoke, the mould reaches the bones of Jillian Smith, and she blooms. In a moment, she is swollen, bloated, bursting into a cloud of violet spores that enveloped the green and those who dwell there, embracing them in a rot that long since seeped into the soil of this blighted land.
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13:13
Okay. End recording.
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13:21
We're fine.
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Alexander J. Newall
13:22
Are we? I mean, that place is- I don't feel fine, okay, and you were there a long time doing your guidebook, which, you know, I get it, but that place is- it's infectious and I don't-
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Jonathan Sims
13:34
We're not infected, Martin, that place- it isn't for us.
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Alexander J. Newall
13:39
All right, but how do you know-
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Jonathan Sims
13:41
I just do. I just know it.
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Alexander J. Newall
13:48
You've been knowing a lot lately.
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Jonathan Sims
13:51
Yes.
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Alexander J. Newall
13:52
A lot more than you used to.
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Jonathan Sims
13:55
Yeah. And it feels more deliberate. Like I have more control now.
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Alexander J. Newall
14:02
Okay, so how much can you see? What else do you know?
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Jonathan Sims
14:12
Maybe everything.
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Alexander J. Newall
14:13
What do you mean, "everything?"
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Jonathan Sims
14:15
I don't- ask me a question! One I can't possibly know already.
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Alexander J. Newall
14:20
Okay, what's my middle name?
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Jonathan Sims
14:27
You don't have one!
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Alexander J. Newall
14:29
Whoa.
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Jonathan Sims
14:29
You- I actually believed you!
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Alexander J. Newall
14:31
Oh, sorry, sorry. I just wanted to try it out.
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Jonathan Sims
14:33
"That's ridiculous," I thought, "that's not a real name, but he wouldn't lie to me."
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Alexander J. Newall
14:35
Okay, okay, okay, okay, let's try something a little bigger, then.
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Jonathan Sims
14:38
All right.
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Alexander J. Newall
14:42
Is Basira alive? Is she in one of these places?
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Jonathan Sims
14:49
She's alive. Out there, not trapped in a hellscape, but moving. Hunting. She's looking for Daisy. She is a few steps behind.
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Alexander J. Newall
15:00
And Daisy?
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Jonathan Sims
15:04
Beastial. Brutal. Carving her way through the domains of other powers, following the scent of blood- oh, Daisy, I'm sorry.
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Alexander J. Newall
15:12
What's Basira going to do?
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Jonathan Sims
15:14
She thinks she's going to kill Daisy. Like she promised. But she's conflicted.
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Alexander J. Newall
15:22
And will she?
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Jonathan Sims
15:24
I don't know the future, that's- it's not something I can see.
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Alexander J. Newall
15:29
Okay. Good to know. How much further do we still need to go?
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Jonathan Sims
15:35
A long way. Through many dark and awful places.
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Alexander J. Newall
15:40
Is this- are you okay? How are you feeling?
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Jonathan Sims
15:43
I'm okay. It's a little strange? But it doesn't hurt. Keep going, you have questions, let's hear them.
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Alexander J. Newall
15:49
Oh, okay. How are the others?
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Jonathan Sims
15:53
I- I'm not sure, I can't really see Melanie or Georgie.
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Alexander J. Newall
16:02
They're dead?
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Jonathan Sims
16:03
No, no, I don't think so. If they were dead, I think I would know that, I just- I don't know where they are, what they're doing.
London
, maybe?Share
Alexander J. Newall
16:16
What about Elias?
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Jonathan Sims
16:17
He's inside the Panopticon. The tower, far above the world.
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Alexander J. Newall
16:21
That one?
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Jonathan Sims
16:22
Yes.
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Alexander J. Newall
16:25
How is he?
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Jonathan Sims
16:26
Hard to say. The way this works, this new site, the knowledge is somehow wrapped up in the Panopticon? an eye can't see inside itself, but I can feel him in there.
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Alexander J. Newall
16:41
That sounds gross.
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Jonathan Sims
16:45
It is.
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Alexander J. Newall
16:46
Are we safe, travelling like this?
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Jonathan Sims
16:48
Yes. Yes, sort of, we're- I don't know how to phrase it, we're something between a pilgrim and a moth. We can walk through these little worlds of terror, watching them. Separate and untouched.
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Alexander J. Newall
17:07
That's not as comforting as you might think.
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Jonathan Sims
17:10
I like it better than the alternative.
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Alexander J. Newall
17:12
Fair point! Okay, okay. What else, what else? Oh, who was- phone! And who was calling me?
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Jonathan Sims
17:22
I think it was Anabelle Cane. That's weird, I know the web was wrapped around that phone, but I can't see her. At all. At least with Georgie and Melanie, I have a vague sense they're still alive in
London
, and well, what was London.
But Annabelle? Nothing.Share
Alexander J. Newall
17:46
Well, I'll- I'll ask her, next time she calls.
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Jonathan Sims
17:50
Well, I know that's a bad idea.
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Alexander J. Newall
17:51
Do you?
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Jonathan Sims
17:53
Okay, no, that one was a very reasonable guess. Anything else? I'll be honest, I'm starting to feel a bit self-conscious, being a post-apocalyptic Google?
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Alexander J. Newall
18:03
Okay, okay, just one more, but it's a big one.
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Jonathan Sims
18:07
Okay.
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Alexander J. Newall
18:09
Can we turn the world back?
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Jonathan Sims
18:13
Whoa, if the fears are removed, yes, but they can't be destroyed while there are still people to fear them, then they can't be banished back to the space where they came from, it's not there anymore. Oh-
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Alexander J. Newall
18:28
Jon, what's wrong?
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Jonathan Sims
18:32
I'm sorry, trying to know things about them directly, it's like- God, is like looking into the Sun.
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Alexander J. Newall
18:40
Okay, okay, okay, all right, that's all right. We can leave it.
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Jonathan Sims
18:44
Good. Ow.
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Alexander J. Newall
18:47
Hey, it's okay, it's okay. We'll go slow for a while.
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Jonathan Sims
18:50
All right.
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Alexander J. Newall
18:51
Yeah. Yeah, there's no rush. Oh, actually, what about Helen, where's she these days?
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Jonathan Sims
18:60
She's- right. Naturally.
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Alexander J. Newall
19:06
What? What's she doing?
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Jonathan Sims
19:08
Martin, turn around.
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19:10
Oh, you're kidding.
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19:11
Wish I was.
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Alexander J. Newall
19:13
Shall we-
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Jonathan Sims
19:15
Do you want to do the honours?
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Alexander J. Newall
19:17
Not really!
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Jonathan Sims
19:22
Maybe no one's home?
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Imogen Harris
19:25
Hello, Jon!
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Jonathan Sims
19:27
How did you find us?
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Imogen Harris
19:28
Oh, I thought you know everything at this point.
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Jonathan Sims
19:31
Yes, I suppose I do.
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Alexander J. Newall
19:35
And I don't! So, care to enlighten me?
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Jonathan Sims
19:38
Oh, yes, sorry. The Distortion can always find anyone who has crossed its threshold.
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Imogen Harris
19:45
And that includes you, Martin, remember? And please, my name is Helen.
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Jonathan Sims
19:51
Like you said, I can know everything now, including how much of a lie that really is.
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Imogen Harris
19:56
Don't mistake complication for falsehood, dear Archivist. And remember, that knowledge is not the same thing as understanding.
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Jonathan Sims
20:05
What do you want?
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Imogen Harris
20:06
To say hello and check up on the happy couple. I always knew you crazy kids would make it work.
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Alexander J. Newall
20:16
Thanks.
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Jonathan Sims
20:17
Martin. Look, I have no interest in your gloating.
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Imogen Harris
20:22
What would I have to gloat about? Much as I am delighted by this brave new world in which we find ourselves, I can take no credit for it. This was all you!
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Jonathan Sims
20:35
You could have- you knew what was happening.
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Imogen Harris
20:38
I suspected, but all I really did was refused to help. And that is hardly a unique quality. If that makes it my fault, then surely this is Georgie's fault as well, and Melanie's-
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Jonathan Sims
20:52
Leave them out of this, they didn't know!
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Imogen Harris
20:55
There it is again! Knowledge! It's so very important to you, isn't it? These fossilised nuggets of pretend comprehension, weighing you down, stopping you thinking or feeling. What about hypotheticals? If they had known, what would they have done? Is that something you can see?
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Jonathan Sims
21:16
What do you want?
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Imogen Harris
21:20
To be friends again! All three of us. Look at this place, look at this wonderland. This is the world now, and we are strong and free. There's really no reason for us not to hang out. Goodness, he is in a mood. Has he been like this the whole time?
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Alexander J. Newall
21:41
Not the whole time.
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21:42
Thank goodness.
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Jonathan Sims
21:43
Martin.
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Alexander J. Newall
21:44
In fairness, he's had a lot on.
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Imogen Harris
21:46
Oh, I'm sure.
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Jonathan Sims
21:47
Martin, please.
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Alexander J. Newall
21:49
Sorry, it's just- maybe she can help.
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Jonathan Sims
21:51
With what?
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Alexander J. Newall
21:52
With our- with our quest. We've been walking a while, and well, her door's- maybe we could, you know, shortcut.
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Jonathan Sims
22:02
No. No, I don't think that's a good idea.
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Imogen Harris
22:06
I would happily take him. But I don't think he'd want to leave you.
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Alexander J. Newall
22:10
Okay, one, don't talk about me like I'm not here, it's rude. Two, I know you can take two people at once. Me and Tim were both inside the corridors when it-
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Jonathan Sims
22:18
Martin, it's not that simple.
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Imogen Harris
22:21
I'm afraid the Archivist is too powerful now. If he tried to travel through my corridors, it would not go well, for any of us.
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Jonathan Sims
22:29
But mainly for you.
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Imogen Harris
22:31
Ooh, is that a threat?
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Jonathan Sims
22:34
No.
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Imogen Harris
22:35
Pity.
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Alexander J. Newall
22:35
So, no shortcuts then. Understood. I'm not leaving you on your own.
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Imogen Harris
22:40
Oh, such devotion. You really don't deserve it. But of course, you know that already! This is nice! I am really glad we get to spend some proper quality time together now.
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Alexander J. Newall
22:59
Yeah.
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Imogen Harris
23:00
Anyway, sorry to love you and leave you, but I must dash. It's a very busy time for me, lots of things to do, people to- well, you know.
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Jonathan Sims
23:12
I don't doubt it.
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Alexander J. Newall
23:15
What?
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Imogen Harris
23:17
Just taking a moment to look. You two are just such an adorable couple-
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Jonathan Sims
23:23
Enough.
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Imogen Harris
23:25
See you soon!
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Alexander J. Newall
23:31
Maybe she's right.
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Jonathan Sims
23:32
I am not, nor have I ever been, "adorable."
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Alexander J. Newall
23:35
Okay, not true. But I actually meant the whole being friends thing? I mean, I don't see why-
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Jonathan Sims
23:41
Martin, she's a cruel, vicious monster.
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Alexander J. Newall
23:46
Yes. Yes, she is. But who else is there?
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Jonathan Sims
24:00
The Magnus Archives
is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Today's episode was written by Jonathan Sims, produced by Lowri Ann Davies, and directed by Alexander J. Newall. It featured Jonathan Sims as the archivist, Alexander J. Newall as Martin Blackwood, and Imogen Harris as Helen Richardson.Share
24:27
To subscribe, buy merchandise, or join our Patreon visit rustyquill. com. Rate and review us online, tweet us at TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook, or email us via mail@rustyquill. com. Join our community on Discord via the website or on Reddit, at r/TheMagnusArchives. Thanks for listening.
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Alexander J. Newall
24:60
Hi everyone Alex here. I'd just like to take a moment to thank some of our patrons. caroline yepsen, Salsa, Prince Hess, Anne Schindler, gwain, Rebecca McElfish, Piper Cooke, Estrid Nielsen, lairn, Mari, Lucy Bresgal-Waters, steph Leddington, Honeybee, Abigail Trevor, Jenniferr Fleming, Emily Deutsch, annie wold, Charlotte Shih, Dave Palmer, Anna Ivanyos, Jam-Jamz, Kellan B, Sarah S, Gabriella Cigarroa, Ashley DesertWillow' Wilson.
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25:33
Ashura Sumeragi, Kenzie JP, Catherine Evans, Jess Riley, Elodie_L, Anna Walker, Eri Martinez, AJNR, isabella bestfriend, Tracy T, Beaujester Real, Jake Cazden, Vinetabris, Quatermoose, stephanie santos. Thank you all. We really appreciate your support. If you'd like to join them, go to www. patreon. com/rustyquill and take a look at our rewards.
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Jonathan Sims
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