Chapter Text
It had been about a month since you had moved to Chelsea, you had grown familiar with the area, gotten at least some belongings unpacked, and scheduled an interview at an odd place you found named 'The Magnus Institute'. You understood it wasn't the most well-received amongst scholars and academics, but with what you saw, what you did...
You weren't sure what you believed in anymore.
The kettle beeped, pulling you from your thoughts with a jump. You get up from the old couch, walk to the kitchen counter and pull a clean mug from the cabinets. The hissing dies down as you pour steaming water into the mug and add your favorite tea along with some fixings. You pull last night's dinner from the microwave and allow your mind to wander... You wonder what this institute is like, was what you saw truly paranormal? They were pretty clear in their guidelines that hallucinations didn't qualify, but how could one really know what they see is real? How could they know true from false when covering what's beyond science itself? you were sure you'd find out soon enough, only a few hours until your interview, and time flies when you're busy.
Breakfast, shower, teeth, application, application, application-if none of these get accepted you are gonna scream. Four years, one bachelor's, and not a job in Chelsea that needs you.
'Wonder if the institute is hiring...' you think wryly, in a few of your academic groups you'd heard plenty of stuff about the Magnus Institute, mostly that the people there were insane, or stupid, or a mix of the two. Although, if you went to your academic groups with what happened to you, well, you'd be in the same place. Maybe you could have a little faith.
You were glad it was a short walk, maybe 40 minutes in a rush, with the traffic today it was faster than driving, and you certainly needed some fresh air. Within just a few more minutes you were once again faced with the towering building you knew as "The Magnus Institute". Walking inside you're surprised at how nice everything looks; polished wood floors, good lighting, and a rounded front desk, behind which sits the receptionist, who greets you.
"Hello, welcome to the Magnus Institute, how may I help you?" She says, that common customer-service tone reminds you of your old job. "Hey, I'm here for my interview. I'm Y/n L/n." You introduce yourself and she gives a nod. "Follow me, the Archivist should be in her office."
She takes you down to the basement where the archives are located, which looks a lot more like what you had expected. You are led through the dim hall, past the rooms of storage containing who knows what, and into the Archivist's office. It's pretty messy, the old woman sitting at the desk looks concentrated, her brow furrowed and her shoulders tense. Rosie clears her throat and the Archivist looks over, raising a brow before catching you in her intense gaze, beckoning you to the seat across her. You sit down, and she clicks on an old tape recorder, before you can question the outdated equipment, she speaks up. "Are you ready to give your statement?" She asks, her question curt. "Uh, I guess? Ready as I'll ever be." You reply, tensing in your seat. "Good. Statement of Y/n L/n regarding their experience with an anomalous mirror purchased at a garage sale in Pentonville. Statement taken direct from subject, 12th of May, 2001. Gertrude Robinson recording.
Statement begins."
It was quite a nice mirror, although it felt out of place amongst the old porcelain dolls and the dusty wooden furniture; in fact, it didn't seem to have a speck of dust on it... no smudges or scuffs, just this simple, full-body mirror that would perfectly fit in your bedroom. You did a quick check of your reflection, making sure you didn't look as tired as you felt. Your reflection looked back at you, and for the first time in a while, you felt pretty good about it! Maybe it was your outfit, or maybe the lighting, but whatever it was it put you in a pretty good mood, good enough to take that mirror home, setting it up by your dresser.
It was maybe a week later it started, you're not sure if it was in any way correlated but you had started eating less again. Your reflection always looked... wrong. You just couldn't bring yourself to love the body in the mirror... Your co-workers started to pick up on it, asking if you were okay, asking why you were so tired, asking why you had changed so much.
You didn't know.
That wasn't the end of it, after some time you started covering the mirror, refusing to look at yourself. Even then you couldn't take it. Your reflection taunted you with its presence, from water to glass, you couldn't escape what followed you. At the time it just seemed like a relapse, you were no stranger to these feelings, but as the days went by, as your reflection strayed further and further from reality...
The sheet falls from your hand, your eyes meet with what you had somehow thought was yourself. You run. Your heart beats against your ribcage and your lungs struggle to keep pace with your legs. You stumble-
Pain.
Screams.
Mirrors.
Shatter.
Blood.
Sirens.
Lights.
You finish your statement, returning to the present. Gertrude speaks up. "Was that the only time you saw it?" You nod. "And what happened with the object?" You swallow thickly, "I... well as I said I broke the damned thing, but I just kinda... put it in the bin. Wasn't sure what to do." She gives a slow, deep sigh. "Alright. Statement ends. Rosie should be at the front, give her your contact information in case we need a follow-up." You nod again, taking your leave and trying to keep your composure. It was like you were there again... that sickening maze... you shake your head as if to clear it from your mind and make your way up the stairs back to the lobby where a man about your age is bringing in a large box of papers, he sets them down on the front desk and you take a seat, not quite ready to start the walk home. You tune out whatever the other two were talking about and try to collect yourself, it was only a statement, you couldn't understand why it felt so real, as if you were back in Pentonville. You shake the thought from your mind once again, trying to ground yourself. 'Deep breaths, remember? Don't freak out, just breathe. Breathe.'
"Uh, hello? Are you feeling alright?" You jump, and the man in front of you apologizes. "Oh! Sorry, sorry, just wondering if you're alright, you seem a tad shaken. Just finish a statement?" You take a moment to look him over, he's about 5'7 and chubby with orange, curly hair and a pair of round glasses. "Yeah, sorry-should I go?" You ask as anxiety sets in, but he shakes his head. "Oh, no, no, no it's fine! I just recognize that look-Gertrude has that effect on people. I'm actually on my break if you need any help! Some people like talking to calm down." He says. You look to Rosie, a bit confused, but she just rolls her eyes as if this happens every day. "Sure, maybe a chat will get my mind off it." You say, he gives a kind smile and sits down opposite you. He introduces himself as Martin, and you give your name in return. He asks how things have been and you take a bit to rant about your haphazard move and your shitty job search. He nods along, chuckling and adding his own experiences, you note how animated he is when he talks, it's endearing. You feel quite a bit better after the chat, and he notes that if you're struggling to find a job, there are plenty of jobs open in research. "I know a lot of people think this place is weird, or spooky, or whatever, but I honestly quite like it here! I work in the library just across from Research, it pays well and-I know it's an institute that researches like, ghosts and stuff but-they take their research really seriously. I dunno, you seem to be the academic type? I'm just rambling at this rate-sorry." You laugh, and he relaxes a bit. "Well, it's certainly a convincing pitch. Who knows, maybe I'll see you around?" "Maybe! Oh-my break's almost over, I better get back to it, hope you're feeling better!" He says, giving you a wave and rushing over to the hall. You smile and make your way out of the institute, starting the walk home.
Declined, declined, declined. You close your laptop and scream into your pillow. 'This is bullshit, absolute rubbish, fucking garbage.' At this point you would settle for a janitorial position, you just want somewhere quiet where you won't have a goddamn breakdown. You move your laptop to the nightstand, falling back into the bed with a groan. The bandages on your thighs and arms rub awkwardly against the sheets, and you remember you have to get those removed soon. Thank God.
You still need to figure out a job, and frankly, the potential crackpot institute is seeming more and more appealing. You remember your chat with Martin, he assured you it was a very professional institute, despite the stigma surrounding it. It couldn't hurt to place an application, maybe you could learn more about what happened to you, maybe you could help people... maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.
You grab your laptop, open The Magnus Institute's website and submit an application for the Researcher position. You were plenty qualified for it, but you couldn't help but feel a bit anxious. You had plenty of experience in libraries, and even archives, but you were a total stranger to the paranormal. Plus you already probably sounded like a looney from your statement. 'Whatever. It's fine. Worrying won't do me any good.' You tell yourself, getting out of bed and doing some chores. It had always sucked living alone, but now it was unbearable. You keep music playing through the house on an old Bluetooth speaker, but it still feels so empty. Hopefully, once you get rid of some of this free time you'll feel better.
Days went by, and you had gotten your response. Now you're on your way to an in-person interview, and as stressed as you are, you keep your head high as you enter the office of Elias Bouchard.
"Ah, Mx. L/n, there you are. Please, take a seat." You do so, setting your papers on the desk. He takes a bit to look them over, asking questions and making comments. He has an intimidating presence, and any time he looks from your papers to you, you can feel it. The interview seems to drag on, but finally, he gives a nod and stands to shake your hand, you return the gesture.
"Welcome to the team, Y/n. I look forward to seeing you Monday.
Three months. you've spent three months working at the institute and you love it. As horrific as the stories are, the layer of separation is comfortable, and the mystery of each one has you enraptured. Researching the people and places behind these stories... it's exhilarating! Of course, you're calm and professional, but it's hard to not get a little excited when you find the final piece of these odd little puzzles. You're on one of your breaks, which you usually take in the library, which is well-organized and clean. You write your thoughts and theories in your notebook and do some drawing... although you find your thoughts wandering to dark places when they aren't occupied, places you only saw once, in the reflection of that mirror...
Honestly, you felt some regret at the fact that you hadn't kept the damned thing, maybe you could've brought it into Artifact Storage, where it would be studied and kept away from the rest of the world. You had learned that-if what was being stated was true-some objects could defy even the laws of physics, repairing themselves or disappearing, the idea that that mirror was still out there-that that thing was still out there-was terrifying. You couldn't tell if your nightmares were just trauma or a sign it had followed you to Chelsea...
"Hey, Y/n, you feeling alright? You just- you look unwell." Says Martin, pulling you from your thoughts, holding two cups of tea. You set down your notebook and take your cup. "Ah, thanks, Martin. I'm feeling fine, just... read something odd, don't worry yourself." You say. Martin hums, somewhat distressed. "If you say so, just, let me know if you need anything. Really." Martin gives that usual, soft smile and you nod, taking a sip from your tea. "Of course, I promise. You take care of yourself too, Martin." "Oh, I'll be fine, what do you think is gonna happen, one of the books will eat me?" You couldn't help but laugh, and Martin followed suit. "You'd be surprised, have you seen the stuff in Artifact Storage?" You say, dropping the professional voice. It was nice having a friend at work, when Martin heard you got the job, he came and congratulated you, and you spent the rest of your break talking in the library. From there it was practically routine. You'd meet up on break, enjoy a cup of tea, and talk about the sheer unadulterated chaos you had to deal with. Today you spent some time talking about your new favorite book series, but soon enough your break was over, and you wished Martin a good day.
You returned to your cubicle, getting back into the swing of things, when someone taps on your desk to get your attention. You look over to him and see a scrawny man with mid-length dark hair, and a bit of stubble, you recognize his description as Jon, another researcher. He seems to be around 5'1, and from what you've heard he has a short temper to match.
"Hello, you're Y/n, right?" You nod. "Ah, good. Elias asked me to get these to you." He hands over a large stack of documents, organized by case, as per usual. "Thank you! You must be Jon, it's nice to finally meet you." You inwardly cringe at your own over-professional facade. "Yes, good to meet you too. You seem to be busy." He comments, motioning to your desk, it looks like chaos, but you know where everything is. "Oh, it's not too bad. I'll be fine." You shrug, and he grimaces. "Sure. Well, I'm quite busy myself, I best be going." "Oh, good luck!" You say, and he leaves, still looking somewhat miffed.
"Okay, Y/n, don't lie to me. Something is definitely wrong." Martin said, handing you your cup of tea. It had been a couple of weeks and that dude's attitude just got pissier. "I don't know, man. There's that dude in my department who keeps bitching about people's work..." You replied, not even bothering with the facade anymore. "The same one from last time? Jon?" "Yep. I mean, it's not often but like- really, dude? Is my handwriting that bad?" Martin chuckled, "I dunno, Y/n, it's pretty bad-" He joked, and you punch his arm playfully. "Yeah, right. It's not bloody illegible! Any time he has to use my research he acts like it's chicken scratch." "Ah, well, I have heard he's a bit of a grouch, that's probably just how he is, he takes his work really seriously." "So do I, I don't feel the need to treat my co-workers like ass, though." You both had a laugh about your short-tempered co-worker and continued on with your day,
and then the next,
and then the next...