Chapter Text
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ARCHIVIST
All right, is this thing on?
[SHUFFLING]
Appears so. Fourth time’s the charm, apparently. Okay.
[CLEARS THROAT]
My name is Carter Savoire and I’m the newly appointed Head Archivist of the Nexus Institute, specifically the sole branch located in the southern United States. Jacksonville, Florida, that is. There are other bigger and more important locations for the Nexus Institute, and if I did my research right the first location was actually established in London, but most of the files and statements from other locations are filtered here, hence the need for a Head Archivist.
The Nexus Institute is an institution dedicated to researching any and all things paranormal. Now, “paranormal” is quite a broad term, but in regards to how it pertains to our organisation, I’m sure that anyone with half a brain listening can gather that it means most of the cases we receive are fabricated ghost stories from people looking for a good laugh or amateur horror novelists. Those cases still have to be documented and filed away, however, along with any research to either disprove or affirm them.
When a statement reaches a dead end, which most do fairly quickly due to their unreliable nature, they’re transferred here, to the Archives. We are additionally sent numerous statements from our sister locations, mostly from the U.S.A. but occasionally translated copies from other countries. Also taking into account the fact that the Nexus Institute is over 200 years old now and this building, in particular, is over 100 years old, there are a lot of statements currently stored here. I fully acknowledge this and also acknowledge that even with the wonders of modern technology, digitally recording and storing over 200 years' worth of incoherent statements with potentially misfiled research is a bit daunting.
Nevertheless, I would have trusted that the previous Head Archivist, Lara Solinae, would have, at the very least, kept the Archives in decent shape, if unable to even start the process of transferring the files digitally. Unfortunately, it seems that trust was deeply misguided. The mismanagement of this Archive truly reaches the realm of mind-boggling with the depths of disorder she left it in when she retired. And now I have to organise the mess. I can positively say that if I had been informed beforehand of the utter disarray I would be cleaning up, I would have thought twice before accepting this position.
The first few weeks of this new job were devoted to filing and trying to figure out Lara’s bizarre system until we — my assistants and I — stumbled upon a couple of statements that have so far refused to properly transfer onto our computers. Luckily, Riley managed to find some tape recorders, though I don’t know where from. Although a bit archaic when compared to our other technology, I don’t have any other choices and they’re relatively compact, so they’ll be easier to store than other…methods…that Alyza had suggested.
Due to the negligence of my predecessor and, to give her the benefit of the doubt, perhaps some of her predecessors, my assistants will be doing some supplementary research on these statements to make up for the missing research that’s lost…somewhere in here. Of course, I will summarise that and any research the statement has somehow managed to keep at the end of each recording. Consider this my formal apology to any future researchers and Head Archivists.
That’s probably enough background. Without further ado:
Statement of Christopher Jones, regarding the death of Elissa Renee. Original statement given December 1st, 2006. Audio recording by Carter Savoire, Head Archivist of the Nexus Institute, Jacksonville.
Statement begins.
ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)
Look, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me to. I can feel you watching me from behind the glass, from behind those cameras. I could feel your stares as I asked to write a statement. I could feel your eyes from the moment I set foot in this place. I’m guessing that you guys don’t get a lot of teenage guests. At least, not serious teenage guests. Most people my age think this place is a joke and, to be perfectly honest, so do I. I do believe in the supernatural. I also believe that you lot are off your rockers. But I guess I must be a little loose in the head, too, if I’m here, writing this statement.
This happened around four years ago, when I was eight. Right before I moved here. I’m not going to tell you where I was living before that, because frankly, if you go into the forest that I tell you about, looking for what I saw, you won’t make it out. I’m not trying to get more people killed in that place. You are academics, not monster hunters, and lord knows academics are fucking idiots when it comes to self preservation. Always seems that the smartest people aren’t so smart when it really matters.
Elissa and I had been friends our entire lives. We met before even daycare and preschool as our parents were good friends that visited each other often and brought the kiddos along to play. Her parents were new, too, so my parents also went over to help out. We might have been parent-obligated to be friends with each other, but we got along pretty well. Once we hit kindergarten we could’ve drifted apart. She got some little sisters, our parents stopped hanging out as much, we had a smidge of autonomy over our lives. We could’ve. We didn’t. Every day we would play together at school and when not in school, we were pestering our parents over playdates.
It helped that as we grew up, we discovered that we had similar interests. Particularly in reading. We loved to read. We would spend hours, precious playdate time, just lounging around in our rooms, chewing through a pile of books and swapping when we finished. I wouldn’t say that our taste in books was different, because it wasn’t; I would read any book you put in front of me and probably enjoy it, so I enjoyed most of the books she read. She wasn’t like that, though, and preferred reading adventure and fantasy books. While I enjoyed them, I didn’t quite understand them or love them like she did. I was a very anxious kid, and the real world seemed dangerous enough without all the beasts from her stories wandering about.
Whenever we weren’t reading, we were pretending we were valiant knights, intent on slaying the dragon, or monsters lurking in the darkness, working together to conquer the world. We’d go outside and play around in our backyards or run up and down the streets, chasing after each other. We were forbidden from going beyond the street. At her house, it was because her street was clustered between a road that people often sped on and the shady part of the neighbourhood that was constantly being renovated. My street was slightly less hazardous, with the restriction existing because my parents didn’t want us gallivanting off into the giant forest next to our house. Of course, that just made the forest all the more enticing. We’d plan expeditions into it, giggling at the possibilities of what could be in there. Only one expedition actually happened, and I regret it every day.
It was a very bland, boring day save for one aspect: Elissa and I were determined to go into that forest and emerge before my parents could realise we were gone. We had spent weeks planning it out. I managed to get myself a favour from my sister and used that to get her to distract my parents. Once they were sufficiently absorbed in whatever she was doing, Elissa and I were off.
My house sat at the end of the road. Behind it was a large field, surrounded by the forest. I still have no clue how far back that forest went, just that it enveloped the entire neighbourhood and was barely held at bay by those sparse fields, filled only by grass and anthills. The trees weren’t particularly thick, but there were so many and they were so tightly packed that it was impossible to see farther than a few feet into it from outside. We slipped through the trees easily.
As far as I’m aware, that forest wasn’t frequently visited except if you were looking to tear some trees down. There weren’t any noticeable trails and no official entrance for anyone seeking a long hike. I certainly never saw anyone enter it or come out. The forest floor was littered with leaves, sticks, and various shrubs. The trees loomed high overhead, birds fluttering about and small animals crawling up trunks. We were delighted by it. We chased after unlucky squirrels sitting on the ground, poked at bugs lingering on tree bark, and ventured further and further in. We should have turned around. We should have never gone in. Hindsight really is a bitch.
I was the one to notice it at first. As we went deeper, it got quieter. Not the peaceful kind of quiet — the absent kind of quiet. I pointed it out to Elissa and we spent several minutes searching for any life. It was no use. The fauna had either gone missing or didn’t go that deep into the forest. I had felt increasingly nervous, something I dismissed as an urge to go home and not upset my parents, and suggested that we had gone far enough in. Elissa wasn’t so easily scared. She insisted that we had to trek on, if only a little farther, and shouldn’t we enjoy this a little more after we waited so long to do this? I should have said no. I should have said no. I should have grabbed her and fucking dragged her back to the house.
I didn’t. I folded under her pleading and agreed to keep going. Hand-in-hand, we walked to our dooms.
After a bit more walking is when the spiders started appearing. Spiders aren't uncommon where I used to lived. I don’t think they’re uncommon anywhere. You can find them just about anywhere on the planet, I think, except maybe Antarctica. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some kind of spider specifically adapted to the polar climates. I didn’t care much for them. They looked cool and I appreciated them eating all the bugs, and that was about the extent in which they mattered to me personally. When it came to Elissa, I had a much friendlier relationship with spiders, if only for one reason: Elissa hated spiders. She freaked out whenever she saw one and killed them mercilessly. I used to collect plastic spiders whenever Halloween rolled around specifically to throw them at her and watch her scream. In fact, the only time we ever took a break in our friendship was when I managed to lure a live spider into her backpack. She didn’t speak to me for two weeks and I got a very harsh scolding from my parents.
Elissa hesitated when we started seeing spiders. Their webs crawled along the ridges of the tree bark and swooped low under branches. At first, there were only a few, scattered here and there, hiding away whenever we got too close. She looked about ready to turn around and head home, but one look at my grinning face seemed to solidify her decision. She was firm in her decision to keep going and, naturally, I followed along.
The spiders got bolder. Their webs got bigger and they stopped running away when we walked past them. Elissa shivered multiple times when they creeped closer. Despite our small statures, we started to have to duck and manoeuvre around their webs. Unease plagued my steps. I remember thinking that webs shouldn’t be that large, there shouldn’t be that many spiders, that we had gone too far. Again, I said we should go home. We had made our expedition into the forest. Something wasn’t right.
Just a little further, Elissa argued again. We just had to go a little further, and then she would be satisfied. At that point, I was getting pretty annoyed. My feet had started hurting, I was anxious about the spiders and my parents, and Elissa was being frustratingly stubborn. That’s when we stumbled across it.
It was a spider web. It was a massive spider web. The trees had been spread out more in this area, but here it seemed like the trees had been moved to make room for the web. It started at our feet, fine threads connecting it to the ground, and climbed up to the very tops on the tallest trees. The thin lines of silk were intricately weaved together to keep it stable. It was nothing short of mesmerising. It was nothing short of terrifying. We both stopped and stared. I could feel Elissa trembling next to me.
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I thought that it would be funny. I must have been thinking something along the lines of what I was thinking when I lured that spider into her backpack. I’m not sure — it’s all a blur. But it wasn’t intentional. What happened wasn’t intentional. I didn’t intend it.
I pushed her. Such a simple thing. Such a simple prank. Spider webs, they’re delicate things. A strong gust of wind can break them. It should have been easy for an eight-year-old girl to. In fact, she wouldn’t have even had to struggle. The force of her falling onto it should have torn it easily. She should have fallen through and stood back up, yelling her head off, gossamer threads clinging to her hair and shoulders. She shouldn’t have gotten stuck.
The web caught her fall. It wrapped around her as she thrashed, sticking to her flailing hands, her messy hair, her skin. The web bounced and shook as she tried to wiggle out. It didn’t tear. It didn’t crumble. She was caught and bound, unable to get out no matter how hard she thrashed. I couldn’t move. No, it felt like I couldn’t move. I could move, unlike Elissa.
As she started to scream, the web still not giving way, I expected dozens of spiders to manifest and start scurrying towards her. None appeared. Just as I shook out of my frozen stupor and went to go help her, I saw it. It was a vague silhouette, obscured by the giant web. It was big, though, and it didn’t look like a person. Elissa was still screaming her head off, begging for me to help her get out. I stumbled back, I stumbled away from her, my heart beating erratically in my chest. She stopped screaming as soon as I finally saw what it was.
A spider. A gigantic fucking spider, with eight long legs supporting a bulbous body and a swollen abdomen. Eighty beady eyes, pitch black, watched its prey — watched Elissa — as it crept closer, the soft pitter-patter of its feet almost drowned out by the sound of Elissa and I’s harsh breathing. Its chelicerae clicked, the fangs as big as a hand. The legs moved awkwardly, as if unused to carrying a grotesque body that large.
For a moment, I was rooted to the spot, watching the jerky, skittering movement of the spider. Then, as Elissa started shrieking again, in abject terror, I moved. I wanted to save her, believe me, but what was I supposed to do? I was eight years old. I couldn’t get past the web and even if I could, how was I supposed to fight that spider? The best option for me was to run away, no matter how much Elissa sobbed for me.
Except I didn’t. I didn’t run away. I started to, then stopped, and instead hid behind a tree. I hid. I didn’t run, I hid. I hid and I watched as that monstrosity shambled closer and closer to a crying Elissa.
It didn’t bother wrapping her up in a web, like most spiders do to their prey. It knew it didn’t need to. Elissa wasn’t going anywhere. Instead, it reared up, and sank its fangs into her chest with an awful squelch. Elissa’s screams stuttered. I couldn’t tell if there was any blood. Its body shuddered and seemed to pulse. I don’t think I blinked. Her voice took on a gurgled quality. It lent on the web, legs framing her body, as its chelicerae minced her torso to meat. At some point, she stopped screaming. Now all I could hear was the wet sound of its fangs chewing her up. Its abdomen, already swollen, bulged hideously. I saw it tear and tear and tear—
It finished its meal. Elissa had long since stopped writhing. Her lifeless body lay limp in the web, forever caught in its initial fall. The fall I caused. My stomach churned at the thought. The spider staggered away, content, barely able to hold itself up. Elissa was still stuck. My eyes burned from not blinking. Or maybe from the tears threatening to fall.
I managed to make it home. I don’t remember how. I encountered no resistance from any of the regular spiders as I left the forest, left Elissa. When I got to the house, I was immediately taken inside. My parents were crying and hugging me. Elissa’s parents were asking where their daughter was. I choked out something about the woods, and they left. I never saw them again.
When I finally calmed down enough to tell the entire story to them, they didn’t believe me. Nobody did. I was shuffled off to therapist after therapist and I was questioned by the police, and all of them assumed that the spider was a metaphor for something else, that my child brain had made something up to shield me from the horrors I had witnessed. What did they think I saw? Elissa, murdered brutally by someone living in the woods? Elissa, falling down a great hill and dying a slow, painful death? Both of those are true in a sense. Elissa was murdered and she died a slow, painful death. I’ve read about how spiders kill their prey. She must have felt the spider’s venom destroying her organs, the agony of its fangs piercing her body.
My family moved here shortly after. My parents must have thought our last home too traumatising for me. I can’t blame them. I was terrified of leaving the house. Looking at that forest was enough to send me into a panic attack, because I knew what was there. I knew what was hiding in those trees.
I’m still not scared of spiders. I don’t know why. By all logic, I should be. I should have severe arachnophobia. I mean, people get it over far less. I’m just not scared of spiders. I think I’m scared of their webs, though. The thought of getting caught in one of those…
I don’t want to end up like Elissa.
ARCHIVIST
Statement ends.
Initial research on this statement is nonexistent. Whoever filed this away clearly immediately labelled this as a prank, which we do receive a lot of from teenagers, so I can hardly fault them.
There’s not much to be said on this. Elissa Renee went missing on November 15th, 2002, and despite fervent searching from her parents and local authorities, her body was never recovered. She was officially declared deceased in 2004. No follow-up to be done with Christopher Jones, either.
End recording.
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