Chapter Text
The world cracked. That was the first thing Jon and Martin realised when the knife went in. A deep earth shattering crunch signalling that the hole in creation had finally sunk under its extraordinary weight- and before everything went blank, a horrible crawling sensation encompassed them, like the spindling of tiny spiders.
In the blink of an eye, they fell through the black (not that either of them saw it), and forced their way through the gap made for That-Which-Was-Fear. The world finally, after all its torment, went… un-wrong. And meant by that, is that in one moment they were surrounded by eyes and destruction and horror- and the next, they were in a field, on a damp December night, hearing naught more than the rushing of a river and the whistling of wind through trees.
Jon still glitched and screamed as the Archivist, he had been stabbed after all, but eventually the eyes faded into nothing, void-like mass subsiding into the man he knew he could be; the man he swore to be. And the man he loved stayed there with him the whole time, holding him tight until the Archive died and and Jonathan sims returned.
—
It took little under a year to settle into this Somewhere Else. The sun beat down on the lush english grass, and inside a well concealed cabin, Martin and Jon had a conversation.
“You want to what ?” martin asked incredulously
“I want to become a teacher,” Jon sighed.
“But I thought- I thought you hated kids?”
“Little ones, yes I suppose, too small and loud. Their thoughts are all over the place, you know, It’s incredible how they don’t just simply implode from the amount of useless knowledge and misheard sayi-”
“Jon, Jon stay on topic,”
“Right, of course,” Jon said, straightening out his jumper. “I want to be a teacher. There’s a local Secondary school just down the way, and they’re hiring for an English teacher for a year 10 class,”
“Teaching GSCE students, brave,” Martin smiled, “I’d have thought you’d want to teach history, fill their head with all sorts of random facts,”
“I can do that just as well in English,” Jon replied, and with a wry smile added, “plus, our first module is gothic literature,”
“Spooky stories that you get to read aloud? Sounds right up your alley,”
“That’s what I was thinking,”
“Alright, go ahead
I’ll teach you how to forge a cv.”
—
Nat was tired. No, not just tired- completely and utterly exhausted . Every bone in her body ached, head thrummed, eyelids sank. She was struggling to stay awake all throughout the morning, and only finally was woken up properly when she stepped outside into the icy air. It was cold, colder than it should have been for mid september, and deadly silent. With the exception of the odd car rumbling across the barren road or a pair of students strolling down to the makeshift bus-stop, there was a total and consuming lack of noise. Not a bird cawed, not a blow of wind whistled. There was the oddest feeling in the air, as if something was waiting, anticipating, watching, this exact morning and this exact moment. Brushing off that prickle on the back of her neck, Nat began to slump her way across the pavement.
—
Oliver was bored. He had always had to get to school early, usually about an hour before the gates even opened, but today his usual friend (at least the only one who got there around the same time he did) was ill, so today, alone he sat. concrete scraped his palms as he stayed, half asleep, on the ground. His phone was out of service, books not packed and eyes simply wandering around the litter, broken plastic and leaves. He yawned. Hopefully Nat and the others would be there soon.
After a while, from across the carpark, Oliver picked up a slight weird noise- almost static? It cut through the silence like a knife through butter, and he was sure , so sure that he heard it that there wasn’t even the faintest possibility in his mind that he’d made it up. The four or so other year 10s that lurked around the alcoved entranceway were all wearing headphones or chatting quietly amongst themselves, so none of them batted an eye to the crackling, fuzzy noise that seeped into his skull- It sounded like if you recorded tv static on a tape recorder. Glancing around at the other people for half a second or so, he whipped out a notebook named ‘spooky goings on- year 9’ and flicked a page, scribbling the title ‘spooky goings on- year 10.’ and with the lid of his biro in his mouth, Oliver wrote down the first bullet point.
- Static???? That’s new (note: ask the others abt it)
The crappy thin paper almost tore under the ferocity at which he wrote at.
—-
Ash breathed a sigh of relief as the bus rumbled onwards. They curled up on the disgustingly patterned seats, the kind of seats you see on every bus in one colour combination or another. They switched on their music, closed their eyes and waited for the eventual shuddering thrum of the bus coming to a halt.
—
Nat climbed onto the bus as it slowed, barging past the overconfident year 7s, the half filled bus buzzing with low level talk and although no one raised their voice louder than a decent whisper, it was a welcome change from the outside. She scanned the seats for her friend, tired eyes catching a glimpse of a familiar shock of hair.
“Hi Ash,” she smiled, “how are you, my friend?” as she swung into the adjoining seat.
“Fucking exhausted,” they grinned, “But glad to be back- I missed you, all of you, to be honest,”
“Yeah, oh my god, me too! I wish I didn’t have to go on holiday. I have way more fun with you guys at our little meeting of ‘conspiracy club’ in Oliver’s attic than in France with my family,”
“Definitely,”
“Bro I don’t even know how I survived without you guys,”
“Nor do I- but I s’pose that since we’re back now the club can start back up again?”
“Hell yeah!”
Silence for a few moments. The chattering of the bus blazed from background noise to the foreground. Nat shifted in her seat.
“Hey d’ya want a headphone?”
“Yeah.”
—-
“How was France?” whispered Oliver as the three of them huddled around their table. The English classroom was wide, small wooden tables that could house maybe two people each were laid out like strands across the gritty, carpeted floor. Ash, Nat and Oliver all had their heads stuck around one table, not caring about the glances the teacher gave them about ‘leaning on their chair’ or using inappropriate language’. She was just a stand in after all. They had been waiting outside for a good few minutes before this teacher, Miss Cameron, had taken this inside.
“Now , legally,” she had said, a cold smile on her lips, “I can’t do the register, so I guess we’ll have to wait until your new teacher gets here,” they were sure they’d heard mutters of ‘first day as well’ and ‘bad first impression’.
Not that they cared much. For all it mattered, Teachers who showed up late on day one were probably pretty cool people.
“Eh,” Nat shrugged. “It was ‘eh’ and that’s all I can really say about it, you know how dull the place we were staying at was, I showed you the pictures from the website,”
“Oh yeah- was this the one with the, uhh, the- the study-” Ash inquired,
“-And the old fashioned paintings?” Oliver finished.
“That's the one.” she grimaced.
“God, was that actually as boring as it looked??” Oliver groaned.
“Please kill me, I’m so tired,” murmured a voice from behind them. A dull thump resounded as Sam’s backpack hit the table
“You're late!” grinned Ash, sending a smirk their way.
“Yeah well, that’s what I get for slaving over the computer last night making memes,”
“Seriously? You’re late because you stayed up until-”
“3am,”
“3am! making memes!” Oliver laughed incredulously.
“Don’t put it past you,” Ash said.
“You’d better have some absolute bangers to make up for leaving me at the bus stop alone this morning,”
“Yes Nat, I believe I do,” pulling out his phone from his back pocket with a cursory glance at the now preoccupied teacher, Sam opened the camera roll and proudly presented the first image. This particular image was a very oversaturated picture, with one of those vaguely realistic emoji’s of the worried face staring at set of words that read ‘,history class: stupid idiot motherfucking history class god damn fool lie telling dust eating rat old subject-’ in very small text, and a rant that went on for probably many pages.
“Very nice,” she chuckled
“That hurts my eyes- was the yellow comic sans really necessary???” Oliver grimaced
“Of course! I have a couple mo-” he began again, but was quickly nudged in the shoulder by Ash, giving him a warning look and glancing at the door.
Walking in, was a man.
He was decently short, with brown hair tied up in a loose bun that was streaked with more grey streaks than most people had- he only looked about 40 at most. He looked around with deep set hazel eyes and glasses, and his face almost radiated nervousness. He nodded at Miss Cameron, taking her seat, as she left the classroom, shaking her head. His eyes seemed to cloud over for a second when he took the seat, but they quickly returned to normal and cleared his throat.
“Quiet down please, quiet down, alright.” He coughed. “So, ah, I’m going to be your English teacher this year. My name is Mr Sims, and this is my first ever teaching job,” he smiled nervously, scanning the rows of bored students who sat in front of him. “But, I assure you, I am quite capable and qualified,” this was a complete lie. Beholding was far better than any university education (and cheaper- he got paid to become its host while working at the Archives) but it couldn’t make him good with 14/15 year old kids. “So, I know I’m new here, so would anyone like to ask me any questions?”
The strangest static like feeling buzzed in their chests. Those who wanted to ask Mr Sims anything, even if they were usually shy or if their question was… unconventional, found that buzzing static moving up their arms and forcing them to raise it. Maybe 9 or 10 confused students found themselves waiting on being asked to speak. More than a few tried to put their arms down, but were too paralysed by what seemed like the rush of adrenaline of putting up their hands in class.
Shit- Jon thought, and felt nausea brimming in his stomach as the Beholding purred at the back of his mind.
“Yes, miss- Nat,” He forced himself to smile.
“Where did you get your scars-” she asked, hand immediately flying to her mouth as soon as she could move it. “I’m so sorry- I didn't mean to be rude, I’m just curious I guess-”
“No no, it’s alright,” he responded, “I admit, it would be quite an interesting story to tell to say the least, but I’m afraid that that will have to wait for another day. Now, anyone else?”
“What’s our first module?”
“How old are you?”
“Why were you late?” several voices blurted out at once.
Jon sighed, answered their questions (Gothic lit, 35, overslept) and took a deep breath. This was going to be a long day.
“So what did you think of him then?” asked Ash as they made their way out of the english block and back into the drizzly outside air.
“I think he’s cool,” Oliver said, nodding, “The way he read that extract from Frankenstein made me think he used to do theatre,”
“Oh my god- Mr Sims performing would be hilarious,”
“Him in Heathers or something-” he laughed.
“Or hamilton-”
“Or les mis-”
“Or- Nat are you ok?” Ash’s face dropped in concern. She was standing, tapping her fingers absentmindedly, and eyes flicking about.
“Oh, yeah I’m… well, did any of you feel weird in his lesson? Like he knew you? He knew my name,”
“Well duh he knew your name, he has the register open, but i guess i felt a bit weird? I felt like he’d 100% know if I tried to show you my frankly spectacular memes,” Sam responded, shrugging.
“Me too,” came a resounding murmur between the group.
“D’you think…” Oliver grinned, drawing out his notepad, “D’ya think we have a new cryptid on our hands?”
“I sure hope so,” Sam smiled, “Bigfoot and Slenderman were getting a bit old,”
“Fair’nuff,” Nat replied, taking a bite of her crisps.
“I hereby decree!” Oliver announced, “that the… fuckin’... 54th! 54th multi-weekly conspiracy club shall begin at my house after school! You all down?”
“Oh, absolutely.”