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rainbowchewynuggets · 11 months

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TMA Encore - Epilogue

Georgie: The Wilkinson House–also known as the Floating House or Trespasser House–was built in 1896 in Rodell, Kentucky, USA. Two brothers, Joseph and Mathias Wilkinson, inherited their late father’s coveted plot of land. Unwilling to reach an agreement over the use of the land, the brothers descended into an increasingly ugly feud. Joseph built a house “overnight” to stake his claim, using materials bought at short-sale auctions in a nearby town. Said town was suffering from air and water pollution from newly built factories surrounding the steps of the Appalachian Mountains where it lay. The town as it was slowly dismantled and moved out, and the area has since been named Smog, Kentucky. Fun fact: three of these factories belonged to Wilkinson Sr. It is unclear whether they were included in the will.

Georgie: Joseph contracted tetanus while finishing the house and died soon after. Mathias tried to have the house torn down, but apparently had a change of heart and moved it to the same lot as his own home. His body was found with a broken neck in the attic by a neighbor a few days later.

Georgie: The house was made into a tourist attraction the following year, on account of the shocking tale behind it as well as its eerie creeks and slamming doors–most likely due to the rushed craftsmanship. The story went that Joseph’s ghost had possessed his brother and made him move the house, then killed him in revenge. The attraction was moderately popular up until the Great Depression. It never officially closed, despite additional unexplained deaths on the property and a growing negative reputation. The body count only drew in a steady stream of onlookers, according to tour records.

Georgie: It wasn’t until the spring of 2017 that things began to change. On April 18th, the house was observed to have disappeared from the lot without a trace.

Georgie: Five months later, a house of identical description allegedly appeared on a small island in the Pacific Northwest. A retired entrepreneur reported to local police that it had been placed illegally, as she had bought the island privately several weeks before. Police were ready to dismiss the complaint when they arrived and found nothing. She was adamant that the intrusion had occurred and went on record with a vivid argument she had had with one of the two occupants, who she says had been reading a book written in Spanish on the porch. The other was repairing part of the railing and shot her dirty looks. The complaint was sustained after fresh scratches and paint chips were found in the soil, but the case was otherwise shelved.

Georgie: Surprisingly, the pair of men don’t appear to be the Wilkinsons. The brothers were both Kentucky-born and -bred, white, average height, muscular, and almost hairless. The house’s new occupants were “British-sounding”. One was very thin and short and appeared to be of Indian or Middle-Eastern descent, with silver hair. The other was tall, heavy-set, and white with brown hair.

Georgie: Similar reports would crop up in North, Central, and South America over the next few years and get passed around on Tumblr, Twitter, and Reddit. The house would almost always appear in secluded areas that were off-limits to the public and disappear itself shortly after being found. It was always inhabited by the same two men, with the added consensus that they were married.

Georgie: They were rarely spotted in nearby towns and never spoke with anyone enough for their names to become known. When they were interacted with, they were generally polite--if a little tired or distracted. Otherwise, they were found to be wandering the area around their house together, mending the exterior, reading, or reciting aloud. Even the most invasive person couldn’t attempt to film or approach the house without suffering a migraine or severe paranoia before losing consciousness. The house would be gone when they woke up, and their recording device rendered unusable. But written descriptions match a file photo of the original Wilkinson house. Debate sprung up over whether the two were ghosts, aliens, witches, a made up meme that keeps coming into fashion, or two eccentric recluses who happened to be living in a haunted house and deserved to be left alone.

Georgie: Sightings became more sparse toward 2023. When the couple were encountered, they never responded when spoken to. A reddit user in Mongolia supposedly used their home telescope to take photos through the house’s windows where it sat in a glen behind their apartment. The two men sat still or paced in separate rooms for a few hours. They stopped and came together to talk once. The redditor recorded the conversation through lip reading and concluded that they were arguing in English about “where it was going” or “what we are being”. Their accuracy is disputed. The occupants then began pulling books and papers off of the shelves in every room. The user stepped away for a few minutes and came back to find that all the windows were greyed out. They were unsure if they were covered in smoke or paper. The house stayed for a week in that state before disappearing. This account used to be widely discredited, as it didn’t fit the behavior profile at the time and the photos taken are unreadable. More radical accounts are believed to exist going backward, but have suffered from link decay and regional internet suppression.

Georgie: On May 8th of 2024, an elderly woman living next to a military base in New Mexico told her connected family that there had been a security threat that morning, complete with sirens and troops rushing out with rifles and buggies. Her husband–who works as a janitor there–only alluded to “some kind of prank with an old empty house”. Their grandchildren relayed the story to their mutuals on tumblr, stirring attention in the States again.

Georgie: Following reports of the Floating House usually included some description of a visit by a pair of American “secret service” agents or men in military garb with weapons. The usual couple either answer the door or refuse to come out, and the house is gone within minutes. Similar accounts were made by users in China, Chile, Australia, and Turkiye, but were discounted as the agents were always said to be American. The circumstances of each encounter continued to escalate until it was claimed by a cyclist in Mayak, Russia that there was some kind of standoff between the two sides, followed by a “nuclear” explosion that left nothing behind but the house. The area appeared untouched the next day, but had apparently become irradiated due to previously unaccounted-for material in the soil that had been agitated by construction efforts. A few people were found dead in the area. The cyclist himself had to be treated for burns.

Georgie: From here, it gets a little muddy. Despite a renewed surge in popularity for the Floating House, agreed-upon sightings are very rare for the next two years. It only appears in very sparsely populated areas along the north and south poles and is even faster to disappear. A researcher in Antarctica thought she saw the outline of a roof on the horizon as the sun rose after six months of night, but it was gone a few seconds later. She managed to get a quick drawing of the shape, which will be included in the image links in the description. There are often claims of similar encounters to the American secret agent incident. Sometimes it’s cultists. Sometimes it’s businessmen. Or “werewolves”. Sometimes it’s members of a particular subgroup that also follows the sightings. It all ends the same, with the house as the only thing standing when the dust has cleared. The house’s legend has become so routine, that many accounts are ignored out of hand and highly disputed. Though, it is notable that the inhabitants haven’t been a visible part of the story in several months.

Georgie: Phew. Now, to wrap up our deep-dive on the Floating House, we’re going to hear a first-hand account from just last year.

Napâttuk: Okay. Um, hello. My name is Napâttuk Waska. I saw the house in the woods near my hometown–south of Salluit, Quebec, basically. Almost at the tip. I’m not sure exactly how long it had been there by the time I found it. I practically lived in those woods from birth, but I’d been away at university in Montreal with my partner, Tootega.

Napâttuk: I kind of have to tell you about all that for this to make sense. She had some friends there who were willing to let us stay with them. And it was… it was really bad. Not the friends. I’d just never lived in a big city before, and I wasn’t expecting all the trash and noise and giant ugly buildings. And then, there was a really big forest fire nearby a little while after we got there. We didn’t end up having to evacuate, but smoke came in on the wind for two weeks. I was covered in ash and my eyes hurt by the time I got to class every day. The way the sun came through the smoke made everything look orange and menacing. I tried my best to stick it out because Tega was handling it alright. But I just found myself sitting inside all the time, watching people talk on the news about the new giant ugly buildings they were going to put in the place where the trees were burning down. I had to make myself not freak out every time there was a little change in how the air smelled for the rest of the semester.

Napâttuk: Anyway. By the time we finally went back home after finals, I was desperate to feel normal again. This was December, and it hadn’t really snowed yet–which is very odd. But the weather said snow was coming, so I tried not to let it bother me. I decided to go hiking in a spot I knew about ten miles from town. It’s a bowl surrounded by hills, so it’s hard to get lost. I didn’t make Tega go with me. She hates hiking. But it was fine. It was just like I remembered. I felt great.

Napâttuk: And that’s when I saw it. Just–this house sitting in the middle of the forest. First of all, this is the Low Arctic. We don’t even have a ton of forests. It could have been put anywhere else. Second, this is my forest. I mean, it’s not. But. It was like someone had just dumped the house there and knocked over a bunch of trees, and then left. There were skid marks on the ground, like it had been dragged. It even looked like trash. It’s exactly the same as the picture you showed me, but the windows and roof had been covered up with metal. Most of the wood I could see had bullet holes in it. The paint was almost gone, and the slats were discolored and caked in brown and yellow stuff. Like some kind of glue. The weirdest thing was that it looked… bloated. Have you ever seen wood that’s been left in the water too long, and it gets swollen and bent? It was like that, but something had been pushing at it from the inside at the same time. I could hear it creaking and groaning under its own weight. The whole thing was slanted away from the ruts in the ground, which was also strange. I was too mad to really think about that at the time.

Napâttuk: It reminded me of some of the scary neighborhoods around the university, so I was nervous about getting the attention of anyone inside. But I made myself get over it and marched up to the door. I heard rustling when I knocked, so I knew someone was in there. I–I don’t know what was wrong with me. I tried opening the door. It barely moved, like there was something heavy barricading the other side. I kept pushing on it, and it suddenly swung inward.

Napâttuk: …

Napâttuk: The… the inside was so dark, I didn’t see anything. But I knew that I was staring down into a chasm. I swear. The vertigo almost made me collapse. I jerked backward to avoid losing my balance and took a tumble down the steps of the porch. I was okay, but I still felt myself slipping. I had to cling to the ground to keep from falling into the house. There was nothing to grab onto, and I kept sliding back on the pine needles and loose soil. I slowly crawled my way back into the trees until I could stand. Then, I ran until I was back at my car.

Napâttuk: I told Tega about it, and she said it sounded like the Floating House stuff she’d read about. I had no idea. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. She’s much more online than I am. She really likes SCP and things like that. I’m not sure she fully believed me about the falling part, but she and some friends agreed to go back with me. I didn’t want to go too near it again. I just wanted it… reported, I guess.

Napâttuk: The thing is, we couldn’t even find the place where it was. It’s not a huge area. It made Tega more excited, but our friends were pretty annoyed to be dragged into the freezing woods for nothing. I was mortified. I knew where it was, we must have just been circling around it. I cut through another way, and when I turned around, Tega and the others were gone. I kept looking, until I saw that the sun was going down. They weren’t picking up their phones, they didn’t hear me calling them. I decided to just leave and see if they were waiting for me by the car. But then, I couldn’t find the treeline. The trees just went on and on and on. It got hot. I was hot even after I took off my parka. And then, I smelled smoke. It hung in the air all around me and got thicker until I couldn’t see. Ash came off of me in sheets as I waded through it like gritty snow. I couldn’t tell which way the bowl went anymore. I eventually felt something through the ash, but it was hard and flat like concrete. It hurt to walk on. I don’t know, it sounds crazy. I was tired and deprived of oxygen. I don’t remember getting to the road, but I woke up in the medical center in town. One of my neighbors had found me on their way home.

Napâttuk: Tega and the others had gone home without me, apparently? I asked them about what happened, but they wouldn’t talk about it. They keep saying they didn’t find the house, but I think they’re lying. They did say they saw the fire–there really was one. Nobody knows why. Heavy snowfall put it out before it did any real damage. It wasn’t where the house was, and there hasn’t been any word about people finding it. Nothing’s really happened since then, but I had to move to Alberta to get away from the smell of smoke.

Georgie: I see. Do Tega and your friends still live there?

Napâttuk: I’m not sure. They’re mostly her friends, and she and I don’t really talk anymore. The last couple times that we did, she was really agitated about something. I got the sense that we were losing touch because she was busy trying to deal with it. A few months ago, my mom told me she had gotten in trouble for stalking this guy who lived out by the water and had his lights off all the time. Only came out at night. Never had a flashlight. Walked with a cane. I just assumed he was a little blind and sunburned easily. He was always super friendly and chill. But I asked Tega about it, and she said he’d been accused of kidnapping when he lived in Sweden?? Like, kidnapped a whole lot of people??? What????? It’s messed up if it’s true, but then Tega got arrested trying to break into his house with an axe. I just–I can’t believe any of this is happening.

Napâttuk: A while ago, I dove into the Floating House forums to try to make sense of it. I made a bunch of posts about what happened, and people asked all kinds of questions. I was so relieved. I felt like I could actually talk to someone about it. I even put up the coordinates of where I’d seen the house. But lately, my mom says there’s been a lot more tourism at home, and I can’t help wondering if that has something to do with me. I don’t think you can even get to the bowl anymore. The road was closed after some kind of accident. She says people still park up there, though. I… I haven’t thought about going back there before, but… do you think I should?

Georgie: Wh–I–why do you ask?

Napâttuk: You’re the professional. I’m the one who opened it, so maybe I should close it.

Georgie: … I don’t know.

Napâttuk: That’s okay. Sorry… For all I know, it’s not even there anymore. Did you have any other questions?

Georgie: I did see that you took down the locations you’d posted.

Napâttuk: Yeah, it just. It made me nervous. But somebody else probably has them saved and put up somewhere.

Georgie: Hmm. You know, This kind of thing happens all the time. It blows over when something else interesting comes along. And honestly, a lot of these “sightings” are on pretty shaky ground. I wouldn’t worry.

Napâttuk: Right. You’re right.

Georgie: Okay, well, I think that’s about it. Thank you very much for coming on.

Napâttuk: Uh, yeah. No problem. Bye.

————

First

Whoa. Wow. I can’t believe it. That’s it. That’s the end.

I’ve had this fic slowly taking up more and more space in my head since 2020. And now, it’s fully out there! Spiraling off into the internet like the big crazy snake that it is.

I know the process was rocky, but I’m really glad I stuck it out all the way. I learned a whole lot, and I actually feel more sure that making comics is what I want to do than ever (while working out a more sustainable way to do it, of course).

And I’m really grateful to you, if you’ve read the entire thing or just a page. All the comments and reblogs and kind words have been really nice to hear and helped me keep going. Seriously, thank you.

Maybe have a look at my other stuff, if you’re so inclined.

Hoo... anyway.

I need a nap.

Bye. <3

Index

#the magnus archives #mag200 spoilers #magnus pod #tma fancomic #tma encore 17 #tma encore epilogue #georgie barker #melanie king #nappatuk waska #the floating house #trespasser house #not jon #not!jon #not-jon #not martin #not-martin #not!martin #tma encore was a tma fancomic

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rainbowchewynuggets · 1 year

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TMA Encore #16

Martin, Jon, Sasha, and Tim take in fresh air they never thought they’d breathe again and sunlight they never thought they’d feel again. They stare absently at the smoking hole where the Institute used to be. The persistent bustling of the town around them, totally unheeding of their presence, helps draw them out of their shock.

Both sets of Fears are still there. Distantly, but unmistakably. But the hold that the invading set had in the enigma has grown faint, like a droning noise suddenly absent. The world is still and quiet.

Jon feels half-blind–partially because his glasses are nowhere to be found.

The absence of hunger tells them that Not-Jon and Not-Martin are still out there.

After a long heavy silence, they begin to talk in low voices about what to do next. They did make it out, though no one can quite remember how. Their shaky progress has given them some tepid confidence. If they can get themselves away from here without incident, they could potentially rebuild some form of normalcy. The four of them could keep in touch, helping each other monitor their stability.

And they should hurry. There’s a rather uncomfortable feeling in the air.

The four of them do worry where the doubles could be, what they could be doing. But they can’t let themselves get distracted already. Maybe they can work on it later, if the two start making noticeable trouble.

Tim makes a Scooby-Doo joke. Everybody needed it.

They’ll definitely have to find new jobs too, they realize.

The pair uncoil. Jon looks into Martin’s eyes.

NJ: How bad is it?

Martin tries his best to look placid, but the pain of the hunger is evident on his face.

NM: It’s… bad.

NJ: I’ll help you work through it. I know some tricks to take the edge off. And, maybe we can find some better ways now. Less self-punishing.

NM: Sounds manageable.

Jon smooths his partner’s hair back and brushes his cheek with a thumb.

NM: How about you?

NJ: Better. So much better. I can’t believe I–

He swallows with difficulty.

NJ: Martin, I’m so sorry.

Martin nods.

NM: I am too.

Jon looks incredulous.

NJ: For what?

NM: For wasting time, I guess. We spent so long letting them make us miserable, and I didn’t even…I don’t feel like I was much better than you, in the end.

NJ: Well, they don’t get to tell us how to be miserable now.

The wind rustles the grass as the clouds pass their shadows over the pair.

NM: What do we do now?

Jon curls his lip thoughtfully.

NJ: We should probably make ourselves scarce. The police might be sweeping for arson suspects. And… maybe we should let you get more used to the hunger before we go anywhere around people.

NM: Right.

They hesitate. Jon stares into the trees. Martin can’t help doing the same.

NM: There’s definitely one of them among the EMTs.

NJ: Yep.

She reeks of Spiral.

Section 31 is on its way, too.

The surviving archival staff should really get going if they want to make it out clean.

There are more. Others. Moving and agitating, attracted to the vacuum of power. Yet, they’re small. Vulnerable. Containable.

It would be easy.

Jon tears his eyes away and squeezes Martin’s hand.

NJ: You wanna go for a walk?

He gestures at the open field behind them with a thumb.

Martin brightens.

NM: Sure.

They get up and start walking through the brush, hand in hand.

NM: So, if a tomb is out… You think we could go for a house? Probably abandoned, but hopefully not too falling-apart.

NJ: That’d be nice. Maybe something in the country.

NM: ...Oh! And we still need to go let Gerry out of the book.

NJ: Oh, yeah. Definitely.

————

First

(Epilogue next time!)

Index

#the magnus archives #mag200 spoilers #magnus pod #tma fancomic #tma encore 16 #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #not jon #not!jon #not martin #not!martin #not-jon #not-martin

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