---
layout:          post
title:           "MAG122 - #0150102 - Zombie"
date:            2019-01-16 12:00:00 -0400
categories:      episode
tags:            [Lorell St. John, Basira Hussain, Georgina Barker, Oliver Banks, The Archivist, Peter Lukas, Melanie King, Martin Blackwood, Antonio Blake, Danielle, Liam, Norma, Tape Recorders, Identity, Universities, Public Transit, Sociopathy, Thanatophobia, Scopophobia, The End, The Eye]
statement_of:    [Lorell St. John]
recorder:        [The Archivist]
voiced:          [Basira Hussain, Georgina Barker, The Archivist]
episode_title:   Zombie
episode_number:  '122'
case_number:     '0150102'
statement_date:  2015-02-01
recording_date:  
event_date:      
summary:         "Statement of Lorell St John, regarding zombies. Original statement given 1st February 2015."
content_flags:   [body horror, mortality, undead, stalking, existential horror, imposter, isolation, unreality, solipsistic delusion, psychopathy]
acast_url:       https://play.acast.com/s/themagnusarchives/mag122-zombie
formats: 
  Google Doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1hiJc1bOPVAWoPZFp5M6jndza_Ta59-b-jfzUIOa77wg/edit
  PDF: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1qGAAGcUDmG9VaRU2p-eunrDn9d3_0iqM/view
official:        false
unofficial:      https://tmatranscripts.tumblr.com/post/183016022226/mag122zombie-1pdf
unofficial_name: tmatranscripts.tumblr.com
wiki_url:        https://the-magnus-archives.fandom.com/wiki/MAG_122:_Zombie
---

##### [INT. HOSPITAL, JOHN'S ROOM]

##### [TAPE CLICKS ON.]

##### [The clock of the hospital room ticks on steadily in the background.]

#### BASIRA

Well?

#### GEORGIE

It was just there!

#### BASIRA

Could he have come back? Moved it?

#### GEORGIE

I guess?

#### BASIRA

And you're sure you didn't recognize him.

#### GEORGIE

No, no -- he was, um -- I'd never seen him before.

#### BASIRA

But?...

#### GEORGIE

He, uh, he felt like death.

#### BASIRA

What, capital 'D' Death?

#### GEORGIE

Yeah. Y'know, one of your... dark gods --

#### BASIRA

_(frustrated)_ They're not --

##### [She cuts herself off.]

#### BASIRA

Look, I'm trying to help. You came to me.

#### GEORGIE

I came to Melanie.

#### BASIRA

Well, sorry. Right now, I'm it.

##### [Silence, but for the clock.]

#### BASIRA

So John told you, then.

#### GEORGIE

Some of it. Not -- everything.

#### BASIRA

Right. So how exactly is it that you're able to identify an avatar of the End on sight?

#### GEORGIE

Honestly Basira, it's not your business. _(pause)_ Sorry.

##### [Basira sniffs.]

#### BASIRA

Alright. And you don't know why this guy would have left a tape recorder?

#### GEORGIE

You're the detective.

#### BASIRA

And you're sure it was him who left it?

#### GEORGIE

I mean -- the nurses said there were no other visitors, so _(breath)_ unless it appeared by magic?

##### [Pause.]

#### GEORGIE

_(disbelief)_ What, seriously?

#### BASIRA

I don't know. The whole tape thing is... I don't know.

#### GEORGIE

Right, well... I showed you like you asked, so --

#### BASIRA

Shh.

##### [Rustling as she moves down, getting closer to the tape recorder.]

#### BASIRA

Down here.

##### [More rustling.]

#### GEORGIE

I *told* you --

#### BASIRA

This is the one?

##### [We hear the Archivist breathing hoarsely, quietly in the background.]

#### GEORGIE

Sure.

#### BASIRA

You don't *sound* very sure.

#### GEORGIE

I mean -- I don't know. It might be a different model maybe? I thought it was *plastic* -- but yeah.

##### [More Archivist breathing/sighing as she's speaking; by the time she's done the room is silent but for the clock again.]

#### GEORGIE

So -- what does it mean?

#### ARCHIVIST

_(hoarse, tired, drained)_ That's a very good question.

#### GEORGIE

_(overlapping)_ John!

#### BASIRA

_(overlapping)_ Jesus.

#### ARCHIVIST

_(bit of a dry laugh)_ Sorry. _(breath)_ Didn't mean to scare you.

#### GEORGIE

_(overlapping)_ I'll get a nurse.

#### BASIRA

Wait.

#### GEORGIE

*Basira!*

#### BASIRA

John, is it still... you?

#### ARCHIVIST

Uhh. Y-yes. Y-yes, I-I think so; I, I don't know how you'd prove it, though.

#### BASIRA

Hm.

#### GEORGIE

E*nough* -- just -- stay still; I'll get a nurse.

#### ARCHIVIST

I, no, I, uh, _(he starts to sit himself up)_ I'm alright, it's --

#### GEORGIE

_(overlapping)_ *Stop it!*

#### ARCHIVIST

_(overlapping)_ -- I'm *okay*.

#### GEORGIE

John, you are *not* okay; you have been in a coma.

##### [Rustling.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Wait -- wait -- how long?

#### BASIRA

Six months, give or take.

#### ARCHIVIST

Six... Uh, the others. T-Tim. Is he...?

##### [Silence.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Oh.

##### [He lets out a breath.]

#### BASIRA

Daisy too.

##### [Pause.]

#### ARCHIVIST

I'm sorry.

#### BASIRA

Yeah.

##### [Pause.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Alright -- g--

##### [Sounds of exertion- trying to sit up further?]

#### GEORGIE

*John.*

#### ARCHIVIST

It's alright.

#### GEORGIE

Stay still. Please.

##### [The Archivist sighs, then takes a shaky breath.]

#### GEORGIE

How are you feeling?

#### ARCHIVIST

Honestly, I -- I, I think I'm alright.

##### [Georgie sighs in exasperation.]

#### ARCHIVIST

I mean that's -- *good*, right?

##### [Georgie sighs again.]

#### ARCHIVIST

I --

#### GEORGIE

After a six month coma? No -- it's not. This isn't how it's supposed to go, John.

#### ARCHIVIST

I -- what? Y-y-you'd prefer I was -- brain-damaged? *Dead?*

#### BASIRA

John.

#### ARCHIVIST

_(shaky sigh)_ *W,W,What?*

##### [Pause, Basira sighs.]

#### BASIRA

Georgie, could you give us a minute? There's some things we should probably discuss.

#### GEORGIE

_(overlapping)_ *Fine.*

#### ARCHIVIST

D-- Georgie, I --

#### GEORGIE

John. If this really is a second chance, *please* try to take it. But I don't think that it is.

#### ARCHIVIST

_(breath)_ Georgie, I *don't* underst--

#### GEORGIE

Take care of yourself.

##### [The Archivist lets out another shaky breath. Georgie leaves, closing the door behind her.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Wh-- I -- _(sigh)_ _(quicker)_ What about you? *Disappointed* to see me alive? Basira?

#### BASIRA

We can deal with it later.

##### [The Archivist sighs.]

#### ARCHIVIST

_(small)_ Yeah.

_(breath)_ Yeah, okay.

##### [More heavy breathing.]

#### BASIRA

Do you want me to grab you some water, or...?

#### ARCHIVIST

No -- ah, the, the, uh, the statement. In your, in your bag.

#### BASIRA

Oh. Yeah, I uh, _(unzips her bag)_ I just grabbed one on the way out; I thought maybe you'd need it for --

#### ARCHIVIST

_(overlapping, quick)_ You, you were right -- I, I think it would do me some good. Do you have a tape re-- Oh.

##### [He sighs.]

#### BASIRA

How did you know I brought one? _(pause)_ Right.

##### [The Archivist sighs.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Thank you, Basira.

#### BASIRA

Hm.

##### [She leaves, and we catch a whiff of hallway bustle as the door shuts behind her. John lets out another deep sigh.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Statement of uh, _(something catches in his throat, he swallows)_ Uh, Lorell St. John regarding, uh... _(huh)_ _(disbelief)_ ...zombies. Original statement given 1st February, 2015. Recording by _(labored breath)_ Jonathan Sims. The Archivist.

Statement begins.

##### [As he reads the statement, his voice slowly, incrementally starts to improve.]

#### ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

People always used to tell me I was... solipsistic. They said that I -- never really *engaged* with other people, never acted like they really existed, or mattered, at least not in the same way that I did. I suppose in, in many ways they were right. It's hard to explain without sounding stupid.

Obviously other people are real -- _(stammering)_ O-obviously, the, the way a building is real, or my watch is real. They exist. If people weren't real, I'm sure I'd find them much less of a chore.

So no, I don't not believe in other people. I just find it very difficult to *feel* for others, I, I can't understand them, and they've always seemed...oh there's no tactful way to say it -- they've always seemed... pointless. I know what my pain feels like, and I know what my joy feels like, but when I see those same things on the faces of my friends, or my enemies, I feel... Well that's it, isn't it? I don't really feel anything. Their emotions and suffering feel as distant to me as a character on a movie screen. More distant, really.

I-In many ways I find those crude characters that wander through ridiculous plot after ridiculous plot more relatable than the people watching next to me. That said, Danielle did tell me once that films tended to depict characters like that so it's easier to project yourself onto them. So maybe it isn't quite as surprising as all that. I like animals, too. They don't pretend to be important. So, assuming you can understand anything, I would hope that you could understand why the philosophical concept of zombies might worm its way into my mind.

Danielle studies philosophy. W-Well, she *studied* philosophy. And she was one of those people who loved to talk to other people about it, try to explain it as a way of internalizing the information, so come exam season, her favorite revision method was to try and explain a year's worth of dusty old white men thinking about existence to me.

She said it really helped, and, well -- sometimes I didn't have anything better to do. It never stuck, of course; it's all kind of rubbish, really -- people trying to *think* the universe into making sense, coming up with all sorts of *nonsense* and trying to claim that 'if you can imagine it it must be true.' I'm, I'm grossly oversimplifying, of course, but I don't care. I don't think Danielle did very well in her exams.

I remember the night she told me about zombies. It was dark outside and must have been late. It was high summer, and the days were long. And sweltering. Our building really kept the heat, and had very few opening windows, so even in the evening that humid warmth seemed to stick around. One of our housemates, Liam, was sat at the other end of the living room, playing some obnoxious video game. He had the lights at that end of the room turned off, and the screen lit up his blank, gormless face as he stared at some space monster or other that he had to kill.

Danielle explained that a philosophical zombie is someone who outwardly displays all the signs of life and consciousness: they talk; they laugh; they scream; they even appear to think. But they have no inner life at all, no actual subjective experience. It's all a, a rule, a, a conjuring trick. If you cut them, they'd bleed, they might even cry out, but they wouldn't actually feel any pain, because they can't actually *feel* anything. It's all just an act.

_(laughing)_ I said to Danielle, "Like Liam," a-and she laughed, at what she assumed was a funny joke, and tried to explain it again, told me they weren't *real*, that it was all a, a thought experiment, and the fact that you could imagine them was supposed to counter some other philosopher, who sounded equally meaningless.

But, like I said, I don't think she got a very good grade, and looking at Liam, blankly staring into that glowing square on the wall, I, I knew she was wrong. They were real. His eyes were so dark, and -- dull. Empty windows to a soul that -- he didn't really have.

I started to do some... experiments on him. N-not many, just a few little ones here and there to... see. I suppose you might've called them cruel, if Liam was capable of suffering; he certainly pretended to cry out in pain when I *accidentally* cut his hand while chopping onions, and he did a good impression of grief when his fish died. But his eyes were always the same: cold. And empty.

I didn't *do* anything about it, obviously; what was the point? There was no real harm in him going out into the world *pretending* to live his life; it was no skin off my nose, certainly.

It wasn't just him, though. There were... so many more of them out there. At one point I did legitimately entertain the notion that they might *all* be zombies. Every one. That it was just me. That I was the only real person that existed. But, no, that wasn't right; it was just certain people; I watched their reactions, the emotions they didn't quite get right, and I *knew* they were a facade.

It became like a game to me. Watching out for those... soulless husks. Whether on the bus, the street, or even meeting a client for work, I would look into their eyes for just a second, and see the emptiness inside. I tried to make it a game, at least. The truth was, they scared me very deeply. What were they? How did it happen; were they -- born hollow, or did something scoop them out, leave them like that?

And the question that kept me up, staring into the darkness late at night -- why did it seem like I was the only one able to see them? I saw so many people, *real* people, chatting with these *zombies*, talking to them as if they were able to understand what was being said to them, rather than simply pretending. How was it that they couldn't see the quiet void that lurked behind each of their smiles. And there seemed to be more and more of them every day. Sometimes I found myself utterly alone. Facing down a room full of nothing eyes, willing myself to take action.

I never did, though. Not even when one of them started following me. I first saw him in the street; it wasn't difficult to guess what he was; half the people around him were just as hollow and soulless. But there was something else, to him. He was tall. But not so tall as to stick out. Thin, but not unhealthily so. He wore a blue t-shirt despite the falling temperature, and his short, dark hair and pale skin surrounded a smile so fake, it practically glowed.

He stared at me as I walked past, not making a move to follow or stop me; nor did his eyes seem to actually... move. It was like one of those paintings that watch you; it just seemed that whatever place I looked at him from, he just happened to be focused on me. In as much as there was any focus in them at all. Vacant.

The next day he was there again, this time in the hallway outside my office, standing in the center, so that I had to hug the wall to avoid touching his... motionless form. He was identical. Except that his t-shirt was now a dull orange.

I asked my colleague Norma what she thought of him, why he was there, and if she noticed anything strange about him. She looked out into the corridor, then, back at me and shook her head. She told me he seemed normal enough. But her eyes were like blank pits, and I knew she was lying about all of it.

Had he done this? Had he taken Norma's..s-self, h-her soul, or... or had she *always been a zombie?* Cramped, into a little open-plan desk, patiently listening to client complaints, and I just hadn't *noticed*? I looked around my office, a low dread starting to build as he waited outside. A numbing cavity *wrapped in skin.*

I tried to talk to him, when he stood next to me on the bus. I played as casual as I could, trying not to seem afraid when I asked him how his day was going.

"Just fine, thank you for asking," came the flat, uninterested response.

Then I, I asked him his name. "Just fine, thank you for asking," he said.

I have never wanted anything as much as I wanted in that moment to *cut* him, and see if he pretended to scream in pain.

By the time he appeared outside my house, this time wearing a rotten green t-shirt, I could *feel* a numbness in myself even as I looked at him. Was I finally becoming like them? My internal world melting away into nothing but a *pantomime?* I remember I ran at him, all my rage burning inside my chest as though desperate to remind myself that I could still feel something.

I think I might have been screaming, but the memory is fuzzy. I remember I punched him in the face, though. When my fist connected, it was like punching a canvas. Taught, dry, and -- yielding, ever so slightly, until all at once it broke with a tearing pop and all that resistance was gone, my fist falling into the empty space behind it.

Inside his head, I-I pulled my hand back in sudden disgust, and he looked at me, through the torn and bloodless hole in his head. I could see one blank eye hanging down off his face, still following me, as his split mouth moved to try and form the words that I could hear clear as day: *"Just fine, thank you for asking."*

They're all like that now. *You're* all like that, I suppose. I have no *reason* to believe anyone will -- _(sharp breath)_ -- read this who would be any different, no reason to believe -- _(same breath)_ -- you'll be *able* to read this, that you won't simply stare blankly at this page before -- performing your response, your artificial opinion. There is every chance that I am -- the only one left. And the whole world has fallen to a -- soulless horde, devoid of life and feeling. Even so, thank you for... pretending to care.

#### ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

_(sigh)_ Well that -- _(breath)_ -- certainly helped, I think. No notes or -- followup in the statement, and... _(dry laugh)_ obviously no research done by myself or, uh... my team. I think we can safely say that Ms. Saint-John is not the only person left in the world, though, whatever _(inhale)_ she might be doing now. And whatever might be with her.

They can be hard, though, other, other people. Feelings. I-I'm -- I'm trying to focus, trying to make sure I'm the same me as before, but... how can anyone really remember that? How do you know you're the same person that went to sleep?

##### [He sighs.]

##### [Then there's a faint knock-knock-knock on the door.]

#### ARCHIVIST

_(quiet)_ Oh. _(calling)_ Ah -- Uhh, yes -- I'm done.

##### [The door opens, we catch a glimpse of the hallway bustle. The Archivist takes a shaky breath.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Georgie, is she, um --

##### [He sighs.]

#### BASIRA

She's gone. Didn't see where.

#### ARCHIVIST

No, I, I wouldn't have, uh.

##### [He sighs again.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Probably for the best.

#### BASIRA

Yeah.

##### [Pause.]

#### BASIRA

Better?

#### ARCHIVIST

Yes. Yes, thank you.

#### BASIRA

Right. Then I've got questions.

#### ARCHIVIST

So do I.

#### BASIRA

Me first. What are you?

#### ARCHIVIST

I -- _(sigh)_ _(shaky inhale)_ Honestly? I don't know. I don't *feel*... inhuman, or... I want to say I'm the same. But I don't -- really know if that's true. I *know* I'm different. I feel... more real, somehow.

##### [Basira hms, unimpressed.]

#### BASIRA

So what does that *actually* mean?

##### [The Archivist sighs.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Probably nothing good.

##### [Pause. He takes another, long shaky inhale.]

#### ARCHIVIST

My turn. What happened to me?

#### BASIRA

How much do you remember?

#### ARCHIVIST

I don't... Music. Everything was wrong. Gertrude was there, and then... dancing, I think. Then, pain. And I was somewhere else. Dreaming.

#### BASIRA

Dreaming.

#### ARCHIVIST

Yes. _(pause)_ ...You're... sure, a-about Tim.

#### BASIRA

Yeah, they um... They found his remains a few days later.

##### [Pause.]

#### ARCHIVIST

And -- Daisy?

#### BASIRA

They still haven't found her body. Probably never will. I thought for a while she might, um... _(she sniffs)_ But, it's been months. She's gone.

#### ARCHIVIST

Just you and me. And -- Melanie and M-Martin, I, I guess. _(breath)_ Honestly, I'm surprised Martin isn't --

##### [Basira takes a deep breath.]

#### ARCHIVIST

What? _(realizing)_ Oh god -- the, the plan, it's -- Martin i-is -- is he okay, w-what -- _(he takes a breath to compose himself)_ *What did Elias do?*

#### BASIRA

No, nothing. Elias isn't the problem.

#### ARCHIVIST

So -- what?

#### BASIRA

Elias is locked up.

#### ARCHIVIST

Wait, Martin's plan worked?

#### BASIRA

Yeah. A bunch of sectioned officers took him in. He made some sort of deal, I think, but he's not getting out anytime soon.

#### ARCHIVIST

Oh. _(pause)_ Wow, uh -- o-okay, so -- what's the problem?

#### BASIRA

He appointed an interim director. Guy named Peter Lukas.

#### ARCHIVIST

Oh.

#### BASIRA

Yeah.

#### ARCHIVIST

I've read about him.

#### BASIRA

Yeah, I've hunted down some of those old statements, and -- _(small sigh)_ Yeah.

#### ARCHIVIST

__*What did he do to Martin?*__

#### BASIRA

I... don't know. We don't see him around the Archives much these days. Best I can figure? He's working on something with Lukas.

#### ARCHIVIST

No, that -- _(breath)_ No, that -- that -- There must be something else.

#### BASIRA

Maybe. I don't know.

#### ARCHIVIST

And Melanie?

#### BASIRA

A lot's happened, while you've been gone.

##### [The Archivist sighs.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Right. _(sigh)_ Well I guess we should probably let one of the nurses know I'm awake. _(sigh)_ I'm sure they've got all sorts of -- tests to do, make sure I'm not a -- zombie, or... _(hah)_ I don't suppose you brought in any -- clothes?

#### BASIRA

No, I just, you know, grabbed that statement on my way out.

#### ARCHIVIST

Right, well, uh -- I kept some in the -- uh -- Archives, uh, in my office.

#### BASIRA

Yeah, those got um -- we had to throw those out.

#### ARCHIVIST

What?

#### BASIRA

Like I said, a lot's happened.

#### ARCHIVIST

S-since I've been -- _(inhale)_ Fine.

##### [He lets out a deep exhale.]

#### BASIRA

I'll get you some new ones. Better ones.

##### [Pause.]

#### BASIRA

Anything else?

#### ARCHIVIST

_(swallows)_ Water, please.

#### BASIRA

Sure thing.

##### [She opens the door and leaves.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Oh, or, uh, a cup of t--

##### [The door falls shut.]

##### [Long pause. The Archivist sighs.]

#### ARCHIVIST

_(almost a whisper)_ Okay. _(sigh)_

End recording, I suppose.

##### [TAPE CLICKS OFF.]