The physical book is only in case someone wants to have something at home to hold in their hands! I encourage anyone who is interested in the story to just get the PDF version.
How much did it take to publish the book?
I could say: nothing at all. That’s what the publisher/printing service does; it’s print on demand, so costs fall more-or-less on the buyer and the printer.
But there were obviously things I spent money on:
39.00GBP for the cover – pay your artists!
I had the book printed out several times over the past year and a half for friends and myself, for different versions or stages of the book. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if I found all receipts, but 50€ is an estimate
12.88€ for a pre-print copy to check so I could make final adjustments (this is also the price I would pay as the author if I wanted to buy it for myself or sell it myself – I am required by German law to sell it for 16€, though, for at least 18 months)
9.90€ for the address service x2
(For the “Impressum” – basically the copyright page – I am required to give a legally tenable address)
So, around 130€ if you include all those private copies, 78.04 € if you only include the pre-print copy, and 65.16 if I pretended that I just winged it without checking with a pre-print copy. If I only published in one language, I could have brought it down to 55.26€. If I was ok with giving my own address (this requirement might not apply if another service was used) and decided to draw the cover on my own, I could have brought the price down to 0.00€
For the purposes of this publication process, I consider the up-front cost to be 19.80€ (due to the address service).
The book is sold at 16€ – and that’s legally binding, now that it’s set, no one can sell it for more or less.
If I buy it for myself, of course, I get the printing cost (but I’m not allowed to sell it at any other price than 16€ either):
So how much do I get? If someone buys it directly at the source (Epubli), I get 1.75€. If someone buys it from anywhere else, I get 0.25€. I deliberately set the price very close to the allowed minimum – I’m not in it for the money, but if I can get my up-front cost of 19.80€ covered in a decade or so, I would consider that a break-through success!
What happens with the money?
Probably nothing: If I ever make more than 19.80€ from the sale of the book, I’ll put it aside for the support of projects in toki pona (if there’s at some point a toki pona organisation or a fund or something that does that kind of thing, I’ll have it donated directly to that). However, given that I don’t expect to make back my investment, I don’t think I have to spend too much thought on that yet. =)
Content warning: This is a horror podcast. This episode contains the following themes: Abduction, unsettling strangers/uncanny valley, alcohol, smoking
o sona e ni: toki ni li toki e ijo mute pi ike wawa, li ike musi pona. ona li toki e ike ni: jan li kama weka kepeken ala wile ona; jan en ijo li nasa ike; li sona ala tawa jan ante; telo nasa; moku pi kon pimeja
Rusty Quill presents: The Magnus Archives. Episode 1: Anglerfish
kulupu Rusty Quill li pana e toki ni. tomo Manu pi sona awen. toki nanpa wan: kala pi suno alasa
Test… Test… Test… 1, 2, 3… Right.
toki, toki, toki… wan, tu, mute… a
My name is Jonathan Sims. I work for the Magnus Institute, London, an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal. The head of the Institute, Mr. Elias Bouchard, has employed me to replace the previous Head Archivist, one Gertrude Robinson, who has recently passed away.
nimi mi li Jonatan Sime. mi pali lon tomo Manu pi alasa sona lon ma tomo Lonton. kulupu pi tomo ni li alasa e nasin sona pi ijo nasa e kama pi wawa nasa. jan lawa Elija Pusawe li pana e pali ni tawa mi: jan Ketute Jopiso li lawa e tomo pi sona awen, li moli la, mi pali e pali ona.
I have been working as a researcher at the Institute for four years now and am familiar with most of our more significant contracts and projects. Most reach dead ends, predictably enough, as incidents of the supernatural, such as they are – and I always emphasise there are very few genuine cases – tend to resist easy conclusions. When an investigation has gone as far as it can, it is transferred to the Archives.
tenpo sike tu tu la, mi pali lon kulupu. pali suli kulupu en lawa pali mani la, mi sona e mute. pali pi mute suli la, alasa li kama sona ala tan ni: kama pi wawa nasa li kama lon tenpo lili taso a. mi toki e lili ni lon tenpo ale. alasa sona li pini la, tomo pi awen sona li awen e ni.
Now, the Institute was founded in 1818, which means that the Archive contains almost 200 years of case files at this point. Combine that with the fact that most of the Institute prefers the ivory tower of pure academia to the complicated work of dealing with statements or recent experiences and you have the recipe for an impeccably organised library and an absolute mess of an archive. This isn’t necessarily a problem – modern filing and indexing systems are a real wonder, and all it would need is a half-decent archivist to keep it in order. Gertrude Robinson was apparently not that archivist.
tomo li open lon tenpo sike pini ale ale la, lipu pi mute suli li lon tomo pi awen sona. sin la, nasin tomo mute li nasin pi tomo sona taso. ona li wile ala pali e lipu pi pilin jan, e toki pi tenpo pini la, ni li pona tawa tomo lipu sona, taso ni li pona ala tawa tomo pi awen sona. ni li ken ike ala tan ilo pi tenpo sike ni, tan jan pona pi awen sona. taso jan Ketute Jopiso li jan ni ala.
From where I am sitting, I can see thousands of files. Many spread loosely around the place, others crushed into unmarked boxes. A few have dates on them or helpful labels such as 86-91 G/H. Not only that, but most of these appear to be handwritten or produced on a typewriter with no accompanying digital or audio versions of any sort. In fact, I believe the first computer to ever enter this room is the laptop that I brought in today. More importantly, it seems as though little of the actual investigations have been stored in the Archives, so the only thing in most of the files are the statements themselves.
lon poka mi la mi ken lukin e lipu mute a. lipu li lon supa kepeken nasin ala. lipu li lon poki pi sitelen ala. mute lili la, sitelen li sama nimi mute mute mute mute luka wan linja mute mute mute mute luka luka wan weka Je Ke. ni li ike tawa sona. kin la, tenpo mute la, ona li sitelen jan anu sitelen pi ilo pimeja. ijo kalama en lipu pi ilo sona li lon ala. pilin la, ilo sona mi li nanpa wan lon tomo lili ni. suli la, tomo awen li li awen e lipu lili taso pi alasa sona. ni la, lipu mute li toki pilin jan li lon.
It is going to take me a long, long time to organise this mess. I’ve managed to secure the services of two researchers to assist me. Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays. I plan to digitise the files as much as possible and record audio versions, though some will have to be on tape recorder, as my attempts to get them on my laptop have met with… significant audio distortions.
mi wile kepeken tenpo mute tawa nasin pona tawa jaki ni. pona la, jan tu pi nasin sona li kama pana e pona tawa pali mi. a. toki la, ni li jan tu wan. taso jan Masin li pona ala tawa pali. tenpo la, mi wile pana e lipu tawa ilo sona. mi wile pana e kalama tawa ilo sona kepeken lipu. nasa la, kalama… ike nasa li kama tawa ilo sona kepeken lipu pi mute lili. ni la, mi kepeken ilo awen kalama.
Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have. I’ll try to present these in as succinct a fashion as I can at the end of each statement. I can, unfortunately, promise no order in regards to date or theme of the statements that are recorded, and can only apologise to any future researcher attempting to use these files for their own investigations.
poka pali la, jan Ten en jan Sasa a, ken, en jan Masin li alasa namako e sona tawa weka sona mi. mi wile pana e sona namako lon pini pi toki ale. ike la, mi sona ala e nasin tenpo e nasin toki tawa toki jan lon ilo kalama. jan sona li wile kute e lipu lon tenpo kama la, mi ken toki e ike mi taso.
That’s probably enough time spent making my excuses for the state of this place, and I suppose we have to begin somewhere.
toki pi ike mi li pini. pali o open lon open ona.
Statement of Nathan Watts, regarding an encounter on Old Fishmarket Close, Edinburgh. Original statement given April 22nd 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
toki wan li tan jan Natan Wasi. li toki e kama poka lon ma nasin Esun Majuna Kala lon ma tomo Esinpawa. toki mama li tan tenpo suno nanpa mute tu lon tenpo mun nanpa tu tu lon tenpo sike nanpa luka luka tu. kalama li tan jan Jonatan Sime li tan jan lawa pi tomo Manu pi awen sona lon ma tomo Lonton.
toki li open.
This all happened a couple of years ago, so I apologise if some of the details are a bit off. I mean, I feel like I remember it clearly but sometimes things are so weird that you start to doubt yourself. Still, I suppose weird is kind of what you guys do, right?
ni ale li lon tenpo sike pini. sona lili li ken weka lili la ni li ike mi. pilin la, mi sona wawa e ale. taso nasa wawa li lon la, sona li sama wawa ala. a, kute la, nasa li pali wawa tawa sina. anu seme.
So I’m studying at the University of Edinburgh. Biochemistry, specifically, and I was in my second year at the time this happened. I wasn’t in any sort of university accommodation at this point, and was renting a student flat down in Southside with a few other second years.
mi kama sona e nasin seli sijelo lon tomo sona suli lon ma Esinpawa. mi lon ona lon tenpo sike tu la, ijo ni li kama. tomo lape mi li lon tomo ante, sama jan ante pi kama sona.
To be honest, I didn’t hang out with them much. I took a gap year before matriculating, and my birthday’s in the wrong part of September, so I was nearly two years older than most of my peers when I started my course. I got on with them fine, you understand, but I tended to end up hanging out with some of the older students.
o sona e ni: mi lon ala poka ona. tomo sona li lon tenpo kama la, mi kepeken tenpo sike wan tawa pali ala. kin la, mi sike sin e suno lon tenpo suno nasa. ni ale la, mi suli tenpo tawa jan ante pi kama sona kepeken tenpo sike tu. o kute, mi pilin pona lon poka ona. taso mi kama lon poka pi jan suli sama tenpo mi.
That’s why I was at the party in the first place. Michael MacAulay, a good friend of mine, had just been accepted to do a Master’s degree in Earth Sciences so we decided a celebration was in order. Well, maybe ‘party’ isn’t quite the right word, we just kind of invaded the Albanach down on the Royal Mile, and drank long enough and loud enough that eventually we had the back area to ourselves. Now, I don’t know how well you know the drinking holes of Edinburgh, but the Albanach has a wide selection of some excellent single malts, and I may have slightly overindulged. I have vague memories of Mike suggesting I slow down, to which I responded by roundly swearing at him for failing to properly celebrate his own good news. Or words to that effect.
tan ni taso la mi kama lon tenpo musi. jan Mikaje Makala li jan pona mi, li pini e kama sona ma la, mi ale li wile musi e pini pona ni. ken la ‘tenpo musi’ li nimi ike tawa ni. mi kama lon insa pi tomo Alapana lon nasin Ojamaje. mi moku e telo nasa kepeken tenpo kepeken kalama wawa la, mi ale taso li lon poka mi. sina sona e tomo pi telo nasa lon ma Esinpawa la, tomo Alapana li jo e telo nasa pan pi pona mute. ken la, mi moku pi ike mute. sona mi li ike tawa ni la, jan Mikaje li toki tawa mi, li wile lili e moku mi. mi toki e nimi ike tawa ona. mi la, ona li musi ala e pini pi pali ona. mi toki e ni anu nimi pi kon sama.
Long story short, I was violently ill around midnight, and made the decision to walk the route home. It wasn’t far to my flat, maybe half an hour if I’d been sober, and the night was cool enough that I remember having a hope the chill would perk me up some. I headed for the Cowgate and the quickest way to get there from the Royal Mile is down Old Fishmarket Close. Now, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that there are some steep hills in Edinburgh but Old Fishmarket Close is exceptional, even by those standards. At times it must reach a thirty or forty degree angle, which is hard enough to navigate when you don’t have that much scotch inside you. As I have mentioned, I had quite a lot, so it probably wasn’t that surprising when I took a rather nasty tumble about halfway down the street.
mi wile lili e toki. tenpo pimeja insa la, mi kama pilin ike mute. mi tawa tomo mi. tomo mi li weka lili. mi nasa ala la, mi kepeken tenpo lili taso. mi wile kama lili e nasa mi tan kon lete. mi tawa ma Kokate. tan nasin Ojamaje la, nasin nanpa lili li tawa ma nasin Esun Majuna Kala. sona la, nena li ken kama sewi mute lon ma Esinpawa. taso ma nasin Esun Majuna Kala li sewi kin tawa ona. jan li nasa ala tan telo la, nasin ni li wile pali. sina kute e mi la, mi nasa mute tan telo. mi kama anpa wawa la, ni li nasa ala tawa sina.
In retrospect, the fall wasn’t that bad compared to what it could have been, but at the time, it really shook me up, and left me with some nasty bruises. I picked myself up as best I could, checked I hadn’t seriously injured myself, no broken bones or anything, and decided to roll a cigarette to calm myself. That was when I heard it.
tenpo ni la, mi sona e ni: kama anpa ni li ken ike mute, li ike mute ala. taso tenpo pini la, mi pilin ike wawa. selo mi li kama kule. mi kama sewi, mi lukin e sijelo mi. pakala ala li lon la, mi pana e palisa pi kon pimeja moku tawa mi tawa pilin pona mi. ni la, mi kute e ijo.
“Can I have a cigarette?”
“o pana e palisa pi kon pimeja moku.”
I was startled out of my thoughts by the words as I thought I had been alone. Quickly trying to compose myself and looking around, I noticed a small alleyway on the opposite side of the street. It was very narrow and completely unlit with a short staircase leading up. I could see a light fixture a little way up the wall at its entrance, but it either wasn’t working or wasn’t turned on, meaning that beyond a few steps the alley was shrouded in total darkness. Stood there, a couple of stairs from the street, was a figure. It was hard to tell much about them as they were mostly in the shadows, though if I’d had to guess I would have said the voice sounded male. They seemed to sway, ever so slightly, as I watched, and I assumed that they, like me, were probably a little bit drunk.
jan ala li lon poka mi la, toki ni li nasa e pilin mi. mi lukin lili e wawa pilin. mi lukin. nasin lili li lon poka ante nasin. ona li lili mute, li pimeja mute. nasin palisa li kama sewi tan ona. mi ken lukin e ilo suno lili lon sinpin ona. taso ona li suno ala. ken la ona li pakala. pimeja li lon. weka lili tan nasin la, jan li lon. mi ken ala lukin pona e ona la, mi ken toki ala e sijelo ona. taso kalama ona la, ona li ken mije. lukin la, ona li kepeken tawa lili nasa. ken la ona li kama nasa tan telo sama mi.
I lit my own cigarette and held out my tobacco towards them, though I didn’t approach, and asked if they were ok with a roll-up. The figure didn’t move except to continue that gentle swaying. Writing it down now, it seems so obvious that something was wrong. If I hadn’t been so drunk, maybe I’d have noticed quicker, but even when the stranger asked the question again, “Can I have a cigarette?” utterly without intonation, still I didn’t understand why I was so uneasy.
mi seli e palisa mi pi kon moku. mi tawa e ko pi kon moku tawa ona. taso mi tawa ala ona. mi wile sona e ni tan ona: palisa pi pali sin li pona ala pona? jan li tawa ala mi, li awen e tawa lili nasa taso. mi sitelen e toki ni lon tenpo ni la, mi ken sona e ike ken. mi nasa ala la, ken la, mi kama sona kin. taso mi sona ala e tan pi pilin ike mi lon toki sin ni: “o pana e palisa pi kon pimeja moku.” toki li kepeken kalama awen taso.
I stared at the stranger and as my eyes began to adjust I could make out more details. I could see that their face appeared blank, expressionless, and their skin seemed damp and slightly sunken, like they had a bad fever. The swaying was more pronounced now, seeming to move from the waist, side to side, back and forth. By this point, I had finished rolling a second cigarette, and gingerly held it out towards them, but I didn’t get any closer. I had decided that if this weirdo wanted a cigarette, they were going to need to come out of the creepy alleyway. They didn’t come closer, didn’t make any movement at all except for that damn swaying. For some reason the thought of an anglerfish popped into my head, the single point of light dangled into the darkness, hiding the thing that lures you in.
mi awen lukin e jan. oko mi li kama wawa lon pimeja la, mi ken lukin e sin lili. sinpin jan li sama pilin ala. selo li telo lili, li kama anpa sama ike sijelo seli. tawa nasa ona li kama wawa, li tan poka tawa poka, li tan monsi tawa sinpin. mi pini pali e palisa nanpa tu pi kon moku. mi tawa e ona tawa jan. taso mi wile ala tawa poka ona. mi la, jan nasa ni li wile e palisa la, ona li wile weka tan nasin pimeja. ona li kama ala tawa mi, li tawa ala tawa poka ante, li kepeken tawa nasa a taso. kala pi alasa suno li kama lon insa lawa mi sama sitelen. suno lili li kepeken tawa nasa lon pimeja, li len e ijo alasa.
“Can I have a cigarette?” It spoke again in the same flat voice and I realised exactly what was wrong. Its mouth was closed, had been the whole time. Whatever was repeating that question, it wasn’t the figure in the alleyway. I looked at their feet and saw that they weren’t quite touching the ground. The stranger’s form was being lifted, ever so slightly, and moved gently from side to side.
“o pana e palisa pi kon pimeja moku.” jan li toki sin kepeken kalama awen sama. mi kama sona e pakala. uta jan li open ala, li selo lon tenpo ale. kalama li kama ala tan ja, li kama tan ijo ante. mi lukin e noka jan. noka li kama ala lili lon ma. sijelo jan li awen sewi lili, li kama tan poka tawa poka.
I dropped the cigarette and grabbed for my phone, trying to turn on the torch. I don’t know why I didn’t run or what I hoped to see in that alley, but I wanted to get a better look. As soon as I took out my phone, the figure disappeared. It sort of folded at the waist and vanished back into the darkness, as if a string had gone taut and pulled it back. I turned on the torch and stared into the alley, but I saw nothing. Just silence and darkness. I staggered back up to the Royal Mile, which still had lights and people, and found a taxi to take me home.
mi anpa e palisa kon, li luka e ilo toki mi. mi suno kepeken ilo toki. mi tawa ala tan seme? mi wile lukin e seme? mi sona ala. taso mi wile lukin. ilo mi li kama la, sijelo li kama weka monsi. sewi ona li kama weka sama ala anpa ona. ni li sama linja li tawa e ona tawa monsi. mi suno e nasin. taso mi lukin e ala. kalama ala en pimeja li lon. sin la, mi tawa nasin Ojamaje. ona li jo e suno, e jan. mi tawa tomo mi la, mi kepeken tomo kulupu tawa.
I slept late the next day. I’d made sure I didn’t have any lectures or classes, as I had intended to be sleeping off a heavy night of drinking, which I guess I was, although it was that bizarre encounter that kept playing in my mind. And so, after making my way through two litres of water, some painkillers and a very greasy breakfast, I felt human enough to leave my flat and go to investigate the place in daylight. The result was unenlightening. There were no marks, no bloodstains, nothing to indicate that the swaying figure had ever been there at all. The only thing I did find was an unsmoked Marlboro Red cigarette, lying just below the burned out light fixture.
mi lape mute lon tenpo suno sin. tan tenpo musi la, mi nasin ala e tenpo sona lon tenpo suno. ni la mi ken weka e nasa mi kepeken lape. ken la, mi pali e ni. taso tenpo nasa li awen lon lawa mi. tenpo la, mi moku e telo pona mute la, mi moku e moku ko la, mi moku e ko pi weka pi pilin pakala la, mi ken tawa tan tomo mi tan pilin pona lili. mi wile lukin e nasin nasa lon tenpo suno. mi kama ala sona tan ni. kule nasa en telo loje sijelo en ijo nasa li lon ala la, jan li ken sona ala e jan pi tawa nasa pi tenpo pini. mi kama lukin e ijo wan taso: palisa loje pi kon moku li pakala ala lon ma, lon anpa pi ilo suno pakala.
Beyond that, I didn’t really know what to do. I did as much research as I could on the place, but couldn’t find anyone who’d had any experience similar to mine, and there didn’t seem to be any folklore or urban legends I could find out about Old Fishmarket Close. The few friends I told about what happened just assumed I’d been accosted by some stranger and the alcohol had made it seem much weirder than it was. I tried to explain that I’ve never had hallucinations while drunk, and that there was no way this guy had just been a normal person, but they always gave me one of those looks, halfway between pity and concern, and I’d shut up.
ante la, mi sona ala. mi o pali seme? mi alasa mute e sona lon nasin ni. taso tenpo nasa sama li kama tawa jan ala. toki kulupu en toki nasa li toki ala e ma nasin Esun Majuna Kala. mi toki tawa jan pona mi la, ona li pilin e ni: jan nasa li kama lon poka mi la, pilin nasa mi li kama wawa tan telo nasa. mi lukin toki e ni: sitelen nasa li kama ala tawa mi tan telo nasa. taso jan pona mi li lukin e mi kepeken pilin, li wile pona e mi la, mi pini e toki.
I never did find out anything else about it, but a few days later I saw some missing person appeals go up around campus. Another student had disappeared. John Fellowes, his name was, though I didn’t really know the guy and couldn’t tell you much about him, except for two things that struck me as very important: he had been at that same party and, as far as I remembered, had still been there when I left. The other was just that, well, on the photo they’d used for his missing persons appeal, I couldn’t help but notice that there was a pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes poking out of his pocket.
mi kama ala sona lon tenpo ale. taso tenpo suno mute li pini la, mi lukin e lipu wile lon tomo sona mi. jan pi kama sona li weka. nimi ona li Son Pelowe. mi sona pona ala e ona. taso ijo tu li suli tawa mi. ona li lon tenpo musi sama mi, li awen lon tomo pi telo nasa lon tenpo pi weka mi. ijo nanpa tu li ni: lipu wile li kepeken sitelen pi jan weka la, palisa loje pi kon moku li lon poki ona.
I haven’t quit smoking, but I do find that I take a lot more taxis now if I find myself out too late.
mi pini ala e moku pi kon pimeja. taso tenpo pimeja la, mi kepeken tomo kulupu tawa lon tenpo mute.
toki li pini.
The investigation at the time, and the follow-up we’ve done over the last couple of days, have found no evidence to corroborate Mr. Watts’ account of his experience. I was initially inclined to re-file this statement in the ‘Discredited’ section of the Archive, a new category I’ve created that will, I suspect, be housing the majority of these files.
alasa sona pi tenpo pini en alasa sona pi tenpo ni la, mi kama sona ala e ijo pi toki pi jan Natan Wasi. tenpo wan la, mi wile weka e toki ni tawa poki pi toki pi lon ala. poki ni li sin tan mi. pilin mi la, ona li kama suli nanpa wan lon tomo ni.
However, Sasha did some digging into the police reports of the time and it turns out that between 2005 and 2010, when Mr. Watts’ encounter supposedly took place, there were six disappearances in and around the Old Fishmarket Close: Jessica McEwen in November 2005, Sarah Baldwin in August 2006, Daniel Rawlings in December of the same year, then Ashley Dobson and Megan Shaw in May and June of 2008. Then finally, as Mr. Watts mentioned, John Fellowes in March 2010. All six disappearances remain unsolved. Baldwin and Shaw were definitely smokers, but there’s no evidence either way about the others, if they’re even connected.
taso jan Sasa li lukin e lipu pi awen lawa. tan tenpo sike nanpa tu tu wan tawa tenpo sike nanpa luka luka pi toki ni la, jan luka wan li kama weka lon insa pi ma nasin Esun Majuna Kala anu lon poka. ona li jan Jesika Mekewen lon tenpo mun nanpa luka luka wan lon tenpo sike nanpa tu tu wan, li jan Sewa Polin lon tenpo mun nanpa luka tu wan lon tenpo sike nanpa luka wan, li jan Tanije Walin lon tenpo mun nanpa pini lon tenpo sike sama, li jan Asili Tosen lon tenpo mun nanpa tu tu wan lon tenpo sike nanpa luka tu wan, li jan Mekan Sawe lon tenpo mun nanpa luka wan lon tenpo sike sama. pini la, jan Son Pelowe li kama weka lon tenpo mun nanpa tu wan lon tenpo sike nanpa luka luka, sama toki pi jan Natan Wasi. sona pi jan weka li awen weka. jan Sewa Polin en jan Mekan Sawe li moku e kon pimeja. jan ante la, mi sona ala.
Sasha did find one other thing, specifically in the case of Ashley Dobson. It was a copy of the last photograph taken by her phone and sent to her sister Siobhan. The caption was “check out this drunk creeper lol”, but the picture is of a darkened, apparently empty, alleyway, with stairs leading up into it. It appears to be the same alleyway which Mr. Watts described in his statement, the one that, according to the maps of the area, leads to Tron Square, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone in the photograph at all.
jan Sasa li kama sona e ijo wan. jan Asili Tosen li pali e sitelen kepeken ilo ona, li pana e ona tawa jan sama ona Sowan. poka sitelen la, ona li toki e ni: “o lukin e jan nasa ni a a a”. taso sitelen la, nasin taso li lon, li pimeja. ona li sama nasin pi toki pi jan Natan Wasi. jan ala li lon sitelen ni.
Sasha took the liberty of running it through some editing programs, though, and increasing the contrast appears to reveal the outline of a long, thin hand, roughly at what would be waist level on a male of average height. I find it oddly hard to shake off the impression that it’s beckoning.
jan Sasa li pana e sitelen ni tawa ilo sona sitelen. ona li ante e ante walo pimeja la, sama pi luka suli linja li lon sitelen, li lon sewi sama poka pi sijelo jan mije. pilin nasa mi la, ona li wile e mi e jan ante tawa ona. pilin ni li awen.
kalama li pini.
The Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by RustyQuill.Com and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike International License. Today’s episode was written and performed my Jonathan Sims. It was produced and directed by Alexander J. Newall.
tomo Manu pi sona awen li toki kalama. kulupu RustyQuill.com li pana e ona. ona li kepeken nasin pi lawa jo pi jan ale pi esun ala pi pana sama, li kepeken nasin Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike International License. jan Jonathan Sims li pali e toki ni mama. jan Ke Tami li pana e toki pona e kalama uta tawa toki ni. jan Alexander J. Newall li nasin, li lawa esun pali e toki ni mama.