Prologue: Several Thousand Years Ago
Back when the world was larger than anyone knew but smaller than many supposed, there was what we now call a sonic boom. Darkness really meant something in those days, and things that go bump in the night were as likely as not to kill you and everyone you loved. A group of fifty-three nomads who were passing through the region woke up with a start, some from the noise, some from a sharp pain and ringing in their ears. A few immediately began shouting at the night watch for letting the fire burn out, but, if he was to be believed, the sound itself had created such a vibration that the fire went out of its own accord. They started a new fire as quickly as possible, given how many hours remained before sunrise and their unfamiliarity with the night creatures in the region.
The entire clan waited anxiously for another boom, some expecting a storm to move in and others something more untoward. But nothing came, nor were there any other sounds. Many were undecided whether the quiet was comforting or ominous. There was a brief debate about sending a party to investigate the initial boom, but since none could say for certain which direction it had come from and only silence had followed, an investigation was determined not to be worth the risk. As their fear subsided and the small fire grew, the People, as such folks often referred to themselves, largely returned to sleep.
They did, however, post an extra guard in each cardinal direction, at the camp’s farthest perimeter. This was an honored task, to form part of the first line of defense. Those chosen had the sharpest eyes, the fastest legs, or some combination of the two.
*
As the horizon’s color changes, from his cover of tall grass, the watchman facing east sees a large quadruped, unlike any he has seen before. It appears to be a docile plant eater, not likely to threaten his group. He tracks it so that, when the sun gets higher, the hunters can go out and kill it for meat. To his surprise, he sees another person already stalking the beast, small as a child but shaped like an adult and far more nimble on his feet than any toddler would be. Amused and wary, the guard continues to watch as this person stalks the beast.
“What is this fellow about? Surely he can’t be foolish enough to think he can take down the beast on his own,” the guard thinks. The small man does not have any weapons suitable for the task, but he appears to be holding something in his tiny hand. The guard has heard that a well-placed rock from a sling can take out even a beast as large as this. But he knows that the sling is a coward’s weapon, and the small man appears to be no coward. As the beast swipes its horns at him, the man ducks and taps the beast on one thigh—perhaps nicking it with a sharpened stone or shell, or else marking it with clay or ash?
“Perhaps this is a test of bravery among his people. What they lack in stature, they make up for in courage or foolishness.” The stranger, whatever his goal, seems content in his conquest. He turns on his heel and runs away faster than the guard thinks is possible, becoming almost a blur. The lumbering, annoyed beast loses interest and decides not to give chase.
The guard shakes his head, confused at what he has seen. Only a few moments have passed since he spotted the now vanishing figure, and the great herbivore has certainly wiped away all trackable signs of him.
When other members of the guard’s group come to find him and he points out the large beast, now a mere speck on the horizon, they praise him for his keen eyes, and later celebrate him alongside the hunters who bring its carcass back. Later still, when they are miles away from where they woke up that day, he tells the tale of a deft man who was there one moment and gone the next, and some think maybe he isn’t such a good guard after all, if he’s going to nod off and have strange dreams. None judge him too harshly, however, given the peculiar nature of the night and the fact that he spotted the beast they will now eat for several days.
*
Similar events will happen approximately one thousand times in the next several thousand years. The last time will be on the night of Tuesday, February 1st, 1983.
PART 1
Editor’s note: The following is a collection of the most relevant documents I could find regarding the fate of the humans on Earth. Most of it comes from journals, but there are also newspaper and magazine articles, letters, transcripts from text and voice recordings, and a police report. I did my best to arrange these into a coherent story. As Guild law still forbids travel to Earth, please forgive my anonymity.
Chapter 1: Tomorrow’s News
Newspaper articles concerning the discovery of unidentified remains near the border of Virginia and West Virginia, found in the effects of Ava Proctor.
SKELETAL REMAINS FOUND NEAR APPALACHIAN TRAIL
by Lloyd Thompson, Editor-in-Chief of Truth News
Two days ago, a pair of Appalachian Trail thru-hikers went exploring in the woods and stumbled upon something that surely put a damper on whatever mood they were in—bones, said to resemble very old human remains (“very old” seems strangely vague to this reporter), possibly those of a child. The pair noted their location on their map, carried on to the nearest town, and reported their find to the local police, though they remarked that this seemed to be more a historical case than a crime scene.
Such discoveries are normal enough, if not common, for that part of the world. But here’s where the story gets weird: within a few hours, the Federal Bureau of Investigation had taken control of the investigation, and everyone involved had “voluntarily” signed non-disclosure agreements. The name of the town has yet to be revealed, and the hikers refuse to identify themselves. Our source, under condition of anonymity, told us that the FBI arrived with little to no warning. From what the investigators can tell, the bones may be as many as fifty years old, but there were no clothes, jewelry, or forms of identification found with them. Furthermore, it’s still “unclear if they are even human.” This reporter finds it odd indeed that medical examiners can’t tell if the bones are human, even if they have been in the woods for half a century.
What seems to be the problem, officers? Are these the remains of a feral child? A thru-hiking Little Person (is that the current Politically Correct term)? Or something more exotic? Perhaps someone’s pet ape? Or is this finally hard evidence of the Bigfoot that many claim to have seen in the area?
Click the link below to subscribe for updates on secrets that the government medical examiners don’t want you to know.
IT IS TIME WE CAME FORWARD
The Washington Post, editorial by Abigail Neilson
As you may have heard, human remains were found last week about half a mile off the Appalachian Trail, near the border of Virginia and West Virginia. Any identifying features of this person, including gender, distinguishing characteristics, age, or even how long they had been there, are as yet undetermined or undisclosed. This has led to the supposition that the information is being withheld as part of a cover-up of some kind. Various theories regarding this cover-up have been put forth, involving aliens or cryptids (Bigfoot or Mothman, for example), or various forms of malfeasance, including human trafficking and the Zodiac Killer. The truth, however, is far more banal. I know this because I am the person in charge of making sure the relevant information is kept quiet, for reasons which, as I will explain here, make a great deal of sense.
First things first: anyone reading this can assume that they know as much about the history of bones as I do. Who the deceased individual was, and how, when, and why they ended up in the woods, are all matters best left to the professionals. The authorities will release that information if it becomes important to the general public. What I can tell you is that Mr. Percival Smith owns the land. Beyond that, we’ve agreed to keep the location secret, which necessitated asking certain people to sign non-disclosure agreements and providing compensation for any revenue they might have made by selling their story.
The reasons for secrecy are twofold. First, the Appalachian Trail can be dangerous at certain times of year, and encouraging tourists to try to find the location of the bones or snoop around will only add to that risk. The last thing anyone wants is more people being lost, injured, or dying in the woods. Second, Mr. Smith owns large amounts of land for conservation, and having more people going off-trail would certainly disturb the wildlife and add to the pollution in the area.
During the course of the investigation, it came to light that Mr. Smith and I run a private school on the same plot of land where the investigation is being held. Until now, only those attending or employed by the school knew about it. However, it seems prudent at this point to make a formal announcement of its existence to the world. For the past forty years, Percival Smith has owned, and I have been Headmistress for, The Percival Smith School for Magical Research (sometimes called Smith Cottage or just The Cottage). This is a place where people of any faith or tradition can come together to conduct research, workshop ideas, and celebrate the beauty and mystery of the natural world.
At the time of our opening, an era that would come to be called the Satanic Panic was in full swing, and people were searching for demons and devils everywhere. Because of this, we maintained a strict policy of silence. At The Cottage, we don’t take particular stances; we’re not trying to convince anyone of anything. Our point is simply that there is so much we don’t know. We can all state with some certainty that no dragons hide in the woods, but does latent energy remain after a person has passed? Can people encounter different dimensions that might be termed magical lands? Perhaps, and some of us intend to find out.
Lest anyone accuse us of perfidy, I readily acknowledge that we are not a school in the traditional sense. It would be more accurate to think of The Cottage as a retreat for artists, writers, and researchers, although education and knowledge are our primary goals. To that end, I will also take this opportunity to announce that we’re seeking an employee to usher Smith Cottage into the twenty-first century—in other words, someone who has experience with both magic and technology.
Our application process is as informal as most other aspects of our pedagogy. Anyone may write a letter and send it to our P.O. box explaining why they would be a suitable candidate, what their interests are, and if they have any references from people associated with the school. If we feel that the candidate is both serious in their interest and suitable for the position, we will invite them for an initial interview off-site. We find this to be the best way to maintain privacy. Prospective applicants should consider the task of discovering our mailing address as our first layer of security; we want to make sure that all candidates have appropriate connections.
We hope that announcing ourselves now will prove not to be a mistake, and we look forward to hearing from some of you.
*
Transcript of a text message conversation between Ava Proctor and James Cunningham. A printed version of this was found among the effects of Ava Proctor.
Ava:
Jimmy
Jimmy
JIMMY
James:
You know texting isn’t actually louder because you’re in caps. Do you know what time it is?
Ava:
Most people are up at noon, Jimmy
James:
Liar. Why are you texting me at this godforsaken hour?
Ava:
I’m texting you at this *goddess blessed* hour because I just saw an article in WaPo that the secret magic school in Virginia is real!
James:
Wait what?
Ava:
I know! : D
James:
Hogwarts in the hollers is real?
Ava:
Just read the link here
It’s written by the Headmistress oo la la
But the important part is that they’re hiring
James:
Shut up
Ava:
I know! : )
*
Opening page from the journal of Ava Proctor.
Ostara (Spring Equinox)—
“I had rather die in the adventure of noble achievements, than live in obscure and sluggish security.” With these words from my past self, Lady Margaret Cavendish, I open what will be—I hope—a text with its place in history worthy of all my predecessors.
I’ve just read confirmation of what before was only rumored: there is a school of magic hidden in the Appalachian mountains, not far from here! And they’re specifically looking for a technomancer to live and work there! It has to be intentional that Headmistress Neilson had the paper print the article today—she knew that this would be someone’s opportunity to start a new life. I have thirteen days to find the mailing address, polish my resume and CV, and draft a cover letter, so that I can send them out with a blessing on the day of the Awakening Moon.
I’m starting this journal because I know, in my heart, that I’ll be the first in a long line of Smith Cottage Technomancers, and my successors will benefit from knowing how we got started. Perhaps you will all keep journals of your victories and failures, so that our knowledge can compound indefinitely. As it will be, so mote it be.
Chapter 2: Letters
Various correspondence found in Abigail Neilson’s office.
Dear Headmistress Neilson,
I feel I should start by clarifying that I address you by your preferred honorific only as a courtesy because I pride myself on gentlemanly behavior. The fact is that a headmistress heads a school, and your organization seems to be, at best, a library, or perhaps a farm.
While I don’t expect anything of you, I believe it is important for people to hear voices outside of those with whom they choose to surround themselves. It is in this spirit that I take time out of my day to remind you that there is no such thing as magic and that you, as I suspect you once knew but have perhaps forgotten, are a charlatan.
This may come off as harsh, but I implore you to keep reading, for my point is an exceedingly simple one: if magic were real, why would it still be a secret? If people could move objects with their minds, for example, wouldn’t everyone be doing it as their normal behavior? Why would you walk to the other side of the room if you could just summon the book into your hand through sheer force of will. This is to say nothing of the field of medicine, in which I have a particular interest, and how it would be changed by magical words and intentions. Naturally, I admit that arguments exist for the comparison of certain herbal remedies to magic potions; however, this observation only strengthens my argument. When something works, clove oil on a toothache for example, we learn why it works and add that knowledge to the curriculum. Magic words, divination, and runes aren’t taught at medical school, simply because they do not work. I hope you will take my words to heart and stop misrepresenting yourself and your facility.
Most sincerely yours,
Dr. Andrew Robinson
Headmistress Neilson,
My name is Trevor Brown. I don’t expect you’ve heard of me as I am a mere thirty-three years of age; however, I expect you know the name of my former mistress, Mercy Brown. I will begin by saying that although I haven’t seen Mistress Brown often these last few years, I owe her a great debt. I don’t know how she would feel about me writing you this letter, so if you have any communication with her, I implore you not to inform her of this missive.
With that out of the way, it seems best to make myself plain. On November 3, 2013, during the eclipse just before dawn, the vampire Mercy Brown made me one of her kind. I won’t divulge the details of the ritual—I’m sure you understand that to do so would be a tremendous breach of both trust and protocol. The man who I was died in many senses that night, although he would not be legally declared so for several years. During the time following my transformation, we lived together as man and wife in a small New England town under assumed names. I learned a great deal, as I’m sure you can imagine—or perhaps you already know? It has just occurred to me that although I have yet to meet another vampire besides my Mistress, you may have been more lucky! But I’m letting my emotions get the better of me.
Five years ago, when she decided I was ready to live on my own and become a Master if I so chose (which I have not done, yet), she bade me remove myself from her house so that she might find another to bless. I’ve spent these past years attempting to research my people, but to little avail, I am sad to report. Fortunately, in my research I’ve made some acquaintances, one of whom deigned to grant me the address of your school, which I am given to understand has a most formidable library. If you would permit me to spend some time there to examine your books, research, and perhaps even confirm certain information, I would be happy to pay whatever tuition is required and would gladly add my own story to your archives, if you feel it would be beneficial to your collection.
Most sincerely yours,
Trevor Brown
Dear Headmistress Neilson,
Please please please let me come to your school. I am not technically an adult yet, but I’m very grown up and will be in a few years. I promise that I will be on my very best behavior. I know I could do magic if I just had a chance. Other people in my family do. I got your address from my Auntie K, who is a little bit psychic and knows some crystals and herbs. She doesn’t know I found it. Please don’t tell her and please let me come to your school.
Thank you,
Joshua
Hello,
I expect you receive many harsh letters from those calling themselves Christians, and I want to assure you that this is not another of those. However, I wish to visit your community to assess its value in the Kingdom of our Lord.
I am called Remiel, after my father. If the stories I have heard from others are correct, your school has what may be the largest collection of manuscripts on angels, demons, jinn, hayyot, and other members of the Divine Hierarchy outside of the Holy See. I have been tasked by my Heavenly Father with reviewing your manuscripts, checking them for accuracy, and making corrections where needed.
Please let me know when and where to arrive so that I can begin my work as soon as possible.
Thank you,
Remi
Headmistress Neilson:
My name is Ava Proctor. Please consider this letter to be my formal application for the role of technomancer at The Percival Smith School for Magical Research.
I have been studying various forms of the craft since my earliest days. Like many young people, I initially focused on tarot, astrology, and other forms of divination, including tasseography, oomancy, and xylomancy. This formed the main tenet of my beliefs, namely the interconnectedness of all aspects of the world and the cosmos.
In order to learn more about these connections in a broad sense, I completed a Bachelor’s degree in World History from Smoky Mountain College in North Carolina. I then shifted my focus to connectedness in a more local or micro sense, and pursued additional education in Biology and Robotics. These degrees, combined with my magical research, which I maintained during my conventional education, form the basis of my craft.
I am also an adept handy-woman and am confident that, were we to adapt an outbuilding at your school into a laboratory, it could be entirely off-grid and powered by a combination of solar, wind, and hydroelectric energy, as long as there is moving water nearby.
If I am accepted, I intend to be a full-time resident of the school, on the understanding that this will be a mutually beneficial arrangement: I will have the facilities and privacy to live and carry out my research, and you will enable your school to reach the forefront of technomagical research. Hopefully, I will also be able to mentor aspiring technomancers in the near future.
I don’t mean to sound arrogant, Headmistress, but if you are serious about expanding the school into technomancy, there is no one better suited to the task than myself.
I will eagerly await your reply. Please find my resume and curriculum vitae included.
Sincerely,
Ava Proctor
—
Author’s Statement
THE PERCIVAL SMITH SCHOOL FOR MAGICAL RESEARCH is a novel composed of three distinct novellas, each following a different format, as well as a prologue describing an event that happened several thousand years before the rest of the book.
The first novella is an epistolary story that takes place in our modern world, approximately in the present day. It is a collection of articles, letters, and journal entries that detail how a school for magic announces its existence and hires the main character, and then describe the events that lead to the destruction of humanity. The question that inspired this story came from the end of American Horror Story: Coven—what would happen if, in the world as we know it, a school for magic announced itself tomorrow? Many more questions arise from this premise. Who operates the school, what motivated its opening, why the current announcement, and crucially, does magic exist? These questions are all considered and, to some extent, answered in my novel’s first part.
The second part is a collection of short stories, which opens with the framing device of a young human living on a space station. He is reckoning with the idea that most of the rest of humanity is dead and decides to tell the story of every human he knows. Starting with his parents, who were abducted years before his birth, we meet various humans, as well as the group of aliens who traveled to Earth to discover humanity’s fate.
Part Three, so far only outlined, will be more of a traditional narrative, spanning the hundreds of years on Earth immediately after the events of Part One. In it, groups of humans retreat to cave complexes and underground bunkers during a global catastrophe, manage to survive, and eventually re-emerge and reintroduce various species of animals—only to cause the initial apocalypse through a time-travel causality loop. I did not ultimately want to tell a story of inevitable doom, and so, in the final chapter, we learn that the plan to repopulate did work, and the world is once again populated with animals from various points in history.
J. Bradford Engelsman lives in Atlanta, Georgia. He is primarily a nonfiction author. His first book, Lactation for the Rest of Us: A Guide for Queer and Trans Parents and Helpers, was released in February 2025, and he has written several articles on similar topics. Aside from some short stories, this is his first foray into fiction.
Embark, Issue 24, April 2026
Embark 