Archival Division: The Curious Case of Amanda Tuller

Sometimes, it's a little thing that gets you.

Consider the curious case of Amanda Tuller:

By 1944, the Allies dominated the air. Not even Nazi Germany's top pilots could stop British bombers from dumping over 2,000 tons of munitions into the heart of Berlin. But the Luftwaffe had one last ace up their sleeve — the Messerschmitt Me 262 Sturmvogel.

As the first fighter jet, the Sturmvogel enjoyed unparalleled success… when it got off the ground. Despite a dispersed production line that used slave labor to cut costs, Germany could not build them faster than the Allies could bomb them. The Luftwaffe were desperate for a solution.

Enter Obskurakorps: A subgroup of Ahnenerbe (a pseudo-scientific cult that provided ex postfacto justifications for Nazi atrocities and their doctrine of racial superiority), Obskurakorps was a loose confederation of fraudsters, crackpots, and German blue-bloods who spent most their time trying to convince themselves that they were Nordic wizards. Together, they formed a syncretic fusion of misapplied thaumaturgy, misunderstood theology, and misappropriated mythology. Once in a while? They even managed to accidentally cast a spell.

At the Luftwaffe's request, that's precisely what they did. Aristocrats and con-artists gathered together to hum over their crystals, consult their star-charts, and draw sigils in their own excrement. To everyone's astonishment, it actually worked. Germany's largest underground Sturmvogel production facility — along with all its workers, officers, and several hundred Ukrainian slaves — popped out of existence. It was now contained in an extradimensional space far beyond the reach of Allied bombers.

It turned out Allied bombers weren't the only ones who couldn't reach it. The Luftwaffe asked Obskurakorps to bring the facility back; they revealed that they could not. Once all parties realized what this meant, Luftwaffe officials were horrified. They swiftly covered their tracks. Lies were told, bomb reports forged, and the European theater continued on — until Hitler's day of reckoning in a bunker below Berlin.

Several decades later, an American by the name of Amanda Tuller was practicing the "Human Blockhead" act (a stage-trick which involves the insertion of a nail into one's own nasal cavity). After 'hammering' a 4 centimeter long galvanized nail into her nose, her hand slipped and the nail slid in. It vanished — never to be found.

She soon complained of a horrible stench, which was followed by recurring bouts of pneumonia. Endoscopic examinations of her nasal cavity revealed the source: it now contained an enormous extradimensional space. Deeper endoscopic surveys found an immense underground bunker filled with nearly a thousand rotting corpses and several hundred unfinished Messerschmitt Me 262 airframes.

An amateur stage magician achieved by accident what over a dozen Nazi "occultists" couldn't even do on purpose: Amanda Tuller had recovered the underground Sturmvogel production facility.

The extradimensional Nazi mass war grave inside of Ms. Tuller's nasal cavity was probed, explored, and studied for two decades before she passed away from an unrelated case of lymphatic cancer. Every inch was examined and cataloged. Many Foundation researchers built their careers on documenting that nose. Its discovery provided invaluable insight into the properties of spatial anomalies — insights relied on to this very day.

And that's the end of that. Right?

Wrong.

Because there's one little thing that gets you. One piece of the puzzle that doesn't quite fit. One question you still need to ask:

Where the fuck did the nail go?


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License