Going to camp for the first time is scary for any kid. And in a town 
like Sloth's Pit, it's especially scary, because the town is filled to the 
brim with narrative force. Enough scary campfire stories, 
nightmares, and general anxiety over things like bugs in the 
restroom can form psychic scars on the land. At Camp Krakkow, 
these scars manifested as nightmares, and when the only thing 
holding them back — a protective bear totem — was removed by 
the Foundation, all within the camp's boundaries died. 


The Foundation replaced the totem, and Site-87 was originally 


established to monitor the camp for any further activity. They 
believed that Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin, was just a normal town that, at 
the time, was grappling with a tragedy the likes of which the people 
of the Midwest were unaccustomed to, and planned on having the 
site be around for no more than a decade, before moving its 
personnel and resources to other areas of the United States. 


Instead, the Foundation discovered a town where gravity on Main 
Street failed to exist for exactly ten seconds every Tuesday, and 
was predictable enough that people made a sport of jumping at the 
right time and landing on nearby roofs. They found a town where the 
police department regularly had to deal with UFO sightings, and 
where the cashiers at the gas stations made themselves look like 
deer. They found a town where hundreds of cryptids and critters 
existed in the woods. 


They had studied nexuses before this— most notably Harkness, 
Maryland, which had become a breeding ground for hundreds of 
anomalous diseases and was essentially a quarantine zone for the 
CDC, and Eventide, Oregon, where the sun never rises. These had 
all been independently discovered by the Foundation, through town 
records or word of mouth. Sloth's Pit's isolated nature has long 
raised questions as to how the Foundation discovered it — 
something that not even Site-87 command, regional command, or 
even members of the Council have been able to answer. They 
simply got a tip about the anomaly at Camp Krakkow, and appeared 
on the scene. 


Sloth's Pit was a different form of Nexus, in that its anomalies 
seemed to center around narratives— folklore of all kinds, urban 
legends, or things that were just plain strange. The entire town runs 
on narrative logic, where things often happen to move the 'plot' of 
one's life forward in an odd direction, and climaxes are all too 
common. Sloth's Pit abhors an attempt to invoke a Deus ex Machina 
in its boundaries, and loves to screw with people who attempt to 
invoke irony within city limits. Case in point, uttering the words 
"What could possibly go wrong?" can have either amusing or 
disastrous results, and is punishable with a fine of up to $10,000 and 
a five-year incarceration. 


The majority of the odder parts of town lore and anomalies within it 


are centered around the forest surrounding the town. 


The Woods 


Stay OUT 

The Goatman lives here 
Hungry, he stalks about, 
Run in fear! 

Burma Shave 


— Signposts found in Baby Bone Wood near Koch's Hovel. 


The Woods surrounding Sloth's Pit are divided into three sections: to 
the North of town, bordering Bray Road and the old farm steads, we 
have Baby Bone Wood. It is named as such because of a bridge 
over a now-dry riverbed, where a being — a murderer, a demon with 
the face of a goat — was said to abduct couples in wedlock and 
push them into the river, before stealing the baby from the dead 
mother. It is also home to Koch's Hovel, where the Goatman is said 
to live. 


Then, south of town, where the old town square used to be, you 
have Sloth's Forest. Here, Jackson Sloth, the town's founder, lived 
from 1887 to Christmas 1890. Sloth's Pit, then called New Toronto in 
an effort to engage trade with Canada, was a lumber town 
established by Jackson Sloth in an attempt to compete with a former 
colleague and friend westward in Oregon, Wilhelm Siskin. 


On Christmas day 1890, Sloth's Manor was swallowed by a massive 
sinkhole, and with it, half of his family; his wife Imogen, and his son 
Jasper. His daughter Caroline had been in the hospital, struck with 
conjunctivitis, which spared her life. It is said that Imogen, Jasper, 
and even Sloth himself still walk Sloth's Pit, albeit transformed. 


Prior to the sinkhole, New Toronto was a quiet town; after it opened, 
supernatural phenomena happened like clockwork, growing 
especially severe around the holidays such as Halloween, 
Christmas, Valentine's Day, April Fools, and the Fourth of July. 
What had been New Toronto was abandoned, the location of the pit 
lost, and the settlers moved north, into what is now modern-day 


Sloth's Pit. 


Finally, there are the Blasted Woods, to the south-west, so called 
because several of the trees are bent at odd angles, as if caught 
from the winds of an explosion. They are home to several hundred 
critters, cryptids, and oddities, from the local ground sloth population 
to hodag nests to the Hidebehind, which is said to inhabit a single 
dead tree in a desolate clearing, the only tree standing upright. 


Adding to the Canon 


The rules are simple, but | suggest you read the instructions 
carefully. 


1) Write using proper punctuation, spelling and grammar. 


2) Get critique on it before posting. (Or not. A good part of the tales 
here are coldposts.) 


3) Make yourself dinner, repeat step 2 (optional), and post it. 


S & C Plastics is one of the looser canons on the site. There area 
lot of characters that you can learn about by reading through the 
tales below... or you can take a new direction entirely. There are 
several avenues that people can go down in this canon, and it's all 
up to you what you choose. The tone in general, however, is less 
"doom and gloom and grimdark" and more "quirky town with 
weirdness bubbling up under the surface". Less Arkham, 
Massachusetts, and more Twin Peaks, Washington. 


If you do want to write for this, here's some recommended reading/ 
viewing/listening material to help get you into the mood: 


* Gravity Falls, animated television program, 2012-2016, 
created by Alex Hirsch. 

« Twin Peaks, live-action television program, 1990-1991, 
created by David Lynch. 

* King Falls AM, drama podcast, created by the Make- 
Believe Picture Company. 

* Our Town, 1938 theatrical production, script by Thorton 


Wilder. 
¢ Whatever you think would help you write best! 


The Tales 


Stand-Alone Tales: 
By Djoric: 


Stratagem - The tale that became the basis for the S & C Plastics 
universe. 

Friday - The first official S & C Plastics tale that was written, if not 
the first chronologically. 


By lhp: 

Last Days at Camp - Dear Mom and Dad, I'm doing fine... 

Life in the Multiverse - A tale of the Bailey Brothers 

Attack of the Keter Skeeters! - Coming Soon to a Theater near You! 


Halloween at S & C Plastics - Or, why you should always decorate 
for Samhain. 


And | Feel Fine - It's the end of the world- or is it? 

Playing with Flames - It's not 'magic’, it's 'EMF Manipulation!’ 
Local Legends - Let me tell you a story... 

UnScience - "History Channel" my ass. 

Dance the Danse - Of Legends and Hallows. 

A Very Bailey Christmas- "Say hi to dad for me?" "I will. Promise." 


The 12 Days of Site 87's Christmas- "We're gonna need a /ot of 
eggnog and a /ot of rum after this." 


Satyr's Reign - Psycho killers, qu'est que c'est? 


Happy Howlidays- Effects have defects, take a howl at the moon. 
Coyotl- Coyote, meet Capricorn. 


Black Autumn Hub- This is a Halloween Sloth's Pit will never 
forget. 


Fools of Us All- April 1st is a quiet day. 
By ksaid: 


Four Seconds, Low Pitched - Emergency protocols for Jackson 
Sloth Memorial High. 


By Roget: 

Nacho Business - The testing will continue until morale improves. 
By FortuneFavorsBold: 

Leafers - Sometimes you've just gotta get away from it all... 

By Technician Downs: 

The Shark, Pt.1 - Bellincioni and Reader hit the bar. 

By Petrograd: 


Time Crime in Greater Wisconsin - A Primer - Time travel is a 
recurring pain. 


By DrChandra: 
Herman Fuller Can Shove It Up His Ass - Spoiler Warning: he does. 
By stormbreath: 


SCP-001-D - Time moves on, and even devils age. 
Story Arcs 


1040 by Ihpkmn and FortuneFavorsBold 
Tax Man - Let me tell you how it will be, one for you, nineteen for 


me... 
A Multi-Universal Affair - For once, this canon stays in the baseline 
when talking about the Bailey brothers. 

Bugs in the Process - An accurate census is not possible at this 
time. 

There's Magic in the Air 


Footnotes 
1. An absurd concept, as hodags give live birth; "hodag egg" is 
simply euphemism for "unidentified, preserved animal droppings". 


Stratagem 


“Tater tots? That’s what they give us for lunch? Tater tots?” Dr. 
Harold Breaker looked down at the brownish nuggets on his plate, 
alongside the chicken patty sandwich with its flimsy pickles and 
watery ketchup, next to the rubbery macaroni and cheese. The 
pudding, however, was unblemished by the evils of cafeteria cost- 
cutting. For now at least. 


“Since when is the Foundation an elementary school?” 


Taking his tray with him, Dr. Breaker set off aimlessly into the sea of 
cafeteria tables and hungry researchers. 


Breaker was black, in his mid fifties, with thinning salt-and-pepper 
hair and an unobtrusive mustache. He was a reasonably large man 
in both height and width, though his college football days were long 
behind him and a gym membership forced upon him by his wife was 
in his discernible future. 


Breaker sat down at the end of one of the long, metal tables at the 
less-occupied corner of the cafeteria. He wasn’t in the mood for 
socializing with large numbers of people. The researcher took a bite 
of patchily-cooked chicken sandwich. 


“Hey there, Breaker.” 


Breaker looked up to see Dr. Ryan Melbourne standing on the 
opposite side of the table, holding a tray of similar low-grade 
foodstuffs. Melbourne was tall and lanky, around thirty years of age, 
with a bushy head of sandy hair, a scar on his chin, and a good tan 
from his recent Caribbean vacation. He had rolled up his shirt 
sleeves, revealing the tattoo of Chinese lettering on the inside of his 
right arm. The phrase translated into English as “Were you 
expecting something profound?” 


“Hey,” Breaker said flatly as the younger doctor sat down. “Haven't 


seen you around recently.” 


“Yeah, the department’s been a in a fuss all week. The supervisor’s 
worried about a memetic hazard outbreak, so she’s been having us 
checked four times a day.” 


“What happened? And why did | not hear about this?” 


“Three researchers all acted exactly the same during the monthly 
psychological review. Started singing a bastardized version of “The 
Immigrant Song’ with a very interesting use of the word 
‘defenestrate’, among other things.” 


“And who were the researchers?” Breaker could see where this 
story was going. 


“Drs. Jameson, Ulrich, and Ferrier.” 
Breaker slapped the table and laughed. 
“| knew it! | saw that one coming a mile away.” 


“It's a miracle they haven’t been demoted to D-class by now. They 
can’t go a week without getting Supervisor Bricket’s panties in a 
bunch.” 


“In more ways than one.” 


“True that.” Melbourne swallowed a forkful of macaroni. “Moving to a 
completely different subject, | have fifty bucks riding on a bet and | 
need an answer from you.” 


Breaker sighed. Melbourne’s gambling habit was the bane of 
everyone who knew him, as he would inevitably ask them for a 
bailout. Unfortunately, the doctor could see no applicable escape 
routes from the cafeteria. 


“Go ahead,” he said, dreading what came next. 


“Okay, let’s say, hypothetically, that 008 broke containment. 
Widespread infection, no chance of containment. What do you do?” 


killing two of them. However, one hour and forty-five minutes into the 
experiment, the cat's feet were injured while pursuing a third. The 
cat was recovered and numerous metal slivers were found in its 
pads. It appears that the rats had gnawed these off of the interior of 
a degraded metal pipe and had deployed them as a field of primitive 
caltrops, with the fleeing rat luring the cat while itself navigating a 
predesignated safe path. 


Experiment 731-92: 


A ferret was introduced into the sub-street level of SCP-731 
containment. The rats' anti-cat caltrop fields proved ineffective 
against this more agile foe, but it appears they were already 
prepared for this eventuality; the ferret succeeded in killing one rat 
and then was itself fatally wounded when it pursued a second into a 
confined tunnel. The rats had managed to find and sharpen a nail, 
rigging it to rise up from the ground at an angle when a platform 
immediately beyond it was stepped on to impale a pursuer. 


Further predator introduction experiments have been suspended as 
it is not clear what more can be learned from this. 


Experiment 731-115: 


A pad of paper and a set of pencil graphites mounted on short 
plastic dowels suitable for gripping in a rat's jaws were introduced in 
the sub-street tunnel system of SCP-731 containment. While the 
presence of these items was immediately noticed by several of the 
rats, and 'word' apparently spread quickly through the system, it took 
over three hours for the rats to emerge from hiding and cautiously 
approach. Although they did not appear to be aware of the specific 
locations of the hidden surveillance cameras their behavior seemed 
to suggest that they were aware that they were being watched, 
apparently by deduction. 


A heated squeaking 'argument' appeared to ensue among several of 
the rats, involving both conventional rodentine dominance/ 
submission displays and recognizably humanlike forepaw gestures. 
Finally, one of the larger rats tore a sheet from the pad and used a 
graphite to write "FUCK YOU" in shaky but readable English. The 
rats then absconded with the graphites and the rest of the pad, 


Breaker didn’t expect something so... serious. 


“Lock down the facility, switch to backup generators. Use drones to 
recon the situation outside. If it’s truly an XC or XK-class scenario, 
we fall back to basics: our facilities can be easily defended; we have 
food, weapons, water, and medical supplies already. If we’re in for 
the long haul, we'll ration and improvise as necessary. If there are 
any SCPs that would cause a danger to us or a drain on limited 
resources, we destroy them. All the others we use to our 
advantage.” 


Melbourne smiled. 


“By the book, but I'll count that as a zombie plan. And they said you 
didn’t have one. That’s fifty bucks in my pocket right there.” 


“A zombie plan? That’s what you call it?” 

“Or SCP-008 contingency plan, if you want.” 

“| really don’t care, actually.” Breaker went back to his sandwich. 
“Aw, come on. Ask me.” 


“Fine.” He glared at the other researcher. “What’s your zombie 
plan?” 


“You're doing it wrong! Ask me something different.” 

Breaker stroked his chin. 

“Okay...you’re stuck in a room with 173.” 

“| believe not blinking is the first order of business. So long as | can 
keep one eye open, I'll run backwards out the emergency exit and 
do it fast.” 

“Fair enough. That’s really the only thing to do.” 


“My turn. 705 takes over the break room.” 


“Are you kidding? They wouldn’t stand a chance against my five- 


year-old nephew.” 


“Send him in; it would be hilarious. Maybe we can introduce them to 
387 afterwards.” 


“Don’t let the administration hear that one. 239 wakes up and 
decides she’s not too fond of us.” 


“Flee to Canada.” 


Breaker gave Melbourne a “you’re not taking this seriously, | take 
it?” look. 


“What? You’re the serious one, not me. 055 breaks containment.” 
“What?” 
“Exactly.” 


“Whatever. We don’t even have a fifty-five, | don’t think. Mass 
outbreak of 217.” 


Melbourne crossed his arms and put on an irked face.