"Oh, thank you! | can sing a little, but I'd like to play the guitar too." 


"Oh. Huh. That's unusual. Whenever | get some apprentice, they 
always go for the acts without no instruments... Well, you can find 
everything you need on the stage.” 


"Excellent! | promise you, you won't be disappointed." 


The owner thought otherwise. "Just get on with it," he said, taking a 
seat towards the tables nearest to the stage. 


Stuart climbed up the stage, grabbed the guitar, and pulled up a 
footstool. He took a deep breath, blocking out the judging gaze of 
the owner, and began to play the first song that he could remember. 


On The Banks Of The Wabas came to him immediately. Too 
immediately, Stuart thought to himself. / haven't practiced this song 
nearly enough, why am | playing it? And it's a quartet piece! Why am 
| playing On The Banks Of The Wabash?! Why didn't | just play 
Clovis's song? | was at least familiar with that! Blazes, now | have to 
commit to it... There's no chance he will like this. 


Stuart felt this way for a long while, until he felt his time slip by. What 
was in reality three or four minutes felt like a fortnight. Has time 
really slowed this much? Why hasn't this blowhard cut me off yet? 
Stuart thought before he finished his piece, and looked up to find the 
formerly impatient owner. 


The man, previously ready to leave the child to clean the tables was 
utterly rapt in Stuart's performance. "That was... Son, that was 
better than most of the acts | have already... If you can do what you 
just did in front of me, | think | could spare some time for ya." 


Stuart practically choked. "You... You liked it?" 


"Kid, you're great, believe me. | swear, | thought you'd have to sell 
your soul to the devil to even come close to getting that good this 
young." 


"O-Oh. Thank you! When would you like me on? Would you like me 
on?" 


"| want you as soon as possible! I'll see you tonight. Now go on, get 
outta here; practice and show off to your friends. You ain't shining 
shoes any more." 


"| will! Thank you!" Stuart said, bursting out the pub and sprinted 
down the hall, eager to get back to Clovis. He was practically 
skipping along the way; he didn't even acknowledge the complete 
darkness of the gloomy underground he had been walking through 
to get back to her. 


Chapter 11 


Stuart, 


| could not be more 
proud of you. Knock 
them dead! 


With all of my love, 
-C 


Stuart stared at the note, previously been tied to the finest guitar 
Stuart had ever seen, with a smile. Evidently, Clovis had taken the 
previous guitar they had used for practice, and replaced it with a 
expertly crafted, black guitar with a fine silver trim. The guitar's finish 
had been so pitch black, it had made its surroundings seem bright in 
comparison. It were as if the guitar had been devouring the 
surrounding darkness to make way for the light. 


He lifted the guitar. It felt intense in his hands; light, but powerful 
enough to move mountains. He stroked its strings to tune it, but it 
seemed that Clovis had already beat him to it. The sound it spoke 
was sweeter than honey, but thunderous. Triumphant, perhaps was 
the right word. 


He had been nervous, but the excitement he had had for the 
moment took over any feeling of anxiety he may have had. Knowing 
that Clovis was in all likelinood hiding within earshot made Stuart 
feel so much more calm about going on stage. He wasn't the main 
attraction, of course, but to be in the position he was in now was 
more than enough. 


The performance before him was, in terms of quality, decent. They 
had stumbled a few times, their footing was occasionally misplaced, 
and there was a point where the lead singer's voice sounded slightly 
off-key, but they recovered well and no one seemed to notice their 
mistakes. Stuart watched them exit the stage past him. 


"Congrats, they really loved you tonight!" Stuart began, still 
somewhat anxious about going on in a matter of seconds. 


"Thank ye kid, break a leg," one of the group members said walking 
past. 


"Thanks I- Wait what?" But they didn't seem to hear Stuart's 
question, as they kept walking forward. 


The announcer began his announcement, "Ladies and gentlemen, 
raise your glasses and put your hands together for our very own, 
Stuart Hayward!" He had to go, no time to question their wishing 
Stuart to break his leg, or the leg of anyone else. That probably 


wasn't meant to be taken literally anyways, they probably meant 
‘good luck' or something similar. 


He emerged anxiously from the back stage's curtains and looked 
towards the audience. It was a busy night; Stuart had a clear view of 
every table, and he couldn't find a single one that was unoccupied. 
The audience gave a mild applause as Stuart found his seat. He 
took a deep breath, and began to lightly pluck the strings and sing 
out with the softest voice he could give. 


He wasn't afraid any longer. He stopped caring about whatever the 
audience had been thinking about his performance, the only thing 
that mattered was his song. The words were soothing, even to 
Stuart as they escaped his throat; his guitar serenading the usually 
rowdy audience into silence. 


Stuart was happy, content with himself as he approached the song's 
final verse. After his song had ended, he took a deep breath in and 
instantly remembered he was performing in front of an audience. His 
body became rigid as he sat and gazed into the audience, silent as 
the grave. Stuart stood to take his leave, and in doing so, the 
audience roared with excitement, cheering him on as he flinched at 
the noise suddenly exploding around him. 


He was taken aback from the praise at first, not knowing whether 
they were exclamations of joy or outrage, but as he took his bow, he 
the audience practically deafened by their applauses and whistles. 
He grabbed his guitar and made his way off stage. The manager 
would probably want to see him. 


Stuart made his way past the crowded tables and to the kitchen, and 
found the manager observing the crowd's reactions. 


"Uh, sir? Did | do well?" Stuart began. 


"Hmm? Oh, kid, you were great! They ate you up like nothing else! 
Looks like you're gonna be a regular if you keep this up!" 


"R-really? That's... blazes... That's great!" 


"Yes it is. You're gonna bring in people from all over!" 


Stuart laughed nervously "Haha... I'm glad I'll be helping you out... 
Does this mean I'm going to be given a regular time slot from now?" 


"Several! You're on your way to being a star, kid!" 
"Oh thank you!" 
"I'm telling you kid, keep this up, and they'll never forget your name!" 


"Hahhah... Thank you... Would it be much to ask for a specific 
time?" 


"Hm? Well, depends on the hour | suppose..." 
"What about Sundays at ten o'clock?" 


"Sure, you want that night, you can have it. Whole day's empty, 
really." 


"Oh, not at night. Ten in the morning." 


"... Why would you want that hour? Everyone'll be in sermon by 
then." 


"I'm aware," Stuart said with a smile. 


"... Well okay... You can have it. You'll be missing the sermon on 
work leave, but that's your business | guess. Any other hours?" 


"Hmm... The last spot on Saturday | suppose. That aside, I'm just 
fine with any night you'd like me. Later the better, really." 


"Well, I'll have to set up some better hours on top of those... May | 
ask why you want them?" 


"| know that some people would like to see me by then, in time." 


"... Well, | lose nothing out of it, so if that's what you want, you can 
have them." 


"Thank you! | appreciate it very much." 


"No problem. Now go on, go play." 


And with him dismissed, he left the bar, guitar in tow and confidence 
in his stride. Daily, he'd play for the First Hound, just for a song or 
two, if only to advertise for his larger shows. He left the audience 
wanting more each time, wanting to hear more than just one simple 
song, just as Clovis had advised. 


But each weekend, he gave his performance his all. He caught 
many of the attendees Father Morgan's sermons on their way to 
pray to the false preacher. The differences in the crowds seemed 
negligible at first, with Father Morgan's communion outnumbering 
Stuart's audience by a hundred to one. However, week after week 
went by with Morgan's attention dwindling to only the families who 
had asked to be healed. The Manager of the First Hound had even 
begun to commission Joey to draw advertisements for Stuart's 
showings, which almost seemed to compete with those advertising 
Father Morgan's. 


Meanwhile, Morgan sat at Freddie's desk, undisturbed. 


"So, we've been getting less and less donations each week. 
Everyone seems to be going to see this... Stuart kid." 


"Huh... And here | thought you were never going to bring that up." 
The Wolf mused. 


"Never really mattered. | get a cut of the First Hound's profits, so 
more or less, I'm making the same amount of money as | did before. 
If not, more. | might have him to play more." 


"... You're treating the end of our contract rather well." 
"... What?" 


"| suppose you forgot? The contract states that you, me, or our 
creations must be making the majority of your monthly income in 
any long-term monetary venture we are part in. You, or a machine 
we built. Not Stuart. Your fake sermons and our power plant 
systems made roughly thirty percent of Haven Harbor's profits last 
month. Now, you're an estimated twenty, while the First Hound, 
specifically, is making about twenty five." 


"... What?!" 


"I'm afraid so. By the end of this month, assuming the profits don't 
start flowing our way again, the contract'll end. Then I'll be free to do 
as | please." 


... |... Why didn't you bring this up sooner?" 


"You only just now brought it up... and I'm not exactly your biggest 
fan." 


"You dirty mutt!... You did this on purpose! You were supposed to 
be honest with me!" 


Fredrick growled faintly at the preacher's insult. "The contract only 
states that | simply can not lie to you, and you never asked for 
advice. May | remind you that I'm physically incapable of breaking 
the rules?" 


"Shut up, and tell me how to fix this you fucking mutt." 


Fredrick suppressed his anger and tried to keep a calm demeanor. 
He did not want to advise the ingrate, but he had to give him his 
best. "Would you like a full summary?" 


"Yes." 


"The child has been using magic to attract his audience exactly as 
you have, but for reasons unrelated to this conversation, he's better 
equipped to perform it than you. His work is of better quality, and he 
does not require material components to carry it out. He's purposely 
using an enchanted guitar to aid him in stealing your audience away 
from you." 


"He's... He's using magic too?... So... What if | confiscated this 
guitar of his? Would that fix everything?" 


"Not in time. Assuming he didn't create another one, he'd be slightly 
less popular, but he'd still have most of your people." 


"_.. What if I... Had him treated?" 


Fredrick paused, cursing to himself. He knew very well what Morgan 
was suggesting, and what's more: he knew he had to tell him. "... 
Yes. Without him playing his show, most audience members would 
opt to see you instead. More so if his shows stopped entirely." 


Morgan gave a sigh of relief, and smiled. "Thank you. That'll be all 
for now. I'll have to ask Espen to see if it will fetch him for me... 
Well, no better time for that than the present. Have a good day 
Fredrick." 


Soon after saying this, Morgan had left the dog to himself, alone, 
hungrier than before. 


Chapter 12 


Stuart jumped up from his makeshift bed. At first, he thought that he 
was still dreaming. The figure standing before him didn't seem to 
belong. He groggily looked up to see Espen looking down toward 
him. 


"E-Espen? Blazes... How... How long were you standing there?" 
Espen gave no response. 


"... Do you do this to other people? This is the second time | caught 
you watching me sleep... That's not very considerate you know..." 


They were still silent. 


"... Where's your bear? | thought you brought it everywhere... Wait, 
why are you wearing your mask? | thought you only wore that for 
work..." 


They stook out their hand, obviously intending for Stuart to grab it so 
they could lead him somewhere. 


"... What are you doing?... No, I'm tired. Tomorrow's Sunday, | have 


disintegrated all matter in its line of fire. Object contained with high 
density gamma waves. 


Input: 1 white mouse (setting: 1:1) 
Output: 1 brown mouse 

Input: 1 chimp (setting: Fine) 
Output: [DATA EXPUNGED] 
Input: 1 chimp (setting: Rough) 


Output: Badly mutilated corpse, showing signs of crushing and 
cutting with high heat 


Document # 109-B:117: Dr. and Dr. Test Log 


Input: Subject D-186, male Caucasian, 42 years old, 108kg, 185cm 
tall. (Setting: 1:1) 


Output: Male Hispanic, 42 years old, 100kg, 188cm tall. Subject 
was very confused and agitated. Subject attacked security 
personnel. Subject terminated. 


Input: Subject D-187, male Caucasian, 28 years old, 63kg, 173cm 
tall. (Setting: Very Fine) 


Output: [DATA EXPUNGED]. Subject escaped from test chamber, 
killing eight guards as well as Dr. and Dr. . Lockdown initiated. 
Subject causes containment failure of three SCP areas in continued 
escape attempt. Special response team engages subject, resulting 
in severe wounding of subject, partial memory loss in special 
response team members and corrosive damage to plumbing. 
Subject expired several hours later, dissolving into blue ash and 
blinding nearby research team. 


Biological testing with SCP-914 discontinued. 


Note: "Because of the nature of this SCP a wide range of test data 


a show... | don't want to go anywhere right now..." 
They stook out their hand again, more aggressively than before. 


"No. Go away." Stuart pulled the covers over himself and turned his 
back to them. Soon after doing so, he heard a loud thunk 
centimeters away from both sides of his head. He opened his eyes 
to see himself between the blades of a large pair of rusty scissors. 


"C-Clovis! Help!" Stuart screamed. 


He didn't have to say anything: Clovis was already on top of them, 
throwing the bearless child across the room, landing on the 
generator. 


She checked to see if he was alright while she had the time. 
"Stuart, are you okay? Did they hurt you?" 
"N-no, I'm fine." 


"Alright... Stuart, sweetie, listen to me: get out of here. I'll handle 
them, you just run, okay? Run!" 


Stuart nodded, quickly gaining his composure and bolting for the 
door as he ran past the child, who was still trying to get back to their 
feet. He threw open the door, and sprinted through the hall, only to 
collide with a large, haired mass. It was only in-between the time it 
picked him up by the neck and when it cracked it did he realize that 
he ran face first into the Wolf. It carried Stuart's limp body over its 
shoulder like a sack of flour. 


By the time Clovis had subdued the child, neither Stuart nor the Wolf 
could be found. 


Everything around Stuart was a void. He could not breathe, his heart 
seemed to have stopped beating, and strangely, he felt well enough. 
The pain in his neck was annoying him, but he had other problems 
on his mind. He tried moving, but he was practically numb all over. 
He began to think that he may have passed until he heard a loud 


"SNAP", and the pain in his neck had begun to fade. His heart 
began to beat again, practically pounding in his chest compared to 
what it was previously. 


"| see you're alive... Pity." 


Stuart heard the voice from somewhere around him, but wasn't sure 
of where it came from, or who it belonged to. It was a miracle he 
could make out the words at all. 


"Then again, | suppose it's for the best. It's easier to deal with you 
alive and dumb than dead and... well, dead... I'm joking."