No, | hadn't left my neighborhood last night. 

Yes, | had an alibi. 


And... yup, five days later, I'm going in to testify at court. 
It'll be fine. My lawyer got Sarah from the SH, plus the 
clerk from the corner store, and even the desk-worker at 
my apartment, and all of them are willing to testify that | 
never left. It is weird, but he assured me, despite the 
fingerprints, and him being my doctor, it would have 
been a convenient disguise, and the evidence that | 
wasn't there is rock solid. They'll be bringing in other 
people too, it won't be me versus a grand Jury. 


Because it is, | know. I'm still worried, whatever the 
lawyer says, | still don't want to go. 


| just really don't want to know who I'll see in the stands. 


Fiction 


Anthony sat down at the computer, letting his fingers 
hover over the keys for a moment, the quiet hum of the 
computer and the rush of his blood in his head the only 
sounds in the room... And then he heard them. Clicking. 
Whirring. Churring and churning and starting. He felt 
them turn, somewhere in the back of his head, starting 


up. The gears. 


He closed his eyes, his fingers flying across the buttons, 
slowly putting the words together. He let the idea fall 
between the spokes, grinding his thoughts to powder... 
Changing them, rebuilding them. He turned the powder 
into mortar, then mortar into bricks, and the bricks into 
the wall. Now, he was puiting the man behind it, the 
senile old man who had been trapped there for decades, 
slowly going mad, surviving on rats. He wrote about his 
mad ravings, those that he covered the walls with, that 
the— 


A piecing cry broke his reverie, his eyes shooting open. 
He stood up and left the room, walking down the short 
hall to his son’s bed and sat on the side of it, rubbing his 
back. He whispered quiet words, promising that dreams 
were just that—awful, terrible, dreams. "It's fine," he 
murmured. "It's just a shadow..." he said. "Shhh... 
shhh...." he shushed. All the time, they were clicking. 
Click, click, click—"...15 milimeters in diameter, the 
object has been discovered to hold an unquantifiable 
amount of electricity. Class-D test subjects have been 
cooked alive in a matter of seconds..."—click, click, click. 
"They're not real..." he murmured. His son was 
comforted, even if Anthony himself didn’t believe it. 


After all, there were monsters out there. 


He got up as his son fell asleep, walking back into the 
office, sitting back at the computer, and waiting for them 
to restart. And in a moment, it did, and he fed them his 
ideas, and this time out poured blood and flesh and a 
burnt door. The door. That must be important then. He 
put the door up, built the cage, and started to build the 
thing behind it, all black flesh and too many teeth. He 
imagined its life, what it must think, how it must be... 
How it fed. How it entertained itself. 


They were moving smoothly now, lubricated in blood and 
viscera. 


He stopped, looking at it, almost numb. It was gone, 
now. Out of his head. Exorcised like a demon. And 
now... He clicked a few times, naming it, uploading it, 
licking his lips softly as he turned off his computer and 
closed his eyes in relief. Another demon gone. Another 
beast contained in words instead of his mind. 


Of course there were monsters out there. So many 
monsters... 


He'd made them, after alll. 


Surprise! Happy Birthday! Again. 


Well, well, well... What have we here? 

You've managed to survive yet another year? 

A year of work, of screaming children, 

A year of delving into things unbidden. 

Oh? What's that? We shouldn't know? 

All those terrible things you didn't show? 

Of course we do. We are your friends. 
Confidants. Allies. And more again. 

We know the stories, even those you dont tell. 
You see Gears... You give us our visions of hell. 


Happy Birthday, oh Leader of men. We come to you 
again. Bearing tales. Tales of the third side of the mirror. 
Tales of the taste of the air when a child is screaming in 
sorrow. Happy tales. Sad tales. Tales of games that eat 
your mind. Tales of books that give you a black 
brilliance, the kind that gives answers, but only the kind 
without comfort. Tales of the song you hear when you 
sleep, but not when you wake again. Tales of the 
righteous throne of terrible glory. Tales about tales. Tales 
about you. Tales about us. 


Some of them are even true. 
Happy birthday...! And many more. 


"Doomed" by RhettSarlin 


It's coming for me. | try to hide, | run and do my best to 
avoid it. But it is a patient predator, and | know that with 
time, it will catch me. 


| can evade it for now. | still have to find a way to fix 
things. But | don't have long. 


It has begun to consume my parents, my wife, one of my 
siblings...none of them even realized the end had come 
for them. Now it has begun, and they are all doomed. 


| can see it, | Know what it is doing. | have to stop it 
before it consumes the rest my family, my friends, my 
children....hell, the entire human race. 


But it can see me. It knows what | am doing too. | am 
next. And it is laughing. 


It knows it has found me, it mocks my futile attempts to 
escape, following my every move. And once it begins its 
work, it will never stop until | am dead. 


It will decay my body slowly and painfully, withering my 
skin, tainting my hair, weakening my bones. It will rob me 
of my ability to run, to walk, to think, to breathe. It will 
slowly rob me of my sanity and my life, and all the while 
the world will think it normal, simply because they are 
used to it. Why do none of them ever think to look.... 


It is a predator. It found us on this world, and latched 
onto us. Ancient scriptures tell of the men it first began to 
affect, draining them of their eternal youth, unnaturally 
ending their lives. They invented other excuses for it, not 
knowing what was happening to them. 


It grows more powerful every year. It has learned to 
begin younger, ever younger. Once you turn 30, it is too 
late. It has you. 


But | still have time. 


"Daddy" by Bright 


The light was out. It was her worst dream, having the 
light be out. They always came for her in the dark. The 
monsters, the bad men, the creatures who hated her. 
She waited for them, shivering, her eyes closed, as she 


felt the harsh, warm breath on her bare ankles. 


They called her name, from the shadows. She crossed 
her legs, then pulled them under her, trying not to let 
tears drift down her face. Gentle, sharp claws traced 
indelicate patterns across her arms, no matter where she 
put them. She wouldn't call out. Not this time. She would 
be brave. She would be strong! 


She would bite her lip to keep from screaming when a 
tentacle crawled across her leg. No. She had to call out. 
She had to call: 


"DADDDDDDDEEEE"" 


Andrew rushed to his daughters bedroom. Only two and 

she had such horrible nightmares. He flicked the light on 
when he came in the room, and scooped his little girl into 
his arms. "Aw, lookit that, your nightlight burnt out! Don't 

worry little lady, Daddy will leave the door open." After a 

couple of minutes reassuring her, he set her back in her 

bed, and walked back to his own bed. 


He lay down, sighing at the imagination on his daughter, 
and turned off the light. 


The last thing he thought before he fell asleep was to 
wonder what was slithering across his feet... 


"Delicacy" by Roget 


I'm sorry, where are my manners? | haven't said a word 
to you this entire meal. You can't really blame me 
though. This food is so delectable, so...exotic. It really is 
a shame you won't try any. Can | tempt you to take just a 
bite? No? A pity. You of all people would be able to enjoy 
it. Appreciate the subtleties, the textures...it would be so 
foreign, but so... familiar. 


How are you feeling? You look a little pale. | know you 


are in good health, we made sure you were very fit. The 
sedatives might be causing you to be woozy, but you 
should have been used to it by now. | know this is a bit 
stressful, but you can't be sick at dinner. It would be quite 
sad to see your palette dampened by illness. 


Let you go? But you've only just arrived! We barely even 
started the first course! By the way, your feet have the 
look of a traveler-a man who's been places, seen exotic 
flavors, trodden on strange and wonderful fauna. Where 
are you from? Ah, don't be like that. Please try to be civil 
at the table. 


You have very muscular legs. Probably from all the travel 
and training. Interesting tidbit, the exercises we had you 
do were to keep your muscles firm and lean, not too 
tender and not too tough. The pinnacle of physical 
perfection. If you weren't being so modest, I'm sure you 
would agree. 


You know what they say about a mans heart? They say 
it holds out a mans secrets, and all the things that he's 
experienced in his life. Everything touched by his blood 
flavors the heart, and keeps it unique from any other. No 
two hearts are the same. 


Bon appetit. 


"Demon" by Drewbear 


On my 215 birthday, my sister gave me a Chinese wall 
scroll. A mountain view, simply done is strokes of black 
and green and purple. Spare and soothing, | keep it ina 
prominent place in my living room: a moment of peace in 
the turbulence of my life. 


A couple of years later, | noticed something new in the 
scroll. A lone figure, perhaps a scholar, small but 
somehow exuding a sense of purpose as he trudged up 
the narrow, winding path towards the mountain. | 


wondered at how I'd missed it before. It filled a space 
within the scroll and provided a measure of balance 
while adding a slight note of tension to the scene. But 
overall, | forgot about it as | dealt with my troubles in 
work and school. 


Last year, a friend was looking at the scroll and asked 
me about the figures and what | thought they were doing. 
Figures? Yes, another inspection showed the same 
scholar, only further up the path. And standing in front of 
him was a large creature, an oni, all done in swipes of 
intricate red and black. The scholar's back was to us, but 
the oni's face was almost... quizzical, rather than the 
twisted scowl they traditionally wore. 


| kept an eye on the scroll ever since, but nothing else 
changed. Yet somehow, the tension in the scroll seemed 
to ooze out and inhabit the entire living room. Sitting in 
there, even walking through the room, filled everyone 
with a sense of... horrible expectancy. And somehow the 
thought of removing the scroll seemed even worse. 
ANYTHING could happen if it wasn't watched. 


Today | looked at it and the scholar lay sprawled in the 
path, his robes askew around him. The oni is almost at 
the bottom of the path, at the edge of the scroll, claws 
lifted as if to rip at the edge of the scroll. And its face is 
looking straight out of the scroll at me. 


| can't even touch the scroll now; when | lay hands on it, 
it feels like someone is stabbing my arms with knives all 
up and down them. 

Last week was my birthday. 


| have a year left to do something. 


"Dues" by Jekeled 


Ah, you're finally here. 


moves over the lens of the drone and video feed is 
permanently severed. 


Manned exploration was approved. Results are in document 
SCP-610-L5 


Come on in, have a seat. Want anything to drink? Some 
wine? Whisky? | have a great Scotch that you might 
love- 

No? All right, but you know you can mix buisness with 
pleasure, right? 


White or black? 
White? 

E7 to E5. 

D8 to H4. Mate. 


I'm disappointed. | thought you would have learned, after 
all these years. A fool's mate is unbecoming for you. 


Now, what'll the cost be? Something extra for that 
pathetic performance, at the very least. 


Let's say, a year from you, and a year from your child. 
That should be acceptable. 


Better luck next time. I'll always be here if you need 
another match. 


"Die" by Tanhony 


| am in Hell, | am sure of it. The place where | am made 
to walk, with no control over my movement, looks like a 
city, but it is empty of life, other than the unspeakable 
things that share its roads with me. 


There is no sun, only black holes in the sky, eight in all, 
that stare at me. | fear that they are the eyes of 
indescribable gods waiting in the darkness. Waiting for 
the strength to leave my legs, for my arms to be burnt to 
useless crisps. Then they will pounce quickly, and there 
will be nothing left of me but a scrap of clothing, or 
perhaps a single rib. 


The train passes me, a reminder of my sins. In its 
windows are the faces of children, their faces accusing. 
Water pours from their mouths and their empty eye 
sockets. They are the children that plumetted of the 
bridge that | built, formed from fragile wood and hollow 
beams. Are they crying or screaming? | cannot tell, and | 
suppose it no longer matters. 


The train is but the kindest of my torments, and as it 
speeds away, the car comes around the corner, my wife 
at the wheel, There is a butcher knife protruding from the 
back of her head. She stops the car a short distance in 
front of me. | pray she will not speak, but God still gives 
me no compassion. 


Her neck twists and cracks as it turns to me, her head 
soon facing the other direction from the rest of her body. 
Rats are eating her eyes. 


"Curtis." Her voice is the sound of uncivilized feasting, of 
the drip of rainwater and of a final, dying scream, 
repeated over and over for eternity. She waits for a reply, 
but my condition prevents me from giving one. She 
smiles, and her teeth are small, sharped and barbed. 


"You deserve this, you know." She explains, and speeds 
off. 


It is my turn to move. | am walked up the street and turn 
the corner. As | take each step, | can hear blood 
splashing against the lumps of skinned meat that were 
once my feet. | hear a smashing behind me. | already 
know what it is, the worst of these terrible apparations. 
The only thing | can describe it as is a hat, but a hat it is 
not. 


It stops next to me, and as it brushes against my hand, | 
see horrific images. Men thrown into pits to die, a child 
being strangled by a man with many hands, and those 
are the best of those visions. The hat speaks in its 
terrible, alien language. Does it offer sympathy, contempt 


or indifference? | will never know, and | do not wish to. | 
wish only for my existence to cease, to be no more. 
Finally, | am allowed to move again in the slow, plodding 
pace that is forced upon me. 


| pass go, and collect two hundred dollars. 


"Desperation" by Dmatix 


"The end has come, at last. Tonight Montségur will fall, 
and we will be released from the demonic bonds of flesh, 
free to join the true god in the spirit. Do not weep, my 
child, for this just death spares you for a fate most cruel- 
living in the flesh is a sin even the best of us cannot 
avoid, and only the clean death hold salvation. In a way, 
we should be thankful to the crusaders, for their cruelty 
releases us from the necessity of abiding the devil’s work 
any longer. In killing us, they are only proving how false 
their way is. My only regret is that when we, the last of 
the true perfecti, die, there will be no one left to free the 
souls of man from their bonds. Our holy words will die 
with us, and humanity will remain in this false world 
forever. Such a shame." 


"It is an act of desperation, in a way. The devil must have 
been so afraid of us." 


"They are growing closer, and time has run out. | will 
release you now. It is fortunate you are old enough to 
understand the words." 


"Only in a world of demons would | have to perform the 
rite of Consolamentum on someone so young." 
"Domain" by Enma Ai 


| wake up, but | don't want to open my eyes. No light 
reaches them, so this makes black my color. 


| groan, tired. | really don't want to get up, but it's 
morning already and | must move.