The nurse shook her head. "Nothing | could make out, anyhow. You 
know the doctors, though. They say she's lucky to be breathing 
unassisted after what happened." 


"Yeah. Lucky." Dr. Moore took off her own coat. "Definitely. Thanks 
again, Juana. | think | might be taking some more time off. So why 
don't we say Tuesday next time." 


Dr. Moore lay her head down on the table. She turned to look over 
to the nurse, and noticed that she was mouthing something. 
Puzzled, she sat up. Juana finished mouthing whatever it was she 
was pretending to be saying, then headed for the front door. Had 
she been speaking? The door closed, and the familiar sound 
seemed too loud to Dr. Moore. Too many echoes. She shook her 
head and headed upstairs to her mother's room. 


Most of the room was taken up now with IV drips, heart monitors, a 
hospital bed and assorted medical equipment, displacing the desk 
and bookshelves of Dr. Moore's former study. A small, wizened form 
slept in the midst of a nest of tubes and wires. With the exception of 
a tangled mass of white hair on the pillow and a sallow, wrinkled arm 
covered in bruises hanging from the side, one may have easily 
overlooked that a person occupied this space. Dr. Moore stood in 
the doorway. 


"So." She sighed. "Hi mom." 


The arm shifted slightly, rustling a small portion of the tubes and 
wires. 


"Right then. I'm going to be across the hall-" 


She was interrupted by a gurgling, wheezing sound from the hospital 
bed. The low, guttural sound was reminiscent of labored breathing, 
except it seemed much too slow to be regular breathing. Dr. Moore 
winced. Her mother would make this sound for hours on end 
sometimes. Usually in the middle of the night. The doctors were 
unsure whether it was voluntary, just as they were unsure how much 
higher brain activity was still occurring. There was nothing for it 
except to wait. Nothing for any of it except to wait. She stepped out 
of the room, deciding to wait a little while before a futile attempt at 
sleep. 


A knocking at the door woke her up from the kitchen table. She had 
fallen asleep onto the newspaper. Groggily, Dr. Moore looked at the 
wall clock - 8:30 pm. Who could be knocking at the door now? She 
vaguely remembered that it was Halloween, but no children ever 
came out as far as her house; the nearest neighbor was a quarter- 
mile away. The knock came again, three light but insistent raps. Dr. 
Moore looked through the peephole in the door. There was only 
darkness. 


She kept looking through the glass, straining to see something 
before opening to the door. 


Rap. Rap. Rap. 


Dr. Moore jumped backwards instantly as something pale and white 
obscured her vision of the peephole, and the knocking continued. 
Her heart pounding, she backed her way into the kitchen, feeling 
behind her for the knife block on the counter as she was moving, 
never taking her eyes off the door. Something was not right here. 
Not right at all. 


Rap. Rap. Rap. 


The knocking continued. Again, it was soft, but clearly someone was 
knocking on the door. Dr. Moore never had visitors other than her 
mother and Juana, and no one had ever bothered to come looking 
for candy on Halloween in the eight years she'd lived there. Surely 
whoever this was would get the hint. 


Rap. Rap. Rap. 


This was going on too long. Something was terribly wrong. Dr. 
Moore drew the largest chef's knife out of the block. She waited for 
the knocking to continue. 


And waited. 


Two minutes passed, her pulse pounding in her temples and in her 
grip on the knife. Then another two minutes. Nothing. Dr. Moore 
started to move, slowly, back towards the front door. 


SLAM! 


An impact like a sledgehammer shook the entire house, and the 
door rattled on its hinges. A picture down the hall fell off the wall and 
crashed with the sound of breaking glass. Dr. Moore thought she 
had screamed, but couldn't hear herself over the noise of the 
impact. From upstairs, her mother's labored breathing started in 
earnest. She didn't dare to look through the peephole now. 


SLAM! 


The door was starting to give way now. Plates fell from cupboards 
and lamps tipped over. Dr. Moore could only see the knife in her 
hand through her terror-narrowed tunnel vision. Phone. She must 
reach the phone. They'd never arrive in time. She needed the 
phone. 


SLAM! 


The gurgling from upstairs was now a drawn out, hitching rattle, 
droning without pause. Dr. Moore ran for the phone in the living 
room. 


SLAM! 


The door was flung open now. She heard it slam into the hall closet. 
The droning of her dying mother filled her ears. She reached for the 
phone frantically. As she touched the receiver, darkness washed 
over her. 


Jacket instead.) 

-"Tacos". (Denied. Subject given burrito instead.) 

-One (1) CD of "The Best of Led Zeppelin" (Denied. Subject given a 
CD of The Monkees.) 

ea |! reeks in here. Open a god ___ window or something". 
(Denied. Officer passed flatulence in cell instead.) 

-"A spot of sun". (Denied. Officer shined a flashlight in his face 
for 10 minutes.) 

-One (1) Baconator cheeseburger from Wendy's (Denied. Subject 
was given one (1) Boca brand soy burger instead.) 

-One (1) pair of Aviator-brand Sunglasses (Denied. Lights turned off 
in room.) 

-One (1) ‘Pepsi’ brand soft drink (Denied. Given one (1) can of 
‘Coca-Cola’ brand soft drink as a suitable replacement. After 
recovering from concussion, Dr. was reassigned to a non- 
sentient SCP.) 


Gentlemen, seriously. As abrasive and rude as SCP-661 is, he is 
still a sentient SCP and should be afforded some level of respect. | 
don't care what he does, events like the above will not be tolerated. 
-Dr. 


« SCP-660 | SCP-661 | SCP-662 » 


"Zanitz, get in here! Hurry, now! Stabilize! Stabilize, god damn it! | 
need all personnel on-" 


A knocking at the door woke her up from the kitchen table. She had 
fallen asleep onto her book. She looked at the cover. "Secure and 
Protected Homes: A Locksmith's Guide," by Dennis Rader. She 
hadn't remembered starting to read this one. 


Groggily, Dr. Moore looked at the wall clock - 9:48 pm. Who could 
be knocking at the door now? She vaguely remembered that it was 
Halloween, but no children ever came out as far as her house; the 
nearest neighbor was a half-mile away. The sound came again. 
Three slow, heavy knocks. Dr. Moore looked through the peephole 
in the door. A small, disheveled woman stood on her doorstep. Her 
face was obscured by a white mass of hair. Dr. Moore squinted; was 
she wearing a hospital gown? 


Hesitantly, she opened the door. An elderly woman stood, her back 
to Dr. Moore. Despite the cold, she was indeed dressed in no more 
than a hospital gown. 


The doctor paused. It couldn't be. "...hello?" 


The old woman stood there, her back still to the doctor. She stood 
perfectly still. 


No possible way. She was upstairs, she couldn't have moved from 
her bed without help, let alone downstairs and outside. But there 
was no mistaking the wiry white hair. Dr. Moore put her hand on the 
old woman's shoulder. The woman instantly crumpled to the ground 
in a heap. As the old woman hit the ground, Dr. Moore could hear 
several of her bones snapping, and a hollow, wet ripping sound. The 
woman's hip had been bent at an impossible angle, and she lay in 
an inexplicably mangled state. Dr. Moore leapt back in horror, the 
blood instantly drained from her face. 


The familiar, hitching gurgling started to come from upstairs. How 
was this possible? Who was this at the door? 


The broken form at the doorstep started to twitch. Muffled grinding 


and splintering sounds came from the old stranger's corpse as 
broken limbs started to move again. The overwhelming smell of 
freshly butchered meat hit Dr. Moore, though there was no blood 
visible from the strange old woman. The corpse's head suddenly 
snapped upwards. Though its face was still obscured, Dr. Moore 
knew it was staring straight at her. 


"Hsssssshh. HJUUUURRRRK. Hsssssssshh." 


Her mother's persistent death rattle now greeted her face to face. 
The corpse slowly rose, pulled upwards by an unseen force, its 
twisted and broken legs now barely brushing the ground as it came 
eye level to Dr. Moore. 


"HUUUUUUURRRKK." 


Dr. Moore spun around at the sound behind her. Her mother's face 
had been mangled beyond recognition. The only recognizable 
feature was the mouth. 


"HUUUUURRRRKK." 


The doctor opened her mouth to scream, but no air could escape 
the grasp around her throat as an unseen pair of hands choked her 
from behind. Unconsciousness immediately followed. 


"Nonessential personnel are out of the sub-wing. It looks like we've 
got the source of the breach, doctor." 


"Jesus. Check for vitals, but be careful." 


A knocking sound woke her up from the kitchen table. She had 
fallen asleep on top of a large sheaf of papers. Confused, she 
picked up the first page. The ink was smeared from where her face 
had come to rest. The first line was hard to read. The second 
paragraph started with "mind the infrared settings." She 
remembered saying that earlier today. She looked closer. The entire 
paragraph was a conversation she had had this morning with 
Technician Wei. It was written in her own handwriting. She didn't 


remember writing this down at all. 


Dr. Moore looked at the wall clock - 11:58 pm. How had she slept so 
long? 


The knocking started again. Someone was knocking on the glass 
coffee table in the living room. Her stomach dropped and a chill 
seized her extremities. The breath stopped in her chest. She slowly 
approached the living room. 


The room was dark, but the children were easy to make out in their 
crude white sheets. Somehow, three kids in stereotypical ghost 
costumes had gotten into her house. Some of the fear faded, as she 
now remembered that it was Halloween, but confusion set in; no 
children ever came out as far as her house for Halloween; the 
nearest neighbor was at least two miles away. And why were they in 
her house? 


"If this is your idea of a prank, kids, it isn't funny. I'm going to need 
parents’ phone numbers right-" 


The three diminutive, costumed figures traveled quickly to her. She 
didn't see any legs move, nor did she understand how they moved 
so fast. Two of the children slammed into Dr. Moore, knocking her 
off her feet and onto the ground. The third moved next to her head. 
A withered, gnarled arm reached out of its costume's eyehole and 
seized her by the jaw. Up close, she saw spotted, red stains starting 
to show through the immaculate, bright white of the costume sheets. 


One of the kids that had knocked her down now lept on top of her 
midsection. Bony, wrinkled legs now protruded from the bottom of its 
costume, wrapping around her and pinning her to the floor with a 
tremendous weight that could not have possibly belonged to the 
wasted body that these legs must have been supporting. Rivulets of 
blood started to run down its thighs, soaking into Dr. Moore's shirt. 


Her hands still free, Dr. Moore struggled desperately to pry loose the 
grip on her jaw, but to no avail. The hand was locked onto her, its 
strength overpowering. 


The last costumed figure slowly hovered into her view. It appeared 


to bend down and look into her eyes, though she couldn't see 
anything through the blackness of the costume's eyeholes. Another 
withered arm reached out from under the sheet, holding a pair of 
pliers. The wrinkled fingers slowly worked the pliers open and 
closed, moving them slowly towards Dr. Moore's face. As the hand 
came closer, a wheezing came from whoever was under the sheet. 


"Hssssssshhhh. HJUUUUURRRRKKKK." 
The costumed child forced the pliers into Dr. Moore's mouth. 


"HUUUUUUUURRRKKKKK. Hssssssssshhhhh. 
HUUUUUUUUURRRRRK." 


As several of her incisors were violently twisted from her lower jaw, 
Dr. Moore tried to scream, but the blood quickly filled her mouth. 
She couldn't breathe. She felt several more teeth from her upper jaw 
being wrenched free. There was nothing but pain and the taste of 
copper. Her mind rebelled, and she lost consciousness. 


"So you're saying we have to keep her like this?" 


"Dr. Hirsch. Alan. You know the protocols. She did too. She helped 
write them." 


"Do you have any idea what's happening to her right now? In there?" 


"The last host bought us eighteen months of unbroken containment 
for 480. You of all people know what that's worth, Alan." 


"You cannot do this! No one-" 


"Site Director's orders. Your euthanization request is denied. Dr. 
Hirsch. And that's the end of it." 


A knocking sound woke her up from the kitchen table. She had 
fallen asleep on top of a manila envelope. 


Had she imagined the knocking? She looked at the envelope that 
had been under her face. "For Ellen," labeled on the front in 


typeface. She didn't remember taking this home with her. 


She opened the envelope. As she shook the contents out onto the 
table, a pile of photographs came tumbling out, scattering onto the 
table and the floor. 


Groggily, Dr. Moore looked at the wall clock - 1:05 am. She had the 
vague notion that she had slept through Halloween. She felt a small 
amount of guilt about not being able to greet anyone at the door, but 
then remembered that she never had any trick-or-treaters. Still, she 
pitied any children who may have come out as far as her house, 
only to be turned away. 


She picked up a photograph from the table. Instantly, she 
recognized her own face. What was she wearing here? Why didn't 
she remember taking this picture? And why was she making that 
hideous expression? 


Dr. Moore picked up another photograph. It was another picture of 
herself. She was in a hospital bed, hooked up to what looked like 
dozens of machines. Men in labcoats were visible on either side of 
her. Who were these people? Why couldn't she remember taking 
these pictures? 


As she reached for another photograph, the pile of pictures jumped 
as something knocked three times, in rapid succession, from under 
the opposite end of the table. 


Herman Fuller Hub 


Come one, come all... 


'Fidget Winners' (FDG43/W1NR3/5SLA2) 

Herman Fuller Presents: The Dread Behemoth 

Herman Fuller Presents: Nixie the Nereid 
Herman Fuller Presents: The Skeleton Dance 
Herman Fuller Presents: The Amazing Zoltan 
Herman Fuller Presents: Icky the Magic Clown 
Herman Fuller Presents: The Living Head 

Herman Fuller Presents: The Amazing Sluggo 

Herman Fuller Presents: The Fishman Of Manasquan 
Herman Fuller Presents: The Flame Faced Man 


Fabulous Freaks and Human Wonders 


SCP-1834 
SCP-1860 
SCP-1884 
SCP-1956 
SCP-2094 
SGCP-2902 
SCP-2912 
SCP-3036 
SCP-3245 


Other Disqueting Diversions 


SCP-1695 
SCP-190 

SCP-1921 
SCP-1931 
SCP-2024 
SCP-3077 
SCP-3329 
SCP-3440 
SCP-3717 
SCP-3718 
SCP-3886 


2014 Groups of Interest Contest 


A Circus Milked Dry 
Family Ties 
Freaky Commodities 
Free Freaks 


Dread & Circuses Canon 


¢ A Circus Come To Not 

¢ A Real Humdinger 

¢ A Scip Or A Star? 

¢ A Vale of Tears 

e ...And I'm the Star! 

* City of Wonder™ 

* Clown Breeding 101 with Prof. Richard C. Normus 
* Dark and Disquieting 

¢ Dread & Circuses Hub 
¢ Former Assets 

¢ Freaks, Friends and Fiends 

* Freaky Commodities II: Freak Harder 

¢ Fuller Than Full! 

¢ Fuller's Fantastic Fun-Lover's Funhouse 
¢ Herman Fuller Can Shove It Up His Ass 
¢ Let's Get this Show on the Road! 

* Life's a Show 


¢« She Remembered Me 

* So They Called Him Darke 

¢ The Sea Slug and the Showman 
¢ The Warrior And The... Clown? 

* There Are No Strings On Me 

¢ Undead, Insane and Fully Loaded 
¢ Upside-Down Cake 

¢ Your Call Is Important To Us 


Other Tales 


¢ A Circus of a Wreck 

¢ A Circus With Paranoia 

* A Jester's Tale 

¢ Fish Are Friends, Not Clowns 

* Green Day 

* Green Day Il 

* Interviews with Prospective Groups of Interest 
* Opening Night