"Yeah, now that | say it... but fuck me I'm hungry, and the party's no 
longer an option. Can't fight the horrors of the universe on an empty 
stomach." 


"| agree with her there," Ewell climbed into the van. "C'mon. We'll 
plop this down at the auxiliary site, and I'll go pick up burgers." 


10:00 PM 


The auxiliary site was more of a bunker; it could withstand a half- 
megaton blast from within, and it had the capability to seal from the 
outside. The only visible part of it was a concrete dome in the middle 
of the woods, half a mile away from the Kamp Krakkow memorial 
park. Nothing that was directly associated with the town's history 
much liked venturing here; Virginia had once heard Sinclair call it a 
"psychic scar". 


They sat on top of the dome, in the cold, eating their respective 
meals. Pryce had finished long since, and was looking up at the site 
through binoculars. "Still no sign of it lifting," she sighed. "Fuck, half 
my squad's up there. What are they doing?!" 


"Still can't get anybody on the phones or radio," Hendricks said, 
putting his phone away. "That is never a good sign. Last time 87 had 
a complete communications blackout was Christmas 2008." 


"God, please don't be a recurring event," Virginia's whole body 
shook like it was in an earthquake. "I still have dreams about it. 
None of them good. | see the candy-cane fingers loom over me..." 


At this point, Pryce came down from her perch in a nearby tree. 
"Well, if we are the sole survivors, then | guess we're going to 
technically be the de facto head staff of 87." 


"Yeah, but it would also mean that everyone else is dead, so, that's 
a minus," February said, looking at her. "Hendricks, how about you 
try calling again?" 


"All right. Thank god for unlimited minutes..." he picked the phone 
number of a random researcher— and to his surprise, it was picked 
up. "...hello?" 


A droning Christmas carol was playing in the background. 
"Hendricks? What the fuck? Where are you?" 


"Bailey!" He put the phone to speaker. "What's going on? The entire 
site has been surrounded by a great big fog—" 


"Containment breach. Massive. Sigma-10 is trying to recontain, but 


SCP-862: Rats 


Item #: SCP-862 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: A 6m x 6m bunker has been 
constructed around SCP-862 in order to prevent escape or sightings 
of SCP-862-1. The interior of the bunker is to be monitored by 
researchers via cameras placed inside the bunker outside of 
SCP-862's sphere of influence. 


The bunker is to be checked daily for breaches or escaped 
instances of SCP-862-1. In the event of a bunker breach, the rupture 
is to be immediately sealed with concrete and cement. Any escaped 
instances of SCP-862-1 are to be tracked and destroyed by Mobile 
Task Force Beta-23 ("Rat Trappers"). 


No materials or individuals are to enter SCP-862. 


Description: SCP-862 is an area spanning ten square meters 
located inthe city of __, . This area possesses a sphere of 
influence that affects all materials. Upon arriving in SCP-862, 
materials will begin to split into portions of twenty five (25) square 
centimeters. 


Over a period of time that varies depending on the consistency of 
the material, the affected portion will assume the shape and detail of 
a Rattus norvegicus, the common rat. The affected portion will be 
dormant for a much shorter length of time before animating and 
assuming the behaviour of said rat. Affected portions will hereafter 
be referred to as SCP-862-1. 


Instances of SCP-862-1 do not require food or water, but exhibit the 
same properties as the material they are composed of, and the rate 
of decomposition is unaffected in organic materials. Due to their 
composition, some instances of SCP-862-1 are difficult to destroy, 


we're not sure how long they'll hold." 
"Fuck me!" Hendricks said. "What broke out?" 


"It was—" There was giant thud from the other end. "Oh shit, get the 
tinsel get the tinsel GET THE TI-" 


The line died with a cry of "HO, HO, HO." 


"...did Santa Claus breach containment?" Virgina asked, stunned. 
"Do we even have him in containment? Or anything like him?" 


".,.you're asking the wrong people, Doc," Ewell swallowed, getting to 
the car. "The containment cell can hold Kramer. We're going to the 
site to get our buddies back." 


"We're staying,” Bering said, and Hendricks wished she had not 
spoken for him. "We can't leave it unattended." 


"I'll stay here with them," Pryce said. "They're poorly armed, and just 
in case something freaky comes out of the night, | don't think a 
snub-nose is gonna stop it." 


"We'll be in touch," February nodded, getting into the jeep. It sped 
off, sirens on. 


Pryce took a knee and put on a set of lightweight night-vision 
goggles. "Don't worry. Nothing's gonna get past me, and when it 
blows over, they'll be back for us. The Pryce is Right." 


Hendricks rubbed his face. "How... how long have you been waiting 
to say that?" 


".,.three years," she admitted. "Sounded cooler in my head." 


Bering just shook her head, a motion interrupted by a sudden jostle 
underneath them. "Ah, shit. | think he's out." 


"Moon's up," Pryce said, eyes going skyward, "So that's a safe bet." 
The metal in the concrete underneath buckled. "...should we be 
worried?" 


"It can't breach the-" 


Her speech was interrupted by Hendrick's hand. "Are you insane?! 
You know how this town works! The instant you say that it can't 
breach something, it will breach it! 


"He's got a point, doc," Seren said. "| suggest you disregard any 
further questions about the security of this bunker." 


Virginia nodded, and sat down on the dome again. "...still, it can 
withstand half a mega-" 


"SHUT UP!" they both screamed. 


Beneath them, the metal groaned and creaked and buckled, but it 
held. The three of them stayed silent, fearing that their words would 
trigger some ironic action in the universe and let the thing out. 


11:30 PM 
Unfortunately, the universe sometimes just takes its course. 


Seren was the only one awake at the time, with Hendricks sleeping 
on her shoulder, probably karmic payback for the can of RAID she 
had given him this year. He and Bering were both awoken by a loud 
thud from beneath. 


"__.what was that?" 


A dull droning sound rang out soon after. "...that... sounded like the 
containment alarm,” Virginia said, blearily. "...oh FUCK." 


She stood up, and looked around; they were in the middle of the 
woods, a good three kilometers from town, it was cold, dark, and 
they would soon have a werewolf chasing after them. 


"Bail?" Bering asked. 
"Bail," the both of them replied. 


They ran down the slope of the concrete dome, and no sooner did 


they clear it than the dome exploded outward, revealing a massive, 
dark, lupine form, with a Santa hat melted onto its head and the fur 
On its face covered by a small, grey beard. What was left of its Santa 
jacket had torn open and the sleeves were in shreds on its arms. 
The less said about what happened to its pants, the better. 


"...L don't think nutmeg's gonna work on this thing," Seren said, 
aiming her rifle upwards. The thing was at least five meters tall, and 
it looked like bullets might not even work, but... nothing ventured, 
nothing sprained. 


The bullet tore through its flesh, but barely elicited a howl of pain 
from the thing; Virginia could see that there was still a wound in its 
chest. It had yet to completely heal from the car crash. That meant... 


"Regenerative capabilities aren't yet at full," Bering said, starting to 
run. "We need to strike it in the same place again. It might cause 
total organ failure." 


Nodding, Seren circled around a tree and fired at its chest; while the 
bullet impacted, it wasn't quite the immense force she was hoping 
for. "Ah, shit. Shoulda brought my 12-gauge." 


"Keep firing! It might distract it!" Hendricks said, looking at Bering. 
"This is a crazy, crazy idea. But hear me out— there's something 
very nearby that is around the same circumference and volume as 
the steering wheel of a truck." 


"What might that be? I'm open to ideas!" 


A shot rang out, which missed horribly; all it did was chip off one of 
the wolf's claws, and a finger along with it, as they ran through the 
woods. Pryce darted behind cover as Hendricks led Bering towards 
the Kamp Krakkow Memorial. 


The actual memorial itself was a large totem pole, mimicking the one 
the Foundation had contained so long ago. The actual one was 
hidden somewhere on the grounds, to prevent further anomalous 
occurrences. "Site of the Great Fuck-Up of 76," Hendricks said, "And 
it might just save our lives." He indicated the totem pole; while it was 
a fair bit higher, it seemed to have the same dimensions as a 


steering wheel. 
"_..Hendricks, that's brilliant." 


"INCOMING!" Pryce said, darting up a tree with trained quickness. 
The thing barreled in through the entrance to the park, and knocked 
right into Hendricks, sending him sprawling in the snow. "NO!" 


"Mmnrmg..." Hendricks mumbled; he was alive, for the moment. 


"PRYCE!" exclaimed Bering. "You need to get it to jump onto the 
totem pole!" 


"How the fuck am | meant to do that?!" 


"Shoot it s-somewhere to make it jump! T-the small of the back 
causes a startle response, try grazing it!" 


This was all she could say before the wolf grabbed at her, letting out 
a loud, eldritch how! as it made its way towards Hendricks. It loomed 
over the figure of the poor, unconscious doctor with a bleeding head, 
jaws gaping. It reached out towards him, and... 


"lan Kramer!" 


The werewolf turned to face the doctor. "Yeah, you! You're really 

going to take an easy, dying meal over some still-hot flesh?" (She 
then realized she could have phrased that far better). "Come and 

get it!" 


She had attracted its attention now, and had begun, in the scientific 
parlance, skedaddling away from it. She maneuvered her way 
around the totem pole so that the wolf was on the other side, 
towering over it. 


A shot rang out. It grazed the wolf's back, causing it to jump up, onto 
the totem pole. 


To say it wasn't a pretty sight would have been an understatement, 
but, in the end, it was dead, and the Foundation now had another 
totem pole to replace. Virginia gagged as she saw the blood coat the 
pole. "...really wish it didn't come to that." 


"Yeah..." Seren climbed down. "Killing a townie is never fun. This is 
only my third time doing so. I'll check on Hendricks." 


"Mmm," replied Bering, checking its hand. "Agent Pryce?" 
"Yeah?" 
"Why is it missing a finger?" 


lts at this point that Dr. Hendricks had become to come about, 
giggling softly. "...is Santa Dead?" 


"He's concussed," Pryce said, lifting him up onto her back. "C'mon, 
we're going to have to walk back into town." 


"The finger, Pryce! These things can regenerate from anything!" 


"Ah, shit, | shot it off about 200 meters outside the perimeter. We 
can look for it in the sun." 


"Santa... Claws," mumbled Hendricks, delirious. 


"Yeah, that's right, Santa's dead, and he's left you the present of 
painkillers and a hospital visit. C'mon." She hefted him. "Christ, lay 
off on the Wendy's." 


Hendricks was carried out of the park, with Virginia following after. 
About a quarter of the way back to town, Hendricks stumbled out of 
Pryce's arms, and rooted around in the foliage, before producing 
something long, with one sharp end. 


"...1S that..." Virginia looked it over. 


Hendricks was holding the severed finger of the werewolf. "Yes, 
Virginia," he said, "There's Santa Claws." 


Virginia wanted to laugh, but all she could do was scream 
impotently. 


December 25th, 2015 
12:00 A.M. 


The walk back to Site-87 was long, cold, and hard. Seren and 
Virginia eventually decided to take turns carrying Hendricks, but by 
the time they had gotten down Main Street, it seemed that the fog 
had finally lifted over the site. 


Reaching the site's perimeter, they discovered that at least five 
different task forces from three other sites had been flown in to aid 
with the situation— Beta-8, Gamma-20 and -40, Rho-16, and 
Omicron-94. They were all sitting outside the site, baffled, 
surrounded by staff members. Some of them were covered in what 
could only be described as solidified candy cane goop. Others were 
having tinsel pulled from their mouths. Another was talking with Dr. 
Sinclair, trying to get a menorah removed from his body. 


"...what the fuck happened here?" Bering frowned, looking up at all 
three floors of the proper S & C Plastics building. 


"Something tells me we don't want to know, and will never know the 
full story. Just like 2008." 


"This seems to have far fewer casualties, though..." Bering looked 
up at the building. "Didn't we used to have four floors visible from the 
surface?" 


Pryce looked the building up and down, scowling. "...that's another 
problem for another day. | think our Christmas present should be not 
having to worry about this." 


"Shit," Virginia cursed. "| was supposed to go fly to my sister's place 
for Christmas and | had a present for my niece in my room. It's 
probably flooded with cider at this point." 


"Might this be it?" asked a small, chipper woman with red hair, green 
eyes, and a too-bright smile, wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater 
that either of them had ever seen underneath a lab coat. She was 
holding out a large, rectangular box, with snowman wrapping paper 
on it; a tag on the paper read: 


To: Lily 
From: Auntie Virginia 


"Oh my god," she said, looking it over and taking it from the woman. 
"How did you get this out?" 


"Trade secret," the woman winked and tapped her nose. "Everyone 
deserves a good Christmas, even the Foundation. Now, | have 
several others to make sure they've been preserved, excuse me, 
pardon me, Emma come along..." 


She was followed by a bespectacled woman in more sensible wear, 
with coppery brown hair tied up in a bun and a monopoly on the 
local freckle market. She was holding a corgi in one hand and 
pulling a cart of presents with the other. 


"Are they even employed here?" Pryce asked, looking at Bering. 


"It's Christmas. | think we can give them the gift of not questioning it, 
for once. Now, if you'll excuse me, | have to book a flight, apologize 
profusely to my sister and her niece, and pray | can get there before 
nightfall. Merry Christmas!" She yelled, running to her company car, 
placing the present in the backseat, and driving out of the gates. 


Pryce, for her part, was tapped on the shoulder by the woman's 
assistant- Emma, was it? "You don't work here, do you?" asked 
Seren. 


"Quite the contrary," she said. "Our company has a strong distaste 
for your organization. But Isabel was making her rounds, saw what 
was happening here, and decided to stop to help." Emma handed 
her a small, wrapped present. "We'd appreciate it if you kept this 
under wraps— no pun intended. Happy Christmas." 


Once they were a good distance away, Seren opened the paper and 
found, within, a photograph, complete with frame. It was of a picture 
she knew for a fact was never taken, of her, Ewell, February, 
Hendricks and Bering sitting on that damn dome. The dome was 
decorated by Christmas lights, and instead of burgers, they were 
eating a Christmas dinner on a werewolf-skin rug. All of them were 
smiling at the camera, and a caption under the photograph read: 


Happy HOWLidays 
From Site-87 


"Heh," Seren smirked, placing the photograph under her arms as 
she spotted some of her squadmates. She ran off to meet them, and 
to discuss just what the hell happened. 


Hub 


Hartliss Detective Agency 


Capone's ‘Outfit’ operates out of South Chicago with impunity, 
handing out stacks of green to keep everyone minding their own 
damn business. And if the green ain't green enough? A couple 
pounds of lead in your belly ought to do the trick.