you must simply release a caged magpie at the spot where the 
worlds meet." The drops were growing fat, and looked ready to fall. 


"Very well, spirit. Diligem, Spirit of the Five Wastes, | release you 
from your bondage." Alison wiped a finger over the line of salt and 
iron, breaking the circle. Without a word, the doll fell over. The 
substance leaking from its eyes immediately hardened and began to 
crack. 


Alison sighed as she put her belongings back into her backpack. 
The baggie of kosher salt and iron. The coat that had doubled as a 
pillow the night before. A small gas stove and a tin pot. A semi- 
automatic pistol. A binder of clippings about tornadoes in Utah and 
Bigfoot sightings. 


The worn manilla envelope, stuffed thick with papers, was the last 
thing Alison picked up. She held it at eye level, studying the 
contours and creases of the package, as she had done a thousand 
times before. She paused, then opened it and took out a faded 
photo. It showed a black-haired girl sitting in the shade of a willow 
tree. 


The girl wore a flowery dress and her face was taken up with a gap- 
toothed grin. She sat on the knee of a woman with a tired but 
contented smile. A hint of sadness played around the woman's 
eyes. 


Sitting next to the woman was a man with thinning hair wearing a 
blue-and-orange Hawaiian shirt. His right hand rested on the 
woman's knee, and he looked frozen in the middle of a laugh. 


Alison turned the photograph over. Even though she had long ago 
memorized every contour of the writing on the back, it still comforted 
her to see her father's neat handwriting. "GEARS FAMILY 
VACATION, 1991" it said. "GEARS" had been crossed out. Below, 
in slightly sloppy handwriting, it corrected "CHAO." The second 
name, too, had been crossed out, replaced by the same handwriting 
correcting it to "GEARS." 


Alison turned the photo over again. She put it to her lips and kissed 
the likeness of the man. She replaced the photo in the folder, and 


made her way to the car. 


Alison had been eight the summer her father had vanished. He had 
gone to the lab one morning, and hadn't come back. She still 
remembered two days after he left, when it was becoming apparent 
that it wasn't just an issue of his being late or going on an 
unannounced trip. 


During the day, her mother had alternated between pacing around 
the house and fussing over Alison's appearance. At night, when she 
thought Alison was asleep, she made phone calls by the score. 


Alison would sit in bed and look out the window as she heard her 
mother's voice become increasingly frenetic. When she woke up, 
she would hug her mother, tiny arms wrapping around the woman's 
hips. 


As the days went on, the time her mother spent shouting at the 
phone in English or Mandarin grew. Sometimes, she would start 
crying for no reason. No matter how hard Alison tried to hug her, it 
never seemed to help during these spells. 


After four weeks, detectives finally came around to interview Alison 
and her mother. One of the detectives, a man with dark brown skin 
and a funny lisp, asked her a few questions. Most of the questions 
were about her dad, but one of them was about if she remembered 
anything strange at the house before her dad left. Alison wondered 
why he asked a question like that. 


Afterwards, the detective complimented her on her pink shoes and 
told her that she was being a very brave girl. When the detective left 
to join his partner, Alison followed silently. 


Behind an unseen corner, she heard the detectives asking her 
mother questions. One asked something about other women. There 
was a loud crash, which made her jump. Her mother started yelling 
words Alison didn't understand, and told the men to get out. 


The two detectives said something and moved to leave. By the 
sound their footsteps were making, Alison could tell that they were 


headed towards her. She ducked into a nearby closet and waited 
until the men passed. As she crept out of the door, she heard the 
sound of her mother crying coming from the other room. Alison 
paused for a moment, thinking. She made her way to the side door 
of the house and went outside. 


Around the house there was a ring of bushes. Alison crawled behind 
them and began making her way to the front where the detectives 
stood. When she came within hearing range, she heard them talking 
about strange things. Alison was careful not to make a single sound 
as she pressed her head to the ground to get a look at them under 
the bushes. 


The black detective, who no longer had a lisp, said something about 
"Anne mystics." The other detective, a fat man with ruddy skin shook 
his head, saying something about making up another woman. The 
black detective shrugged, and they both got in a car and drove off. 


Alison knew she had heard something she wasn't supposed to, but 
wasn't sure what it was. To be extra-safe, she had waited in the 
bushes for ten minutes after the men had left. When she came back 
inside, her mother was still crying. 


Alison looked over the map clumsily unfolded over the dashboard, 
trying to find the speck of a town that was Pollensbee. A year ago 
(Christ, had it only been a year?), she would have punched the 
information into the GPS. But that was before she started 
researching her father's disappearance. 


Before she heard the soft clicking noise whenever she answered the 
phone, any phone. Before she came back from classes to find that 
everything in her apartment had been rifled through and a/most put 
back in the right place. 


Four months ago, she had packed up her few relevant belongings 
and hit the road, following notes and clues scattered throughout the 
country. 


At first, it had been about looking through police records and fringe 
scientific journals her father had published in. Then one of her leads 


had taken her to Mint Creek, Alabama, where she had met Ms. 
Sylvia Lowmax. The old woman gave her a delicious slice of chess 
pie and performed a feat of magic in front of Alison's eyes. 


Ms. Lowmax transformed herself into a giant bird and stared at 
Alison with glassy black eyes, still speaking in her thick drawl. From 
there, the emphasis of her search changed significantly, as she 
learned of the Library and the Ways and the Jailors, who held her 
father's mind in a prison. And of those calling themselves the 
Serpent's Hand, who sought to free those imprisoned by the Jailors. 


Alison had been a quick study under Ms. Lowmax and others, and 
the summoning of the minor filth spirit into the doll had been her first 
major test. 


After an eternity, she found Pollensbee, to the east of the equally 
tiny Ponce de Leon. She drove for two days, stopping only for when 
necessary. In a field in lowa, she managed to lure a magpie into a 
cage after several hours of trying. At the Pollensbee town limits, she 
felt her insides twist. This was it. She was going to the Library. 


It was late afternoon when Alison finally arrived. She drove slowly 
around the town, trying to get a feel for the place. Most of the town 
seemed to be parking lots with grass growing between the cracks in 
the asphalt in front of boarded up shops. There were discolored 
spots where the signs had been. Every car seemed to be made 
before 1990 and to have at least three rust stains or dents. 


She felt her way around the city, and felt neither the precise, 
soulless tickings of a Jailor's heart, nor the mindless rage of the 
mind of a Bookburner. The filth spirit had been true. 


When she parked two blocks away from the Denny's, it was twilight. 
She took her backpack along with the cage. Inside, the magpie 
croaked indignantly. The dumpster behind the restaurant stank with 
a fierce, high smell. Alison put the cage on the ground and 
crouched, crooking an arm over her mouth and nose. 


With her free hand, she opened the cage. The bird stood with its 
head crooked, refusing to leave. She kicked the cage, and the 


startled magpie awkwardly flapped its way out. The moment the bird 
left the cage, a hole started to open next to the dumpster. There was 
no color to it, only black emptiness. 


Alison felt her stomach drop. This was it. It had worked. This was 
happening. She was going to the Library. Her legs wobbled slightly 
walked toward the Way. She took in one final breath and stepped 
into the hole. 


There was a flash of light and she saw the world she had known 
recede from view. Her surroundings turned a brilliant white and grew 
in brightness until it hurt to have her eyes open. 


For a moment, there was just her in the light and nothing else. 


The light faded and she opened her eyes. 


Between Shelves 


This is a sequel to Going Out Of Book. You should probably 
read that first. 


At first, all she saw was darkness. Then a red glow crept in. She 
was lying on a cold, hard surface, staring up. There was hissing, and 
cranking, and a rattling that sounded like a million wooden beads 
hitting the ground at once. Behind her was something that 
resembled laughter. The noise blended together into a low rumble 
that seemed to wrap around her and gently squeeze. 


She became aware of a voice. “I told you doing this here was a good 
idea!” Whooping laughter followed. 


The world was spinning. Her head felt like she had spent the past 
three days mainlining Jack Daniels, and her stomach wasn't much 
better. There was something wet under her nose. Touching a finger 
to it, she saw that it was blood. 


Okay, she thought. This isn't the worst thing you've ever done. Get 
up. 


She had begun to push herself up when a hand appeared in her 
vision. “Need a hand?” said the same voice as before. 


She brushed the hand away. A voice in the back of her thoughts 
wondered why it had been red, but she ignored it. Rolling to her 
side, she tried to force her body up from the ground, but her arms 
buckled. A pair of hands grabbed her shoulders and started pulling 
up. She shook them away. “Fuck off,” she mumbled, more to herself 
than the person. Sucking in a deep breath, she wrenched her legs 
forward, under her body, then pushed up. She rose to a squat. 
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stand. Her legs wobbled, but 
she stayed up. 


Wiping the rest of the blood from her nose, she began to examine 


her surroundings. She'd been lying on a circular stone platform, 
about a foot off of a green carpet. The room was massive- the 
ceiling wasn't visible, and the walls looked hundreds of feet off. 
Around her, two dozen people were gathered around three grills, 
talking, laughing, clutching cans of beer. At least, some of them 
were people. There was something that looked like a shark with legs 
devouring a large hamburger. Next to it, a dog-sized mass of 
squirming tentacles worked a grill. They were both conversing with 
what looked like a ten-foot tall man made of copper, brass, and gold. 


She turned. Behind her was another man, his skin lobster-red, eyes 
pure blue. He was dressed in a patched up leather jacket, jeans, 
and a Black Flag t-shirt. As far as she could see, he was completely 
hairless, though a thin ridge ran down the center of his head and 
into his jacket. A grin was spread across his face. “Hey,” he said, 
“I'm Colby.” 


“| thought this was a Li-” 


“Man, that was fucking awesome,” he said, his grin spreading wider. 
“You know it's been like... two months since anyone used that Way? 
Mitchelloth said nothing would happen if we came here, but | bet 
he's not feeling so smart now, is he? Hey Mitch!” he yelled, throwing 
an arm up in the air. “You owe me that copy of DeFronde, you 
fucker!” He turned his attention back to Alison. She became 
suddenly aware of several other... beings surrounding her. 


“So, where am-” 


“They didn't believe me when | said | could feel the Ways! Serves 
them right.” His grin widened, and he began smacking his knuckles 
against his palm. “You've gotta be a first timer, yeah? Yeah, if you 
weren't you'd know how to go through one without getting all 
mashed up. | can show you that, if you want. But man, lemme just 
say how cool that was! Most people, when they first come through, 
they're completely out. But you got up like it was nothing. Fucking 
sweet.” 


“That's great, but-” 


“So you'll want to meet everybody, right? It's no fun exploring the 


Library on your own, especially not the first time. Unless you've 
already got a guide, but if you did you wouldn't have landed like that, 
right? But don't worry, we're always open to new people. Where are 
from anyway? | mean, you probably don't know the actual answer to 
that. But | mean, what country? Who's president? Do they have 
Gillferan food? You seem pretty-” 


“Shut. Up,” she said, almost spitting the words. “I'm just trying to ask 
one damn question. Why is that so hard?” 


Colby blinked at her. The grin melted away. “Oh. Yeah. Oh, damn, 
I'm sorry, | didn't mean to be rude like that.” He rubbed the back of 
his head, looking away. 


She sighed. “You said this was the Library. Last | heard, libraries 
had books, and | don't see any. So what's going on? Where am |?” 


“We're in a side area,” he said, still looking away. “You know, for 
other stuff. Relaxing and sleeping and, you know, stuff.” He gestured 
towards the grill. “The actual books are in a different area.” 


“Alright,” she said, crossing her arms. “How do | get there?” 


“You don't want to stay a bit?” He looked hurt. “Come on, it'll be fun. 
We've got steaks, and Damon's making pasta, and there's gonna be 
cake and a big book reading. You'll get lost if you try to go into the 
stacks on your own.” 


“I'll be fine,” she said. Looking around the room, she saw dozens of 
other groups of people. Some were cooking, some were sitting and 
reading, one had even set up a campsite. From what she could tell, 
less than one in ten of the beings here were human (or at least 
looked it). “Which way are the books?” 


Colby sighed and pointed. “Can you maybe tell me what you're 
looking for, at least? | could probably point you in the right direction.” 


She thought for a moment. “I need information on the Serpent's 
Hand. Where they are. What they're doing. How | can find them. 
And anything you have about the Foundation.” 


Colby paled. “The Foundation? Are you out of your mind? What the 


believed to be a representation of . SCP-596 was recovered 
from a hospital in in the hands of - , suspected 
by local authorities of being a tomb robber. While the implications 
are clear, the original location of SCP-596 is still unknown. 


When a person makes physical contact with SCP-596, they are 
unable to release contact or move the statue themselves. The only 
way to completely remove a subject is for another person to make 
physical contact with SCP-596, at which point the original subject 
will expire. 


When in contact with SCP-596, any wounds or injuries will heal at 
incredible speed. Subject also displays extreme discomfort, although 
the nature of this discomfort is unknown. The regenerative effect of 
the statue is such that if the subject is surgically removed from 
SCP-596, the subject will expire and a new body will grow from the 
parts still attached to SCP-596. 


Addendum: Experimental Log 


02/17/ : 

SCP-596 brought in with sedated subject - attached. 
Placed in containment chamber under observation. Subject 
appeared restless and pained, with agitation growing as the sedative 
wore off. Once conscious, subject began to scream incoherently and 
writhe in what appears to be great distress. Despite this, subject was 
unable to move SCP-596. Behavior is consistent with considerable 
pain, but there is no indication as to whether this is physical or 
psychic in nature. 

02/18/ :