Head, Acquisitions Division 
Department of Extra-Universal Affairs 


An exchange between Dr. James Long and Researcher Nurul 
Shafigah binte Ahmad Ibrahim, recovered from Dr. James 
Long's iPhone 


Shafiqah 


James, what's with you spamming me with SMSes. 
Don't you have work to do, Mr site director? 


Let me guess, the Multi-U came along. 


LOL! Call it a woman's intuition. 


But jokes aside, my friends from sites 17 and 754 had 
told me about the Multi-U clearing skips from those 
sites. They'll even visit my site next week, | think. 


ls everything gonna be alright? There're rumours going 


on in my site's lounge and cafeteria, that some of us 
may be laid off. 


Thanks 


But since we're on the topic, you have any idea why it's 
happening? 


You don't know or you can't tell me? 


I'm not even cleared for info on where they're heading 


to. Just know the transfer is done and that's that. 


Addendum 2317-58: On 15/12/2045 CE (U 5643-[-Orange-D), 
SCP-2317 has successfully breached containment at Area-179. The 
following transmission was intercepted prior to destruction of 
Area-179. 


WARNING! Containment breach at A-179. SCP-2317-K 
escaping SCP-2317-Prime. Breach is imminent. 
SCP-2317 lockdown initiated. Response team prepare to 
engage SCP-2317-K. Area-wide lockdown initiated. 
Prepare detonation of onsite nuclear arsenal. SCP-231 7- 
K is not to escape. Impending XK-class end-of-the-world 
scenario should SCP-2317-K escape from A-179. 


Observation of SCP-2317's activities and its effects on U 5643-[- 
Orange-D shall commence. All remaining Foundation assets in U 
5643--Orange-D have been ordered to focus on collecting the 

aforementioned data. No engagement with SCP-2317 is required. 


Yes sir, all targeted SCP objects formerly housed in Universe 5643- 
Gamma-Orange-Delta have been recovered prior to SCP-2317's 
emergence. The remaining objects are either not in the Foundation's 
possession or deemed impractical or unsavoury for transportation. — 
Sr. Agent S. Kisch 


Thank you for your report. We'd expect you to clean up these SCPs' 
documentation prior to their redistribution. — O5-10 


Of course sir. The usual protocols. — Sr. Agent S. Kisch 


An email from Dr. Jack Bright, dated / /1993 AD 


FROM: Dr. Jack Bright, Director, Site-19 
TO: Dr. William Moto, Euclid Specialist, Site-19 
RE: New SCP in Site-19 


Moto, we got a new skip in 19 today. It's housed in Euclid 
Wing, Cell 2. It's supposedly hostile, so bring at least 2 
D-class and a research assistant with you. 


Also, update on any findings you have on the skip. Its 
profile is barren right now. Your clearance level for that 
skip is Level 4/173, for your information. 


Jack Bright 
Director, Site-19 


Hours later, Dr. William Moto had concluded his first day with the 


new SCP object. Accessing his account on the Foundation database 


to catalogue his findings for the day, Dr. Moto browsed over 
whatever that was present in the document. 


Item #: SCP-173 
Object Class: [PENDING] 


Special Containment Procedures: [DATA 
EXPUNGED] 


Description: [DATA EXPUNGED] 


"No no, this won't do." he thought while shaking his head, "/ don't 


even know where it came from or who brought it in..." 


Dr. Moto began deleting the expungements and typed in whatever is 


known of the newly-found anomalous object. 


Description: Moved to Site-19 1993. Origin is as of yet 
unknown. 


How Dr. Clef Contained Christmas! 


Dr. : Certainly, why? 


Mr. — : It's not just gone. This guy, | saw him 
drop a ruler and that thing, it was under his 
desk, it just snatched it and ate it whole. Then 
a few days later, it ate him. Swallowed him 
whole. 


Dr. : Well...thank you, .Miss  willsee 
you out. 


<End Log> 


Closing Statement: Mr. was dosed with a Class A 
amnestic and subsequently released. Worryingly, Mr. 
implied that SCP-870 were present in a major population 
center. Further investigation is ongoing. 


Addendum 870-1: /, personally, don't believe that the 
schizophrenics are really seeing SCP-870 fully, they can just see it 
more than us. We don't see it because our brains aren't made to see 
it. The schizophrenics, their brains are wired up just that tiny bit 
differently, and they can see it just a tiny bit more. These things 
have the perfect camouflage, and we simply are unable to see 
through it. - Dr. 


« SCP-869 | SCP-870 | SCP-871 » 


TH EN 


t+ The following content is a fan-based parody of a satirical nature 
protected under Fair-Use that is based off of the children's book 
"How the Grinch Stole Christmas!" by Theodor "Dr. Seuss" Geisel. 


t+ "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" by Twin Musicom is licensed 
under a Creative Commons Attribution license (https: // 
creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/) Artist; http: // 
www.twinmusicom.org/ 


How Dr. Clef Saved Christmas 


The senior staff of Site 19 huddled in the conference room, warming 
themselves from the chill air of the cold mid-December morning. 
Coats and hats hung on the wall and over the backs of chairs, ice 
and snow dripping into puddles on the tile floor, as their owners 
drank strong black coffee from styrofoam cups and chatted idly. 
None of them knew why this emergency meeting had been called, 
nor why on such short notice, so early on a Sunday morning right in 
the middle of the holidays. The muffled conversation came to a halt 
as Site Director lves entered the room, carrying a stack of notes and 
a reel of slides, and approached the podium in the front. The 
director's suit was wrinkled, his tie undone, beads of sweat on the 
balding man's forehead (though the heater had yet to kick in) as he 
shuffled through his papers before addressing the group. 


"Good morning, everyone," Ives said. "Thank you for coming on 
such short notice. | know it's early and most of you had the day off, 
but we've got quite a lot to discuss and there's a lot of work to be 
done. I've just finished up a conference call with the O5 Council, and 
I'm afraid I've got some bad news." 


Ives paused and shuffled through his notes again before continuing. 
"At 0532, Greenwich time, we received an emergency distress 
signal from Area 36, near the magnetic north pole. Security 
personnel reported that unidentified aircraft had been observed 
entering the zone of exclusion around SCP-4040's main facility and 
they believed a hostile attack was imminent." Ives paused. "Three 
minutes later, we lost all contact with Area 36. We attempted to raise 
SCP-4040 directly and got no response as well. 


"We went into high alert at that time. We dispatched Mobile Task 
Force Alpha-7 from Montreal and they arrived at the scene at 
approximately 0930." Ives set up the reel of slides on the projector 
sitting on the front desk, and pulled a screen down from its place 
along the wall. "Adelstein, could you dim the lights, please?" 


Dr. Adelstein flicked the switches by the front door, casting the room 
into darkness as Ives turned on the slide projector. "When MTF A-7 
arrived, this is what they found." Ives pressed a button and a slide 
popped up on a screen, depicting a single small house, alone on the 
Arctic tundra - what remained of that house, anyway. The windows 
had been smashed in, the door kicked open, its interior laid bare to 
the cold Arctic winds and the perpetual winter twilight. A giant candy 
cane standing in front of the dwelling had been smashed in two, and 
whatever color the building had been before, it was covered ina 
bizarre sort of ooze, dark and red, that dripped from the rooftops and 
formed crimson icicles, hanging by the dozens over the awning. 


"It wasn't much better inside." Ives flipped to the next slide, of the 
little house's parlor - furniture overturned and broken, cabinets 
emptied onto the floor haphazardly, everything covered in that 
strange thick red ichor. "The annex was the same - except for the 
bodies." The next slide showed a tiny humanoid, no more than four 
feet tall, dead on the floor. Its skin was horribly burned and fused 
together like it had been set on fire, its flesh fused to its tiny green 
outfit, also soaked in red. "We found sixteen SCP-4040-3 dead in 
the annex. One hundred and eighty-four unaccounted for. No 
survivors that we've been able to locate. The entire on-site security 
team was also KIA." 


"What about SCP-4040-1?" asked Dr. Johnson. 


"As of this time, MTF A-7 has been unable to locate SCP-4040-1 or 
his remains," Ives said as he flicked through several more slides, 
every one showing a similar scene of devastation to the Arctic 
workshop. 


"And the rei-" 


"All nine instances of SCP-4040-2 are missing as well, I'm afraid." 
Ives signaled for Adelstein to turn the lights back on as he shut off 
the projector. "Area 36 is a total loss and almost all of SCP-4040 is 
either dead or in the hands of a hostile power. As you all know, it's 
now slightly less than five days until this year's scheduled 
occurrence of Event 1225-Pinnacle. In light of the damage to the 
facility, even if we're able to recover the surviving elements of 
SCP-4040, I'm afraid that..." lves stopped in mid-sentence as he 


looked out over the researchers. 


"I'm sorry," he continued after collecting himself. "I've seen a lot of 
shit go down in my day and | never thought I'd have to say 
something like this, but it looks like we're going to have to cancel 
Christmas." 


The room was aroar with worried exclamations. "Cancel 
Christmas?" "No presents?" "What'll | tell the kids?" 


"Please, everyone, calm down," Ives said as the group fell silent. 
"We're collating the available evidence as fast as we can, but what 
we need right now is information management. The O5 Council feels 
that, given our minimal lead time, Procedure 1843-Scrooge- 
Haymarket-4 - that's the "Elves' Union Goes on Strike" story, by the 
way - is the appropriate cover story to disseminate to the media. We 
should be able to cover this up and keep the civilian world from 
getting too worried about Santa's absence until we can get a 
substitute toy delivery up and running." 


Dr. Jones raised his hand. "Do we have any suspects yet?" 


"All we know for sure is it wasn't the GOC and it wasn't the Reds, 
Ives said. "We've been in contact with Geneva and Moscow since 
this whole thing started and they're as much in the dark as we are. It 
doesn't look like a Cl job, either. The signs just aren't there. There 
aren't any bullet casings, either - whoever took this place down, they 
did it without firing a single shot." 


Dr. Michel spoke up next. "What about that ooze all over the place in 
the photos? It's not... elf blood, is it?" 


"No, thank God," Ives replied. "That's the strangest thing of all, 
really. The lab boys are still trying to figure it out, but as far as we 
can tell, it's tomato sauce. Ordinary, run-of-the-mill, five-cents-a-can 
tomato sauce, with a little extra salt. Anyway, there'll be time for 
Q&A later. We've got to get started on this." 


Ives picked up his briefcase from next to the podium, set it on the 
table, and opened it to reveal several manila folders packed with 
pre-prepared documents. "This is what we'll be working from and 


what | want you to disseminate to the personnel under your 
authority. Anderson, get this out to the press ASAP - the LA Times, 
the New York Post, CBS, NBC, ABC, BBC, CBC, everyone." 


"Yes, sir," Anderson said. 


"Jenkins, get the AFL-CIO and the Teamsters on the line, see if we 
can arrange some "sympathy strikes" with the elves’ union." 


"Right away, boss," Jenkins replied. 


"Clef, | want you to liaise with the Republican party, have Goldwater 
or someone give a pro-Santa speech." 


There was no response. A confused mutter filled the room as the 
researchers looked around for the missing administrator. 


"Has anyone seen Clef?" 


Fitzroy the elf woke up with a start as a bright light shone in his face. 
His joints ached, his skin still burned from the hot liquid that the men 
in green costumes had sprayed him down with, and his head was 
pounding. He opened his aching eyes slowly, trying to adjust to the 
glare of the bright lights. As he looked around, he found himself in a 
massive room with high ceilings and distant walls. His feet were 
shackled to the chair in which he sat, and a second chain bound him 
around the waist, leaving only his arms free. In front of him sat a 
long bench, one of five stretching the length of the room, before 
which sat scores of other elves shackled as he was. In front of each 
of them, as in front of him, sat a curious collection of accessories - a 
hot plate, a spoon, a potato peeler, a kitchen knife, and an ice chest. 


Fitzroy struggled with his swimming head as he tried to remember 
how he'd gotten there. It had been just another morning in the week 
before the big day, just another shift making toys for the boss' big 
delivery. At least it had been until the lights went out and the men in 
green busted down the doors. He could see a few of them marching 
back and forth between the benches even now, their green dresses 
(or togas, maybe) dragging on the floor behind them, their matching 
spiked crowns obscuring their faces in shadow, each of them 


wearing a tank over their shoulders connected to the nozzle that 
spewed that burning hot red fluid that had scalded his friends to 
death as they grabbed him and injected him with something before 
tossing him in a sack. 


Fitzroy didn't have much time to contemplate the circumstances of 
his captivity, or what fate had befallen the boss, before a loud and 
evil voice rang out over a loudspeaker hidden in the rafters, echoing 
throughout the cavernous building. "Good afternoon, my happy little 
elves," the voice declared. "I'm afraid there's been a little change in 
the work schedule this holiday. For the next couple days, you'll be 
working quadruple shifts. Meal and smoke breaks are canceled, and 
you won't be making toys anymore. You'll be making something... 
different." The speaker snickered to himself. "We've got a big quota 
to make in time for the big day, and I'm counting on your magic little 
fingers to make it happen. And once this is finished, you can all go 
back to your happy little elf families, safe and sound." 


"Oh, and by the way," the voice added, "| have your boss and his... 
delightful little animal friends in captivity as well. If you resist, or fight 
back, or don't work your hardest - well, | can't guarantee that | won't 
be eating reindeer sausage this Christmas!" The speaker laughed, 
his wicked, cacophonous howl echoing over the booming 
loudspeaker. "Now then, no time to waste! Get started! You'll find 
the recipe guide in the cooler. Start by warming your hot-plate up to 
medium high, then go ahead and add a few tablespoons of butter..." 


"Extra! Extra!" shouted the news agent to the dozens of somber 
businessmen passing his stand on 5th Avenue. "Special edition! 
Elves’ Union pulls out of negotiations! LBJ demands immediate 
resolution to Christmas catastrophe!" A man in a trenchcoat and 
fedora hat flipped a nickel to the newsman as he grabbed a copy of 
the New York Times off the stack, unfolding it and reading as he 
walked; 


CHRISTMAS IN PERIL AS STRIKE CONTINUES 


Elves threaten to stay off the job until after New 
Year's 


"First canceled Christmas since 1896," says Santa 
Claus 


Is there still a reason for the season? 


The man folded the paper up as he crossed 59th street, 
approaching the throng of people outside FAO Schwarz. With no 
kindly elf to deliver toys for their kids, the parents of the city had 
gone mad. The man peered in the window at shelves almost bare, 
as men in suits practically engaged in tugs of war over stuffed 
animals and Barbie dolls. 


"You must have more bicycles in the back!" 


"Do you have any more Jack Proton toys? I'll pay anything! 
ANYTHING!" 


"Whatever she's paying for that doll, I'll pay double!"