The Bottomless Pit wasn’t Jeffrey Hubble's usual watering hole. Its 
clientele was mostly comprised of tourists, truckers and other 
passers-through. Locals seldom ventured there, and when they did it 
was usually for less than respectable reasons. 


Jeffrey was grateful for the bitter February cold that allowed him to 
conceal his identity under heavy clothes without suspicion. 
Nevertheless, he had waited until after dark until heading to the 
disreputable dive, parking several blocks away and cutting through 
alleys to make sure he wasn’t seen. 


When he stepped inside he left his scarf in place, scanning the 
entire room for anyone he knew. Squinting in the dim light and thick 
cigarette smoke, he recognized no one but the barkeep, a barkeep 
who knew how much his customers valued their privacy and could 
be trusted not to snitch. 


Satisfied with his anonymity, he made his way to the back booth. He 
had been told two men would be waiting for him there, one tall and 
skinny and the other tall and muscular. The booth was occupied by 
two men, but there was also a young woman with them, and his 
contact had made no mention of that. Jeffrey took another look 
around the bar, just to make sure that these were the people he was 
supposed to meet with. The larger man whistled sharply at him and 
waved him over. 


Jeffrey swallowed nervously and sat down to join them. There were 
four pints of ale already on the table. 


“We ordered for you; hope that’s alright,” the larger man said, his 
tone making it clear it made very little difference whether it was 
alright or not. Jeffrey’s eyes widened as he was now able to see that 
this Man had an Upside-Down Face. 


“Of course it’s alright. Why wouldn’t it be?” the slender man asked 
rhetorically, raising the pint glass and taking an exaggerated sniff. 
“This is some fine brew. | don’t believe I’ve ever had pumpkin ale 
before. Made from local produce, from your own farm if I’m not 
mistaken, Mr. Hubble.” 


Jeffrey sighed and pulled down his scarf. 


“Yeah, that’s me. | don’t suppose you'd be inclined to tell me who 
you are?” he asked. 


“No, we would -” 


“Herman P. Fuller, of Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting, the 
greatest show in the all the worlds! A pleasure to make your 
acquaintance,” the second man replied enthusiastically. The Man 
with the Upside-Down Face shook his head. “This is my bodyguard, 
Manfred Mannington Mandarino Mansfield.” 


“We're partners, and that’s not my name.” 
“And the striking young lady beside him is -” 


“Herman, if you introduce me as Leslie Van Dyke one more time | 
swear to god -” she said. 


“Veronica. Her name is Veronica,” Fuller said. “She's nobody, 
don't worry about her. | know you were only expecting two of us, but 
when Veronica heard we were heading to The Bottomless Pit she 
insisted on tagging along.” 


“Sinning Jessie is supposed to hang out here. I’ve never been with a 
tulpa before, and I’m hoping she and | can go bumper to bumper,” 
Veronica said as she sipped her ale. “Hubble, how does this whole 
tulpa thing work anyway? Will just thinking about her attract her 
attention or do | have to say her name three times or something?” 


“I... listen, | don’t want to be rude, but | was hoping we could just 
make our little swap and then be on my way,” Hubble replied. 


“Oh yes, of course. Who are we to say no to a Karcist?” Herman 
asked with a smug smile. 


“I’m not a Karcist!” Jeffrey whispered, grateful for the ambient drone 
of conversation, hum of the furnace and blare of the jukebox that 
made it nigh impossible for anyone to overhear them. “I’m not even 
a Sarkic anymore, not really. You can't tell anyone about me, ever! 
Neo-Sarkics don’t take kindly to apostates.” 


“And how exactly did a small town, Midwestern farmer end up 
becoming a Neo-Sarkic?” the Man with the Upside-Down Face 
asked. 


“Does that matter?” 


“For what you're asking, you bet it matters. We didn’t come here to 
get fleeced, and if your story doesn’t add up we’re walking.” 


“If you really need to know, | came down with lung cancer a while 
back. Being from Sloth’s Pit, | knew magic was real, so | figured 
there had to be some kind of magic out there that could cure me. My 
search eventually led me to the Wanderer’s Library, and from there | 
was able to locate a Flesh Carver. | begged him to cure me, 
promised him anything if he would. He asked that | pledge my soul 
to lon.” 


“Hmmm. Sarkics aren’t known for being evangelical. I’m pretty sure 
they disown kids born into Sarkicism more often than they let in 
outsiders,” the Man with the Upside-Down Face said. “What made 
you special?” 


“Apparently, the guy had been looking for an apprentice for some 
time to help him with his work. My botanical skills and my knowledge 
of the supernatural made me a decent candidate for Flesh Carving, 
and my desperation made me easy to control. He cured me, and in 
exchange, | was to serve as his apprentice for seven years. After 
that he would have sponsored my entrance into his House as an 
Orin, but... Neo-Sarkics are really weird. Most people agree that 


they’re evil, but everyone can agree they’re weird. | declined his 
offer and came back to Sloth’s Pit. Now | have a wife and kids -” 


“My condolences,” Herman said. 


“- and | just want to put all this weird Sarkic stuff behind me and 
have a normal life with them. I’ve removed all my grafts, reversed all 
my mutations, and pulled this little bastard out of my guts.” 


He reached into his coat and pulled out a glass mason jar, inside of 
which was a coiled white worm. Herman immediately grabbed the 
jar and held it up for inspection. 


“That’s what you wanted right? An Akuloth, His Sacred White Worm. 
It can cure any illness and boost regenerative abilities, enough to let 
you live forever if you’re skilled enough. It can also produce 
mutagenic enzymes, but unless you're a Karcist | wouldn't 
recommend that.” 


“And you just plain don’t want it anymore?” Veronica asked 
sceptically. 


“| need to sever all ties with my Sarkic past. | am burning that bridge 
forever.” 


“Is that so?” Herman asked. “Then what, pray tell, is that?” 


Herman nodded over to a bulletin board across from them. Among 
its many posted items was a newspaper clipping of Jeffrey, along 
with his son and daughter, standing proudly next to an enormous 
pumpkin. 


“Biggest pumpkin in the whole county, literally broke the scale, 
yadda yadda yadda. Are you telling me you grew that with nothing 
more than good old American hard work?” 


Jeffrey groaned. 


“Okay, maybe I’m still using a little granola Sarkicism to boost my 
crop yields, but | have completely renounced Neo-Sarkicism. I’m 
dedicated to being a good husband and father now, so yeah, |’m 
providing my family with the best life | can give them, but | don’t 


want anything more to do with worms or tentacles or turning 
people’s bodies into actual temples!” 


“Manny, what do you think?” Fuller asked. 


The Man with the Upside-Down Face stared intently at Jeffrey for a 
moment, so much so that he couldn't shake the feeling the Man was 
prodding into his very soul. 


“| think he’s telling the truth. The worm’s probably genuine,” the Man 
replied. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.” 


“That's why I’m the boss and you’re a Freak | let out of the Den to 
intimidate people,” Fuller said, examining the jar with intense 
interest. “So what’s the deal with this thing, Hubble? Do | just 
swallow it or -” 


“Oh no. It takes too long to work its way down, you'd suffocate. 
You’re going to want to insert it rectally.” 


Herman and the Man with the Upside-Down Face looked at him in 
disbelief, while Veronica burst out into laughter. 


“Veronica, you shut your mouth this instant!” Herman ordered. 
“Hubble, that’s not what Neo-Sarkics do, is it?” 


“No, they do a big ritual and cut an incision into the torso and let the 
worm crawl in,” Jeffrey replied. “But they’re pretentious assholes. 
Why go through all that when -” 


“When you already have a pretentious asshole!” Veronica laughed. 
“Veronica, | said shut your mouth!” 

“Listen, it’s up to you. If you want to cut a big enough hole into your 
torso for this thing to wiggle in and then wait for it to heal you, that’s 


your business. All | Know is that if | had had a choice, | would have 
just let it in through my butt.” 


“And how did you go about removing this little guy?” Manny asked. 


“Rectally. | passed it like it was a tapeworm,” Jeffrey replied. “It’s a 


minutes, refer to document #623-1. 
Document #623-1 


Effects of entering and exiting SCP-623 after five (5) 
minutes or longer. 


Test #1: Five (5) to ten (10) minutes 


Test Subject: Subject D-251, Male Hispanic, 31 years 
old, 101kg, 180cm 


Observed Behavior Within SCP-623: After five (5) 
elapsed minutes, Subject D-251 seen giggling and 
mumbling slurred phrases. After six (6) elapsed minutes, 
D-251 begins hugging white bean bag chair, declaring 
his love for it repeatedly. After seven (7) elapsed 
minutes, D-251 requested various junk foods over the 
remote monitoring devices. The request was denied. 
After eight (8) minutes elapsed time, D-251 began to 
dance around, singing what could possibly be identified 
as a 60’s folk song. From nine (9) to ten (10) minutes in, 
the subject continued staggering around, laughing. 


Observed Behavior Upon Exiting SCP-623: Subject 
D-251 seen actively yelling at staff and threatening 
violence upon leaving SCP-623. D-251 punched Agent 
S and was quickly restrained. In detainment, D-251 
was observed crying and screaming on the floor, 
threatening suicide. The bouts of intense rage and 
intense despair lasted for the next three (3) days. D-251 
was transferred off-site. 


Test #2: Thirty (30) minutes to an hour. 


Test Subject: Subject D-252, Male Caucasian, 28 years 
old, 77kg, 174cm 


Observed Behavior Within SCP-623: Subject D-252 
displayed similar behavior to Subject D-251 with only 
minor differences for the first ten minutes. After twenty 


slimy fella, so it’s already lubricated. Honestly, it will be painless.” 
“And once it’s in, it will just work its magic?” Herman asked. 


“Well no, if you let it it will gorge itself on your blood and grow like a 
tumour. You need to have enough mastery over your own body to 
limit its food supply, send it hormonal signals and whatnot. You can 
do that, can’t you? | was told you had studied Sarkicism.” 


“I’ve studied a little bit of everything my good man. | can shepherd 
flesh and craft clockwork with the best of them. Why, when | was a 
boy a, 


“Don't get started on that, otherwise we'll be here all night,” Manny 
objected. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet case, 
opening it to reveal a pocket watch adorned with Mekhanite 
symbols. “This is what we’re offering in exchange. It’s pure 
beryllium-bronze and was designed, hand-crafted and blessed by a 
Mekhanite Priest. It’s intended to ward against Sarkic spiritual 
attacks, but if you keep it on your person long enough it should 
cleanse you of any lingering Sarkic forces. Not even the most 
powerful clairvoyant will be able to tell you used to be a Flesh 
Carver.” 


Jeffrey gingerly accepted the case and picked up the watch by its 
chain to examine it. It was a thing of exquisite beauty, clearly crafted 
with both love and skill. He opened it to see that its glass face 
proudly exposed its inner workings, ticking away as faithfully as their 
craftsman. 


“Huh. It burns a little. | guess that means it’s holy. Frankly, | deserve 
worse,” he said. 


“We have a deal then?” Herman asked with a hopeful, crooked 
smile. 


“| just want to make it clear that the deal is final, and if anything goes 
wrong with that worm I’m not responsible for it. It worked fine inside 
of me for years so if you can’t control it that’s all on you.” 


“Yes, yes, buyer beware. Don’t you worry about me, son,” Herman 


said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 


“We have a deal then,” Jeffrey nodded, pocketing the case inside of 
his coat. “Thanks for the ale, fellas.” 


Picking up his pint, he left for the other side of the bar. 


“A broken wind-up toy in exchange for eternal life,” Herman 
chuckled. “Am | the world’s greatest con artist or what?” 


“You’re something, Fuller,” Veronica said with a roll of her eyes. “Oh, 
that’s her! That redhead at the bar, it’s Jessie. Wish me luck, guys.” 


Fuller gave her an absent nod, his attention focused on his recently 
acquired prize. 


“What do you think Manny? Should | insert it... the way he said to?” 
“Not until after a few more rounds of ale.” 


“... Agreed.” 


Several days later, an anemic and delirious Herman Fuller lay in his 
bed with an obscenely bloated stomach. 


“Bernie | don’t know what you’re so upset about it’s not like she 
needs all four paws,” he mumbled. 


Manny and Veronica stood over him, staring down at him with 
disgust. 


“Traded a priceless Mekhanite artifact for an intestinal parasite. 
World’s greatest con artist indeed,” Manny said with a sad shake of 
his head. 


“How can they expect us to return books on time when the Library’s 
outside of Time?” Fuller raved. “It’s a scam!” 


“Should we help him?” Veronica asked. 


“Percy, why won't you let me have it on credit? You know I’m good 


for it.” 


“We'll probably regret it, but yeah,” Manny said. “Come on, help me 
get him to Tinkles.” 


Manny lifted him up and stood on his right to support him, while 
Veronica stood to his left. 


“Dear Lord, | seem to have sprouted two extra heads. One of them’s 
upside-down!” Herman complained. 


“Just try to stay calm Fuller, we'll get you fixed up in no time,” Manny 
assured him. 


“Hey, | can watch Tinkles pull the snake out of his butt, right?” 
Veronica asked with a devious smile. 


“We'll let everyone watch,” Manny smirked back. 


| Dread & Circuses Hub | Clown Breeding 101 with Prof. Richard 
C Normus » 


Clown Breeding 101 with Prof. Richard C. Normus 


« Herman Fuller Can Shove It Up His Ass | Dread & Circuses 
Hub | Upside-Down Cake » 


"Jesus Christ, look at the lot’a’ya. I’ve seen some pretty fucked up 
freaks in my day but you cocksuckers take the upside down cake. 
Alright, alright, calm down, | didn’t mean anything by it; just that 
you’re ugly is all. Oh don’t be a bunch of pussies! You’ve been 
called a lot worse things than ugly and you know it! But, | digress. 


"Mr. Fuller here has recently brought me onto his staff and asked 
that | take a moment of my highly valuable time to introduce myself 
to you and explain what it is I'll be doing. The name’s Dick: Dick C. 
Normus and... 


"Yes, that’s my real name, and it’s a hell of a lot more dignified than 
whatever clown moniker you ended up with. Am | wrong? What’s 
your name big nose? Tinkles? Yeah, that’s what | thought. Oh, | beg 
your pardon, ‘Doctor’ Tinkles. That just makes it more ridiculous you 
ass hat. 


"Anyway, you can call me Dicksy and I'll call you whatever the fuck | 
feel like considering most of you are essentially indentured servants. 
I'll be...oh my fuck, | already told you it’s my real name! Why would | 
lie? Stop your damn snickering! You all have the maturity of a bunch 
of grade school dropouts because surprise surprise, that’s what you 
are, excepting of course the esteemed Doctor Tinkles. You know, 
getting a PhD at a clown college kind of proves you're an idiot, 
which is the opposite of what you want a PhD to do. 


"Moving on to the matter of why I’m here; none of you are good 
enough. Okay, okay, pipe down. | said pipe down. SHUT UP! All | 
mean is that Mr. Fuller here has standards, and that you freaks 
aren’t living up to them. No, no, don’t worry, none of you are being 
kicked out or axed yet. It will take years to make enough 
replacements for everyone. Mr. Fuller has hired me to make