Demeanor could not have been higher during these dreadful winter 
months, though, because the senior staff at Site 81 was particularly 
keen on embracing the Christmas spirit. The long, stark hallways 
were draped with a menagerie of multicolored lights and tinsel 
hangings, and the common spaces were littered with frosted 
evergreens (no doubt pulled mysteriously from a local farm under 
the cover of night, much to the confusion of the tree farmer in 
question). 


Yes, the spirit of the season was strong at Site 81, and was 
strengthened specifically by the bombastic frivolity of one Director 
Karlyle Aktus, the merriest seventy-five year old in the entire 
Foundation. The old man had donned a Santa getup at the stroke of 
midnight on November 30th, and hadn't taken it off yet. Despite this 
strange aversion to changing clothes, those who had the courage to 
draw near to the doctor maintained that he still somehow smelled of 
peppermint, instead of old socks. This was seen as a particular 
blessing. 


The month had flown by under a deluge of end-of-the-year 
containment and finance and casualty reports, and before you could 
say "ho-ho-holy shit" it was Christmas Eve. Much of the non-priority 
site staff had left to see their families during the short leave they 
were allowed at the year's end, and most of whom remained were 


so caught up in their projects they had forgotten what year it was. 


There was a small group of researchers left that, despite the 
comparative safety of their project, were tasked with overseeing and 
maintaining the object throughout the evening. The object in 
question was a box wrapped in red paper and tied with a golden 
bow, that would only open at midnight Christmas morning, and 
would either release a harmless gift or an XK-Class "End of the 
World" scenario. The streak of non-end-of-the-world-scenario 
openings had grown to forty-five years the Christmas prior, and 
there was doubt that the object would do anything at all this year. 
Regardless, the containment procedures were strict, and nobody 
wanted to face the Disciplinary Committee on Christmas after 
causing an entropic violation. 


The four of them sat staring at the box, idly taking notes or poking at 
their tablets. Jordan was the team leader, the dark-skinned young 
man from Ghana. Beside him was Hank, the forty-four year old 
retired air traffic controller, and beside him Myra, the daughter of 
some Site 19 higher up. Rounding out the bunch was Kevin, the 
eternal nerd, who continued to pound away at his keyboard, 
frantically pumping as much information regarding the box in front of 
them into the Foundation database as he could before the big 
moment. They were all relatively silent, until Hank spoke up to voice 
his concerns during the eleventh hour of their vigil. 


"This fucking sucks," he said, crossing his arms. "They're having 
Christmas breakfast in the G-Wing cafeteria. We're watching a box." 


Jenna nodded and tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. 
"Wouldn't this be a terrible place to be if this thing caused an XK, 
too? Why are we here?" 


Jordan shrugged. "You'll need to talk to," he looked down at his case 
files, "Dr. |. P. Freeley, the original author of the containment 
procedures." 


Hank raised an eyebrow. "I. P. Freeley?" 


"Yeah, see, right here, |. P. Free- ah, fuck." 


Jenna snorted, and then turned back to her tablet to idly peck away 
at some game while the clock pittered along in the background. 


"Cheer up, guys,” came a voice from the back of the room. "Think of 
all of the people we're helping by maintaining our courageous watch 
over this most heinous-" 


"Shut the fuck up, Kevin," said Hank, sharply. "We get it, the box is a 
big deal." 


They collectively rolled their eyes as Kevin praised himself on his 
demeanor, and quickly sunk back into the silence that they had so 
recently tried to pull away from. Another minute ticked by, and then 
an hour, and suddenly it was twenty-one hundred hours. The home 
stretch was before them, but- 


"God, this is taking forever," Hank interrupted. 


Suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of bells. Small bells, 
large bells, shrill bells and deep bells, all manner of metallic 
percussive instrument. They jumped to attention and turned to see 
what the ruckus was all about, and found themselves staring down 
the tallest, baldest, most eager looking Santa Claus they had ever 
seen in their entire lives. 


"D-Director, a pleasure to see you," Jordan stammered out. "What 
are you doing down here? Shouldn't you be-" 


"Nonsense, Jordan,” Aktus said as he strode merrily across the 
room. "Why, it is Christmas Eve, is it not? What better place to be 
than alongside you lot?" He hefted a bag over his shoulder and 
tossed it onto a lab bench near them. "And look here at this, would 
not you see? A gift from the workers over in Wing G!" 


Jenna coughed. "Why are you talking like-" 


Santa Aktus patted her heartily on the back. "No time now for 
questions, you dear sweet young thing. The time is now for stories 
from home that | bring!" 


He plopped down on a bench, close enough that they could almost 
see through his customary dark sunglasses to whatever mysterious 


orbs lay behind them. The sight even brought Kevin to a standstill, 
who scooted over to join in the event. "Now, where was |? Oh yes! A 
holiday tale, one of my brothers and a holiday grail." 


Hank nudged Jordan in the side. "Is he going to keep doing this, 
or?" 


Director Aktus laughed. "No, no, none of that. This story is not even 
about a grail, | just could not think for the life of me of another word 

that rhymed with tale." He shook his head and laughed. "I would not 
be a good rapper, | fear." 


He adjusted slightly, reaching into a back pocket for a small flask. 
The old man took a drink, inhaled sharply, and sighed. "Not exactly 
where we were planning on spending Christmas Eve, yes?" He took 
account of their reactions. "No, | did not think so. Better to be home 
spending time with family, of course." 


"When | was young, | was assigned to a project with the Foundation 
in Bulgaria, near my homeland. It was a cold winter, bitter, and | was 
working on a highly classified project. My younger brothers, they 
were both with additional projects in and around Bulgaria as well, 
but their priority levels were not so high. | had taken the project 
because of the promise of a promotion. The Foundation was more 
lax about family visits then, but this project would put me away from 
my loved ones either way. For the sake of my career, | took the 
position." 


"| got the news that my father had passed away from my youngest 
brother, Jeremiah, while | was on duty. He had been struck by a 
stray bullet during a shootout in my hometown and bled out on the 
street. Both of my brothers had left to run to his side at the hospital 
before he finally left this world, but | stayed at my post." 


"My mother, she was wracked with grief, and my brothers were 
there to comfort her, but | remained in that bunker. When she 
stumbled into the street the next month in a drunken stupor, calling 
out for my father, and was struck by a car, my brothers attended her 
funeral. | stayed at my post." 


He closed his eyes. Jenna had not been watching him, but she did 


now, and noticed tears running down his cheeks. "But that was then, 
my friends, and those were different times. Harder times, in my 
country, and | am grateful that | was given the opportunity to get 
away. The Foundation undoubtedly saved my life, and yet... | would 
have liked to have been there for them. | was very much obsessed 
with the research, and my duty with the Foundation, and protecting 
the world that- that | did not take care to protect those closest to 
me." 


Aktus leaned forward, taking a breath. "We are told when we join the 
Foundation that we are giving up everything in order to save the 
world. We are told that nothing is sacred except securing, 
containing, and protecting. We are told that nothing is more 
important." He shook his head. "But that is a lie. Your families are 
more important. Your friends are more important. If the world ends 
tonight, would you like your last thought to be that you spent your 
final moments in this lab?" 


He stood up. "Go home, friends. Be with your families tonight. If the 
world ends, | want you to spend it with them." 


They resisted, at first, but eventually the director won them over. 
One by one, they moved towards the exit, wishing the old doctor a 
Merry Christmas, and disappeared down the long hallway. Kevin 
was last, his arms full of notes, but Karlyle waved him off, smiling. 
He, too, left the room, and then there was just the director. 


The air was quiet and still within the dark lab, and Karlyle stood, 
wrapped within it, staring at the box. He heard the door behind him 
swing open, but he did not move. He saw a shadow moving towards 
him, but he did not breathe. He heard the breathing of another man, 
and he lowered his head. Neither of them said anything as the last 
few minutes ticked by, and finally Karlyle shuddered. 


"...do you think it will be her, this year? Is that why you've come?" 


Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. Karlyle didn't need to 
see a clock to know it was time. The air warmed slightly, and the 
golden bow began to sizzle. It sparked and hissed and finally there 
was nothing left but the box beneath it. The lid shook slightly, and 


SCP-621: Hypnobulbs 


Item #: SCP-621 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: All instances of SCP-621 are to 
be kept in the Site 16 greenhouse and watered regularly. Seeds and 
pollen from SCP-621 are not to be released into the wild. No 
instances of SCP-621 are to be released for commercial trade, given 
as gifts, used as props, used as bribes, or stored in personnel 
offices. Personnel are advised to not look at SCP-621 for extended 
periods of time. 


Addendum 621-3: Personnel are advised not to look at SCP-621 
through sunglasses, which has recently been shown to increase 
SCP-621's mental effects. Only unfiltered lab goggles may be worn 
around SCP-621. It should be of additional note that unfiltered lab 
goggles, lab glass, or other transparent obstructions will not shield 
SCP-621's effects. 


Any instances of SCP-621 found in the wild are to be exterminated 
immediately. Any instances of SCP-621 found in public are to be 
confiscated and whoever in possession at the time be taken in for 
questioning. Civilians actively watering SCP-621 in the wild are to be 
detained and the instances of SCP-621 to be confiscated. Be 
warned that some may use physical force in order to protect 
SCP-621. 


Cross-pollination of SCP-621 species will require clearance from 
Command-level Personnel. No cross-pollinations may be done for 
personal reasons. 


Description: SCP-621 is a series of highly invasive flowering plants, 
originally released by & Flower Shop, that have been in the 
Foundation's possession as of / /0 . These plants, mainly the plant 
species Didier’s tulips ( Tulipa gesneriana), are naturally 


slid off to the side. The room was silent again, and Karlyle moved 
forward. He looked down, his face beneath his dark glasses soaked 
with memories, and caught his breath. 


He wavered for a moment as he stared into the box, his body 
swaying slowly. He reached out, as if to grab something, but his 
hand hung in mid-air and stopped. He smiled. He turned around to 
face the men behind him. 


"Will you... will you walk with me, Joshua? At least for now?" 


They said nothing. He nodded in recognition, and began walking. 
They followed him, out of the lab and into the long hallway. 


A short time later, Director Aktus emerged into the courtyard at 
Site-81. The snow was falling, as it had been falling all night, slowly 
and quietly. The world was still. Karlyle took a deep breath, filling his 
lungs with the cold Indiana air. 


He began to turn, but hesitated. "It's been a long time, since..." He 
trailed off, praying for a word, a touch, anything from them. "After 
mother passed, I... | was wrong. | should have come back, should 
have been there." He sucked in air. "| haven't seen either of you, | 
thought that you- they told me that you..." 


He breathed out, and saw another figure move across the courtyard 
to him, holding a thermos. Karlyle smiled, and reached out his hand. 


"Good morning, Jordan." 


The young researcher took his hand and shook it, and then placed 
in ita mug of a hot beverage. "Merry Christmas, Director. | thought 
on your offer, but my family is many thousands of miles away. I'm 
afraid you'll have to do with me, tonight." 


Karlyle laughed, and took the drink. "I think that will be just fine, 
Jordan, thank you. You can note an all clear in your case report for 
the object, as well. No hostile activity detected." 


Jordan laughed as well, and together they walked back into the 
building. As they moved towards the door, Jordan turned to him. 


"Who were you talking to, Director?" 


Karlyle paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder. A single 
pair of footsteps were slowly collecting snow in the light of the moon, 
and the courtyard was empty. He closed his eyes and nodded. 


"Nobody, Jordan. Just an old man talking to himself." 


Later they were seen drinking and throwing darts in Aktus' office, 
and prank calling the senior staff at Site-19. Aktus made a note to 
never spackle the holes in his walls that resulted from their activity 
that night. 


Deep below Site-81, ina 
secure bunker, a red box sat open 
on the floor. 


Within it was a photograph of a family, 


three sons and their parents, 
together on their last Christmas. 
They were smiling. 


On the back of the photograph, 
a single line of handwritten text: 
Sleep in heavenly peace. 


Dixieland Nightmare Magic Hub 


Woe is me! for | am as when they have gathered the 
summer fruits, as the grapegleanings of the vintage: 

there is no cluster to eat: my soul desired the firstripe 
fruit. 


The good man is perished out of the earth: and there is 
none upright among men: they all lie in wait for blood; 
they hunt every man his brother with a net. 


That they may do evil with both hands earnestly, the 
prince asketh, and the judge asketh for a reward; and the 
great man, he uttereth his mischievous desire: so they 
wrap It up. 


The best of them is as a brier: the most upright is 
sharper than a thorn hedge: the day of thy watchmen 
and thy visitation cometh; now shall be their perplexity. 


Trust ye not in a friend, put ye not confidence in a guide: 
keep the doors of thy mouth from her that lieth in thy 
bosom. 


For the son dishonoureth the father, the daughter riseth 
up against her mother, the daughter in law against her 
mother in law; a man's enemies are the men of his own 
house. 


Therefore | will look unto the LorD; | will wait for the God 
of my salvation: my God will hear me. 


- Micah 7:1-7 


Dixieland Nightmare Magic 


by 


Kate McTiriss 


SCP-001 

SCP-2072 - Prime Ministerial Pet Cemetery 

SCP-2558 - Horseshoe Beach First Baptist Church 
(Relocated) 

SCP-2172 - This Light Never Turns Green 

SCP-2930 - Cross City City City City Hall 

SCP-2272 - Ellis Canastota, P, Pensacola Blue Wahoos 
SCP-2972 - Somebody Else's Parking Lot In Sebastopol 


Kate McTiriss's Personnel File 


. Fault Lines - They intend to fuck causality right in the ass. 
. Going Straight To Hell In A Lincoln Continental - Some people 


are like pinballs. 


. Operation Cannery Row: Document 2013§451A3 - The things 


we leave behind. 


. | Double E - The first taste is free. 
. The Hyacinth Hymnal - Bad religion via shortwave. 
. Seven Vignettes From The Life Of Mackenzie Lee-Crook - 


Multilocational nightmare magic. 


. Operation Cannery Row: Excerpts from the Foundation's 


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