Now, | am no more than an instrument of countless others’ 
affections, the impetus of a hundred charming romances that | wish | 
could have had with you. 


Whispers in the town continue, couples still visit and both men and 
women confess their feelings and play songs for each other with my 
help. A middle-aged man who apparently lives nearby tunes my 
strings and sets up makeshift shelters for me in the winter. | saw him 
once with a group of other men in white coats, who looked at me a 
few moments, talked about moving me somewhere, and ultimately 
left and never returned. | don’t know why they let me stay here. 


| don’t know where you are now. | don’t know if you ever thought of 
me since we went our separate ways. | don’t remember the sound of 
your voice. | don’t remember your name. | don’t remember your 


eyes, your smile. 
But | remember you. 
| remember why | want to stay here. 


| love you. 


Memory of a Masterpiece 


Expedition log 

Item Class: Not Applicable (anomalous object) 

Current Location: deciduous forest in . 

(relocation discouraged) 

Temporary Designation: AO-9131 

Day 1 Notes: AO-9131 appears to be a variant of 
Platanus racemosa (Western sycamore). Leaves noted 
to change color every few days to reflect the pattern of 
the sky and foliage of surrounding trees. No further 
morphological anomalies are noted. 


Isn't it beautiful? So quiet. Everything is quiet. Just listen. Pour 
yourself into the experience, give yourself freely into the landscape, 
you wish to capture just a fraction of an eyeblink’s view, an 
infinitesimal slice of time carved out by your mind... 


| painted this. Me. | remained for longer than intended, and | painted. 
| painted, and | remained. | became the sentinel on the coast; | now 
stand equal with the mighty trees that guard the forest. 


Day 2 Notes: AO-9131 has been noted to produce faint 
noises, similar to human vocalizations. Analysis of 
preliminary recordings revealed no memetic properties. 
More sensitive recording equipment requested, currently 
en route to temporary expedition base. 


Sometimes you want to do more than capture, more than preserve. 
You want to disappear entirely, want to become a part of what you 
behold. 


You want to do more than see the grains of sand fall through your 
fingers. You want to be the sand, be the river that laps patiently at 
the muddy stone-bank, smoothing the harsh rocks to unblemished 
pebbles. 


Day 3 Notes: Closer examination of AO-9131. Textures 
of the bark, leaves, and seed pods are irregular. 


¢ Bark has patterns consistent with linen cotton 
canvas 

* Seed pods, when split, shed bunches of short, 
dark-colored hair. Samples collected, DNA 
analysis of hair will be done upon return to Site 
labs. 

¢ Leaves possess oily sheen. After colors change 
(approx. once every 2 days), leaves are wet to 
touch. Paintlike substance rubs off. Samples 
collected. Chemical analysis using field kit 
underway. 


| wanted to be forever in the place | was inspired—to never have to 
close my eyes to bring back the memories, to eternally be able to 
reach out and touch the landscape that so enraptured me. 


Just as it was always a part of me, | am a part of what I love. Now it 
is everything that | am, now, at long last, | know the colors of the sky 
| could never mix just right with my humble paints. 


Day 4 Notes: Recording equipment has arrived. Higher- 
quality recordings of tree “whispers” taken, content is 
indecipherable. Attempts at communication ruled out; 
vocalizations deemed low-priority area-based anomaly 
emanating from tree. 


| never finished the painting I'd once believed to be my life’s 
masterpiece. It doesn’t matter anymore. 


It is one thing to mix colors of light, another thing entirely to feel 
these colors on your upturned face, drink them in with every fiber of 
your being... | want everyone to see me, see what I’ve strived to 
emulate, see the fragment of infinity |'ve managed to hold onto and 
preserve for snatches of time. See me. See me, and the beauty that 
surrounds me. | think, | dream, | weep, | bleed, and the canopy fills 
with the silk swathes of sky. 


Day 5 Notes: Color-changing leaves may be some form 


of camouflage or other defense mechanism. Based on 
close observation, tree seems susceptible to fungi and 
insects that prey upon non-anomalous variants. No 
anomalous predators encountered during duration of 
stay. Further investigation of color change pending; 
mechanism is believed to be secretion of dye-like 
substances from leaves at regular time intervals. 


“Is it time to go already?” There is a crash from somewhere amidst 
metal supports, a muttered curse, and the sound of a tent 
collapsing. 


“Mercer, we only requested five days for the observation period. 
We've got enough info to lay down prelim containment. There’s 
already an abandoned ranger house nearby that will be remodeled 
for a live-in agent, and as of three a.m. today, the entire forest is 
owned by, well, a company we know.” Dr. Kiryu rolls up the top of a 
near-empty bag of dried fruits. “Besides, we’re almost out of food.” 


“There was an up-and-coming en plein air artist who disappeared up 
here, you know. According to newspaper clippings the lab techs 
pulled. All the locals ever found were a few canvases and tubes of 
paint. Guy was eventually called a lunatic and a litterbug. Do you 
think...” Researcher Mercer briefly looks over his shoulder as he 
wrestles with packing up the tent. 


Kiryu sighs, and picks up a sample bag containing a few waxy, 
pastel-sheen colored leaves. He regards them almost fondly, almost 
regretfully, in the dim light of early morning. 


“It’s possible that this is something he left behind. But we never 
really know anything for sure except how to keep an eye on these 
things.” 


Temporary Containment Procedures (Doctor M. Kiryu, 
Researcher R. Mercer) 

Anomalous Item # Cache: N/A 

Recovery Date: / / 

Description of Effects: Nonthreatening morphological and 
auditory anomalies 

Item is to remain in original location of discovery. A 


repurposed ranger cabin is to house two Foundation 
personnel, who will maintain security of the location. 
Land has been reallocated to Foundation assets; 
passersby are to be turned away under the premise of a 
forest-wide restoration process. 

Additional Notes: Item is believed to be the work of an 
anomalous individual. Investigation of the identity of the 
anomaly’s creator currently deemed unnecessary. 


Memo: re:AO-9131 

Should any civilians possess existing knowledge of the 
anomaly and make resulting inquiries, they are to be 
informed that the tree is an ongoing artistic monument, 
dedicated to honor the Plein Air artist , a frequent 
visitor to the forest, believed deceased missing. 


Remember You 


Today was a filing day, as far as Riven could tell. 


Kiryu Labs processed a cache of anomalous items every week. 
Generally, said anomalous items usually came accompanied by 
some basic safety instructions garnered from the simple preliminary 
tests. “Basic” could be considered a misnomer to a new associate, 
but after about three months of processing the objects, instructions 
such as “do not handle without lead gloves” or “potential memetic 
hazard, immediately report any urges to break into song and dance” 
and “sword talks when its handle is grasped” became steadily less 
and less surprising. 


Researcher Riven Mercer, head assistant to Dr. Mark Kiryu and 
effective babysitter of the Labs when Mark was out on business/ 
working on his external department projects/on vacation leave to 
bother his little sister, kept the hard copies of the documents 
containing these basic instructions in a heavy-duty storage cabinet 
in the lab office. The instructions were organized chronologically in 
neat folders, until the documentation would be needed by other 
departments. Usually the information would be digitized by then, but 
the anomalous object labs were always picky about never 
destroying tangible files that might be useful down the line. 


There was one special folder, considerably thinner than the rest. It 
held the scribbled handwritten notes that came in when Kiryu Labs 
was given not an object, but a location to investigate. So when 
noontime came and Riven spotted the memo on his desk reading 
“New assignment, all-nighter, researcher-agent/2-man team, 
museum” he raised an eyebrow and rushed to claim the sofa in the 
spare sitting room (nap space was hard to find in a lab) by dumping 
his laptop, lab coat, extra blanket from the cupboard, and squishy 
office chair pillow onto it. He then immediately went to raid the lab’s 
supply cabinets to pack a light backpack. 


| needed a pick me up, so | snorted a couple 
lines of Colombian off her ass and - 


Dr. L: | think that's enough D-14890. For the 
sake of brevity, please keep the rest of your 
testimony in regards to the anomalous entity 
SCP-666-1. 


D-14390: The what now? 


Dr. L: The... Person, who tempted you in your 
hallucination. 


D-14390: OH, right! Well, it was around the 
time that she was offering me this opium shit 
she said she got off a Chinaman. The whole 
time she'd been saying stuff in kinda funny 
way, like those, whatchacallem, back-faced 
comments? 


Dr. L: Back-handed compliment. 


D-14390: That's the stuff. Well, | start taking a 
couple of pulls off the opium, and I'm feeling 
mellow, but she's just glaring at me, right? So | 
ask what's up and she hauls off and punches 
me in the face! Not like this fragile little crack- 
whore would either, | mean | thought | was 
going ten with Tyson right about now. She 
starts screaming at me, calling me weak, 
saying I'm pathetic, just giving in, y'know, bitch 
shit. So | kick her in the chest, and that's when 
shit got weird. Next | know she's got me on the 
ground and her arms are around my throat, 
her eyes get huge and bloodshot and shit. | 
feel her nails digging into the sides of my neck, 
and hand-to-God, Doc, she was shooting shit 
into me. 


Dr. L: You're saying SCP-666-1 was injecting 
you with heroin through her nails? 


He hadn't gone on an overnight assignment in months. 


It was reported that the museum had visitors daily during the first 
few months it was open. It was different from other such places, so 
was said, because it only opened after dark. Something about 
sunlight not being of the right quality to properly accentuate the best 
qualities of the crystal. Most people believed what they were told, 
agreeing that the interior lighting was like nothing they'd ever seen 
before. Subtle in all the right ways, to the point of other-worldliness, 
they said. You could lose your worries looking at the shining stones, 
they said. If you didn’t watch yourself you'd find that you’d linger for 
hours. 


About a year or so later, people reported hearing voices emanating 
from the delicate crystal vessels on display. And the fewer visitors 
crossed the threshold, the more disembodied voices were heard 
from within. Some people started returning the crystal bird figurines 
they’d purchased from the museum’s tiny gift shop. The prices 
hadn't been exorbitant, but that wasn’t the main reason no one stuck 
around to ask for refunds. 


According to the brief background Riven read while en route, 
Foundation personnel successfully managed to convince visitors 
that the rumors were unfounded, but there were still plenty of 
theories about the artifacts actually stealing voices. And it didn’t help 
that the curator seemed insane when the visitors started to thin out. 
Talked to the walls, they said. Talked to the crystal things. Talked to 
the disembodied voices. Then the museum abruptly closed its doors 
and no one heard from the man since. 


Riven had glanced at the dwindling sunlight outside the car window 
and grimaced at how easy it was for the Foundation to forge the 
paperwork to take over ownership of the place. At least the prelim 
sweeps were done—no living organisms detected in the building or 
on surrounding premises. 


The museum itself turned out to be rather charming. Two stories, 
sizable but not grandiose, perched at the top of a hill surrounded by 
forest, it was rather out of the way from the city streets but actually 
not that long of a drive away from the Foundation site. The dirt 


pathway was rough and unworn, as there were very few vehicles 
that ever went directly to the building. Visitors parked at the foot of 
the hill and went up the scenic tree and bush-lined trails on foot. No 
maintenance was carried out because oddly, the museum’s 
collection wasn’t put together over a period of time. It just showed 
up, along with the curator, who apparently owned the place and 
opened it to the public one day. No reservations, no tickets, it was a 
come-as-you-may word-of-mouth sort of place, hidden like a castle 
up in the fortress of trees. 


There was a nice view of the ocean in the distance, though one 
would need to cross a mile or so of forest before hitting the beach. 
The sea breezes didn’t reach the hill tonight. 


He didn’t really need the jacket he brought with him, Riven thought 
to himself. The night wasn’t that chilly... although, he added silently, 
| can't say the same about that agent they sent along. 


Aside from his daunting stare, Agent Tai Yang Shen was a 
nondescript man. His was a face that you could look at, pin a quick 
insignificant personality to, and then promptly forget. Today’s black 
collared jacket, thin cotton gloves, half-rim glasses, and trendy 
messenger bag might have suggested a self-reserved college 
student, not an undercover agent for a shadowy paranormal 
organization—but that was probably the point, Riven decided. The 
average person might expect that messenger bag to be filled with 
notebooks and old receipts for coffee; what was actually inside was 
probably the mission brief, a Foundation-issue anti-memetics kit and 
maybe an intermediate chemistry/first aid emergency pouch cobbled 
together from what experience dictated would be used most. And all 
sorts of other knickknacks besides, since Mark had mentioned 
something about Agent Shen being good with knives. 


Riven hadn't heard much else about Shen, admittedly. The Chinese 
agent had been recruited from an American university following 
some high-profile field work, and Kiryu Labs nabbed him for 
background investigations of the item caches. Apparently the man 
had gotten bumped up to Level-3 and Agent status after an 
overseas assignment in China dealing with some bloody-minded 
ghost with a thing for numbers. 


“Ready to proceed?” Shen asked, causing Riven to jump a bit. He 
couldn't help it, he hadn’t gone to a museum in ages, and Kiryu Labs 
out-of-site business without Mark was a rarity. He was starting to 
miss Mark’s easygoing, if sometimes-aggravating, “everything is 
ooookay” demeanor, really... 


“Researcher?” Shen questioned again, opening his messenger bag 
and rifling through it as if looking for something. 


“Yeah, I’m good to go, Agent She—” 


“Just titles now. We are in a confirmed auditory cognitohazard zone. 
No intelligent beings noted yet, but it’s best to say little about 
ourselves. Wear this.” Shen handed Riven what looked like a 
wireless headset, with some sort of strange gadgetry perched on top 
like blunted cat ears. 


“New-issue adjustment processes all incoming sound through anti- 
cognitohazard filters.” Shen continued when Riven looked at the 
headset as if unsure if it would catch fire in his hands. “You don’t 
need to understand the details to use it. Put it on.” 


Other knickknacks indeed. It’s hard to keep up with all the new 
Foundation tech these days. Riven slipped on the headset and 
adjusted the microphone piece. It was sturdy, and a rather comfy fit 
over the ears, actually.