The room around us is suddenly collapsing. 
The house is on fire. In the distance | see a 
figure swaying in the field. “The blighted seed 
breed blighted crop,” he says. “It is too late for 
you. Use the blade. Give the others time. He's 
coming. He's coming.” 


| ask him who, but he’s gone. His hat is 
burning on a coat rack near the door. | hear a 
long, low sound coming from the field. | turn to 
look, and | wake up. 


15 hours after recording Dream Log 3208.3, Dr. 
Hostetler was found unresponsive in his room in the Site 
81 medical wing along with a scalpel and the following 
note. 


| think | understand now. I'm sorry. 


Dr. Hostetler was experiencing full body paralysis at the 

time he was found despite being in the earliest stages of 
infection. Several hesitation wounds were present on his 
arms and neck though none were deep enough to cause 
serious injury. Dr. Hostetler remains unresponsive in the 
Site-81 medical center. 


Addendum 3208.4: Discovery - Dream Log 3208.4 
+ Access Addendum 


Note: The following is the transcript of audio recordings 
gathered from Dr. Harald Lang subsequent to his own 
infection 15 years after the previous log. 


After | started complaining about the 
headache, Dr. Tarnot asked me to come in 
and get some scans done. They kept saying 
they weren't sure if it had manifested yet or 
not, but after last night there's no questioning 


it. | Know what | saw. 
(Deep inhale) 


| open my eyes and the first thing | see is dust. 
It fills the air, chokes it, makes it thick. High 
above me somewhere | can just barely make 
out a light, maybe a sun, that barely 
illuminates the world around me. There's a 
road beneath my feet, and | follow it. 


As my eyes adjust to the dust and the wind 
that's whipping up behind me, | get some 
sense of where I'm at. A single, long road that 
stretches between two flat expanses of dirt as 
far as | can see in any direction. | think in the 
distance | see mountains, but through the haze 
it's nearly impossible to tell. 


After a while | see something laying in the 
road. Its features are half defined, like 
something out of a storybook that you 
dreamed about and then forgot. It's dead. 
There are others like it, strewn across the road 
now. | get the impression they used to be 
colorful, but they're covered in dirt and dust 
and in the dark their colors have faded. Their 
lights have all gone out. 


| keep walking, and after a while the road 
ends. The dirt has covered the road 
completely and now it's dust forever. This is 
when | start to see things laying on the ground 
- a hat, a ringing cell phone, a diamond ring, 
some baseball cards, and a pair of pants. 


| follow this trail of discarded things until | 
reach a field, one that stretches out before me 
in along, unending line. There are crops there, 
tall stalks of dry things that rustle when the 
wind blows. There are more things on the 


ground now and somewhere in front of me | 
start to sense a presence that makes my hair 
stand on end. It's far away. 


| walk through the fields for what feels like 
years. The trail becomes thicker, and | start to 
see other things. At first, | thought they were 
strips of rawhide, like you see sold at feed 
stores or cowboy shops. When | pick one up, | 
see the faintest coloration of a tattoo etched 
into it. Dark stretches of blackened blood 
accompany each one, where the piece 
sloughed off before coming to rest. | start to 
see hair. Fingernails. Teeth. 


The haze grows thicker now, and | lose my 
sense of direction. I'm wandering through the 
rows of dead stalks, barely breathing, and all 
around me | start to hear this sound. It's quiet 
at first, but every step | take brings me closer 
to the source, like I've been drawn to it. It's 
low, and inconsistent, and it rises and falls as | 
push forward. | hear voices now. Individual 
sounds make up the din. 


| take another step, and the stalks around me 
disappear. I'm in a clearing, looking out 
towards another expanse of dirt. In the far 
distance | see a city made of light and color, 
floating in the air. There are shapes dancing 
around it, things with wings and things made of 
fire and lightning. Below it is green grass, and 
beyond it is blue sky. Against the grey and 
brown of the fields and the dirt it is a beauty 
that | can't even describe; a city of dreamlight 
and wonder. Jerusalem, set on a high hill. 


Then | see it. Swaying in the wind. It's long 
and lean, with sackcloth around its body anda 
wide straw hat on its head. | can't make out its 
features. In one hand is clutched a thick knot 


Earth at all, Foundation agents began an investigation resulting in 
the discovery of SCP-408. After learning it was intelligent, Dr. : 
who accompanied the agents in the field, communicated with 
SCP-408 and convinced it to accompany him to Site 17, where their 
current habitat exists. 


Addendum 408-A: Regarding SCP-408’s knowledge of SCP-682, 
an investigation is underway regarding this leak of information. 


Incident 408-A: Due to a failure by appropriate personnel to 
properly refill 408’s feeders, the swarm took it upon itself to find 
sustenance by its own means. Taking the appearance of several 
level 1 personnel, SCP-408 convinced a passerby to open the door 
to the aviary, upon which they made an escape into the Site 17 
facility. For the whole of the day, Site 17 personnel reported an 
alarming series of irregular events, ranging from color changing 
walls to several dozen versions of SCP-529 walking down a hallway. 
Site 17 was placed on lockdown and Delta Level Alert when it 
appeared that 90% of the containment units had been breached. Dr. 
Kondraki, Head of Research for 408 had been out on assignment 
that day, and it wasn’t until his return that the illusion had been 
revealed, and in short order SCP-408 was returned to its aviary. 
Little damage was done, except to the faculty break room, which 
was left without proper sweeteners for the next week. 


Note: /t may be just sugar water, but without it 408 is prone to 
mischief as we clearly saw yesterday. It's fortunate that it doesn't act 
maliciously, but think about others next time you slack off custodial 
duties. Think about yourself as well, as | will not tolerate having to 
use Sweet-n-Low in my morning coffee for very long. -Dr. Kondraki 


Addendum 408-B: Recent field testing has shown that SCP-408 
can act as an effective form of active invisibility when ordered to. 
SCP-408 was able to conceal five Level 2 personnel and keep them 
undetected throughout the facility. Tests show the concealment to 
operate at 99.997% efficiency, and can be maintained for up to five 
hours without need for rest or recuperation. The option of lending 
SCP-408 to Task Forces for covert operations is pending approval. 


Addendum 408-C: During Incident 239 B Clef-Kondraki, which 
SCP-408 was heavily involved in, a number of corpses left by Dr. 


of rope, thrown over its shoulder. As my eyes 
follow the rope, | see Hundreds, or... or 
thousands of people, bundled together like 
hay... moaning and screaming. Some of them 
| can see clearly, men and women and 
children in their street clothes, their eyes wild 
in fear. The others... | can see the... the dark 
strips that catch against the rocks and just 
slide off, like rawhide... 


| hear my name, and | look up. There's a figure 
in there, one scorched black and rotten, 
reaching a hand towards me. Its fingers 
ground into nothing, but | see it clearly. Its 
mouth is open, and it's full of dirt and dust. It 
chokes out my name, again and again. | can't 
see its eyes, but it's staring at me. | can feel it. 


Then it's gone, mixed in with the rest of them 
as they're dragged across the dirt. | hear my 
name one more time and then the sound just 
becomes another sound among thousands. | 
watch for a while longer. They get further 
away, and the sound grows dim, and then the 
dust kicks up and the scene disappears. 


| stumble through the choked air again for a 
time, trying to find any respite from the horrid 
wind. | fall, barely able to catch myself. The dirt 
gets thicker in the air around me, and | start 
suffocating under it. The ground is shifting and 
twisting beneath me, and | sink into it. | want to 
pull myself up, but my body refuses. The dust 
is too much. It obscures my sight and fills my 
lungs. It fills my veins. 


| see a pair of glasses sticking up out of the 
dirt. The glass is broken and the frames are 
bent, but | recognize them instantly. They're 
Hostetler's. 


And then | wake up. 


Footnotes 
1. Until a replacement for Dr. Hostetler is selected, material testing 
is to be suspended. 


SCP-3209: Boredom Butterfly 


SCP-3209 in the wild 


Item #: SCP-3209 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: Personnel interacting with 
populations of SCP-3209 are to wear liquid-crystal active shutter 
glasses operating at or above 60 Hz. Wild specimens of SCP-3209 
are to be captured and relocated to an on-site lepidopterarium. 
Monasteries keeping SCP-3209 populations are to be closely 
monitored for specimens escaping into the wild. 


Description: SCP-3209 (Sevenia acedia) is an anomalous species 
of butterfly which preys upon interest. An SCP-3209 specimen feeds 
by perching on the nose of its target and rapidly fluttering its wings in 
front of their eyes. Affected animals become lethargic and 
unmotivated, eventually dying of starvation. 


Sapient beings exhibit a more complex set of symptoms when 
exposed to SCP-3209. The primary effect is permanent loss of 
interest in a hobby or topic. Examples of interests lost due to 
SCP-3209 include card games, poetry, science-fiction films, and 
golf. Frequent exposure to SCP-3209 causes chronic anhedonia 
and apathy. 


As most symptoms of exposure are nearly indistinguishable from 
dysthymia, attempts to locate wild populations of Sevenia acedia 
have primarily focused on tracking down reports of rainbow-winged 
butterflies. In severe cases, individuals continually exposed to 
SCP-3209 may be identified among patients in psychiatric care 
facilities. Such patients typically have no prior history of behavioral 
incidents, live outside of cities, and are hospitalized following suicide 
attempts which failed due to their lack of motivation. 


Addendum 3209.1: Field Reports of Agent Bartell 


The Ethics Committee has indefinitely postponed actions against 
monasteries in and around Nepal, an unknown number of which 
may be maintaining populations of Sevenia acedia in secret. Internal 
discussions center around the testimony of field agent Aaron Bartell, 
who was assigned to identify and investigate monasteries involved. 


02/11/2018 


Might have a lead. An ex-monk in Panauti with severely 
disabling apathy. Can't even get out of bed. Probably a 
straightforward case of depression, but his nickname 
caught my eye. Apparently people call him the Butterfly 
Man. 


02/15/2018 


Met the Butterfly Man. Real name: Rajiv Sakya. Couldn't 
get a statement from him - he had no interest in 
conversing. As far as | can tell, he has no interest in 
anything. Borderline vegetative. | did obtain the name of 
his former monastery from one of the neighbors taking 
care of him. Tergar Gompa. Located in a valley a few 
kilometers east of here. Hoping this doesn't turn out to be 
One more dead end. | haven't seen my family in, what, 
four months? 


02/17/2018 


Tergar Gompa is beautiful. It's surrounded by Persian 
silk trees, the ones studded with pink flowers. The 
monastery itself is an arrangement of pale stone 
buildings around a courtyard. The buildings are 
connected by colonnades painted in rich hues, mostly 
red and gold. At a guess, I'd say the place is three or four 
centuries old. 


And to think, | almost took a desk job. 
02/18/2018 


The monks weren't thrilled about my liquid-crystal 


glasses. Cameras are banned here - not sure whether 
due to religious beliefs or more practical concerns. They 
spent a few minutes looking over the glasses before 
returning them. Conveniently, they didn't bother to 
inspect my books, which contain a small arsenal of 
surveillance equipment. | don't think they were feigning 
ignorance about the glasses. If they're not using active 
shuttering, how are they protecting themselves? 


02/19/2018 


Blindfolds. I've only caught a few glimpses of blindfolded 
monks, but I'm sure of it. Somehow they're doing all the 
work of caring for the butterflies by sound and touch 
alone. The caretakers might not even know what they're 
dealing with. I've been watching out for any monks 
behaving unusually, but nothing so far. Whatever 
SCP-3209 is being used for, it must be pretty limited. 
There might only be a handful of monks here aware of its 
effects. 


02/20/2018 


First sighting of Sevenia acedia. Not hard to find. They're 
kept in a small glass-roofed conservatory built against 
the southern wall. Small population, from what | could 
see. Maybe three dozen or so. Hid some cameras ina 
few nearby bushes to keep an eye on things. Next 
morning, four men in blindfolds visited the conservatory. | 
want it on the record that | have never been wrong about 
anything, ever. 


02/21/2018 


| fit in fairly well around here. | guess working for the 
Foundation has given me plenty of practice at the whole 
taking-yourself-out-of-the-equation thing. Emotional 
distancing, constant self-analysis, ego starvation, etc. 
Difference is, at the end of the job | get to go home and 
be me again. Hard to imagine living like this all the time. 


02/23/2018 


Inadvertently exposed myself to SCP-3209. Woke up, 
opened my eyes, and the little fucker was perched right 
on my nose. The shimmer in its wings got me before | 
could look away. When | regained focus, it was gone. 
Must have zipped right out of there as soon as it was full. 
From now on, will wear the glasses to bed. Need to 
figure out how it got in my room. Maybe the monks 
suspected | was on to them. Maybe they'd have thrown 
me out if the butterfly returned hungry. Maybe I'm after 
any excuse to frame my mistake as a good thing. 


| keep getting distracted trying to figure out what it took 
from me. Reviewing all my hobbies. 'These are a few of 
my favorite things’. What's missing? What don't | care 
about anymore? 


02/24/2018 


Just noticed the carpets in the prayer hall. They're full of 
butterflies. Every single pattern, every border design. 
The monks here meditate on their knees with their heads 
bowed. The whole time, they're staring at butterflies. 


I've been looking at this all wrong. Forest for the trees. | 
haven't seen any out-of-place behavior because this 
whole place is about SCP-3209. They're all in on it. 


02/26/2018 


| was right. Late last night, the Sevenia acedia were 
transferred in a box from the conservatory to the prayer 
hall. All of the monks gathered inside the hall. No guests 
allowed. My cameras couldn't get a clear visual due to 
poor lighting - there was only a dim, flickering glow cast 
by floating candles in frosted-glass bowls. Audio came 
through just fine, though. 


Each monk recited a different phrase over and over. 
"Longing for my childhood home." "World politics." "The 


cuteness of dogs." "Showtunes, for getting stuck in my 
head." It was like a confessional. The ritual lasted 
roughly half an hour. When it was over, they returned the 
butterflies to the conservatory and went to bed. 


02/28/2018 


I've been thinking a lot, these past few days. Reflecting. 
Everything about this place encourages it. The windows 
at the ends of corridors; the neatly trimmed grass in the 
courtyard; the flickering candles. There's a kind of 
stillness here that gets inside you.