started, but that didn’t matter. He was going to die of course, but 
everyone dies, and a peasant’s life is shorter than anyone else’s — 
what could one expect? He’d finished it, and now it existed, so petty 
mortality and the trivial matter of death ceased being of much 
consequence. He began to life, but the coughing overcame him 
again. 


There was a knock at the door. He turned, and slowly rose from the 
chair in his studio. He grabbed his cane and hobbled towards the 
door, a grin starting on his face. In such a situation, one falls back 
on old superstitions. AS such, you can imagine the man’s surprise 
when he opened the front door of his shop expecting some black- 
cloaked, decayed thing: or, at least, some form of intimidating, 
grandiose entity. 


“Hello!” said the brightly dressed man through his permanent smile. 
He was certainly vibrant, wearing a semi-tasteful combination of all 
forms of colour. His violet cloak billowed behind him in the wind. 


The toymaker stared. Though it was night, the stranger at his door 
glowed with a certain ethereal luminescence. His presence drew the 
eye, creating a rather jarring effect in the dark. 


“May | come in?” the stranger grinned through his closed teeth. The 
toymaker, through a compulsion that was all too familiar, nodded. To 
his credit, the man entered with some grandeur: all of his colours 
certainly created some drama. The stranger stepped in, looking 
around the toy shop; then, with purpose, he walked into the 
workshop. The toymaker followed, silently. He felt the illness now. It 
left him weak, weary. Now that his work was finally done, he 
realised, there was nothing left to distract him from his ailment. 


The peculiar man wasted no time. He lifted an aqua coloured sack 
and reached for the doll with thick, magenta gloves, quickly throwing 
it in. He turned to the toymaker, who stood pathetically trying to cry 
out. The colourful man stopped and tilted his head, smiling with 
yellowed teeth. 


“It’s good to see you've finished it! Don’t worry — even though it’s my 
first time, | think | know what I’m doing! Thanks for all your help!” He 
smiled again, before turning to leave. The toymaker, with one last 


convulsion of energy, reached out a hand to stop him. The man 
looked down, gripped the toymaker’s hand and slowly raised his 
head, smiling. 


Pt. 2: The Lycon Crevice » 


SCP-954: Vocalizing Frogs 


Item #: SCP-954 
Object Class: Safe Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: Instances of SCP-954 are to be 
contained in Bio-Habitat 27 at Site . Bio-Habitat 27 is to be covered 
in a soundproof material, on the interior and exterior to prevent 
sound leakage from the containment chamber. Testing with 
SCP-954 requires level 2 clearance, with an experiment procedure 
delivered to the director of Study for SCP-954, currently Doctor 


Description: SCP-954 is a species of frog similar to 
Eleutherodactylus cystignathoides campi also known as the Rio 
Grande Chirping frog. Unlike Eleutherodactylus cystignathoides 
campi, however, SCP-954's vocalizations are not within human 
hearing range. The anomalous properties of SCP-954 are observed 
when it vocalizes in the presence of other organisms. 


SCP-954's vocalizations cause slight hallucinations in human 
subjects, by stimulating the temporoparietal junction region of the 
brain. It is hypothesized that this is an accidental byproduct of the 
method of prey capture for SCP-954; it is also believed that 
vibrations caused by SCP-954's vocalizations are the cause of this 
effect in humans. 


This effect, upon this region, causes the phenomenon known as 
"shadow people.” The "shadow people" effect is commonly 
described as seeing a shadowy figure in the periphery of vision, 
which moves quickly when focused upon, out of visual range. This 
phenomenon is hypothesized to be what causes most ghost 
sightings that can't be attributed to confirmed sources or other SCP 
objects. 


SCP-954's effect has been observed to be used in order to disorient 
various insects, usually causing their movements to become erratic. 


The Coming Nightmare 


The Coming Nightmare | Before the Nightmare | A Nightmare on 
234 Street | Spiraling Night Terror | The Revealing Dream 


August 5th, 2015. 02:02:34 A.M. 


Down hallway F, and back around A. Same route as always. Don 
absently looked around, brown security uniform loosely cuffed to his 
torso, security badge lazily bouncing with each step. The hallway's 
spotless white walls gleamed from the dim overhead lights, a few of 
which flickered. 


He rounded the corner, and was greeted by the giant letters 
adorning the entrance to the building. "Promethues Labs." He kept 
walking, missing the shadows darting past the entrance door. 


Prometheus Labs had collapsed not too long ago. Foundation raids, 
as well as MC&D and GOC interference had crippled the top down 
structure, leaving a few isolated facilities on their own. 


Fortunately for Don, and the others that worked there, no one ever 
really made the connection between an obscure research clinic on 
the outskirts of Birmingham, Alabama with a silly misspelling, and 
the anomalous organization itself. Of course, Don knew nothing 
about this. He was just a simple security guard. He wasn't even sure 
what this particular facility did. As long as the facility was open, he 
was happy to spend his nights doing almost nothing, collecting his 
annual one hundred grand, and watching TV shows he'd fallen 
behind on. 


Don stopped in the middle of the hallway, the hair on the back of his 
neck standing up. A distorted ticking noise softly pinged off the tile 
walls, from about 5 meters ahead, and to the left. He moved quickly 
and quietly towards the noise, instincts and training kicked in as he 


drew the pistol. The bulky middle aged security guard pressed his 
ear to the wall. 


Tick Tick Tick. 
He took a couple steps back, and away from the noise. 
Tick Tick Tock. 


A moment of silence passed, and then the wall blew outwards 
towards him, in a small ball of fire and concrete. 


Don managed to roll away from most of the blast, but took a 
glancing blow, losing his firearm in the debris as a combination of 
dust and smoke filled the hall. Two small cylinders rolled in through 
the debris, a thick cloud of white smoke venting from the canisters. 


The security guard pulled himself from the tile floor, and looked to 
the billowing column of smoke, his ears ringing from the blast. 
Silhouettes darted through the thick and cloudy material, harsh 
footfalls barely registering over the echoes of the previous 
explosion. As his senses returned, the alarms blared, red lights 
flashing, as the sound of distant glass shattering reached him. The 
alarms stopped, as quickly as they turned on, surely disabled by the 
intruders hands. 


A figure emerged from the smoke, and strode past in a flash of red 
and black. It ignored Don, leaning against the wall, and moved 
towards the front entrance. It stood in front of the sign, back to Don, 
as if waiting for something. "You aren't supposed to be in here," Don 
said, coughing as a trickle of warm fluid dripped down from his 
elbow. The figure ignored him, the flickering lights illuminating it 
briefly. A woman, red hair, wearing layered black clothing. The 
shaken guard pulled his phone from his pocket, only to discover 
there was no signal, completely ruling out contacting the authorities. 


Don pulled a small metal baton from his belt, and pressed a red 
button on the grip. The baton extended out 45 centimeters, a small 
arc of electricity wafted the air with blue fire. The gap between them 
was closed quickly, arm rising for a vertical swing. The arm came 
down to a jarring halt against a gloved hand. The fingers wrapped 


around the device, and pulled it from his grip with surprising 
strength, tossing it deeper into the hall. A spike of pain in his 
abdomen, as he briefly stumbled back, having taken a kick to the 
gut. 


He looked up, and was greeted by emerald eyes, burning in fire. 
She swung, and he tried to dodge. 


He heard the words as the first punch landed across his cheek. "Too 
slow." Another in his stomach, a third beneath his jaw. He swung 
back, his fists parting empty air, before his legs were swept from 
below, a sudden wave of pain as he fell to his knees. He did't see 
the kick coming, the combat boot impacting the side of his face, hard 
and fast, sending Don skidding across the tile towards the column of 
smoke. Consciousness faded fast, as the woman's face hovered 
into frame one last time. 


"What have we got?" 


The occupants of the room turned to the speaker, a short man with a 
large forehead and hooded eyes. He scanned the room, counting 
heads. His cheeks turned red when the numbers didn't add up. 


"Alright, where is she?" 


The lights flickered continuously, the woman with red hair still 
hovering over the unconscious guard. She bent down at the knees, 
perching on the balls of her feet, and snapped several times in front 
of the older man's face. He didn't stir. 


She sighed, and muttered to the walls, fluorescent lighting bouncing 
off the Greek letter Chi, and number 7 etched into her vest. "Too 
easy. Is it too much to ask for a challenge." She stood back up, and 
listened, the sounds of other people moving, equipment being 
dismantled, metal being shifted and moved. Her emerald eyes 
slowly arced across the hall, before landing back on the baton. She 
stepped over the man's limp form, towards the baton, picking it up, 
and turning it over in her gloved hands. Her thumb pressed into the 
red button on the shaft, and the baton extended outwards as before, 


electricity winding along its length. 


A smirk took to her lips, as she pressed the button again, collapsing 
the baton back down before hooking it on her belt. She turned and 
walked back to the guard, pulling a piece of rope from her belt, and 
tying it around his hands in a tight knot, before gripping him by the 
collar, and dragging him towards the dissipating smoke. 


"Anything Sal?" 


"Nothing on 2546, but I'm not that deep into their database. Their 
security algorithms are older, but more complicated than what my 
field equipment can penetrate. Gonna have to download the files 
onto my quantum and do the analysis back at base." 


"How long?" 


"Download shouldn't take more than 5 minutes." The skinny man, 
with a pair of square lens glasses returned, fingers working away at 
the backlit keyboard perched on the desk of the server room. 


"Good. The faster, the better." 


The man with the wide forehead clicked a button on his radio. 
"Squads 2, 3, 4, and 5 status?" 


"We're back at the vans sir. Managed to salvage most of the 
equipment and samples.” 


"You make sure to load those bio samples into the specialized 
containers like Dir. Andrews instructed?" 


"Yessir." 


"Good, make sure they stay steady. Wouldn't want you growing an 
extra pair of limbs." 


There was a moment of radio silence. "Commander Ryley?" 


"It was a joke Jenkins." 


"Roger." Ryley sighed, and clicked another button on his radio. 
"Kyle, Rodney, any sign of our guest?" 


Two men rounded the corner back into the server room. Both 
appeared anxious. "Nothing. She must have wandered off." 


Ryley rubbed his temples. "Where the hell did she go? And more 
importantly, how the hell did she get away from you?" 


"| swear, she was right there behind us, and then she was gone!" 


"Well keep looking till you find her, or she finds you." Ryley barked, 
sending the two young men scrambling. 


"Commander?" 


"Download completed, already Sal?" He said, fingers still rubbing his 
temple. 


"Not quite. You may want to come here and take a look at this." 


Ryley crossed the room to where Sal was sitting, pausing by the 5th 
squad member. "Kath, go see if you can help Kyle and Rodney. 
Lord knows if what Director Andrews says is true, finding her might 
be a challenge." 


The young woman nodded, and jogged out of the room as Ryley 
strode to the console. 


"What is it Sal?" 

Sal pointed to the screen, a look of disbelief on his face. 
Ryley did a double take. "Is that real?" 

Sal nodded, "Timestamp confirms it." 


Ryley looked back, making sure noone else was in the room, and 
handed Sal a USB drive. "Put that on my drive, then delete it. This 
stays between us. Neither of them should know." 


Sal glanced at Rylely, a questioning look in his eye, but went ahead 


and did as requested, handing the drive back once the files were 
copied. 


Ryley clicked his radio again. "Jenkins, do me a favor." 
"What'cha need commander?" 

"Make sure container 4 gets put in storage block E." 
"E, but sir that's whe-" 


"Just do it." Ryley cut his radio off, and sighed, eyes sinking into his 
skull from exhaustion. He almost didn't notice the footsteps, or the 
sound of cloth dragging along tile. 


"Did | miss any fun?" Ryley turned slowly, and found his guest, with 
a security guard tied and bound at her feet. 


Kyle and Rodney came scrambling back into the room, followed by 
Kath, out of breath. "We found her s- oh." Ryley shot Kyle a glare. 


"Done!" Sal said, disconnecting the drive from the mainframe, and 
scooting the chair back. He turned and stopped. "Oh, Director 
Andrews." 


Sherry Andrews looked back and forth between all 5 members of the 
squad. For a moment, none of them were sure what she was going 
to say. She smiled, showing teeth. "Time to go home." 


Dir. Leep Andrews sat behind a wall of paper and folders, a veritable 
mountain of bureaucracy. No matter how many forms he signed, 
authorizations he stamped, or old reports he shredded, the size 
never seemed to change. Today was a bit different, today he'd 
managed to get through months of backlogged reports and 
authorizations, partially thanks to a humorous sign posted on his 
door by an anonymous member of the secretarial staff which read 
"Enter at own peril, occupant is drowning in paperwork." 


The last 32 or so pages before him were the only unsigned/stamped 
forms in the room. 32 security personnel transfer requests. Leep's 
fingers massaged his temples, reading the list of reasons for each 


request, all of them centering around a certain Dir. Sherry Andrews. 


"Harsh verbal reprimands. Continuous pay cuts, unrealistic 
performance expectations, constant morale degradation, 
assignment of menial, humiliating, or extremely dangerous duties." 
Leep turned to his computer, and searched for the names of each 
employee, pulling up their performance reviews. He might have 
been surprised, had any of the individuals been given good or even 
stellar reviews by their shift heads. No such reaction manifested, 
every individual had performed below average in at least 2 of the 4 
observed categories. 


A click pinged across the room, as the hinges of Leep's office door 
slowly swung open. His heart sank slightly in his chest. / was so 
close to being finished. Dammit. 


"Place whatever you've got in the tray back there, and I'll get to it 
soon." Leep didn't bother to look over the stack, pointing to the tray 
behind him. He could hear the footsteps approach the desk, and 
then to his left, and behind. He pulled the denied stamp from it's 
place, and moved to press it on to the first form, expecting to hear 
the sound of paper being deposited in the basket. 


"And here | was, thinking you'd never get through that mountain." A 
smile leaped to his lips, the familiar voice smoothing any previous 
worries into dust. Two hands with a strong but gentle grip clasped 
onto his shoulders. Leep Andrews bent his head back, and made 
eye contact with his wife and Site-234's other Co-director, Sherry 
Andrews. She bent down, and gave him a peck on the lips, hair 
gleaming with a crimson tone in the high afternoon setting sun.