to lengthen, the bare bones from her flung hand arching towards 
Sam Denton's eye. He swallowed hard, muscles straining against 
the strength of the monster pressed against him. / swear to god, if | 
survive this I'll start lifting again, just don't give out on me yet. He 
thought to himself, praying to every deity he could think of, and 
several he made up on the spot. 


From behind her, six bullets rang out in rapid succession, turning the 
rapidly shifting woman into something resembling paste, as the 
explosive rounds did their job. The small child she was escorting 
remaining motionless on the ground, several meters away. 


Sam let out a shaky breath, as he clicked the various bits of the 
knife back in to place, wiping it off on his vest before replacing it in 
its scabbard. "By the mother of Las Chupacabras, could you have 
cut it any closer?" 


Jim leveled his weapon at the passengers of the bus, waving 
diffidently at Sam, "I'm only going to say this once. Everyone stay 
put, and everything will be fine. No one else is going to be shot. But 
if you run, | will kill you." 


The passengers, to their credit, either froze or sank to their asses in 
shock. Sam padded over to the small child, turning it over. With a 
closer look, he realized it wasn't a child at all, but a man with 
dwarfism. Sam reached into his belt, and administered the syrette of 
broad-spectrum stimulants to counteract whatever was in his 
system. He took a quick hair sample, and plugged it into the bracelet 
getting an immediate DNA read. "Doctor Mayer?" 


The man blinked owlishly up at the agent, as he woke from the 
groggy haze he'd been put under, "Where am |?" his voice was 
tinged with a heavy German accent. "And who are you?" 


Jim looked over at Sam, and shook his head, "| swear to god, Sam. 
You had to insist on saving sixty bucks with a bus ride." 


Der Machandelbaum 


Even in broad daylight, the forest was still a foreboding environment. 
The shadows of the trees made bright daylight dimmer. Apart from 
the wind and some occasional birds, it was quiet. Dr. Flora Davis 
had never liked the quiet, and so walking through the trees, she was 
secretly glad for her assistant’s company. Though she could do 
without his whining. 


“How much further?” David griped. “We’ve been walking forever.” 


“We’ve been walking for thirty minutes, Mr. Vadas," she said, turning 
around. "You weren’t kidding when you said you were out of shape,” 
she japed. He shot her a look of good-humored irritation, but said 
nothing. It was true, he had said those exact words prior to their 
departure. 


“What are we even looking for, Flora?" He felt the task of finding a 
specific tree in a forest to be an exercise in futility. "Are we sure it 
even exists?” 


“We aren’t on a first name basis. Based on the descriptions we got, 
we're looking for ‘the tree that’s different.’ Whatever that is. And 
given the five eyewitness reports and the nature of Nexus forty- 
three, I’m inclined to believe it exists. Unterbourg is a strange town." 


“Oh great, a different tree. There are lots of trees here." He replied. 
He studied the dense foliage surrounding them. "Like, /ots of 
species. How the hell are we supposed to know what it looks like?” 


“Like a tree with different plants grafted on...” she said, stopping in 
her tracks as her assistant continued walking, oblivious to her 
discovery. 

“Great. If | see that I'll let you know, but otherwise—" 


“No, Vadas, look.” David turned towards where Davis was pointing. 


“... That’s prolly the one.” 


The two walked over to the strange tree, trying to figure out what 
had caused the residents of Unterbourg to be so unsettled by it. 
They could already tell something was wrong with it. Though David 
felt unsettled by the tree, he found himself walking right towards it. 
He seemed unable to stop, until he was face to face with the low- 
hanging branches. The two spent the next few minutes observing 
the tree from all angles, hardly noticing they had both fallen silent. 


“The main tree seems to be Juniperus Communis, the common 
juniper,” David explained, finally breaking the silence, “but it has 
almond seeds, suggesting a graft of Prunus dulcis. Additionally, it’s 
blooming flowers from the Rosa genus, which don’t even grow on 
trees.” He turned back to Davis’ dumbfounded look, suddenly 
embarrassed. “I like plants, ok? Isn't that why you brought me?” 


“No, | had no idea,” she said, taken aback. She realized the two 
didn't know that much about each other. David opened his mouth, 
about to ask something, but was cut off. “Do you notice any other 
anomalous behavior?” 


“Nothing specific. But something feels off,” he replied, plucking a 
rose from the tree. “Seeds and flowers plucked from the tree appear 
to be normal. | feel drawn to the tree. Like, | need to stay near it." He 
began climbing the lower branches. "That’s gotta be something 
right?” 


“Maybe.” She picked an almond off of the ground, wondering what 
was odd about the tree. She observed the almond as if it held all of 
the secrets of this tree. Not just of the tree, but of Nexus forty-three. 
For one moment, she wondered if the answers to all the world's 
mysteries could be contained in an almond. If all she had to do was 
take a bite... 


"Davis?" 


Suddenly, everything faded back into view. David looked concerned, 
but it was no matter. She had remembered their directive. "In any 
case, we’ve done what we were asked to do: we found the tree." 
She dropped the almond on the forest floor. "Let's report it to the 


Foundation and get out of here, before something really dangerous 
happens.” She didn't trust the forest after dark. 


“Alright,” he replied, jumping down, "David and Davis getting the job 
done.” 


“That’s not a thing. Don't try to make that a thing.” 


But David hadn't heard her. “Davis... look.” Where he was pointing, 
a bird that had not been there before was perched. The feathers 
were vibrant, red and green, and in the sunlight its neck almost 
shone gold. “I don’t suppose you like birds enough to know what that 
is?” 


“No... | don’t...” she said, taking out her phone. She hoped they 
could get some service out here as she tried to describe the bird in 
the search engine. A few seconds later, she had the answer. 
“According to the internet,” she showed her phone to the assistant, 
“it’s a European Bee-Eater. | don’t know if they’re common to this 
region.” 


“Noted... | think we’ve got everything we— Dammit! Should we 
follow it?” He said, pointing to the bird in flight. 


“Mark this tree. I'll follow it.” Davis ran in the other direction as 
Vadas carefully marked the odd tree, hoping to make it recognizable 
amongst a sea of green. Somewhere in the direction Davis ran, he 
heard a noise. He heard a song that almost sounded human. 
“Davis?” He cautiously called out. The song was entrancing. “Davis 
why are you singing?” He felt inclined to follow it, to hear it more 
clearly, but he knew he had to stay by the tree. As the final notes of 
the song echoed through the foliage, his senses heightened. He 
cautiously walked a few steps in the direction Davis had run off in, 
when— 


“Vadas!” Flora exclaimed, tapping his shoulder and causing him to 
jump. 


“Dammit, Davis. You scared me!” He yelled. 


“| thought | told you to stay by the tree.” Davis scolded. 


“You didn’t," he said, indignant, "but | did, it’s right here—* But when 
he turned around the tree was no longer there. He looked around for 
a few seconds in disbelief, wondering what had happened. When he 
finally spoke, he could only think to ask one thing. “We have to tell 
the Foundation, don’t we?” 


But Davis said nothing. What was there to say? It was gone. And 
now they had to walk thirty minutes back to Site-99 to fill out the 
paperwork and deliver the news. 


Flora felt like she had failed. It was her first notable assignment, 
working directly with an anomaly from Nexus-43 and she had lost it 
in the space of a few minutes. Her main lead was a bird that had 
also disappeared, and had apparently led her on a wild goose 
chase. Or a wild European Bee-Eater chase, she thought to herself. 
She was instantly glad she hadn't said the joke out loud. She had 
been told the previous day when she returned that missing 
anomalies were common around these parts and that she shouldn't 
be too worried. But something had unsettled her about it, and she 
felt obligated to find out all she could about it. She was 
concentrating on similar phenomena, anything that might tell her 
where the tree was, when a familiar voice caught her attention. 


"Von Dem Machandelbaum." David interrupted, triumphant. 


Flora Davis looked up from her research, bemused. "What the hell 
are you talking about?" 


"Von Dem Machandelbaum," the assistant repeated, setting an old 
book down. "That's what we're dealing with here. | went to the library 


"You went to the library?!" Davis teased. 


"Don't patronize me." He smirked at her disbelief and sat down to 
join her. "And while you were doing anomalous research, | was 
doing folklore research. | got a copy of the Grimm Fairytales. Now, | 
can't read Low German very well, but there's a tale in here called 
Von Dem Machandelbaum, or 'From The Juniper Tree’ in English. 
Folklore classification Aarne-Thompson-Uther type seven twenty." 


"And what's it about?" she said, perusing the book to see if she 
understood the archaic words 


"Tee-ell-dee-arr stepmother murders child, frames other child, feeds 
him to his ignorant father, child exacts his revenge as a bird. It's a 
gruesome story, | kind of love it, anyway, | think this is what we're 
dealing with. Not only that, but | think we may have learned 
something from it already." 


"Hold up, what makes you so sure this is what we're dealing with? 
There must be other explanations..." Davis rummaged through her 
notes for some alternate theory that didn't sound so... bizarre. 


"Well the tree we saw was juniper, for starters. The bird in the tale is 
described as having red and green feathers and a golden neck, just 
like the bird we saw today, and although | couldn't hear the song 
very well | think the song | heard in the forest is the one from the 
tale." 


"Mein Mutter, der mich schlacht’", Mein Vater, der mich aB..." Davis 
began muttering the words from the old book, surprised by the 
familiarity. "| heard the song only a little better than you, but | think 
you're right. | think this is it. 


"| told you!" He gloated, pumping a fist in triumph. 


"Ok, but what do you think we've learned from this?" Davis said, 
curious. 


David's eyes lit up, excited to share his findings. "So you know there 
are two current theories on how Nexus forty-three works. The first is 
that the anomalous activity was seen by the citizens and passed 
throughout the country as folktales—" 


"And the second is that the writings of Grimm created the 
anomalies." 


"But we can't prove that theory because there are too many 
variables—" 


"And we can't prove yours because most of the anomalies observed 
were only first written by the brothers Grimm." 


"Most being the keyword there. | did some research, and it turns out 
Grimms' 'Von Dem Machandelbaum isn't the first written instance of 
that tale. They got the story from a romantic painter, Philip Otto 
Runge, who published the story sometime before they collected it." 


"So they couldn't have created the juniper tree phenomenon..." 
Davis said, beginning to understand. 


"Exactly! And get this: in his version, Runge called it an almond 
tree." 


"...This is all interesting, but it's far from disproved the other theory. 
Maybe Runge wrote his version while in Unterbourg." 


"| thought you might say that, so | did some more research. 
Remember that classification, ATU seven twenty? While it's not the 
most popular classification there are some other tales like the 
Juniper Tree. In fact, there's a tale almost exactly like it first 
recorded by Joseph Jacobs." 


"What are you getting at?" 


"Joseph Jacobs was English, so his version of the story is different 
in a few ways, such as the gender of the children and the method of 
decapitation—" 


"Decapitation? Just how dark is this fairy tale?" 


"Very, it's fantastic. But the difference that we should be concerned 
with is the tree. He called ita Rose-tree. And tell me, Dr. Davis, 
when was the last time you saw roses on a tree?" 


"... You're right. The anomaly came before the story. It doesn't mean 
all of them are like that, but it does set a baseline. We need to 
include this in our report." 


"Davis and David: solving the mysteries of Nexus forty-three one 
anomaly at a time." 


She smirked. "That's still not a thing.” 


"What? | put you first this time!" 


Dammit dammit dammit. I've just started cutting them off 

and throwing them into the soup so it's easier to get rid of 
all at once. I'm thinking of saving a small sample for later 
analasys analayss analysis 


My entire arm is one giant, soupy lump. And it's rotting. 
Too many waste products. | gotta agitate it somehow. | 
tried the egg beater, and that seems to be working well. 
For now. 


The entire left side of my body is stem cells. They're 
useless, but | seem to have full brain function. Got to 
agitate it constantly, maybe | should just stick it all in that 
big cell reactor. 


| tried cutting off my arm, or what's left of it. It ate the 
knife. | can feel it cutting through a second esophagus. 


My arm just reconstituted itself. 
So much blood. Too many toes. 


Footnotes 
1. Dr. Farrow uses this term repeatedly in his notes to refer to the 
stem cells he had been using to treat himself. 


« SCP-826 | SCP-827 | SCP-828 » 


Davis fell silent, deep in thought. 

"Davis? You ok?" 

"I'm realizing the ramifications of what we saw. The tree was there, 
and then it wasn't. And since Joseph Jacobs wrote about it in 
England..." 


"...Oh shit, it could be anywhere. And the bird... is the story 
repeating itself?” 


Davis looked up, determined. "We need to find that tree." 


Deranged Ditties 


Jack "PoorYoric" Duckins walked past the containment cell of SCP- 
Eleventy-Six, nodded to the empty air, and continued on his way. 
Precisely three-point-four seconds later, he zipped back, his eyes 
stretching out and his beak opening wide in alarm. "Containment 
breach!" he quacked. "Emergency! Alarums and excursions! HALP!" 


Instantly, Dmitri Arkadeyevich Strelnicock and a squad of Russian 
bears ran down the hallway. And up the hallway. And partway up the 
stairway, before they remembered why they ran there in the first 
place, and returned to the door. Strelnicock pulled out a spatula and 
scraped Yoric from the floor. "Comrade! Where is there being fire?" 


Yoric placed his thumb-feather into his mouth and re-inflated 
himself, popping back out. "SCP-Eleventy-Six has escaped!" 


"Eleventy-Six! Oh no! That's terrible! Sound alarm! Load weapons! 
Kill chickens!" the rooster crowed, then paused. "What is Eleventy- 
Six? Is that vending machine? Has vending machine escaped?" 


"No," the duck replied. "Even worse. It's the whatsit!" 
"Not whatsit!" Strelnicock said. "We must tell the administrator!" 
"To the administrator's office," said Yoric. 


They hurried up the stairs, barreling through the doors to the 
administrator's anteroom. A bored secretary snapped her gum, and 
said, "Appointment?" 


"No time for appointments!" Strelnicock bellowed. 
"Can't get in without an appointment," the secretary said. 


"Break, Karrin, baby, is me! Is Strelnicock! You will be letting me in 
for see administrator, da?" the rooster pleaded. 


"Can't do that,” she said, not looking up from her issue of Guns and 
Ammo. "Rules." 


"Then | will take matters into own wings!" He started to run past the 
desk, only to be stopped by two precisely-aimed bullets to his 
kneecaps. "Cock-a-doodle-dammit!" he cried.