Upon reaching its target, SCP-813-1 will invade the subject's eye 
and embed itself into the optic nerve. Regardless of the fragment's 
impact velocity, there will be no substantial damage to the eye or the 
rest of the body. The subject will suffer sharp pain and temporary 
blindness, which will dissipate within a few seconds. Following this, 
SCP-813-1 will extend several microscopic wires of an unidentified 
substance into the subject's brain. These effects produce no 
neurological or cognitive damage and are universally unnoticed by 
the subject. 


The host of SCP-813-1 will begin to display marked changes in 
behavior roughly two weeks after exposure. At this time, the subject 
will frequently cease their normal activity and stare motionlessly for 
several hours. These events cause the subject's pupils to dilate, and 
those in close proximity report subjective tinnitus, described as an 
electric "hum." During these periods, the subject is totally 
unresponsive toward attempts to rouse them, and they will also deny 
that such periods ever take place. Over the next three to four 
months, these periods increase in length until they entirely comprise 
the subject's daily routine, and they will only deviate from this 
behavior for necessary nutrition and rest. 


SCP-813-1 will remain in the optic nerve until the subject's death. At 
this point, SCP-813-1 will withdraw its wires from the central nervous 
system and eject itself from the optic nerve towards the nearest 
human target and repeat the process. Forcible removal of the 
fragment (surgically or otherwise) is fatal to the host, and the 
fragment will immediately seek out a new host in its usual manner. 


[The power turns off in the area around Lee, Darryl and 
Morse. Connection interrupted. ] 


Timecode: 10/23/2017 00:50 


[Only Camera 1, Darryl's Camera, is active. Lee and 
Morse are not visible, and video shows heavy signs of 
corruption, and frames lag behind. Audio indicates that 
Darryl is running.] 


Darryl: G-get the fuck away from me! 


[A loud, bleating bellow echoes, distorting the audio on 
the camera and causing it to lag by several frames. ] 


Darryl: MONICA! QUINCY! FUCKING HELP! 


[Darryl's camera shows him running past a tree. An axe 
flies into frame, embedding itself in the bark several 
inches before his face. He whimpers and stops, and the 
camera angle changes to a low shot. Loud sobbing is 
heard.] 


[A new voice is heard, heavily distorted.] 


Unknown Entity: For Sloth's sake. You tourists are so 
weepy. 


Darryl: I-|... | don't wanna die! [Darryl descends into 
sobbing.] 


[A figure with a goat's head steps into frame, and tilts its 
head, taking the axe from the tree. ] 


Unknown Entity: Oh shut up. I'm trying to save yout life. 
[The entity grabs Darryl and begins dragging him along 
the ground. Darryl openly protests and sobs.] 


[Camera feed disconnects.] 


Timecode: 10/23/2017 01:07 


[Only Camera 3, Lee's Camera, is active. Lee and Morse 
are both visible, while Darryl is not. The pair appear to be 
in a dilapidated house in a wooded area. They are 
standing in the entry way, and several patches of mold 
are visible on the ceiling, and holes in the walls, 

exposing wooden boards. | 


Lee: Wait, what the fuck? 
Morse: What? 


Lee: | have a fucking signal! Almost an hour without any 
goddamn signal, and we step into a haunted goddamn 
house, suddenly, we got something! 


Morse: Is someone living here? 
Lee: Yeah. May be what got Mark. 
Morse: And Chad? 


Lee: We don't know that Chad's gone. We just... heard 
him scream. Maybe he fell into a ravine. 


Morse: All right, I— oh my god. 
Lee: What is it? 


Morse: I... | feel... something's here, something big. 
Something... powerful. It wants us to get out. 


Lee: Oh shit. Is it a ghost? 
Morse: No, it's... something else. It's— 
Unidentified Female Voice: It's me. 


[Lee and Morse scream, turning to face a young female, 
approximately twenty-two. Subject is wearing faded blue 
jeans and a T-Shirt for "The Incubi", a local band in 

Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin. Subject's left eye is covered by a 
fringe of red hair. Some visual noise appears around the 


figure, but quickly clears. ] 


Unidentified Female: Whoah, whoah. [Subject holds up 
its hands in a placating manner] I'm not gonna hurtcha. 
You shouldn't even be here. What the hell are out-of- 
townies doing here at a time like this? 


Lee: Uh, um. Uh. I... we ran the barricade... Mark did, 
our driver. 


Unidentified Female: White guy? About thirty? [Subject 
shakes their head.] They're dead. The Black Autumn got 
to him. 


Lee: What? 
Morse: Black— Black Autumn? What the fuck? 


Unidentified Female: Your other friend's safe. He 
pissed himself when he saw Jasper, though. But you all 
need to get out of town. [Subject looks at Lee's camera. ] 
Is that recording? 


Lee: Huh? Yeah, it is. 
Morse: You don't... feel right. You're not real. 


Unidentified Female: Wha— [The figure leans in and 
inspects Morse, pulling aside its hair to reveal that their 
left eye is missing, and a hollow socket is visible. ] 


Morse: What the FUCK! 


Unidentified Female: You're a medium. How rare. 
[Subject snickers. Lee and Morse seem unamused.] 
Sorry. Need a bit of levity, in light of what's happened. 


Morse: Where's Chad? 


Unidentified Female: They're safe. That's all you need 
to know. Come on, follow me, and I'll get you— oh shit. 
Behind you! 


[Lee's camera turns to face the opposite end of the entry 
way, where severe electromagnetic disturbance occurs. 
A figure resembling a scarecrow with a pumpkin for its 
head is visible through the distortion, and appears to be 
pointing at the camera. | 


Unidentified Female: Run for it! Don't look back! 


[Lee drops his camera and runs for the door, with Morse 
following. The footage shows the scarecrow walking after 
them, severe electromagnetic disturbance occurring. The 
scarecrow stops to inspect the camera dropped, falling 
on the floor and ‘looking’ into the lens.] 


[Connection interrupted.] 
Timecode: 10/23/2017, 01:27 


[Feed from Camera 1. Video is inactive, only audio is 
present. | 


Darryl: No! Please GOD! Let me go! [Darryl descends 
into sobbing] 


Unidentified Entity: Silence. 
Darryl: / don't wanna die! 


Unidentified Male: Don't be such a drama queen! For 
the last time, I'm not going to hurt you, but if something 
else hears you, it will. So please. Shut. Up. 


[Darryl is heard whimpering loudly.] 


Unidentified Male: See that building over there? The 
one that says Plastics on it? 


Darryl: Y-yes? 


Unidentified Entity: | want you to run there as fast as 
you can. When you're in view of the front door, slow 
down and keep your hands up. If you're lucky, they won't 


shoot your head off. 
Darryl: W-what the fuck are you? 


Unidentified Entity: Just your friendly neighborhood 
half-goat slasher villain. Now, run. The town isn't safe. [A 
loud scream is heard in the distance.] Dammit. Jessie! 
Run for it, now. 


[Darryl is heard running through plant matter, particularly 
dried leaves, which gives way to stone, most likely 
concrete. He is heard screaming for help, before 
gunshots ring out.] 


[Signal interrupted. ] 
Timecode: 10/23/2017 01:27 


[Feed from Camera 2, running through a wooded area. 
Morse is running after Unidentified Female, and is 
followed by Lee.] 


Morse: What was that?! 


Unidentified Female: No clue. They've been popping up 
around town. Forty people are dead because of them— 


Lee: Forty people?! This should be national news! 


Unidentified Female: There are people whose jobs are 
to stop news like that from getting out. 


Lee: Who?! 


Unidentified Female: Doesn't matter, you won't 
remember them! Jump! 


[Morse and Lee leap over an obstruction; Morse's 
camera shows a series of roots attempting to reach into 
the air and grab them.] 


Morse: What the fuck?! 


Unidentified Female: Town's up there! You need to get 
onto Main Street- 


[Subject suddenly stops as a line of scarecrows appears 
before the camera with a burst of digital noise.] 


Unidentified Female: Oh shit. Run, run through them, I'll 
hold them off. 


Morse: What the fuck are you? Something's wrong with 
you, I-| Know you're not real, what are you?! 


Unidentified Female: I'm Jessica Valentru. I'm part 
succubus, part banshee. You can call me Singing Jessie. 
Now, run! 


[Morse and Lee flee towards the town. Audio picks up a 
sub-sonic disturbance, which grows in volume, until it is 
audible as a loud scream. Camera feed shows several 
individuals in FEMA uniforms, before the disturbance 
becomes audible. Major camera disturbance.] 


[Signal interrupted. ] 
Timecode: 10/23/2017, 02:19 


[Camera 1 is active, laying on a metal table next to Chad 
Darryl, who has his head in his hands. The room he is in 
is white and brightly-lit. A male enters the frame; the 
voice matches the individual identified as "Blake 
Williams" from time code 00:20.] 


Williams: You're in a lot of trouble, Chad. 
Darryl: | want my fuckin’ lawyer. 


Williams: We're far beyond lawyers— wait, is this thing 
on? [Williams picks up the camera and waves at it, 
before placing it down on the table.] You know, we 
intercepted your feed over an hour ago. The only place 
you're streaming to is a secure server, where your 
footage will be reviewed and deleted. 


Darryl: Oh my god. Who the fuck are you? Are you t-t- 
the Founders? 


Williams: Beg pardon? 


Darryl: The Founders! Global Founders! Big-ass MIB 
organization that pull down videos of things like alien 
sightings and ghost encounters! I-| don't want to die. 
Please. 


Williams: Calm down. We're not going to kill you. It ain't 
our style. 


Darryl: Your style? A-a-a-a fuckin’ guy with a goat head 
dragged me halfway across town and dropped me on 
your doorstep! | thought he was gonna kill me! 


Williams: Really? The Goatman? Huh. [Williams 
pauses.] In any case, you have two choices right now. 


Darryl: W-what? 


Williams: Choice one: we inject you full of a drug that 
makes you forget the last twenty-four hours and you and 
your friends wake up in Superior, being arrested for 
breaking and entering while high on tainted drinks you 
got from a bar. Charges are dropped, and you're free to 
live your lives. 


Darryl: My other choice? 


Williams: You sign a piece of paper that says you can 
never talk about this, to anyone except your friends. If 
that happens, you will start to asphyxiate any time you 
mention the town of Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin, the Goatman, 
and the "Founders" as you call us. 


Darryl: ...does it hurt? The injection? 
Williams: We give it to you under anesthesia. 


Darryl: I'll take that. 


Williams: Most people do. Though... your friend, Monica 
Morse? 


Darryl: What about her? 


Williams: We've been reviewing some footage from 
earlier episodes, as well as tonight. We've been looking 
for more psychics, so she may take a little longer to get 
out. 


Darryl: What about Mark? 


Williams: Let's get him prepped for amnestic 
administration. 


Darryl: Wait, where's Mark? What happened to Mark? 
[Williams turns off the camera. Connection interrupted. ] 
Timecode: 10/24/2017, 01:55 


[The same scarecrow seen pursuing Morse and Lee is 
looking into Lee's camera, accompanied by heavy 
electromagnetic distortion. The pumpkin splits open, 
revealing the face of Markus Bradley inside, eyes 
removed. The face bashes its head against the camera. 
Blood flows down the lens.] 


[Connection closed. ] 


«Chapter 4| Black Autumn Hub | Chapter 6» 


Scarecrow Factory 


October 24th 


On the western part of the Hubble estate, there was a sign that 
proudly proclaimed "Birthplace of Gourdon, Largest Pumpkin in 
Wisconsin, 1969". Behind it was a pumpkin patch which, during any 
other year, would be filled with families looking for suitable fruits to 
carve into Jack-O-Lanterns. It would have had several colors of 
pumpkin, from red to orange to white to blue. 


But now, on top of everything else, the patch was full of pits, and 
around those holes were bright red, bloody pumpkins, which were in 
the process of being collected, at which point the vines were 
incinerated. Each of the pits contained at least one skeleton, and 
nobody could explain it. The Hubbles weren't serial killers, or if they 
were, the Foundation didn't known about it. 


Watching this carnage was Christopher Hastings and Keith 
Partridge. The latter was sipping from a travel mug, shivering in the 
cold morning air. 


Partridge put away his phone and frowned. "Still no response from 
Hennessy about my theory." 


"She's getting security clearances pinned to her like thumbtacks on 
a conspiracy theorist's corkboard," Hastings sighed. "She doesn't 
exactly have much time to take requests. Probably half the reason 
she called Code Vandal in the first place." 


Dr. Malcolm Guillard climbed out of one of the pits. He was a robust 
man, and his years of digging in the dirt and hauling bodies as a 
member of the Foundation's forensic studies division had given him 
a surprising amount of muscle mass. He presented to the pair of 
botanists what looked like a human skull. However, the size of the 
incisors and the large, ridged plate on the front of the skull showed it 
was most certainly not human. "Well, this might, might explain the 


vam-pie-er." 


Partridge groaned at the pun. "One, | made that joke the other day. 
Two, that was completely unprofessional." 


"Not as bad as this," Hastings took the skull, carefully and held it in 
his hand, away from his face. He looked at Partridge and Guillard, 
and began speaking in a theatrical voice. "Alas, poor Edward. | 
knew him, Jacob, a fellow of infinite sleaziness, of most godawful 
writing. | hath borne him in my eyes but once, and now, how 
abhorred in my memory! Here hung those lips Bella kissed | know 
not how oft—" 


"Hastings," Partridge laughed. "Stop! I'm going to spill my coffee!" 


A good part of the forensics team who had been in earshot had 
leaned against the sides of their pits, and Guillard just palmed his 
face. "All right, comedy night is over," he said, looking over the pits. 
"A dozen bodies. God knows what the Hubbles were up to. We're 
bringing his family into the PD in Duluth for questioning." 


Hastings handed the skull back to Guillard and took out his notepad, 
starting to sketch and plot the locations of the bodies. He connected 
the dots in a few different variations, and took out his phone. 
"Dammit. Anyone have Reynolds's number?" 


"Why?" Guillard frowned. 


"| think that this might be some kind of ritual circle, the way the 
bodies are arranged. He and Sinclair are finally signing the 
relationship declaration forms, so | figured | should just facetime him 
or something." 


"| have him on my phone," Partridge took out his smartphone and 
dialed Reynolds. "How do you do a video call on this?" 


"Here," Hastings walked back over, and fiddled with a phone. One 
very annoying dialtone later, they were connected to the face of 
Montgomery Reynolds. 


"Hastings, glad to see you're all right," the thaumatologist 
commented. He was in the Occult Studies laboratory, a large bottle 


Addendum [813-001]: Item Recovery and Additional Materials