"Refining the piece? Adding new notes? Some frilly extra stuff? | 
don't know, | was never good at music. Bottom line is they haven't 
added new pages, but they're still working just as hard as they 
would if they had been adding new pages." 


"So what would you do if you were in my position?" 

"I'd stop testing. | believe the piece may be close to completion." 
"What would make you say that?" he asks. 

"I... [don't know, sir." 


"Think about it for a while," he says before leaving the researcher 
alone in the room. 


The young researcher logs into the database from her Foundation- 
issued laptop with a plan. Her fingers fly over the keys while her 
eyes dart around the screen, looking for where she left off in her 
research. Most of the videos are uneventful aside from the 
grotesque test run back in 1973, which ran until the subject passed 
out from blood loss. This resulted in all testing with SCP-012 being 
suspended until three years ago, when Dr. Pherson's request to 


resume testing was approved on the grounds of seeing if an object's 
compulsive effect could be exhausted. Looking back two years, the 
average number of pages added during tests was around 15, with 
two D-Class managing to pull together a whopping 45 in an hour 
and a half long test run barely over a year ago. Then all of a sudden 
it just... stopped. No new pages have been added since, but the 
tests did become more frenzied, with more blood loss noted. 


"This doesn't make any sense," she mutters, while traveling farther 
back into SCP-012's history at the Foundation. She tries everything 
she can think of to track what could have possibly changed. But 
nothing comes to her. She sighs in defeat, looking at her laptop 
screen one more time. 


"Having trouble, Emma?" asks her supervisor. 
"Yeah," she says. 

"| take it all this mess is your notes on 012?" 
"Bingo." 

"Impressive. So what do you know about it?" 


"Well these papers graph the the average number of pages added 
over three tests, and the ones you're holding are transcripts of the 
last four tests run where new pages were added, and | think | 
have..." she begins rambling. 


"We already had all of these done. In the viewing chamber, you said 
you think the piece is nearing completion. Why?" He asks, while 
dropping pages in the recycling bin. 


"I still don't know," she says, looking at the nearly full recycling bin 
and the piles of paper still littering the room. 


"So what have you done?" 


"I've looked at everything. The statistics, the transcripts... everything 
we've written about it since it came to the Foundation." 


"Why did you cut off there?" He asks. 


"Does anything before even matter?" 


"It does if you want to know about the nature of the object," he says, 
looking around the room before walking out without saying another 
word. 


She sighs and looks back at her laptop, clearly not done with her 
research yet. The documents leave her more confused than before, 
and she's ready to give up. 


"Just one more. One more then you're done," she says to herself, 
taking a sip of her coffee. 


One last document. The journal of K.M Sandoval, the man who 
found SCP-012 way back in 1966. 


upon these giants’ eternal repose? 


8 November 1: 


It is difficult to describe the devastation here.! The Birthplace of 
in utter ruin from the overflowing banks of the Arno River on 4 N 
through the city, fouling all in its path weren't enough, heating o 
the onslaught and spilled their contents into the deluge. It is this 
churches like an army of barbarians, destroying countless artifa 
cut off for most of the city, and even hospital generators have fé 


It is our duty to save the heritage for mankind that rests here. M 
treasures remain scattered throughout the city. The National Ce 
terribly—I cannot imagine how many thousands of medieval wo 
will seek whatever can be salvaged from the Basilica of Santa C 
underneath lie the tombs of so many of Italy's great men. Who t 


9 November 1! 


They are calling us the Mud Angels. 


We are trickling in, from around the world, trying to save the ma 
Italians that are here, but Frenchmen, Germans, British, even a 
each day. We are staying with locals, and despite the stress we 
Power has yet to be restored. The street lights are unlit. City off 


week. 


Staying with me in my room are two other Americans, Andersor 
together back in the States. They say that they're going to clear 
salvaged. They've already offered to help me clear out Santa C 


The streets are so dark. The moon wanes rapidly, and the stars 
this, and no one would notice. More popular than Jesus? Could 
the Creator. 


10 November 1 


The water reached four and a half meters inside the Basilica of 
oily water rushed into the church. The altar was shattered. Mich 
tomb took significant damage. The waters have receded, but mi 
loosened and shifted the stones beneath our feet. Even the gral 


| helped other workers pull out the crucifix, take it outside to dry 
marble that had been dislodged. It looked like the mud descend 
European churches like this. More than anyone ever remember 
there. | keep feeling tempted to go back at night. When no one’: 
electricity, no streetlights. And the mud is so black. 


11 November 1 


| did it. 
| could no longer wait. 


Anderson and Spitzer were complaining about some quarto tha 
new methods of drying out and removing mud from texts. It was 
Walking the abandoned streets, my wanderings took me back t 


The night could not be more dark. It was the night of the new m 
far away. Even if anyone else had bothered to roam these sodd 
night's shadows. Nevertheless, | crept into the Basilica, felt for t 


Beneath, a waterlogged wooden staircase descended into a cry 
slid down into the slick, inky depths, turned on my flashlight, an 


The force of the flood had shattered the sole weak sandstone s: 
inceremoniously against the wall, his long-decayed remains des 


fellow was seems to have been lost to time and the flood, but he 
smashed and fouled beyond repair, was sunk in the mire, but h 
with it. They are covered in the ubiquitous mud, but they may st 
them from their impartial reburial. 


The stars must know what | am doing, and know that it is right, - 


12 November 1 


Sometimes, the task set before us seems impossible. And yet, \ 
shadows in our minds and hearts, and we toil anew. 


Having discovered our late composer's works, | knew | had to fi 
to my roommates and they show me what they are doing in the 
the Library, they have laid out tome upon tome of soiled works, 
evaporate from each book and then carefully brush away any di 
is slow, painstaking work. 


The two sets of papers, | place to join the rows. The first is in ak 
read again. However, after hanging the first few pages on a line 
bottom. I'm not sure what it means, but the author said that // M 
once his commission is finished. 


The second papers aren't paper after all, but vellum — calfskin. 
parchment and vellum quickly warp in damp conditions. He take 
between wood panels. Hopefully, they will be in condition to be 
completely that | could barely make out a title... 


13 November 1 


Sul Golgota. 


Italian. On Mount Golgotha. Although | cannot be certain, it look 
our Lord as he suffered on the cross. That crucifix is fouled, pai 
thoughtless nature. It will be returned to its rightful place of wors 


| am spending the day resting. Santa Croce is being cleaned, bt 
purview of the shovelers. We, the Mud Angels, work elsewhere. 


This mud is everywhere, and we can't even wash it off, really. 


I'm going to check in the drying room. The symphony... someth 
It's not ready yet. Still too moist. 
Golgotha. 


Our Lord was not the only one crucified that day. Two thieves w 
felt honor in dying with his God. Gestas, the Impenitent One, de 
punishment. Both died on their crosses. What happened to thei 


It must be music. Life and death codified in sound where words 


Close to sundown. Dusk has become my most active time. Eve: 
provides, and | start using the light of the wandering stars in the 
the blossoming of orchestras. 


I'm going to check in the drying room. 


14 November 1 


Seven trumpets. Twelve apostles. 7/12 meter. That is the core « 
horns. That is eighteen. Thrice six. 


There was a fire last night in Spitzer's vellum room. He used so 
he had to finish it. The stars’ light does not penetrate into Spitze 
could not see that page anymore by night. 


He promised me that On Mount Golgotha is unharmed. He kno\ 
is to complete. He says he knows just how. | do not think he is t 
we should finish it together. He stopped, looked over to Anders« 
containment. 


All for the best. We still do not have adequate water. The suppli 
and so | still feel the stain of all the foul earth upon me. All this t 
hymns to our Lord. 


| must prepare. If | cannot commit it to vellum, | will commit the : 
Anderson doesn't trust Spitzer. He's leaving to check on him no 


| don't trust Anderson. 


15 November 1 


Panic. Chaos. 
Opportunity. 


Anderson paces back and forth. He keeps speaking into his rec 
sits and whirs. Mentions how Spitzer is descending into madne:s 
the sacristy to our Lord. He keeps talking about how Spitzer mu 
correct him. There is no quarto. A vellum quarto, whoever hearc 


Spitzer is handcuffed to the bed. A huge, bloody gauze bandag 
pills to swallow, but Spitzer expectorates them when given half: 
he hums to himself and gesticulates into the air. He — 


He has seen the fullness of the page. He hears the blessed syn 
thought that he sees the beyond, hears the clashing symphony, 
service to Him! Does he hold the insight into the Hymn of Hymn 


Anderson just rushed outside, frightful, shouting demands to kn 
fears Spitzer's enlightenment so much he has not seen it rise in 


And again Spitzer ejected me from his vellum room. How does | 
Whatever it's called, he knows enough of it to block me and knc 
No matter. | am still too unclean from my expeditions. 


Can they not see our Lord is dismembered? Tossed to the 
they are thieves! 


SULGOLG 
SLGOLOG 
SLGOLAG 
SLGALAG'! 
STGALAG'! 
STGALAG: 
STGALAG. 
STALAGAI| 


16 November 1 


SCP-689: Haunter in the Dark 


Item #: SCP-689 
Object Class: Keter 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-689 is to be contained in a 
large concrete chamber equipped with high-intensity sodium iodide 
lights. These lights must be wired to separate redundant circuits 
such that SCP-689 is brightly illuminated at all times. 


At least three personnel must be on duty at all times within the 
containment facility: two Class D inside the chamber and one Level 
2 or higher at the operator's station outside the chamber. The 
operator must either be completely blind or be fitted with a visored 
helmet sufficient to block all vision, which must not be removed for 
the duration of his shift. Under absolutely no circumstances is the 
operator to look into the chamber. The Class D observers must 
between them keep SCP-689 in view at all times without exception. 
Blinking, etc. is allowed as normal but there must be at least one set 
of eyes focused on SCP-689 at all times. If the lights go out inside 
the chamber at any time for any reason or if there is any interruption 
in observation, all currently extant personnel who have seen 
SCP-689 must be executed without delay. It is recommended that 
they be fitted with remotely activated kill devices triggerable from the 
containment control room. 


If SCP-689 is known to have left the chamber at any time, retrieval 
teams consisting of blind or visored personnel equipped with 
echolocators along with Class D observers must be dispatched to 
the location of all personnel who have previously viewed SCP-689. 
Retrieval teams will establish an immediate perimeter and cover the 
object before returning it to the chamber as quickly as possible. 
While SCP-6839 is in transit, the Class D observers will stand under 
the covering and keep it in view at all times. Any Level 1 or below 
personnel who have seen SCP-689 as a result of a containment 
breach are to be terminated immediately. Higher clearance 


Spitzer is dead. He could not finish it. 


Anderson records the event in the next room. He paces like a c 
popping his pills, rambles about "memetic hazards" and amnesi 
numbers and word salad! How he descended to madness this c 


But no matter. Even those stars that have lit my path these last 
with a reddish flare before the might of our Lord.3 They turned t 
black filth that cakes me. No more mud. No more ink. Now, | an 
my being. 


Our Lord bled for us. Take, drink. It is only fitting that we give ot 
symphony. | now finish what | have uncovered. 


I am unworthy. I cannot finish it. 


Footnotes 

1. On the night of 3-4 November 1966, heavy rains caused the Arno 
River to swell greatly past its regular size, resulting in the Great 
Florence Flood of 1966. 

2. John Lennon famously claimed the Beatles were more popular 
than Jesus in March 1966, resulting in protests and boycotts of 
Beatles music. Also, according to the "Paul is dead" conspiracy 
theory, Paul McCartney was killed in a car accident the night of 9 
November 1966, and replaced with an impostor. Foundation 
conspiracy researchers have proven this has not occurred. As of 1 
September 2015, Paul McCartney is still alive. 

3. The Great Leonid Shower of 1966 occurred the night of 
November 16. However, the bulk of the meteor shower fell over the 
Americas, and not over Europe. The origin of the meteor shower 
over Florence is not confirmed. 


Bigger Than Jesus 


« The Journal of K. M. Sandoval | Hub | A Convincing Lyre » 


"Hello, young lady. What brings you here?" 


Emma narrowed her eyes slightly at the man before her. The old 
man. Had to be in his eighties. He sat at a weathered metal desk, 
with a dusty, barely-touched old desktop. It still used a CRT screen, 
even. Really, now, "young lady"? | have every right to be here, just 
like you. You're lucky you're so ancient. You probably don't know 
better. Ah, well, I'd better make a good impression anyway. She 
smiled and responded, "I'm Junior Researcher Emma Stark. And 
you are?" 


"Anderson. Roger Anderson. Welcome to the salt mines." 


Long-Term Archives was, in fact, a former salt mine. The bored-out 
crystalline walls served to maintain clean air with low humidity— 
perfect for document storage. The irregular texture of the walls 
made for a soothing counterbalance to the antiseptic straightness of 
the walls in the rest of the facility. "Thanks. I'm looking for a file that 
didn't make it into the 2003 database upgrade. I'm pretty sure it's still 
just in paper." 


"Yes, here's where it'll be. Do you have a file number?" 
"A designation. It should be SCP-1969-EX." 


Roger narrowed his eyes. A wry grin twisted across his furrowed 
mouth. "Interesting choice. Business or pleasure?" 


Emma blinked and looked at Roger with a start. "What? Business. 
You get requests for otherwise down here?" 


Roger leered slightly. "On occasion. We're strictly business down 
here. But the story of Paul's death always piques interest." 


"Yes, but McCartney didn't die. He's still alive." 


"Mmhm. But back then, it didn't seem so cut and dried as all that. 
But yes, he's conclusively alive, and that's why the SCP is 
Explained. You're right, it never got into the database. When it was 
concluded that nothing happened, they just stamped and closed the 
file, and no one bothered to upload it to take up space pretending it 
was an anomaly." He didn't even look at his computer or files. "Aisle 
22, Box 431. Four rows to the right. Show your credentials at the 
door. And we've got cameras down there, so don't go snooping in 
other boxes. And don't forget your latex gloves."