The director's eyes were now curiously dry as he skimmed through 
the contents of each email. Many could be deleted after simply 
reading the subject line, but some of them were more misleading. 
Delete. Delete. Delete. Oh, yes, | know how important ergonomics 
are, thank you HR. Delete. Delete. Delete. The next email was from 
a project coordinator named Chad, who worked at the Connecticut 
office thousands of miles away. The subject line had seemed very 
promising. 


"Oh Chad," Jonasson said to no one in particular. "| was considering 
sending a reply, until you mentioned 'core competencies’. | no longer 


wish to ‘touch base’ with you, I'm afraid." 


The mouse pointer hovered over the "delete" option. Jonasson could 
hear voices from somewhere outside his office. Somebody sounded 
very upset. 


"Slette," said the project director, the word barely a whisper as his 
eyes began to water again. 


Click. 


when he arrives 
the lighthouse will be deserted 
and he will crash upon the rocks 


« Hub | And He Will Crash Upon the Rocks » 


And He Will Crash Upon The Rocks 


It is often said that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. 
There is truth to that statement, to be sure, though it differs from the 
frenetic memory slideshow people envision their brain playing in the 
moments before or during their demise. In death, your life 
experiences are not confined to the substantially limited two anda 
half petabytes or so of memory your brain offers. Your life "flashes 
before your eyes" because you are suddenly gifted with the ability to 
recall everything you've ever seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and 
touched, now that you are unburdened with the heavy responsibility 
of life and its severe limitations. This is when you learn the 
difference between knowing, and Knowing, between knowledge and 
Knowledge. You become Light; a beacon in the darkness, a possible 
courier for a Child who sleeps and dreams of your existence. You 
will become a Messenger for the Child, or you can forsake that role 
as | did. 


That is why | still Knew dread when | came back to my Home, 
though | had witnessed the birth and death of many stars since | last 
visited. Memories had become Knowledge which could not fade or 
be forgotten, and | had no one to blame but myself for straying close 
enough to Know the shrieking, writhing call of Broken Light. | spent 
countless eons of existence as a Stray, ignoring and fleeing the pull 
of the Child and my supposed purpose, but | was always powerless 
when it came to Broken Light; Light that has been shattered or 
twisted through unnatural means. | imagine that compulsive force 
was a purposeful failsafe from the Child itself; a gift to its 
philanthropic Messengers and a bane to Strays like me, a reminder 
that | was never truly in control of my fate. We were all drawn 
towards that which needed to be fixed, to be healed. 


KAHHH!!! KAHHH!!! KAHHHI!! 


Home loomed in front of me; my place of origin, a dead world | had 


vowed | would never return to. | could not relieve myself of Knowing 
what had brought me here, but now | could at least prioritize the 
Knowledge of Home over the Knowledge of my irksome situation. 
There was no longer anything or anyone to Know here; even the 
Angels had fled at some point in time, though their unique brand of 
stubbornness likely kept them in place for far longer than could be 
considered sensible. Not that | would have ever considered them to 
have anything resembling sensibility. | wondered when the first 
cracks in their solidarity appeared. Did they stay to the very end? 
Did they understand they'd been lying to themselves all this time? | 
doubted | would receive answers to my questions, and the pull was 
too strong now for me to linger. | would have to continue my 
pondering below. 


| descended to the surface, passing through what used to be an 
atmosphere, beckoned by the continuous shriek below as | steeled 
myself to become a tool of the Child and fix what was broken. A 
landscape of empty, sun-scorched earth confronted me. This corner 
of the galaxy might have been withering away and losing its tether to 
reality, but some other calamity was certainly responsible for 
cleansing my old Home of humanity. Whatever it might have been, it 
likely left as quickly as it first arrived, indifferent to the extraordinary 
circumstances that must have put it on its collision path with my 
Home. The pulsing shriek continued below me as | descended 
further beneath the rotted crust, my Light passing through matter 
which did nothing to impede my unwanted quest. 


KAH!! KAH!! KALLL!!! 


As | reached the origin of the gibbering squeals and spikes of 
distress that had compelled me back Home, | concentrated on my 
own Light. The last time | became corporeal was also the last time | 
had visited Home, and the effort | exerted back then had saved my 
Light as well as the Light of countless others. There was no reason 
not to take the same precaution now, and the sudden disorienting 
mixture of distorted Knowledge signified that | could now safely 
interact with the Broken Light | was nearing, and whatever may have 
caused it. | adjusted my senses, rusty with disuse, as | set foot ona 
floor for the first time in a very, very long while. 


The scene before me brought the memory of my last visit Home to 


its immediate surroundings, and not for malevolent reasons. 


SCP-598 is not a physical organism- it does not move, grow, eat, 
sleep, or excrete waste, so it is not technically alive. Any color- 
accurate copy of SCP-598, reproduced by any means including 
computer, video recording or mirrors, will become SCP-598. 


An interesting phenomena occurs whenever any short-wave radio is 
within 4 meters of SCP-598. They will begin to pick up a previously 
out-of-range station which will broadcast different noises. 


As of yet, the following have been recorded: 


¢ Wolf-like howling 

¢ Whale song 

¢ Frogs croaking, punctuated by insect sounds 

¢ Low humming of unknown origin 

* High-pitched chirping noises, revealed to be bat noises 
brought into human hearing frequencies 


SCP-598 does not seem to know where these noises originate, yet 
enjoys a radio placed in the room and tuned to this frequency. The 
noises change at random, and go on for hours at a time. 


Addendum: 


It has been suggested by Dr. that a sample of SCP-598 be 
introduced to SCP-085. Pending approval by overseers and all 
involved parties. 


« SCP-597 | SCP-598 | SCP-599 » 


mind: it was another massacre. At least that bastard Kuhn had kept 
the Light he stole mostly intact. Whatever was responsible for this 
new atrocity could boast no such precision. The room | found myself 
standing in looked like a children's playground had been clumsily 
combined with a high school science lab and a landslide. Rubble 
had claimed large sections of what obviously had been a laboratory, 
and playground equipment was haphazardly strewn about, much of 
it bent and broken. Broken Light glittered and screamed from every 
visible piece of metal from the former schoolyard fixtures, mewling at 
me like an angry, injured kitten. So this was why | was here. 


Kah! Kall! Kall!! 


Clarity provided itself to me as | continued to concentrate on 
shielding my Light with my corporeal form, while | walked from each 
piece of equipment, touching it, and attempting to Know it. This was 
different from Kuhn; this was self inflicted. Someone had broken 
their own Light, and it now littered the room in the form of destroyed 
playground equipment, like grey matter from a shotgun suicide. 


| could not make sense of the chaos. | could not Know anything. 
Why playground equipment? Why in this laboratory? Why and how 
did someone break their own Light? 


Chael! 


The shock of sensing that name did not prevent me from noticing 
the shrieks and spikes had stopped. The Broken Light was speaking 
to me. The voice came from all directions at once. 


Is that your name? Chael? I'm not sure how | knew it, it just seemed 
right. 


What was happening here? In my immeasurable time as a Stray | 
had seen stars shatter, worlds unfold, civilizations rise and fall and 
rise and fall again, but never had | encountered Broken Light that 
could speak, or Know my name for that matter. This was not the 
corpse of a Messenger, or another Stray; this was a mutant, a Light 
that never should have been. 


Can you hear me? 


The only way | could communicate, even in corporeal form, was to 
let my Light into the Light of another. But Broken Light? There was a 
reason | was shielding myself from it. | wasn't some foolish 
Messenger; | was not looking to meet new and different things with 
sickening enthusiasm. 


| think you can hear me. This way. 


My concerns were starting to lose priority as | searched for the 
source of the voice, which was no longer coming from all around 
me. Anxious confusion was turning into curiosity. 


Here, Chael. I'm here. 


It came from the half-crushed frame of a swing set that had begun 
its slow descent into disintegration quite some time ago. | 
approached it as the caution | usually wielded like a shield was 
slowly drained from me. This was definitely not normal Broken Light. 


I'm glad you came. 


| was glad too. As | let my Light into the talking swing set, memories 
that were not my own invaded my corporeal senses, becoming 
Knowledge. At first, they trickled in like a stream, but soon | was 
swimming in a newly formed ocean, gasping for breath as | decided 
whether to sink or swim. 

| haven't been glad for a very long time. 


Slowly | sank to the bottom, watching as bubbles passed me by. 
Lazily, | reached out to touch one. 


| can tell you about it. 


Okay, but we do not have much time left. 


when your toes can finally reach the trees 
be sure to bring your mind along with them 


« Prologue: Your Dream Is Not Terribly Marketable | Hub | 


Origin: One Day Your Toes May Reach the Trees » 


Origin: One Day Your Toes May Reach The Trees 


"Ha, yes! Finally!" 
"What you talking about, Mommy?" 


Zeb Rafferty carefully buckled himself into the car seat in the back of 
his mother's mid-size SUV. He waited patiently for an answer, but 
his mother was too preoccupied with her game of Cookie Craze to 
acknowledge him at first. 


"What happened, Mommy?" 


"Nothing. Don't worry about it," was her terse reply. Still staring at 
her phone screen, Rachael Rafferty turned the key in the ignition 
and the engine rumbled to life. The look of annoyance on her face 
softened as she dropped the phone into her purse on the passenger 
seat. She turned to look at her son. 


"Did you have fun at the park, Zeb?" she asked, sounding almost 
too concerned. 


Zeb responded excitedly. "Yeah! | went on the slides, and then | 
swinged for a long time 'cause the swings are my favorite. | made a 
new friend too!" 


"That's good. What's your new friend's name?" Rachael asked as 
she pulled out of the parking space, stopping just in time to prevent 
a collision with a sedan she hadn't noticed at first. 


"His name is Daniel! He lives in Demmerk!" The giddiness in 
Zebulon's voice was fueled by the rare occasion to continue a 
conversation with his mother. 


"Where the heck is Demmerk?" Rachael asked. She seemed to 
recognize the annoyance that had crept into her voice again as she 


executed her fifth rolling stop of the day. "Is he just visiting?" 


"Daniel tolded me Demmerk is in Yurp. He is not visiting, he lives in 
Demmerk right now." 


"Daniel to/d you, not to/ded you." It drove Rachael nuts that Zeb 
hadn't learned that yet. "How can he be in Demmerk and Rochester 
at the same time? Were you talking to him on a phone, Zebby?" 


"No, he tolded me he is not really here." 


"Ugh, Zeb, are you messing with me? He fold you, not to/ded. And 
what do you mean he's not really here? Is he an imaginary friend?" 
A car honked as she went straight from the lane designated for right 
turns. Zeb could hear his mother chide herself quietly for the error. 


"No Mommy, he is not 'maginary. Daniel tolded me he lives in 
Demmerk but he could see and talk to me. | ask him how he do that 
but he don't know," Zeb pleaded. He was already subconsciously 
preparing for some level of condescension. 


His mother surprised him. "It's okay, Zebby." Rachael sighed, 
oblivious to the green arrow signifying it was time to turn left. 
Another car honked. "There's nothing wrong with having an 
imaginary friend. And remember it's to/d, not to/lded." 


"He is not 'maginary. Daniel tolded...told me he is thirty-nine years 
old and he is very sad." 


"Oh Zebby, | told you about talking to strangers at the park! You're 
lucky the guy didn't snatch you up and throw you in a van. You 
should be smarter than that!" The look on her face in the rear view 
mirror told Zeb that she regretted her words, but he spoke before 
she could say anything else. 


"He is not a guy, Mommy! He is a swing! Swings can't snatch you, 
can they, Mommy?" 


Zeb could see her processing his words before she responded, as 
their SUV cheerfully continued to ignore the speed limit. "A swing? 
What do you mean he's a swing?" 


"When | swinging it talked to me, but not in my ears, in my head. It 
tolded me to call him Daniel. Daniel was sad and he tolded me that 
he lives in Demmark and sometimes he can see other places." Zeb 
waited for his mother to question him again, but now she was silent. 
He continued, "He tolded me that | look like a very nice boy and he 
asked me how many years | old. | tolded him | four and Daniel asked 
if | like swings a lot. | tolded him | looooove swings so much and 
they are my favorite ‘cause you can be up high and try to kick 
leaves, but | not a big boy yet so | can't kick leaves." Zeb looked 
down at his small feet and sighed. A car honked angrily somewhere 
close by. 


Rachael surprised him again with her next question. "What else did 
Daniel talk about?" 


Zeb happily continued, "| asked Daniel why he is sad and he tolded 
me he is sad ‘cause he did bad things and it made him alone. Daniel 
likes playgrounds but they make him be sad sometimes. | sad for 
Daniel and | wanted to make him be happy. | tolded him jokes and 
he liked them. He tolded me they were very funny, but he doesn't 
laugh. | asked Daniel if he had a mommy and daddy, but he doesn't 
anymore. He only has a wife but she is not his wife anymore and 
she is far away. He had a big company too but he lost it. | wanted to 
talk to Daniel more but | sawed my watch and it time to go." Zeb 
proudly held up his wrist to look at the small watch his uncle Derek 
had given him for his 4th birthday. Various cartoon characters 
decorated the red plastic. 


Rachael took a few slow breaths. A sudden bump startled her; the 
SUV had nicked the curb as she pulled into their driveway. The 
garage door opened automatically, and she brought the vehicle to a 
stop inside the garage, for once not hitting the lawnmower. She 
turned off the ignition and turned around to look at her son. 


"That's a very interesting story, Zeb. Though..." Rachael paused as 
if to consider her next words. "Maybe next time we go to the park 
you can try talking to the other kids there." 


Rachael opened the driver side door and stepped out of the SUV. 
She double checked that her phone was secure in the proper pocket 
of her purse, then looked at Zeb in the back seat again. "I just think 


it's time you made some real friends, Zebby. | bet your father 
probably feels the same."