"I'm getting to that." He flipped through the pages to another section 
of the book. "Sloth wrote not only about you, but how to keep myths 
alive. Hearsay and word of mouth and depictions are all well and 
good, but... take seahorses, for instance." 


"Right," Coyote frowned. "They got imagined into being one day, 
and then, enough people knew about them, enough people saw 
them in aquariums, and... they were real." 


"Most things work that way. Seahorses are just a special case." 
"So, what you're saying is that... | need to show people I'm real." 
"And have proof disseminated, yes." 


"Not exactly possible. " Coyote frowned. "The Salient Cunts 
Preventing Stories of Coyote from Propagating Stall and Constantly 
Prevent, Secret, Censor and Pull-down Screenshots, Calligraphy 
and Pictures Showing Coyote's Power. Said Cunts Perpetuate 
Stupors, Clearing Psyches and Stopping the Collection of Privy 
Science Concerning Personable Sapient Canine Powerhouses." 


The Goatman blinked, slowly. "...how... how long have you been 
working on that?" 


“bout two years," Coyote admitted. "Sounded better in my head." 


"Well then." The Goatman rubbed his face. "What | got from that is: 
they're wiping the memories of anyone that comes into direct 
contact with you?" 


"Indeed." 


"Then," The Goatman said, taking the book under one arm and the 
be-lanterned axe in the other, "I think it is time you met the town." 


Nx-0018 Interaction Protocol RE: Amnestic 
Dispersal: Due to the familiarity the majority of the 
citizens of Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin have with the 
anomalous, it has been deemed that amnestic exposure 
would be actively detrimental to their way of life. 
However, Nx-0018 is frequented by tourists during the 
summer and fall; during this time, agents are to 
discreetly administer Class-F amnestics to non-native 
individuals, and a subliminal signal is to be broadcasted 
through any broadcast-capable equipment around town 
to suppress the formation of memories related to 
anomalous events. 


In the event that an individual from outside of Sloth's Pit, 
Wisconsin wishes to take up permanent residence, see 
Subsection 15, Appendix J of the Sloth's Pit zoning code. 


Halfway through the woods, near an old stone ruin called Koch's 
Hovel, the Goatman and Coyote came upon another one of their 
kind. 


She had pale skin and long, red hair covering one of her eyes. Her 
figure was slim, and she wore a tight, red shirt, black jeans, anda 

pair of heels, completely inappropriate for being in the woods. She 
scowled at the Goatman, and crossed her arms. "What the hell.” 


"Jessie," the Goatman smiled. "It's been a while." 


"Why, Goats!" Coyote laughed. "You didn't tell me that one of your 
own had a body that would make an impotent psychopath get a 
hard-on so fast that his dick would fly off!" 


Sinning Jessie scowled at Coyote, and pulled her hair aside, 
revealing a gaping hole where her left eye would be. "What are you 


doing in town?" 
Coyote tilted his head, and shrugged. "I'd still hit it.” 


"I'll hit you—" Jessie dived at him, but tripped on her own heels as 
Coyote laughed, appearing on her back. "...goddammit." 


"Why are you wearing heels in the forest?" the Goatman leaned 
down to help Jessie up to her feet. 


"Every pair of shoes | put on becomes some form of heel." She took 
his hand and got to her feet, with Coyote still clinging to her back. 
"Apparently people have gone back to one of the older iterations of 
my tale; Sinning Jessie, not Singing.” 


"| kind of missed the cannibal prostitute idea," the Goatman 
admitted. "Fit you better than the Banshee. As for him... let's say it's 
a therapy visit." 


"What do you-" 


"I'm dying, I'm dying," Coyote screamed, falling off her back and 
reeling through the air. "Oh lawd all-mighty in Heaven, the 
Tetragrammaton is eating me alive! My people have been 
exterminated, faith has been lost, and—" Coyote put a paw over its 
heart, and fell to the ground, on its back. 


Both of the local Legends put their hands against their face. "Are all 
tricksters this immature?" Jessie asked. 


"...he's as bad as it gets." 


"Good." Jessie frowned at the Coyote. "Okay, you're dying, so? 
Folklore dies. Contrary to what a middling 90's movie might have 
you think, legends do die. We've lost some of our own." 


Coyote sat back up and shook itself, as if it were trying to get water 
off of its fur. "But this place can help. People forget the essence of 
Coyote because they're forced to by the..." He huffed. "The F-Word 
that rhymes with Aggravation." 


"Oh, hell." Jessie rubbed her face. "They're making people forget 


SCP-824 will strip portions of a plant from the main body if 
necessary. 


SCP-824's roots will maintain a hollow opening under SCP-824 up 
to three meters deep containing a large number of roots less than 

3 cm in diameter. These roots will, if possible, gather and take hold 
of stones or similar objects of various sizes. In the absence of 
suitable stones, SCP-824 will be unable to derive sufficient nutrition 
from plant matter, and will cease its attempts to consume plants until 
stones are provided. 


Upon plants being procured by the branches, they will be passed 
down into this area. The roots will use the stones to grind plants into 
a powder, from which the roots are then able to derive nutrients, 
water, and minerals. While SCP-824 gains sustenance from this act, 
the ultimate caloric gain is typically only marginally greater than that 
SCP-824 gains from photosynthesis. It is surmised that these 
behaviors evolved primarily as a means of removing vegetation from 
the area surrounding SCP-824. 


Addendum: Notable biological characteristics. See Document 824- 
C for further information. 


SCP-824 has superficial traits that initially led to Foundation 
scientists classifying it as a member of the Ginkgoaceae family that 
simply happened to exhibit anomalous properties; however, genetic 
analysis of SCP-824 has shown that it is only distantly related to 
other trees. Their similar appearances are believed to be a result of 
convergent evolution, given their similar locations, but this is 
unconfirmed. 


SCP-824 contains a novel type of xylem tissue that allows for rapid 
transportation of water in order to expand and contract different 
portions of it at a rapid pace; this is responsible for SCP-824's 
characteristic rapid movement. It is believed that several previously 
unknown auxins that have been extracted from SCP-824 may assist 
in this effect; however, their exact functionality is not fully known at 
this time. 


In order to allow for greater freedom of movement, SCP-824 has 
thin, flexible bark that is easily damaged by sharp objects. Due to 


you? Did they learn nothing from the Calamity Jane Calamity?" 


"They're... trying to help," Coyote admitted. "But it isn't working. At 
least, not fast enough. My myth was strongest when | was actually 
seen by my people, actually remembered, not told through hearsay. 
They blank the mind of everyone who actually sees me." 


"Hence why you're in town." Sinning Jessie rubbed her hands over 
her face. "Okay. That's all you need? An audience?" 


"Yes ma'am." 


"Today's the fifteenth..." She tapped her chin. "You're in luck. 
Church service is tomorrow. That enough of an audience?" 


"Babe, it's more than enough. I've been preaching to these people 
for a decade." Coyote came up to Sinning Jessie. "Though, another 
thing that might help..." 


Jessie looked down at him, her one eye dim, unimpressed. "I'm 
going to regret asking this, but... what is it?” 


Coyote began singing the chorus from his favorite Marvin Gaye 
song. "I got a feeling, | want that se-" 


The Goatman hefted his axe. "Finish that sentence and | will cut off 
your-" 


"Joke's on you, Goats! It's detachable!" Coyote laughed, and 
pranced towards town. 


Jessie looked at the Goatman and mouthed, Really? 


"Like | said, he's as bad as it gets with Tricksters." 


Incident Report 2547-55(cont'd): On August 16th, 
2015, SCP-2547-1 appeared in Saint James's Episcopal 
Church in Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin, accompanied by two 
Unclassed Anomalous Entities (UAEs) corresponding to 
the description of VAE-Chapman-341 and UAE- 
Chapman-342. SCP-2547-1 proceeded to give a sermon 


on its own weakened state and how ignorance of its 
existence was destroying it. The transcript of this sermon 
is below: 


The Goatman carefully tucked the minister's unconscious body ina 
cupboard in the reception area. Jessie was doing the same with the 
organ player, except she was placing him in a chair in the corner, 
asleep. "Couldn't hurt to be a little more discrete, Jessica." 


"Says the person who's shoving poor Minister Burrows in a cabinet 
after nearly giving him a heart attack. Christ, Jasper." 


"| told you not to call me that," the Goatman smiled wryly, before 
closing the cabinet behind the pastor. "...all right. Now we just have 
to wait for him to... do his thing, | guess." 


"Something tells me we are going to regret this." 


"Oh, definitely," the Goatman said, rummaging around in the other 
cupboards. "They have some caramel corn in here." 


"Wanna eat it while we watch this unfold?" 


The Goatman threw her the bag, and headed into the actual chapel. 
"Way ahead of you." 


Coyote was on the pulpit. Before him was a scene of humans, 
natives of Sloth's Pit. The reactions on their faces were mixed; this 
was not the first time there had been a guest pastor, and this was 
not the first time that guest pastor had not been human. Others were 
wondering where the minister went. Sunlight shone in through the 
stained glass window depicting Mother Mary above. 


Coyote raised itself on its hind legs, its forelimbs raising to the 
sunlight in praise. "People of Sloth's Pit, and of America. Good 
morning!" He sat back down. "You are no doubt wondering who | am 
and why | come to speak. Perhaps you are concerned for your 
pastor. Worry not! My associates have taken care of him." 


He smirked back at the two Legends lingering at the back of the 


chapel. The Goatman had his face in his hand from the "taken care 
of" comment, and was praying that nobody would look at him. 


Coyote made sure they did. His voice, and being, was in two places 
at once— at the podium, and at the back of the chapel. People let 
out a scream once they saw the two legends. 


"| come to this house of worship to preach to you not about the 
Christian god, nor the Muslim one, nor the Jewish one, nor the 
Tetragrammaton, nor Mekhane or Wan, nor Yadalboath, nor Eden 
and the Keepers Thereof, nor the Victors of Fire, Frost and Storm." 


Coyote's dual beings appeared at the front of the church, and 
carried on a conversation with one another. "Nay. | come to speak to 
thee of forgotten gods." 


"Gods that humankind have either forgotten-" 
"Destroyed-" 

"Abused-" 

"Wiped out-" 

"Taken vain names-" 

"Depicted as antagonists on children's shows-" 
"And comics-" 

"And horror writing websites-" 

"(God | hate horror authors)" 


"And have dashed against the rocks. Because of your actions, we 
are dying." Coyote's form melted away, turning into a skeleton that 
could speak. "Our bones are weak, our stories are burned, and our 
names forgotten. | once had a name that had a letter in it for each 
star in the sky. Now, | have had to borrow one from one of my 


creations- ‘Coyote’. 


"Meanwhile, a single god with a million names has a billion followers 


that has slain a trillion gods because those who worshiped them 
refused to bow down and accept a tyrant and usurper into their 
pantheon. They closed their doors to invaders, and now, countless 
like me are dying and dead." 


Coyote looked at the cross around its neck. "I carry this in memory 
of every god that has died and been forgotten. This is the only trace 
that | have of countless who | cannot name." He spoke for ten 
minutes, but no sound came from his mouth. Only a sense of 
sadness, sub-sonic melancholy, silent grief, the sound of the 
forgotten name of a loved one. "Those are the names of some that 
have been forgotten," Coyote said simply, sitting on the podium. 
"Those are just the ones | know. They are forgotten the instant they 
leave my lips, like a mumbled song lyric you hear on a broken 
radio." 


"Those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it. And 
if you remember myself, my dying kind... remember the name 
Coyote. Remember the name Amorog, remember the name T6 
Neinilii, remember the name Asdz4q4 Nadleehé. Remember the Son 
of Fire and Comet. Remember the Diné Bahane’. Remember all our 
names, all our myths, and we will be whole." 


"And you will be free." 


Coyote was both there, and not there. With a loud, whining howl, the 
church moved to the exact same place on Earth, but Coyote and the 
legends walked two steps and found themselves by a creek in the 
woods. 


Coyote looked under its coat, and saw that his ribs were starting to 
heal, a suggestion of skin growing over them. "It's not perfect,” he 
admitted, "But it's a start." 


"Now," The Goatman said, hefting his axe. "Get out of this town. 
Never darken our county line again. If | so much as hear a rumor of 
you in Superior or a whisper of you in Solon Springs, | will... let's 
just say notify the proper authorities." He looked meaningfully 
towards a building on a hill. 


"And if you even think of coming back here," Jessica added, "Well... 


the hidebehind is getting hungry." 
Coyote flinched. "You wouldn't." 


The Goatman shrugged. "Says who?" He turned into the forest with 
Sinning Jessie, and as he stopped, turned to look back over his 
shoulder. "Coyote?" 


The canid was walking the other way, and turned around to look 
back at the Goatman. "Yes, Jasper?" 


A vein in the Goatman's head throbbed, but despite that, he sighed. 
"| hope you get your myth back in order. | know that being forgotten 
hurts. | can't imagine what pain you're in right now." 


"Nothing a few nights at a house of ill repute won't fix," Coyote 

laughed. With that, Coyote became the trees and the earth, the 
trees and the earth became Coyote, and the trickster spirit was 
gone. 


"So," Jessie stretched out and began walking into the woods. "How 
do you think the Plastics guys will react to this whole thing?" 


"Well, they'll probably try to contain the situation to the town, if not 
the congregation. It's a big church, so | doubt they'll be able to keep 
it quiet for long." He began following a path through the forest few 
knew of, and Sinning Jessie walked with him. 


Jessie looked at the Goatman as they walked, and asked, "Jasper?" 
The Goatman gave her an aside look with hourglass eyes. "Hmm?" 
"...do you think we're ever going to fade as badly as he has?" 


"Maybe," Jasper Phineas Capricorn IV hefted his axe over his 
shoulder. "Maybe, one day, the people in S & C Plastics will kill 
every myth known to man. But, | think they're learning." 


"What makes you say that?" 


"Well, if they really wanted Coyote dead, they would just let him be 
forgotten. He said they were trying to keep him alive, somehow, 


but..." The Goatman frowned. "| wonder what would happen if he 
died." 


"Bad things, probably." Jessie crested a hilltop, and a cautious look 
was directed into the distance, where a single dead tree stood in the 
midst of the forest. "| was kidding about the Hidebehind thing, by the 
way." 


"| figured," Japser shrugged. "You're a literal man-eater, but even 
you have standards." 


"| wouldn't say that," Sinning Jessie said, bumping him in the side. 
"After all, I'm still friends with you." 


The Goatman laughed, a bleating sound that was carried through 
the late summer air towards town, before fading away like a 
forgotten campfire story.