OH SWEET LOVECRAFT'S LICK-SHITTING GHOST ITS 
SWELLING. Why the fuck? It did it right as | wrote "creamer-" FUCK 
ITS BIGGER. Okay, don't mention the word "cre-" the place where 
ice cream is made. SHIT even that's set it off. Now it's shaking... 
and that sound... fucking Hell, it sounds like a million whales giving 
birth and dying at the same fucking time. 


"| don't think it likes whatever you're writing," says Herbert, who 
looks like he's about to wet himself. 


"No shit it doesn't," | reply in kind, and for some reason, I'm still 
writing this shit down. "Every time | write the word "creamery-" As 
soon as | say it, and again when | transcribe it down here, cracks 
start forming in the behemoth's pink skin. Why the fuck its pink, | 
don't know, pink isn't actually a damn color. 


"...1 think it might be allergic," said Herbert; how he jumped to that 
conclusion, | don't know. "Lactose intolerant, maybe?" Muscle began 
showing at the sound of the word "lactose", the pink monster 
thrashing about wildly. "...this is just too weird." 


"What?" | asked, the being-from-beyond's skin slowly reforming. 


"Is... is it allergic to words related to dairy?" The instant | write down 
the last word, skin begins to flake off. | grinned at Herbert, and wrote 
more down on the paper. 


"If the words related to dairy can weaken it... what will actual ice 
cream do?" That last sentence sent the thing falling backwards 
crushing a good half of the town with it. "Herbert?" | say aloud. 


"Y-yes, Jay?" He stutters in response. 


"THROW THE CHEE 


Excerpt from an After-Action report regarding the Arkham incident 


Despite the loss of Stanley Upton Dyer and Jacob 
Fitzwilliam Nelson during recovery and the resultant 
destruction of the Arkham tourist attraction due to 
sudden existence failure of an uncatalogued 
supernatural entity, Jayla Farrow and Herbert 
Westbrooke were able to recover the alleged copy of Al- 
Azif from the wreckage of the Miskatonic University 
attraction. The book was completely unrelated to the 
Necronomicon, and was instead a translated excerpt of 
the Pnakotic Manuscripts; due to the relatively low value 
and high risk, the tome has been incinerated. 


Farrow and Westbrooke are currently being treated for 
Miskatonic Compulsion, and have been withdrawn from 
active duty for the time being, until proper therapy and 
medication can be administered. Both are being 
considered for the Tribunal Star for going above and 
beyond the call of duty. 


« Hub » 


Fifthist Hub 


You and me 
Should take a trip across the galaxy 
And feel the breaking waves of our own energy 
And everything will come together 
Slowly 


Quietly 


Hey there fella, glad you stopped by. | mean, you'll do... 
better than nothin’. No really, come on in. We aint kooks. 


You might ask me why you’re here! Well that’s because 
you’re part of the Fifthist Church. You were drawn here a long 
time ago as a matter of fact, you didn’t have much say in the 
matter. You could say it’s somethin’ like fate, predestination, or 
maybe its retro-cuz-ality. Maybe it’s backwards like that. Who 
knows. Maybe it’s forwards too. 


Not a religious type you say? Oh, well, that’s fine. We ain’t 
into prayin’ and all that either. A lot of us here are backsliders. 
Church is just one of them words people throw around. Fifthist 
Church, Fifthist Collective, Fifthist Book Publishing, Fifthist 
Psychedelic Surf Rock, Fifthist Lip Balm, etcetera. It’s Fifthist is all 
that matters. 


What does “Fifthism” mean? Well, that’s not a name my 
congregation came up with. A while back there was a bunch of 
new agey hip types who went and published a book. Yanks called 
themselves The Fifth Church, and that name stuck... But the most 


likely case is that there are always five manifestations of Fifthism. 
Always. There’s usually a cult up north, out west, and well, yours 
truly. | ain’t never heard of no commy Fifthists or nothin’. 


... Theres even been Fifthism all throughout time. Think of 
the Fifthist protozoans. Think of the Fifthist suns. Harken to 
creation, the concept of a universe. 


What makes them Fifthist? Patterns, signals, magic. The 
unpossible. A Fifthist concept will slowly transcend reality. When 
that concept blossoms, it falls, like ripened fruit brother, 0’ to be 
consumed and shat by the lord glowing hands himself. It becomes 
reality. We see the Fifth world, brother. And we too shall fall, like 
the the ekpyrotic house before us, and shat as they were. 


Eventually. 


Us Southern Fifthists have been around for years. Maybe 
someone’s keeping us from blowin’ downwind? Hate to be 
paranoid. Hate to think something out there was scared of the last 
Southern Fifthists after they done came to term. 


But enough with all this morbid talk about dyin’ and 
indifferent other-universally forces of nature and TOP SECRETE 
PARAGOVERNEMENT ORGAN-IZATIONS. YEAH, WE KNOW 
ABOUT YOU. WE’RE GETTIN’ REAL TIRED OF YOUR SHIT! 
We're still alive! So to hell with you! To hell with this “Fifthism” and 
talk about “Fifthism”! We got money to raise! Get outta my face! 
Join me in outer space! Roll that frog footage! Light those 
candles! Send check or money order to World 390, so that our 
corpses may bloat and explode, and from that heaping viscera we 
will rise again as pungent, fungent fumes! 


* Prologue: Water Coalesces And Descends As Rain 
©. Track 1: Chilly The Space Trucker 
¢ The Surfside Beat 


© Track 2: The Book of Dave 


Riptide 
©. Track 3: Uh... 


The Appalachian Scar 
The Face of God 


© Track 4: You and Me feat. Oboebandgeek99 


Rain Leaking Through A Vendor's Roof 
Siren's Song 


Articles With Fifthist Influence: 


SCP-1425 
SCP-1523 
SCP-1564 
SCP-1724 
SCP-1958 
SCP-1982 
SCP-2005 
SCP-2155 
SCP-2342 
SCP-2425 
SCP-2454 
SCP-2456 
SCP-2512 
SCP-2517 
SCP-2573 
SCP-2678 
SCP-2858 
SCP-3005 
SCP-3214 
SCP-3255 
SCP-3257 
SCP-3330 
SCP-3351 
SCP-3511 
SCP-3512 
SCP-3519 
SCP-3534 
SCP-3605 
SCP-475 


Tales of Fifthist Influence: 


* A Place In The Back Of Your Mind 
¢ A Simple Paradigm Shift 

¢ July 5th, 1975 

* Occult Standards 


¢ An Angel who has Forsaken Sympathy 
* Thieves Come In Fives 

* On The Road Again 

* Prologue: Recruiting 

¢ Riptide 

* The Surfside Beat 

¢ The Appalachian Scar 

* Prologue: Water Coalesces And Descends As Rain 
* The Face of God 

* Dark and Disquieting 

¢ Embracing The Angels 

* Empedocles 

¢ Rain Leaking Through A Vendor's Roof 
* Siren's Song 

* Theogenesis 

* The Thing at the Bottom of My Dreams 
¢ Where They Kept Their Copies 

¢ Why is Five afraid of Seven? 

¢ Not acontest entry, but a crackfic about gods anyways 
¢ The Broken Fifth 

Broadcast 

Mission Statement 


There are five different Fifthist documentations, that, well, aren't 
really documentations in the most sane sense. 


Southern Fifthists, the last ones at least, use shaped prose to 
describe objects sacred to them. The descriptions are five 
paragraphs long, with attributes in no particular order. Tone is 
biblical. 


Example | (The Last) Southern Fifthist's unholy serpents. 


West Coast Fifthists (The band, Constellation Starfish) use lyric 

to describe things. This is a supplementary documentation, really, 
because a lyrical skip is basically a tale. The West Coast Fifthists 

as a whole change, adapt, and regenerate after each iteration into 
new singers, songwriters, and musicians. 


We don't know much about the other manifestations of Fifthism. 


For all we know one of them could be a family of squirrels in 
Russia, and how would they document things? Probably involves 
acorns or something. 


Anyone may add new formats in the form of new branches of 
Fifthism. The overall feel of each branch should be a concept that 
is transcending reality in subtle, unmistakeable manners, and the 
people and entities caught up in it all. There are always five 
branches of Fifthists at any one point in time, reinventing 
themselves in various iterations. Each branch is defined by these 
qualities: 

1. Each branch is a group of individuals. An example could be a 
cult, a following, or a fanbase. 

2. Each branch dies and is reborn as something else loosely 
related to its previous form. 

3. A Fifthist sect begins as something completely unrelated to 
Fifthism, and slowly metamorphoses into a Fifthist concept at 
which point it begins to transcend, or warp, reality. 

4. The Fifthist entity is not directly observed and is generally 
agreed to be unknowable. It cannot be certain that Fifthism itself 
is any manifestation of its motives or lack of motives. 


When We Were Writ 


* Dust Brothers 

Track 1: Old Chilly The Space Trucker 

* Sleeping Under the Stars 

* The Skylarking Gala 

¢ Track 2: The Book Of Dave 

¢ Track 4: You and Me 

¢ Track 3: Uh... 

* MEMORANDUM 083 REGARDING PROJECT 
"GUARDIANSHIP" 


through some form of mental suggestion as there is no verbal 
communication. Research into the possibility of telepathy is ongoing. 


SCP-638 was discovered in the smoldering remains of a mountain 
compound in [DATA EXPUNGED}], barely alive. Though no other 
survivors were found, the remains of fifteen (15) (presumably) 
human females were uncovered in the ruins. Too little of the remains 
survived [DATA EXPUNGED] for a full autopsy, but skeletal remains 
showed no abnormalities. SCP-638 has given no indication that 
there were any others of its kind present at the compound, but this is 
not certain. Interrogation in conjunction with extreme nutrient 
deprivation revealed that others do exist, though they do not form 
communities apart from their groups of enthralled women. To date 
the subject has not revealed the location of any others, but 
interrogation is ongoing. 


« SCP-637 | SCP-638 | SCP-639 » 


Prologue: Water Coalesces And Descends As Rain 


When Rosa went to sleep she had an odd dream. In it she was 
reminded of her childhood, times when she would talk with her 
grandfather and he would tell her of his own childhood. A time 
before the stroke locked his memories away. His voice would groan 
with use, but the veil of nostalgia in that tenor had made her feel as 
if she was putting rose tinted glasses to a childhood she never felt. 


From this feeling of a childhood - about stories about childhoods - 
she saw a Starfish in the stars. It spread out against the universe, 
translucent, like a slick of oil against the vast emptiness. Its many 
tendrils and arms branched off from the main body and diverged 
from themselves again and again, cradling galaxies with all the 
tenderness of a lover and all the possessiveness of a parent. 


The starfish suckled the universe, allowing it to grow in its many 
arms. Or perhaps the universe siphoned off of the starfish; Rosa 
couldn’t remember. Over a moment of millennia, she watched the 
entity begin to deflate. It reminded her of the huge die-offs 
happening in her state of California; the scientists called it Starfish 
Wasting Syndrome or something like that. Rumor had it that the 
cause was radioactive waste... But that wasn’t important to the 
dream, or so... 


The many limbs in the cosmic ocean began to writhe as if they had 
grown their own minds. Some clung tightly, breaking off infinitely into 
the galaxies within their grasps. Others twisted and pulled out and 
away from the main body, floating into an unknown beyond the 
universe. 


Focus then shifted to one of the tendrils that had itself locked with 
the long arm - the milky way. Its many branches began to break off 
from itself like a rotting tree and the focus followed these breaks. It 
passed solar systems and planets she found familiar. One particular 
piece, small and hardly noticeable in its translucence, began to fall 


into a blue planet she found familiar as her home. 


This small piece broke up as it entered the atmosphere, dispersing 
into the winds to be deposited in the water and soil. The 
dreamscape was tinged with grief and a longing to return to what 
once was... 


It was then that Rosa awoke to the alarm of her phone. 


She recounted this later to her bandmembers at a bonfire on the 
beach. Her motley crew of friends were silent as she spoke, out of 
respect or confusion she couldn't tell. When her story about the 
story told to her finished, it was the lead singer of the band that 
spoke first. 


“...Maybe it wasn’t a starfish, Rosa.” Morgan’s statement was 
inquisitive, as if entertaining the thought. He offered a wry smile and 
craned up from his log towards the van upon watching Brook ravage 
the bag of Jet Puff. 


Clyde was adjusting his guitar as usual, his mop of chestnut hair 
obscuring his facial expression. He was the only one that really 
knew how to play instruments and between the gentle strumming 
and the crackling of the fire there was only silence. 


It was their drummer, Brook, that broke the awkwardness as she 
devoured the remaining marshmallows. “Neat dream. What'd you 
think it means?” She spoke through the food across her teeth, 
muffling her candor but lubricating the atmosphere enough for 
further conversation. 


Rosa was about to speak before she was interrupted by Umiko, a 
kind fellow who wasn’t too bright and didn’t speak English very well. 
She wasn’t even sure what he was here for on this trip, as he had all 
the musical talent of a scallop. “Is meaning beautiful!” He boomed, 
patting her on the shoulder. “Like Rosa!” 


“Thanks, Umiko. No, really, | think this is like a prophecy or 
something, you know? | was using that new cleaning quartz | bought 
at the Home of Energy down the block, maybe it unlocked some 
unknown power in me or something!” 


Clyde snorted at Rosa’s excitement. “Yeah, that’s what you said 
last week about empathy or something. Called yourself like, an 
unawakened indigo child or something?” His grin was well-natured, 
but his words were skeptical. 


It was when Rosa’s shining knight in armor returned to interject, 
handing the pack of mashmallow to Brook. “Well, | believe Rosa.” 
Morgan spoke, turning to his unusually bright green eyes toward 
her. She fixed her bangs almost reflexively. “Maybe she does have 
some untapped ability within her. Maybe we all do, but we’ve 
forgotten how to remember it. What we’ve forgotten.” He spoke with 
a certainty that silenced the other band members, even Clyde’s 
gentle strumming. 


They set up their practice schedule that night. Under the stars, with 
the fish. Clyde had managed to pull a few strings so they could show 
at a place not quite so shabby, and Brook had suggested a great 
idea for an after-tour party. Morgan was quick in agreeing to meet 
with the fans there. 


Morgan ended the meeting pouring water over the fire, being the 
only one that was capable of getting up to do so. Clyde and Rosa 
had a spontaneous drinking contest that ended in about two beers, 
Umiko was carrying them home, and Brook claimed an inability to 
move after eating a month’s worth of marshmallow. He swept over 
the scene before him. A laugh crawled into the back of his throat, 
having realized for him that he hadn’t felt with family like this in a 
long time. 


Hub | Track 1: Chilly The Space Trucker » 


Track 1: Old Chilly The Space Trucker 


"Old Chilly the Space Trucker" 


By Brooke 


| don’t care what you assholes think, we don’t have enough drum songs on the 
EP. How about we do one about that trucker we met on the way to Sacramento? 
What was his name? -Brooke 


*Drum intro* 
*Guitars* 
*More drums* 
*More guitars* 


VERSE 1 


We were travelin’ along, feeling tired and blue, 
when a man pulled up beside me and my crew, 

He said, “Hey there kids, do you wanna take a ride? 
Sit right here beside me, let me show you the skies!” 
Naturally we thought this was a chance we couldn’t skip, 
and jumped up in that cab with Chilly and took a trip.