| recalled his words two days later, though | do not know if he does, 
especially now. As we enjoyed a leisurely luncheon, Monsieur 
regaled us with a portion of his translation: “Sobek, son of the god 
of Chaos and the goddess of Wisdom, is Lord of the Nile, 
responsible for its bounty and its dangers. He is the ravenous 
devouring crocodile, and the yearly depositor of the fertile soil. The 
strength and power and ferocity of a beast, yet the protector of the 
souls of the dead who are just.’ Indeed, the cult of Sobek deemed 
that anyone who was devoured by a crocodile became divine. When 
Set tore Osiris asunder, it was Sobek who gathered the fragments of 
his body and delivered them to Isis for resurrection. Although,” he 
said with a wry smile, “true to his nature, he could not help himself 
from eating the final piece.” 


“And which one was that?” | asked. 


He colored slightly. “Ah. The final one, of course." He looked away 
from me. "Perhaps the hand?” 


Uncle Alec smiled to himself. “I think in some translations it would be 
a foot.” 


Monsieur cleared his throat and got up from the table. “Likely so.” 
He went over to a small table and picked something up. “Ah! | have 
something here for the young lady.” He returned and handed me a 
small ivory disc on a piece of braided leather, carved on both sides 
with a crocodile in different poses. | began to protest, but he waved 
me off. “A reproduction | created myself, my child. | am too much the 


scientist to hand out artifacts as baubles, no matter how charming 
the recipient.” | blushed as he continued. “In the Hieroglyphic 
symbols we see this dual nature. If the crocodile glyph has an 
extended tail, it gives the meaning ‘to devour’, the glyph with his tail 
curved beneath gives him the meaning ‘to gather.’ So, though a 
contradiction, he is both a preserver and a destroyer, you see.” 


“As is the Nile,” | said, putting the pendant around my neck. 
“Just so.” 


My words were prophetic, it seemed, for just then we were 
interrupted by one of Monsieur’s assistants. The river had breached 
the first levee, just that morning, and was threatening to do so to the 
second. As a matter of precaution, it would be best to start 
evacuation of the larger artifacts immediately, should the waters 
continue to rise. Which they were. 


And which is how Uncle and | found ourselves speeding with 
Monsieur to the Museum post haste. Uncle joined with the 
Monsieur’s assistants and other employees, in strapping sarcophagi 
and stela onto carts for removal to a more inland warehouse set 
aside for just such an emergency, and | went with Monsieur into the 
archives, to assist in the careful packing of more delicate items. The 
first carts had just filled, with Monsieur accompanying to direct his 
assistants how and where items should be placed, when the waters 
lapped over the final levee, and began their inexorable spread 
towards the museum grounds. 


“The scaffolding!” Uncle Alec pointed up to where it rose beyond the 
high windows that provided light to the exhibit halls. “We can shut 
the main doors and seal the cracks as best we can with rags, and 
then pass things out through the windows. We may have to keep 
them on the roof for the time being, but they will escape the waters.” 


| was skeptical. “Are there ladders inside we can use to reach 
them?” 


“We will soon see.” 


He charged into the Museum, while | looked askance at the 


scaffolding. It did not look terribly sturdy. And it appeared to have 
been used as an alternate refuge by some of the lizards | had 
noticed before in the trees. The trees themselves continued to look 
ill-used, and as the water began to creep around their bases, it 
seemed to me as if the lizard populations had trebled. With a 
shudder, | followed Uncle inside. 


We shut the doors and began stuffing the cracks with every scrap of 
fabric we could find that did not look like an artifact. Curtains, towels 
from the small kitchen area alongside Monsieur Mariette’s office, 
rags from a closet holding tools and supplies for cleaning. It also had 
a tall ladder, which we hastily erected, and began ferrying cases of 
documents and smaller artifacts up to the windows, where the 
others waited upon the scaffolding. During our trips in and out of 
Monsieur’s office, | looked with dismay at the shelves full of files and 
journals, and the beautiful scroll still soread upon the table. | was 
shocked that Monsieur had not gathered them first. Perhaps, until it 
was inevitable, he had hoped it would not be necessary to move 
them, risking damage. But was it now too late? 


The waters spread far more quickly than anyone could have 
imagined, reaching at least a foot in depth. Despite all of our efforts, 
water had begun to seep in through the front doors. It was then that 
Monsieur Mariette returned with the empty carts, only to direct 
several of his assistants to run and fetch boats, as the carts would 
not be of use after this last trip. Uncle Alec clambered out onto the 
scaffolding to go assist in the packing of the carts, when suddenly 
there came a terrible creaking and groaning. As | raced up the 
ladder, | reached the window in time to see a large palm tree, the 
soil around its roots saturated with water, overburdened with wildlife, 
come crashing down on the scaffolding, which in turn fell to the 
drowning earth below, taking Uncle Alec with it. 


As | cried out in horror, the men splashed through the morass and 
pulled Uncle Alec from beneath the wreckage. They began to load 
him into one of the carts, and then transferred him to the boat that 
had just arrived. He called out to me, white with pain but still 
conscious, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle. | shouted back from 
my perch, telling the men to go, to get Uncle to safety. | would take 
refuge in the upper story of the Museum, taking what items | could 


with me, and await the arrival of more boats. 


Monsieur Mariette’s reply was drowned out by a sudden scream. 
One of his assistants had suddenly fallen in the now knee deep 
water, which quickly began to turn bright red. The others fled, taking 
up his last cry: “Crocodiles! Crocodiles!” They had come over the 
now drowned levees, moving swiftly in the water that was their 
element. 


“Sobek takes back his own.” | murmured. And then shouted at 
Monsieur to ‘leave now’. | was safe in the Museum, they were not. 
Protesting all the while, he was dragged off by his men, while | 
scrambled down to the floor that was now ankle deep with water and 
continuing to rise. 


With resolve | truly did not feel, | marched into Monsieur’s office, and 
began to pile as many journals and documents | could into two small 
satchels that hung on the far wall. Last of all, with trepidation, | 
carefully rolled the beautiful scroll and wrapped it in what appeared 
to be a painter's smock which hung by where the satchels had been, 
and placed it in the larger of the two. Slinging the satchels on my 
back, | left the office, shutting the door behind me. The water was 
now above my ankles, but any barrier could help. | headed for the 
entry, where | planned to take the grand staircase to the upper level. 


There came a sudden crash, and the whooshing sound of running 
water, and underneath the barely audible splash of something 
moving through it. The water around me began swiftly to rise, and 
with a muffled exclamation, | reversed course and headed for the far 
exhibit hall. | had barely entered, and with the assistance of a chair 
and not a little fear managed to clamber atop a tall display case 
when the first of the crocodiles entered. 


None of the protective nature of Sobek here, as they came right for 
me, rearing out of the water and snapping, five all told. The cabinet | 
was atop was sturdy enough, and too high for them to reach, but if 
the water kept rising, or if | lost my balance, it would not go well for 
me. To further complicate things, the flood was not going to recede 
quickly. Since | had told the others | was going to take refuge in the 
upper story, | would not seem to them to be in immediate danger. 
Uncle Alec, being injured, would be their first priority. So | had scant 


hope of rescue unless someone arrived quickly, and that was not 
likely. After an hour or so, thankfully, the level of the water stopped 
rising, leaving me well above my captors. All | had to do now was 
wait. 


The light in the windows had begun to fade, and | began to 
contemplate the very real difficulty of not only keeping my balance, 
but my wits, and consciousness, for | was becoming very tired, when 
| heard thumping from the hall outside, and a large splash or two, as 
though something was knocking over display cases. Could they 
have maneuvered a boat inside? | called out, warning against the 
crocodiles, thankful that | was about to be rescued. 


But | wasn’t. For into the grand hall swam the largest crocodile not 
only that | had ever seen, but that | could imagine. What | couldn't 
imagine was how he had gotten down the hall, let alone through the 
doors, for his body was fully five feet across, not accounting for the 
sprawl of his legs, and though | could not see all of him, he had to 
have been nigh thirty feet long from snout to tail. The other 
crocodiles swam away from him, though he had to snap his jaws at 
one, and crowded into the far end of the room. | gave myself up for 
lost. Even if he hadn’t been able to reach me, which he could, easily, 
he could smash through the cabinet on which | stood almost without 
effort. | still shrank away from him, choking briefly as the satchel 
straps caught on the pendant which still hung around my neck. 


He approached the cabinet, and raising up, gently placed his snout 
against it and stood still. | crouched at the far end, staring at him, 
unmoving. After a few moments, he turned his head to me and 
stared directly into my eyes. Then with a snort of what | could only 
characterize as impatience, replaced his snout in its original 
position. Bewildered, | found myself approaching him, and using his 
head as a ramp, descended to his broad back. Whereupon he made 
a circuit of the hall, striking the other crocodiles aside as he passed 
them, and bore me out of the flooded Museum and into the night. 


We passed through the remains of the grounds, where not a single 
tree remained standing. Some had fallen against the building, and 
others lay on the ground, half covered by the flood. In the dim 
moonlight | could see the lizards that had taken refuge, as well as 
other crocodiles, whom | would have expected to prey on the lizards, 


body plan featuring multiple pairs of legs. Juveniles of SCP-955 are 
a light grey in color, while mature specimens range from tan to 
black. 


If startled or threatened, the organism will lift its head and thorax off 
the ground while emitting a shrieking cry, then project a viscous, 
sticky, foul-smelling and caustic mucus in several directions from its 
mouth and protuberances and attempt to flee or burrow into the 
ground. Mature specimens of SCP-955 are capable of squirting the 
mucus for a distance of several meters. The mucus is corrosive to 
metals and most organic materials (including the tissues of living 
creatures aside from SCP-955 itself), and contains a neurotoxin 
which makes unprotected skin contact with the mucus extremely 
painful. 


SCP-955 appears to possess a level of intelligence roughly 
comparable to a juvenile dog. The organisms are curious, highly 
social, playful and attracted to bright colors, high-pitched sounds 
and sugar. Each of the twenty-three collections of specimens of 
SCP-955 from its habitat, to date, has occurred when one or more of 
the organisms has encountered one or more humans, typically in 
wooded but populated areas, playing fields, schoolyards or similar 
places frequented by physically active humans. The SCP-955 
organisms, attracted by the activity or scents, will rapidly approach 
the humans while wriggling its facial organs and flapping its fins and 
emitting a growling or hissing sound—study of SCP-955 behavior in 
captivity suggests that these sounds signal excitement and a desire 
to interact with the humans in a friendly or playful manner. When the 
humans who encounter instances of SCP-955 react with alarm or 
violence, the organisms will exhibit the threat response behavior 
noted above. 


It appears that in the absence of a mucus emission episode, dogs 
and children under the age of seven generally do not perceive 
SCP-955's appearance or behavior to be alarming or threatening. 
Several children who had interacted with an SCP-955 specimen 
without adverse incident were asked to draw or describe the 
organism, with the results consistently representing SCP-955 as 
"cute" or "fuzzy".12 Young children, in particular, have been 
observed to enjoy interacting with SCP-955, often including 


but all of them were feasting on the fallen trees. | hadn’t known that 
crocodiles ate anything other than flesh. My benefactor stopped, 
briefly, to consume part of a sycamore that lay in his path, the other 
creatures letting him have the lion’s share, before he bore me to the 
Nile proper. 


The moon and stars were reflected in waters undisturbed but for our 
passing, and barely at that. It was as though we were swimming 
through the night sky; that which was above was also below. And | 
remembered what Monsieur Mariette had said, that Sobek protected 
the souls of the dead. | thought then that | might not have survived. | 
didn’t feel particularly divine, as those devoured by crocodiles were 
said to be, just exhausted. | felt myself drifting into a dreamlike state, 
and lying down on his broad back, decided that in the end, my end 
was not so terrible as it could have been. | had felt no pain, though | 
had been very frightened. To be borne to the afterlife through the 
stars? With some aspect of a crocodile god serving as my funeral 
barge? Why, | might be as Queen Sobeknefru herself. | arranged 
the satchels next to me, clasped the pendant between my hands, 
and gazed into the night sky. 


| saw many things as we swam along. Visions | do not even now 
fully understand, but with an import | do believe | comprehend. | saw 
a vast forest, filled with trees of all kinds, covered with lizards that 
lived in harmony with them. Some of them were well, and some 
were not. And some the lizards devoured, and some they did not. 
The ones that survived were the scattered ones. Though a single 
tree might be destroyed, if its seed had spread far and wide, 
something of it continued. And if those somethings were gathered, 
the essence of the original tree could be discerned, and recreated, 
even if parts of it were devoured, and gone forever. 


“As long as fragments are spread far and wide, they can be 
gathered, and the whole eventually recreated. This is true of 
knowledge as well as gods.” A deep rumble of a voice seemed to 
come from somewhere beneath me and surround me. “Even if some 
pieces go missing," | felt moreso than heard a wry chuckle vibrate 
through me, "or are devoured. I’m sorry, but that is my nature, after 
all.” 


| awoke on a spit of land atop, what | now know, had been a small 


sandy hill a few miles up the Nile from the Museum district. | stood 
shakily, not sure at first what had happened, or where | was. | 
appeared to be alive, and intact, though my dress hung in sodden 
tatters around me. | felt over my body, and my hands brushed the 
crocodile pendant that still hung around my neck. The satchels, 
however, were gone.