Ted had left the barn door open and the whole thing was pretty 
much packed full of dirt now. Dad screamed at him. Hit him. Kicked 
him when he was down. He only stopped when he saw a rabbit 
nearby. Rabbits had been eating what little was left of the greenery, 
and smashing them to death was how a lot of men passed the time. 
But right before Dad caved its head in, we heard something that 
sounded for all the world like a human cry for help. Coming from the 
rabbit. We all looked at each other, wondering if the others heard it, 
too, but none of us said anything. 


Days passed. Nothing changed. The dust still hung over everything, 
blocking the sky and the sun. When Dad and Uncle Lem screamed 
at each other about whether or not to get back to work, | would take 
Grace up to her room and we would talk about the actors and 
actresses we liked and which stories we thought were best. 


Day and night grew so difficult to distinguish from each other that we 
eventually lost all track of how much time had passed. At some point 
Cecil came banging on our door, his face like he'd seen a ghost. He 
gathered me, Dad, Ted, and Uncle Lem together and told us that 
he'd been hearing rumors. He said Ruben Peterson down the way 
had hanged himself. We told him that this kind of news wasn't 
surprising anymore. Then Cecil said that Ruben Peterson's wife 
found his head lying on the floor, screaming, sitting five feet away 
from his body, dust pouring out of his neck like sawdust from a doll 
that's been ripped apart. Dad called Cecil a gullible idiot and threw 
him out of our house. 


One night—I think it was night—me and most of the family were 
sound asleep when we heard Ted hollering outside. Uncle Lem just 
about died when he saw Aunt Margie way out in the distance, 
hobbling slowly away from us and into the dusty oblivion. He yelled 
at her, pleaded from a distance, begged her to come back. He tried 
to chase after her, but Dad and Ted held him back. I'd never seen 
Uncle Lem cry before, but he just sat there in a broken puddle. We 
all eventually left him and went back into the house. He came back 
inside hours later. Told us that he only stopped crying because the 
dust had dried up all his tears. Nobody went back to sleep that night. 
| wondered if anyone else had seen a figure way off in the distance. 
The figure Aunt Margie had been walking toward. 


Food was running low. Dad said we would all starve to death if he 
didn't try to drive to market. Mom begged him not to go, but he 
insisted. Right after he opened the door and right before he stepped 
outside, he looked at me and said, "g'bye." He didn't look at Mom, or 
Ted, or Uncle Lem when he said that. He looked at me. It was quick 
and meaningless, but | still wonder what it meant. We never saw him 
again after that. 


Uncle Lem and Ted went next door to check if Cecil was dead. If he 
had food he wasn't using, we needed it. They told me to stay behind 
and guard the girls. They came back empty-handed, their eyes 
haunted. They wouldn't tell us what they saw, they just hugged 
everyone and said they loved them. 


We all slept together in the living room after that. Once more | 
awoke to a loud noise in the middle of the night, only this time the 
source was a gunshot. Mom was dead. | grabbed Grace and carried 
her upstairs, shielding her eyes, while Ted tried to wrestle the gun 
away from Uncle Lem. He was able to, but only after Lem had put a 
bullet through his own head. When | came downstairs to help clean 
up, | asked where all the blood had gone. Ted just looked at me and 
handed me a broom, and | realized that there hadn't been any blood 
at all. 


It was just me, Ted, Cathie, and Grace after that. Cathie clutched 
Grace so close to her chest that | was afraid she'd strangle the poor 
child. Eventually it occurred to me that might be her intention. Ted 
pointed out that none of us had eaten since we ran out of food the 


previous week. Cathie wailed that we were all on the cusp of 
starvation, and we'd be dead within hours if we didn't eat anything. 


A week or so after that, we had a very similar conversation. 


| caught Cathie sitting by herself on the front porch one day. She 
was rubbing her fingernail along her forearm, chipping away the dust 
that had built on her skin. We all had dust on our skin. But as she 
picked away the dust bit by bit, | realized that the crater she was 
making in her arm was getting a little too deep. | stopped watching 
after that, because | knew she would keep on picking through to the 
other side, and all she'd find was dust. 


Grace was asleep when Ted and | found Cathie lying outside, her 
face fluttering in the breeze, barely attached to her head by a tiny 
scrap of skin at the right ear. We didn't say anything. Ted didn't even 
look upset. | probably didn't, either, but | still felt like he should have 
at least tried to look sad. Her face tore off and soared into the 
distance as Ted and | dug her grave. 


Her face came back not long afterward. It was attached to a cat. It 
killed Ted. He didn't seem to mind. 


| walked up to Grace's room. The stairs wobbled. | had a feeling that 
the only thing holding them together now was dust. Dust was all that 
held anything together now. Wind was blowing everywhere, even 
though we were indoors. Grace sat on her bed, with that calm look 
children have when all the adults are hopelessly upset. She'd 
become pale and thin, but by God you would swear she could have 
been a movie star one day. 


| took her into my arms as the wind blew circles around us. We 
talked about King Kong one last time. She would have these long 
periods of silence between her responses, and every time she fell 
quiet | would think she'd passed, but then she'd come back and tell 
me she wondered if they built a giant robot monkey and had it climb 
the Empire State Building. We talked some more about the Empire 
State Building. | told her what it looked like on the inside. | told her 
about New York City, and what it was like to be rich and free, and 
how she'd get to see it all for herself when she became a famous 
actress. 


And then she stopped responding entirely. 


When Ted died, the wind blew him away in chunks, but Grace went 
away ina single, gentle gust, drifting into the air like sand along a 
shore. 


| explored the world outside the house and found nothing. | think I'm 
the last one in the world who hasn't crumbled into dust yet. | guess 
I've always been pretty good at holding myself together. 


| don't need to eat, drink, or sleep anymore, even though my brain 
tells me | do. Sometimes | see shapes in the distance that look like 
people, but when | get closer | just see things that might have once 
been animals. 


Cathie's body came back at one point and stood over Grace's bed 
for an hour or so. | gave her a mask to cover where her face used to 
be and told her that Grace wasn't here anymore. | put Cathie back in 
the ground, but she had already dug herself out again when | woke 
up the next day. | haven't seen her since. 


I'd lost all hope until a little black bird came flying out of the dust and 
into my hands. | can't explain how | knew, but | Knew it was Grace. | 
could feel it in the dust inside the bird inside the dust. She didn't say 
anything, but she didn't need to. 


It took years to find them all, but | did. 
| open my eyes. I'm ready. 


In each hand | hold a cluster of strings woven around the legs of 
countless birds. Aunt Margie, Uncle Lem, Ted, Grace, Mom, Dad, 
Cecil, and even Phyllis from the theater are here, along with other 
folks | don't recognize. | thank them for being kind enough to 
volunteer. Their wings are twitching in anticipation. | take a deep 
breath, allowing the dust to fill my lungs. It's so much easier to 
breathe now that | just accept it. Normally this plan would seem 
insane and impossible, but these days the world itself is insane and 
impossible. Besides, I'm so much lighter now. There's no more 
anger weighing me down. No more hatred. 


| open the door to the gilded birdcage. The little black birds pour out 
and fall upward into the sky. As | feel my feet leave the ground, | 
stare into the beautiful brown oblivion and whisper a dusty word of 
gratitude for finally setting this old dog free. 


The larvae encysted in the central nervous system secrete a 
compound that in most cases has two effects. First, it leads to a 
marked increase in altruism. Victims of SCP-833 are generally 
described as becoming kinder and notably more generous. 
Secondly, victims gain the conviction that their tissues are extremely 
delicious, nutritious, or pure. Due to the increase in altruism, the 
host will try to "help" others by feeding them pieces of his or her own 
flesh. 


Because hosts do not lose their self-preservation instinct, they will 
generally not severely injure themselves to fulfill this compulsion. 
Similarly, they retain awareness of social taboos against 
cannibalism and so usually act in secret. Victims will typically resist 
the urges induced by SCP-833 for some time before finally giving in. 


SCP-833 came to the attention of the Foundation during a raid ona 
cult in , that was suspected of being connected to SCP- . An 
unknown member of Trichinella, later designated SCP-833, was 
found in the system of the surviving cult members, who were then 
terminated. 


Addendum 833-3: On / /  , an experiment was conducted in 
which D-40023, who was noted to be violently psychotic, was 
exposed to SCP-833, to see how he was affected by the 
psychological element of SCP-833 infestation. When the subject 
recovered from the acute symptoms of infection, the subject was 
placed in a room with D-9182. Neither subject was informed of the 
psychological effects of SCP-833. After a short while, D-40023 
fashioned an improvised knife from some furniture, and began to 
slice off his own fingers and attempt to force-feed them to D-9182. 
Security personnel entered to restrain D-40023, who responded 
violently. D-40023 was terminated, and D-9182 was inadvertently 
killed in the struggle. Security was reprimanded, and object class 
upgraded to Euclid. 


Addendum 833-16: Excerpt from interview with Mrs. - ,who 
was found to have been a host for SCP-833 for an estimated twelve 
years, during which she infected most of her home town of : 
She and the rest of the town were later successfully treated by the 
standard drug regimen and given Class-B amnestics. 


Tales E 


Ears 


My ears have always been temperamental, and their fragile inner 
workings frighten me just a bit; | don't want to make myself deaf by 
messing with them too much. | hardly understand how they work. 
Something about sound waves bouncing off eardrums? 


Anyway, | talk about ears because | hate airplanes. There are tiny 
holes in my eardrums and they don't always drain properly. As a 
result, my ears often hurt like hell when | descend the many 
thousands of feet to my destination. | never feel more relieved than 
when they finally pop and | can hear again. The sound of ears 
popping, to me, is like crinkling paper being dunked in a fish tank. 


Right now I'm on my way to O'Hare, and the plane is slowly going 
down to the runway. | can tell because my sinuses are protesting 
and my ears hurt. | don't ever cry because I'm in pain but God damn 
this is the worst pain | can remember being in, except for the time | 
got hit by a bus when | was 12. Even then, adrenaline kept the pain 
in check for a time while the ambulance carried me away. | have no 
adrenaline right now. Just earaches. 


The plane beeps as the buckle-your-seatbelt sign lights up. The 
noise hurts so badly. The flight attendant says we're about twenty 
minutes from landing, and it's the longest twenty minutes of my life. 
The insides of my ears, all those tiny little structures, are squeaking 
against each other like fresh Brussels sprouts. 


Once I've disembarked | can't hear out of either ear. 


"Thnkyu, wicm t Chcago," the flight attendant says as | leave. She 
had a nice voice at the beginning of the flight but now it's just 
muffled. 


Next to the baggage claim, my left ear pops. Glorious, | think to 
myself, rattling the side of my head with my palm to loosen the tiny 
structures in my other ear. | pinch my nose and swallow. My left ear 


pops again. Fantastic. The noise of the baggage claim is sharp, not 
in a knife way but in a cheddar cheese way. | shake my head again. 
Come on, right ear. You can make it. 


Long after my fellow passengers have cleared away from the area, 
and my suitcase is the only one slowly revolving around the 
conveyor belt, my right ear doesn't so much pop as explode. | nearly 
topple off the bench in surprise. 


All the sounds are ridiculously clear. | don't think I've ever heard this 
well in my life. | collect my suitcase and equalize my left ear again. 
Damn, this is amazing. | never noticed how dull my hearing was 
before. 


| approach the duty-free shop to buy a bottle of juice. The man at the 
very front of the shop is browsing the wines. 


"Long trip?" | say to him idly. 


"Yeah, really," he replies. "Hopefully a bit of this and a bit of that'll 
help me unwind, ah?" 


| start going off to the corner where the display fridge is, but stop 
when | hear the man whisper. 


"Just take them." 

"What?" | say, turning around. 

"Hm?" the man says. He looks at me with a puzzled expression. 
"I'm...sorry, did you say something?" 

"No, | didn't." 

| nod. Wonderful. I'm so sleep-deprived I'm starting to hear things. 


"Chardonnay. That's good. Just take one of them. They're tiny, 
nobody will notice." 


His mouth wasn't moving. It wasn't even open, and the voice was 
coming from behind his head. 


"Stop that," | say to the mostly empty shop. "Knock that off." 


The man looks at me and leaves. My heart is pounding so hard | 
think it might tire itself out and eventually stop working. My 
tombstone will say "went batshit, had heart attack. Will not be 
missed." 


The woman behind the counter waves a hand at me. "Sir, are you 
feeling alright? Do you want me to call the medical station?" 


There's a voice coming from behind her head too. It's telling me - no, 
telling her - to sneak some money from the register. What the fuck? 


"Listen, something's going on here and | don't appreciate it. I'm not 
going to take this whole prank lying down." 


She keeps one eye on me as she takes out her cell phone. | flee the 
shop. | can tell this won't end well, but all | can think about is leave, 
leave, leave, this place is fucking haunted. 


There are people roaming the airport, and all of them have tiny 
whispers following them. "Fuck your boss, don't even bother 
showing up for the meeting.” "Your secretary is pretty hot, isn't she?" 
"Your mother's suffering. Just end it now before she gets worse." 


| cover my ears. Amazing hearing, and all | can hear now is one 
voice, and it's speaking to me. 


"You're going mad." 


Eating Crow 


Patient Information 


Patient #:_ 00245686 Patient Name: John _ Date of 
Admission: _05.06.2017_ 

Sex: M__ Ethnicity: Caucasian_ Hair: Black Eye: Blue 
Age: _32_ Height: 186 cm_ Weight: 81.2g Emergency 
Contact: Nora (Wife) _ 


¢ Patient was admitted to psychiatric ward for a psychological 
assessment after complaints of a sudden irrational fear of 
birds. Patient reported being terrified of leaving his house due 
to his newly acquired ornithophobia. Patient's wife convinced 
him to allow himself to be driven to the hospital, after he 
began to refuse to eat with her due to being afraid to look out 
the window (Patient's wife explained that various birds are 
known to frequent their yard). Patient was discharged after a 
short period.