All nice and neat, 

And proceeded to play with his cock. 


| love you Susan. 
| love you Susan. 
| love you Susan. 
| love you Susan. 


FUCK THE FOUNDATION! 


Bunkhouse Rules: 

1 — Don’t hurt each other. 

2 — Don’t steal from each other. 
3 — Have each other’s backs. 


Dear Graham, 
You are a perfect cornflower in a rocky desert. 
Please be mine. — K. 


Safe Skip List: 
SCP-832 

SCP-1930 

SCP-1187 (Cool!) 
SCP-2533 

SCP-1379 

SCP-1123 (NOT cool) 


Happy 1S! Birthday Connor! 
ond 
3rd 


To whom it may concern: 

Please stop masturbating in this corner. 

My bunk is just over there — 

and | am tired of cleaning up your mess. 

Use the fucking bathroom like a civilised human being. 


PRICE LIST: 

Mixed Fruit “Wine” — 1 candy bar 
|-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Brandy — 3 candy bars 2 candy 
bars 

Actual Factual Beer — 2 candy bars 


Fuggz woz ere 


Party 2-nite!! 

02/04/16 09/05/16 21/07/16 12/08/16 
Free beer! 

MUSIC!! 


Don't forget me. 


D35725 raped one of our bunkmates. 
He is no longer one of us. 


Kevin, 
You made this place bearable. 
| will miss you always. — G. 


Like the autumn leaves 
every one must fall in time 
but not all today 


- Graffiti written on the wall of D-Class Barracks No. 13 
(Male), Site-19. Painted over in preparation for new D-Class 
intake, 10th September 2016. 


The 12 Days of Site 87's Christmas 


On the First day of Christmas, 87 Gave to me... 


Tristan Bailey, putting up a Christmas tree. He had drawn the short 
straw, and was tasked with putting up the tree this year, which had 
been bought from a new tree farm in town. 


"Eya Bailey!" Agent Ewell walked in, stepping aside from the 
mistletoe cautiously. "Merry X-Mas!" 


"Same to you, Ewell." Tristan awkwardly stood the tree up and 

frowned; despite the fact that it was fifteen feet tall, it neatly fit into 
the commons he had set it up in, which had only a ten-foot ceiling. 
"...remind me to get Sinclair or someone in botany to look at this." 


"Noted," Ewell said, sipping on some eggnog. "What all's happening 
in Multi-U?" 


"Not much. We found a universe where... you know the Christmas 
Truce?" 


"Yeah, that thing in World War 1 that made people stop fighting for 
an entire day because of the power of Christmas. Why?" 


"We found a universe where it's a global holiday,” Tristan explained. 
As he did so, a light flickered on the Christmas Tree, despite the fact 
that none had been put on. "Every year, across the world, wars stop 
being fought in honor of Christmas, or at least, a solstice 
celebration." 


"And let me guess: the U.S. of A uses it to gank enemies from 
behind?" 


"Actually, no. Here's what makes it amazing." Tristan grinned as he 
explained, ignorant as to what was happening on the tree behind 
him. "The League of Nations- U.N. never formed in this universe- 


has very strict rules about it. Nazi Germany tried violating it in 1943. 
Hitler was dead by New Years." 


"Merry friggin' Christmas, eh?" Ewell chuckled and sipped at his 
drink, nearly dropping it as he saw what had happened to the tree. 


"Yeah! And this year is the centennial of it, just like in this universe. 
They're throwing a big shebang; Director Weiss has given a few 
people permission to- Ewell you're getting Eggnog on the carpet!" 


"...look at the tree, Bailey." 


Tristan spun around and stared at the tree. It had changed from a 
plain pine to a marvelous spruce, hung with garlands and candles 
and various colors of berries, and popcorn strings, and at the very 
top, an angel. Not one of the wimpy ones you saw on the top of 
normal Christmas trees, either; this was a many-winged angel with 
inhuman form, and if it were real and not simply a wood and metal 
reconstruction, it would have burned out the eyes of everyone in Site 
87. 


"...get someone from botany. Now." 


On the second day of Christmas, 87 gave to me... 


Two magic tomes were what Dr. Sinclair pored over come 
December 15th. Everyone else was distracted with something about 
a tree ina common room. She had work to do, dammit. 


So, she looked over the two books before her, scratching her head. 
"No, that's not right... the translation should be direct... why 
mistletoe..." She sighed, and looked around the dark, empty lab, lit 
only by a single candle by her side. She preferred to work in the 
dark; it helped her concentrate. 


She rubbed her face and sighed. Monty- Montgomery- was gone for 
the holidays; he was visiting family back home. So, she was in her 
lab, alone, with Christmas only 9 days away. The second day of 
Christmas, as her mother called it; she counted Christmas as the 
12th. 


Either way, she was alone, in her lab. She didn't much care for 
Christmas, anyway, at least, not the American version; now, the 
Germanic version with the Krampus, That was an amazing 
celebration. 


She reached into her wallet, and looked at a picture she had taken 
with her mother in Austria, during a Krampusnacht celebration she 
had been a part of when she was... what, 10? She was in on the 
act, of course, but that didn't make it any less exciting. 


Katherine Sinclair, at this point, looked back at her tomes. One of 
them was a book written by St. Nicholas. Because of course it was; 
things in Sloth's Pit always seemed to line up with the times. In 
Thanksgiving 2013, for instance, coincided with Hanukkah, so the 
turkeys in the cafeteria had become golems animated by a 
disgruntled employee. 


Katherine looked into this book and frowned. There was a ritual here 
for summoning the Krampus, or at the very least, a Krampus. Were 
there multiples? It seemed like a simple ritual, easy to contain... and 
could provide valuable insight into Krampusnacht and magic used 
by Saints. 


What the heck? She clapped her hands, turning on the lights in the 
lab, and started looking for test approval forms. 


On the third day of Christmas, 87 gave to me... 


Three baffled botanists looked over the Christmas tree in Common 
Room 8, who, in turn, were being watched by various Foundation 
staff who were taking time off from guard duty or experimenting to 
look at the researchers doing it. They had been taking samples of 
the tree for days on end, but so far, it seemed like a completely 
normal tree. Of note, however, was that all the mistletoe in the site, 
real and fake, seemed to be vanishing, and started disappearing the 
previous night, forty-four in all. 


One researcher in particular, Chris Hastings, was looking over one 
of the candles that had appeared on the tree, squeezing it in his 
hand, smelling it, and licking it. "Beeswax." 


closed due to inclement weather. When these conditions are met, 
approximately % of persons crossing SCP-869 from the landward 
side to the pier, on foot or in a vehicle, will not arrive at the pier and 
will lose visual contact with land and pier-based observers at 
approximately the halfway point between the bridge's termini. The 
area that persons so afflicted arrive at, based on forensic analysis of 
photographs taken by survey teams, is physically identical to the 
original pleasure pier constructed on the site as it existed in the 
summer of 1948. 


In all surveys conducted since the discovery of SCP-869's 
properties, interviews with civilians found within the anomaly and 
evidence recovered in the form of calendars and newspapers 
indicate that the date within the anomaly is Saturday, July 24th, 
1948, years after the original pleasure pier opened for business. 
Local time within the anomaly is consistent with the time of day 
outside it. Surveys have indicated that events within the anomaly 
occur consistently in the same manner, at the same time, as during 
all previous observations, except when survey team members are 
directly involved. On no occasion has any survey team spotted any 
previous survey team within the anomaly. 


No means of direct communication across SCP-869 has been 
discovered to date. Radio, cellular phone, satellite, and other 
wireless transmissions have proven non-functional, and attempts at 
laying a telephone line across SCP-869 and into the anomaly have 
consistently resulted in the cable-laying team failing to enter the 
anomaly. 


In all cases where it has been attempted, crossing back to shore 
along SCP-869 from the anomaly, prior to the close of business for 
the day (which on 7/24/48 occurred at 9 P.M.) has returned survey 
team members to the shore successfully. Survey team members 
exiting the pier within the anomaly by its main entrance have found 
that the [REDACTED] mainland similarly is identical in all discernible 
ways to the state that it existed in in 1948. In all cases where 
persons originating within the anomaly have been persuaded to 
cross SCP-869 to the mainland, that individual has not arrived on 
shore. All personnel remaining within the anomaly after the close of 
business have been lost. No indication of the presence or ultimate 


"Of course it is, Hastings. What else would a candle be made out 
of?" Dr. Partridge, head of Botany at Site 87, rolled his eyes at the 
annoyance of an assistant. 


"No, | mean... this just formed on the tree. And look." He broke it 
open, revealing a honeycombed pattern inside. "Looks like it came 
right from the hive, but it's smooth on the outside. Maybe it's 
something in the tree?" 


"We'll have entomology look into it," Dr. Partridge assured him."Dr. 
Grant's been rather bored lately; Christmas Bees would be exciting 
to him." 


"Why bees? Pine trees don't flower..." Chris took out a notepad filled 
with several possibilities, including "Christmas curse", "fair folk", 
"enchanted tree" "Krampus (?)" and "Just plain fucking weird". "I've 
been meaning to talk to Sinclair in occult studies about it-" 


"If Dr. Sinclair were a medical doctor, I'd be inclined to call her a 
quack. But, she's not, so | can only call her insane." Dr. Partridge 
sneered at Hastings. "Now, let's get this back to the lab-" 


"Uh, we can't, sir. If you were here yesterday, you would have 
known that." Chris nodded to a couple of grunts, who attempted to 
lift the tree; it stayed in place like it weighed as much as a dump 
truck, and one of the agents yelped as he strained his shoulder. "It 
appears to be locked in place." 


"...very well. We'll set up the commons as a containment area, for 
the time being. Clear out, everyone.” 


All of the watching Foundation researchers protested; some booed 
like the disgruntled ghosts of Christmas. A few actually glared at 
Chris, despite it not being his fault. 


This was going to be a Jong week. 


On the fourth day of Christmas, 87 gave to me... 


Four and forty sprigs of mistletoe, both real and fake, lay in the 
center of a circle set up by Dr. Sinclair in the testing chamber. A very 


nervous-looking man from the cryptozoology department was 
assisting her, monitoring her through the chambers. 


"You know, Researcher..." Dr. Hendricks swallowed. "I'm not 
equipped to do this. | honestly don't know what to do with half of 
this-" 


"From left to right, EMF reader, Kant counter- though that's 
unreliable, at best- emergency Scranton activation switch, thermal 
camera, infra-red camera, regular camera, alarm button, and 
redundant recording devices." 


Jason Hendricks stared trough the glass. "...you know, you could be 
monitoring this... have a D-Class do the actual... test..." 


"Yes, let's have a barely sentient clone with organs that will fail in 30 
days do a complex ritual that requires speaking in at least two 
languages.” Sinclair rolled her eyes. "Anyway. This requires 
someone else to read the spell, so when | start burning the sprigs, 
read the highlighted section on the paper." 


"Right..." Dr. Hendricks looked at the paper and frowned. "Didn't 
think Saint Nicholas would be involved in this..." 


"Ol' Nick's the patron saint of thieves— repentant thieves, granted, 
but he was involved in some shit." She muttered a prayer and began 
burning the mistletoe. "Any time now, Jason." 


Dr. Hendricks sighed, and read, feeling like a fool. "O'o'o yon 
mistl'to, hung on yonder tree... the ol' witch-god awaits you, kiss his 
lips for me..." 


Dr. Sinclair expected the smell of burning plastic to meet her lips as 
she lit the fake mistletoe, but instead, all she smelled was crisp pine 
needles and Yule Logs. She gave a satisfied sigh, and produced a 
pumpkin, carved into a Jack-O-Lantern. "Herbst abgeschlossen ist, 
die Flusse flieBen nicht, Krampus, Krampus, Krampus, Kommen 
Sie..." She threw the pumpkin into the fire; it conflagrated instantly, 
and from it, emerged a being with the face of a man, the horns of 
some bizarre dear, and white, stark hair all over. It growled at 
Katherine. 


"Wer ruft mich? Es ist meine Zeit vorbei." The Krampus had a cold 
voice, like freezing to death on Christmas Eve. 


Katherine swallowed at the sound of his voice. "Ich heiBe K. 
Sinclair," She was careful not to give it her full name. "Ich bin ein 
Forscher fur eine Organisation, die ein Interesse an Ihnen. 
Sprechen Sie Englisch?" 


"Il speak English, yes," The Krampus grinned. "Your German is poor, 
Fraulein." 


"| have called upon you to ask you questions," Katherine swallowed. 
"What do you know of Saint Nicholas of Myra?" 


"That is not why you had your pet call me, K. Sinclair. You and | 
both know it." 


She repeated her question, in more detail. "What do you know of 
Saint Nicholas, Defender of Orthodoxy, Wonderworker, Holy 
Hierarch, Bishop of Myra-" 


"...he really calls himself Wonder-Worker now?" The Krampus 
snorted. "Very well. | shall tell you some information of him. | am 
bound by your wo-" 


"Dr. Sinclair?” An unfamiliar voice entered the laboratory from 
behind Dr. Hendricks. 


Hendricks looked behind him, and groaned as he saw who it was. 
Christopher Hastings, Botany, the great conspiracy theorist. The 
worst part is that he was right nine times out of ten, but nobody 
wanted to admit it. "Yes, Researcher Hastings?" 


".,.what are you doing here, Dr. Hendricks? Wha- ohmygod!" He 
dropped a stack of papers he was carrying as he saw what was in 
the testing chamber. "Y-you've summoned a Christmas Demon! 
You're intending to spread Christmas joy by force because we aren't 
celebrating hard enough! You're conspiring with the tree-people!" 


"Tree- Hastings, what are you on about now?" He rubbed his face 
and sighed. "It's an experiment. We're seeing what information we 
can get out of him about Saint Nicholas, or something— it's 


Sinclair's doing. What did you need?" 


Without another word, Christopher fled the room. 


On the fifth day of Christmas, 87 gave to me... 


Five mugs of eggnog later, Christopher Hastings woke up in a daze 
in the common room where E-2512 ("The Christmas Tree") was, 
with Dr. Partridge having just come in. Not noticing the scattered 
mugs lying about, he nodded at Hastings and looked up at the angel 
on top. "Have we heard back from Theology about that?" 


"Not yet, sir," Chris said, rubbing his face. "I tried to talk to Dr. 
Sinclair last night, but-" They were trying to summon a demon to 
take over the site "-she was in the middle of an experiment, so | said 
I'd be back later." No, you idiot! 


"Very well," Dr. Partridge sighed. "Have we tried destruction testing 
yet?" 


"Sir," Agent Ewell stepped into the room, looking distinctly yellow 
and frustrated, "I'd prefer if you didn't try to burn down an anomaly in 
the middle of a public common room." 


"Who said anything about fire? We need acid-" 
"| agree with Agent Ewell, sir." 


Dr. Partridge looked at Hastings. "Christopher, you do realize the 
scientific value of this, correct?"