Due to an unauthorized experiment by the members of 
the Manna Club of Sacred Charity, cake will be served 
with all meals for the foreseeable future. Consumption of 
this cake is mandatory, though enjoyment, while 
encouraged, is not. 


The Bully 


The Bully was a figure of much speculation around the School. 
Certainly, there were many bullies who stalked the corridors and 
brought misery upon their classmates, but there was only one 


capital-B Bully that anybody talked about. 


Few students could claim to have actually seen the Bully with their 
own eyes. The Bully, it seemed, appeared and vanished as it 
pleased, leaving only a trail of destruction to show where it had 
been. The few times anyone claimed to have actually witnessed the 
Bully had passed on into school legend. Some claimed the Bully had 
once climbed down into the Basement and fought with the monsters 
living there among the sacks of flour and potatoes. Others claimed 
that several teachers had tried to use the Bully to discipline 
disrespectful students, until it had gotten fed up and torn both 
groups to shreds. A few said that the Bully couldn't be killed, and a 
few others said that killing the Bully wouldn't be enough to stop it, 
anyway. Overall, it was tacitly agreed that nobody really knew 
anything. 


Aldon never paid much attention to the rumors about the Bully. 
Personally, she felt that he, (it, whatever) probably didn't exist at all. 
Sure, there were stranger things in the School, like the bathtub in 
the third floor dormitories that screamed at itself, or the painting that 
surrounded itself with lizards every lunch period, but at least you 
could actually see those for yourself, and confirm that they were 
real. The Bully was more likely than not a rumor made up by the 
students to suggest that the faculty could be opposed, or even more 
likely, a rumor made up by the faculty to keep the students in line 
and afraid. 


Aldon sighed and flicked her pen with her free hand. School had 
barely begun for the day, and already her mind was wandering. She 
hadn't slept well last night, because the Administration had gotten 
wind of her secret project, and replaced it with a note telling her that 
art supplies were not allowed out of their assigned room, and that 
her sculpture was highly inappropriate and had been confiscated for 
her own good. Though the note wouldn't have caused her to lost any 
sleep on its own, the fact that it was attached to a box of angry 
snapping turtles certainly did. Aldon absentmindedly rubbed the bite 
marks on her arms and sighed again. 


Suddenly, there was a loud crackle from the gramophone horn 
fastened above the door. Everyone in the room jumped, including 
the teacher, who abruptly stopped his lecture on tesseracts in mid- 


sentence. The horn produced the sound of a person clearing their 
throat, and then began to speak in a monotone, genderless voice. 


"The School Committee of Normalcy Retention regrets to inform you 
all that there has been a minor breach of disciplinary protocol, and 
an especially troublesome student has gained access to the school 
at large. All students -" Here, the voice cut off with a tremendous 
crash. 


A few seconds later, another voice, equally monotone but subtly 
different, resumed the announcement. "All students and faculty are 
to observe Emergency Ruling Number Twelve," it finished, ending 
with another crackle. 


Emergency Ruling Number Twelve? Aldon thought, crawling 
beneath her desk and curling into a ball. That's reserved for the 
worst stuff possible. What student is this? Around her, she heard 
students whispering the same thoughts to each other, along with a 
single word: Bully. 


Garbage, Aldon thought, or would have thought, had the door not 
immediately exploded off its hinges. With no time to react, she could 
only stare as a flurry of muscle, unkempt hair, and dark tattoos 
raced towards the classroom's front desk. As it grew closer, she 
caught a glimpse of a scowling face, twisted with inhuman rage. 
Aldon pulled her head further beneath her desk and closed her 
eyes. Above her, she heard a scream of primal rage, and a flurry of 
clattering, tearing, and... slicing? / don't want to know, | don't want to 
know, she thought desperately. The noises of destruction continued, 
until finally, a primal scream rocked the classroom. Then, silence. 


After several minutes, Aldon finally pulled herself out from under her 
desk and surveyed the classroom. The whole place was a complete 
wreck. Almost all of the furniture had been smashed, and there was 
no sign of the teacher. The door frame had been ripped out of the 
wall, suggesting the monster had exited the same way it had come 
in. 


And stuck in Aldon's desk, embedded nearly to the hilt, was a single, 
night-black knife. As Aldon stared, the blade faded away before her 
eyes, leaving a massive gash in the wood that declared as clearly as 


any writing: The Bully was here. 


Slowly, Aldon exhaled, then took a few shaking breaths. She 
wouldn't be sleeping well that night, either. 


The School Committee of Ethics and Discipline reminds 
you that the curfew exists primarily for your safety. 
Students not in their assigned nighttime locations by 
curfew will be expected to fend for themselves until 
morning. 


Lifeguarding 


It was noon, and a red, angry light beat down on the Secondary 
Athletic Courtyard of Miss Holloway's School for Children with 
Potential. The Courtyard was empty, save for one gaunt figure 
pacing around and around the swimming pool. 


The Lifeguard sighed, counting her steps. Six thousand seven 
hundred seventy five. Six thousand seven hundred seventy six. Six 
thousand seven hundred seventy seven. That made nearly thirty-two 
revolutions around the pool today. And, as usual, nobody was in it to 
watch. 


The Lifeguard paused to tap the side of her belt. Yes, it was still 
there. She resumed marching. Some time ago, hadn't there been 
others to walk with her? A man with an anchor on his arm, and 
another with a guitar? Somehow, she imagined a lot more people 
had once helped her lifeguard. But perhaps she was wrong. 


But then again... hadn't the pool been... larger, somehow? No, that 
was impossible. Miss Holloway's swimming pool was the largest in 
the world. She had been told that, she thought, when she became 
the Lifeguard. And yet, the vague image of a much larger pool 
tugged at her memories. A pool with something at the bottom, she 
remembered. But she could see plainly that there was nothing at the 
bottom of Miss Holloway's pool. It was perfectly clean, as it should 
be. Somehow, it made her feel a bit sad. 


She paused again, and checked her belt. Then, carefully, she 
removed her revolver from the side of it, and examined the cylinder. 
Five bullets. One empty space. Sometime, long ago, she had used 
one of those bullets. She felt a vague sense of nostalgia and guilt. 
She had regretted using the gun that time, she thought. They had 
explained it to her, she remembered. Told her that it had to be done. 
That sometimes Lifeguarding meant doing the exact opposite of 
guarding lives. But that was all a while ago, before she had come to 
Lifeguard at Miss Holloway's School. 


At Miss Holloway's School, the recruiters had said, she could have a 
whole pool to herself, and she would never have to use the revolver 
again. But she should keep it with her, just in case. The Lifeguard 
hadn't questioned the suggestion. She hadn't questioned anything in 
a long time. 


The Lifeguard replaced the revolver in its holster, sighed, and began 
pacing again. Six thousand eight hundred five, six thousand eight 
hundred six, six thousand eight hundred seven... 


The School Committee of Ethics and Discipline reminds 
all students that anyone found floating toy boats in the 
School's Sanguine Pond will be forced to retrieve them 
personally. 


The Empty Room 


The forty-third room on the third floor of Miss Holloway's School for 
Children with Potential was empty. No teacher held class there, and 
no club ever met there for long. The Administration refused to 
acknowledge the room at all, skipping it entirely in the organizational 
plans. 


Those few students who spent time in the room said that it had an 
air of sadness, as if something belonged there, but it had left, and 
would never be back again. 


SCP-631: Nyctophobic Nocturnal Predator 


Item #: SCP-631 
Object Class: Keter 


Special Containment Procedures: Extermination procedures for 
SCP-631 are to remain in effect until further notice. Information 
regarding civilian disappearances in SCP-631's environment (urban 
and suburban areas of the United States) is to be monitored, with 
particular regards to the areas outlined in Document-631-T. 
Disappearances related or believed to be related to SCP-631 are to 
be filtered (standard media blackout procedures apply). Said 
incidents are to be investigated promptly, and should an instance of 
SCP-631 be identified, it must be terminated immediately. In the 
event that no SCP-631 are in Foundation custody, the instance must 
be captured instead. Agents involved in SCP-631 recovery or 
termination must be supplied with thermal imaging equipment. 


Mobile Task Forces Nu-11 and Omicron-17 are to be regularly 
deployed to the areas outlined in Document-631-T. The airspace of 
these areas is to be thoroughly examined via thermal imaging for 
SCP-631 instances. 


One instance of SCP-631 is to remain in containment for study and 
secured in a concrete cell. The instance must be restrained at all 
times and exposed to artificial sunlight. It is to remain pacified by 
Serum-631-Gamma and delivered sustenance via IV feeding. 
Should the organism's status deteriorate, one (1) D-Class personnel 
may be allotted for SCP-631's natural feeding and reproduction 
activity. All the produced offspring save for one are to be terminated 
and the remaining instance is to be contained as instructed above. 


Description: SCP-631 is a species of large predatory organism with 
a vaguely crustacean appearance. They possess a wing 
morphology consistent with the order Chiroptera and a reptilian tail 
terminating in a venomous stinger. This tail also contains the 


The Administration would like to issue a reminder that it 
does not condone the formation of unofficial religious 
groups, covert or otherwise. On an unrelated subject, 
any hyacinth flowers found in possession of a student 
will be confiscated immediately. 


Cleaning Floors, Moving On 


The School's Clock Winders hummed happily as they repaired its 
central bell tower. A few of the mechanisms had broken down, as 
they often did, but all would be made right again with the quick 
application of the right tools. The Head Winder began the ritual 
chant as his followers scuttled to and fro, checking over all the cogs 
and levers and springs one final time. As he concluded, he signaled 
his second-in-command, who removed the wooden stoppers from 
between the largest gears. The mechanisms began to spin and 
twist, and the school's massive bell tolled, bringing the Clock 
Winders to their knees with its glorious sound. As the twelfth and 
final chime faded out into the afternoon air, a few of the Winders let 
out happy sighs. "And so God speaks," said the Head Winder. 
"Amen," the others echoed. Then, they crawled away to examine the 
School's other machinery. None of them paid any mind to the darkly- 
clad man who had begun to wipe the machinery down with a damp 
cloth. 


Later, as the students filtered out of their classes and dispersed 
throughout the school, they stepped around a small space in the 
third-floor hallway, avoiding it without thought. If one of them had 
stopped and really stared at the place her cohorts subconsciously 
dashed around, she might have caught a glimpse of something like 
a man-shaped shadow, slowly mopping the floor. But nobody 
stopped, and nobody noticed. 


This was how it always was for the Janitor. He cleaned, others 
moved, and the two groups never mixed or acknowledged the 
other's presence. Sometimes, when the Janitor had finished a job 
ahead of schedule, he might stand and look at those who moved 
around him. On occasion, he might vaguely recall a chorus of 
thirteen voices declaring, "As you sought attention before the 


Administration through your misbehavior, so shall you lose the 
privilege of the attention of others," and he might feel a twinge of 
regret pierce his stomach. But then he would be whisked away to 
the site of his next job, and not dwell on such half-memories. 


Presently, he was scrubbing away at a spatter of blood that had 
added a point of bright red to the hallway's gray-brown floorboards. 
As he washed away the blood, he idly wondered who or what had 
created it. A stronger student impressing his will upon another? A 
loose class project running amok? The Disciplinary Committee 
making its presence felt? 


It could have been anyone's fault, really. In a way, that was what 
made it so terrible. 


Students who fail to adequately clean their assigned 
blackboards will be sent to the office of the Committee of 
Ethics and Discipline to receive appropriate punishment. 


Cakework 


The shift whistle’s shriek broke morning air like a porcelain plate. A 
crow that had been roosting atop the Dispensary took flight with an 
indignant cry of its own. The crow was fat. All crows were fat now. 


The workers from the Collection Crew were sitting around the 
loading area smoking cigarettes in silence, yellow streaks on their 
coveralls vivid in the morning's ashen drear. On some days their 
work was light, but not today. It had been a bad one. Morale was 
low. 


Over the loudspeakers, a strident voice brought news of inevitable 
victory, accompanied by a blare of drums and trumpets. The 
announcer called for hope, optimism, and a sense of civic duty. 
Together, humanity would overcome. 


This message had not changed in more than a year. 


The Eaters filed into the Dispensary, their gait like rusty gears, 
dragging and slow. It had been almost three years since Cake Day. 
Weariness was a way Of life. 


The smell, as always, was thick and sweet and noxious. 


When the workers entered the Eatery, there was a collective sigh of 
despair. Somewhere in the crowd, a woman did her best to stifle her 
sobs. Another barked a hollow laugh. 


A battalion of three-tiered wedding cakes stood at attention, one for 
every seat in the hall. Bright yellow, covered in flowers, gaudy and 
absurd, each cake was almost identical. The only differences lay in 
the bits of grit, dirt, and debris they had collected when they had 
suddenly appeared the night before. Flies danced among the towers 
of buttercream. A beetle blindly explored the geometry of a fondant 
daisy. Smashed windshield glass twinkled among the edible pearls. 


The Cleaners did their best, but they couldn't get everything. 


The moment passed. Everyone shuffled to their seats. They were all 
ages and races and genders, but they were as identical in their 
weight as the cakes were in their hideous, yellow glory. The hall 
filled with the sounds of eating. Someone made a quiet retching 
sound, but no one left their seat. An Eater who didn't eat wasn't 
eligible for weekly vegetable rations. 


Outside, the smokers were finishing their cigarettes. An old man with 
gray hair and gray eyes took a final drag and brought his cigarette 
down to snuff it in a rogue clump of frosting on the concrete loading 
dock. The ember hovered above the sugary smear for a few 
seconds before the cigarette was instead flicked across the parking 
lot. 


Mechanically, the man scooped the frosting up with his finger and 
put it in his mouth. 


Aftermath