“He's gone. | think he's still with me.” A pause. “And thanks.” 


Esther stood back up. Jude noticed there was snot all over her 
shoulder. Most likely his, unless she was doing weird stuff with her 
nose. “He really liked you.” 


“| know.” 


“How do you think he's going to petition G-d for your entrance if his 
will is with you, though?” 


Jude laughed, standing on shaky legs. He collapsed onto the bed. “1 
wanted to ask, too, but | didn't wanna ruin the moment.” It was dark 
in the room. Lights off. The wine was on his bed, but Jude didn't 
care. 


Esther sat back on her bed, watching him for a moment. “I'll tell JJ 


about this in the morning, if you don't think you can.” 


But Jude heard nothing. Sleep came more quickly and more 
mercifully to him than it had in ages. 


« Phantom Blunt | Jude's Bizarre Adventure | Kiefdust 
Crusaders » 


Kiefdust Crusaders 


“And he's dead?” 


The dude was dead as hell, that was for sure. JJ had seen people 
die in front of him before. It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be 
to get used to. Or maybe it was the best for him that he got used to 
things as quickly as possible. Waltzing, traipsing through life. A lucky 
little ballerina. Shoes as pink as a rose. But the special shoes. 
Poinsettias. God, he could just see himself now. 


He hadn't even had time to use his stand. 


JJ bent down, picking up a screwdriver that had fallen from the dead 
man's coat. He tested it in his hands. A nice heft. Warm, still. The 
dead man had held it in his hands as he stepped inside. For 
protection? Why not get a knife? Weird. But it fell out of his hands 
when he had fallen. And now, JJ decided, it was his. Useful little 
tool. 


But the body. Esther was still in the bathroom. He was pretty sure 
she was, at least. He hadn't seen her with clothes yet, so she 
could've been still on her hands and knees trying to find her contact 
right under his nose. Probably not, though. It probably felt weird to 
be naked in the same hotel room as a guy who just died. He 
wrinkled his nose. That was stupid. Like something Jude would say. 
Too much time with him. Some of the things he said were 
contagious. The ways he had of putting things. They got into his 
head. 


But the body. 


“Yeah, dude. He hit his head bad. He's dead as hell. Did you get me 
the Diet Coke?” said Ju. 


Jude handed him the bottle. JJ had seen it, of course, but he liked to 
ask him. Jude had a way of forgetting about something even when it 


isolated from SCP-665 via a bisecting laser have revealed that 
SCP-665’s cardiovascular system had expanded to include these 
items. Furthermore, although these items retained their original 
appearances, their inherent chemical properties more closely 
resembled those of human flesh. 


It is not presently known how SCP-665 was able to obtain 
nourishment prior to containment, as the aforementioned drinking 
glasses were added by the Foundation specifically for the purpose 
of containing liquid nourishment. 


Addendum: SCP-665 has recently proven to be largely 
uncooperative with Foundation personnel, refusing to answer 
questions or submit to examinations. While SCP-665 has not shown 
any signs of violence, it must be stressed that personnel are 
expressly prohibited from introducing any item to SCP-665 that may 
conceivably be used as a weapon. 


« SCP-664 | SCP-665 | SCP-666 » 


was in his hands. Probably because he was a dumbass. Probably 
because he had just bought weed behind their hotel room and 
pretended like he was getting a snack. 


He had no reason to lie. But he did. That was just the way people 
were. And the longer Ju lived among people, the better JJ got at 
recognizing that the little details that pop out always mean 
something. Like noticing Jude hadn't brought back anything for 
himself. Or the smell of weed in the room. Or the weed and the new 
pipe that bulged in his pocket. Either that, or he was seriously 
packing and had managed to keep a grip on himself around JJ (as 
if). 


But the body. 


“He's dead,” said Jude. Like JJ didn't know. Like the massive head 
wound and the not breathing wasn't the fucking big enough hint. 
Doobie Hauser M.D., here to set shit straight. He smiled, beside 
himself. Jude had bent down, pressing the inside of his palm against 
the dead man's neck. Was it a move he had seen in a movie? 


“Knew him? Definitely seemed like one of the stand users. He was, 
uh, sayin’ a lot of shit before he tripped. And died. Lots of talking.” 


“Yeah. The Performer.” 
“Shitty name.” 


“Terrifying stand, though. Achy Breaky Heart. Good thing you guys 
got him down before he could get you under his spell. You'd've all 
died. He's got, like, a final boss level stand, if you ask me.” Jude 
stood up, cracking his back and his neck back into place. Like an old 
man. 


“What does it do then?” 


“Being around him makes all your bodily functions voluntary instead 
of involuntary. Gets smaller and smaller. Even if you can figure out 
how to get your heart beating, it's real hard to figure out how to do 
cellular respiration.” He rifled through the dead man's pockets. Jude 
pulled out the wallet and sat on JJ's bed. He pulled out a few bills 


and stuck them in his jean pocket. Then stuck his hand into his shirt. 
Jude pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he unfolded, stared 
at, then refolded. JJ cursed himself for forgetting to rob the corpse 
first. 


“That's not a final boss level stand,” Esther said, opening the door 
and dazzlingly fully-clothed. All obfuscation gone, it was good to see 
her talking again. “There's no gravitas. Even | know this, idiot.” She 
had her glasses on, which was good since the bitch turned into 
Velma Dinkley with her ass up in the air when she couldn't see. 
Jinkies! What was Yiddish for Jinkies? She'd say that. 


“Yeah, it's like. A really good monster of the week stand, | guess. 
But not big bad. You find your contacts?” JJ shrugged hopping onto 
the bed next to Jude. He reeked of weed. If he hadn't seen the 
bulge, the proximity would've given him away. Ju's hands crept up 
from Jude's knee and then grasped the bag and the pipe in his fist. 
“Planning on sharing, Papa Smoke?” 


Jude blushed. He always blushed. Tongue-tied little Catholic 
schoolboy. “Stop calling me that. And, uh, yeah. | guess. Can we do 
it in the car?” 


“No,” she said. No hesitation. She was in pajamas. Comfortable. Her 
hair was wet. Had a shower gone on while he waited for Jude with 
this dead body for company? “Do it in the bathroom or go outside. 
Behind the hotel. I'm sure you'll be fine. Actually, please go outside. 
The fan won't cover up you two giggling all night.” 


The poster she had drawn dominated their vision. Right in line of 
sight from the doorway. A real cancer of cognition. Which was hell 
for the Performer, of course. Poor guy didn't even get to see what he 
fell over before his skull cracked and his brain throttled against the 
cage enough to kill. 


“That's cool, but uh,” and Jude coughed. “Am | gonna be able to see 
naked people again?” 


“Naked women. And no. | mean, yes. But not now. Tomorrow. I'll 
make a little cure for you turds tomorrow. Now let me get to sleep.” 


JJ stuffed his hand into Jude's pocket. Suggestive wink, practiced 
flip, and the bag with the pipe was in his hand. A chillum. One-hitter, 
almost. Glass. But longer. It was nice. Clear and greenish. It would 
probably look blue when it was caked with resin. Which, given Jude, 
it probably would be. Super soon. Ultra soon. 


Jude stared ahead. After doing nothing like some weird mannequin, 
he leaned forward, pressed his palm on the dead man's back. His 
fingers splayed out like tracing the hand to draw a turkey. He took a 
breath, and something flowed. And the body gave way to dust and 
then nothing, clothes and all. After it was done, there wasn't even 
enough to vacuum. 


“That's awesome, Jude. How did you figure out how to do that?” 
“Yeah,” he said. 


Esther had already gotten under the covers and faced the other 
direction. She didn't hear when JJ took the keys, all the while 
keeping up those suggestive winks. It felt right. The car was always 
the safest place. A parked car. In the dark. Who would see them? 
And the smoke that filled the small, dark place. Anticipation ran 
through his body like a weird orgasm tremor. 


Was this providence, or did the weed really smell that good? 


It didn't matter. He clutched the keys to his chest. Jude would be 
nervous, sure. He didn't like to fuck with Esther or her wishes. But, if 
the boy liked anything, it was to be in a small, dark place filled with 
marijuana smoke. 


The note was simple. Jude could recite it from memory, which 
wasn't too impressive since he had only first read it moments before. 
Clumsy fingers yanked it from his jeans pocket. Folded the same 
way the Performer had kept it in his shirt. Jude showed it to JJ in the 
dark car. Only lit by a purple lighter. 


Hey Jude. Don't make it bad. 


Take this sad song and make it better!!! 


:) 
Come and see my electric eye. 


And then an address. Some directions, even, all written in blue 
ballpoint pen. The handwriting was legible, but it was clear the writer 
was more used to writing in cursive. JJ assumed it had been written 
by the Performer. 


Jude wasn't sure. The note was perfumed. He had pointed it out 
between sucking on the bowl, taking greedy gulping hits, multiple, 
before even passing it, that the Performer didn't like to wear scented 
anything. But the Critic did. 


Jude said the smell made him think of bad things, so JJ said that 
they should cover up the smell with good weed. And they did. 


The afternoon after their binge, and the car still reeked of high- 
quality marijuana. Jude, despite having taken a shower nearly an 
hour ago, still had a kind of off, sweaty smell about him. A very male 
scent. He smelled older than he was. Like he was working. Esther 
was fresh, as always. Clean, scrubbed pink. Sure, she was pissed 
beyond belief that they had smoked pot in the car, but Jude's 
discovery got her anger down to baseline levels. 


“He thought he was gonna kill you, you know,” said Jude. “Like the 
two of you. Both.” 


Esther frowned. She almost turned from the wheel. Her favorite 
thing to do was to just stare at Jude until he shriveled. Instead, she 
looked through the rear-view mirror, all the terror of a Midwestern 
mother driving cross-country to grandma's for Christmas or 
something wholesome like that. “What do you mean?” 


“He knew | was gone.” 


“Electric Eye is watching you. There's nothing you can do about it,” 
JJ said. He rubbed his hand against the seatbelt, up and down. The 
texture, each individual thread hard and stiff to hold, made that 
feeling run down his spine. 


“Then, something about an explosion. | know the song. But what I'm 
saying is, how much does this thing know? How do you think it's 
watching us?” 


“Big television screen,” Esther said. “A bug. There were crazy 
cockroaches in the last two places we stayed. It's a bug power. Bug 
type.” 


Jude frowned, splayed in the back. “I think he wants me to see 
something.” 


His long, weird body stretched out and almost over, taking up more 
of the backseat than he thought possible. It'd suck if they had to get 
nasty back there, he thought. Jude was too big. Not even, like, dirt- 
ways. There was something ungainly about him. A young 
sasquatch. A beardless Santa Claus, but. Young. Gallumphing. 


“Who?” said Esther 
“The Critic.” 


Esther slid her hand to the console and put on her sunglasses. She 
pulled down the sun visor. Sunlight poured in through the 
windshield. Another frown. JJ snickered. Too goth for all this. 


“I'm coming. In case you wanted to know,” said Esther, staring 
ahead. Hard to read without the sunglasses. “You can't tell me | 
can't know. Weirdo tried to kill me with some pervert Billy Ray Cyrus 
shit. | did some drawing before you woke up. Great work. Got a 
migraine, you know. But great work.” 


“But you didn't reverse the nudity spell?” JJ flipped down his sun 
visor, sliding the plastic and staring into his reflection. He slid his 
hand on his forehead, pushing his hair up. No blemishes. No acne. 
Good, good. The sweat never did good things to his complexion. 
And he liked to keep pretty. Luckily, he only ever rarely sweat. But 
even good luck couldn't fix Esther's broken AC. Or move the sun. 


“| had better ideas. And who knows when your fucking providence 
bullshit makes you knock my contacts out of my hands and all over 
the floor.” 


“You were invisible. Not my fault.” 


“Only because you have a weird look whenever you see people 
naked.” 


“It's not my fault.” 


“It kind of is. You look too hard. You're a fucked up dude, JJ.” Esther 
smiled. “G-d, you think this sun is going to fucking move or is this a 
stand?” 


JJ waited. But Jude didn't correct her. It was a stand already. The 
Sun. The boy was too quiet. He was high, sure, but not that high. 


“You don't always have to be naked. Nobody else has to be naked 
to put on and take off their make-up and shit. It's a weird move. | 
think you're the weird one.” JJ ran his fingers up and down the 
seatbelt hard enough to make a noise that zigzagged down through 
the core of his being. 


Esther smirked, turned up the radio. Loud. Bad sound quality, but at 
least it drowned out most of the horrible sounds the car had started 
to make. A CD. She had been playing a lot of The Cure. He 
wondered if she was trying to think of a stand name for herself. JJ 
toed at the CD holder, one of those zipper up multi-holders. 


JJ fidgeted, rearranged the screwdriver in his pocket, and leaned 
against the window. It was still The Cure. JJ liked them, sure, but not 
as much as Esther. It wasn't providence so much as a desire for 
something different. He would've even taken Siouxsie and the 
Banshees, maybe. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. 


“Can | pick the next aloum?” JJ said. He flipped the sun visor to look 
at Jude. 


Jude was staring into the air. Not reading. Not looking at his phone. 
Just breathing. His expression didn't change. His eyebrows were 
raised upward, lips pressed tightly together into a line. His gaze was 
unfocused. Not out the window, looking at the door handle. Nibbling 
on the inside of his lips. 


“We're almost there.” She didn't look over. “And this one isn't over 


” 


yet. 


The road went on before them. JJ never paid much attention when 
Esther drove. He only rarely paid attention to the direction he was 
going. North and south didn't mean shit on the dancefloor, right? 
There were trees. They had gotten denser. The directions started to 
pipe in from the GPS a bit more regularly, so she turned down the 
sound. 


The car turned down a gravel road. Left, right, right, left. Too many 
turns, and then, the car stopped in front of a rusted gate. 
Claustrophobic, lecherous branches reached down and scraped the 
roof. The engine settled noisily. The wood was quiet. 


The place was big, for one. An old place. Crumbling. A palatial 
mansion. Like something out of Faulker. The columns crumbled, but 
the windows were intact. They were dark. Opaque. JJ wondered if 
they painted over the glass. But it looked like plastic. Kind of like 
plastic. Hard. 


“Freddy Kreuger lives here.” 


Three stories. It probably was beautiful when it was kept up. 
Weather-beaten, colorless wood untouched by graffiti. The windows 
weren't knocked out. Not a single one. Point one for them being 
covered in steel or something. Going into a weird fortress made out 
of a shitty, ugly old house should've been the last thing the motion of 
the rotation of all that was should take him. 


But wasn't it? The tremor, again, and it felt so good to look at it. JJ 
knew he had to get out of the car. He knew he had to go inside. He 
wanted to.