Time passed slowly from that realization of the silence, their 
attention pulled away from where they were going to merely listen 
before they realized something strange. The horizon almost seemed 
to have become higher than it was before, a dead stump they were 
using as a guidance point now completely out of sight as 
confirmation. The sheriff wasn't one to lose such details so quickly, 
while the others were all knowledgeable as well, SO one of them 
reasoned that it was possibly just gases being released from the 
cracked soil. It wasn't the best explanation nor was it right in the 
end, but it was the delusion of such that kept them from mass 
paranoia. 


Now, they were seeing abnormally large cracks in the ground when 
they started to walk on a gradual incline. While ground was known to 
be dry around here, it had never made such cracks as this, ones 
that could possibly catch a wrongfully placed shoe inside of them. 
The metallic aroma lingered in this area, barely moving aside for the 
party as they slowly climbed the cracked hill with a weary advance. 
It didn't take long to see a definite top to the incline up ahead the 
party's current position. It was safe to say that everyone had a 
drastic idea in their mind for what was on the other side of the top, 
some were extreme, some were minimal, but same or different, the 
reality of what they saw before them was too much for all of them. 


The edge itself sat roughly three yards high with the steep hill down 
it being absolutely flat, after that the terrain past their position 
seemed like it had all lowered itself from it's original position but 
none of it was flat nor similar in the slightest manner, it was absolute 
chaos. The ground was shattered and abnormally segmented, parts 
of it rose up at random with perfectly flat sides, precise cubic shaped 
pits and areas that bulged downwards into small ravines and 
upwards into hills like tectonic plates had met and crashed into each 
other. Though as they took this in, they hadn't been there for more 
than a minute before a scream that one might associate with a 
banshee emanated from the bottom of the steep hill. 


As all faced the origin of the blood-curdling scream, their faces went 
white and cold as they realized that the voice was someone they 
knew. which was that of the pastor. But he was right next to the 
sheriff, the most terrified of all of them as they heard it - his skin 
resembling the lightness of the moon itself. The screaming was 
barely recognizable as human as it progressed, anyone could tell 
that the source of it was letting out a painful sound of death, ripping 
their vocal cords as their last act in a demonstration of the fatal pain 
they were experiencing. 


It was eventually the sheriff who hesitantly walked to the side of the 
edge first, the placement of his feet hard as he could feel a lack of 
balance within himself, almost hoping the ground wasn't stable 
enough to let him see it. Everyone silently watched him peer over, 
and it was within mere seconds that his dread turned into absolute 
hysteria as over the edge lie the pastor, but not their pastor. 


This pastor's mouth was wide open with his muscles cramped from 
shock, making a series of pained expressions rapidly. His eyes wide 
open staring straight into the sky as nothing more came out of his 
mouth now but a mere series of sounds that were his failed attempts 
at further breathing, his skin becoming a dark shade of blue in the 
moonlight. A massive amount of blood spewed from his legs and a 
puddle surrounded him while spreading through the soil's cracks, 
the legs appearing to be cut clear off at the bottom of the femur, just 
like the dog. 


The whole group had come to the sheriff's side as he stood there 
without a word, it was the worse case scenario possible, his body 
could physically feel this fear in the form of adrenaline and pressure 
in his chest. A pseudo-sixth sense screeched at him there was no 
reason on earth any of them should be here, this was all was 
against all the laws of nature. 


Meanwhile, the living pastor merely stayed several feet away from 
the edge with his hands covering his ears, the expression of his 
eyes could only be described to look like that of someone who had 
just lost their faith within seconds, tears of terror running down his 
face. Before anyone could try to console him, he was running full tilt 
towards the town without a care for anyone who called out to him, 
the beam of his flashlight moving up and down rapidly as he 


SCP-777: Kingdom of Sand 


Item #: SCP-777 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: The area known as SCP-777 is 
to be contained behind two (2) meter tall electrical fencing. Motion 
activated turrets are to be placed within the area in order to prevent 
any instances of SCP-777-1 from escaping the containment area. 
No liquids are allowed within the area known as SCP-777. 


Any civilians approaching SCP-777 are to be interrogated and 
subsequently dosed with Class-A amnestics. For the sake of 
secrecy, SCP-777 is to be represented as a military bombing range 
on all maps of the area, and any satellite imaging is to be doctored 
by dedicated staff to represent the area as such. 


Any personnel entering SCP-777 are to wear sealed ventilated 
pressure suits to prevent liquid coming into contact with SCP-777. 
These suits are to be checked for ruptures before entering SCP-777. 
Any instances of SCP-777-1 outside of SCP-777 are to be 
destroyed at the first possible opportunity. 


In the event that SCP-777 experiences rainfall, on-site personnel are 
to authorize a bombing run to neutralize the threat posed. 


Description: SCP-777 is an area of land spanning five square 
kilometers located in the Desert, referred to by locals as 'The 
Kingdom of Sand’. Unidentified radio interference is present within 
SCP-777, with the source currently unknown. 


SCP-777 demonstrates a further anomalous property when sand 
within the area comes into contact with any type of liquid. The 
moisturized sand will animate, typically taking the shape of an 
animal proportionate to the amount of sand moisturized. These 
entities will hereafter be referred to as SCP-777-1. 


pumped his arms. 


It only got worse from here, slowly but surely, houses started to 
suddenly materialize whether they embedded themselves in the 
ground or shattered from being dropped out of the thin air, the party 
watching in a continuous shock as it all unfolded before them. But it 
wasn't the structures alone that made the party frozen where they 
had planted their feet, it was the people. 


With each materialized house, people they had known their whole 
lives or even themselves were appearing at random, being plunked 
from where they previously resided in a instant. Some choked to 
death as dirt filled their body cavities when their houses came in 
partially into the ground. Some snapped their neck and spine as 
they fell head first from three stories high. Some came cut in half or 
nothing but a lone pair of legs. 


The smell of blood almost came over them as a shockwave with the 
corrupted town taking shape. The macabre scene fueled the 
reaction of morbid curiosity in all of the group as they struggled to 
comprehend seeing their own decapitated head or their loved one 
being bisected, unaware to the passing of time in their stupor. The 
aroma of it all penetrating their nostrils with the olfactory evidence of 
chaotic death and suffering. 


It was the sheriff that started to run last, but he quickly caught up 
with the others initiative as his heart thumped against his chest, his 
feet barely able to keep up with his pace down the inclined hill. It 
was everyone for themselves now as screams and shrieks came 
from behind them like a portal had been opened for the souls of the 
damned, though a small percent of them now came from the search 
party members. They screamed of how screwed they were and 
about the things they had witnessed, everything else falling into a 
category somewhere between those two points. None of it made 
sense because the rabble that came out of their mouths only made 
them more determined to run faster from the horrors due to their 
own convictions. 


The sheriff himself ran with his heart almost pushing itself to the 
limit, his throat felt like a rusted gutter filled with wadded leaves with 
how dry it was, his own saliva thick enough now to almost choke him 


as he gasped for oxygen. He kept up with the others, the topsoil 
making loud cracking sounds as the heavy footfalls came in rapid 
succession, but while they ran, no one dared to look anywhere but in 
front of themselves. 


Everything seemed the same as the true town came into view, with 
all possible lights on now on as the pastor had arrived before them 
and warned everyone. The terrain was as flat as ever, a sight that 
some couldn't possibly love enough, though at the same time, a 
series of tire tracks seemed to suddenly start out of nowhere as they 
ran by it. It might have followed them home, but it was of little 
concern until they all arrived between the sheriff's and parent's 
house, where they found what had made the tracks. 


In front of the sheriff's house was parked an identical police cruiser 
like his next to his own. Though exhausted and dehydrated, he 
walked towards the front of house without hesitation, the top of 
heads and nothing more visible with the cars in the way. And so, 
there was only five feet between them when the sheriff came around 
the car and met his alternate self. 


The both of them stared numbly at each other as they were both still 
recovering from everything that happened, the others in the party 
stumbled over with all of them in a similar state of disbelief as they 
saw the scene. A awkward silence took a hold of everyone before 
the exhausted sheriff noticed the two prepubescent girls in wool 
blankets on the porch, their mother tending to them as the father 
walked up with haste as he noticed at the very same time. 


A quiet sigh of relief came from the sheriff as the other one did the 
same, though they did so for different reasons. They both looked 
back to the horizon without a word, wondering why this had all 
happened, wondering about the deaths of all those from the other 
world's town, but most of all wondering how meeting his alternate 
self was far from the most shocking thing of the night. 


The air was dry, smelling of the unique odor that hot sand and dry 
flora carried from the long, drawn out hours of daylight in the arid 
region as a light metallic scent came from somewhere beyond the 
horizon. 


A Study of Anomalous Art 


A Study of Anomalous Art, from the Paleolithic to the Present 
By Doctor Hannah Morel, head of the Artistic Anomalies Unit 


(The following excerpt is from pages 6-9 of Doctor Morel's paper. 
The full document may be accessed from the Foundation Central 
Archives) 


According to William Tartore, founder of the Artistic Anomalies Unit, 
anart is "a piece of artistic media with an anomalous effect that was 
intended by the artist as part of the expression of the piece. There 
are instances where media will exhibit anomalous properties 
unintended by the creator, and in such instances the anomalous 
properties are unconnected with what is being expressed."! This 
definition has served for almost forty years, and in my experience 
and the experience of many others, is the one certainty in the study 
of anomalous art. 


Of course, this definition is certain because it is broad and universal. 
Moving beyond this surface description, anart becomes much more 
difficult to define. Anart will often use experimental, illegal, or 
impossible mediums of expression, and the expressions made by 
anart are often incredibly esoteric, completely nonsensical, or 
impossible for human beings to understand. Many times, scholars 
attempting to define anart will fall into the old debate of “what is art’, 
an act which rarely aids them. 


This document is meant as a study of the history of anomalous art, 
or anart, and aims to provide an overview of its major schools, 
philosophies, styles, and practitioners. Literary anomalies will not be 
covered in this paper.2 


The chaotic and bizarre nature of anart makes classification of styles 
incredibly difficult. While in certain periods we may see an 
overarching and clearly-defined theme, where the majority of 
anartists follow the same philosophy with predictable results, this is 


the exception, rather than the rule. It is rare for more than small cells 
of anartists to follow a single philosophy, and often cells and 
individuals will mix schools and styles as according to their whims. 


However, study of anart in the long term reveals patterns and 
internal consistencies. Throughout history, there have been four 
major schools of anomalous artists: Those who want to repair reality 
through art, those that wish to remake reality, those who wish to 
destroy reality, those that wish to create new realities. It should be 
noted, however, that these schools are arbitrary labels created by 
the Foundation in order to define something that is very difficult to 
define: the practitioners of these schools will never claim themselves 
as such, and no anartist or piece of anart will ever fit entirely neatly 
into these categories. 


These schools and their primary sub-schools are as follows: 


Reconstructionists - Those anartists who wish to fix social, 
economic, and ethical problems through the implementation of 
anart. Reconstructionist anart is meant for the sole purpose of 
achieving an end, and is therefore temporary, becoming 
unnecessary when the goal has been reached. 


¢ Petty Reconstructionists — Supporters of movements that 
did not originate with an anartist or group of anartists. This 
sub-school has become increasingly prevalent since the 
middle of the twentieth century up through the present. 
¢ True Reconstructionists — The founders of movements. The 
goals of these movements may be similar to non-anomalous 
groups, but they maintain no association with them beyond 
shared goals. 
Dadaist / Radical Reconstructionists - This school exhibits 
no sense or coherency in their causes or methods, outside of 
the pursuing of a goal, albeit a nonsensical one. Dadaist 
Reconstructionist movements rarely last long, and very rarely 
span more than a single person, both the result of the 
seemingly necessary lack of sanity required. 


Recreationists - Those anartists who shape pre-existing reality 
according to their will. Unlike Reconstructionist art, Recreationism 
does not necessarily work toward a greater end, and is meant to be 


a permanent fixture; however, there is still a great deal of overlap. 


Minor Recreationists - The most common Recreationist sub- 
school, wherein anart is used transform on a small scale: a 
person, an object, or a single place. It is common in the 
present day for many anartists, even those of highly opposed 
schools, to experiment with Minor Recreationist art, most 
commonly in body modification. 

Major Recreationists - This sub-school is based solely on the 
scope of the anart used, as it is aimed at transforming 
countries, societies, the entire world, or things of similar large 
scale. These projects usually involve large cells of anartists, 
often of different schools, led by a specific individual or group. 
These projects very rarely come to fruition, as they are usually 
either interrupted by outside forces or collapse due to 
infighting or mismanagement.