The foursome screamed, and turned at the sight of... a guy ina 
rather unimpressive Goatman costume. The eyes were good, but 
the horns were way too much; the fur was way too clean for 
something that had supposedly lived out in the woods. And what 
kind of fucking goat had teeth like that? 


Instead of running away and screaming, they all laughed, except for 
Johnny. The Goatman blinked. 


"What on Earth is so funny? Run! Run for your lives!" He raised up 
his arms and made a pathetic attempt at roaring, causing them to 
just laugh more. 


"Oh god, Johnny! You should've had him get a better costume!" 


SCP-733: A Pair of Scissors 


Item #: SCP-733 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-733-01 is stored in a 
secure locker at Site- . Experimentation with SCP-733-01 may only 
be performed with prior permission from at least two (2) Level 4 
personnel, and any testing performed must be done with direct 
supervision from at least one (1) Level 3 personnel. As of // , all 
testing with SCP-733-01 has been suspended due to Incident 
733-03. 


SCP-733-02 is currently stored in a secure, humidity-controlled 
document locker at Site- . Direct access to SCP-733-02 may only 
be performed with prior permission from at least two (2) Level 3 
personnel, but access to transcripts and scans of SCP-733-02's 
contents is available via standard network access to anyone with at 
least Level 2 clearance. 


Description: SCP-733-01 is a pair of ornate silver scissors, 
apparently crafted circa 18 . When used to [REDACTED BY 
ORDER OF 05 COMMAND] 


When discovered, SCP-733-01 was pressed between the pages of 
SCP-733-02, a hand-crafted, leather-bound book containing 
approximately 80 pages. The pages of SCP-733-02 contain 33 black 
and white photographs, as well as 137 fragments of handwritten 
text. The authors of the text in SCP-733-02 have been analyzed as 
belonging to two unidentified individuals, a male (Subject A) and 
female (Subject B) of approximately 20-25 years of age who appear 
to be romantically involved with each other. Analysis of the 
photographs contained in SCP-733-02 have yielded no evidence of 
tampering, altering, or modification of any of the images. 


SCP-733 was discovered in an antique store in the city of 


Jessica elbowed him in his fat and laughed. "If you were going to try 
and scare us, at least have him look real!" 


Johnny simply stared dumbstruck. He hadn't thought to tell the 
Goatman's story until he had come out here; there was no time to 
arrange a prank like this. Which meant... 


"Um, guys? |... | didn't tell anyone to come out here..." Johnny 
looked at the Goatman's teeth with widening eyes; the rest of the 
campers fell silent. Johnny screamed broke off into a sprint as best 
he could, running as far away from the camp as possible before 
collapsing. 


The rest of the campers stared at the Goatman, who cleared his 
throat, put in his pipe, and said "Boo." 


The campers were back in their truck and had driven away within 2 
minutes of this, leaving all of their supplies behind. Laughing, the 
Goatman picked up a discarded s'more and bit into it; it was a good 
night. 


Finally, the Goatman recovers the wife from the river, 
and tears open her womb, recovering the still-living fetus. 
He raises it as his own, and it lives on as another 
Goatman. Never a Goatwoman, but a Goatman always. 


The Goatman walked back to the bridge, smoking his pipe and 
looking around mournfully. Long ago, he had been king of this 
forest, like his father before him and his grandfather before his 
father. He had struck fear into those who were having a child out of 
wedlock, and had been the main reason all feared the woods. 


Now, people weren't afraid to get pregnant anymore. There were 
condoms and abortions and Planned Parenthood, and none feared 
him. If they told stories about him at all, it was him as an axe- 
wielding lunatic or a cryptozoological freak, not something to be truly 
feared. 


Are you all right, Capricorn? the Hum inquired. You seem 


somewhat... distracted. 


"I'm getting old, Humbug," moaned the Goatman as he leaned 
against an aging pine. "Going on 80 years now... I'm stagnating." 


There, there, Capricorn, said the Hum. Stories will still be told about 
you. 


"Derivative stories, yes. But the original tale is lost." Goatman lit up 
his pipe again. "Why can't | be like one of these new terrors? 
These... 'creepypastas'? They're what scare people now. Short 
snippets, transported around electronically, not long, winding 
threads spun around the fireplace." 


Capricorn, (the Goatman hated that nickname) Those children you 
scared will be spreading your tale throughout the town. Even if they 
are not believed, you will be known. Is that not enough? 


The Goatman sniffed, standing up straight. "| suppose it is. For 
now." 


The Goatman walked off towards the bridge, guided only by the light 
of the moon and the stars. 


|Hub| 


UnScience 


"Explain to me the appeal of this, John." Dr. Reese leaned on the 
counter as she waited for the popcorn to finish. "| mean, those 
shows are just so trashy... not a shred of scientific fact behind 
them." 


Johnathan West snickered. "That's exactly what makes them so fun, 
Margaret." He looked in the fridge, taking out a bottle of Vanilla 
Coke, the king of soft drinks. "It's so much damn fun to just sit down 
with a few guys from other departments, and /augh at History or 
Discovery or Science." Of course, he was talking about the various 
"educational" channels that were on cable TV. 


"What about The Learning Channel? We're not going to watch... you 
know..." 


Dr. West frowned, and shook his head at Dr. Reese. "Margaret, 
please. The Foundation is cold, not cruel. | don't think we even let D- 
Class watch those." He snickered at the thought of it. "Now come 
on. Tonight is a rerun of Ancient Aliens, and then that damn 
Mermaids..." He made quotes with his fingers on each syllable, 
"Documentary". 


The popcorn finished, and was soon on its way to the employee 
lounge in Basement Level 3. 


Dr. Tristan Bailey was in a giggle fit over the images on the screen. 
"Oh my God. West, pause it. For the love of God, pause it." And 
paused it was; on screen was an alien apparently within an ancient 
Egyptian bas-relief, the picture in black and white. Dr. Bailey pointed 
right at the alien. "Someone look at me right in the eye, without... 
without laughing, and tell me that looks real." 


"...80 much artifacting," said Dr. Hendricks, adjusting his 
eyeglasses. "My god. Aliens are not that blurry. Are they even 


trying?" 


"This is made for the American Public, Dr. Swatter." Dr. West took a 
handful of popcorn and munched on it, Dr. Hendricks cringing at his 
nickname. "Most of them have to look at the back of Encyclopedia 
Brown books to get the answer. Besides, they eat up anything 
paranormal." 


Dr. Bailey snickered, unpausing the video. "Kind of funny, though, 
isn't it? | mean, aliens do exist, along with half of the stuff that's 
featured on shows like this." He started counting off on his fingers. 
"Bigfoot, tulpas, werewolves, ghosts..." 


Dr. West chimed in. "Cities on Mars, demons, the occult, dragons... 


"Goatmen, melonheads, The Loch Ness monster." Dr. Hendricks, 
who was part of the cryptozoology department, decided to start 
listing some as well. "Living dinosaurs, mermaids, unicorns..." 


"Really? Unicorns? That's a new one on me, Hendricks." Hendricks 
stiffened, before remembering that Margaret was technically cleared 
to know about those and relaxing. Dr. Reese shook her head. "You'd 
think that they'd find just one bit of convincing evidence instead of 
having to fake every damn thing." 


"That's the appeal of the show, Dr. Reese." Tristan reclined on the 
couch, sipping a stolen bottle of Vanilla Coke, the prince of soft 
drinks, only second to Mountain Dew. "The masses can believe, the 
rest of us can laugh." 


"I've developed a theory," said Dr. West as he returned with another 
bowl of popcorn, "Explaining why these shows are so popular." The 
Ancient Aliens episode turned out to be a two-parter, so they 
needed more snacks. He sat next to Dr. Reese and offered her the 
bowl. 


"Care to explain, Johnathan?" Dr. Hendricks chewed on a bit of 
gum. Without realizing it, he was actually making some very loud 
popping noises; Tristan gave him a dirty look, and he stopped. 


"It's simple, Dr. Hendricks. The further the scientific credibility of 
something falls, the more popular it becomes. TLC became much 
more highly rated after it turned itself into the freakshow channel. 
Discovery became far more popular after Mythbusters came on the 
air-" 


"What's your problem with Mythbusters, John?" Dr. Reese glowered 
at him. "My sister's kid watches it all the time; it at least tries to be 
educational." 


West threw up his arms defensively. "I'm not saying it isn't 
educational, but it's pop. It doesn't teach any quantum physics; just 
basic science and chemistry, and maybe how to handle firearms." 


"Normal people can't handle quantum physics.” Tristan chuckled. 
"Hell, /could barely handle it when | first started getting education so 
| could work in Multi-U." He shook his head. "Trevor was always the 
one that was good at that, and he got diplomatic work. Go figure." 


West sighed, stretching and totally not casually trying to put his arm 
around Dr. Reese's shoulder. "I call it the Theory of UnScientific 
Credibility." He looked around his seat. "Where the hell's my Coke?" 
West gave Tristan a suspicious look, shaking his head. "Whatever. 
What's this show on, anyway? Last one was about alien mummies." 


"It's about how aliens killed the fucking dinosaurs," sighed 
Hendricks. "I'm glad we don't have a paleontology department here. 
They'd have killed this TV loooong ago." 


They flipped to Animal Planet next. Mermaids: The Body Found was 
on; it was about midnight. "Last one," Margaret said, looking at Dr. 
Hendricks. "Jason, is it true what they say about this one?" 


Jason Hendricks frowned at Dr. Reese, scratching his birthmark. 
"What do they say about it? That it's complete and utter scientific 
garbage?" 


"| think she's referring to the rumor that this is a Foundation cover 
op,” said Dr. West, rubbing his stubble. "Which it isn't... right, Dr. 
Swatter?" Jason swatted his own forehead at the nickname and 


sighed, West giving an apologetic look. 


"No, it is not. It is, however, a travesty against common sense, 
cryptozoology, and the documentary genre." He threw his hands up 
at one of the merpeople on the screen. "| mean, for fuck's sake, an 
Atlantic Homo aquaticus isn't going to look the same as one from 
the Indian ocean. It's just so implausible!" 


"...Is that really the only problem you have with it?" Tristan groaned. 
"| swear, if you're going to spend this entire mockumentary pointing 

out all the inconsistencies with actual merpeople, I'm leaving." West 
threw an empty soda bottle at the back of Tristan's head. 


"Don't be an ass, Bailey. You'd be doing the same if this was an 
episode of Through the Wormhole." Tristan muttered something 
about how that show was actually okay, and John looked at Dr. 
Hendricks. "You were saying?" 


"Well, for one thing, they're not evolved from apes; they're evolved 
from fish. They shouldn't look humanoid, they should look piscine. 
Their arms are too long, and they only have two of them, and there's 
absolutely no decoration for mating rituals." He looked at Dr. West. 
"| actually have a thesis | wrote about freshwater Homo aquaticus 
that you can probably get from the archives, if you want." 


"I'll look it up some time, Jason." He leaned back on the couch. "... 
Wait, aren't those baleen whales? Why the hell would they eat 
something humanoid?" 


"Everybody?" Tristan raised a finger into the air over his head. "3... 
2... 1..." He brought it down. 


"It just raises too many questions," said the entire group 
simultaneously. They all broke into a snickering fit afterwards. 
"Welp," Dr. West stood from the couch and started stretching and 


turning off the TV. "That was bullshit. All of it. 100% bullshit." 


"At least it makes you think," said Hendricks, rotating his shoulders 
and heading for the door of the lounge. "It makes you think about a 


universe where the laws of evolution are sideways and backwards, 
and where aliens killed the dinosaurs." He looked at Tristan. "I... is 
there a universe like that?" 


"I've counted at least ten," said Dr. Bailey, chewing on a stick of gum 
he had borrowed from Hendricks. "In five of those, the Dinosaurs 
fought back during the Cretaceous; in two of them, they're the 
dominant species. The dinosaurs, not the aliens." 


"Well," Dr. Reese yawned. "That was fun, but it's bedtime for me. | 
have tests to run tomorrow on that thing we recovered from the 
crash site. Hendricks, your department is co-supervising that, yes?" 


"Considering that the creatures on there may have been sapient, it's 
a bit of a gray area until proven otherwise. But we'll be checking in 
every now and then, yes." Dr. Hendricks rubbed his eyes, and 
started walking off. "Well, g'night everyone." 


"Night, Dr. Sw-Hendricks!" Johnathan managed to catch himself 
before he said "Swatter", and looked at Tristan, as the remaining 
three started walking down the hallway. "Say, Bailey, maybe we 
could invite Ewell to the next one? Or Sinclair or someone else?" 


"Now that you mention it, there is something on about Nazis and 
demonology next week on History..." 


|Hub| 


Dance The Danse 


Halloween is a special time in Sloth's Pit. It is the time 
that creatures of the night walk in the day, and the 
legends of the world dance. 


The Eight Rings was the biggest- and the only- night club in the 
town of Sloth's Pit. It was named after the grove it was built on, 
which got the name due to the fact that eight fairy rings dotted the 
grove, forming an almost perfect circle, or rather, an octogram. Now, 
the Eight Rings was famous for three things: their mozzarella sticks, 
the abundant amounts of ecstasy, and their Halloween parties. 


It was for this reason that the man clad in black was going here. He 
sucked on his tobacco pipe, his fedora concealing his features, and 
his long, black coat trailing down to his feet. This, however, was not 
his costume; the man in black had decided to go as himself, and 
would be meeting with several others who were doing the same. It 
was time for the yearly Dance. 


A loud hum rang in the man's ears as he pushed through the door of 
the nightclub, the pseudo-techno beat of the music pounding in his 
ears. He took off his coat, revealing a rather classy-looking black 
suit, with a red shirt and black bowtie. Taking off his hat, the 
stranger revealed the mask that was his face: the head of a goat, 
with short horns and yellow eyes with hourglass pupils. 


The Goatman had arrived. 


Halloween is the time of year that the legends are 
strongest. It's not for the reason you think; it's not 
because of some witch's sabbath or the worlds of magic 
and reality coming together. It's because that, at 
Halloween, the most stories are told, and the imagination 
of the town is the most active. 


The Eight Rings was full of costumed patrons. Most of them were 
generic; crappy vampire fangs, a bad witch's hat, a werewolf mask 
that one could barely breathe through, or an ironically immature 
"adult" costume. A few people had actually bothered, though; a 
Harry Potter was there with a Ginny Weasley, both wearing 
handmade robes and custom-crafted wands. In the corner, 
Slenderman towered over the crowd, lifting up his face occasionally 
so he could eat some fried cheese. There was even a woman there 
dressed as a Satyr, which made the Goatman smile; not the same 
species, but close enough.