The stains were His test and His blessing. | almost failed, almost 
proved myself unworthy of the gift He gave me. It seemed like the 
Devil was chasing me, scuffing the floor whenever | turned around, 
getting dog shit ground into the carpet, staining everything | could 
see. All | wanted was a little place that was beautiful, a little corner 
where the world couldn't hurt me. | lost that place. | tried to swallow 
a bottle of aspirin. Lloyd called an ambulance, packed his bags, and 
left. | haven't seen him since. | have my home. All | need is my 
home. 


The Lord works in mysterious ways. | had to let go of wanting 

everything clean, and once | did, everything changed. I'm so much 
happier now. You put so much of yourself into caring about things 
that don't matter and there's nothing left of yourself to truly live. I'm 


not saying it didn't take time, getting used to my new life. | walk over 
banana peels, old bills and newspapers, pillows, food wrappers, 
furniture. When | couldn't see my TV anymore, | took it out of the 
entertainment center and set it on a pile of towels. | wasn't 
showering anymore, so | didn't need them. More trash just emerges 
now, by itself. It doesn't think | see it, but | always see it; empty 
tissue boxes | never bought, dirty clothes | never wore, When | 
couldn't reach my bed without a rake, | started sleeping on the floor. 
The floor is so soft with so much flotsam on it. That's what | think of 
it as. Just debris in the ocean. 


That's what we'll all be, in the end. Just floating in the water. I'm 
ahead of the rest of you now. 


use lethal force to prevent attempts to violate this 
directive. 


It is impossible to determine to what extent Dr. Andrews 
and other persons lost within SCP-869 have affected the 
course of history from what it may have been prior to 
their becoming temporally displaced, or whether any of 
those persons may still be alive. The Foundation has 
identified twenty-one people as having been displaced to 
1948 as the result of SCP-869; given that only fifteen 
people are mentioned in the original document, and only 
sixteen are known to have gone missing including Dr. 
Andrews himself, it can be presumed that at least five 
more persons will be temporally displaced by SCP-869 in 
the future. Coroner reports from 1948 indicate that two 
adult males who had been killed by gunshot washed up 
on the shore near in late July 1948. Bullets found 
within the remains were consistent with standard rounds 
used in sidearms issued to Foundation survey teams 
operating within SCP-869; due to the extent to which the 
bodies had decayed at the time of discovery, and the 
incompleteness of the medical examiner's reports, it is 
impossible to determine whether those bodies represent 
victims of unrelated violence or persons yet to be lost 
within SCP-869. 


« SCP-868 | SCP-869 | SCP-870 » 


Home Again 


Working a mass-disappearance case is always unsettling. Far too 
often, we arrive at the location to find a ghost town that's populated 
with a few gibbering stragglers and an occasional abandoned child. 
Sometimes we're lucky, and we find some poor, traumatized hold- 
out who has just barely managed not to get killed, abducted, or 
otherwise rendered unable to give a coherent statement. Since 
these people are able to give us at least some clue as to what's 
going on, these events tend to be the ones with better outcomes. 


When we arrived in Asheville, NC, we were surprised to find 
numerous cogent witnesses. Most were visibly depressed, and 
reported that their missing loved ones had told them in no uncertain 
terms that they wouldn't be coming back. 


This excerpt from an interview with Mr. Phillip Locke of Asheville, 
NC is typical: 


Agent Fletcher: So when did Mrs. Locke start behaving 
strangely? 


Mr. Locke: Yesterday. We went to see the new exhibit at 
the Blue Iris. It happened very suddenly... She just 
stopped in her tracks and glazed over. | was afraid she 
was going to pass out, so | reached out to steady her. 
That was when she came to and slapped me. 


Agent Fletcher: | see. So she actually became violent? 


Mr. Locke: Yeah... Then she started shouting at me to 
get the hell away from her. 


Agent Fletcher: She has never done anything like that 
before? 


Mr. Locke: No, never. | was totally blindsided. All of a 


sudden, it was like she hated my guts. 
Agent Fletcher: How long did this go on? 


Mr. Locke: Just a few minutes. After reading me my 
pedigree, she ran out of the building. When | caught up 
to her in the parking lot, she actually punched me! 


Agent Fletcher: | was going to ask about the black eye... 
Did she say anything after that? 


Mr. Locke: She told me to stop holding her back. She 
said she just wanted to be happy, and she was leaving. 
We were done. Then she just got into our car and drove 
away. 


Shortly after this, as we were making a discreet initial sweep through 
the gallery, we came upon several oddly euphoric couples, all 
seated in front of the photo Home Again, and engaged in various 
public displays of affection. They informed us that they had seen 
several people come in and look at the photo fixedly for a few 
minutes before running out of the building. They all claimed to be 
completely perplexed by this, stating that the photo was "beautiful" 
and "so expressive". As Mrs. Jean Reynolds of Fletcher, NC put it, 
"It's a wonderful image that shows a beautiful subject... How could 
anyone find it so upsetting?" 


How indeed? It was odd that a cognitohazard should affect people in 
such disparate ways. It would be some time before | would entirely 
understand the nature of the Foundation's newest acquisition, as we 
still had to finish going through containment procedures. 


Naturally, we took the hazardous image from the gallery and 
searched the photographer's house. When we didn't find printed 
copies, we packed out anything that could have contained digital 
photographic files. Those would later come up empty except for a 
single file encoding the hazardous photo. We took readings around 
the house looking for anomalous radiation and other unusual energy 
signatures. Not a whit. No evil, ancient artifacts, arcane tomes or 
cursed cameras were to be found in Mrs. Sara Parrish's home. 


As we were able to catch them, those who had fled the area were 
detained and attempts were made to interview them. In each case, 
there was someone the affected individual had to find, and they 
were determined to find that person NOW. Comments like "I've 
wasted so much time." and "I can't believe | settled." were common, 
as were attempts to overpower the interviewers, and a necessity for 
strong sedatives. In the end, some 135 affected individuals were 
returned safely home to unemployment and in some cases, absent 
spouses. 


Of course, Mrs. Parrish herself had to be reckoned with; The 
Foundation wanted to understand the method of Home Again's 
creation. As soon as the researchers determined that Mrs. Parrish 
was not anomalous, | was called in to interview her. 


| found Mrs. Parrish to be in low spirits, but willing to discuss her 
photography. | asked a few innocuous questions, then commented 
on Home Again, calling attention to its "remarkable composition". | 
was certain that | was dealing with one hell of a sociopathic 
manipulator. Surely her ego would rise to a bit of flattering bait... 


To this, Mrs. Parrish replied, “Oh yes, Home Again... | love that 
picture, but it came about by sheer luck. | was out with my camera 
during a trip up north, and | just happened to see this soldier walking 
up to one of those old Brownstone buildings they've got up there. He 
had a bunch of daisies in his hand. It immediately hit me that this 
would make a great photo, so | asked the soldier if | could take his 
picture. He said yes, and then | asked him to pose like he was 
knocking on the door..." 


"As | looked through the lens, the light...the flowers...the soldier 
returning to his lover after a deployment in hell...all of it suddenly felt 
perfect. You see, my husband had died just six months before that. 
So, as all the elements of that shot came together, | felt like they and 
| were in sympathy with each other. | would have given anything in 
that moment to come home to my James... Looking back, | don't 
think I've ever seen another photo that expressed such a feeling of 
longing." 


There was a brief pause, before she smiled and continued. 


"God, it always sounds so pretentious and vain when | say that out 
loud. It's all true, but I'll understand if you think I'm silly." 


| was tongue tied for a moment before giving the only response my 
position allowed. 


“No ma’am. That doesn't sound silly at all.” 


Homeowners 


Diane was glad they had found such a nice neighborhood for the 
kids. She and Paul had worried about finding someplace good for 
them to grow up in. Some of the neighborhoods they had looked at 
were full of hoodlums and pushers and all sorts of nasty things. But 
as soon as she had stepped foot into the house at 23rd terrace, she 
knew the home was right for her. And now three months later, she 
could tell that she had definitely made the right choice. The 
neighbors were so kind, and everyone had everything they needed, 
and they shared. Sure it was a little isolated, but that just meant the 
community was tighter knit. It really felt like one big family. 


Sometimes she thought about how life was before the community, 
living in that tiny apartment. It was cheaper, but the people living 
there were all awful. It was no place to raise a family. The gated 
community was also far superior to any normal neighborhood, 
because it kept the hoodlums out. Even though it could get boiling 
when the sun was out, since the gates didn't provide A/C, and 
sometimes sleep patterns could be messed up since the roof didn't 
allow any light to come in, but those were minor issues compared to 
drug pushers and gangs. 


Why, just last week old lady Miriam down the street had a 
heatstroke. Sadly, she hadn't made it, but this had provided a 
bounty for the community as a whole. After all, when you could have 
a feast like the one that she left behind, you didn't have to worry 
about foraging for food and water. The meal Miriam had provided 
had given everyone on 23rd terrace with food and gristle. Sure, they 
would miss her valuable contributions to the community, like the way 
she could spot interlopers a mile away, but the food was better than 
the eyes. Although, the eyes were pretty tasty. 


Diane shivered as she thought of the interlopers. Sure, they were 
mostly harmless, skulking about at the edges of the gates, but they 
represented a real danger to the community. If these weirdoes could 


get in, soon there would be the others from the old times, and then 
the whole neighborhood would go. That was why she was grateful 
for the lynchings. Some people might feel pity for the interlopers, as 
they hung them from the highest beams available to them, but Diane 
didn't. If these monsters felt like trespassing on private property, 
there wasn't much that could be done for them. 


Diane looked up, and saw that the artificial sunlight emitters were 
going down. It was time for the forage. She kissed Paul goodbye, 
slung up her gun, and headed out into the junkyard. She and her 
neighbors saddled up and went in ready to kill. After all, you never 
know what might be here. Sometimes they found people from other 
communities. Once, they had shared resources with them, but they 
had become selfish and greedy and had to be exterminated. They 
had to protect their kin. 


It was the neighborly thing to do. 


Hop On Hop Off 


It was a dark and stormy night in the Last City. The poor gas lighting 
flickered and sputtered in the cold, merciless wind. Misshapen 
constructions leaned into each other and threatened to fall apart any 
day now, with their sorry inhabitants in too high spirits to really care 
very much. Mechanical birds with leering eyes watched over the 
mostly empty streets. All around UnLondon was a sense of 
bleakness, abandonment and a most desperate need for outside 
salvation. 


Instead, what the Last City got was Grabnok The Destroyer. The 
portly and nervous man had materialized in the middle of the street, 
instantly getting soaked by the intense rain. He hurried after the 
closest thing to shelter he could find inside an abandoned house. 
The front door was missing, but at least it still had all the other 
doors, windows and walls. Grabnok still had the flashlight and 
backpack the Foundation gave him and hesitantly went about 
exploring the place. It reeked of mold, dampness, rust and probably 
worse things, but he liked to tell himself that he was used to that by 
now. 


He soon found a crowbar hidden inside a sofa, as well as a 
suspicious looking part of the walls. He pried it open with the 
crowbar with great effort, revealing a dust and insect covered book. 
He blew the detritus away in a large cloud, coughing loudly and 
hoping he wouldn't start sneezing. Shining his flashlight onto the 
book, he discovered something that made little sense to him but 
seemed very important: 


| finally figured it out. It's all a sham, the whole city. The 
House of Parliament knows this, they are just trying to 
keep us sedated and docile with the food from the 
vending machines and with the surveillance while they 
figure out a way to reach the surface without us. We 
have to get there first or we'll never get there. I've 


stopped eating the Wonderfood, and while it allows me 
to think straight and plan for the rebellion and escape, it's 
weighing heavy on my mind with withdrawal symptoms. | 
have been surviving on mutant animals and human 
corpses, I've lied and stolen, and I'll probably get turned 
into a Bobby or worse. But | have to do something. I'm 
getting closer, now that | have the maps to the hidden 
sections of the House of Parliament. Tomorrow, I'll 
organize my team into an infiltration mission, confiscate 
whatever technology that allowed them to create this 
hellhole and use it to reach the surface. 


That was the last entry, or at least appeared to be so. Well, this was 
none of his business. He would hop out of this place sooner or later, 
no sense in getting involved with local politics. Even so, he found 
himself getting curious and kept reading the earlier entries, not 
noticing the surveillance drone perching on a nearby windowsill. 
Before he could finish reading, he heard a high-pitched whistle and 
all nearby speakers blaring "Police! Halt, criminal!". Grabnok 
reflexively froze and tried finding an escape route, when a Bobby 
burst into the room wielding a corroded lead pipe. Grabnok noticed a 
nearby mug filled with coins, and a Wonderfood vending machine. 
He quickly inserted the coin and directed the hose at the ground, 
spraying the slimy food all over it and making the Bobby fall. He then 
took the chance to throw a mattress out the window and jump out of 
it, landing on the mattress and running away with the book and 
maps. 


After breathing heavily for quite a while and making sure he wasn't 
being watched, Grabnok opened the book and maps again. There 
was a document that said the technology used by the House of 
Parliament to build UnLondon was highly unstable due to the 
combination of several anomalies which were supposed to be in the 
custody of the Foundation, possibly with the help of an inside agent. 
The same document even hinted at what sort of scenario UnLondon 
was meant to prepare for, but the details were unclear because 
parts of the document were ripped away. Apparently, UnLondon was 
meant to be a last ditch attempt at preparing for some major timeline 
revision event in which the British Empire never existed.