So far we have been unable to capture or imprison 'the mould god'.
Our understanding of it's existence comes from 84 sheets of plain white A4 paper which belonged to the deceased Eric Hutton an Australian born comedian. The ink of that decadent scrawling German penmanship is linked to a previous archived file, (that of SCP-067)
I recommend any agent or research-profiler who is looking for information about the mould God, or wished to do further tracking to refer to this item in the archive:
How Eric Hutton came into possession of SCP-067 is not completely known, however we can affirm, that it is somehow tied to the opening of that Arc which was submitted to us anonymously, also found in Australia. Hutton was found with his eyes gouged out of his head, face down on a blank stack of standardised printing paper. A pool of dried blood enveloping his writing desk. To his left were a stack of scrawled notes, containing jokes for his stand up comedy acts. Jokes included making fun of children with down syndrome, and hating of children, generally.
Spread about the top right quadrant of his table were the aforementioned pieces of A4 paper, which contained his final writings, written in that curious Iron Gall ink of SCP-067.
In spite being spread over 84 pages, the contents of those pages are simple enough to record, because it is written in a gigantic Germanic calligraphic font, (one sentence consuming a fair chunk of space on each page). It seems to be a conversation between Hutton himself AND the pen, or whoever he perceives as manifesting itself within that pen, who is referred to on multiple occasions as 'The Prophet of the mould god'. Here is the translation of that document.
'What do you want from me?
'Want
'Fuck! Who the fuck are you?
'The prophet of the mould god… 'My god am I crazy, is there really something talking to me from inside this pen? I feel so entrenched here. Struggling to finish Sunday nights jokes, I don't think I find anything funny anymore. Everything has turned to absolute shit recently. C'mon Erik, hold it together...
'Nothing can stop the mould god. Why can't you move?
'It's slowly happened to me over a period of three weeks. First the refrigerator stopped working. The seal was broken, and it started leaking. I kept mopping up the goop in the first week, but, everyday, THAT SMELL! Eventually I just started to leave the puddle there. Has it got something to do with this pen?
'All is at risk, stars burn out
'I'm getting bored of this. Is that all there is to this? Self proclaimed 'prophet of the mould god'??? Is that the most eloquent you can be?
'I've been following since you were a boy Eric. I know you better than you know yourself. If I speak too much, I think you will rip your own eyes from your sockets and you will die an infinite amount of deaths.
'Try me
'Tell me why you won't go into the next room
'What? That smell of rotting fruit is horrible, and the cockroaches have infested the oven, I can even see them crawling behind the glass, but no matter how many times I cockroach bomb them, they keep coming back.
'You're lying Eric. Tell me why you won't go in that room anymore?
'Leave me alone. You're just a pen. Who are you?
'The prophet of the mould god.'
'You're the prophet of my reeking ass. Ha. Damn, I would use that in my act, if only discussing talking to a pen wouldn't be deemed mentally insane. Tell me about the books?
'See. You know about the books. I told you you're lying to me.
'You know about the books. Tell ME about the books…. -- uh uh huh Eric… We both know about those books don't we. The books that protect one from the wrath of the mould god. SHhhhhhh shutup! Why don't you go in that room Eric?
'Because that's where the cones are.
'You're smoking cones again. No, that's just a memory
'The cone things that have the books. -- uh uh uh Eric. That was only a DREAM remember. Only a dream.
'Yes, that was the name of the book, those things were writing in 'The book of dreams' That was the book that had my name in it. What do you know of all this? Are you one of those things? WHO ARE YOU?
'The prophet of the mould God.'
'I can barely pick up the pen. Only by YOUR will. Only by YOUR will can I lift this miniscule object. It's YOU who stops me from taking out the garbage. You who makes it impossible to get out of bed in the morning. You who keeps me in this mouldy kingdom, when I can taste the warm safety of that dream place, just on the other side of that door. --- uh uh uh Eric. Why can't you go through that door?
'You! For you alone I suffer. For you alone I cannot change this cruel string of circumstances. Who are you?
'I am you Eric. Hahahaha. That's the joke… HAH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA HA HA HA HA HA H AH AHA HA
HA HA HA HA HA
I will see better without these eyes which gaze only on descent--
Who are you?
The prophet of th--
Submitted June 11, 2015 at 04:58AM by GoityePowerhouse http://ift.tt/1B7qbKG shortscarystories
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