Connection: (Connected to SCP-011)
The first time I touched it, I expected something—heat, a shiver, a whisper in my ear. That's what the rumors said. That it was cursed. That it was alive.
But it was just a book. Black cover. Plain. Too plain.
We found it on the floor of the apartment, beside the boy. He'd already gone cold by the time we breached. Empty bottle on the table, pages scattered across the floor. The rules were written in a tight, obsessive hand. "The human whose name is written shall die." Line after line, more rules, some crossed out, some rewritten. Like he'd been testing it himself.
My partner flipped through it with gloves. Blank pages, except for a few entries at the start. Names, dates, causes. All matched the coroner reports for the recent deaths. Precise. Unquestionable.
The boy's desk told the rest of the story. Stacks of newspaper clippings about corruption, scandals, accidents. He thought he was cleaning the world. He thought he was chosen.
I kept waiting for something to happen when we picked it up. For a shadow to form in the corner. For some figure to step out of the dark. But there was nothing. Just silence.
Later, back at Site-19, we ran tests. Names on the page, faces in mind, and people collapsed. No trick. No illusion. A pen stroke, and that was it.
And yet… there was no watcher. No presence. Just the book, empty and still.
One of the researchers asked me if I felt anything when I touched it. I told her no. But I lied. There was something—not compulsion, not a voice, not a pull. Just an emptiness. Like something should have been there, and wasn't.
Like a throne without a king.
When I close my eyes, I imagine it. Some kind of spirit, bound to the book once, watching, laughing, writing alongside the wielder. But now it's gone. Dead. And the book remains, waiting for another hand.
That's what terrifies me the most.
Not that the ledger kills.Not that it works.But that it doesn't need anyone watching. No bargains. No oversight. No rules except the ones written inside.
It's just a tool.And tools are only as dangerous as the ones who wield them.
Recovered from field notes, Operation █████, Tokyo. Filed under SCP-011 Incident Archive.