Портрет полковника Адриана Боу (1955 г.).

Привет Стэн,

Если ты читаешь это, значит, я мертв — похоже, госпожа удача была не на моей стороне. Когда ты найдешь мое тело, то найдешь рядом со мной старую коробку с карточками: эта коробка и есть причина.

Я не единственный, кто умер так: твой отец, Оливер; моя мать Эбигейл. Наши кузены, братья, сестры, бабушки и дедушки, прабабушки и прадедушки. Наши будущие жены и дети, и те, кто будет от них. Последние восемнадцать лет я хранил это в тайне от нашей семьи, потому что твой отец попросил меня об этом.

Предположительно, на этих картах лежит какое-то проклятие, что-то связанное с "мошенничеством". Лично мне все равно, и я не хочу знать об этом дерьме. Мне нужно было только знать, как уничтожить эту штуку, но, как видишь, это не сработало.

Я оставил свое наследство своим детям, но всю работу наших предков я оставляю тебе: Гувер предоставит информацию, которая может тебе понадобиться, и передаст ее Фонду под твоим руководством – я решил, что они лучше всего подходят для оказания помощи в нашей работе, надеюсь, это поможет. Я прошу только о двух одолжениях: во-первых, позаботься о моей жене Саре, а также о маленьких Оливере и Джейни. Я бы не вынес, если бы потерял их вот так. Во-вторых, постарайся уничтожить это дерьмо. Заставь его заплатить за то, что оно сделало с нашей семьей, и за то, что оно сделает, если ты ему позволишь.

Удачи, придурок.

Semper fidelis,

Адриан Рай Б.

Восстановленная картина г-жи Салли Боу (1876 г.).

Мой любимый сын,

Жаль, что у меня осталось так мало времени, мой дорогой, но я не могу пойти против призвания нашего Господа. Меня огорчает, что ты не можешь навестить свою мать в ее последние дни, но еще больше огорчает то, что произойдет дальше. Вот почему я позаботилась о том, чтобы это письмо дошло до тебя, а также до имущества нашей семьи. Хотя это может быть невероятно ценным в этом земном мире, оно не может сравниться со славой Царства и великим даром жизни, данным нам. Вот почему меня огорчает, что наш дар жизни больше не принадлежит нам. По крайней мере, со стороны твоего отца.

Сейчас мне 71 год. Я прожила долгую жизнь, я вышла замуж за вашего отца поздно, после того как овдовела. Мне было странно, почему он женился на женщине старше меня, но теперь я знаю: я была экспериментом, чтобы посмотреть, смогу ли я пережить проклятие, которое преследует нас. Он умер рано, а я выжила только потому, что была помилована от гнева нашего Господа. Причина этого наказания кроется в коробке с карточками, которая будет прилагаться к этому письму.

The box is the reason for your father's death. And while I shouldn't have gone against our Father's wrath, I'm your mother. I'm supposed to protect and I hope that God can forgive me for what I did: after asking for help from our bishop and being unable to stop it, I asked for the help of occultists to decipher the why of our Lord's punishment. They failed as I should've known and soon, I caught this disease that I suffer. This is another punishment, one that I cannot stop, and one that I will die knowing I have sentenced my children to. I'm sorry, my child.

Maybe one day we will stop this curse, and receive the forgiveness of our Father. But that will only happen if we redeem ourselves. From what? I wish I knew. But what I want you to know, Henry, is that I want you to be the next patriarch of the family. You're one of the few remaining elders of our blood, and you're the only one I can trust with the task of our blood's survival. Continue our tradition: early marriages with elder families, and many children. That's the only way our family will be saved.

I wish I could've seen you one last time on this Earth, but maybe we will meet again in Heaven if God allows it.

Your ill mother,

Sally L. Bowe

Portrait of Brig. General Henry Bowe from the United States Cavalry archives (1887).

To William,

Damn it all to Hell, my last attempt to get rid of these damned cards and all because of some Indians. I know you advised me not to trespass protocol, but I'm the Director of the Initiative,¹ so I can do whatever I want. You wanted to exploit the recent revival of magic, thaumaturgy, or whatever the fuck you people call it nowadays. The problem is that I was running out of time, you were running out of time, and our family was running out of time.

When I stepped to Window Rock, the memories of the war passed through my eyes. Even when we gave them land, they fought for more — they just couldn't stay where we told them to stay. I saw one or two people that I captured before, and the word of my arrival quickly spread. Short enough, I was greeted by the leader of the largest clan and I ordered him to bring me to his healer. I knew that he was insulted by my presence, but he followed my orders.

When I met the shaman, I explained the situation. He listened carefully and begrudgingly accepted my order. He had the help of some assistants and performed a ritual that lasted for who knows how long. He asked me if our family was guilty, and I returned with a question: whose family isn't? He didn't like my answer, but he continued. By the time the sun had set, he answered: the cards are not a divine punishment like our mother believed. The shaman said that these cards hold a vengeful spirit and that it emanated a burning hatred toward me. He confirmed that it was a punishment, but he didn't know of what.

I assumed that was the case, and I asked if he could do anything to purge this spirit: he told me he could. I ordered him to do so, and he denied my request. I reached for my bag and tossed him a dozen dollars, so he could buy food in the nearest base. He didn't take it, so I stood up and left — they could've helped me, but they decided not to.

So next week, after approval from President Arthur, I sent the Cavalry and ordered them to pick up the shaman, his assistants, and their families. Like a few years ago, I ordered my men to take them for a long walk. When the shaman decided to not help our family, to pursue revenge for what I did, they dug their own grave. Lately, I've heard stories, that their spirits now roam the land. In a way, they remind me of us: dead spirits seeking revenge for what happened to them.

William, just like I did to those Indians, I want you to do the same to those cards: an eye for an eye. For me, for yourself, and for our family.

Avenge me,

H.W. Bowe

Site-19's portrait of Dr. Oliver Bowe from the Scientific Department archives (1934).

To Adrian,

My boy, please forgive me, I failed to keep the promise I swore to your dad to protect you. I don't have much time left to continue my research and neutralize our family's curse. I did everything I could to stop it, and it depresses me that I wasn't the one chosen to save our family.

As I write this letter to you, I wish I could've used the time I put in my studies to spend more time with you and Stan. I wish I could turn back time, to stop this curse from ever happening, and return to grow old and watch you two become men. But there's no point in regrets now, and all that's left is to pray that I win this sick game.

In the case I don't, I ask you, please finish my work — our family's work. You'll receive everything you need to know along with this letter. I found almost nothing new with one exception: when the cards kill us, it leaves a message. I've compiled these messages in my notes and you can see them for yourself. I didn't want to believe it at first, but I can't deny the evidence: it seems it has faith in us. Each time that it leaves a message, it reads as if it were disappointed in us. And it has done so every time I've found one of our family members dead.

It wants us to play fairly, but we've either lost the game or cheated. The strategies we have used so far have failed, and we must change in order to win. Now that I know this, I must test this theory. I hope I live to tell you because I can't bear leaving without you knowing this. Cross your fingers, Adrian.

My boy, promise me that if I die, you'll take care of your cousin. I'll die for both of you if I have to, but I wouldn't be at peace if he also went through what I will. Forgive me, my boy, for putting this weight on your shoulders — but we must save ourselves because we only have our family.

I don't know what these cards think we're guilty of, I just know we are, and I'm sorry I couldn't redeem ourselves. These are my last words to you, so please keep them close to your heart: I love you, and Stan. You two will be in my heart when I play this twisted game.

I'll miss you,
Oliver

Portrait of General Stan Bowe from Bowe Commission archives (1969).

To Willis,

Hello, son. Happy 10^th birthday. I always enjoyed watching you grow every year, but I'm sorry I wasn't there to see you blow out your candles. I won't hug you and give you your present. However, I'll pay it back. I'll give you, and our family, our life back. This will be my present for your birthday, and many more to come. I love you and your mom, Willis, always remember that.

In the case, that someone else finds this letter: a secret operation occurred. SCP-935 broke containment and took me with it. I used my most trustworthy personnel to breach anomalies and use them against SCP-935, to increase my chances of success. Even if I die, I won't without a bang.

Those who collaborated with me, and later stopped my attempts to detain the anomaly, I only have something to say: damn you. When I die, I'll have the name of the soul inside SCP-935. And when I do, the rest of the pieces will fall in place. I know that the Foundation won't finish the job — that fate is not meant for you, but someone from my family. That job will be theirs to finish. You can thank me when I meet you back in hell.

Willis, when you find this letter, know this: once I'm done, our family's name will be disgraced in the Foundation. Our name will be damned, as it is right now. But that's the price we must pay to keep our family alive. Willis, I entrust you to bring back our name to the place it rightfully belongs — upkeep our legacy, my son.

To the Foundation, General Stan Joseph Bowe, signing out.

To my family,
Stan