Photograph label: "After the encounter." The subject is presumed to be Bannard.

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Searching for Giles was a fruitless endeavor. The snow had been piling up for hours, ruining any footprints, and not a soul could be seen on the horizon in such heavy blue twilight. I shouted for him in vain attempts before I gave up and went back to base. By the time I returned the snow had piled up high enough by our ramshackle hut that I had to dig my way in.

I shut the door behind me and there was silence. No sounds from any crew members, nor the gusts outside—only the creaks of the wood as I moved. Then I heard it. A constant clicking, that started up, stopped, and kept repeating. I crept towards the main room's entrance, peeking around the corner and suddenly freezing in place. A hole was in one of the walls, fully plugged up with snow, and standing in the center was a beast I can barely begin to describe. Its body was a cone, resting on four spider-like legs, whip like limbs swirling around it, a ring-shaped thing resting on top. I nearly screamed then and there.

My heart was racing as its body swayed and stumbled towards me. I felt a splitting headache and then a voice rang out in my head. This "voice," so much unlike a voice I may as well not describe it as such, said a single word: "home." The beast's body then softened like cracker being dipped in water, collapsing apart into a foul-smelling pink fluid. There was a sudden tremor and then the walls around buckled. I rested in that snow for what felt like an eternity, praying to God.

Once the crew pulled me to my feet they told me that the beast had barged in through the wall while I was out, prompting everyone to hide where they could. Nobody saw what it did before I returned.

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Once we started eating Cy started to panic. He kept asking over and over again if the beast was some type of demon, wondering he heard the voice of the Devil himself (I suspect he heard the same "voice" I did). I wish I had an answer.

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Photograph label: "Looking outside of the cave." The subject in the image is unknown.

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When we had fully awoken, Richard proposed that we go out and find where the beast had come from. We were all apprehensive at first, Cy being the most nervous among us, but after a long discussion we realized we had little else to do until Lewin's crew returns with supplies. When the snow finally stopped piling up we went out to survey the area for any abnormalities.

The first several hours met with no discoveries until I heard Abner hollering by a cave entrance. Nothing peculiar struck me when I first entered, but as I went further I noticed what Abner obsessing over. At the cave's rear, at the bottom of a long downwards incline fashioned into what seemed like a staircase, was a cavernous tunnel, not composed of ice or rock but of perfectly smooth metal the likes of which I have never seen before. It stretched out further than any light could reach. There is no doubt in my mind that this where the beast came from.

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I awoke to the sound of splintering wood and a thunderous crash. The wood that made up much of the hut's ceiling buckled under the weight of continued snowfall and dropped a dense wall of snow into the main room. Thankfully Shelton, who had been sleeping there, was far enough to one side that we were easily able to dig him out. After hours of digging we were able to form tunnels connecting with all areas of the hut, but we know that this will not work as a shelter much longer. Richard has been adamant that we use the cave, stating that it's our only chance at survival. We all wish that didn't have to be the case, but as I look at the walls around me I fear that they will collapse a moment too soon.

In a few hours time the eight of us will hold a vote on our course of action. All I know is that turning back will not be an option.

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We unanimously voted to use the cave. I can tell that none of us are enthused by this (especially Cy, who is failing hiding his nervousness under an emotionless veneer), but by now the den of a monster is more inviting then death under mounds of snow. The snowfall has stopped and we will depart in a few hours time.

So far the tunnel has proven a good fit for our survival. A constant heat flows out of it, warming the air to the point that Richard was able to not wear any protective clothing ten meters into it. None of this air escapes far into the cave, relegating us to an eerie darkness. I've dared not to go near that pit at the tunnel's end. On multiple occasions I swear I've heard clicking noises but whenever I ask it turns out to have only been myself.

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Richard has been acting strangely, a statement that seems redundant but is more true than ever before. Every couple of hours he raps seven times on the tunnel walls, goes out for what he says are brief strolls only to carve more esoteric symbols into the cave's ice. He seems happier than I've ever seen him. I've always thought of him to be a mystic who had largely shed his roots for a nobler, educated life, but now as I watch him I highly doubt this notion.

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As Abner does his best to keep morale up by roping everyone into improvised theatre performances, I find myself going to the edge of the pit, away from the laughter and commotion to sit with my own thoughts. I tossed the small religious pendant Giles left behind in there and carefully listened for it to hit the bottom. A few slight tinks against the metal walls then silence. All I heard was just my heartbeat. The light from the lamp I bring along has barely provided enough to let me see the walls of this massive structure, so I have no idea of how far down it goes.

Occasionally Richard will join me. He silently walks in and sits a bit farther behind me, gazing off into nothing. We've never exchanged a single word here. To us it's a sacred place to be alone with our thoughts, and I dare not disturb that peace for anyone. He's far braver than I am in turning off his lamp when he arrives, though. I always pointlessly fear that at some point that shadows will pull me away, leaving the rest of the crew on their own, and this lamp is my safeguard against it. Or perhaps I worry that in the darkness I'll stumble and fall to my death. Whatever the reason, with this light I make the thingswe've I've seen on the voyage feel less real.

We woke up to find that Richard was gone. His sleeping bag was open with much of his equipment left behind. Abner checked the cave and couldn't find any new marks in the snow, so he had to have still been in the tunnel. After a moment of preparation to retrieve lamps we started going deep into the tunnel. Minutes later I turned around to see that everyone had stopped following me several meters back. I ordered them to come forward but they simply stood there, doing nothing. I decided to go on without them, reaching the edge of the abyss after what felt like hours.

I reached the ledge, solely hearing the rattling of my lamp and my quickening heartbeat. All that I could find was Richard's boots and a single lit lamp. I looked about all over, hoping I would see him elsewhere in the darkness, but he was nowhere. He'd fallen in. I cursed the Heavens and stomped the ground, kicked his lamp in with a great swing of the foot and watched its light tumble down till it vanished. When I came out I told the crew that he'd left without a trace.

Eventually I came to ask why they had stopped following me, despite my clear orders. Quietly, when no-one else would speak, Palmer told me that they had begun fearing for their own lives. They saw one of the beasts clinging to the ceiling directly above me.

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I can't return to the pit anymore. I look down there and swear I see the flickering of light, I look up the walls and swear I see shifting symbols and shapes, and when I close my eyes and look nowhere I still see something. A ring, a halo, suspended in the colorless region under my eyelids. The last time I went to-day I started hearing that God forsaken noise. That clicking of the beasts. I peered past the edge and my lamp snuffed out, whether by my negligence to check the fuel or something else. I stood there for moments, paralyzed, and I came to a terrible realization. Every time I had been here the only sound to keep me company would be my heartbeat and interspersed gaseous noises from the lamp. That sound was not my heartbeat.

I spun around right as the "voices" grew from faint whispers to murmurs and I ran, dropping the lamp and only stopping when I saw the lights of my crew.

To-morrow I will inform the crew of a new rule. Nobody is allowed further than ten meters away from the tunnel entrance. That hole can only lead to further woes.

Unlabeled photograph.

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When I returned from outside and reached the "stairwell" I saw the crew outside the tunnel, pressing themselves up against the cavern walls to either side of the entrance. I was about to ask what was happening when Palmer signaled me to be quiet and move to the far wall. The crew isn't idiotic so I knew they had a good reason for this, and I quickly followed his command. Silence at first, then scraping, then clicking. I went behind a pillar of ice and peered out to see three beasts climb up the staircase. Two left the cavern while one with massive bulges on its body froze in place. One of the bulges cracked and it shattered, dropping a black sphere. The beast then left to join its companions.

Once I knew they were gone I went to inspect the sphere they left, which had a crude stick figure of a human on it. I tapped it with my foot and it split in half, revealing a growing mass of some sort of pale, flesh-like foam that quickly became larger than myself. Eventually it stopped growing and rested there, pulsating.

I've been in the tunnel since, unwilling to interact with thisthing for the time being.

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The foam is food.

We were on one of our last cans of good meat when Cy threw his to ground, shouted about how sick he was of it, and then ran out of the tunnel and up the staircase. We chased after him (we couldn't let what Giles did repeat) and saw his face buried in the foam, chewing like a mad animal. He pulled his head out to tell us how great it tasted then plunged back in. None of us knew what to do at first. Shaw simply shrugged then joined in, and over time the rest of us did too. It was the most nourishing meal I've had in ages.

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We pay the beasts far less mind now. We will still go quiet when three or more of them march past us in the tunnel, but they have harmed us naught. Not even a single "voice" has been heard. Every two days a new food sphere is dropped, even with the other ones being far from deplenished. Outside the beasts continually drop strange objects and apparatuses until they melt into the snow, at which point a new group emerges to repeat the process. Palmer, Abner, and I have tried to understand what these devices do but their nearly monolithic designs elude us.

The twilight continues to haunt us—certainly it will always be the case until the daylight months return—but Antarctica has come to feel less treacherous. I will continue to keep my guard, though. For the sake of my crew I won't allow us to be caught when we are vulnerable.

Something impossible happened last night (prior to me falling asleep, so I write this the following day). We heard the familiar clanging noises of the beasts as a new group was nearing the tunnel exit, but there was a difference. I have grown accustomed to hearing the rhythmic noises they make when moving across metal, so when I heard an entirely different set of sounds I was disturbed.

Coming out of the tunnel, flanked on both sides by two beasts, was something only vaguely human. It moved on mechanical legs, six many-jointed silver arms dangling, the seventh arm emerging from its chest pointed forward. The torso was hidden under a tattered, blood-stained coat, and a mask of ice that refused to melt obscured its face.

The creature shambled over to me and spoke in a voice like faulty typewriters, introducing itself as Richard Parish. By that point I was certain I was dreaming, so I welcomed him back and then fell asleep. When I woke up in the morning I was not prepared to see him truly exist.

Photograph label: "Richard."

I'd be lying if I said that none of us were in shock at Richard's return. He acts as though he never left, only alluding to changes when he calls himself an "ambassador for man." Whenever I ask about what happened to him in the pit he becomes silent, only talking again when the conversation shifts to a different topic. Never has he taken off the mask, saying it's best it stays on.

His behavior has also become even more peculiar. He accompanies the beasts when they leave to drop their devices, then uses his arms to open the machines and apparently inspect them. He continues to do the "seven knocks on metal" ritual but now its accompanied by his own clicking sounds, and I am certain that the objects he carves with his symbols now glow in the darkness. It is faint but I know it is there. When nothing else is happening he'll ramble on about nonsensical subjects. All I can understand are sentences about how everyone should be bleeding.

I can't trust him. I mustn't.

In the "afternoon" (or at least what felt like it), I assembled Abner and Palmer for what I told the crew was "a survey of the outside to find the best route for the expedition." In reality we went to check the devices. Richard was returning to the tunnel when we left so we knew that not a soul would see us.

The target of our investigation was a cubic machine. It had an array of limbs that stabbed the snow and pumped a brown fluid into it, staining the area. The three of us tried to pull a limb out of the ground, then tried to hoist the entire object, but we found that it was firmly stuck in place. Abner spotted a panel on one side and opened it, exposing some sort of spherical contraption surrounded by wires on the inside. Messing with the interior of a potentially dangerous mechanism was a terrible idea, so we started digging up the snow around it.

The ice was wholly being replaced by some form of pale purple dirt, blue plant-things sprouting in it. Palmer rushed over to a near identical object, dug around, and found more purple dirt and blue plants. For an hour we watched the ice transmute into dirt and sprout plants like nothing I have heard of. Even small slug-like creatures began to take form from fluids in the soil. We returned to the tunnel an hour later.

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Recently Cy has taken an interest in Richard's nonsense. He'll sit by him, listening to every word he says like a student with their teacher. I swear I've seen him take notes on a scrap of paper once. To-day when Richard started the knocking he joined in, and now they are repeating the same chants as I write. I haven't seen him scared at the sight of a beast since.

Cy may be the youngest but he isn't idiotic. That much I know. If he is willing to listen and follow along with the occult then there must be a reason for it. What such a reason could be escapes me.

I was returning from a brief look outside when Richard approached me, telling me that he had questions. He led me to a section of the cave away from the tunnel and asked me why Palmer, Abner and I keep leaving to inspect the machines (he saw us). I said that I was only interested in what they were doing in as calm of a manner as I could muster. Like a faulty record he started asking if I "meant harm" incessantly. I kept responding with "no" but as he asked I began doubting how true my answer was.

He abruptly paused, placed a hand on my shoulder, and asked if I realized the importance the beasts held. I was so out of my wits that I was silent. He said that, if I was interested in the machines, I should be joining him in his rituals. He claimed that it would be an enlightening experience for everyone and a path with more opportunities than heading for the South Pole. I nearly lost my nerve and shouted about how far we had come since we departed and how renowned we would be upon returning. He sighed, said that it was pointless to be in the shadow of Amundsen when there was a higher purposebelow, then left for the tunnel.

Whether by our digging that exposed the dirt or by the whims of the machines, the dirt has replaced at least half an acre. The plants have become spore-spewing pillars and the slugs as large as my feet, occasionally dividing like cells or inflating into zeppelin creatures that fly to the horizon and out of sight. The other machines seem to be helping the growth, releasing dirt-making fluid and foam for the animals. The beasts simply perform inspections then leave devices farther out in the tundra. It is reassuring that the expansion seems to have slowed down, but the amount of life here is constantly increasing. It's as if every time I turn to look some new type of slug or "plant" has been born.

The situation at the tunnel seems to be equally deteriorating. Cy isn't alone. Shaw, Shelton, and Esben are all involved in hourly rituals. They barely notice when I call out to them, more intent on every move Richard makes and his talk of impossible stars, bleeding gods, and world-sized corpses. The only one to pay me any mind is Esben. Initially I was afraid by how nonsensical Richard seemed to be. Now I'm afraid that the nonsense is true.

I am not one to keep logs of dreams, but this one has happened so often and is recalled so clearly that I must write it down.

It starts with seven points of light in darkness. One point cracks and bleeds pink liquid, which coalesces into a thin, glowing ring. Then there is a planet, the details of which are just a fuzz. The ring emerges on the planet and stays until the planet cracks. A second planet, covered in what I think are green oceans, appears and the ring emerges again. Something made of flesh rises on it and the planet vanishes, replaced by another covered in purple soil with the pink ring on it. A hole opens [ILLEGIBLE: Paper stained with haemorozin] and the ring appears above Antarctica.

A week ago, when I heard the "voice," I didn't know why it said "home." Surely the home of such a monstrosity would be long ways off from here, down in the underworld were it belongs. It had to have been confused. Now I've realiz—[ILLEGIBLE: Paper stained with haemorozin]—demons are far too human for what these ar—

[REMAINDER OF PAGE ILLEGIBLE: Stained with haemorozin.]

I woke up last night while everyone else was sleeping after feeling something rub against my back. Standing overhead was Richard, reading my journal and dripping the damn pink blood out of his mask as he did so. He'd reached behind my back, into my sleeping bag, and pulled it out. I tried to stay as still as possible, provide an illusion of slumber. Minutes that felt like years passed and he dropped the journal in front of me, stepping over me and walking deeper into the tunnel. Once I was sure he had left I reached to pull my journal back to safety when a metal hand slammed down onto mine. I was dragged out of the bed. I've forgotten the rest.

It isn't safe here anymore. I won't write till it is.

The next seven pages consist of drawings. It is unknown what many of the drawings represent, though several have been identified as SCP-4431-C instances, vehicles resembling those found at Martian impact crater Herschel, unknown organisms, and sketches depicting the tower previously described. The only text present is the word "spreading."

Notably, a ring-shaped stain of haemorozin is present on the upper left corner of this page.

No further entries are present.