Scribble: The other, much better piece I wrote based on Smiletron's forthcoming EP needs more work. And set-up.

      Slender fingers slipped between the cold digits of her artificial arm, warming her heart through the servomotors and sensors beneath. She wasn't sure how she had arrived in this place, full of trees and the sounds of life all around her, basking in the twilight of perpetual evening; only that she was there, and felt somehow like home to her. With a confused smile, she turned to her companion, only to be greeted by a slender girl in a flowing violet dress, her eyes the color of starlight.
      "You're beautiful," she said bashfully, almost instinctively caressing her companion's soft cheek with her other, normal hand. "Are you the one who brought me here?"
      With a nod, the beautiful stranger slid her fingers around the outstretched hand, gently kissing the tawny palm before pressing it to her cheek once more. "I am the one you're destined to free," purred a soothing voice, though the stranger's lips did not move, "and the one destined to love you."
      Without another word, the nymph cupped her face in the warm, almost glowing hands, closing the glistening pools of starlight before drawing her lips to the girl's own.
      And with their kiss, she awoke, moonlight slipping in through the cracks in the blinds, her lips still sweet with the taste of the stars.

Scribble: I need to see if the SCP Foundation has a record on this guy.

      Static echoed from the rusted box, its drooping antenna nothing more than wire and peeling tape. Upon its face, the ghost of some knob or another lingered over a jagged metal prong, as rust drifted in and out of the solitary speaker. Nearby stood an unadorned table, its legs buckling under its own weight, blanketed by dust and the greasy mold starting to form upon its surface. Only a single chair, itself nothing more than bound twigs and damp, oozing glue, remained for use; no trace of what other furniture there might have been remained.
      From behind an unseen door emerged a single, lithe figure, a white paper mask obscuring all the features of its face. Walking in erratic movements to the radio, the shadow paused, slowly jerking its bank visage around as though aware of being watched. Without another moment's hesitation, the specter threw an arm across the room, reaching farther than any human arm could, the sounds of breaking bones and torn sinews barely audible above the din. Flicking the skeleton of some radio dial, the static soon became overpowering, as the pale mask turned around, again and again, as each crick of sundered bone still lingered.
      A sudden stillness overtook the shadow, its arm back to the way it had been, the twitching motions now calmed. In but a moment, a small line formed upon the mask, growing wider and larger, the figure's head convulsing with each inch. Jagged teeth, grinning, with no eyes or nose or ears to accompany it, ripped across its face, as the static gave way to the sound of aggravated breathing. Even without sight, it turned to face its unseen audience, as the very neck of the shade started to snake and twist from the body, oozing like a fleshy, bleeding worm culled from a sore...
      "And that's when we stopped the tape," the agent added, breathing heavily.
      "Reason?" demanded the faceless monolith before him.
      "Because that's when it reached through the television screen," he blurted out, starting to tremble before adding, "sir."