There was nothing out of the ordinary about
Timmy Mason. Like a lot of healthy, eight-year-old boys,
Timmy liked to go on little adventures in and around his neighborhood, and now that
Summer vacation had finally rolled around, he had more time than ever to explore. But during one particularly hot day, Timmy
suddenly realized that he was exhausted. The heat was beginning to get to him, and
he’d forgotten to pack a water bottle. All he had was a couple dollars and a handful
of quarters rattling around in his pocket. He was considering heading to a nearby corner
store and purchasing a drink, when he first heard the music. It was a tinny rendition of “Pop Goes The
Weasel”, playing in the distance, underscored by the rumbling of an engine. Timmy’s face lit up; this could only mean
one thing. An ice cream truck, just in time. He ran in the direction of the sounds, not
wanting to miss out on the cool, sweet relief from the intense Summer heat. But when the ice cream truck suddenly rounded
a corner and came into view, Timmy felt a pang of anxiety. It didn’t look like most of the ice cream
trucks he’d seen driving around his neighborhood in prior Summers. It was shoddy - an older, more boxy model
with peeling, white paint. But it was so hot out that Timmy felt he couldn’t
afford to be picky if he wanted to cool off. The ice cream truck came to a noisy stop,
and Timmy ran over. When he reached the side of the truck, he
noticed some other strange details: There was no serving hatch in the back of the truck. The closest thing was a thin, dark groove
cut into the driver’s side door - a door that seemed almost drawn onto the side of
the truck, rather than a door that looked like it could actually open. How could the driver even get in? And adding to the strangeness, there was no
menu on the truck, either. Typically, on your friendly neighborhood ice
cream truck, you’d find a colorful collection of all the frozen treats you could buy, along
with how much they’d cost you. But not here. Timmy gulped nervously. He knew something was wrong here, but for
some reason, he couldn’t seem to pull himself away. He cleared his throat, forced a polite smile,
and said: “Can I get a green popsicle, please?” There was a strange rumbling noise inside
the ice cream truck. Suddenly, the slot in the door opened a little
wider, and a long, green popsicle in a plastic wrapper emerged. It came with a small piece of paper, with
“$5.75” in loose, scratchy handwriting on it. Timmy regarded the note with suspicion, and
then said that he was sorry, but he didn’t have $5.75. Something inside the truck began rumbling
again. Louder this time; more aggressive. While the truck growled from within, Timmy
noticed something else was wrong. His popsicle was no ordinary popsicle: It
was a dead snake, straightened out and frozen solid. Timmy screamed and dropped the so-called popsicle. He turned, and began to run, but it was already
too late. The slot behind him yawned open fully, and
a rusty, spring-loaded chain fired out like a harpoon. On the end of this chain was a large, snapping
bear trap, which quickly latched onto Timmy’s left leg. The chain yanked and pulled him backwards,
dragging him ever closer to the darkened crevice in the truck’s door. Moments later, he was pulled inside, and the
hatch closed behind him. His screams were muffled, and then overpowered
entirely by the rumbling within. Soon after, there was silence, and finally,
the cheerful tune of “Pop Goes The Weasel” began to play once more. The truck drove away, prepared to serve its
frozen delights to another child somewhere. Not long after Timmy was reported missing,
another young boy bought a scoop of strawberry ice cream in a waffle cone from the same truck. The boy’s mother was horrified to find that
this alleged ice cream was full of what seemed like blood and raw meat. Lab tests later confirmed that this gory ice
cream was a perfect genetic match for poor, missing Timmy Mason. It didn’t take long for the SCP Foundation
to get involved, seeing as mysterious, horrifying deaths like this were often the first sign
of an anomaly’s presence in the area, and they were able to quickly track down and isolate
the rogue ice cream truck. This wasn’t especially difficult for the
agents assigned to the case, since it literally announced its presence with loud, obnoxious
music. While it was easy to find, the ice cream truck
- soon designated SCP-1386 - did however prove to be more difficult to contain than they
first imagined. When a mobile task force attempted to engage
the truck in hopes of apprehending it, an ear-splitting siren began to blast from the
truck’s undercarriage. This caused catastrophic inner-ear damage
to everyone involved. Incidentally, it’s now believed that the
reason the ice cream truck engaged in this defensive behavior had nothing to do with
the fact the mobile task force was armed, but rather because of what they weren’t
carrying. It appears that SCP-1386 doesn’t turn on
its siren because of danger, but when it detects that someone is approaching it who isn’t
carrying any money. Eventually, the Foundation was able to trick
the ice cream truck into containment, luring it into a fake, walled-off neighborhood where
it could drive its rounds constantly without the risk of encountering civilians. All those who had previous encounters with
the ice cream truck were given amnestic treatment, and SCP-1386 was finally officially contained. But while it had been taken off the streets,
the Foundation’s work was only just beginning: It was time for research to commence. The first key discoveries that aided in the
investigation involved the factors that are required for SCP-1386 to even serve its subjects
in the first place. As the previously mentioned Mobile Task Force
learned, you need to approach the truck with at least twenty dollars in cash to be absolutely
sure that it won’t turn your ears inside out. The truck also proves to be extremely adept
at reading human emotions, and refuses to serve anyone who doesn’t appear happy. With these requirements now known, the Foundation
felt prepared to finally make some orders. First, they sent in a pair of Level Three
researchers. Each of them requested a delicious, cookies
and creme flavored smoothie. The truck pushed both smoothies out of the
slot in its door, one marked with the letter “M” and the other with the letter “G.” A handwritten receipt with the price of $4.89
written on it. They paid the price, and the transaction ended
without incident. The smoothies were apparently pretty good,
too. Next, one of the researchers returned, perhaps
longing for another taste of SCP-1386’s wonderful ice cream. This time, he requested a Neapolitan ice cream
sandwich. The truck rumbled for a moment, before dispensing
what seemed to be a ham and cheese sandwich with slices of tomato. However, upon taking a bite out of the sandwich,
the researcher found that this was actually just a perfect replica of a ham and cheese
sandwich made from Neapolitan ice cream. The receipt released from the slot simply
said “April Fools!”, before the truck drove away without even asking for any payment. The same researcher would return to the ice
cream truck one more time, this time requesting a single scoop of vanilla ice cream in a waffle
cone. It was provided to him without issue, and
he happily paid the 72 cents the truck requested in return. The next test wouldn’t go quite as swimmingly
- by which we mean, it caused a horrifying death. This time, a slightly more senior researcher
wanted to perform a test on the ice cream truck. He asked for a peach-flavored push pop, which
he received without issue. However, when he refused to pay the price
- an admittedly rather steep $16 - all hell broke loose. As he tried to walk away, the hatch opened
a full six feet, releasing its large, rusty, metal trap around the senior researcher. He was pulled into the truck, followed by
a horrific rumbling noise. Not long after, the slot began to spew a stream
of pink liquid for a solid five minutes, before driving away. This pink puree was later proven to be a genetic
match to the researcher. After this, the Foundation refused to allow
any other researchers to interact with SCP-1386. Only D-Class personnel would be permitted
to take part in tests.. In contrast to the senior researcher’s horrifying
death, the D-Class personnel seemed to get along extremely well with SCP-1386. The first D-Class asked for a cherry popsicle
with nuts. The truck produced an unwrapped cherry popsicle
with nuts embedded in the ice, along with a receipt reading, “$2.20 you’re nuts!” The D-Class chuckled as he read the receipt,
and paid the truck without incident. The second D-Class requested a more esoteric
treat - a "Caesar Salad flavor" Popsicle. However, the ice cream truck isn’t one to
back down from a challenge. It produced an off-green popsicle that tasted
like, quote, “lightly dressed lettuce with a hint of croutons." The next D-Class ordered a Dark Chocolate
Fudge Pop, but wasn’t able to pay in exact change. He gave the truck two dollar bills, and was
given a carefully wrapped package with a crude drawing of US currency on the front. When the package was opened, he saw that it
contained the exact change he required, down to the penny. He made an official request to the Foundation
to keep the change, but his request was denied. The Foundation then pushed its D-Class personnel
to ask for more complex constructions, just to see what SCP-1386 was capable of. The next D-Class asked for a Kinder Surprise
Egg, the kind which are banned in the US due to their history as a choking hazard. However, the ice cream truck didn’t have
a hard time constructing the egg, except this one was made out of ice cream rather than
chocolate. It did seem beyond the truck’s capability
to create the toy inside, instead including a small piece of paper reading, “I.O.U One
Toy.” The next interaction wasn’t quite as cordial. The D-Class requested one cherry ice lolly,
one cherry ice pop, one cherry popsicle, and one "cherry-flavored drink, frozen." This resulted in the ice cream truck making
a horrifying noise, described as being “like someone skinning a cat in reverse.” It then unceremoniously ejected the red ice,
causing it to shatter on the ground, before releasing a styrofoam cup filled with a frozen
green liquid. This liquid was shown to contain huge quantities
of arsenic, but was thankfully impossible to drink, on account of the fact its melting
point is so high that it’s impossible to liquify with current technology. And our current knowledge of SCP-1386’s
testing ends with its strangest story of all: A non-verbal D-Class was instructed to write
his order on a piece of paper to pass to the truck, in hopes of seeing if it would respond
to written commands. A slot opened up in the door a few inches
lower than the usual slot, and a thin, flesh-colored appendage slithered out, its hand a kind of
two-fingered pincer. It took the note from the D-Class, and gave
him an ice cream cone in return. The D-Class was visibly disturbed by the hand
- saying it looked horrifying and smelled like death. He even refused to eat the ice cream, saying
that he’d lost his appetite. But other D-Classes, capable of verbal articulation,
did not report any strange occurrences with the hand. They said that they found the hand to look
completely normal, and as time went on, they began to trust the ice cream truck with increasing
devotion - while their mistrust in the disturbed, mute D-Class only grew. In the strangest twist of all, this D-Class
was later found dead in his cell from strangulation. The D-Class was alone in his cell, and there
were no signs of forced entry. Perhaps he should have enjoyed his ice cream
while he still could... You know what they say: I scream, you scream,
we all scream for ice cream. And no ice cream is more scream-worthy than
the ones served up by SCP-1386. Now check out “SCP-1861 - The Crew of the
HMS Wintersheimer” and “SCP-1730 - What Happened to Site-13?” for more things you
really wouldn’t want to get sucked into.
