A body twists and turns into unimaginable
shapes. Eyes glow in the dark. Shadowy entities appear around you, mimicking
your every move. Would you like a stick of gum? In a small, seaside town nestled just along
the coast of New England and at least an hour's drive away from any major city, there isn't
much to do but brave the chilly ocean waters, crowd onto the rocky beach, or walk along
the boardwalk. For most of the residents of this quaint little
town, the choice is clear. Years ago, when the town was at the height
of its success as a tourist destination, visitors would flock from all over the country, descending
on the boardwalk like the seagulls that swarm around the food stands in search of an errant
French fry. In its heyday, the boardwalk boasted a small
amusement park with a roller coaster and a Ferris wheel, an arcade with the latest in
1980s video game technology, several stands selling hot dogs and crispy french fries coated
in grease and salt, and the pride and joy of many a local, a classic old-fashioned candy
store. Today, the arcade is all but empty, with one
or two players occasionally wandering in to try their hand at the now-vintage attractions
inside. The amusement park is still standing, but
the rides have faded and chipped. The stands still sell their wares, but the
lines are shorter than they once were. And at the center of it all, the beloved candy
shop is struggling to hold on. The price of waterfront property has climbed,
while tourism has dwindled. And with online shopping taking over the market,
well, the candy shop's owner can scarcely scrape enough money together to keep the roof
over his head. On this particular day, the shop owner is
restocking his shelves, the door propped open to let in just enough of the crisp, salty
ocean breeze to keep his head clear and his spirits up. It's getting harder and harder to maintain
the cheerful demeanor he's known for, to step into his red and white striped suit every
day and smile for the few tourists who poke their heads into the shop. But still, he keeps at it. He loves this little store, and he'll keep
holding on to it until there's nothing left to hold. He fills glass containers with colorful little
hard candies, slides boxes of saltwater taffy onto shelves, and places blocks of fudge in
the glass case by the cash register. All the while, he takes a little sample of
each product for himself. A candy here, a small square of fudge there,
to keep his energy up. Besides, he would never sell a product he
didn't taste test first! Only the best for his customers, though they
were few and far between these days. Especially this time of year, as the air grows
colder and the days get shorter, sunshine becomes a limited commodity as the summer
turns to autumn. So, it comes as quite a surprise to the older
man when he hears a knock at the shop door. He turns and sees a delivery man standing
there with a stack of packages. This is especially odd, as he can't recall
ordering anything, but the delivery man explains that these packages are product samples from
an up-and-coming candy company, one specializing in novelty chewing gum. They are providing samples to a variety of
small candy businesses, as well as larger retail outlets, in order to conduct market
research. These particular flavors, the delivery man
promises, cannot be found anywhere else. Well, the promise of a new, exclusive product
to draw new customers in is more than a little bit exciting for the shopkeeper. Without a second thought, he signs for the
packages and carries them inside. The shop has carried a few varieties of chewing
gum over the years: mint, cinnamon, fruit, and even prank gum that turns a person's tongue
black when they chew it! What could possibly be so unique about this
gum? He's determined to find out. As he cuts open the boxes, the shopkeeper
is greeted with brightly-colored packaging that looks, for the most part, like any other
gum packaging out there. He does quickly notice one unusual difference
though: the flavor names. Each of them begins with the phrase "Tastes
Like..." which is a clever enough branding choice, but the flavors themselves are...odd. He lifts the first packet and reads its label,
brow furrowing in confusion. "Tastes Like Youth." What could that possibly mean? For a novelty candy, this gum sure is especially
novel. Well, he never stocks a product without trying
it out for himself first. So he unwraps a piece of the bright pink gum
and pops it into his mouth. The first thing that he notices is the taste,
an overwhelming sweetness tinged with nostalgia. It tastes like cotton candy, but not just
any cotton candy. It tastes like the cotton candy he once enjoyed
as a little boy on this very boardwalk, a flavor he hasn't experienced in 60 years. The next thing that he notices is that his
eyes are aching all of a sudden. He takes off his glasses for a moment, and
is shocked by what he sees: everything, clearly, without the aid of the lenses. His vision is like it was when he was a young
man before age had blurred the edges of everything in his line of sight. His joints have stopped aching, and he feels
a sudden surge of energy, the sudden urge to run, to jump, to click his heels together. He rushes to the bathroom mirror, half expecting
to see his younger face staring back at him. No, he still looks the same, but he feels
decades younger. His mind reels, and he can't think of anything
to do but laugh. This gum… It should be impossible, but this piece really
does taste like youth. This might just be the product that saves
the store. The invigorating effect lasts, all in all,
for about a half hour. But during that half hour, the shopkeeper
feels more optimistic than he has in many, many years, and the feeling lingers even after
the gum's effects subside. But what other flavors did he receive? The delivery man brought three boxes, so what
about the other two? He opens the second box and pulls out a pack. "Tastes Like Mom Used to Make." Well, that's even more vague than the first
one. But after the experience of the previous one,
he's eager to discover exactly what that could mean. He unwraps a piece, studies its light brown
color, and pops it into his mouth. As soon as he begins to chew, the flavor explodes
on his tongue, taking him back once again to his childhood. Browned butter. Sugar. Chocolate chips. A hint of vanilla. It can't be...but it is. It's his mother's chocolate chip cookie recipe. How could the manufacturers have possibly
recreated it so perfectly? The flavor passes quickly and, eager to confirm
his experience and make sure it was real, he grabs another piece. This one tastes entirely different. Blueberry pancakes, like his mother used to
make on Sunday mornings, dripping with syrup and melted butter. This is the most unusual chewing gum, indeed. In all his years of selling candy, of tasting
every unusual innovation or novelty product, he never dreamed it could be like this. Now, for the third package. He slices the box open and finds black packages
inside, emblazoned with eerie red writing. The text read: "Tastes Like Your Worst Nightmare." The shopkeeper feels a chill run down his
spine, his hands shaking with nerves as he unwraps a piece of the pitch-black gum. But he can't stop himself. He has to satisfy his curiosity, to discover
what nightmares taste like. He pops the piece into his mouth and begins
to chew. At first, he is almost disappointed. It doesn't taste like much of anything, vaguely
sweet, almost creamy, like finishing a glass of warm milk before bed. But as he chews, the shop around him begins
to blur and warp, lights dimming until he is standing in the dark. The hairs on his arms stand to attention,
and he becomes overwhelmed with the sensation of eyes on his back. Something is here, and it is watching him. He spins around and finds nothing there. But wait. What's that? Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow, darting
just out of sight, into the storage room in the back. Against his will, his feet begin to carry
the man toward that room, following the shadow. The door to the storeroom is shut. It wasn't shut before. Something closed it when it darted inside,
and it's in there now. Waiting for him. His stomach turns as his hand reaches for
the doorknob, turning it inch by inch. His nerves are screaming at him to stop, to
turn and run, but as if trapped in a nightmare, his body refuses to obey him. It pushes the door open with a pronounced
creak, and there, in the darkness, two glowing red eyes gaze out at him. The shopkeeper's heart leaps into his throat,
and in a moment of clarity he spits out the gum. All at once, the glowing eyes are gone, the
lights have come back on, and the nightmare is over. He resolves not to stock that particular flavor
in the shop, and tucks the box away in the back of that same storage room. Before long, his two new nostalgic flavors
of "magic chewing gum" draw the attention of the SCP Foundation, who, after paying the
man enough money to keep the shop open for the foreseeable future (call it a Finder's
Fee), take the gum samples into custody and give them the classification, SCP-1200. The designation SCP-1200 applies to all instances
of chewing gum distributed under the brand, "Tastes Like Chewing Gum." Packages of this gum have been spotted in
various grocery and convenience stores around the United States, appearing seemingly at
random. Each pack of gum features a logo, identifying
the manufacturer as simply "The Factory." Whenever a human subject masticates, or chews
a piece of the gum, a certain anomalous effect will occur. This effect varies depending on the color
and flavor of the given gum. There have currently been 83 flavors of SCP-1200
identified and cataloged. Swallowing this gum does not appear to produce
any additional anomalous effects. Also, contrary to what certain popular misinformation
might say, this gum (or any gum, in fact) does not stay in the digestive tract for seven
years. The 83 flavors on file can be found in SCP-1200-E:KV,
which was unfortunately impossible for me to obtain during my research into SCP-1200. The official file does, however, include a
partial list of some of these flavors. Though I would have preferred to conduct a
more comprehensive review, this at least provides a bit of valuable additional context for the
anomalous product. So, let's review some of the most memorable
SCP-1200 flavors and their recorded effects on human test subjects. SCP-1200-12 is a lime green-colored gum flavor,
which is funnily enough called "Tastes Like Lemons." When a human subject chews this flavor, their
gustatory perception is altered for the next 28 hours. No matter what they eat during that time frame,
it will taste like lemons. A bit odd, but not harmful, unless the subject
just really, really hates the taste of lemon. After the 28 hour period is up, all food reverts
to its original taste. SCP-1200-15 is a bright yellow flavor, "Tastes
Like Sushine. When a test subject eats this flavor, they
will become luminescent, emitting over 40000 lux of white light. This effect, while disconcerting to witness,
does not do any harm to the subject exhibiting it. The subject's luminescence lasts for approximately
20 minutes at full intensity, and then the light begins to dim gradually until it disappears
completely after four more minutes. You may have noticed that this flavor is a
great deal more abstract than "Tastes Like Lemons." Well, they only get more unusual from here. The next flavor detailed in the file for SCP-1200
is SCP-1200-29, "Tastes Like Rubik's Cube." Like the cube for which it is named, this
flavor is multicolored, checkered in white, orange, green, red, yellow, and blue. When a subject eats this flavor, their body
takes on a unique property for the next 216 minutes. During this window of time, the subject will
be able to rearrange segments of their body, both internal and external, at will. This has no impact on the subject's health
or comfort, even when rearranging bones, muscles, and vital organs. However, these alterations cause secondary
changes within the body as it compensates for the movements. Unfortunately, this means that the first test
subject to consume this flavor during SCP Foundation trials was unable to return her
body to its original orientation before the 216 minutes were up. She failed to solve the puzzle, and now her
left and right hands are permanently swapped. The next flavor included in the file is SCP-1200-30,
a dark blue gum that is described as "Tastes Like Those Forgotten." What could that possibly mean? Well, it means that, once a test subject has
chewed this flavor, six corporeal humanoid entities will manifest in their vicinity. These entities do not appear to be sentient,
and their only behavior is mimicking the actions and speech of the subject and any other humans
in the area, such as guards and researchers. These entities linger for six days before
disappearing, leaving a homogenous liquid behind. Analysis of the liquid determined that it
consisted of a mixture of organic materials, iron particles, and acrylic paint. SCP-1200-58 is a particularly curious flavor. This white gum "Tastes Like Afterlife." When the subject chews it, a polyhedral, crystalline
exoskeleton forms around them. Once it has formed, it will levitate 1.3 meters
off of the ground. During the first trial, this object remained
inert for a period of 62 days. When the 62 days were up, the exoskeleton
broke apart, leaving the subject behind and completely unharmed. He was immediately interviewed about his experience
inside the structure, and he described being transported to a green meadow, where he met
his younger brother. This was especially curious, considering that
the subject does not have any recorded siblings, living or dead. Another notable aspect of this flavor is its
effect's resemblance to SCP-1511, crystalline structures that transfer prisoners while showing
them some manner of beautiful, false afterlife. The only other flavor included in the file
is "Tastes Like Moon's Shadow," a red gum that has been tested once on a female research
subject. After she finished chewing the piece of gum,
a series of incorporeal, translucent, leporine organisms began to emerge from the walls of
the cell where the subject was being kept. During this entire process, the subject claimed
to not see the entities. Nor did she feel it when they approached her,
reached her, and burrowed into her body. Video recordings of the incident were unable
to capture these entities. Eleven days after the experiment was conducted,
the subject was found dead. Despite the lack of visible injuries, her
cause of death was determined to be exsanguination. This is the only recorded fatality resulting
from a sample of SCP-1200. There appears to be a link between this gum
flavor and SCP-1284, though I have not yet been able to determine the nature of this
link. On February 20, 2003, the SCP Foundation was
conducting an investigation completely unrelated to SCP-1200. The exact nature of this original investigation
has been redacted from the file, but whatever it was, it's irrelevant to the subject at
hand. It isn't the investigation but what they discovered
by complete accident that matters. Foundation operatives stumbled upon a secretive
facility that was entirely dedicated to the production of "Tastes Like Those Forgotten." When the Foundation entered the facility,
they discovered an assembly line, as well as 28 anomalous entities dwelling inside. It would appear that these entities, referred
to as SCP-1200-A, are part of the company's workforce. Instances of SCP-1200-A are animate humanoid
entities whose physiology is composed primarily of wrought iron. They are also coated in several layers of
paint, usually in a shade of white, pale blue, or yellow. These layers of paint are worn, faded, and
flaking, and the metal beneath is beginning to rust. Whenever they were made, it was some time
ago, and they have fallen into a state of disrepair. Each instance has no facial features on its
head, and the only feature present is one large circular opening, which seems to operate
a bit like a mouth. In addition to discovering the facility and
its anomalous workers, this discovery gave the Foundation some new insight into the production
process for this particular flavor of Tastes Like Chewing Gum. The image that it painted was, well...troubling. When instances of SCP-1200-A are not contained,
they will attempt to collect recently deceased human cadavers and transport them to the production
facility. If they are permitted to do so, they will
collect these bodies from freshly dug graves or even poorly-guarded morgues and carry them
back to the facility. There, an SCP-1200-A instance will take one
of its chosen corpses and begin to regurgitate paint, biological matter, and small slags
of iron into the body's mouth. I apologize for the stomach-turning imagery,
but there is simply no pleasant way to describe this process. The instance will repeat this process over
a period of several weeks until the body begins to liquefy under the influence of whatever
matter the entity has pumped into it. The process only ceases when the body begins
to liquefy, eventually leaving behind nothing but a thick, homogenous liquid, which will
suddenly disappear soon after. How it disappears and where it goes is unknown,
but I can make an unpleasant guess. Chemical analysis of some of this liquid as
identified it as the substance that makes up 80% of the sample of "Tastes Like Those
Forgotten." It would appear that this particular flavor
of chewing gum and Soylent Green have a key ingredient in common: people. No other facilities have been discovered at
this point, so it is uncertain whether the key ingredients in other gum flavors are quite
as macabre. Following the discovery of this facility,
the Foundation cross-referenced its communication archives for any potential mentions of the
facility or facilities like it. This investigation uncovered a surprisingly
relevant phone call hidden in the archives. The call was made on June 2, 1999, from a
pay phone about 2 kilometers from the facility discovered in 2003. The recording contains one single unidentified
male voice, and a transcription of the call's contents is included. "Herrick, this is Davis. I'm all done with the psychopomps here. We redirected the output to the location you
wanted, weren't any problems there. The goo should start arriving to you shortly. About your other order, Morton spotted some
nanohives in Budapest. I'm heading out there tomorrow. They should do nicely for your task, after
some tinkering. Make sure there won't be any issues with my
payment this time. If your contacts at the Factory are unwilling,
I can always find someone else. Call you in two weeks." Any discovery and seizure of SCP-1200 instances
must be performed by the FDA under CFR Title 21. Once the instances are in the possession of
the FDA, these samples will be replaced with non-anomalous duplicates, and the originals
are to be transferred to Foundation Site-197. SCP-1200-A instances do not require food or
oxygen to survive, and therefore are to be kept contained in individual reinforced containers,
which are stored in the I-TL1 Wing of Site-197. Two days after the SCP-1200-A base facility
was dismantled, the SCP Foundation received a series of packages. These packages were delivered to several facilities,
and all contained the same thing: a new, previously undocumented flavor of gum. This gum was completely colorless, and the
packaging read "Tastes Like Normalcy." Test subjects who chewed the gum said that
it had no noticeable flavor at all, and no anomalous effects occurred. It seems that the creators of Tastes Like
Chewing Gum took notice of the Foundation's investigation and decided to create a custom
flavor, or lack thereof, for the organization. The identity of the company's higher-ups,
or the gum's creators, is still unknown. Unfortunately, the trail has gone cold for
now. But don't lose hope! It's possible more facilities are out there,
waiting to be discovered. Keep that dream alive, investigators, and
don't let me burst your bubble. Get it? Like bubble gum? Well, there's a reason I became a researcher
and not a comedian.
