In the office of SCP Foundation Researcher
Yoshihiro Takenaka, there sits a small containment capsule filled with ash - all that’s left
of a neutralized SCP - 1762. These ashes don’t pose any harm. They won’t bite, burn, or assume control
of your mind. But few can hear the sad story of SCP - 1762
and not be haunted by its tragic and mysterious tale. It weighs heavily on the hearts and minds
of all who came into contact with it during its ultimately brief time in the Foundation’s
hands. And to think, it all started with a simple
little box with an even simpler message: “Here Be Dragons.” The box, to look at it, was really nothing
special. A simple cardboard box, 32 cm x 20 cm x 26
cm, spray painted silver inside and out. Its short message scrawled across the lid
in black permanent marker. It appeared on the doorstep of Foundation
Agent Scott Thomas, who - after determining it wasn’t a bomb, anthrax, or a deadlier
kind of anomaly - turned it into his superiors. This is when it became Yoshihiro Takenaka’s
little pet project. Safe Class SCPs are rare treats for any overworked
Foundation scientist. The box itself - known as SCP - 1762 - 1 - is
certainly important, but what’s really interesting is what resides within the box. If you opened the box yourself, you’d find
that… it’s empty! However when the box chooses to open itself,
it’s an entirely different story. The box would sometimes open and emit great
plumes of thick, black smoke that would quickly dissipate. Around twenty seconds after this, an SCP - 1762
- 2 would emerge from the darkness of the box. 1762 - 2 is the collective name given to all
the beings that exit 1762 - 1, which are - as you may have guessed - dragons. Eastern, western, big, small, and presenting
in a rainbow of colours, these dragons appear to be living origami sculptures made from
kami paper - and have been known to fly together in large groups and interact playfully with
nearby humans. These little paper dragons would then swoop
around their containment chamber, delighting all who were fortunate enough to see them,
for up to three hours. At which point, smoke would begin pouring
out of the box once more, and the dragons would return home. They’d fly through the smoke, disappearing
past the rim of the box, and then the lid would close once more. The dates on which the box would open were
seemingly random and indeterminable, and didn’t appear to work by any kind of external logic. And what’s more, the box would sometimes
act as a hub of communication between this world and another - known simply as “Fantasy.” Messages written or carved into various materials
would appear on the lid of the box, mostly after instances of 1762 - 2 emerging. This communication, though, would always be
one way. Attempts to pass messages back through the
box never resulted in success. The Foundation staff could only be observers
of the strange world of Fantasy, never active participants. So why is this particular SCP considered so
tragic? We’re going to answer that question right
now, but just know that what is learned cannot be unlearned, as much as you might wish you
could forget. If you’re ready, then it’s time to learn
about a period of time that lasted just under a year, during which a strange and sad series
of events took place, now known as The Jabberwocky Event. An event that took “Here Be Dragons” from
Safe to Neutralized. You’ve seen that SCP - 1762 would communicate
with Foundation staff via written messages after each instance of the box opening. The very first message the box gave up after
arriving at the site read: “You have found us. Thank you. It has been so long since we last saw each
other, friends. The Peace has been upheld. The Giants and Behemoths have kept their word
and have not caused any trouble since you last came and gave the Order. We missed Your company. How has your Family been? Do You still know how to work your Room? You are welcome to visit anytime.” Later, it gave another message, expressing
confusion and concern on behalf of Fantasy’s inhabitants: “It's strange to see how much your world
has changed; it is even stranger to see how we now appear in this place. In Fantasy, we are much bigger. Or maybe you've grown taller? Fantasy is still the same. We hope you can visit us like you used to. Though our Room is as grand as ever, it appears
Yours has…shrunken? We do not understand. The Rooms were supposed to be maintained,
as was our Agreement. Please restore the Belief.” Things got worse during the next stage of
the event. The box opened, and only twenty paper dragons
exited. This time, though, they did not fly, and instead
walked slowly across the ground. This was the message that accompanied this
sorry parade of dragons: “Friends, we apologize for our few numbers. We have had to remain in Fantasy for quite
some time. The Others are growing…impatient. We are trying to keep the Peace, but please,
for all of our Happiness, repair the Room quickly. We know You are trying. Your Family is the most imaginative of us
All.” Naturally, Foundation scientists were concerned. They weren’t sure what exactly the messages
were referring to, or how they could possibly help the inhabitants of Fantasy. Of course things only got worse. Only ten dragons appeared the next time, along
with a few balls of crumpled up construction paper that shook violently before stopping
all movement entirely. This message accompanied it: “The Giants were foolish. Your Room was not ready to accept Them yet. We're sorry, friends. We hope that we can still see you, but time
is growing short for our Happiness.” And sadly, this message spoke the truth, as
the next time the box opened, only five dragons exited. They were carrying the following message,
and flew straight back into the box after depositing it on the ground. “Tensions are rising. Fantasy is becoming darker. We, the Serpents and the Hybrids are furiously
trying to hold Them back, but the Giants and Elves wish to strike and make an Entrance. They say that your Family has grown stupid
and ignorant. We hope this is untrue. It would sadden us all greatly to know that
You have Forgotten.” It seemed clear that Fantasy was speeding
towards some kind of terrible conflict, and it was perhaps too late to do anything about
it. The next attempt at communication came from
a single dragon with a crumpled, wounded body. It collapsed to the ground and appeared to
die, its body unfolding into a small piece of paper that bore a single, heartbreaking
message: “War. Goodbye, friends.” But two hours after this message was delivered
something happened. The lid opened again, only this time the box
let out a huge jet of white-hot flame, reaching temperatures of 1700 degrees Celsius. The terrified and confused researchers heard
roaring and the sounds of an intense battle from within the darkness of the box. Many of the observing staff found themselves
overcome with emotion - afraid that they were perhaps witnessing the death of Fantasy play
out in front of them, and even hardened Foundation researchers and guards were moved by the event. At 8:00 PM that night, the box ejected a huge
quantity of paper. The majority of it was either torn, burnt,
shredded, or crumpled into balls - and all instances of 1762 - 2 were announced “deceased”
upon official examination. It seemed that Fantasy’s bloody war truly
was taking its toll, and even the forces of the Foundation - one of the most powerful
and resourceful groups the world has ever known - were powerless to do anything to help. All they could do was sit, wait, and see what
the result would be of this paper crafted war. The box continued to open and close sporadically
over the next six weeks as the war raged on. It would often emit more spouts of deadly
fire, and vomit out more piles of ruined paper. Though researchers noticed that each time,
it released less and less paper. Even more disturbing, matter resembling muscle
and tissue was ejected from the box with increased frequency. It was clear that whatever was left of Fantasy
was in great peril and the researchers were desperate to know what was going on, but the
box would remain closed and inactive for the next seven months. When the box did finally become active once
more, it wasn’t in a way that the researchers were familiar with. The box opened, but not a single dragon exited. Not even a crumpled piece of paper came out. Instead, researchers found what appeared to
be an ancient and desiccated scroll of parchment. The words written on it were smudged, and
some were stained with blood. It made clear that things had fallen further
into darkness than they ever had before. The message read: “Are you still out there, friends? We miss you dearly. Fantasy is no longer safe. Our haven, Your beautiful creation, is gone. The Giants are dead. The Centaurs are dead. The Birds have fled. We are going to bury Your Room. We cannot risk hurting you. This is our goodbye. Maybe one day, Your Family can build another
Room. This may be a hollow hope, but We will cherish
this thought.” An hour later, the box began to convulse violently
and let out more plumes of thick, black smoke. For a moment, the researchers entertained
the hope that it might be the return of the dragons - but no such luck. The box began to sag, tear, and collapse,
as though it was on fire on the inside. Parts of the box even began to char, and small
holes were burned through the silver paint. Perhaps the saddest of all, the words “Here
Be Dragons” were burned from the box. Not long after, one more message appeared
inside the box. It was a papyrus scroll, depicting a hand
drawn image of a beautiful, mountainous landscape with huge trees and waterfalls. In the distance, a dragon appears to fly away
for the last time. A message written on the back read as follows: “Master says that we won't see You again. We are sad. So are the remaining Others. We once filled each other's heads with dreams
and goals. It is so sad that we cannot share them any
longer. Master says we have to go. He says that he will make us a new Fantasy. He says You cannot be a part of it. We are sad. We love you. We will not Forget you. We are scared. Will You Forget Us?” When this document was removed, streams of
salt water began to leak from the box, healing its burn scars. A few minutes later, the box was returned
to its original state, save for one big difference: The text scrawled on the lid no longer read
“Here Be Dragons.” Now, it said “Here Were Dragons.” The Jabberwocky Event was over. The box, now neutralized, would sit in Yoshihiro
Takenaka’s office for commemorative purposes, never to release another message. Or so we thought... In 2015, SCP - 1762 spoke to us one more time. The box shook and began emitting great plumes
of purple smoke, before it fell to the ground. There it ejected two objects: A purple crystal,
later identified as an amethyst, and a large, leather-bound book. The box continued emitting smoke for another
forty minutes, before finally disintegrating. Upon further inspection, there was a single
message carved into the amethyst: “One last time.” And what about the book? Consider the greatest fear of the inhabitants
of Fantasy: That they would one day be forgotten. Forgotten and left behind - by us. The book was sent to help prevent that - it’s
an extensive catalogue of the creatures of Fantasy - their strange and wonderful ways
in their strange and wonderful world. Even if they’re gone, they won’t be forgotten. And perhaps one day we’ll tell you those
stories too. But that’s a tale for another day... For now go check check out “SCP - 097 - The
Stairwell” and “SCP - 3000 - Anantashesha!”
