It has often been said that dog is man’s
best friend, and obviously that isn’t just exclusive to men. Ask any pet owner – whether they own a dog,
cat, rabbit, hamster or soul-sucking interdimensional parasitic monster with too many tentacles
– and they’ll all tell you the same. Your pet can be your best friend, they can
give you the most unconditional, affectionate form of love possible, and as long as you
treat your little buddy right, they’ll be loyal to you for the rest of your life and
theirs. It's not uncommon for a pet to outlive their
owner, especially if they belong to someone who’s elderly. And that might be a sad thing to think about
for some. Sure, it’s important to remember the positives,
like how much happiness and companionship that animal would have brought an aging owner
in their last years of life. Even someone younger who dies unexpectedly
might have had their quality of life infinitely improved by owning a loving pet to make them
smile. But, on the other hand, there’s the negative
downside that now some pets have to live on after a tragic death, not fully understanding
where their beloved owner went. So often we hear stories of dogs that waited
for their master to come home, only for them to never walk through the front door again. And its equally hard when things pan out the
opposite way, and an owner loses their pet. The one silver lining is that we, as human
beings, have a far greater understanding of death, and the grief it causes. We know that, eventually, despite how hard
it can be to adjust to that initial, heart-breaking loss, it is possible to move on, and for things
to one day get better. But what happens when someone can’t accept
the death of their beloved animal companion? When the unconditional love of their pet is
suddenly missing from their life, how far will a person go to recapture that feeling? How long does it take for grief born out of
love to become an unhealthy fixation? And what is the true Price of Obsession? Well, the answer involves SCP-589, both what
it can give… and just as easily take away. For as long as she could remember – and
even further back than that – Erin and her dog Poncho had been inseparable. Ever since her mom had first adopted the scrappy
little Jack Russell Terrier, Erin had fallen head-over-heels in love with the little rascal. Loving a pet is different from loving another
person, because they just can’t help showing how much they love you back. Humans, for all their good qualities, are
so nuanced, and not everyone is honest with each other all of the time. But a pet, especially a dog? Even though they can’t speak, a bark or
a whimper or excited wagging of the tail can easily tell you how they’re feeling, and
Poncho was no exception. Erin and her mom – Cleo – lived alone,
it was just the two of them for quite a long time. And while Cleo had little problem with that,
she couldn’t help but notice how isolating it was for her daughter. From a young age, Erin had always been quiet,
kept to herself at school. Her mom kept expecting her to make some little
friends, ask to invite them over or vice versa. But it didn’t seem to be happening. It didn’t seem to be bothering her daughter,
but Cleo was worried that it was giving her the wrong idea, that being on her own was
somehow better. So, in an effort to give Erin at least one
source of companionship, Poncho joined the family. Brown patches dotted over his white fur, he
was the perfect pet, an excitable and loving little puppy that Erin was immediately smitten
with. When Cleo told her he was hers to keep, being
only seven-years-old Erin broke down crying with tears of joy. Her mom had let her pick out a name for him,
and she’d quickly settled on ‘Poncho’. At first, Erin had meant to say it differently,
in order to name the pup after a friendly character from her favorite animated movie,
but had mispronounced it in her excitement at meeting the energetic dog for the first
time. The name quickly stuck though, and as the
years went on and Poncho got bigger, Erin bought her four-legged best friend a little
poncho of his own to wear when it started raining. Over the following years, Poncho became Erin’s
most constant and loving companion. Even as she grew up, moved through her childhood,
and found making friends a little easier with every passing year, there never came a time
when she didn’t need her best friend. When Erin had her first breakup in high school
and came home with floods of tears in her eyes, Poncho could sense she was upset, and
came wandering up to her, sitting in her lap to make her feel just a little bit better. Then, a few years later when her mom got sick,
Erin had to take care of her, a task that would have been much harder without Poncho
there to alleviate that stress and lift her and Cleo’s spirits. And, when Cleo eventually passed, the little
white and brown dog sat quietly with his owner as she said goodbye to her mom. Now that it was just the two of them, Erin
and Poncho were living in a tiny apartment. It was cramped for one person and a dog, but
Erin was just grateful to have a place to live and the company of her favorite pup. Besides, Poncho wasn’t a puppy anymore,
in fact, he hadn’t raced around the park or chased a ball for quite a long time. With the numerous stresses of her everyday
life, least of all holding down two jobs in her desperate attempts to make enough money
to pay rent, Erin had hardly noticed the signs. Poncho was showing his age, it had been happening
gradually in the background over the years. He wouldn’t chase his ball or really move
around much, and when he did it was little more than a lethargic plod around the apartment. Perhaps it was because of such a measured,
slower-paced change that Erin was unable to acknowledge it. She could see her old friend was getting more
tired, sleeping longer, his tail rarely wagging as much as it used to, but by now that felt
like Poncho’s normal behavior. Then again, given how important her dog was
to her, it’s just as likely that she didn’t want to accept the truth: that, unfortunately,
nothing lasts forever. He was almost fifteen in human years, which
by all accounts is an impressive age for a dog, especially one of Poncho’s size and
breed. It was on a day that Erin was out working
her morning job when it happened. The faithful, adoring Jack Russell Terrier,
who had spent his years being nothing but loved and giving back only more love in return,
curled up on Erin’s bed. The apartment was still, silent, not a sound
to be heard, save for those last, tired few breaths. Lying there, maybe the dog wondered if he’d
get to see his friend again, if she would make it back from work in time. He closed his little brown eyes and peacefully
drifted off for one last sleep. During the break between her shifts – after
the end of the one at her first job and before starting at her second – Erin had just enough
time to get home. Usually, she had just enough time to eat and
get herself ready for the changeover, then quickly check on Poncho before having to dash
back out. Poking her head into the bedroom, she saw
her dog laying right there on her bed. There was a stillness to him that instantly
made her stomach drop. His ears didn’t move when she called his
name, he didn’t react when she stroked his fur. He was gone, and the moment she realized it,
Erin felt like her whole world had come crashing down. The loss of her oldest and closest friend
hurt almost as much as losing her mom. Erin always felt that the problem with funerals
wasn’t just how sad they were, or how it always seemed to rain when she went to one. Instead, it was more that they could never
properly sum up just how much someone truly meant. Nobody could ever condense the years’ worth
of love and memories into a burial. And it was worse when losing a pet. There was no procession, no wake, nobody else
there. Just her and Poncho, saying goodbye a final
time. Eventually, things got to be too much. The heartbreak of Poncho’s death was another
struggle in a lifetime of lows that had all left their lasting wounds on Erin. That, coupled with the stress of trying to
carry on with a busy life, barely able to keep herself afloat in either of her jobs,
had pushed her to the edge of a breakdown. Maybe that’s what summoned it. Perhaps something had sensed all of Erin’s
mental anguish, and come to seek her out. It might have been that her wishes for something,
some little alleviation to all the pain and stress were finally being granted. Or maybe it was just a gift left by her neighbor. The sun had long since set when Erin arrived
back at her apartment, stepping over the envelopes that littered her doormat; a few with words
like ‘Overdue’ and ‘Urgent Notice’ printed on them in red ink. Passing through the hallway, Erin paused as
she always did, hoping to hear the gentle pattering of paws against the floor. Her therapist had dissuaded her from doing
that, saying it would only make moving on from losing Poncho worse. She didn’t care, she wanted her dog back. And, opening the door to her bedroom, it seemed
like someone had been listening. Sat on her bed was a stuffed animal right
in the spot where she’d found her little friend on that horrible day. It had been made to look like a dog, specifically
resembling a Jack Russell Terrier, with brown patches over its white fur. The plushie was even wearing a little rain
poncho. The sight of it was enough to cause Erin to
break down in tears, weeping in heavy sobs as she dashed across the bedroom to hold it
in her arms. Hugging it tightly, her tears seeping into
the soft fur as she felt it against her face, she didn’t even think to question where
it had even come from. All she wanted to do in that moment was hold
the stuffed animal close. For the first time in what felt like years,
a feeling of relief washed over Erin. It was as if everything was melting away – the
stress of work and the toll of her tiring shifts, gone. All the pain from losing Cleo and Poncho dissipated
too, in fact, it felt like she now had her beloved dog back. No, it was better than that, it was almost
as though everything about Poncho, his energy, his spirit, the way he made her feel so calm
and loved, was all distilled in this stuffed animal. And now, it would never grow old, never age
and die, causing her more pain. Erin gripped the soft toy tightly; the longer
she held the hug for, the more her stress and sadness faded. Her face was still wet with tears, although
her sobbing had gradually become low, gentle chuckles, soon giving way to a peal of uncontrollable
laughter rising in volume. It was as though she had taken something and
the very chemistry of her brain was being altered. But after so much hardship, it felt good,
to the point where she was almost light-headed. Laying down on the floor of her bedroom, arms
locked around the plushie that reminded her so much of Poncho, Erin continued softly giggling
to herself. Her entire body relaxed, so much that every
part of her felt like warm butter, as if she was about to start melting through the floorboards. Although she didn’t know it, or probably
wouldn’t even have cared, her dopamine levels were spiking, flooding her body with the bodily
hormone that relieves stress and makes a person feel good. In fact, right now, she was feeling better
than she ever had. Every day that followed, Erin would come home
to her stuffed animal, her ‘Poncho II’ as she liked to think of it. It didn’t bother her how childlike anyone
else might find it for a grown woman to rely so heavily on a plushie for comfort. At any rate, it wasn’t something she was
advertising to anyone else. After every shift at both of her jobs, she’d
race back to her apartment, right to Poncho II, and sit there, just basking in the way
it made her feel. It was the most all-encompassing sense of
euphoria and relief, reducing her stress so much that she felt like she was floating,
her body lighter than air. That feeling was all that mattered to her,
some days she wouldn’t even eat; Poncho II was more important to her than food. Gradually, she started to become addicted
to that feeling. Having to wait until the end of her work shifts
to feel that rush of happy chemicals flood her brain was too long of a delay. She started to crave it while working, unable
to focus, feeling erratic and restless without Poncho II. Of course, she couldn’t risk bringing it
into work with her; what if someone took it? Or she dropped it? Her boss might see her with a stuffed animal
at her desk and fire her on the spot, or think that she was absolutely crazy. The only safe place for her source of relief
was at home, but Erin knew that she needed something to bridge the gap while she was
working. The only substitute that worked was taking
a photo of Poncho II on her phone, then blowing it up and printing off a copy. Erin could carry it around portably, keeping
it in her pocket and taking it out to look every few minutes while she worked. The hit of positive chemicals it gave her
wasn’t quite as strong as getting to hold her stuffed animal; after all, it was just
a grainy photo from her phone, essentially acting like a patch to tide her over until
she could get back home to the real thing. However, it didn’t take long for Erin to
start taking Poncho II with her anywhere that wasn’t work; to the grocery store, to visit
her mom and her dog, and of course to therapy. “I’m rather concerned about this pattern
of behavior,” Erin’s psychotherapist, Doctor Lee, stated when her patient explained
what had been happening. Sitting across on the opposite side of her
office on a leather couch, Erin had Poncho II pressed tightly against her. “I don’t care,” she sighed, her brain
already awash with hormones that kept her calm. “I like how it makes me feel, so I don’t
care.” “Erin, look at yourself,” Doctor Lee urged. “You aren’t properly dealing with your
grief. It seems to me you’re channeling all your
desire for positive emotion into this stuffed animal.” “Poncho II.” Erin corrected her without taking her eyes
off the soft brown and white ‘dog’ and its little cloak. “Listen to me,” the therapist insisted,
trying desperately to get through to her. “Poncho, your dog… your real dog is gone, you lost him six months
ago. And your mom, Cleo, she passed away too. You have to process and come to terms with
those things, as sad as they might make you feel. That’s how we move on. But what you’re doing right now isn’t
healthy, Erin. It’s becoming an obsession.” Turning away, Erin pressed Poncho II up against
her face. “I don’t care,” she repeated. By now, Erin had become fully dependent on
Poncho II, showing up late for both jobs just so she could spend longer feeling those endorphins
and hormones that hugging the stuffed animal seemed to bring. It didn’t take long for her to start skipping
entire shifts for days at a time, and canceling any and all other plans just to sit at home
basking in the relief brought on by her apparent obsession. Her apartment became a mess, untidied, piles
of mail by the front door, the walls plastered with hundreds of photos of her stuffed animal,
fuelling her obsession. Her evening job was the first to fire Erin,
citing her recent absences as the grounds for her dismissal. Even then, she still didn’t seem to care. The fact she might not be able to make rent
barely registered. Returning home after her other job called
her in to tell Erin she would no longer be working there either, she instantly looked
around for Poncho II. But it was nowhere to be found, all the photos
on the walls having faded. Erin checked her phone; all the original copies
of the pictures were gone too. Instantly wracked with fear, so addicted to
the plushie that she could barely function without it, she began tearing her apartment
to shreds looking for it. She wrenched cupboards off their hinges, and
tipped over her refrigerator. Flipping her mattress, Erin sliced the fabric
open with a kitchen knife, searching high and low for Poncho II, but unable to find
it anywhere. She became frantic, erratic, pulling her hair
out in a fit of uncontrollable despair. Where had it gone? Had someone stolen it? Doctor Lee. The paranoia had already set in, convincing
Erin that her therapist must have taken Poncho II. She was the only other person who knew about
it and had been so critical of her using it to make herself feel better. Marching into Doctor Lee’s office, utterly
enraged beyond reason, all Erin could think about was getting her stuffed animal back,
no matter what she had to do. The effect it had on her was so powerful,
so potent, and addictive that living without it was worth anything… even another person’s life. Little did Erin realize, as her hands grew
wetter, coated with more of Doctor Lee’s blood after every bludgeoning strike, her
therapist had no idea where Poncho II was. In fact, she had nothing to do with it vanishing
in the first place. It had disappeared all on its own, along with
all the photograph copies Erin had printed. Arriving somewhere miles away, SCP-589 was
ready to begin the whole cycle again on its next victim. It would take on whatever shape it needed
to appease the desires of the very next person to find it, preying on their vulnerability
and making them totally dependent on it. That was what it did, everywhere it went,
leeching off people that it could easily manipulate. Its presence and interaction with it would
calm SCP-589’s victims, helping to alleviate their stress or make them feel better about
their deepest insecurities. Before long, these helpless victims would
be able to think of nothing else, feeling as if they were unable to live without their
‘Obsession Doll’. And, every time, that was when SCP-589 would
make its cruelest move. It would vanish, leaving its prey in a state
of intense withdrawal. With the calming influence of SCP-589 absent
from their lives all of a sudden, the infected people would suffer from a variety of potential
psychological symptoms. Manic depression, psychosis, uncontrollable
despair, dementia – or, in Erin’s case, paranoia and a heightened sense of aggression
that caused her to murder Doctor Lee. That was one of the earliest in a spate of
similar incidents that began being reported. As SCP-589 traveled from town to town, its
influence spread, leaving entire populations dead in its wake. All the while, the stuffed animal fed on the
mental anguish that it caused its victims, making them pay the ultimate price for their
obsession. Now go and check out SCP-2295 The Bear With
a Heart of Patchwork and SCP-6330 Guardians of the Innocent for more stuffed animal-related
anomalies contained by the SCP Foundation.
