If he breathes, the bear will see him. Lying flat on his stomach, the
Boy has no choice but to watch as the hulking brute eats his
father before his very eyes. Lying in the thicket just a few trees away,
the Boy knows that any small movement he makes could prove fatal. A bear this
large, hunting for its hibernation, will have no issue chasing him down in a split
second and doing exactly what it did to his father to him. The Boy is utterly powerless.
All he can do is stay deathly still and watch. They’d found the tracks too late. On the
way back to camp, they’d been following the wooded cliff that lines the ocean’s edge.
Bows and salmon slung over their shoulders, they had been so proud of their catch and the
prospect of bringing it back to the tribe that they hadn’t kept their wits about them. By the
time they’d seen the enormous prints in the dirt, the sound of lumbering footsteps were already
echoing through the trees behind them. The Boy’s bow is too far out of reach,
he’d dropped it when his father pushed him into the thicket. He’s got
the knife hanging at his side, but he doubts it's long enough to even get
through the bear’s fatty hide. In contrast, the only thing protecting him from its bite is
the leather hide slung across his shoulders and a woven garment from the tribe’s elders.
One slash of the bear’s claw and he’d be… A breeze ruffles his hair. The Boy’s eyes
widen in horror. That wind hadn’t come from in front of him, but from behind. Blowing
his scent - his fear - directly towards the bear’s nostrils. The Boy plants his muddy
palms into the dirt, staring at the animal. Its nostril twitches. Then twitches again.
It half turns its head, sniffing the air. Maybe it won’t bother with him.
The bear’s turning back to its meal already. The Boy lets out a
sigh of relief. And a twig snaps. The bear snarls and whips its head around.
For a second, the two of them lock eyes, predator and prey, then the Boy takes off running.
Fast as he can, he leaps through the undergrowth, ferns and nettles whipping at his shins. He
fumbles the knife out of its sheath and slings the water skin off his shoulder, throwing it wildly
behind him. He doesn’t know if he hit the bear, he doesn’t have time to turn around and
see. It’s going to be on him in an instant. Up ahead, he sees sunlight streaming
through the thick trees. The cliff edge, if he can just get to that, maybe he can
climb down and- no, there’s no time. Besides, bears are better climbers, better swimmers… better
runners. All the Boy can hope for is that he’s a better jumper. Him and the boys from the tribe
have lept off plenty of cliffs along the shore, but never these ones. There are
too many rocks, too many shallows. But the thundering of four enormous paws behind
him is looming and larger and larger. He can almost feel the bear’s hot breath on the back
of his neck. There’s nothing for it, here goes. The trees clear, the sun blasts his
skin, a claw slashes at his back, and the Boy launches himself into the air. The
wind carries him. The weightlessness of wheeling his arms and legs through the empty sky is
almost enough to make him laugh with joy, until the Boy looks down. The cliff is higher,
much, much higher than he’d realized. His momentum carries his torso forwards into a tumble.
He’s not going to land straight. And he can see jagged rocks everywhere beneath him. The
Boy closes his eyes and crashes into the sea. All of the air is slammed out of his lungs.
His knee hits something hard and sharp in the water. A swell throws him away from the shore
and pulls him deep. Without air in his chest, he can’t float. Kicking hard as he can, the Boy
swims upwards, eyes still screwed shut. His face bashes into a sandy rock. No, that’s not upwards.
Which was is it? Which was should he swim? The ocean current rolls him over
and over. Darkness fills his mind. But his feet find a hard surface, and he pushes
against it, launching himself through the water, kicking hard as he can. The darkness fades. Light! The Boy’s head breaches the
water, and he splutters for air, rubbing the water out of his eyes, he looks
around wildly. The sea has carried him away from the cliff and out into open water. It’s
lifting and dropping him with each wave, carrying him this way and that
like a flower in the wind. And there, traversing the cliff face, scrambling
down the rocks, is the bear. The Boy’s stomach turns. It reaches the bottom of the cliff and sees
him there in the water. Tipping back its head, it roars at an almighty volume, deafening the
Boy over the sound of the waters. Even from this distance, the animal looks impossibly large. It
dwarfs the boulders that line the water’s edge. It slips into the water, barely making a
ripple, and kicks off from the shore. Going straight for him, the bear is covering the
distance so fast he only has seconds left. With barely the strength to keep himself
afloat, the Boy knows he’ll never be able to outswim this creature. Instead, he takes
a deep breath and looks up at the woods, remembering all of the happy moments
he’d spent in there with his father. A current swells beneath the Boy and
almost throws him out of the water. An enormous shadow flies through the depth beneath
him. A whale? It couldn’t be. Whatever it is, the shadow is swimming straight at the advancing
bear. So fixated on its prey, the bear doesn’t even notice what’s approaching until it’s too late
The ocean explodes. A blast of water, as tall as the cliffs themselves, shoots up into the
air and showers the Boy’s head. Somewhere in the midst of the spray, a monster erupts from
the depths. Snappings its jaw around the bear, it lifts the animal into the air, and throws
it against the cliff. The impact is so strong, that a small landslide follows the bear’s rolling
body as it tumbles back towards the water. But the Boy has eyes only for the monster
emerging from the sea. Crawling up the rocks with one gnarled foot after another, the
Boy can hardly make sense of what he’s looking at. It seems to have some kind of scaly hide,
harder than the rocks surrounding it. A wave crashes against the monster as it leers over the
bear and sinks its teeth into the animal’s hide. Unable to look away, the Boy kicks out and
starts swimming away up the coast. Only once he’s a long way around the bay does he
dare to clamber out and back onto land. That night, once the rest of
the tribe have gone to sleep, the Boy can’t help but lie wide awake in his
tent. Without his father here, it’s just… it’s not the same. Quietly rolling up the hide doorway,
the Boy slips out into the night. They’re camped by a small cave with beautiful smooth walls
inside. They say it’s the cave of their ancestors, the place where all life started. The
fire in the cave has to always burn. Fortunately for him, the cave is empty. The
Boy stares up at the wall in wonder. Finger drawings of animals, hunters, mothers, shamans,
gods, and forests fill almost every part of it. Only one space remains in the corner, a finger
painting of the rocky cliffs with the swelling sea beneath. Dipping his finger into the paint,
the Boy sits by the wall and starts to paint. A terrible monster crawling out of the sea,
with a scaly hide stronger than any rock. ‘That’s it.’ ‘You know that just from some finger painting?’ The Archeologist turns to the group of
researchers surrounding him in the cave. UV lights are set up all along the walls. With
the blue and violet shapes revealed all across the stonework, the Archeologist can’t help
but empathize with the spiritualism of their long-forgotten ancestors who’d lived
in these caves thousands of years ago. The Professor was the one who
asked the question. A cold woman, standing well over six feet tall with
a crop of fiery ginger hair. To him, she seems less of a scientist and more of
a military leader. But what does he know? ‘Walk with me,’ she says and
leads him out of the cave. Personnel fills the surrounding area, most
of them are armed. Cranes lift huge sheets of reinforced lead plating into place. Several
mysterious vats line the edge of the forest, each adorned with more warning and hazard
signs than you’d see in a nuclear power station. The two of them have to pause for
a moment as three tanks roll past them. The Archeologist breaks the silence. ‘You know the reason I started all my research in
the first place? Did I ever tell you that story? Every early civilization in the world - whether
it’s Ancient China, Mesopotamia, South America, Northern Europe - all these cultures, you take a
look at their mythology, and what do you find?’ The Professor ignores him, instead choosing
to bark orders at a group of agents talking over coffee. They all immediately dump
their drinks and get back to work. ‘What one thing do they all talk about, even
though it never existed? Dragons. All these disparate people with no contact with one another,
all of them still draw pictures of dragons.’ The Professor stops walking at the edge of
the cliff. The pair of them stand there, surveying the vast ocean stretching out
in front of them as researchers, agents, and workers rush around behind them. After a
long pause, the Professor asks him to proceed. ‘In Ancient Hebrew texts, when they talk about God creating the world in seven
days, what happens on day five?’ The Professor flicks the hair out
of her eyes and replies curtly: ‘God created fish in the
sea and birds in the sky.’ ‘Not exactly. Look at the original
Hebrew. He created all of the fish that team in the sea sure, but he
also created ‘leviathan’. A serpent like monster from the depths,
as old as the world itself.’ ‘You think that’s what we’re dealing with?’ ‘Maybe… or something worse.’ By nightfall, preparations are operational.
Enormous flood lights switch on, one after another, illuminating an enormous
steel box with an open lid at the top, surrounded by armed agents, huge net
launchers, and several tanks. It all seems a bit excessive as far as
the Archeologist is concerned. He isn’t officially still supposed to be
here, but in all of the scramble for the Foundation to get the capture site ready,
no one noticed that he had stuck around. From the viewing platform several hundred
meters away, he has to watch it all unfold through a pair of binoculars. Out above the
water, suspended from one of the cranes, is an elephant carcass. The Professor told him that the
Foundation had even marinated it for extra flavor. He had only been recruited into this project a
couple of months ago, but from what he could tell, it’s been an ongoing priority for
the Foundation for several years now. The scale of the operation of just setting
up at this site is already mind-boggling, but they’ve been chasing up leads like
this for years now. Arriving at scenes they suspect this creature has been sighted
in the past and setting up traps for it. He was only brought in out of desperation. The
Foundation had exhausted all recent hunting grounds and was trying to cast the net even wider.
He’d just been quietly working on his university research paper about ancient reptile drawings when
the agents had let themselves into his office. But staring through his binoculars
now, the Archeologist knows there’s no chance of this operation actually
working. They have floodlights, for crying out loud. No intelligent predator
would come anywhere near that elephant carcass. Movement. Not in the waters or in any of the
lit-up areas. No, there’s something in the forest line, just behind a group of researchers. He
reaches instinctively for his walkie-talkie, then stops himself. How many times had he got jittery
before and reported something preemptively? The agents already don’t take him seriously
as it is. He can’t be jumping at shadows. But there it is again. A shape moving fast
through the trees. He scans the binoculars this way and that, trying to find it.
Just a group of researchers there, some agents there, supply crates,
researchers, agents, wait. Weren’t there more of them a second ago?
He looks closer. Someone’s gone missing. He clicks on the radio. ‘South lookout team, report in.’ Nothing. ‘South lookout team.’ A sickening feeling settles in his stomach.
With all those bright lights everywhere, they are casting a lot of dark
shadows. He has to do something fast. Running down from the lookout point, the
Archeologist takes off running through the trees to the site. He holds his radio up to his
mouth as he goes, trying to get anyone to respond, but it’s hopeless. The thicket cracks and
crunches under his feet as he tries to make his way through the dark woods, ignoring the
feeling that crawls up his neck of being watched. A boulder blocks his way. The Archeologist grabs
onto it with both hands and hauls himself on top of it, stopping for a moment to catch his
breath. From up here, he can see the floodlit capture site. The tanks and cranes still sit
rumbling ready to go at a moment’s notice, but he can’t see any ground crew anywhere.
He switches the radio to the open channel and calls out for anyone to respond. The
Professor’s voice crackles back at him. ‘What are you still doing here? This is a highly dangerous operation that you
don’t have clearance for!’ He yells at her to cancel it. They need
to evacuate the site immediately. It’s compromised. She laughs derisively
and cuts off the channel. No. She has to believe him! People are dying,
and more of them will if she doesn’t… The Archeologist whispers
to himself in the darkness. ‘It’s no monster. It’s just an innocent creature.
You’re playing with a power you don’t understand…’ It’s strange. For a moment, he swears he almost
hears a voice whispering something back to him in the woods, but when he looks around, he’s all on
his own. He has to keep moving, the creature could be anywhere. Hopping off the jagged boulder,
the Archeologist takes off running through the forest once more, looking over his shoulder
every few steps. The light must be playing tricks on him. In the darkness, he can’t see the
boulder he was standing on a moment ago anywhere. He bursts out of the treeline and into the
clearing right next to the steel box. A ramp leads up to the top of it with a large
trap door suspended over the open lid. Well, if he wants to be seen and heard,
that’s where he needs to go. The Archeologist runs up the ramp and waves
his hands wildly in the air. The tanks all turn their turrets to aim at him. The crane holding
the enormous steel lid for the enclosure looms menacingly above his head. And there, marching
out onto the field, looking absolutely furious, is the Professor. Her red hair looks
more like a ball of flames right now. ‘We need to evacuate the site now. It’s here!’ She snarls and marches up the ramp to meet him.
Jabbing a finger in the Archeologist’s face, he suddenly realizes how much taller she is. ‘You are not jeopardizing our one chance
of catching this thing. Get out of the way, or I will have you detained.
Besides, what evidence do you have?’ But the Archeologist isn’t
looking at her. Instead, his eyes stare in horror at the elephant
carcass suspended behind her. There was a huge, reptilian bite mark taken out of it. A
testing bite, like the ones given by sharks. She turns to follow his gaze, and all of her
rage is washed away in a sickening delight. ‘It’s here.’ A scream from the crane holding the
elephant makes them both jump. But by the time they look up at the cabin,
all they see is a hulking shadow leaping away into the darkness. The Professor
clicks on her walkie-talkie and starts issuing commands. No one responds, except the
tank crews. She tries again. Radio silence. Now the gravity of the situation really
starts to hit her. Eyes wide with panic, she runs off down the ramp, barking into her radio
and leaving the Archeologist up here on his own. Suddenly, under all of these lights, he feels
very exposed. It could be anywhere in the shadows. Footsteps. Heavy, planted footsteps tremor
through the ground. And out of the woods, walks the creature. Several meters long, fat
from all of its hunting, the beast that would soon be known as SCP-682 slinks into view.
It looks up at him, standing there on the trap door over a metal box and looks like it’s
almost ready to laugh at how easy this will be. BOOM! The tank blast hits the creature square
in the torso, knocking it sideways. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The three tanks open fire one after the
other, laying round after round into the colossal reptile, kicking more and more dust
into the air. Before long, there’s a crater in the ground so large that it looks almost like
an asteroid hit it. Smoke and dust fill the air. The Archeologist’s eyes fill with tears. That
majestic creature, roaming the earth long before mankind ever did, exterminated just like that.
Cowards, that’s what people really are. Cowards. But as the dust clears, a groaning sound
echoes around the clearing. The Archeologist shields his eyes and peers into the crater
as best as he can. But there’s nothing there. BOOM! He wheels around and almost falls
backwards in shock. The SCP has snuck through the haze and leaped
onto one of the tanks. It bites and tears at the armored bodywork,
doing all it can to destroy it. In a panic, two of the tanks point toward one
another and fire, destroying themselves in the process. The creature rounds on the remaining tank
and bites down hard on the barrel. The tank fires, the round going straight down the monster’s throat
and exploding inside its gut. The backdraft from the blast shoots back through the tank, and a
puff of smoke trails out of the hatch at the top. And suddenly, once again, the clearing is
quiet. Turning back to the Archeologist, SCP-682 slinks towards him, smoke still curling
up out of his leering teeth. With heavy thunking steps, it climbs the ramp towards him,
stopping just short of the trap door. The two of them stare each other in the eye,
predator and prey. Neither move for a moment, then it opens its mouth. The
Archeologist closes his eyes… ‘Do you know that you disgusting
creatures deserve this?” He opens them. Did the monster just speak? ‘What do they hope to accomplish by attacking me?” He gulps hard. That whisper he heard in
the woods. The rock he’d been standing on. ‘They’re scientists. Scientists always try to
learn more things, understand the world better. We think you can’t be killed. So we’re…
they’re testing their hypothesis.’ The creature growls. The stench of rotten
flesh fills the Archeologist’s nose. It takes a step towards him, then
another. The Archeologist runs, he’ll leap off the other end of the platform,
it’s a big jump, but he could make it. The predator’s breath is on the back of his neck.
He jumps, just as the trap door gives way. With an enormous thud, the SCP falls into the
steel enclosure. Before it has a chance to move, the crane unhitches the steel lid,
and it crashes down into place, sealing the monster inside. The Archeologist
lands in the dirt and rolls onto his back to see the Professor, wild-eyed and
cheering, up in the crane’s cabin. He lies there on his back panting and staring
up at the stars. A clunking sound echoes through the clearing, and the gurgle of a
liquid flowing through pipes. He sits up, adrenaline still pumping through him.
The Professor has plugged a pipe into the metal enclosure and is running
gallons and gallons of liquid into it. He follows the tube with his eyes, all the way to the enormous hazardous
vats on the edge of the clearing. Hydrochloric Acid. His eyes widen in horror.
The Professor laughs at him. ‘Come on, cheer up. We’re just scientists,
that’s what you said. Just testing a hypothesis!’ Check out the Dr. Bob Patreon and become
a junior researcher today! Now go and watch another entry from the files of
Dr. Bob, like SCP-4434 - Anglerfish.
