Kids get bored. It’s just part of growing up. Or at least, that’s what their parents would
always say. Living in a small town in England, you run
out of things to do by your fifth birthday. By your tenth, you want nothing more than
to move out. By your fifteenth, half the kids end up in
hospital doing something stupid. The Kid entering the churchyard tonight is
no exception. As he ducks under the gap in the chainlink
fence, he catches the corner of his cast on the metal. The cast is already so covered in nicks and
scratches that the new tear barely makes a difference. He has been trying to cut the cast off with
kitchen scissors for the last three weeks. He’d broken his wrist riding his bike off
the roof of his house. It would have worked if it wasn’t for the
postbox being a little too close to the building. His brother calls out to him from up ahead. He’s already at the door to the church. The Kid hears his best friend shuffling around
nervously behind him. He waits for her turn to duck under the fence
and follow him into the churchyard, away from the road. Even in the middle of nowhere in total darkness,
the Kid can tell she’s scared to break the rules. The pair of them rush over to meet the Kid’s
brother at the entrance to the church. The older brother grins at both of them. At 21 years old, he may as well be 41. Towering over the two of them, with a few
scraggly chin hairs and a tattoo on his neck, they can’t imagine what his life must be
like. Going to university in London, driving a car,
getting tattoos, drinking alcohol that costs more than £10 and doesn’t come from the
corner store. What a life! There isn’t a door to kick open. The church building is in total disrepair. Only the limestone structure is left standing. The windows have all been smashed in long
ago, and the pews rotted away, leaving only some moss, creeping its tendrils into every
nook and cranny. As the three of them make their way inside
they look up to see the starry night sky above their heads, no roof left intact. In fact, the only part of the building that
seems to still be half-standing is the tower at the far end. Even in the dark, they can still make out
a tight spiral staircase, hewn into the stone, disappearing up into the collapsing tower. The Kid grins. What to explore first? They all split up, wandering around different
parts of the church hall. The Kid makes a beeline for a toppled-in patch
of wall. He clambers up onto a window ledge and hoists
himself up onto the wall, looking down at the other two. A stone gives way under his foot and almost
sends him tumbling, but he throws out his broken wrist just in time to balance himself. Across the hall, his best friend is checking
her flip phone anxiously. She’d said earlier in the evening that she
needed to be back before 1 AM or her parents would be worried. It is already 12:45. The Kid’s older brother calls out across
the church. ‘I need the toilet. I’m gonna climb straight to the top of the
tower and do it off the edge. Watch out for rain!’ And with that, he disappears through the little
doorway and up the spiral staircases. Very quickly the sound of his footsteps disappears,
leaving the Kid and his friend alone together. The Kid looks over his shoulder out of the
church building. From up on this patch of wall, he is almost
at the perfect height to pick an apple from the tree next to them. If he can just stretch out far enough… There! He plucks two apples. One for him and one for his friend. He tosses it to her but she misses the catch. Looking up at him, he can tell she already
wants to go home. He grumbles and jumps down from the wall. The landing jars his leg pretty badly but
he clenches his teeth hard enough that no noise escapes his mouth. He grins at his best friend. She doesn’t return it. It’s late. She needs to get home soon. And the only way they can get home is in his
big brother’s car. ‘Fine. I guess it’s probably home time.’ She gives him her best attempt at a smile. The Kid walks over to the stairs, sticks his
head through the doorway, and calls out. No response. Great. How high do these stairs go? They can’t be more than a couple of stories
surely? He calls again. Still nothing. His best friend appears at his shoulder. They both peer up the staircase. It is such a tight spiral that they can’t
really see anything beyond the first 10 steps. It’s dark in there, almost too dark to see
where they’re going. He gets out his flashlight and flicks it on. That should be enough light for the both of
them. The kid plants his foot on the first step
and starts climbing. The steps feel well worn. They’re smooth in the middle and dip down
slightly from years of use. One step, two steps, three, four, five. His flashlight dies. He shakes it, knocking the back of it a couple
of times like they do in the movies. Nothing. Not even a flicker. He asks his friend if she has a flashlight. She doesn’t. So the two of them climb in the dark. Very quickly the stairs change shape. Or maybe that’s the wrong word. They aren’t changing shape, they’re just
shrinking. It’s subtle but definitely happening. The gaps between them are getting smaller,
and the undersides of the stairs above are bearing down on the Kid’s head slightly. The Kid stops and turns to his best friend. He can hardly see her at all in the dark. She’s just a slightly darker shadow standing
a couple of steps down from him. He asks if the steps are getting smaller. She tells him not that she can tell. He insists they must be. The stairs above their heads are getting lower
and lower. The space is closing in on them slightly. She says she has no idea what he’s talking
about. Tutting at her, he takes a couple more steps
up the staircase. The cast on his arm tightens. That’s strange. He keeps going and all of a sudden, it feels
like a vice. The blood flow is cut off almost instantaneously. His fingers feel cold and start to tingle,
his forearm swelling and bulging around the edge of the cast. The pressure building up inside it is ridiculous,
feels almost as if… The cast splits apart and falls off. Blood rushes back to his fingertips. He flexes them gratefully, turning to his
best friend. Even in the darkness, he can tell she’s
peering at him intently. He runs a hand over his arm, massaging it
gently. That’s strange, his arm feels different
from how it did before it went into the cast. There’s more hair on it now and the muscle
running along his forearm feels more pronounced. He flexes his wrist. No pain, no stiffness, nothing. He isn’t due to get his cast off for another
month at least. Those doctors clearly don’t know what they’re
talking about. ‘Are you standing on your tiptoes?’ his friend asks from behind him. He looks down at her shadow confused and tells
her no he isn’t. The Kid apparently looks taller. Must just be uneven stairs. Or a trick of the light. Come to think of it though his best friend
does look a little different standing there below him, even just from her silhouette. She isn’t any taller but her figure looks
different. Her voice sounds a little lower. His brother. That’s who they’re after. They’d get to the top of the stairs, find
him and see what was going on. Must just be some strange optical illusions
happening here in the dark. The two of them press on, continuing up the
stairs. Step after step they go, they must be up on
the second floor by now, surely. But there’s no light ahead of them indicating
any kind of exit. Just more stairs. The Kid asks his friend what time it is. He hears her flipping open her phone and pressing
a couple of buttons, but no light fills the space. She presses them again and again. Nothing. Her battery must have died. That’s the only explanation. She tries to tell him that it was almost on
full a minute ago but he doesn’t really listen. Because at that moment, he sticks a hand in
his pocket to take out the apple he’d plucked. Warm goop sticks to his fingers. His back pocket is full of sticky mush. Little
creatures wriggle around inside it. Maggots. How had he plucked a rotten apple? It felt fine on the branch. He takes another step, hand still absently
hovering over his pocket. A buzzing sound. A couple of flies brush past his fingers. What had they been doing in his pocket? He hears them drift around him and up the
staircase, until suddenly their buzzing stops. He crouches down and squints hard in the dark. He can just about make out two little flies
lying on the stair just two steps away from him. Both on their backs, legs curled. The Kid reaches back into his pocket and feels
around. The sticky mush is gone. Just some kind of dry dusty substance is left. Strangely, the Kid doesn’t panic. He knows somewhere in his head that everything
happening to him is very peculiar. Yet he doesn’t feel worried about it at
all. To be honest, all he really cares about right
now is making it to the top of this staircase. He takes off, running two steps at a time
up towards where his brother must be waiting. Part of his mind notices that the jarring
feeling in his leg from jumping off the wall is gone. No time to think about that now. Up he runs, each stride throwing him further
and further. Somewhere behind him, he can hear his best
friend muttering something to herself. Something incoherent and garbled. Her voice definitely sounds different now. It barely sounds like her anymore, she sounds
more like… more like her mother. The Kid catches his foot on a step and falls. His best friend clatters into the back of
him before she has a chance to stop. The two of them topple over, landing awkwardly
on a step. Enough to knock the wind out of him. She lies on top of him… only it can’t
be her. It feels like a fully grown woman, not his
15-year-old friend. She whispers to him. Her voice doesn’t sound scared at all though. If anything she seems a little disinterested. ‘What is happening to us?’ The Kid breathes heavily, struggling to get
the air back into his lungs. That’s when he notices the smell. Something deathly rotten is filling the staircase. Something moldy and decaying. She seems to notice it too. The pair of them stand up straight and peer
up the stairs. In the gloom, they can see it clearly enough. A person. Slumped on the ground. The smell tells them all they need to know
about this person. They should run. Right now. They should run back down the staircase and
out of here. Yet both of them inexplicably and in unison
continue walking up the stairs. Closing the gap on the corpse. It blocks off two whole steps, lying awkwardly
on its side, slightly hunched over as if the person had collapsed in a coughing fit. The Kid almost slips over. Something small is under his foot, something
metallic. He reaches down and picks it up, feeling its
shape and knowing almost immediately what it is. He lifts the lid and flicks the red and gold
lighter on. The little flame fills the staircase with
light, orange and weak, dancing around the stone. It is just enough to make out the flecks of
blood, coughed out of the corpse’s mouth and onto the stone steps. It is just enough to see the scruffy little
beard sprouting out of the corpse’s face. It is just enough to make out the tattoo on
the corpse’s neck. The Kid looks down at his older brother. Not just his older brother, but his older
brother. Whereas before he had seemed like he was 41,
he now looks like it. 41 and dead from something in his lungs. The Kid turns to see his best friend. A woman in her mid-thirties looks back at
him. Her hair even has a couple of telltale grays. She should look afraid but her expression
is almost blank but there’s a little something there. Just enough of an expression to tell him that
she’s seeing the same transformation on his face looking back at her. The Kid reaches up to touch his cheek. A wiry beard meets his fingertips. They should run. They run back down these stairs and get out
of here. Call an ambulance and go home. And yet the Kid flicks the lighter closed,
turns around, and steps over his older brother’s body. As he walks up the stairs in silence, he hears
his best friend doing the same. After five more stairs, his knee starts to
give out. Then his hip soon after that. It gets harder and harder to stand up straight
so he lets himself stoop slightly. His best friend’s breathing grows softer
and wispier behind him. Their pace slows down. Each step seems to take more out of him, feeling
harder than the last. He needs a rest. That’s all he needs. If he can just sit down for a second… His chest clamps in on itself like a vice. Blood hammers in his ears. Sweat floods across his brow in an instant
and the whole world seems to tilt around him. The Kid collapses on the ground, feeling his
brittle wrist snapping under him. Pain shoots through his body as his chest
squeezes tighter and tighter. He rolls onto his back, gasping for air with
frail lungs. The Kid claws at his sunken rib cage, feeling
loose wrinkled skin under his fingertips. With a monumental effort, he flicks the lighter
on to see an old woman peering at him through the dark. He can hardly recognize his best friend anymore,
as she gently takes the lighter from his hand and steps over his convulsing body. He watches helplessly as she continues gingerly
up the stairs in silence. She doesn’t look back over her shoulder,
disappearing round the corner taking the light with her. Leaving the Kid to die an old man, in total
darkness. With one final gasp of air before his heart
gives out on him, he clings desperately to one hope. She’s going to make it to the top of the
stairs. She has to… It is fortunate in many ways that SCP-723
is in such a remote area. While the church has stood on that site for
hundreds of years, for much of that time it has been abandoned. Little is known about the history of the church,
as many of the events around it have descended into local folklore. What is known about SCP-723 is that it is
a spiral staircase housed within an abandoned church building in an undisclosed location
in rural England. To all intents and purposes, it is an unremarkable
set of stairs. Made from ordinary limestone from the local
quarry, the steps are approximately 0.75m wide and worn away in the middle, apparently
from frequent use. If you were to look at the outside of the
church you would see that the tower containing the staircase is not particularly tall and
is in a state of disrepair. Taking a look inside that tower, however,
seems to show the staircase extending up beyond the height of the tower. Something that seems on the surface to be
physically impossible. In fact, how high the staircase itself goes
is a mystery to this day as those studying SCP-723 are yet to find a way to see inside
it beyond the first two floors. This is because every object, living or otherwise,
that ascends up SCP-723 undergoes a rapid aging process. Organic creatures quickly grow older, die,
and decompose on their way up the steps. Other objects behave as if a great deal of
time has passed. Batteries in electronic devices go flat almost
immediately. Decay is accelerated too, meaning wear and
tear take place at an alarmingly fast rate. This renders any conventional methods of exploring
SCP-723 obsolete. Sound and video recording equipment running
on battery power quickly fail. After many attempts with different technology,
recording devices linked to a robust cable were created specially for trying to record
footage beyond the first story of SCP-723. However, the video recordings failed around
the second story and sound recordings failed around the fourth. Living subjects were required to transport
these devices up the staircase and so D-Class Personnel were tasked with the job. Across all documented experiments, none of
the subjects returned. In each case, a subtle change was noticed
in the subjects upon crossing the fifth step. One subject paused, another gasped slightly,
but beyond that, there was no physical or emotional discomfort for much of their ascent. Most were perfectly content to climb the stairs
once they’d passed that fifth step. In fact, as the D-Class Personnel climbed
up the stairs and underwent the accelerated aging process, none of them appeared to be
outwardly distressed for the most part. They all remained remarkably calm and almost
disinterested in the way their bodies transformed before their very eyes. Video footage showed the subjects’ skin
rapidly aging, undergoing conventional wrinkling and deterioration. Diseases appear to develop at an advanced
rate too, as one subject’s body - recovered by pulling them back down with the rope they
were attached to - contained tumors around the prostate and above the eye that were not
present prior to the experiment. This subject was later discovered to have
a family history of cancer. To all intents and purposes, it appears as
if SCP-723 simply accelerates the natural aging process of the subject’s body. Following the same DNA instructions and deterioration
that you would otherwise observe over the course of decades. D-723-7 was the subject to make it furthest
up the staircase before the connection was lost. Approaching the fourth floor, the signal grew
very weak but in the noise could be heard a handful of distressed murmurings including
possible references to a 'door' or 'the door', and to 'dark' and 'mark’. Beyond this point, there is no usable evidence. Local folklore in the area indicates that
SCP-723 has been producing the same effect for generations. Stories can be heard from local residents
about old church congregations who used to meet in the building and would mysteriously
lose grandparents, children, priests, and strays who would disappear up the staircase. It is theorized that this is why the church
building was left abandoned for so long. SCP-723 was only identified relatively recently
in the early 2000s after reports surfaced of local children going missing in its vicinity. In response, the area has been cordoned off,
designated as Site 288. A 3m chain link fence was erected around the
churchyard with signage warning any visitors to steer well clear. A further 2m restriction zone with magnetic
locks is scheduled to be constructed in the near future. Three guards are stationed around SCP-723
at all times of the day. None of them openly carry any weapons so as
not to arouse much attention from any passersby, presenting the site as a mostly uninteresting,
unsafe derelict building. The guards are not permitted to approach or
ascend the staircase and the same goes for any SCP Personnel. The only people permitted to enter SCP-723
are D-Class Personnel, specially approved by Foundation personnel with Level 4 clearance
or higher. While little is known about the cause of the
effect or how SCP-723 physically works, one thing is certain. No person who has started to walk up those
stairs has ever come back down again. Now go and watch another entry from the classified
files of Dr. Bob, such as “SCP-962 Tower of Babble”, for another twisting structure
of anomalous madness. And make sure you subscribe and turn on notifications,
so you don’t miss a single anomaly, as we delve further and further into the SCP Foundation’s
classified archives.
