A young man tosses and turns in bed. He adjusts his pillow and tries sleeping on
his back, his side, his stomach, but nothing works. He rolls over to check the time - 3 am. This is the third night in a row he hasn’t
been able to fall asleep. He feels tired. He wants to sleep. But every time he closes his eyes and sleep
starts to creep in something happens and suddenly he’s wide awake again. It’s as if someone keeps flipping a switch
in his brain to “awake” and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. It’s affecting everything in his life. He can’t concentrate in class. His work performance goes down the drain. Even his hobbies become completely unenjoyable. All he wants to do is sleep. His friends and family can tell something
is wrong. It’s as if he has become a different person,
and they urge him to go see a doctor. But the doctor’s tell him there’s nothing
they can do for him. He’s perfectly healthy otherwise. He should try some natural remedies like valerian
root and get more exercise. He has no idea how many days he’s been awake
now - four? Five? Maybe more? At this point, the lack of sleep isn’t even
the worst part, it’s the hallucinations. Sometimes they’re just a shadow dancing
outside of his vision, but others are incredibly vivid, feeling more real than his now dreary
life does. He had to stop going to work and class entirely
since he can’t concentrate for more than a couple of seconds at a time. His friends don’t want anything to do with
him and who can blame them? He has uncontrollable mood swings and lashes
out for no reason. He’s tried every sleep remedy there is,
he took the doctor’s advice and exercised as hard as he ever has, but with never being
able to sleep he has no energy left. He’s becoming a living zombie. He gets up out of bed but loses his balance
and collapses to the floor. He tries to get up but he can’t. He’ll just lie there for a while. He starts to drift away and he readies himself
for the jolt that always wakes him back up, but this time, it doesn’t come. The wave of sleep that starts to wash over
him feels different this time though. It’s heavier, more peaceful… and more
permanent. Hi! I’m Dr. Bob, and this is SCP-966, also known
as... Sleep Killer. SCP-966 is the designation that the SCP Foundation
has given to a creature that belongs to a group of anomalous, predatory beasts. Standing 1.4 to 1.6 meters tall, and weighing
roughly 30 kilograms, these hairless, humanoids have an elongated face, a mouth full of pointed,
needle-like teeth, and each of their hands has five razor sharp claws that can be up
to 20 centimeters in length. They are bipedal, and walk upright, though
unlike humans and apes, they are digitigrade, meaning that they walk using only their toes. But you won’t be able to see the horrible
visage of SCP-966 under normal circumstances, as they are only visible under very specific
lighting conditions. They can on;y be viewed under light that has
a wavelength between roughly 700 and 900 nanometers, which is just at the edge of the light spectrum
that’s visible to humans stretching into what’s known as infrared light. The only exception to this is if their skin,
muscles, or organs have suffered from second or third degree burns, in which case the affected
areas of their body will show up under a greater spectrum of wavelengths that are visible to
the human eye. Though frightening to look at, SCP-966 are
actually quite weak physically with very low muscular density. Their bones are hollow, similar to birds,
and while their claws may be incredibly sharp, they are also easily broken, making them unsuited
for use in combat. Additionally, they do not rest through sleep,
but will, at seemingly random times, stop all movement and fall into a rest period that
lasts roughly three to five minutes, after which they are able to resume their normal
behavior. With all of these physical shortcomings, how
did SCP-966 gain a reputation as such a fearsome hunter? The secret lies in their ability to emit bursts
of a previously unknown type of wave. Hunting either alone or in pairs, SCP-966
uses this wave to inhibit its prey’s ability to enter any of the restful sleep stages,
and also stops the ability to micro-sleep. These waves have been observed to be effective
at up to 20 meters, though tests have shown that they can be blocked by post-transition
metals, of which lead appears to be especially effective. SCP-966 hunts and feeds on medium-to-large
sized animals, which includes humans, and once their quarry has been targeted by the
sleep inhibiting waves the effect is permanent, with no method having yet been discovered
that will allow them to regain the ability to sleep. Experiments have shown that unconsciousness
can be induced in other ways such as with the use of general anesthesia, although these
methods have ultimately proven to be ineffective, since although the victim is unconscious,
they are still not receiving any of the restful benefits of sleep while in that state. The effects of sleep deprivation on humans,
both mentally and physically, are devastating. Symptoms can begin setting in after just 24
hours that can include mood swings, memory issues, and sensory impairment. After two to three days, the body’s hormones
become deregulated and bodily functions like hunger, thirst, and temperature fluctuate
wildly as cognitive abilities start to dramatically decline. Hallucinations, paranoia, and fits of rage
are common, and the risk of death from sleep deprivation increases with each day that passes
without sleep. And this is exactly what SCP-966 wants. After surreptitiously sending a burst of sleep
deprivation waves at their victim, they will then stalk their prey until lack of sleep
finally leads to total incapacitation, at which point, SCP-966 consumes them. SCP-966 have proven to be both extremely quiet
and agile when hunting. However they have actually been observed intentionally
making threatening noises around their prey, presumably to further increase their already
elevated stress levels and potentially hastening their mental degradation. On rare occasions they will even physically
assault their victim to further degenerate their mental and physical health. Some of SCP-966’s prey will experience especially
intense hallucinations and bouts of rage, which is theorized to be caused by prolonged
exposure to multiple instances of their sleep stopping waves. Why some victims are exposed to multiple waves
when a single instance has been shown to be one hundred percent effective is unknown,
and it’s hypothesized that they may only engage in this behavior when especially hungry
to try and speed up the process. Though others have put forth the theory that
SCP-966 may take some perverse form of joy in seeing its victims suffer prior to expiring. Wild instances of SCP-966 have been found
across the globe, and while the SCP Foundation has been successful in thinning their numbers,
they still exist in high enough numbers to pose a serious threat to humanity. For these reasons they have been assigned
the classification Euclid. Mobile Task Forces Iota-1 and Iota-2, codenamed
the Dream Hunters and Air Chasers respectively, are continually monitoring for any reports
of sudden or violent deaths related to sleep deprivation in order to identify and neutralize
the remaining instances of wild SCP-966. Four SCP-966 specimens, three males and one
female, have been acquired by the Foundation. And they are currently contained in a 10 by
10 meter room that is lined with lead and equipped with infrared security cameras. Each specimen is fed 20 kilograms of meat
each month and in the event that the female specimen gives birth, the new specimen is
to be taken for observation and study before being disposed of prior to reaching maturity. The guerrilla soldiers fire their rifles blindly
into the jungle. They don’t know what exactly they’re shooting
at, but something is out there among the trees. Something they can’t see. Something that’s killing them. One of the young soldiers, barely more than
a boy, stops to reload. As he pulls the magazine from his rifle, a
blur passes by. The soldier next to him suddenly drops to
his knees clutching his neck, blood pouring out between his fingers. A hand grasps the boy’s shoulder and he
spins around, nearly opening fire on his commander. The older man tells him they’ve got to go
and the boy joins a small group of soldiers who start running through the jungle, trying
to get away from whatever this thing is. As they run there’s another flash of movement
and one of the soldiers is pulled into the trees. He can hear his screams mixed with the otherworldly
shrieks but there’s nothing they can do, it’s already too late for him. Another soldier disappears into the trees
with a blur. It’s just him and the commander now. They emerge from the jungle into a clearing
that contains a small, abandoned farm. The commander motions for them to head towards
the old farm house and the two take cover around the corner of the home. They crouch with their guns ready, peeking
around the corner, looking for any sign of the monster that’s killed so many of their
comrades. The boy wants to know what they should do. He opens his mouth to ask the commander but
he puts a finger to his lips and motions for the boy to keep watching. The boy peeks around the corner of the house
but he doesn’t see anything emerging from the treeline. It’s quiet, until the commander begins to
scream. The boy turns to see a point forming on his
chest. It’s a black circle, no not black, something
darker. It’s like it is the absence of any and all
light. The commander screams louder as the point
of darkness grows. The commander's screams fade out even as it
looks like he continues to yell. The boy watches as the commander seems to
be collapsing in, sucked into the dark orb in his chest. The commander’s body folds in on itself,
growing smaller and smaller until it disappears completely into the black hole, which vanishes
along with him. The boy doesn’t know what he just saw but
he doesn’t have time to think, because emerging from the forest, is the creature. The boy has never seen anything like it and
runs into the farmhouse. He locks the door and pushes the old kitchen
table in front of it, trying to barricade it as best he can. He looks around and spots a bed against the
wall. It’s the best hiding spot he can find so
he runs and slides under the bed, pulling himself as close to the wall as he can. The boy watches and waits, unsure of what
he should do. It’s quiet. There’s no more screaming of soldiers being
killed or any more of those guttural, animal-like squeals. Maybe it decided to go back to wherever it
came from. The boy doesn’t dare come out from under
the bed though. As he watches the door, waiting for something
to burst through, he sees something else. Another of those black points appears in the
middle of the room. It looks like it bends the light around it,
distorting the room nearby. The boy watches from under the bed as out
of the point, a thin black limb emerges. First one, then another. He can see its strange pointed legs with no
feet standing just in front of the bed now. With a high pitched cry, the creature effortlessly
tosses the bed aside. The boy is left exposed, cowering against
the wall. The creature screams, opening its wide mouth
that seems to split its eyeless face in two, revealing two rows of jagged teeth. The boy screams back, crying in fear, and
sees that the creature isn’t eyeless after all. Inside its grotesque mouth, a milky-blue ball
appears. There’s no iris, but the boy knows whatever
this thing is, it's looking at him. The boy feels his chest grow tight. He looks down to see that one of the black
points is forming on his chest. He can feel himself being squeezed and crushed,
pulled down into this singular point. All noises, including his screams disappear
as he is pulled into this soundless void. But then he hears something again. He looks up to see that the creature is being
riddled with bullets. It turns to escape and bursts through the
wall of the farmhouse. The dark orb on the boy vanishes and he sees,
standing in the doorway, his friend and savior. He clutches his bleeding throat with one hand,
holding his rifle in the other. The boy rushes to him as he collapses to the
floor. Blood is pouring out of his neck and he can
no longer speak, but he dies knowing he saved his young friend. The boy starts to feel very tired, and he
sits down next to his dead hero. He’s all alone now, his entire group of
freedom fighters now wiped out by this demon. The boy feels nauseous and dizzy. He coughs into his hand and looks down to
see that it’s covered in his own blood. A group of boys run down a jungle path, laughing
and playing when they suddenly stop and grow quiet. There’s something up ahead of them. It’s a man, lying on the side of the road. The boys look scared, unsure if they should
check it out, but then the smallest of all of them emerges from the group and bravely
marches up to the man. Not wanting to let the youngest of their friends
make them look like cowards, the rest of the boys soon follow. The man on the side of the road is moaning
and looks to be in pain. As they get closer they can see that he must
have been in a terrible accident. His skin is gray, and it looks like his long
thin arms only have three fingers. What should they do? The small boy picks up a stick and reaches
out with it to poke the man, not wanting to touch him with his own hands, but before he
can the man rolls over, opening his mouth with a horrible shriek to reveal the glassy
blue eye inside as the boys turn and run, hands over their ears. Several weeks later, the small Guatemalan
town holds a meeting. The crowd of people in the room are angrily
yelling at the mayor who stands at a podium, demanding answers from him about what happened
to their dead or missing loved ones. A series of photos are hung on the wall behind
the mayor in remembrance of those who have disappeared into the forest, or mysteriously
died from a rapid illness, including the brave young boy. One man shouts at the mayor, wanting to know
where his daughter was, another asks how her healthy husband could drop dead from an illness
after being perfectly healthy only days before. The mayor tries to calm the frustrated townspeople,
telling them that he knows there have been rumors of a demon out in the forest, but that’s
all they are… rumors. The mayor warns them though that something
is out there, though he doesn’t know what. There is an animal or man that is making people
sick. It may also be hunting people, neither he
nor the police know exactly what is going on. But there is good news, a group of men have
come to help them. The mayor points towards a stern looking man
in a military uniform who is standing with a small group of other soldiers and a scientist
off to the side of the stage. The mayor explains that this man, General
Machoi, is from America, and that he’s going to help them. The crowd doesn’t cheer in the way that
the mayor seems to have expected, but they at least stop their yelling as the General
steps to the podium and thanks the mayor for the introduction. The general looks over the crowd who are waiting
and hungry for answers about the monster that’s suddenly begun plaguing their town. He tells them that it is true that he’s
been sent here by the US Government in order to investigate what’s been happening, and
stop whatever threat is out there in the jungle by any means necessary. He can’t promise that he’ll be able to
bring back any of their missing loved ones, but he can at least prevent whatever this
is from taking any more. He then gestures to the rest of his group
and tells the crowd that the men he has brought with him have been specially trained to deal
with this exact type of situation, and that they don’t need to worry any longer. The only thing everyone needs to do is stay
out of their way, and all will be taken care of. With that, he walks off the stage as the crowd
erupts into more shouting. General Machoi stops at the scientists waiting
next to the stage. “Well Dr. Keter, what do you think?” The scientist adjusts his glasses and answers
“This is what we’ve been preparing for. The Overseers kept telling us this day would
come. It looks like it finally has.” The group of soldiers led by General Machoi
make their way through the dense forest. Dr. Keter is just ahead of them, using a Geiger
counter to follow the creature, the audible clicks of the radioactive entity telling him
which way it came. They track the source of the radiation to
a clearing in the jungle where a small village once stood. Most of the buildings are overgrown with plants
and thick vines, but with it growing dark, this seems as safe a place as they will find
to make camp for the night. The soldiers fan out to search what’s left
of the town as Dr. Keter continues looking around for where the radioactive trail might
lead them next. As General Machoi is checking out one of the
many dark, old buildings, one of the other soldiers cries out. “Hey General! It looks like this generator still works!” With the sound of an old diesel motor coming
to life, lights in the village suddenly flicker on. They now have fortifications and light. Though he’d never admit it, General Machoi
was feeling nervous about spending the night in the jungle, but now at least some of those
nerves were being washed away by the old, flickering yellow lights. Later that night, the General is questioning
Dr. Keter on where the creature went. Dr. Keter is confused though. His readings showed high traces of radiation
leading into this village. The creature came here, he was sure of it,
but now he can’t figure out where it went. It’s as if it came into the village and
then simply vanished. Outside, one of the soldiers on watch tells
the rest of the group who are sitting around a fire to shut up, that he thinks he saw something
in the woods. Everyone immediately springs into action,
taking defensive positions and aiming their rifles into the dark treeline. “There it is again” he says, as a flash
of darkness moves just beyond the clearing. “No, it’s over here” says another soldier
on the opposite side. How could the creature be moving so fast around
them? Are there multiple of whatever this is out
there? The soldiers form a circle to make sure that
the thing can’t get behind them. What they can’t see, is the point of darkness
forming behind all of their backs, and the thin, pointed legs stepping out of it. The general’s radio comes to life. “I think we’ve got something out here
Gen - “ but his message is cut off by screams and the sound of gunfire. General Machoi tells Dr. Keter to stay inside
and runs out of the building, where he finally gets a glimpse of the “demon” that they’ve
been tracking. The tall, thin creature is massacring his
squad. It dashes between them at an inhuman speed,
using its three fingered hands to rip the limbs off of some soldiers and slash at others
with its razor sharp claws, opening up their necks or disemboweling them before moving
on to the next. The General fires his rifle at the creature
and misses, but it’s enough to get it to retreat. General Machoi runs back inside the building
where Dr. Keter is waiting. “What was it, what did you see out there?” The General doesn’t know how to begin describing
the monster that just killed all of his men. It’s like nothing he has ever seen before
and something that no amount of training could prepare him for. As the two men ponder what to do next, the
Geiger counter on the table suddenly starts to click, softly at first, but then more and
more, as if a huge amount of radiation has suddenly flooded the room. The General grabs the Doctor and drags him
out, leaping out of the building just before it collapses in on itself, disappearing into
the micro-singularity that formed inside. The two men look up to see it standing right
in front of them, its huge mouth open to reveal its glassy blue eye. “Look out!” Dr. Keter cries, but he isn’t talking about
the demon as he and the General roll to the side, just avoiding the power line that has
been cut loose by the destroyed building. The power line hits the ground and immediately
begins to spark, sending out bright pulses of white, electrical light. The creature cries out with a gut wrenching
scream and collapses to the ground, huddling up into a ball as it tries to cover up its
mouth with its thin arms. “Is it the electricity?” the General asks,
confused about what suddenly stopped the killer’s rampage, but Dr. Keter realizes it isn’t
the sparking power line that the creature has been immobilized by, it’s the flashing
lights. The General doesn’t wait for his answer
though, and fires the weighted net from his gun, trapping the howling creature. Dr. Keter examines the creature at the field
research center that has been set up several miles from the village. A strobe light has been affixed to the inside
of the creature’s cage, but even when the doctor turns the light off, the grayish brown
skinned entity still remains curled up in a ball on the floor. The doctor wonders if perhaps the creature
is hungry, but it shows no interest in any of the various meats, fruits, and vegetables
they’ve presented to it. The doctor stands in the doorway of the tent
that has been up to house the creature’s cage and gives an update to General Machoi,
who is anxious to get the creature moved to the United States and a more secure containment
environment. Dr. Keter stresses that he fears the journey
might kill this creature though, and put an end to the incredible research and testing
they can perform on this amazing living specimen. The General turns to leave but stops to salute
the body of one of his soldiers being carried by on a stretcher. Dr. Keter himself turns to go back to his
research when he notices something. The creature’s mouth is ever so slightly
open. Dr. Keter has yet another idea. That night, Dr. Keter enters the temporary
morgue and takes a severed arm from one of the dead soldiers. Back in the research tent, he presents the
arm to the creature, sliding it through the cage bars. The creature doesn’t react, but Dr. Keter
continues to watch and wait. After a time, the creature finally stirs. It’s the first time he has seen it move
since it was captured. The creature reaches out with its long, three
fingered hand and grabs the arm before starting to feed on it. “You like that, don’t you?” Dr. Keter asks, and bizarrely, the creature
seems to respond, giving an almost baby-like coo. “There’s lots more of that if you behave. All I want to do is study you, learn how you
work.” The creature continues to feed, starting to
crunch on the bones now that all of the meat is gone. “Yes, I believe you’ll be good” the
doctor says as he approaches the cage. “You’re going to make me world famous. Soon everyone will know the name Hermann Ket
-” The creature’s hand shoots out from between
the bars so quickly he never even saw it. Dr. Keter starts to scream as it grasps and
claws at him. A soldier standing guard outside runs in but
a black point of light immediately appears on his torso, causing him to fold in on himself
into the singularity. The creature drops the bloodied Dr. Keter
to the floor, who reaches for the emergency strobe light activation button as another
singularity opens up inside of the cage. The creature appears to willfully step into
it before emerging out of another just outside of the bars. More soldiers rush into the tent in time to
see the creature feeding on the still living Dr. Keter. One presses the button to activate the high
powered strobe lights which cause the creature to start screaming and thrashing about, trying
to escape the flashing lights. Multiple nets are fired onto the creature,
pinning it to the ground as its screams slowly fade back to whimpers. On Overseer orders, the creature is moved
to ADRX-19, a secure base located somewhere in North America. The site’s director gives a presentation
to a group and explains that thanks to the work of the late Dr. Keter, they now know
that the creature exhibits signs of fear and sickness when in the presence of strobing
lights, and that it is unable to produce the microsingularities that it uses for defense
and teleportation when it is in this sickened state. When healthy though, the creature is extremely
dangerous thanks to its superhuman speed, strength, and cunning. It was also discovered that it is unable to
teleport through lead, which its new containment cell has been lined with, and extreme security
procedures have been implemented including the installation of a reinforced steel blast
door and constant patrols of the outside of the cell by armed guards who are equipped
with high-powered strobe lights. The site director leaves the room and the
Overseers discuss the fate of the creature which has been given the designation number
86243AR-001, though most have taken to calling it simply 001. One of the Overseers argues that the creature
must be secured and contained in order to protect humanity. Who knows how many more of these might be
out there. They now know that the rumors of these types
of entities aren’t merely isolated events, and there could be countless more of these
anomalies. Hundreds, maybe even thousands. The rest of the Overseers unanimously agree. One of them picks up the report that was left
behind by the site director. “Redact this report immediately and start
a new document archive. This is only The Prototype. I have the feeling there will likely be many
more of these… “ Hello, everyone, Dr. Bob here. I know you’re not used to seeing me here
at the start of videos, but that’s because today, we have an extremely pressing matter
to attend to. One that cuts to the deepest core of one of
the SCP Foundation’s deadliest contained anomalies: SCP-096, the Shy Guy. It’s a creature that needs no introduction,
because it probably haunts all of your nightmares already. Close your eyes and picture it in your mind’s
eye: That gaunt face with the slack jaw and the lifeless white eyes. The face you hope never to see as long as
you live. The pale skin, pulled tight against bone. Those impossibly long, gangly limbs. It sits there in its airtight containment
cube, covering its face and quietly sobbing, always sobbing, as though cursing something
beyond even its own understanding. Perhaps, when thinking about SCP-096, you
feel a pang of sympathy mixed with the terror. After all, this anomaly is no sadist. Why would a sadist cry as it kills, like SCP-096
does? You’re not alone in asking this question. I’ve spent many a night poring over classified
files with an ever-freshening pot of coffee, trying to piece together the answers. SCP-096 is considered one of the most dangerous
Euclid-class creatures in containment, and yet, so little about it is known beyond its
capability to do great harm whenever someone is unlucky enough to see its face and send
it into its rage state. How did this happen? It’s a question for the curious, like you
or me, and after months of strenuous research, I believe I may have an answer. Whether you choose to believe it is up to
you. Just be warned, when you hear what I believe
to be the heartbreaking, tragic origin of this terrifying and pitiful monster, you may
never be able to look at him the same way again. Not that “looking” at him should ever
be high on your list of priorities... It begins in a tavern in a small Nepalese
village, a few miles away from the Chinese border, where Mount Everest - The world’s
tallest mountain above sea level - waits. Its mere existence is like a challenge to
the brave and foolhardy. “Conquer me,” it seems to whisper. “Conquer me, and declare yourself above
all those I have conquered. Become a God among men.” It’s always whispering like this, but few,
in the grand scheme of things, can actually hear it. And sadly for him, the Explorer is among those
few. He’s sitting in one of the tavern’s many
cozy nooks, picking away at a plate of mutton curry while sipping from a brass bowl of white
Chyang, a popular local drink. The Explorer, living up to his name, has come
a long way to get here. The rest of the village locals in the tavern
eye him with a variety of knowing glances. They’ve seen so many like him before - Smug
smiles and puffed chests, thinking they’ll be able to count themselves among the exalted
few who’ve conquered the mountain to end all mountains. The bodies of many men like this are still
frozen to the mountain’s surface. One brave local - an older man who can speak
English fluently - slides in across the table from the Explorer. The old timer tells him that whatever he thinks
he’ll find up on the mountain - honor, glory, recognition - he’d be better off searching
for it elsewhere. Death awaits on the icy rocks above. The Explorer, young, fit, and still feeling
mighty smug, replies that death is there for the people who haven’t worked hard enough. Who haven’t prepared. He’s scaled other mountains before, all
across the globe, from Scotland to Peru. Everest would hold no surprises for him, just
a new, compelling challenge. The old man is, as you could probably imagine,
unamused by the Explorer’s hubris. “All confidence and bluster now,” he says
with his thin, raspy voice. “But what will you say when you’re face
to face with the King?” The Explorer, assuming that this “king”
refers to the mountain itself, smiles and replies, “I’ll ask him for his crown.” With that, the old man leaves, content that
he at least tried to dissuade the Explorer from going on this doomed journey. If nothing else, his conscience would be clear
now. He had done all that he possibly could. The Explorer, not bothered by the grim prophecies
of superstitious locals, finishes his curry and Chyang and retires to the room he rented
upstairs. He’s so excited, tomorrow, it will finally
be time, all his months of training will pay off. He will climb to Mount Everest’s peak. It would be an achievement to last a whole
lifetime - one he would never, ever forget. No matter how much he wants to... The next day, the tip of his ice axe cleaves
into the mountainside as he grunts, strains, and pulls himself up another few feet. He’s about 2000 meters up, and every additional
meter is fighting him. It’s the bitterest cold he’s ever known
- A freeze so deep it makes his incredibly expensive thermal-locking clothes feel like
he’s wearing wet, one-ply toilet paper. But the pain doesn’t matter. The cold doesn’t matter. He finds it exhilarating. Of course, just as the old man had warned,
death could be waiting for him on this mountain. But the truth is, the Explorer has never felt
more alive. He winches himself up a few feet more, trying
to regulate his breathing as his icy fingers, wrapped in thick gloves, struggle to find
purchase on what feels like a sheer cliff face. There are many times when he’s supporting
his full body weight with only his hands. It often takes the kind of Herculean strength
that only a lifetime of training can give you. After all, there’s no room for error on
Mount Everest. One wrong move and you’re either plummeting
to your death, or becoming a permanent frozen fixture of the mountainside. And because Everest is so dangerous, nobody
comes to collect the bodies of dead mountaineering hopefuls. Their corpses, coated in often colorful winter
jackets, litter the mountain. Some look at them as a tragic warning. Other, more morbid mountaineers use them as
mile markers for their own more successful ascents. Whether the Explorer would be lucky, or become
just another dead, frozen mile marker, is still entirely up to chance. He climbs for a few more hours, pushing past
his body’s complaints, his physical limitations, until he reaches a well-earned plateau. Here, he establishes a small base camp and
eats some of his rations. The area is thankfully guarded enough to keep
out the worst of the sub-zero winds, so he can at least get some sleep without freezing
to death. Mount Everest cannot be conquered today, and
even someone with the Explorer’s bravado wouldn’t dare to try. But as he settles down to sleep for the night,
he can’t help but look up, and the enormity of what stands before him, he finds utterly
terrifying. The mountain just keeps going, and going,
and going, stretching up into the misty heavens, like the tip would only be a short jump from
the moon. For the first time, the Explorer begins to
genuinely wonder: Will I scale this mountain, or will I die on it? What he never even considers is that there
may be a third option that’s so, so much worse. Over the next few days, he keeps climbing
further and further. Hundreds, then thousands of meters, pass under
him as he breaks past even the boundaries biology seemed to set for him. He’s impossible to deter. An engine of pure, burning willpower, going
because he knows he cannot stop. Because he knows that if he throws in the
towel now, it will have all been for nothing. He’ll be just another failure, one spec
among billions. He’ll have no meaning, no legacy. He’ll just be another average Joe, forgotten. And that honestly scares him even more than
the prospect of freezing to death up here. Eventually, even though it costs him almost
everything to do it, he reaches 8000 meters - an area known as the “Death Zone”, where
it’s believed to be impossible for humans to acclimate. This is the thin, rarefied air that few have
been permitted to breathe, and he’s seen so many brightly-colored “mile markers”
on the way to here. The ground is slippery and the air chews into
the Explorer’s skin, but he knows he’s made it this far. Less than a thousand meters from the peak
now. He has almost conquered the mountain. So you can only imagine how surprised he feels
when he sees another mountaineer walking down the side of the mountain towards him with
an eerie kind of casualness. He’s wearing standard mountain climbing
gear, including white thermal pants and a hooded coat, zipped up to the chin. The Explorer can’t make out the stranger’s
face, beyond the pair of thick, black goggles he’s wearing over his eyes. What the hell is going on here? The second the stranger’s eyes fall upon
him, he feels a frightening sensation. The bite of the cold is gone. The chilling winds can’t reach him. Instead, he feels warm, cozy, and content,
like he’s sitting in front of a warm fire in a well-insulated log cabin. In any other circumstance, these sensations
might be welcomed, but a seasoned mountaineer knows that this is actually one of the worst
things you can feel. It means that death is creeping in, and your
body is opening the front door and welcoming it. And if this stranger is causing that feeling,
then one thing is certain: He’s bad news. The Explorer wants to turn and run, but he
finds that he can’t. It’s almost as though he’s frozen in place,
entranced by the warm, inviting feeling that the other mountaineer seems to exude as he
gets closer and closer. That’s when the Explorer notices something
strange about him: Something is glowing through his goggles, like hot embers, burning a bright,
luminous orange. Are those eyes? Dear god, are those his eyes? The Explorer can feel their terrible stare,
literally feel it. It hurts to be looked at by this monster. Yes, that’s what it is. A monster. A monster in the shape of a man. “Why are you here, mortal?” comes a booming voice from the inhuman mountaineer. “Do you wish to challenge me?” The Explorer can’t form words. He’s quaking, his body acknowledging the
cold that his mind can’t as those two glowing eyes bore into him. “Speak,” the stranger commanded. “Who... What... Are you?” The Explorer forced out between chattering
teeth. The stranger laughed. “I am the King of the Mountain.” Though to the SCP Foundation, he’s better
known as SCP-1529. And he’s the worst possible thing you can
run into while trying to scale Mount Everest. The Explorer remembers his conversation with
the old man in the tavern. The question he asked. “What will you say when you’re face to
face with the King?” And his own foolish answer, “I’ll ask
him for his crown.” Now, really, truly face to face with the King
of the Mountain, all the poor, terrified Explorer can do is whimper and beg for mercy. “Please...” he says, the tears freezing
on his cheeks as they fall. “I just wanted to climb...” The King of the Mountain gives another booming
laugh, his eyes burning. “Then you will climb,” he says. “And climb... and climb... and climb...” The King of the Mountain must have wielded
truly unspeakable power to do what he does next. With a simple nod, the Explorer is suddenly
hanging off of the mountainside, his fingers digging into the craggy rocks, the only thing
supporting his weight. It was like being back at square one all over
again, except with added pain, terror, and cold so deep he can feel his bones rattling. And all the while, he feels those eyes upon
him. Those burning, fiery eyes, staring with absolute
malice. He keeps climbing. Every time he reaches a plateau, a place where
he might camp and find even momentary comfort, the King of the Mountain is already waiting
there, staring that horrible stare. And just like that, the Explorer was climbing
again, wind whipping against him like forty lashes from a Cat O’ Nine Tails. That, coupled with the endless strain of the
climb on his muscles, is the worst agony he’s ever felt. And yet... He never dies. Even though he hasn’t eaten in days, months,
weeks, years, he never, ever dies, he just fulfils the same torturous loop, over and
over again. It’s like the King of the Mountain is just
keeping him alive for his own amusement. A toy that’s impossible to break. But while the Explorer never breaks, as time
goes on and the torments never cease, he does begin to change, like rock being molded by
the tide. First, from the endless stress, his hair falls
out. His skin goes pale from the lack of sun. His body becomes thin and wiry from starvation
and malnourishment. The endless physical strain even warps his
limbs - his arms and legs begin to stretch, his body becoming elongated and grotesque. All the way through this horrific, dehumanizing
ordeal, the King of the Mountain stares at him. One day, the Explorer, now changed, reaches
a plateau, and as can be expected, the King of the Mountain stares at him with his burning
eyes. The Explorer cowers and covers his face with
his hands, sobbing from exhaustion. He just wants the King of the Mountain to
look away, to leave him be. He babbles incoherently. He doesn’t want to be seen anymore. His pain simply makes the King of the Mountain
laugh. “I gave you your wish,” the Mountain King
says, his voice oozing with contempt. “You climbed, didn’t you? You thought that your climbing would elevate
you. Make you more than human. But now... you’re so much less. Our business concludes here. I am tired of playing with you.” And with that, the King is gone. The Explorer is alone, stranded among the
snow and the whipping winds of the death zone, but very much alive. He’s finally able to go. At long last, after what felt like an eternity,
he’s escaped. When the Explorer arrives in the village again,
he is not the Explorer at all. It’s been years since he went missing on
the mountain - The old man who had warned him not to go up onto Mount Everest had passed
peacefully in the interim. The other members of his small village would
not be afforded the same luxury. Instead, the Explorer stumbled back through
the village limits, still covering his face. The only sounds he can hear are the wailing
wind, and his own pitiful sobbing. Everything hurts. He’s so terribly afraid. He needs somebody to to help him. Why will nobody help him? The sun begins to rise and the village shakes
itself awake. People leave their homes to go about their
daily tasks. None of them are expecting to see a monster
loping through their streets, a pale, gangling monstrosity, stretched and hairless. It engenders a mix of fear and curiosity,
as it stumbles around, audibly sobbing with a loud, warped voice. It’s like nothing any of them have ever
seen before. Like something out of a myth or a folktale. But for the monster that was once the Explorer,
it’s so much worse. At first, he thinks the villagers might be
there to help him. But then... He sees their eyes. That same intense, burning, fire-pit orange
as the King of the Mountain. That same horrible gaze that the Explorer
thought he’d escaped when he left the mountain, the gaze that meant pain, torment, and madness. Even when he tries to cover his face, when
he wails at them to go away in words that make sense to no one but him, he can still
feel those terrible eyes on him. Is he still on the mountain? Is he still at the mercy of the Mountain King? Are these all just illusions, or projections? Another awful trick? What did he ever do to deserve this kind of
torment? Was the crime of wanting to climb a damn mountain
worth this kind of everlasting suffering? Did it earn him the gaze of all these monstrous
eyes? The Explorer begins to feel his anguish being
replaced by another feeling: Rapidly-rising rage. The kind of pure, blistering hatred that inexorably
leads to one result: Violence. First, he screams. Then, they scream. And finally, the killing begins. The creature that had once been the Explorer
leaves no stone unturned. Even when they try to run away, he still feels
their eyes on him. He needs to kill them all. To annihilate them quickly. Leave no trace. It’s the only way he can feel anything close
to at peace again. It becomes a kind of terrible chain reaction. The sound of the horrors going on in the street
only entices more to come outside and see what’s going on, to look at the creature
causing all this carnage, to see its face. They have no idea that this very action is
dooming them. And within the hour, the village is empty,
save for one creature - The creature that had once been the Explorer, now just afraid,
confused, and alone. He will always be alone. The anomaly that will soon be known as SCP-096
simply bows its head... And weeps. A young man is in the middle of one of his
regular night jogs through the park. He loves running through this park at night. It’s dark, the air is cool, and the sounds
of the city that surround the park disappear, offering peace, quiet, and a small reprieve
from the busy world. He jogs along a path that winds through the
park and starts upon a section that is surrounded on both sides by tall trees. He follows the path around a sharp bend and
is stopped in his tracks. Standing there, in the middle of the track
is a figure. It has its back to him and isn’t moving. He’s tall, and so uniformly black that he
almost disappears into the night. Whoever or whatever this is, he’s scared
of it. But the creature doesn’t move and neither
does he. He’s frozen, unsure of what to do, when
the creature suddenly turns his head towards him, revealing a pair of bright, glowing eyes. The runner is so terrified he can’t even
scream. He falls and crawls backwards in the dirt,
trying to get away from the creature. The creature turns its body towards him and
begins stepping forward. The runner scrambles to his feet, and runs. He’s sprinting as hard and as fast as he
can, adrenaline pumping, heart pounding, trying to put as much distance as he can between
himself and that… that thing. His muscles burn, his lungs ache, but he can’t
stop. Finally he’s back at his house. He bursts through the door, locking and bolting
it behind him. His girlfriend is reading on the couch and
doesn’t understand what’s going on. After struggling to catch his breath he tries
to explain what he saw on the path, but his girlfriend just laughs. A giant man with glowing eyes? He was just seeing things in the dark. It was probably a dog. Nothing that would justify the panic he was
now in. The next day, he’s left wondering if he
really was mistaken. Those piercing, glowing eyes are burned into
his mind though. Maybe his girlfriend was right and it really
was just a dog. Yes, that must be it. His mind was just playing tricks on him in
the dark. Even so, he’s going to stick to running
inside, at least for a little while. Two weeks have passed since he saw something
in the park. No one he brought it up to, not his friends,
not his coworkers, have ever heard of such a thing, and no one seemed like they believed
him either. At this point he is feeling sure that he really
did imagine it. But he can’t get that image of whatever
it was out of his head. He can’t keep running on a treadmill forever
though. He misses his night runs. It’s time to get over his fear. He’s running through the park again, enjoying
the silence and the light breeze on his skin. He continues down the path, acutely aware
that he’s getting closer and closer to the spot where he saw that thing before. He can’t stop though. He has to prove to everyone that he’s not
afraid. He has to prove it to himself. He reaches the part of the path that runs
through the tall trees. Just like before, the sounds of the city melt
away, the only sound coming from his steady, heavy breathing. He follows the winding path and feels his
heart starting to race but he has to keep going. He rounds the same corner and… nothing is
there. He slows to a stop. Of course nothing is here. Nothing ever was. He really did imagine it. Or did he? Buongiorno! Today’s file comes from the Italian branch
of the SCP Foundation. SCP-015-IT also known as… The Boogeyman. SCP-015-IT is a humanoid entity that stands
just under two meters tall. It’s body is devoid of any hair, and its
dark, black skin absorbs 98% of all light, making it virtually invisible in low light. Its head lacks a nose or ears, but these missing
features are hardly noticed, because if you see 015-IT, its eyes are what demand all of
your attention. While the Boogeyman’s skin is completely
black, its eyes contain light-producing organs on the irises, causing them to glow in the
dark, like a deep sea predator. Its mouth contains eight pointed teeth on
both the upper and lower jaws, and a long, 28 centimeter forked tongue. The two tips of its tongue each have a hollow
needle-like organ that lead straight into its esophagus. More on what it does with that specialized
biological feature soon. Physically, SCP-015-IT is rather slight, but
it is surprisingly strong, and easily able to overpower an adult human. It’s skinny arms are much longer than an
average human’s, and each of its four fingers ends in a razor sharp claw. It has also been shown to be quite resistant
to physical injuries, and possesses the ability to heal wounds and damage to internal organs
at a hyper accelerated rate. SCP-015-IT is primarily active at night, which
is unsurprising given its skin's natural camouflage in the dark. The Boogeyman hunts mammals, with humans being
its preferred prey, but it does not feed on flesh. Instead, SCP-015-IT draws its sustenance from
the adrenaline and noradrenaline produced by its quarry. Adrenaline and noradrenaline are chemicals
the body produces to increase heart rate, blood flow, and provide more energy to the
muscles in moments of stress, or in the case of SCP-015-IT, extreme fear. And it has developed a hunting method to cause
this exact reaction in humans. 015-IT will usually hide in dark spots, trying
to keep out of sight as much as possible, as it stalks its next victim. If it has been able to remain unseen, it will
wait for a moment when its prey has become distracted so it can silently approach them. Once close enough, it will leap towards its
unaware victim, grab them, and quickly bite them on the side of the torso near where the
adrenal gland is located. It uses its large teeth to anchor its mouth
in place as it uses the needles on its forked tongue to probe into their body. With one needle, it pierces directly into
the adrenal gland and begins draining the blood that is now rich with fear induced adrenaline. At the exact same time, the other needle releases
a mild sedative, allowing 015-IT to feed and then depart without risk as the victim remains
immobile. Another anomalous effect occurs when someone
is unlucky enough to actually see The Boogeyman. Roughly two weeks after observing the creature,
the person who saw it will begin experiencing various detrimental mental effects including
hallucinations and panic attacks. Some will also begin to experience physical
issues, most often damage to the cardiovascular system. It is unknown why exactly these mental and
physical effects occur, but it is theorized that SCP-015-IT may use it as a way to weaken
certain prey that it considers too strong or potentially dangerous. In 2011, the Boogeyman was actually contained,
but not by the SCP Foundation. The Brotherhood of Saint George’s Knights
is a secret order in the Catholic Church that was created by the pope in the year 453 to
either contain or eliminate all anomalies, and it was this group that first captured
SCP-015-IT, which they designated as Dia-212 inline with their own classification system. While it was in their containment, they made
a number of discoveries about the creature that they labeled as a “Shadow Demon.” First, they found that while it feeds on the
fear of its victims by ingesting their blood, it doesn’t actually require this to survive. Dia-212 as they call it is an unstable entity,
and feeding allows it to maintain its physical shape in our reality. In addition to its impressive physical strength,
the Boogeyman is also quite intelligent as seen by its ability to successfully hunt,
attack, and escape from humans. Strangely it also appears to be resistant
to weapons which have been blessed, causing only a fraction of the physical damage that
they should when compared to a similar non-holy version. During the course of research into the creature,
Father Ilardi, a member of the Brotherhood of Saint George’s Knights, wrote that despite
the creature being “repugnant beyond every limit,” he believed that it had a “gentle
soul” and that “its screams are similar to a pained cry.” He postulated that SCP-015-IT may have even
once been a human before some dark force transformed it into the monster that it had become. He decided that it was his mission to find
a way to communicate with the creature, and one day, bring it back into the light and
love of his god. Father Ilardi was making good progress with
the creature, and it seemed like it was even growing fond of him and his disciples. But his advances were halted when they were
attacked by a group of soldiers from the Fascist Council of the Occult, a terrorist group that
seeks to use anomalies as weapons in their quest to disrupt the social order. In the attack, several of the Brotherhood
were killed and in the commotion, SCP-015-IT escaped. Following this, reports soon began to come
from the province of Caserta that described what sounded like “vampire attacks.” A Mobile Task Force was sent to the area and
while 015-IT was initially able to make use of its various physical abilities to evade
and escape capture, it was eventually shot with a transmitter that allowed it to be tracked. The Italian Mobile Task Force was able to
surround the creature, but fearing being contained again, it responded with a level of violence
that it had not been thought capable of. Several members of the task force were killed
in the line of duty before the Boogeyman could finally be subdued. Today, SCP-015-IT is contained at Site Vittoria
in the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy. Since this anomaly is both sentient and highly
unpredictable in its behavior, it has been classified as Euclid. It is kept in a standard humanoid entity containment
cell and is monitored by video cameras and infrared sensors at all times. Due to the light absorbing properties of its
skin, its cell and the adjacent corridors are painted white and are to be kept well
lit at all times. Twice a day, SCP-015-IT is given a normal,
domestic pig that is allowed to feed on. Any personnel assigned to 015-IT duty must
undergo a psychological assessment on a weekly basis and, regardless of the results, must
be cycled out after three months of exposure to The Boogeyman. A storm rages outside of the little old house,
as inside, a little old woman bounces a little baby on her little old knee. The baby coos and laughs as the old woman
makes funny faces and noises for the child, trying to keep it entertained as they wait
for his parents to return from their much needed night out by themselves. The old woman herself needs a rest now though,
she’s forgotten how exhausting it can be to watch a child. “Okay, that’s enough. It’s time for both of us to take a little
nap before your parents get back.” She gets up and takes the baby into a nearby
room that looks as though it was a nursery at one time, but it hasn’t been used for
many years. As she goes to set the child into the crib,
a strong gust of wind blows through the room. She places the baby down and rushes to the
window and closes it shut. It must have been left cracked open by mistake. Brrr. The room is cold from the wind, but she has
just the thing to fix that. She moves to a small closet and opens the
creaky door. The little old woman strains to reach up to
the top shelf and feels around. Ah, there it is! She pulls down a baby blanket, a soft baby
blue with colorful animals printed on it. It looks as though it’s been up there for
a long time and she gives it a good shake before walking back to the crib. “Look what we have here! It’s your daddy’s own blankie!” She gives it another shake. “There we go, good as new.” She leans into the crib and wraps the small,
helpless child in the blanket before giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Now you get some sleep. Your mommy and daddy will be back before you
know it and we want to show them what a good babysitter grammie, don’t we? That way I get to see you all the time.” The little old woman switches off the light
and exits the room, leaving the door cracked just a few inches. She heads back to the couch and plops down
on it. Almost as soon as she does though, the baby
starts crying. With a sigh she gets back up and goes back
to the nursery. “What’s the matter, little dear?” she
says as she turns the lights on. “Oh no!” she rushes to the crib, “you’ve
kicked your blanket off! You must be freezing.” She grabs the blanket from the end of the
crib and tucks it around the baby once again. “There you go, that’s better.” The old woman leaves the room and quietly
closes the door shut, leaving it open just a few inches. The moment she turns around to go back to
the couch though, the crying starts again. With a sigh she opens the door and goes back
into the room. Once again, the blanket is stuffed at the
end of the crib where the baby has kicked it off. “Fine. Don’t want a blanket? That’s fine.” She picks the baby up out of the crib and
rocks him in her arms until it stops crying. She sets him back in the crib. “There you go. No blankets. Just please, get some sleep. Grammie’s tired.” The old woman takes the blanket out of the
crib and leaves the room. She closes the door most of the way and, incredibly,
this time the child remains silent. The old woman resumes her place on the couch
and starts to yawn. Just as she does, the wind outside picks up
and howls loudly. The old woman shivers. She looks next to her and spots the baby blanket. She picks it up and examines the cute animal
print, remembering when her own son was a baby wrapped in it. She smiles at the happy thought and throws
the blanket around her shoulders. She leans back on the couch and finds that
her eyes are growing very heavy. She’ll rest them for just a moment. She won’t fall asleep. She’ll just… rest. “Mom? It’s us, we’re back. Thanks again for - “ The couple both scream
when they enter the house to find that the old woman is lying facedown on the floor in
a pool of blood. The source of the blood is obvious, chunks
of flesh from her shoulders and upper back have been torn out, leaving jagged holes,
as if she were mauled by an animal. As the man runs to the old woman, trying to
do anything he can to help her, the woman runs to the nursery to find… That the baby is sleeping peacefully in his
crib. The woman picks up the child, tears streaming
down her cheeks, and returns to the living room to see her husband kneeling beside his
dead mother. Both the husband and wife are so shocked by
what they have found that neither notices the baby blanket lying on the couch, or that
the cruel, blood covered mouth on it is slowly fading from view until it disappears completely. There is little in life that is more comforting
than a favorite blanket. Perhaps you’ve had the same one since you
were a child, or you have a heavy one that you like to wrap yourself in when you’re
feeling down, or maybe it’s just one that’s especially fluffy and warm that you’d do
anything to keep. Today’s anomaly plays on those very feelings,
using them against its victims to become one of the more insidious predatory anomalies
in the SCP Foundation archives. This is SCP-799, also known as… the Carnivorous
Blanket. SCP-799 is a type of creature that can vary
in shape, size, and appearance, but, as the name implies, always takes the form of a blanket
of some kind. The exact material the anomaly is made out
of is unknown, but it is a very soft fiber that in many ways resembles a high-quality
merino wool blend, though one that retains heat even more effectively than its natural
counterpart. SCP-799’s weight can vary from between half
a kilogram all the way to six kilograms, and while examples have been found in nearly every
color imaginable, it seems predisposed towards pastels, and will frequently have patterns
featuring stylized, friendly depictions of various animals. Both the pastel colors and the childish patterns
are especially common in instances of SCP-799 that weigh less than two kilograms and would
colloquially be known as “baby blankets.” While SCP-799 is undoubtedly a living organism,
there is some debate as to whether it is itself an animal, or perhaps a type of fungal colony. Instances of 799 are incapable of locomotion,
lying motionless for long periods of time, and require little in the way of nutrition. What small amount they do need, they appear
to be able to gain almost entirely from the organic particles present in normal household
dust, such as animal dander and dead human skin cells. The blanket feeds via a series of minute,
filter feeding mouth-like structures that are spread across the surface of the creature,
which wait for nutrients to fall into them, not unlike a sponge on the ocean floor. Instances of SCP-799 can survive for quite
a while in this state, and one specimen was noted as having lived for multiple years in
a damp attic, subsisting entirely on the small organic particles that would drift down from
the rafters above. Should an instance of SCP-799 be forced to
go for long periods of time without a source of nutrition though, like when, for example,
it is placed inside of a sealed closet or drawer, it will begin to undergo certain physical
changes, which result in it metamorphosing into its predatory form. These changes aren’t noticeable from only
casual observation, and consist of the blanket converting its many filter feeding mouths
into a single, large one, that is lined with multiple rows of extremely sharp teeth. The blanket creature also develops a new form
of tissue inside its cloth-like structure, one that is similar to muscle and capable
of contracting and squeezing. Once its metamorphosis is complete, the instance
of SCP-799 will lie in wait for an unsuspecting creature to cover themselves with it or wrap
it around their body. Once they do, the blanket will bide its time
until they enter a state of rest, usually waiting for them to fall asleep entirely,
at which point, it’s feeding phase will begin. Once the creature has detected that its victim
is dormant, it will use its newly formed muscle to latch onto them, holding them in place
as it opens its tooth-lined maw. It will begin to bite at its confined prey,
tearing off several kilograms of flesh, bone, and any other organic material it can, swallowing
it, and converting it into a thin slurry that it spreads through its body almost immediately. This traumatic, violent process nearly always
leads to the victim dying of blood loss. Within ten minutes of the attack, the mouth
on SCP-799 will have been completely reabsorbed, leaving no signs that it is anything other
than a normal, everyday blanket, though one which now mysteriously weighs several kilograms
more than it did before. By forty minutes after the attack, the entire
digestive system within SCP-799 will have de-metamorphosed back into its original form,
with the single digestive tract being changed once again to the many dispersed filter feeding
mouths. While SCP-799 is more than happy to feed on
any warm blooded animal, including humans, it shows no interest in coldblooded ones or
inanimate objects. It appears then that its senses may be limited
to only touch and heat, using those as signs that it is now wrapped around a potential
meal. Adding to the strangeness of SCP-799 is that
it reproduces through “budding,” like flatworms and corals. When it has absorbed enough nutrients and
sufficiently increased its mass, either very slowly through filter feeding or rapidly via
its carnivorous phase, it will begin to take on a quilt-like appearance. Over several weeks, one of the quilt squares
will puff up and slide off the blanket. This new, smaller instance will resemble a
doily or throw pillow, until it too begins to feed and grow. The new instance is a perfect clone of its
parent, identical in every way, and it will eventually grow to a similar size and begin
its own reproductive cycle. It is unknown exactly how long it takes SCP-799
to reach full maturity, but the current best guess is that when kept in its filter feeding
phase, an instance will reproduce every fifty to sixty years. Instances of SCP-799 are quite prevalent across
the planet, and the SCP Foundation currently has hundreds of examples in containment. Unfortunately, it is unknown just how many
still exist in the wild, as it is very difficult to identify instances with one of the only
reliable means being through genetic testing. Should any instances be located though, they
are to be destroyed immediately, as the Foundation already has a large enough population in containment
for research purposes, and they pose too much of a risk both in terms of harm and exposure
to the general public. SCP-799 has been classified as Euclid, and
each instance is kept in its own, separate, bio-containment cell at Bio-Site-66. Dust is regularly collected from the on site,
D-Class personnel dorms and is sprinkled over the blankets regularly to keep them in their
filter feeding state, though only just enough to hopefully maintain their size and not allow
them to reproduce. Should any small, cloth objects appear in
their containment lockers, it is to be removed immediately and contained separately. SCP-799 isn’t the only predatory creature
that resembles a cloth good in Foundation containment, and research into possible connections
to SCP-1626, the oversized gray hooded sweatshirt that sends penetrating fibers into anyone
unlucky enough to put it on, is ongoing. A gigantic monster stomps across the land,
with nothing able to stop its rampage except for - “Come and eat!” cries out a voice
and the monster suddenly stops and falls to the side. The child picks up his toy and runs back to
where his mother and father have spread out a picnic lunch. As they eat, the boy asks his father about
the nearby buildings, a series of six identical structures, each of which is a small, rectangular
building with a satellite dish on top of it. The weathered buildings look like they have
been out here for some time, and the father tells the boy that he isn’t sure exactly
what they are or what their purpose is, but that they were probably built during the war. “What war?” the young boy asks. “The Pacific war,” his father answers. “What was that?” “It was a war fought by many countries of
the world.” “Why did they fight?” the boy asks. “Well, there were a lot of reasons.” “What were some of the reasons?” The father has played this game many times
before and he knows if he doesn’t end this line of questioning now, that he’ll never
be able to eat his lunch. The mother, sensing the same, tells the boy
that if he wants to he can go and play with his toy some more. The boy doesn’t need to be given the option
again, He quickly gets up and grabs his toy monster before running off to play. “Don’t go too far!” his mother calls
out as she watches her son head in the direction of one of the buildings. The boy stops in the shadow of one of the
large satellite dishes and sits down in the grass to resume his monster’s path of destruction
across the countryside. As the monster moves through the tall grass
though, the shadow he is sitting in suddenly starts to shift. The boy looks up to see that the satellite
dish on top of the building is moving. With a groan, it begins to turn and change
its angle. And it isn’t just the one on the building
closest to him that’s moving, he can see that each of six satellite dishes are doing
the same thing. They’re all turning to point towards the
same spot on the horizon. The boy squints in the sunlight and sees what
they’re all now directed towards. Off far in the distance… is a real monster. It’s a massive looking creature, a huge,
half fish, half lizard covered in scales and spiky fins. It must be at least 50 meters tall or more,
and it’s coming straight towards him. The boy can already hear the sounds of its
giant webbed feet stomping and shaking the ground, and as it gets closer its high pitched
shrieks and cries become audible too. Adding to the cacophony, an air raid siren
begins to wail, followed by the sounds of gunfire, the marching of hundreds of boots,
and the roar of engines. The boy looks around but he doesn’t see
any of it. It’s just him, the buildings, and the monster. The boy can’t run though, he’s frozen
in fear. All he can do is watch as it swipes at trees
and power lines, knocking them down with ease, all while getting closer and closer. The satellite dishes finally finish their
slow alignment and there’s a loud humming noise, followed by a loud, cracking sound
as each one emits a bright beam of electricity at the monster. The creature stops its assault and howls in
pain as the six satellites focus their beams on it. The beams disappear and the monster appears
stunned, but then it looks up and continues to come forward, this time even faster than
before. The monster is only hundreds of feet away
now and the boy doesn’t know what to do, he’s too scared to even scream for help. He closes his eyes and starts to cry when
he’s abruptly lifted into the air. The boy opens his eyes to see that… It’s his father! He picks up the boy and starts to run as fast
as he can. The boy can see over his father’s shoulder
that the monster has not changed its course to follow them, it seems to still be focused
on the building he was playing next to. The monster finally reaches the building and
begins swiping at it, tearing it apart as the other satellites slowly realign, all pointing
at the creature once again. The sound of the invisible army increases
and the monster reels as if it is struck by unseen weapons. It suddenly rears back in pain as an artillery
shell appears just feet away from it before exploding in the creature’s face, but nothing
seems able to deter it and it keeps clawing at the building with the satellite dish. The father finally reaches the mother who
grabs the boy and embraces him tightly. There is a loud noise and the family turns
to watch as the monster finishes destroying the building and turns its attention to one
of the others. But then the dishes unleash another blast
of electricity at it with a thunderous crack. The creature howls in pain as it stumbles
and falls to its knees. It is struggling to get back up when yet another
blast hits it and it falls to the ground. It breathes a couple of final, labored breaths
before it closes its eyes, its enormous tongue lolling out of its mouth. The creature is finally dead. A loud, celebratory cheer goes up in the empty
field from what sounds like hundreds of people as the creature begins to slowly fade from
view before eventually disappearing completely. Meanwhile, all the family can do is stare
in amazement at the bizarre scene they have just witnessed. The extremely strange events that just befell
this average family may sound like the plot of a movie, and in some ways, it was, because
this is SCP-2954, also known as… Looping Kaiju Killing. SCP-2954 is an anomaly that consists of several
distinct components. The first, SCP-2954-1A, are the six large
structures that resemble buildings with satellite dishes which are located near a now deserted
rural town in Japan. The word “resemble” is very important,
because these are not actual satellite dishes, but instead appear to be nothing more than
facsimiles of real ones. The interior of the SCP-2954-1A buildings
lack all of the mechanical components one would expect to find inside, and instead contain
only a crude rope and pulley system, which control the satellite dishes on the building’s
roof. Despite their lack of internal machinery,
the satellite dishes are nonetheless somehow capable of discharging powerful electric arcs
of energy, which they only do when confronted by an SCP-2954-2 instance. SCP-2954-2 refers to creatures which have
a mix of reptilian, amphibious, and fish-like traits. They are always fifty to sixty meters in height,
and most of their body is smooth and blue-gray in color, except for their scaled underbellies,
which are red. Both their back and forearms have large spiny
fins and SCP-2954-2 instances walk upright on two legs, though they are always hunchbacked. Their mouths are also always agape, and are
capable of spitting a highly corrosive liquid. These creatures appear during a period of
time that have been designated as Tsuburaya Events. These events, which start every seven days,
consist of a single instance of SCP-2954-2 manifesting near the SCP-2954-1A buildings
before it begins destroying its surroundings. The buildings will then activate, turning
their attention on the creature and firing their electric arcs at it in an attempt to
stop its rampage. This will cause SCP-2954-2 to focus its attention
on one of the buildings, which it will then try to destroy. As it does so, the sounds of weapons being
fired, vehicles moving, and orders being shouted in Japanese can be heard. This phantom army, which has been designated
as SCP-2954-1B, is only heard not seen, and there are never any physical signs of their
fight, save for the creature’s own reactions to the weapons, and the occasional artillery
shell that will materialize in midair before striking it. During these Tsuburaya Events, the SCP-2954-2
instance will always destroy at least one of the satellite dish buildings, and various
other explosions roughly equivalent to what would be expected from small vehicles being
destroyed will also be seen as it fights back against the 2954-1B army. Eventually, the combined assault of the 1A
and 1B forces will be enough to overwhelm the creature, and it will collapse, grow transparent,
and eventually disappear completely. A disembodied cheer will be heard, presumably
from the 1B army, and any damage to the environment including the 1A buildings will be reversed. But what is the cause of this endless cycle
of destruction and restoration? Where do the creatures come from and what
do they want? And who is the invisible army that always
stands ready to fight back against the rampaging monsters? The answers to those questions may have been
discovered while exploring the area where the Tsuburaya Events take place. There, in another small abandoned building,
SCP Foundation agents discovered a trove of objects that may shed some light on just what
these creatures are. The objects located included various movie
posters, film reels, and documents that appear to be related to the production and distribution
of motion pictures. The posters seem to depict creatures quite
similar to the SCP-2954-2 instances, and the title of the poster when translated from Japanese
reads: Fukaeru's Assault! When agents viewed the footage on the film
reels, they found that it depicted a scenario quite similar to the Tsuburaya Events. Also of interest are a series of notes found
within a filing cabinet inside of the building, with several being of particular note. The first, when translated from Japanese,
reads: Our sponsor gave twenty monsters to shoot. We'll pick the best footage. The second which is dated to 1974 says: Filming completed. Don't forget: call our sponsor to say further
shipments are unneeded. The third and fourth are both addressed to
what may be the film’s producers, and they read: Do you need more Fukaeru? We can resupply until you're satisfied! And: You have not replied for a while! Regardless, we will send another shipment. Happy filming! But perhaps strangest of all, is that there
are multiple similar versions of the last note, and while the oldest is dated to 1972,
additional instances continue to appear to this day, with new letters sporadically manifesting
inside of the filing cabinet. The obvious danger that is caused by a rampaging,
50 meter tall monster is clear, and this anomaly has been classified Euclid as a result. Though since the creature is inevitably always
killed by the SCP-2954-1 forces, containment is instead focused on keeping the public away
from the area. Guards have been stationed around the area
to prevent civilians from entering during Tsuburaya Events, and any members of the public
who do manage to witness an event are to be administered Class A amnestics. What is the origin of these Looping Kaiju? Did someone attempt to harness an anomalous
source in order to produce special effects for their film? If so, were they killed by their own creation
before being able to turn it off? Leading to a never ending cycle of attacks? While we may never know the answer for sure,
at least the result is entertaining, provided you keep your distance that is. The early morning sun rises, casting its radiance
over the field. The shepherd stands guard, watching his sheep
graze. It’s a beautiful morning, the sheep are
quiet, and his loyal dog is at his side, but the shepherd is perturbed. He is certain that there are sheep missing. He wanders through the field, counting the
sheep off one by one, but no matter how many times he counts he simply cannot make the
numbers gel. There are definitely five sheep missing. How is this even possible? His family has been in the sheep herding business
for generations. They survive on the money that they make from
shearing, selling, and spinning the wool from these sheep. They can’t afford to simply lose sheep – that’s
money directly from the family wallet, food directly off the family table! But even worse, it’s a matter of pride. He likes to think of himself as a good shepherd
who cares about his flock. Losing a single sheep is a failure of his
responsibility to his charges and he can’t stand it. He knows that if he returns to the farm without
those five missing sheep, he’s going to be in big trouble. He’s already thinking about the lecture
he’s going to get from his father. And that’s if he’s lucky! One missing sheep might be forgiven. But five? He’ll be lucky if his family doesn’t throw
him out of the house for his failure. It’s imperative that he find them and bring
them back. He pats the head of his trusty sheep dog. Every shepherd, of course, has a sheep dog
to help them keep their flock safe. His dog has been with him for many years and
she has never failed in the past. She keeps watch over the flock as if they
were her own puppies, so the shepherd thinks it very strange that his dog didn’t bark
to sound the alarm when the missing sheep started to wander off. Could something more sinister be at play here? Maybe someone stole his sheep? If a thief came during the night to sneak
away with the lost sheep, that might explain why they were able to get away without his
dog knowing. They might have been clever enough to cause
some kind of distraction to keep her busy? The shepherd notices that the fence at the
edge of the field is broken. This must be how the missing sheep got away. He examines the splintered wood. It’s not a natural break, because the wood
is sturdy and far from rotten. Someone… or something... must have broken
the fence sometime last night. He clutches at his shepherd’s crook, his
brow set in determination. This isn’t good. It’s looking more and more likely that thieves
are behind this disappearance. He needs to track them down, but he will have
to be careful. Sheep thieves are usually desperate men and
they might resort to violence to protect their ill-gotten gains. A glint of sunlight flashes against something
shiny caught on the fence, catching the shepherd’s eye. He scoops it up and examines it closely. It looks like a scrap of fabric. Could it be that the thief snagged his clothes
against the fence as he made his escape? The fabric is thin and brittle and doesn’t
look like any sort of material that the shepherd has ever seen before. It more resembles a scrap of snakeskin than
a scrap of shirt. But it’s his only lead, so it will have
to do. He holds the scrap to his dog’s nose and
allows her to sniff it. She snuffles at it and then immediately raises
her ears, alert. He commands her to follow the scent and she
obeys. She puts her nose to the ground and starts
to track. He follows her. The dog leads him out of the field and across
the way. He is surprised to see that she is leading
him toward a nearby forest. He gulps in sudden fear. He’s never been into these woods and, in
fact, his family has often warned him to stay away. Everyone in his village loves to repeat rumors
that this forest is haunted, filled with all sorts of scary monsters and demons. Why would the sheep thief brave these cursed
woods? On the other hand, that would make sense,
though, wouldn’t it? A thief would need a lair that was hidden
and difficult to approach, so that they wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught. These woods would be a perfect hiding place. Still, he can’t help but wonder. His dog lifts her head and whines at him,
indicating that he should follow. He steels his resolve and continues on. His fingers clutch tightly to his staff, his
knuckles going white with fear and tension. He’s almost convinced that he might see
a monster here in these woods, and he’s ready to defend himself from the worst. Eventually, his dog leads him into an unexpected
clearing. The shepherd blinks in amazement. Standing at the center of the glen is what
appears to be the remains of an ancient temple! He hasn’t given much thought to the history
of this place, to all the people who lived here in ancient times, and to what monuments
they left behind. The crumbling ruins are overgrown with vines
and the columns look like they might disintegrate at a touch. He wonders what ancient civilization might
have built this lost citadel and what strange rites they might have performed here. But he doesn’t have time to wonder about
that, because his dog is barreling ahead right through the ancient temple archway and into
the interior of the building. He wants to turn and run, everything that
he’s ever heard about these cursed woods makes him think that this is a very bad idea,
but he knows he can’t return home without those sheep. Just as he’s about to enter the temple himself,
he suddenly hears loud barking followed by whining and whimpering. He rushes inside and a terrifying sight meets
his eyes. Indeed, it seems like his family was right
when they said that these woods are full of monsters. Because his dog has cornered one right here! The creature looks like an overgrown lizard
with scaly skin and a long, whip-like tail. Immediately, the shepherd surmises that the
scrap of fabric that he found earlier didn’t come from a person’s clothes after all – it’s
obviously a piece of shed skin, no doubt from this creature. That long tail definitely looks especially
snake-like, so it’s no surprise to think that this thing might also shed skin just
like a snake would. In the gloom of the temple, he can see his
missing sheep standing in the corner, perfectly still and perfectly quiet. He’s surprised to see that they’re still
alive… what kind of predator kidnaps its prey and
then keeps it alive instead of devouring it instantly? It’s also very odd that the sheep are being
so still, but it’s probably just that they’re petrified with fear. The good news, though, is that if his sheep
are alive, that means he can rescue them. The creature spreads a large frill around
its neck as it hisses, apparently hoping to intimidate the shepherd’s dog. The dog is not frightened, though, and only
barks louder. She’s bravely guarded the shepherd’s flock
for years and she’s never been one to back down from a fight even when she’s threatened
by a bear or a wolf… so of course, she’s not going to back down from a lizard. The shepherd feels nervous being so close
to this creature simply because it’s so strange, but the truth is that it doesn’t
look like it could do that much damage. That hissing feels like bluffing, because,
realistically, what’s it going to do? Bite? The shepherd is no expert but he’s never
heard of a poisonous lizard. He steps forward to get a better look and
the creature tenses; it’s obviously nervous. It’s not even that big. His dog is way bigger than this creature and
shouldn’t have any trouble taking it in a fight. He’s seen his dog fight off rats bigger
than this lizard. The creature spreads its frill again and hisses
even more sharply, but that only makes the shepherd even more confident in his assessment. It’s trying to look bigger than it really
is, he realizes. It’s trying to intimidate him. Well, that’s not going to work! But then, to his astonishment, his dog stops. The dog and the creature stare at one another
so intently that the shepherd thinks they are actually gazing into one another’s eyes. After holding its gaze for a beat, the dog
suddenly collapses. The shepherd yelps in fear and confusion. His first instinct is to run to his dog, to
see if she’s hurt, but suddenly the creature turns its gaze on him. He stands, frozen. The creature’s eyes almost seem to cast
a spell on him and he feels mesmerized, unable to move or even to think. All his thoughts drain away and the whole
world starts to fade; nothing is real except those two malevolent red eyes. The shepherd is absolutely paralyzed. It’s not just terror, he finds that he can’t
move a muscle. He can only watch as the strange reptile approaches
his frozen dog and suddenly bites her on her exposed flank. It lashes out like a snake would when it injects
venom into a victim. The shepherd was sure that there weren’t
any poisonous lizards in this area, but now he’s not so sure when he’s watching this
scenario play out. He expects his dog might start to convulse
or spasm if she’s been poisoned, but she remains completely still. Suddenly, he sees something so shocking that
he’s certain he must be losing his mind. Could it be? The area around the bite is starting to change
color, becoming a dull gray. But as he watches, he realizes to his horror
that he’s not just watching a color change. This is something more. His dog is slowly petrifying, hardening, her
fur stiffening into stone. She is literally turning into a statue right
before his eyes. He can’t move, but his eyes flick to the
corner of the room where his sheep are still standing. Now he understands. It was hard to tell before, because of the
darkness and also because the very idea was so preposterous that it didn’t even occur
to him… but the reason that the sheep are so still and quiet is because they aren’t
sheep anymore. They’re mere statues. Somehow this creature is able to turn things
to stone with the force of its venom. He wants to scream, he wants to yell, he wants
to break free and run away… but he’s powerless to move. Fear wells up inside him as he sees the creature
turn its attention from his rapidly petrifying dog and start to move toward him. It hisses again and strikes out, sinking sharp,
needle-like teeth into his leg. The shepherd is so frozen that he can’t
scream, not even at the unbelievable pain as those teeth sink deep into his flesh. But the pain doesn’t stop when the creature
retracts its teeth. He can feel the pain spreading outward from
the site of the bite, spreading down his shins and up his legs, through his whole body. His body is hardening fast, making it hard
to breathe and impossible to move. But even as he turns into a statue, he can
still see everything around him, still sense the presence of the creature, still think. His thoughts aren’t affected at all, other
than being nearly out of his mind with terror. What could be next? The shepherd is frightened, but all he can
do is wait. He’s not sure how long he waits, because
time has no meaning here. In the gloom of this ancient temple, he’s
not sure if it’s day or night. He idly wonders if this temple was built for
this monster, by people who worshipped it for its great and terrible power, or by people
who feared it and hoped that maybe this temple would keep it contained? Or is it mere coincidence that it’s taken
up residence here, just as bats might roost in an abandoned building? He has no way of ever knowing. The only indication of the passage of time
is the coming and going of the creature, which, even if he can’t turn his head to see its
movement, he can hear it shuffling and hissing. Occasionally, he hears a sound that frightens
him even more – a sound that can only be described as statuary shattering – and he
wonders if that will ultimately be his fate. His question is answered one day when it seems
that hunger has driven the creature to dig into its larder of petrified prisoners. The creature approaches him and he can feel
it gnawing at his feet with his big ugly beak. It’s pecking at him, harder and harder,
until suddenly the shell breaks and its chewing on the flesh of his leg. Once again, the pain is unbearable but the
shepherd can do nothing but wait. At least, he thinks, it will all be over soon. Better a quick end at the jaws of a monster
than a slow death trapped frozen in stone, he thinks. It’s the very best that he can hope for. That shepherd had just run afoul of a creature
that appears to come straight out of medieval mythology, matching the description of the
deadly monster known as a cockatrice or basilisk, but the SCP foundation knows it as SCP-1013,
a nasty little piece of work with, quite literally, a paralyzing stare. SCP-1013 is a small reptile resembling a lizard,
but with several key differences that set it apart from any other animal in this order. It was recovered in Egypt, an interesting
coincidence since medieval bestiaries often regard that region as the ancestral home of
the basilisk. However, Foundation agents believe that since
no other specimens were found in the area that SCP-1013 is not a naturally occurring
animal and might have actually been bio-engineered. While SCP-1013 itself is only 60 cm long,
its abnormally long tail measures nearly 121 centimeters long. It can use its tail to distract prey. It has a wide frill around its neck that it
can extend at will, similar to that of the Australian frilled lizard. Its head does not look like any other known
lizard, though, with a serrated beak and a distinctive head wattle that many researchers
feel gives it the appearance of a rooster. Its beak is filled with long, needle-like
teeth. But stranger than its appearance is its hunting
methods. When it spies potential prey, SCP-1013 will
extend its neck frill with a sudden, snapping sound. The frill appears designed to attract attention
and encourage victims to look into the eyes of SCP-1013. Because its eyes are, of course, where it
holds its real power. The mythical cockatrice was said to be able
to turn a person to stone with the power of its gaze, similar to the petrifying powers
attributed to the gorgon Medusa of Greek mythology, and SCP-1013 is very similar to its legendary
namesake in this regard, Anyone or anything making direct eye contact with SCP-1013 will
experience stabbing pain in most major muscle groups, followed by full paralysis setting
in within three seconds and lasting up until eight minutes. It is currently unknown how SCP-1013 achieves
this paralyzing effect. Once its prey is paralyzed, SCP-1013 will
bite its victim with its needle-like teeth, thus initiating a process of calcification. The victim will gradually stiffen and harden,
almost as if they are turning into a statute. The process will begin at the sight of the
bite and gradually work its way through the body so that a full-grown adult will become
completely calcified within 15 minutes. As of yet, there is no known way to stop or
reverse the process. The calcification process only affects the
outer layers of the victim, extending about three centimeters into the body, leaving all
organs and internal tissues intact. It also does not affect the eyes or mucus
membranes. This means that victims of SCP-1013 are still
alive but cannot move or react. Perhaps even more horrifying, SCP-1013 then
eats its victims alive. SCP-1013 feeds by breaking the hardened outer
layer with its beak, much like a young chick would break its way out of an egg, and then
feeding on the soft tissues preserved within. The victim will experience excruciating pain
as the creature eats them alive, but they cannot resist, they cannot even scream to
give voice to their pain. SCP-1013 has a voracious appetite, and will
consume nearly twice its body weight at each feeding. Victims usually die of blood loss before SCP-1013
can complete its meal. SCP-1013 does engage in caching behavior and
has been known to store petrified victims for later consumption. It prefers mammals as prey and will attack
livestock and game just as readily as it will attack humans. In times when mammal food sources are not
available, desperation may drive SCP-1013 to turn its paralyzing powers on fish, birds,
or even insects but it will only do this if it is near to starving. SCP-1013 is hermaphroditic and unlike other
reptiles does not reproduce sexually but instead undergoes a process similar to budding or
basic cellular division. Before reproducing, SCP-1013 will increase
its feeding, gorging on food and growing rapidly in size. Eventually, it will develop cyst-like structures
in its abnormally long tail, each of which contains a juvenile SCP-1013. Juvenile SCP-1013 hatch after only 48 hours. Parent SCP-1013 will typically release hatchlings
within calcified prey, providing a ready food source for the juveniles until they can hunt
on their own. Juvenile SCP-1013 will seek out cool, dark
places, like caves or abandoned buildings, and begin rapid molting, doubling in size
every six hours until reaching full adult size. Once they have reached adulthood, SCP-1013
will set out on their own and quickly establish their own hunting territories. SCP-1013 is extremely aggressive and will
attack and attempt to calcify anyone that enters its enclosure, making it extremely
difficult to contain. For this reason, combined with its deadly
powers of calcification, SCP-1013 has been designated object-level Keter. Any staff entering the containment area are
to wear the AR-68 Armored Variant haz-mat suit. Staff exiting the area with damaged suits
are to be remanded to quarantine for one hour. Staff becoming paralyzed during cleaning/feeding/testing
cycles are to be immediately removed and remanded to medical custody until five hours after
recovery. 1013 is to be fed daily with one small mammal,
however, any calcified animal remains are to be removed from the 1013 containment chamber
and incinerated for safety reasons. 1013 is a frightening reminder that, while
many entities have piercing gazes, comparatively few can end your life - Few, however, does
not mean zero. You can never win a fight in Minnie Mouse
ears. The Girlfriend learns that lesson the hard
way in the car driving through Florida. No matter how articulate you are, how many
one-liners your brain throws together on the spot, or even how right you are, if you are
wearing Minnie Mouse ears, you just won’t win the argument. ‘You said it was all booked!’ she yells, throwing her arms in the air and
sending drops of iced caramel latte all over the inside of the rental car. He snatches the drink out of her hand and
plants it firmly in the cupholder. He yells back at her that it wasn’t his
fault, how was he supposed to know the payment was declined? ‘You didn’t even check for a confirmation
email?!’ she scowls and crosses her arms. Her boyfriend glances across at her and laughs. ‘I just can’t take you seriously in those,’
her Boyfriend says, pointing at the Minnie Mouse ears. She punches the button to wind the window
down, rips the ears off her head, and is about to throw the big black ears out the window… only she can’t do it. Looking at the little bow, she feels her bottom
lip start to tremble. She deflates, feeling the fight go out of
her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I just really wanted to go to Disney World.’ ‘I know.’ The pair of them drive in silence for a moment. The fight wasn’t really about Disney. None of their fights were ever about what
was really wrong. They’d always pick stupid, superficial things
and shout about those, but not say what was really going wrong deeper down. That said, not getting to go to Disney World
isn’t just a superficial thing to her. Growing up in Sleepy Eye, Minnesota, she was
very much used to having to explain to people where she was from. Sleepy Eye, yes, that’s its real name. It’s near New Ulm. Near Mankato? About 2 hours from Minneapolis. If you don’t know where Minneapolis is,
she can’t help you. Anyway, this trip was her first real adventure. She’d never left Minnesota much before. The flight down to Florida had been her first
time on an airplane. All to come to the Happiest Place on Earth. Only, they got to the front gates, and her
boyfriend realized his payment had been declined. Do they have the money to buy two new tickets
on the door? Of course not. They’ve blown it all on airfares, car rental,
airport food, and a pair of Minnie Mouse ears. ‘I’m sure there are plenty of great things
to do in Florida,’ her Boyfriend says, trying to sound optimistic. ‘For free?’ He doesn’t reply. They just drive on in silence. Without a ticket to go to Disney World, they
have no choice but to spend what little cash they have left on a motel for the night. It takes them about an hour to get there. The Girlfriend gets straight out of the car
and into their room, slamming the door behind her. Her Boyfriend will just have to take a walk
for a bit. There are cockroaches in the sink and some
questionable stains on the bed, walls, and every flat surface in the room. There is apparently a pool out the back, but
she’s heard the stories of alligators roaming around this state and is in no mood to roll
that dice in a place like this. She opens YouTube on her phone and puts on
a horror video to listen to in the background. That calms her down, she loves that kind of
thing. After 20 minutes, there’s a soft knock at
the door. Looking apologetic as anything, her Boyfriend
nudges his way into the room, holding a brochure in his hand. She snatches it off him without a word and
reads it with as grumpy of an expression as possible. Spooky Self-Guided Tours in Florida! Visit the infamously haunted Pensacola Lighthouse
today to chill your bones in the Florida heat. Explore the scariest spot on the coast for
FREE! With a special Disney twist… Okay fine. Her Boyfriend does know how to cheer her up,
but she can’t let him know that. He’s still supposed to be in trouble. But the following night, as the pair of them
approach the lighthouse in the pitch darkness, she can’t help but crack a smile. With the light at the top turned off and the
railings surrounding the building stabbing sharply into the air, the place certainly
looks pretty haunted. The brochure tells them that the place is
a maritime museum during the day but is currently closed to the public for maintenance. However, there’s a spare key to be found
right under… ‘Got it!’ Her Boyfriend straightens up proudly and turns
to hand her the key that he retrieved from under the flower pot. She scowls at him, to make sure he still knows
he’s in trouble for not getting them into Disney, but she does secretly feel a little
glimmer of affection. He’s always been the first behind the couch
during horror movies, so he’s clearly trying his best to make it up to her. The creaking noise that she was really hoping
for doesn’t come when she opens the door. It opens smoothly. Her Boyfriend flicks the light switch instinctively
and the inside of the museum immediately lights up, showing glass cabinets, old nautical equipment,
and a few flags. She groans and switches the lights back off. It’s not exactly a haunted tour if you just
turn all the lights on. But the magic of the room is gone now. They’ve now seen everything, nothing lurking
in the dark. No shadows. Just a boring old museum. They trudge into the next room. There’s so much street light spilling through
the window that they can see practically everything in here as well. It’s a recreation of the old lighthouse
keeper's bedroom. A couple of old-looking beds, antique wardrobes,
and clothes from the olden days. So much for a haunted lighthouse. ‘This is so lame,’ the Girlfriend groans
and switches the light on. Even her Boyfriend isn’t looking scared
by any of this. ‘There’s literally nothing to be scared
of in here. Can we just go home?’ Her Boyfriend looks apologetic again. He’s really tried to salvage this vacation,
but it just hasn’t happened. She can’t be too mad at him. ‘You know what, no,’ she says. ‘Let’s at least finish looking around
this museum, then we can go. We can just switch on the lights, read the
exhibits and see the view from on top of the lighthouse.’ So they do that. The pair of them go back into the first room
and start reading through the signs under each of the displays. There is a diagram explaining all of the different
knots that sailors used to tie. A long paragraph all about how the lighthouse
used to burn oil but now runs on electricity generated by… The Girlfriend yawns. Without the adrenaline of any ghosts, museums
are much harder work in the middle of the night. It isn’t even Disney-themed like the brochure
promised. The only Disney thing in here is that Mickey
Mouse mascot in the corner. It doesn’t even fit with the rest of the
museum, just a random costume on a mannequin. It must be almost 7 feet tall. Her Boyfriend is staring at it real close. He leans in, examining the material up close
under the bright museum lights. ‘This thing’s weird,’ he says. ‘I wonder how old it is. Look, the white’s all faded, and it’s
got this fur effect…’ CRUNCH! Mickey Mouse chomps onto her Boyfriend’s
arm with a ferocious set of teeth. Neither of them reacts at all, frozen by total
disbelief as Mickey stands there, his huge, rat-like fangs embedded in the Boyfriend’s
arm. He yanks it from the cartoon character’s
jaws, blood leaking from the wounds. How can this be happening!? Mickey’s eyes flick between the two of them. He raises a gloved hand and waves. The Boyfriend shrieks, turns on his heels
and runs, clattering into one of the exhibits as he goes. He crashes into her and the wound on his arm
hits her in the chest. She looks down, confused at the bloodstain
on her shirt, then back at Mickey Mouse. He gives a little shooing motion with his
hands. Run. Now it’s her turn to scream. She grabs her Boyfriend and bundles him out
of the room. Mickey was standing right by the entrance. They’re gonna have to hope there’s another
way out somewhere deeper in the museum. They run through room after room, every few
steps turning to see Mickey following them. He isn’t running at all, he’s sauntering
along, arms swinging cartoonishly around. Just like in Steamboat Willie, he’s whistling
a tune to himself as he goes. That must be the door out of here! The pair of them crash into it and go tumbling
into the next room. There is blood everywhere. Her Boyfriend is looking more and more pale
by the second. They’re not outside though, they’re in
a small circular room with a spiral staircase running up, up, up into darkness. Mickey’s whistling is getting louder. They don’t have a choice here. The Girlfriend jumps up and hauls her tiring
Boyfriend to his feet. Putting his unwounded arm over her shoulder,
she half carries him up the stairs, feeling the metal spiral shudder under them with every
step. Halfway up, she looks back over her shoulder. Mickey is standing in the doorway. He waves enthusiastically. Her legs are burning by the time she reaches
the top of the lighthouse. Barging open the door, she throws her Boyfriend
rather unceremoniously up onto the balcony around the big light. Panting, she turns back around to look back
down into the darkness below them. Mickey is standing by a big switch on the
wall. ‘Huh HUH!’ he laughs and flips the switch. A big clunking sound comes from the light
next to her. Very slowly at first, it starts to spin. The light flickers on dimly, dimly at first,
then gets brighter. Faster and faster it spins, brighter and brighter
the beam until it’s blinding. She raises an arm to shield herself from the
piercing light. Against the dark of the night, her eyes can’t
adjust between light and dark fast enough. She’s going blind up here. From below, she hears a heavy footstep on
metal. Then another. The whistling starts again as Mickey cheerfully
makes his way up to them. She glances down at him. He waves happily up at her again. She almost waves back instinctively. No, now’s not the time. She needs to come up with a plan. But her brain just can’t do it. For all the horror movies she’s watched,
all the times where she’s screaming at the TV telling the protagonist what to do, now
that she’s in one for herself, she’s got nothing. Oh wait, maybe she does have something. A pair of gloved hands appear on the door
frame, gripping the wood tightly. A smiling Mickey Mouse pops his head around
the door, blood all over his chin. He just stays there for a moment, eyes flitting
between her and her Boyfriend, bleeding out on the floor. ‘Huh HUH!’ He sticks a comically large shoe out from
the doorway and steps out onto the gallery to join them. The light swings around and shines in his
face, as soon as it hits him, he bears his teeth, thousands of them jammed, and shrieks
in their faces. That’s it. The Girlfriend runs at him, fast as she can. At the last moment, she jumps, bends her legs,
and, with all the force she can muster, two-foot kicks him in the chest. The giant mascot is really solid, he’s so
heavy that all of her efforts only just about knocks him off balance. But it’s enough. Tripping over his own giant shoes, Mickey
falls backwards. His back hits the railing, and for a second,
it looks like he’s going to be okay, but his momentum is just too much. His feet fly up into the air as he tips back
over it, tumbling down into the darkness and laughing all the way down. CRUNCH! Mickey lands, impaled on the spiked railings
outside the lighthouse. One of the rails stabs straight through his
head. His smile freezes in place. His laughter stops. Her Boyfriend is not looking okay. He’s barely conscious now, lying in a sickeningly
large pool of blood. They need to get him to a hospital fast. Still not recovered from carrying him up the
lighthouse stairs, she now has to haul him back down them. The pair leave a red trail all the way through
the museum, but that’s the last of her concerns at this point. Not looking across at Mickey lying dead on
the railing, the Girlfriend dumps her Boyfriend into the passenger seat of the rental car
and goes round to the driver’s side. She doesn’t have a license but she did a
few lessons this year. Should be fine, the roads will be empty. All she needs to do is get them to a hospital. Her Boyfriend is groaning in the passenger
seat. She starts fishing through his pockets for
the keys. She glances up at the mirror. Mickey is still lying on the fence motionless. The door to the museum is closed, just like
how they’d left it. Or wait, did they leave it open? She tries the other pocket, her Boyfriend
is trying to say something. She shushes him, he can tell her later, but
he keeps trying. Raising his uninjured arm, he points at something
on the dashboard. Her Mouse ears. What’s the big deal? They’ve already dealt with Mickey Mouse. No, wait. Not Mickey. Minnie. BANG! Two large dents appear on the car’s roof
right above their heads. The Girlfriend desperately turns back to her
Boyfriend, searching pocket after pocket for these keys. Why does he have so many damn pockets on these
shorts?! She glances out the window and stops dead
still. Peering through the glass at her, head upside
down as she leans over from the roof, Minnie Mouse waves at her. The gloved hand stops moving and points at
the third pocket down on the left. The Girlfriend reaches into it and finds the
keys. Minnie gives a big double thumbs up, tilts
her head back, and slams it into the glass. BANG! BANG! Again and again, she pounds her forehead on
the windshield. The glass sags and fractures into smaller
and smaller pieces. The Girlfriend doesn’t have time to sit
and wait, though, she stabs the keys into the car and starts the engine. Slamming the accelerator to the floor, the
car shoots off into the night. Minnie gives her another double thumbs up,
winds a hand back, and punches it through the window. The Girlfriend screams. The hand grabs the top of her Boyfriend’s
head and starts to slowly twist it around. No matter how much she swerves the car, the
Girlfriend can’t knock the mouse off the roof. Round and round her Boyfriend’s head goes. Crunch! His vertebrae detached and grate against each
other. His head is looking all the way backwards
at his seat, but Minnie keeps turning it. Round and round until he’s looking straight
forwards again, neck crumpled and splitting, eyes lifeless. Minnie puts a hand to her mouth and giggles. Oops! The road disappears from under the car, and
it freefalls for a second, the nose tipping forward. Crash! The nose lands first, tipping the car forwards
and throwing the Girlfriend through what remains of the windscreen. She tumbles across the sand, feeling her arm
snapping underneath her as she goes. In a blur, she tries to get to her feet but
collapses. Rolling onto her back, she stares up at the
stars as the sea laps against her cheek. A pair of giant round ears with a little pink
bow block her view. Minnie peers down at her, spotting the girl’s
broken arm. With two giant gloved hands, she reaches down
and takes the arm in her grip, breaking it back the other way and shoving it together
until it resembles how it used to look. Minnie gives her the double thumbs up. The Girlfriend doesn’t even try to move. This is it. She’s accepted her fate. But Minnie looks sad. Putting her hands under the Girlfriend’s
armpits, she lifts her up and puts her back on her feet. She makes that same shooing motion Mickey
did before. The Girlfriend stumbles back a couple of paces
but falls over again. Exasperated, Minnie throws her hands in the
air, picks the Girlfriend up again, and puts her back on her feet. Minnie points at her. You. She then makes a little running motion with
her fingers and points off up the beach. You run. ‘Just kill me,’ the Girlfriend says, exhaustion
wracking her every word. Minnie puts her head in her hands, even more
exasperated than before. The Mouse puts her hands together and makes
a begging motion. Please? The Girlfriend just stands there. Minnie throws her arms in the air, looks down
at the girl, and shrieks bearing all her teeth. She stays put. Minnie pushes her over, jumps down into a
straddling position, and punches the Girlfriend in the head with her gloved hand. Pain fills the girl’s head, shooting the
fear back into her. With nothing left, the girl pushes herself
free and stumbles away from Minnie. She hobbles up the beach, blood flowing freely
down either side of her head. She’s going as fast as she can, but it’s
barely faster than a walk. Behind her, Minnie is covering her eyes and
counting on an outstretched hand. Playing hide and seek. There’s nowhere for her to go though, nowhere
to hide. They’re just on an open beach stretching
out in front of her and behind her. Nowhere to go except… She splashes out into the sea, up to her knees,
her waist, her chest, now she’s just fully swimming. Her broken arm screams at her from the motion. She barely has the strength to kick. Salt water splashes up into her ear holes
and feels like it’s washing straight into her brain. The world sounds strange and choked. The girl cranes her neck around to see Minnie
standing on the shore. The Mouse waves at her enthusiastically. The girl waves back. Minnie giggles. The two of them stay like that for almost
an hour: the girl steadily dying in the sea, trying to stay afloat; Minnie waiting enthusiastically
on the shore. With each wave, the girl is slowly brought
closer and closer to the mouse, until she’s lying helplessly at the creature’s giant
feet. The last thing she sees is a pair of giant
round ears. Turns out she had been wrong. You can absolutely win a fight with a pair
of Minnie Mouse ears. Next time you are considering going on vacation
in the state of Florida, it would be wise of you to avoid reading any brochures you
may come across just in case you come across SCP-3640. A seemingly harmless brochure, SCP-3640 can
be found all across the state though it is currently unknown how they come into being. These brochures will promote self-guided tours
within the state, all of areas that have particular ghost stories, folklore, or rumors of hauntings
attached to them. These tours are free and promise tourists
an up close and personal look at the haunted history of Florida. However, most are not prepared for just how
‘up close’ these tours end up being. If you read this brochure and decide to go
along to the location advertised at the time it lists, you will be met with instances of
SCP-3640-Alpha. In this case, these creatures manifested themselves
as Mickey and Minnie Mouse. However, they can take the form of any uniformed
mascots associated with the Walt Disney Media conglomerate. These mascots will hunt you down mercilessly,
but with all the charm and squeaky-clean joy we all know and love. Live ammunition does little to stop these
SCPs when directed at the body, but a clean headshot has been proven to do the trick. It is fortunate then for our tourist couple
that Mickey’s head was impaled on the railing. What is less fortunate, however, is that they
were there together. This is because SCP-3540 has a few interesting
rules for how it operates. In order for SCP-3640-Alpha instances to engage
in the hunt, every member of the party has to have read the brochure. If a group of five go to a haunted house at
the designated time, but only four of them have read the brochure, they will enjoy a
nice spooky but safe evening. If all members of the party have read the
brochure, however, the same number of mascots will manifest and hunt them down. For a group of twenty college students, you
can only imagine the colorful range of Disney characters that come out to play. These SCPs will also only remain within their
state borders. If you find yourself being hunted down, you
can either run for the border or find a good place to hide until the times allotted for
your self-guided tour come to an end. It remains unclear how these SCPs grow, reproduce,
or where they go outside of their hunting times, if they continue to exist at all. Who knows, there are a lot of back rooms in
Disney World with all mascot costumes lying around… The Walt Disney Company is under continuous
surveillance to ascertain any link between SCP-3640 and the brand themselves. To this day, a letter from the Company to
a local governor in 1979 is the only tie to have been found between them and the creatures. It reads… Dear Governor Askew, The Walt Disney Company thanks you for your
cooperation in this matter regarding the unlicensed Walt Disney character operators. Please pass along the following information,
collected by the outstanding men and women of the City of Orlando's Police Department,
to the Florida National Guard: If a character is spotted, call to get its
attention and then rapidly flash your flashlights at the costume. If it does not flinch, fire on sight. Aim at the head if possible; else, aim at
the knees to disable them and then finish them off with head shots. Body shots have been shown to lack effectiveness. Deceased characters are to be incinerated. No other means of disposal are advised. We are currently pursuing alternative legal
means of shutting down these unlicensed operators and hope to achieve a settlement within the
end of the year. Cordially yours,
The Walt Disney Company The house is small but cozy. When the realtor showed it to her, she couldn’t
help but notice all the flaws – the chipped paint on the doorframe, the missing shingles
on the roof, the cracks along the kitchen walls, even the dented old mailbox out front. But even with all those imperfections, she
can’t help but feel this little house is calling to her. It’s where she’s meant to be. This will be a home for her. The woman knows, deep in her heart, that this
is what she needs to start over. It's not easy. As she moves her things into the new house,
she can’t help but think about her failed relationship. Every piece of furniture, every knick-knack,
reminds her of her old girlfriend. She unloads a heavy box from the back of her
car, but she trips over the curb as she turns toward the house. She falls, and the contents of the box spill
all over the sidewalk. They’re old photo albums. She quickly shoves them back into the box,
doing her best to avoid looking at them. But one photo, an old vacation snapshot of
her and her girlfriend visiting Niagara Falls, catches her eye as it falls out of an album. She bites her lips and wills herself not to
tear up as she pushes it back into the box. How can two people who were once so close
grow so far apart? The rest of the day passes in a haze. There’s lots to do, what with arranging
the furniture and calling up all the utilities. By the end of the day, she’s exhausted and
thankful to fall into bed. As she gradually drifts off to sleep, she
muses on her situation. Today was the hardest day, she tells herself. Every day is only going to get easier from
here on out. Time heals all wounds. The next day, she rises early. The sun is shining, birds are chirping. As she walks into her new kitchen to brew
a pot of coffee, she’s overcome with a sudden surge of good feelings. This house has so much potential. She could learn to live here. She could find a new love here. The world is her oyster, and she’s ready
for anything. Yes, she tells herself, all I needed was a
good night’s sleep. Now she feels totally revitalized! A little while later, she hears the mail truck
arrive and depart. Looking out the window, she sees that the
delivery person has shoved the little aluminum flag into the upright position, indicating
that she has mail. She ties her bathrobe around her waist and,
still cradling a mug of steaming coffee in her hands, walks to that battered black mailbox
at the end of the walkway. “That’s the first thing that ought to
go,” she mumbles to herself as she imagines all her plans to redecorate the house. Maybe she’ll get one of those fun mailboxes
that come in the shape of a wacky animal or a birdhouse… something different, something
eye-catching. Her old girlfriend never let her do anything
fun! She pulls open the mailbox and pulls out a
stack of envelopes. Still thinking about the possibilities for
a new mailbox, she quickly shuffles through the letters, scanning the return addresses
with little interest. It’s mostly junk mail. That’s no surprise; she just moved in, so
most of her friends don’t know her new address yet. But there’s one letter at the bottom of
the pile that has no return address. “Huh, that’s weird,” she says. It’s probably just more junk mail. She knows that some advertisers don’t leave
return addresses as a way to pique a recipient’s interest and trick them into reading their
sales pitches. Nevertheless, she’s intrigued enough to
tear it open. To her surprise, inside is a handwritten letter. “Hello,” says the letter. “I couldn’t help notice you today. I’m really excited to see a new face in
the neighborhood. I hope you enjoy your stay here. Maybe we could meet later? See ya!” The woman blinks in confusion. This must be a welcome letter from one of
her new neighbors… but since it’s not signed, she really has no way of knowing which
one. It’s a little odd, but, well, she’s sure
that the letter writer must have had good intentions. She pushes the red aluminum flag back into
its reclining position, folds the mysterious letter under her arm with her other mail,
and retreats back into her new house. Imagine her surprise when, the next day, she
finds another letter in her mailbox. “Hi again!” it says. “I saw that you read my letter yesterday. I’m so glad!! I was afraid that you wouldn’t like me,
but now I see that we’re going to be great friends? Maybe you’d like to get coffee together
sometime? XOXO PS. I really like you!!!” Okay. Now, THIS is getting a little pushy! That first letter was friendly if a little
awkward, but this one almost sounds like someone is trying to solicit her for a date! She’s in no mood for that! Even if she wasn’t still hurting from her
breakup, she didn’t know this mysterious letter writer! Where do they get the nerve to ask her out? Angrily, she crumples up the new letter and
throws it directly into the trash. She looks across the hedge, peering into the
neighbor’s yards. In the yard to her left, a middle-aged man
pushes a lawnmower across the grass. In the yard to her right, two old women are
gossiping at the fence. She feels suddenly exposed as she realizes
that the letters could be coming from anyone in the neighborhood. She hopes that maybe if she ignores it, the
message will be clear. She quickly scurries back into her house and
slams the door shut. The next morning, she finds another message
from her secret admirer together with her other mail. The tone of the letter is more desperate,
more wheedling. “I saw you throw away my letter yesterday!” it says, “Why did you do that???? Don’t you like me? I really thought that we would make a great
couple… Maybe if you gave me a chance, I could make
you so much happier than your ex!” The woman doesn’t read any farther. She throws the letter to the ground. This is going too far! It was bad enough that a stranger was hitting
on her, but now she knows that her secret admirer is a stalker too! How else would they know that she threw away
their previous letter unless they were watching her as she picked up her mail? And even more disturbing, how could they possibly
know that she had troubles with her ex? She stalks over to the house next door and
pounds on the door. When the middle-aged man answers, she confronts
him with the letter. “Did you write this? What’s your problem?” she demands as she shoves the paper in his
face. “I don’t know what you’re trying to
do, but I’m not interested! I want you to keep away from me!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
protests the man, holding up his hands as if you indicate surrender. “I didn’t write anything!” The woman doesn’t know if she believes him,
but she has to admit that the middle-aged man sounds genuinely confused by her accusations. Maybe he’s not the culprit. But when she confronts the neighbor living
to the other side, she hears a similar story. “Are you sending me these letters? Because they’re actually really creepy! I don’t like people watching me!” says
the woman as she confronts her other neighbor. The old woman just shakes her head. “Mercy me, I didn’t send you a letter. Why would I do that? I could just come over and talk to you! I don’t know why you youngsters are always
making up stories about weird letters!” The young woman wonders about the old woman’s
final words when she’s eating dinner alone in her kitchen later that night. The way that she complained about young people
always “making up” stories about weird letters makes her wonder if this has happened
before. Could it be that other young women have lived
in this house before her? And were they victims of the same stalker? But who could this stalker be? It’s got to be someone close, she can just
feel it. At that moment, she looks up from her meal
and gasps in surprise. There, right outside her window, is the black
mailbox. It’s hovering right at the edge of the window,
as if it’s shyly peeking in, like a bashful caller afraid of being seen. The young woman blinks and rubs her eyes. When she looks again, the mailbox is gone. She rushes to the door and throws it open. The mailbox is right there, standing at the
curb at the end of the footpath, just as it’s always been. Are her eyes playing tricks on her? Is the stress of her break-up and the mysterious
stalker finally getting to her? The next day, she finds another letter. Her stalker is getting even more unhinged,
and the messages are becoming downright scary. The next day, she finds not just one letter
in her mailbox, but two! Both messages sound absolutely deranged; her
stalker, and at this point, there’s no doubt in her mind that a stalker is responsible
for these letters, has resorted to threats. “Why don’t you like me?!? You’d better change your attitude if you
know what’s good for you! You think you’re too good for me? What does your ex have that I don’t? Maybe you need a real man to really show you
the ropes!” She crushes the letters in her hands, her
face flushing with a combination of fear and rage. Who does this person think that they are? She can’t take this pressure much longer! She’s ready to report these letters to the
police, but she still has no idea who’s stalking her. Or does she? She can’t help but think about that strange
incident the previous night, when she thought that she saw the mailbox standing right outside
the window. But that’s crazy, isn’t it? Her mailbox can’t be stalking her, can it? If she tries to tell anyone that her mailbox
is sending her threatening messages, everyone is just going to think that she’s crazy! But soon, things start to get worse, escalating
in ways that force the woman to confront that possibility. That night, she’s in her kitchen fixing
dinner. She turns from the stove to grab some condiments
from the pantry. That’s when she sees it. The mailbox! It’s not outside this time, it’s in the
next room. It’s standing partially hidden behind the
door, again as if it’s trying not to be seen. She drops her work and rushes out into the
living room, hoping to catch the mailbox in the act. But it’s gone! She runs to the window and, once again, sees
the mailbox standing at the end of the walkway in the exact same spot that it should be. She’s certain that she can’t be imagining
these things, but, at the same time, what other explanation could there be? She barely gets any sleep that night, tossing
and turning with unpleasant dreams – several times, she startles awake, sitting bolt upright
in bed, half convinced that the sinister mailbox might even be in the same room with her, watching
her as she sleeps. The next day, the exhausted woman rises early
from restless dreams and sits on the front porch, waiting for the mail truck to arrive. When the familiar US postal service vehicle
pulls up to the curb, she stalks over and confronts the mailman. “Come on, hand it over!” she demands. “It’s my mail, give it to me!” She’s too flustered by this whole absurd
scenario to bother being polite, and the mailman is in no mood to argue. This woman looks positively insane, he thinks. Her hair is disheveled, her eyes are ringed
with heavy black circles, and she looks like she hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep
in weeks. He has to deal with all kinds of crazy customers
every day and he knows better than to push his luck! He shoves the bundle of letters into her arms
and jumps back into his truck. The woman quickly shuffles through the stack
of letters, scanning the return addresses and throwing each envelope to the ground behind
her when she’s satisfied that it’s not from her stalker. Just as she thought! None of these letters match the description
of the blank envelopes that her stalker uses for his messages. She pulls open the mailbox and looks inside. To her horror, there’s already a letter
inside. She grabs it and feels the blood drain from
her face as she looks at the blank envelope. It’s another message from her stalker. Now she knows that he’s sending the letters
through the mail, but… how did he get this letter into the mailbox without her seeing
him? She woke up so early this morning, even before
the sun was up, and she’s been watching the mailbox for hours. It doesn’t make sense that any of her neighbors
could have planted this message without her knowing! But the only other possible explanation…
is that the mailbox itself is somehow writing these letters! She stares at the black aluminum box, the
dark dented metal suddenly taking on a sinister aspect in the early morning sunlight. Maybe she really is going insane. Maybe she just misses her ex-girlfriend so
much that she’s imagining all this madness and just projecting her fear of being alone
onto this mailbox? No, no, she doesn’t believe that at all! She’s going to put a stop to this, once
and for all. The woman jogs into her garage and returns
several moments later with a shovel. She doesn’t know whether she’s hallucinating
or not, but she’s had just about enough of this stupid mailbox. She wants it out of her life. Even if it’s not stalking her, even if this
is all in her mind, it’s clear that there’s something off about this mailbox, something
that’s putting her ill at ease. She starts to shovel dirt away from the base
of the mailbox post, grunting and sweating with the exertion of her work but not stopping
until the post is loose. She grabs at the thick wooden post and hoists
the mailbox, post and all, out of its pits. She drags it across the lawn to her driveway,
where, with considerable effort, she manages to shove it into the back seat of her car,
ripping the upholstery of the seats and spilling wet dirt all over the floor. She doesn’t care about the damage to her
car. She just needs to get rid of this mailbox! A chill runs down her spine at the thought
of taking a long car ride with that thing behind her. She doesn’t trust it at all, and the idea
of turning her back on it… well, she doesn’t know what kind of danger she’ll be in! As she climbs into the driver’s seat, she
adjusts the rearview mirror so that she can keep an eye on the mailbox for the whole drive. To her immense relief, it doesn’t move once
on the whole car ride, even though her nervous eyes keep flicking to the rearview mirror
to assuage her fears. She finally arrives at her destination: The
city dump. She pulls up to the front gate and honks her
horn until the custodian comes out of the guard house. She motions for him to remove the mailbox
from her back seat and the panicked expression on her face tells him that he should be quick
about it. He’s barely pulled the mailbox clear of
the door when the woman peels away, skidding along the curb and gunning the engine to drive
away from the dump and the abandoned mailbox as fast as possible. After a few minutes on the road, she starts
to calm down. She breathes a deep sigh of relief, a new
sense of calm finally settling over her now that she’s removed that awful mailbox from
her life. She adjusts the rearview mirror to look at
her reflection, wincing at the sight of her haggard eyes and blotchy skin. The stress of the last few days must have
been really getting to her, but now she feels like she can finally move on with her life. She manages a tense chuckle at the memory. The whole idea that her mailbox was stalking
her seems increasingly absurd the further she drives from the dump, but she can’t
help but feel much better. But when she turns the corner to arrive at
her home street, she sees something that she cannot believe. Her eyes bulge from her head, and her fingers
tighten around the steering wheel, her knuckles going white. It can’t be! The mailbox is back! The same black aluminum box and wooden post…
of course, after all she’s been through, she would recognize it anywhere! It’s still there, in her front yard, at
the end of the walkway! But she’s certain that she just dropped
it off at the dump, right? There’s no way that she could have imagined
digging up the mailbox and lugging it all the way to the junkyard. Could it be possible that the mailbox somehow
followed her home? Could it be that desperate for her attention
and companionship? The woman doesn’t say a word. She keeps driving, passing her new home without
stopping. She can’t deal with this anymore. She glances at the rearview mirror, one last
look at the cozy little house where she thought that she could start a new life. But she can’t live like this! She keeps driving, and she doesn’t look
back. On the corner, the mailbox stands still and
silent, as if it had never moved and never will. Dealing with a stalker can be a frightening
and dangerous situation, but it can be even worse when your stalker isn’t even human. That woman never had to see the mailbox again
after she left the property, but the SCP foundation is very familiar with this dangerously obsessive
romantic – which it calls SCP-1269. SCP-1269 looks like a perfectly ordinary mailbox
situated in front of a perfectly ordinary house somewhere in Massachusetts. It is made of black aluminum, possessing a
red flag and a white plastic post. It stands at 1/3 meters tall, and the house
number of the corresponding property is printed on its right side. It is unknown how long SCP-1269 has resided
at the property, although dents and bruises on the mailbox chassis indicate that it’s
probably been there for some time. SCP-1269 remains a perfectly ordinary mailbox
when its corresponding house is unoccupied or else occupied by a male resident. But when a woman aged 23 years old or older
takes up residence on the property, SCP-1269 will start to manifest its anomalous properties. About two weeks after the woman moves into
the house, SCP-1269 will start to manifest unaddressed romantic letters targeted towards
the resident of the house. Surveillance within SCP-1269 has shown that
the letters manifest approximately three seconds after mail delivery. SCP-1269's anomalous properties will manifest
only when a single female 23 years or older - hereafter referred to as "the occupant"
- resides within the same property as SCP-1269. Approximately two weeks after the occupant
moves in, SCP-1269 will start to manifest unaddressed letters every four days. The contents of the letter are romantic in
nature, and are targeted towards the occupant of the house. Surveillance within SCP-1269 has shown the
letters manifest approximately three seconds after the occupant's mail has been delivered. At first, letters will manifest once every
four days, but SCP-1269 will quickly escalate its obsessive behavior to the point that multiple
letters will appear daily. The letters will become more obsessive and
less coherent as SCP-1269’s stalking behavior intensifies. When not under direct supervision of the house
occupant, SCP-1269 will teleport to a location near the occupant and face them as if it’s
trying to watch them. It will always manifest in an area where it
is partially obstructed, such as peeking through a window or behind some shower curtains. Sometimes, when the resident is asleep, SCP-1269
will teleport near the occupant without obstruction. SCP-1269 will not follow the occupant off
the property, and all anomalous properties will cease manifesting if the occupant moves
out of the house. Attempts to remove SCP-1269 from its location
have so far been unsuccessful. SCP-1269 will teleport to its original curbside
location after one hour of relocation. If attempts are made to replace SCP-1269 with
a new mailbox, the mailbox will be teleported away with SCP-1269 appearing in its place. Approximately three hours after the disappearance
of the new mailbox, it will reappear in a dumpster several kilometers away. Mailboxes recovered so far have all been found
in varying amounts of disrepair, within garbage bags, and covered in obscene graffiti – as
if SCP-1269 has become violently jealous of any other mailbox it sees as trying to replace
it. SCP-1269 has also shown similar violent jealousy
toward humans that it might believe are vying for the affection of any woman living in its
house. In a recent experiment, a D-class male was
moved onto the property with the then-current test occupant, a D-class female, after seven
weeks of residence. Interestingly, SCP-1269 ceased its teleporting
activity in response to this male presence. But three days later, the D-class male disappeared
from the property, causing SCP-1269 to resume all anomalous behavior. Two weeks later, the body of the missing D-class
male was discovered in the same dumpster where SCP-1269 had previously disposed of rival
mailboxes. The property where SCP-1269 is located is
to remain under the custody of the foundation, with one male researcher residing in the house
to monitor the behavior of SCP-1269. Because of the dangerous lengths to which
it will go to attain the current object of its affection, SCP-1269 has been designated
with object class Euclid. It’s our job to make sure it doesn’t menace
anyone else. The full moon hangs heavy in the night sky
over the dense jungle canopy. Below, the darkened palm trees stand silent
in the humid air, festooned with vines and lianas, and tropical insects hum in the undergrowth. The night is quiet and dark here, far from
the city, in one of the farthest, most secluded provinces of the Philippines. One would hardly expect anyone to be out at
this time of night. The young woman is hurrying home, carrying
a lantern before her face so that she can see where she’s going in the pitch black
of the night. Her swollen belly reveals that she’s at
least several months pregnant, her new middle throwing her off balance just enough that
she has to be careful not to stumble. A woman in her condition, she thinks, shouldn’t
be out at this time of night and certainly shouldn’t have to do household chores like
this. But the work has to get done, no matter what! She carries a basket of wet laundry under
her other arm; she is returning from washing her clothes in the river and, if she had planned
things out better, she would have been home long before the moon rose. Unfortunately, she spent far too much time
gossiping with several other village women before getting to work on scrubbing her filthy
clothes against the rocks. Luckily, it’s not too far from the river
back to her home in the village. The worst thing that might happen, she reminds
herself, is that she might lose her footing in the dark and trip over a rock or a root. There’s no chance that she might run afoul
of some nocturnal animal, she tells herself… even though the sudden chills down her spine
and sweat dripping from her brow reveals the truth, that she doesn’t believe that at
all and, in fact, she’s getting more and more nervous as she staggers through the dark. It isn’t just the threat of wild animals. She remembers the stories that her mother
told her when she was a little girl, all about sinister supernatural monsters that live in
these woods. Of course, those are just stories invented
to scare children, she tells herself. She’s a grown woman now, about to have a
child of her own. She shouldn’t be worried about bogeymen! She just needs to keep her head on her shoulders
and she’ll be sure to arrive home safely. The lantern throws its light over a figure
standing below the crook of a katmon tree. The woman jolts, nearly dropping her laundry. She gulps back a scream as she realizes that
what she sees isn’t a wild animal but rather a person. “Oh sorry,” says the young woman, her
voice shaking a little. “I didn’t think anyone else was still
out this late. I thought you were a wild animal.” “Don’t you worry, little one,” says
the figure in a soft, sibilant voice. The figure steps forward and the young woman
recognizes her. It’s an old woman from the village, her
back hunched and her long white hair falling over her shoulders in a messy tangle. The young woman feels inexplicably nervous
running into this particular villager here in the jungle at night. Many of the village kids whisper that she’s
actually a witch who has all kinds of weird supernatural powers. Even some of the village elders are afraid
to cross her for fear of getting cursed. “Where are you going at this hour? Someone in your condition shouldn’t exert
yourself so much.” “I’m just heading home,” says the young
woman, hefting the basket of laundry for emphasis. “It’s dangerous to be out so late alone. Here, let me walk home with you. There’s safety in numbers, you know.” “T-thank you.” The young woman almost wants to protest that
she doesn’t need any help getting home, because she really does not want to spend
any more time with this old woman. But, at the same time, she is reluctant to
say anything that might insult her… after all, even if the young woman doesn’t believe
in witchcraft, it’s not like she wants to take any chances. Besides, the truth is that she is rather frightened
of being alone in the dark and any company is better than nothing, even if it’s this
strange old woman. “How far along are you, honey?” says the
old woman, placing a hand against the surface of the young woman’s protruding belly. The young woman grimaces. She doesn’t like this old woman intruding
on her personal space like this. The old woman’s hands are wrinkled and veiny,
flecked with liver spots, and her fingers topped with gnarled talons. The young woman wants to cry out at the sight
of them but she bites her tongue. Instead, she answers the old woman’s probing
question as calmly and politely as she can. “Very nice, very nice,” says the old woman,
her rheumy eyes never straying from the young woman’s belly and her hands still rubbing
against her stomach as if she trying to reach something within. The old woman makes a strange sound in her
throat, like she’s smacking her lips in hunger, but it’s hard to see anything in
the dark. The young woman can only nod in confusion,
but she quickens her pace. She hopes that she can get home soon and,
once she’s home, she can get away from her unfortunate travel companion. The old woman keeps pace, grabbing her younger
traveling companion by the arm and holding tight. Her grip is surprisingly firm for such a seemingly
frail old woman, and the young woman again wonders if maybe there’s something supernatural
about this ominous crone. She wants to pull her arm away, but the old
woman’s long claws pinch cruelly into her flesh. It’s as if the old woman is silently warning
her: Don’t pull away. I’m too strong for you to escape. "What a sweet little bundle of joy you carry
there,” says the old woman as if speaking to herself. “What a delectable little burden.” The young woman knows that she’s still talking
about her unborn baby, but all this mumbling just makes her more worried. They continue walking, the young woman staring
resolutely at the small circle of illumination thrown by her lantern onto the path ahead,
doing everything in her power to not look at the old woman standing at her side for
fear that she might scream. Why is she so nervous? Worse, does the old woman sense her fear? The young woman has heard that witches are
easily offended and that’s the last thing that she needs now. She continues walking, the old woman gibbering
and whispering in her ear, plying her with odd questions about her pregnancy. “Eating well, have you? You know it’s very important to eat right
when you’re carrying, so that the baby can be born strong and healthy.” “R-right,” says the young woman. She really doesn’t need this unsolicited
advice. She heaves an audible sigh of relief as the
village comes into view over the next bluff. Thank God, she thinks, I’m almost home! She just hopes that the old woman will take
a hint and leave her alone once they arrive at her doorstep. She wonders if this old woman might try to
come into her home or maybe steer her toward some other destination. But what can she do? All she can do is keep walking home and hope
for the best. “Is it just you, is it? Is the father in the picture, hmm? I haven’t seen you with any young men lately,
have I?” asks the old woman. Her nosiness is really starting to irritate
the young woman, enough that she almost forgets her fear. “No, it’s just me,” says the young woman
automatically. She immediately regrets that confession. What is this old woman planning? Is she up to some mischief? Now she knows that the young woman lives alone
and there won’t be anyone around to see whatever this crone is planning. Her grip tightens on the young woman’s arm
as if to warn her again. The village is quiet and dark. Everyone else has already gone to bed by now,
so the pair of them walk down narrow, still streets. The only sound is the crunch crunch crunch
of gravel under their feet. After what seems like an eternity, they arrive
at the front gate of the young woman’s house. “Well, here I am,” she says, a little
too loudly and firmly to be completely casual. “This is my home. Thanks for keeping me company on my way home.” To her immense relief, the old woman lets
go of her arm. The young woman immediately pulls away, rubbing
the deep bruises left by the old woman’s gnarled talons. “Think nothing of it, my dear.” The old woman smiles widely, a long rope of
saliva dribbling from her slack lips. Her teeth look jagged and misshapen – it’s
hard to see in the dark, but they look more like the teeth of a wild beast than a human. It must be her eyes playing tricks on her
in the dim light, though. The young woman can’t help but recoil in
disgust, but luckily her face is hidden in shadows so the old woman doesn’t seem to
notice. “I’m happy to help. I hope to see you again very soon.” The young woman doesn’t wait any longer. Even before the old woman turns to leave,
the young woman scampers across her yard and yanks open her door. She runs inside and pulls the door shut behind
her. Her heart is racing and her breath comes in
ragged pants. She can feel the baby in her belly kick, suddenly
agitated by its mother’s fear. “Shh, it’s okay,” she coos softly, patting
her stomach and hoping that her tender voice will help to calm her baby. “I know you’re scared… I’m scared too. That old woman frightened me half to death! They say that she’s a witch and I’d almost
believe it. What a strange experience!” She pulls the curtain aside and peeps out
the window. The old woman is gone. The young woman looks up and down the street,
but sees no sign of her traveling companion. She inhales deeply and feels the tension drain
from her body as she lets her breath out. Thank goodness that’s all over! She can’t explain why this whole night has
unnerved her so much, but there was just something so uncanny about that strange old woman. She’s glad to be rid of her. The young woman tries to put the whole experience
out of her head as she prepares for bed. As she pulls on her night clothes, she startles
when she hears something heavy and loud clatter across the roof. It’s not unusual for roof rats or other
nocturnal animals to scurry across the roof at night, but this sounds louder than usual. “It’s probably nothing,” she tells herself
as she climbs into bed. “I’m still just upset about meeting that
old woman on my way home from the river. That whole thing must have jangled my nerves
worse than I thought if I’m flinching at every little sound. I’ll be fine when it’s light out. The sooner I get to sleep, the sooner it’ll
be morning.” Even though her nerves are rattled, she is
quite tired after a long day and it doesn’t take long before she drifts off to sleep. The young woman’s eyes close and her breathing
becomes slow and steady, the shallow rhythms of sleep. Inside her head, she might be troubled by
strange dreams, but to any outside observer, she is dead to the world. Asleep in bed, she doesn’t react to the
clattering on the roof. Whatever is up there is making an awful racket
as it drags itself over the roof tiles. If someone were around to watch, they would
see that whatever is on the roof is no rat. It’s a darkened figure, almost big enough
to be human, but strangely truncated. Two massive leathery wings unfurl behind it,
extended to help the strange creature maintain its balance upon the roof. It drags itself forward using only its hands,
long talons tapping at the roof shingles as it seeks a loose tile, anything that will
give it access to the house below. Its finger finds a crack. Wheezing and panting, the creature leans forward,
putting its eye to the crack to peer into the room below. The young woman is asleep in bed directly
below. And that’s exactly what this creature was
hoping for. The young mumbles in her sleep, her mind filled
with disturbing dreams. She’s oblivious when, all of sudden, something
drops through that crack in the ceiling. It’s long and slippery and covered in thick,
wet mucus. It looks for all the world like a tongue,
but it’s far too long to be any human tongue. It drops lower and lower into the room, extending
closer and closer to the young woman sleeping in her bed. The disgusting appendage caresses her face,
leaving a wet slug-trail of saliva across her forehead, as if it’s looking for something. Then brushes against her lips and the tongue
seems to find what it wants. Instantly, it snakes into her open mouth and
shoots down her throat. The young woman starts to sputter and choke,
her limbs thrashing and flailing – but still, she is held fast in the grip of sleep. Some wild nightmare is playing out in her
head – perhaps she fantasizes that she is drowning in a river or choking on some food
or being strangled by a fiend. Whatever she’s thinking, it couldn’t be
further from the truth: that an alien tongue has jammed itself down her throat. The tongue pushes deeper and deeper inside
her until it makes contact with her womb. A trained anatomist might balk at the idea
that the tongue could find her womb by accessing her throat, but somehow it has done exactly
this, snaking its way through the labyrinth of her insides to find her unborn baby. A sticky aperture opens up at the tip of the
tongue, revealing that the tongue is hollow – like a massive soda straw. It sucks up the baby like a vacuum, slurping
it up, up, up and out, the bulge of its prey traveling up the length of the tongue like
a wild pig swallowed by a boa constrictor. Once the baby is gone, the tongue slides out
of the woman’s mouth and retracts back toward the ceiling, disappearing back through the
subtle crack. There’s a clatter on the roof again, followed
by the soft flutter of leathery wings. The young woman settles back into a deep,
still sleep, the awful sensation of suffocation having passed. The rest of the night is peaceful and quiet,
but, when she awakens the next morning, she finds that the nightmare isn’t over. She wakes with a strange empty feeling in
her guts. Something is very wrong! She throws aside her covers and stares at
herself in shock. Her baby is gone! Her rounded belly has deflated back to its
pre-pregnancy state and she can sense, as only a mother can, that she is no longer carrying
something within her. She shrieks in terror at this bizarre revelation. What could have happened? What could be responsible? That young woman just had an encounter with
SCP-5201. SCP-5201 is a humanoid subspecies native to
the Philippines, dubbed Homo sapiens visceralis but known by many local names across the Philippine
Islands, including the aswang, the tik-tik, or simply the viscera sucker… but it is
most commonly known as the manananggal. During the day, an instance of SCP-5201 looks
like an ordinary human. At a glance, there is no way to immediately
distinguish an instance of SCP-5201 from a regular member of homo sapiens. However, Foundation researchers have found
that there do exist certain retinal irregularities unique to SCP-5201, so the agency has developed
a portable retinal scanner for use in quickly identifying instances of SCP-5201. SCP-5201 is far easier to tell from an ordinary
human at night, when it undergoes a strange and startling metamorphosis. It unfolds a pair of membranous wings, resembling
those of a bat, from its back. Even more startling, its torso splits in two. Its upper torso then flies off in search of
prey, intestines trailing behind it as it sails through the air, while its lower torso
is hidden in a secure location until SCP-5201 can reconnect. SCP-5201 will seek out human prey, most likely
relying on a keenly attuned sense of smell, and, once it has chosen a victim, will alight
on the roof of their home and then snake its preternaturally long, tube-like tongue into
the house below so that it can feed. SCP-5201 feeds by inserting its tongue into
the orifices of unfortunate sleepers and sucking out their internal organs as easily as you
would suck soda through a straw. SCP-5201 will happily eat human livers, stomachs,
and intestines, but its favorite food is unborn fetuses, so much so that instances of SCP-5201
disguised in their human form can often be recognized by their tendency to drool at the
sight of pregnant women. SCP-5201 are well known to local humans, who
live in fear of nocturnal attacks by the dreaded manananggal. Interestingly, SCP-5201 can be repelled by
Abrahamic holy objects, like rosary beads or crucifixes, or can be staked through the
heart with sharpened shafts of bamboo – very similar to the means used against vampires
in western folklore. SCP-5201 is especially vulnerable when its
upper torso is out hunting, so it will always take the utmost care to hide its abandoned
lower torso in a secret, secure location. If you can find the hidden lower torso, it
is possible to kill SCO-5201 by sprinkling its exposed viscera with spices like garlic,
salt, or vinegar or, failing that, even ash or urine. This causes an unusual reaction that is not
yet fully understood by Foundation researchers, but will prevent the two halves from rejoining. If the two halves of the manananggal cannot
rejoin before dawn, sunlight will kill the creature. If none of these methods are available, it
is also possible to repel SCP-5201 by using a specialized whip fashioned from the tail
of a sting ray. The SCP foundation currently has an undisclosed
number of domesticated SCP-5201 instances held in the Fauna Containment Wing of Site-235. Because this species has been known to practice
cannibalism, each specimen is to be held in its own personal containment cell. While there are obvious ethical and logistical
concerns with feeding human organs to SCP-5201, the Foundation has discovered that SCP-5201
can still easily thrive on a diet of any newborn mammal with a mass of at least 1 kilogram. Piglets have so far proven to be the most
cost-effective and available options, but other species can be substituted as necessary. All entrances to SCP-5201 containment cells
are to be guarded by at least two Level-2 personnel equipped with stingray whips, crucifixes,
or some other object found to cause harm to SCP-5201. Unlike humans, SCP-5201 have an unusual asexual
reproductive process. The lower body can regenerate a new upper
torso via a process similar to epimorphic regeneration observed in autotomous lizards. The severed upper torso of an SCP-5201 would
leave behind the parent's lower torso to search for a compatible female human. SCP-5201 would attack and consume this human,
claiming her lower torso as its own. Smearing ash, urine, or spices into the exposed
innards of the lower torso inhibits this process and prevents effective reproduction. The exact origin of SCP-5201 is unknown. Although the creature is endemic throughout
the Philippines and historical records indicate that it has inhabited the islands since at
least 1500, when it was first described by Spanish sailors to the islands, fossil remains
and genetic testing indicate that it is actually an invasive species from outside the Philippine
archipelago. SCP-5201 is currently believed to be extinct
in the wild, following eradication efforts by the Foundation in the 1990s. An epidemic of SCP-5201 attacks in the early
90s prompted the SCP Foundation to join forces with the Supernatural Committee of the Philippines
and the Global Occult Coalition to take action to prevent SCP-5201 from spreading to other
countries. Dubbed Project Dipsy, the operation involved
amnesticizing the major cities of the Philippines, funding propaganda campaigns to dismiss SCP-5201
as a product of folklore and urban legends, and eventually domesticating the surviving
SCP-5201 population for cellular regeneration research. Because of its aggressiveness and taste for
human flesh, SCP-5201 specimens regularly attempt to breach containment, and thus, have
been given the designation Euclid. And while the SCP Foundation has done its
best to eliminate the threat of SCP-5201 in the wild, there’s no guarantee that a few
instances of this vicious monster might have slipped through the cracks and possibly even
spread out into the wider world beyond its home in the Philippines. You still might want to search your room for
any suspicious cracks or holes before you bed down for the night. Because there are very few things less pleasant
than waking up from restless dreams to find a long slimy tongue jammed down your throat. 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!’ You've seen his face before, probably during
a particularly distressing bout of sleep paralysis. His appearance can vary a bit from manifestation
to manifestation, but a few traits are always present: he resembles an elderly man, his
touch corrodes everything in his path, his presence creates a disgusting, black mucus-like
substance thought to be a method of pre-digestion of his prey, and he is rotting. No matter his appearance, he is always in
some stage of decomposition, gray skin sloughing away from yellowed bone, eyes milky and flat
but brimming with malice, wide mouth stretched into a wicked grin. The entity is incredibly difficult to contain;
its corrosive properties and ability to vanish into solid matter and disappear into its pocket
dimension lair make it a threat as unpredictable as it is dangerous. The smell of decay, and the presence of visible
corrosion on any surfaces nearby, may be the only warning a person gets before the Old
Man grabs them in his decomposing arms, dragging them off to a painful, terrifying demise. We know where the being disappears to, and
have learned a great deal about how he operates, but where did he come from? What I found was so distressing, that I almost
hope it isn't true. It is the year 2000. Dr. Robert Scranton and his wife, Dr. Anna
Lang, are the head researchers at SCP Foundation Site-120. Over the course of their happy relationship,
the two have been working on an experimental research project, an early prototype Reality
Anchor device called the "Lang-Scranton Stabilizer." After a lot of late nights at the office,
working and reworking the theory, it is, at long last, ready for testing. Dr. Scranton is standing in Reality Lab A,
as Dr. Lang observes from a nearby room. He follows the same routine he has followed
each time they tested the LSS, walking down a line of buttons and levers, pressing and
flipping each into place. The little red blinking light signifies that
the microphone is recording his every comment and observation. Suddenly, the routine is broken by a low rumbling
sound from deep, deep within the earth. The ground beneath him begins to shake, and
Dr. Scranton stumbles, losing his balance as the once-solid floor begins to roil and
quake as the seismic shift rolls through the Site. He hears the unmistakable grind and splintering
of metal and plastic as the LSS, too, begins to shake, components sliding out of place
and breaking off. Nearby, Dr. Lang's monitor goes dark as the
security feed is cut short by the earthquake's damage. "Robert!" She screams, making a break for the door and
rushing to Reality Lab A, terrified that she will find her husband's body lying on the
floor. When she and the guards reach the room, however,
they find...nothing. Well, not nothing, entirely. The room is a wreck, bits of machinery strewn
across the floor, the smell of burning plastic in the air. But the Lang Scranton Scrambler's Control
Panel and Dr. Robert Scranton are nowhere to be found. Dr. Lang falls to her knees in the suddenly
empty room, pounding at the floor in despair. "Where did he go?!" She demands, but of course, no one knows the
answer. No one wants to say what they're thinking. Wherever he is, Dr. Scranton is probably dead. Probably long, long gone. And he is never coming back. But no one says it, not out loud. They just think it, and keep thinking it for
the next five years, eleven months, and 21 days. The time passes, and most everyone forgets
about Dr. Robert Scranton. Everyone except for Dr. Anna Lang. She never gives up hope, never lets go of
the possibility that somewhere, in another world, another time, on another planet, her
love is still alive. One day, she wakes up and it's December 23,
2005, a day like any other save for its uncomfortable proximity to the holidays she struggles to
celebrate anymore. But then, in the middle of the day, something
impossible happens; the LSS Control Panel reappears in Reality Lab A. It isn't how anyone
last saw it, though. It is coated in some sort of unidentified
organic matter, and it reeks of blood, vomit, and decay. As her colleagues try to shield her from the
sight, try to warn her away, Dr. Anna Lang wades into the area, desperate for a glimpse
at any sign of her husband's fate. As she makes her way into the containment
field, she is unable to contain her horror. "Oh, god, what the hell, what — what is
all this? This… this is… this is the… Oh, god. Robert? Robert?! Robert, is this you? Oh, god, please, please, no, don't let it
be you, don't let it be you, Robert?! I thought, I thought — How can this thing
be—?" Her colleagues try to stop her, but she touches
the Lang Scranton Stabilizer interface, and it fires to life. It still works! Somehow, it still works! She racks her brain for what to do next, before
saying: "Access Audio Log, play back starting from January 2, 2000!" The machine prompts her to verbally state
her password, and her voice shakes as she replies, "Password is 'Anna bo banna'." "Request acknowledged. Processing…" The machine replies, "I'm sorry, there are
no audio logs for January 2, 2000. Dr. Scranton accessed log on January 13, 2000
via voice-recognition at time—" Anna slams her hands down on the machine with
a cry, "Play back now, dammit! Play it back!" A researcher warns her not to touch any of
the material with her bare hands, but she doesn't hear him. She is too busy, calling out to Robert, hoping
that somehow, somewhere, he can hear her. "There's so much blood here, there's so much,
honey. Are you okay?! Where did you go?! Oh god, oh god, oh god…" Something small and metallic clatters to the
floor, lost in the sludge. She retrieves it, wipes it off on her lab
coat, and holds it to the light. She would recognize it anywhere. She slipped it onto her true love's finger
on the happiest day of her life. It's Robert's wedding ring. Her knees buckle at the realization, she collapses
to the ground, and her head cracks against the floor. One of her colleagues snaps into action, "Report,
this is Dr. Matthew Skinner, reporting from Site-120 Reality Lab A, I need medical attention
here immediately!" Once Dr. Lang recovers from her fall, she
demands access to the rematerialized control panel. She is going to go through the audio logs,
one by one, and find out exactly what happened to her husband, even if the truth is as ugly
as she fears. The machine whirrs to life, and her lost love's
voice emanates from the speakers. "Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961. Favorite color, blue. Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer." Wife, Anna. She has green eyes. I love her very much." He repeated these simple truths to himself
for days, before he even realized that the control panel was picking up his voice. "My name, is Robert Scranton. Yeah, yeah, my name, is Robert Scranton, former
researcher at Foundation Site-120. It has been… I don't know, actually, I… I can't remember. I… I estimate it's been ten days, but, I-I-I
don't, I can't… Oh God, can anyone hear me?! I-I-I don't know what's happened, I-I don't
know where I am, and-and, please, please is anyone there?! Hello?! Anyone?! ANYONE?!" He began keeping track of how much time passed,
as best he could. "Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty-eight
minutes. Oh… Jesus." Back at the Foundation, with at least a tenuous
knowledge of where Dr. Scranton could be, personnel try their best to stage some kind
of rescue effort. A Mobile Task Force team is ordered to attempt
to replicate the experiment with a hastily-assembled Lang-Scranton Stabilizer copy. The result is an explosion that kills three
of them. Senior Researchers also approach SCP-343,
a powerful reality warper known to some as God, hoping to get some insight from him about
where Dr. Scranton could be found. His response is, “He’s beyond any of us
now. I’m truly, dreadfully sorry.” Anna starts having nightmares. She twists and turns in bed, haunted by visions
of her beloved Robert consumed by darkness. A strange specter starts to appear in her
dreams: A man with a horrible, rotted face. She turns to her bedside table in the night,
numbers blurry on the screen of her alarm clock. The photograph of herself and Robert that
she keeps there - Something is wrong with him. Wrong with his face. Is it that same awful rotted man? She screams and closes her eyes. When she opens them, the photo is normal again. She weeps into her pillow. It can’t keep going on like this. This place… It's some sort of reality gap, I think. If I don't concentrate on it, it's fine, but
I feel this… tingling all over my face. I'm not sure why. Two months, fifteen days, four hours." Anna begins to accept the horrible truth:
She may not see Robert ever again, and holding on to the foolish fantasy that she will is
starting to kill her. She repeats it to herself like a mantra at
work: “Robert Scranton is dead, Robert Scranton is dead, Robert Scranton is dead.” One day, a coworker notices her muttering
and strikes up a conversation. It’s been years since Robert disappeared,
what’s the harm in talking to someone again? She even finds herself smiling and laughing
at his jokes. But when he asks if she’d like to go for
coffee, she gets a flash of Robert screaming in the darkness. Of that terrible rotted face, grinning. She runs to the bathroom to throw up and weep. “The tingling in my face has worsened.” “I wish I could sleep here. But all this damn gunfire overhead. Can’t take it anymore. Can’t take it. Trench foot. Shell shock. Hell would be a reprieve from a place like
this. And all the men, all the poor souls who look
up to me. Who call me ‘Corporal.’ What a joke. To think I have any more idea of what’s
going on here. Anna can hear it in his voice, he's getting
worn down. As Anna feels her emotions start to dull and
fade, she begins accepting more dangerous assignments from her superiors - Perhaps hoping
just to feel something again. She works on the SCP-682 case - trying to
devise more futile termination methods. She spends time with SCP-939, the abominations
known as With Many Voices, until they start to imitate Robert’s voice, and she knows
she can’t do this anymore. She works with SCP-280, Eyes in the Dark,
feeling no fear whatsoever as it floats towards her. The worst thing that could possibly happen
to her has happened already - Now, she’s just waiting. Killing time. She has no idea of the further horrors to
come. “Lately, I’ve been hearing whispers in
the dark. I think the rats are talking to me. How funny. My troops must think me mad, but what does
it matter? This is a mad place. A mad time. A mad man is perhaps best suited to a time
like this. So many went over the top yesterday, only
to be cut down by machine gun fire. Isn’t it odd that I laughed? It was so funny. I think perhaps this mental malady is connected
to a physical one. Nosebleeds and vomiting spells. This strange, black liquid, faintly acidic
to the touch. But so… Delicious. So fun. My troops tell me I look unwell. Like anything about this is well! Maybe I’ll sneak into one of their bedsits
tonight and teach them to lighten up a bit. None of them smile anymore. Me? I’m always smiling. I’ll teach those little cowards to smile
too…” as she listens to more of the logs, she’s
forced to reckon with the fact it really isn’t him anymore. Not as she’d ever known him. He’d become… Something else. “All the others are dead! Hahaha! All my good, hard work. Making them dead. I followed them down the length of the trench. Their silly little bullets didn’t hurt me. Oh no. Oh. no, no, no. The look on their faces. All the screaming as they saw me. How thrilling, to savor their fear as I approached. All those screams - What are you? You horrible old man? I showed them what I am, I can walk through
walls now, you know. I can walk through the trench, under no man’s
land, and appear right there in front of them - Have all the fun I want. Yes, yes, yes! Nothing can hurt me anymore. And I can hurt everyone.” “And when the war is over… I’ll go home. Go home to my sweetheart. I know she’s waiting for me. I can’t wait to see her, to touch her beautiful
face. My lovely, lovely Anna.” Hearing him like this, so broken, so utterly
transformed, it's too much for her to bear. The work always needs her, and she returns
to it day after day. One night, she sits up late, making her way
through a stack of paperwork, when she hears it. A curious sound. Drip...drip...drip...something thick dripping
steadily onto the floor behind her. The smell of rot fills her nostrils, making
her gag. She turns, and comes face to face with SCP-106,
dripping its slimy black mucus onto the floor, bringing decay to everything it touches. It reaches out toward her, grasping at her
arm. She breaks free, but not before its touch
melts away the fibers of her lab coat, threatening to seep through the fabric to her skin. All the while, it's staring straight at her,
like it knows her. Anna runs out of the lab as fast as she can,
shouting for help. A guard tries to come to her assistance, firing
his weapon at the Old Man, but the bullets don't leave a dent, don't even slow him down. The Old Man grabs the weapon from the guard's
hands, letting the metal rust, warp, and melt in his grasp. Then, he turns his corrosive touch on the
guard's face, Anna screams in horror at the sight, but she
can do nothing to help him. All that she can do is keep running, and hope
that the monster doesn't catch her. She runs as fast as her legs can carry her,
but she isn't as young as she once was, and years of sitting at a desk have made her muscles
stiff and weak. Her foot hits the ground at just the wrong
angle, and she stumbles, falling to the ground. She scrambles back to her feet, but when she
looks up, something is horribly wrong. Her surroundings have changed. It looks like the Foundation Site, but it's
not quite the same. It's as if someone tried to recreate the facility
from memory, and couldn't retain all of the details. Then, she hears it again. The drip, drip, drip. He's here. She spins around, and there it is, that awful
face, so close to her own. She takes a trembling step back, when suddenly,
the monster speaks. . "Anna..." It's him. She knows it, as surely as she knows that
she is about to die. The monster that once was Robert Scranton
reaches out and caresses Anna's cheek with his wrinkled hand. She screams as the skin begins to droop, and
he seals her lips with a kiss that makes her insides drip like melting wax. The two become one once again
