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Kind: captions
Language: en

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The flashlight beam casts demonic shadows that 
twist and shift with the trembling of his hands.  

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It makes the feeling worse, seeing those shadows 
twitch against the walls like they’re somehow  

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alive. But shadows can’t be alive… can they?
Another noise, a creak that sounds distinctly  

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like the weight of someone’s sole against the 
floorboard. Now the Man knows he hasn’t been  

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imagining it. The beam of light sweeps over 
the room towards the source of the noise to  

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reveal the source of his torment is…
Nothing. There’s nothing there.  

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And yet every feeling, every instinct tells 
him that his eyes are wrong. Listen closer,  

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someone’s here. And yet, there’s no one. Not a 
soul. The Man sighs. He swears he thought someone  

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had gotten inside. He decides to double-check, 
creating more dancing, unsettling shadows with  

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his flashlight as he scans the rest of the living 
room. Nothing again. Then the kitchen. Still  

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nothing. Back upstairs to the landing. Nobody 
but him. And in the bedroom? He’s alone again. 

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But he doesn’t feel alone.
In fact, he feels the opposite, the undeniable  

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presence of someone else there. Or something else. 
He switches the flashlight back off and stays  

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still. There’s no point trying to sleep now. The 
uncertainty of it all is bound to keep him awake.  

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So, he stands there, surrounded by the dark and 
the silence. Just waiting for the next sign.  

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Another creak. Breathing. A footstep. Anything.
Even in the dark, it’s like he can feel the eyes  

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on him. The back of his neck bristles, hairs 
standing to attention like a breath passing  

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over his skin. What if it is? What if 
it’s right there? Right behind him… 

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The flashlight is back on in a second as he turns 
around. The light illuminates the space behind  

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him. And there’s still nothing there. But despite 
finding no sign of anyone else in the apartment,  

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despite knowing for certain he’s 
alone, the Man doesn’t feel alone. 

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It feels like there’s someone watching. In fact, 
it’s always felt like there’s someone watching. 

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Has this ever happened to you? Of course, 
it has. Most of us, if not all of us, have,  

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at one point or another, experienced that same 
sinister sensation. You hear something move,  

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only to see nothing out of place. What 
sounds like a footstep turns out just to  

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be the foundations of your house settling. And 
all the while, you can’t escape that uncanny  

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and unnerving feeling that somebody’s watching 
you… Could they be across the street? Peering  

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in through your window? Or maybe, just 
maybe, they’re inside, right behind you,  

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hiding in the only place you would never look.
You might write this off as just paranoia,  

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a primal, self-preserving instinct passed down 
from our earliest ancestors, going haywire as  

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it keeps a lookout for imminent threats when 
there are none. But it’s not that. Not at all.  

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It’s both out there and in your head. All around, 
nearly wherever you go… and it’s always watching. 

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They call it ‘Causal Absent Paranoia’ at least, 
that’s the official term. If you ever find  

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yourself looking up the definition, then you’ll 
most likely wind up reading words to this effect:  

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‘the healthy brain overreacting to 
natural stimulus due to overindulgence,  

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excessive stress, lack of sleep, and 
other such strains to the mind and body.’ 

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But that’s just the definition that the SCP 
Foundation wants you to know. And it's not hard  

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to see why. After all, it removes that unsettling 
sense of mystery, the unknown factor of it all.  

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Chalking it up to stress, or overactive 
imagination, it reminds you not to worry,  

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and that it’s all just your mind playing tricks 
on you. But it isn’t. Your brain is working fine,  

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and is, in fact, warning you of 
danger. And that danger is SCP-3010. 

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The Foundation’s research has uncovered that the 
feeling of being watched stems from something  

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very, very real. An undetectable entity that 
they have designated SCP-3010-1. You might be  

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better acquainted with it as that brief dash 
of movement out of the corner of your eye or  

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the noises you can’t explain. In other words, the 
things that go bump in the night. But if you ever  

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get that feeling, like someone else is staring at 
you, observing you against your will, then that’s  

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your best indicator. You’re not alone. It’s in the 
room with you. And it’s watching… always watching… 

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It doesn’t happen every time. None of us are going 
around constantly feeling like some unseen entity  

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is watching us. At least, the lucky ones aren’t. 
While manifestations of the Entity are somewhat  

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random and inconsistent, The SCP Foundation 
has determined that certain requirements  

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can first be met in order to deliberately 
cause SCP-3010-1 to successfully manifest. 

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These specifics relate to the space that a 
person is currently inhabiting. For starters,  

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anything too small won’t work. So, that’s 
any tight or cramped spaces, single rooms,  

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or sterile environments that are shut off from 
the outside world – like hospitals or prisons.  

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Foundation containment cells also 
fall into this latter category. 

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But anything bigger, particularly in 
houses or living spaces comprised of  

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at least five hundred square meters in terms of 
floorspace, are prime real estate for The Entity,  

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SCP-3010-1, especially if the lights are turned 
down low, if not switched off completely. And  

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if there’s only one living person present inside.
Now, if you were expecting that the moment you’re  

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next home alone, that you could just turn out 
the lights and summon SCP-3010-1, then you’d be  

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wrong. At any rate, we wouldn’t recommend trying 
it. Little is known about The Entity itself, it  

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has hardly anything in the way of physical traits 
that the Foundation knows about. In terms of where  

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it first came from, why it depends on stalking 
and observing humans, or even what it wants,  

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there are no answers. The Foundation has, however, 
learned the following things about SCP-3010-1. 

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For one, it is totally imperceptible. It can’t 
be observed at all, not in any perceivable  

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wavelength of light. So, put down the thermals 
and night vision goggles or the UV light. The  

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only surefire way to tell – or rather, guess 
– where it is at any given time is after any  

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kind of reactive incident with The Entity.
Secondly, the Foundation has noticed that  

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SCP-3010-1 interacts differently with 
human beings who display the symptoms  

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of avoidant disorders. This can include those 
suffering from social anxiety, or inhibition,  

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or who are typically withdrawn. Around a full half 
of people with these avoidant disorders will not  

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react to scenarios wherein the Entity manifests.
In short, the reactive events caused by SCP-3010-1  

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often don’t affect those with avoidant disorders, 
or at least 50% of those people. However,  

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the half that the Entity can interact with 
often feels the effects of SCP-3010 with a  

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lot more intensity. The unnerving feeling of being 
watched becomes full-blown, inescapable paranoia. 

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As for what exactly SCP-3010-1 looks like, the 
Foundation is at a loss. Given the Entity can’t  

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be perceived, it makes getting a witness sketch 
or a mugshot somewhat tricky. However, there is  

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one thing that the SCP Foundation knows for sure: 
it does have the limitations of a physical form. 

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This isn’t an incorporeal, ethereal ghost 
that can phase through walls and other solid  

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objects. SCP-3010-1 has a physical presence, 
and it seems to have an awareness of this.  

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It’s for that reason it won’t manifest 
in smaller spaces like single-occupant  

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rooms or particular places with no windows or 
doors like Foundation containment cells – by  

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avoiding these spaces, it can’t be trapped.
SCP-3010-1 remains passively hostile toward human  

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beings, and it will only directly engage a subject 
when a certain number of set triggers are met.  

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Those that inadvertently cause this to happen find 
themselves receiving a particularly grim fate.  

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Those who actively seek out or attempt to hunt the 
Entity, especially with the intent to destroy it,  

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are more likely to cause SCP-3010-1 to manifest. 
Sometimes, it’s worth trying to ignore the ominous  

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sound of creaking coming from deep within your 
house rather than going looking for what made it. 

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Anyone spending a prolonged period of time around 
mirrors is also likely to trigger a manifestation.  

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The same can be said for those in unlit or 
dimly lit rooms, along with those who endure  

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a long period of isolated, continuous silence, 
or make any attempt to call anyone else for help. 

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With enough of these factors met – enough space, 
a lack of lighting, and no more or less than  

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one person in a room or house – SCP-3010-1 will 
manifest, and trigger what is known as a reactive  

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event. This can be achieved by doing anything that 
increases the adrenaline levels of an isolated  

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person, from creepy noises, to the instinctive 
sensation that comes from being directly watched. 

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Those few who have managed to survive 
their encounters with the Entity have  

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described the symptoms of 
SCP-3010 coming from behind.  

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They will experience the observation or presence 
of another being coming from directly behind them.  

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Should they find themselves backed against a 
wall, they will feel compelled to avoid the  

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nearest window or dark corner. Mirrors are also 
a cause of major aversion for these victims,  

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often causing those experiencing ‘Causal 
Absent Paranoia’ to flee to other rooms  

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without any reflective surfaces present.
Anyone currently undergoing the effects of  

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SCP-3010 additionally will not be able to just 
sleep it off either. The symptoms caused by the  

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impending presence of the Entity directly 
inhibit a person’s ability to fall asleep,  

00:10:04.800 --> 00:10:10.140
not just out of fear but due to a 
fundamental function of SCP-3010-1. 

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The Entity can manipulate the areas of the 
human brain that are responsible for the  

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production of melatonin, the induction of 
sleep states, and the regulation of dreams.  

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The SCP Foundation has discovered this disruption 
to sleep is caused by a gaseous substance that is  

00:10:25.920 --> 00:10:31.140
dispersed into the local atmosphere. In order to 
avoid detection by the public, this phenomenon  

00:10:31.140 --> 00:10:36.360
has also been given a medical classification: 
‘Causal Absent Paranoia-induced insomnia.’ 

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Being unable to sleep or escape the feelings of 
being watched, the observed victim will inevitably  

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panic. This is what prompts the reactive event: 
usually, SCP-3010-1 will manifest through mirrors  

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or windows. Upon manifestation, the Entity then 
proceeds to kill its target; it extrudes some  

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vital material from their body, then sucks what is 
left of them into the breach that it emerged from. 

00:11:02.640 --> 00:11:09.360
When a reactive event has been triggered, 
SCP-3010-1 deploys a cognito hazardous effect  

00:11:09.360 --> 00:11:15.540
as well. This ‘total memory erasure’ acts in 
the way you might expect; any memories of the  

00:11:15.540 --> 00:11:21.360
targeted person involved in an SCP-3010-1 
manifestation will be quickly destroyed.  

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Anyone who might remember them, might 
think to check on them if they’ve  

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been missing for a time, will cease to 
have any recollection of said person. 

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Once the Entity has them, it’s as if they 
no longer exist. Of course, this total  

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memory erasure can be circumvented with enough 
written evidence of a person’s existence kept  

00:11:39.900 --> 00:11:44.280
at all times, or with a number of Scranton 
Reality Anchors active in the nearby area. 

00:11:44.280 --> 00:11:48.720
Once it has successfully manifested, 
retrieved a target, and dispatched them,  

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some Foundation researchers believe that 
SCP-3010-1 enters into a state of stasis.  

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This is known to affect reflective surfaces in 
the surrounding area, making mirrors or windows  

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appear opaque. Symptoms associated with SCP-3010 
are also experienced by any and all human beings  

00:12:08.100 --> 00:12:12.780
within a certain radius of the reactive event.
So, even if you start to feel like there’s  

00:12:12.780 --> 00:12:16.740
someone watching you, and look over your 
shoulder to find no one’s there, then you  

00:12:16.740 --> 00:12:22.440
could still be in the clear. Although, that might 
mean someone nearby wasn’t as lucky as you are. 

00:12:23.160 --> 00:12:27.120
Following the manifestation, the immediate 
vicinity of the completed reactive event  

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will undergo a rapid deconstruction. A spatial 
anomaly takes place, causing the room or location  

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where the target has recently been taken from to 
expand into a number of tight, dark corridors and  

00:12:38.820 --> 00:12:43.440
various small rooms that will each be filled 
with mirrors and other reflective surfaces. 

00:12:44.100 --> 00:12:48.900
To date, the Foundation has only recorded a 
handful of these reactive events, and thankfully  

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the spatial anomaly that triggers in their wake 
will normally dissipate after several hours.  

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However, the paranoid symptoms of 
SCP-3010 will persist in the local area,  

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which has led some researchers to question the 
validity of the Entity going into stasis. There  

00:13:04.140 --> 00:13:09.120
are those who believe it doesn’t take breaks.
While avoidant personality disorders can either  

00:13:09.120 --> 00:13:16.080
have an extreme repelling or extreme attracting 
effect on an SCP-3010-1 entity, those with an  

00:13:16.080 --> 00:13:21.600
excessive compulsion for human interaction 
– in particular, sociopaths – produce a far  

00:13:21.600 --> 00:13:26.880
different and far stranger effect on the Entity.
Sociopathy is a mental health condition wherein  

00:13:26.880 --> 00:13:31.500
somebody will consistently show that they have a 
lack of regard for the moral notions of right and  

00:13:31.500 --> 00:13:36.720
wrong. While not all are violent, many sociopaths 
will often ignore the feelings of others,  

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unless they are attempting to manipulate those 
feelings, for example, appeasing somebody else to  

00:13:41.640 --> 00:13:47.040
make themselves seem more likable and thus garner 
validation. Interactions between sociopaths and  

00:13:47.040 --> 00:13:53.580
instances of SCP-3010-1 will often lead to 
the causation of several severe anomalies. 

00:13:54.120 --> 00:13:59.820
One such sociopath has been incarcerated under the 
SCP Foundation, serving as a member of D-Class,  

00:13:59.820 --> 00:14:04.860
the disposable sub-group of personnel, comprised 
of violent criminals who often find themselves  

00:14:04.860 --> 00:14:12.240
acting as human test subjects for anomalous 
experiments. This D-Class – D-17729, also known as  

00:14:12.240 --> 00:14:19.800
Mike – is selected for testing involving SCP-3010. 
The SCP Foundation constructs a specialized dummy  

00:14:19.800 --> 00:14:25.560
house designed to keep the Entity trapped. Inside 
these dummy households, a D-Class is placed,  

00:14:25.560 --> 00:14:31.560
typically one that exhibits extremely reclusive 
tendencies. They are not told of the existence of  

00:14:31.560 --> 00:14:39.000
SCP-3010-1, nor are they told what the entities 
are capable of. The D-Class in these houses must  

00:14:39.000 --> 00:14:43.980
each believe that they are well and truly 
isolated, abandoned alone with the Entity. 

00:14:43.980 --> 00:14:50.880
Mike, being one of the D-Class assigned to a 
SCP-3010-1 containment house, has a video and  

00:14:50.880 --> 00:14:56.220
audio recording device surgically implanted within 
his body before he awakens inside the dummy house.  

00:14:56.940 --> 00:15:02.460
Confused, he examines his surroundings, searching 
the area for signs of anyone else living in what  

00:15:02.460 --> 00:15:07.620
he momentarily believes is a real household.
He traverses from the bedroom down the hallways  

00:15:07.620 --> 00:15:11.880
towards the staircase, leading from the 
upper floor down to a foyer. All the while,  

00:15:11.880 --> 00:15:18.120
early symptoms of SCP-3010 begin to surface; 
Mike checks behind himself as though he’s  

00:15:18.120 --> 00:15:22.260
starting to feel like someone is watching him. 
He tries to convince himself that he’s alone,  

00:15:22.260 --> 00:15:26.880
there’s nobody behind him. Making a move 
for the front door, Mike finds he can’t  

00:15:26.880 --> 00:15:31.680
open it. He’s sealed inside the house.
Over the course of the next three hours,  

00:15:31.680 --> 00:15:37.260
he navigates his way across the entire containment 
cell, occasionally musing to himself. More  

00:15:37.260 --> 00:15:42.900
rapidly, he begins to experience the unnerving 
symptoms of ‘Causal Absent Paranoia’, developing  

00:15:42.900 --> 00:15:48.240
an aversion to the darker areas of the house.
A few days later, Mike finds himself keeping  

00:15:48.240 --> 00:15:52.620
all the lights on, and deliberately avoiding 
mirrors. He has to practically argue with  

00:15:52.620 --> 00:15:56.700
himself that he’s not afraid of the dark just 
in order to go downstairs to the storage room  

00:15:56.700 --> 00:16:01.440
for food. On his eventual way down there, he 
thinks he spots something in the house with him. 

00:16:02.040 --> 00:16:06.420
Fleeing for his life, he locks himself in the 
storage room for an entire day, preferring to  

00:16:06.420 --> 00:16:13.620
stay where there is food and light. Within a 
day, his SCP-3010 has become so bad that he’s  

00:16:13.620 --> 00:16:17.940
convinced there’s something in the containment 
house with him. He fashions the shelving units  

00:16:17.940 --> 00:16:22.740
from the storeroom into a makeshift barricade.
Following his first whole week in containment  

00:16:22.740 --> 00:16:27.840
with an SCP-3010-1 entity, Mike 
has stayed put in the storage room.  

00:16:28.620 --> 00:16:33.480
He uses additional light fixtures to keep the room 
bright, and begins tearing wiring out of the walls  

00:16:33.480 --> 00:16:38.340
with the use of a makeshift crowbar. Thanks to 
his previous experience as an electrical engineer,  

00:16:38.340 --> 00:16:44.160
after nine days, he then creates a makeshift suit 
covered in light fixtures powered by a portable,  

00:16:44.160 --> 00:16:52.020
hand-cranked generator. Donning his light suit, 
Mike sets out to find and destroy SCP-3010-1;  

00:16:52.020 --> 00:16:57.900
something we know only attracts it more.
But after searching the containment cell for  

00:16:57.900 --> 00:17:05.820
four hours, Mike falls asleep. This is incredibly 
rare in the presence of SCP-3010-1 instances,  

00:17:05.820 --> 00:17:12.060
if not impossible. When he reawakens, he not only 
finds the storage room resupplied by Foundation  

00:17:12.060 --> 00:17:17.760
personnel but also that the lights have all 
been put out. Frantically, almost completely  

00:17:17.760 --> 00:17:24.240
unhinged at this point, Mike looks for a 
weapon to fight any SCP-3010-1 he can find. 

00:17:24.840 --> 00:17:30.720
The next day sees Mike rapidly searching through 
the containment house for SCP-3010-1 entities.  

00:17:31.440 --> 00:17:36.660
Thinking he’s found one, he rushes towards it 
while exclaiming he has light, and for the entity  

00:17:36.660 --> 00:17:44.580
to come out. When he approaches, an SCP-3010-1 
reactive event stars, but unlike the other  

00:17:44.580 --> 00:17:51.240
recorded instances, seems to fail. Three mirrors 
nearby start to produce a low level of light,  

00:17:51.240 --> 00:17:57.540
causing Mike to investigate. The moment he makes 
contact with one of the mirrors, he screams. The  

00:17:57.540 --> 00:18:02.460
connection to his recording device is lost, and 
the containment site undergoes a spatial anomaly. 

00:18:02.460 --> 00:18:07.080
In the interest of recovering any evidence of 
this different reactive event and finding whatever  

00:18:07.080 --> 00:18:12.360
remains of Mike, the SCP Foundation dispatches a 
team to investigate the ruined containment site.  

00:18:12.360 --> 00:18:18.420
This unit is comprised primarily of the eight 
members belonging to Mobile Task Force 066,  

00:18:18.420 --> 00:18:24.720
also codenamed ‘Eight Blind Men’. Led by their 
Captain, the unit is also overseen by a Foundation  

00:18:24.720 --> 00:18:29.280
researcher named Doctor Obrendt. As the team 
enters the ruins of the containment house,  

00:18:29.280 --> 00:18:35.340
they maintain a clear line of communication with 
Doctor Obrendt via radio. With no idea what will  

00:18:35.340 --> 00:18:40.380
happen once the team is inside, everyone is on 
high alert, told to look out for cognito hazards  

00:18:40.380 --> 00:18:47.160
or any interruptions of their mental faculties.
Upon entry, everything goes quiet. For ten long  

00:18:47.160 --> 00:18:51.900
minutes, there isn’t a word from the team. Then 
comes the eventual report from the Captain:  

00:18:51.900 --> 00:18:57.960
the spatial anomaly is in full effect. Doctor 
Obrendt remarks on the long delay of ten minutes,  

00:18:57.960 --> 00:19:03.240
but the Captain insists that – from his and the 
team’s point of view, it was only thirty seconds.  

00:19:03.240 --> 00:19:09.600
They quickly reach the conclusion that the spatial 
anomaly triggered by an SCP-3010-1 reactive  

00:19:09.600 --> 00:19:15.780
event has, this time, resulted in time dilation.
The team navigates their way through a repeating  

00:19:15.780 --> 00:19:20.880
series of hallways, finding themselves in a copy 
of the foyer of the ruined containment site. It’s  

00:19:20.880 --> 00:19:28.980
only then that the Captain realizes something is 
wrong. The team is down a man, MTF-066-8. But his  

00:19:28.980 --> 00:19:35.400
men are confused, they tell him there are only 
seven members of MTF-066. Doctor Obrendt concurs.  

00:19:35.400 --> 00:19:44.160
The Captain then points out that MTF-066-6 and 
MTF-066-7 are also both missing. Once again,  

00:19:44.160 --> 00:19:49.080
the rest of the team insists they’ve never even 
heard of those people, their team has always had  

00:19:49.080 --> 00:19:54.960
five members. It’s as if they can’t remember, or 
their comrades have been erased from existence. 

00:19:55.680 --> 00:20:01.620
Eight Blind Men were rapidly whittled down 
from five, to three, to just one. The Captain  

00:20:01.620 --> 00:20:07.500
was lost and alone, frantic and paranoid. His 
remains are never recovered, and before long,  

00:20:07.500 --> 00:20:11.640
the Foundation is forced to accept that 
their Mobile Task Force, the “Three Blind  

00:20:11.640 --> 00:20:17.700
Men” have all been killed in action. With 
no sign of the missing D-Class, D-17729. 

00:20:18.540 --> 00:20:23.700
But a series of unauthorized addendums 
have been left on the SCP-3010 file in  

00:20:23.700 --> 00:20:28.620
the Foundation’s archive. They seem to have 
been left by Mike, who recalls his old D-Class  

00:20:28.620 --> 00:20:34.080
designation number. He describes being lost in 
a series of endless dark halls, with only a few  

00:20:34.080 --> 00:20:39.960
small rooms. He says that ‘they probably hate it 
here’ because it’s a ‘waste of all their eyes’. 

00:20:39.960 --> 00:20:45.660
“The entity has eyes... They’ve got eyes in the 
back of their head. They’ve got eyes in the back  

00:20:45.660 --> 00:20:51.840
of their mouth… They don’t like us, Foundation. 
But they watch us. They watch us for so long…  

00:20:52.380 --> 00:20:58.020
Why do they hate us, Foundation? Why 
do they hate me? Why is it so dark?” 

00:20:58.020 --> 00:21:03.420
The addendum from Mike ends with him describing 
his entity coming out of the mirror. He says  

00:21:03.420 --> 00:21:10.440
there’s one for every room. Right behind him. 
Right behind you. Right behind all of us. 

00:21:11.280 --> 00:21:16.380
Check out the Dr. Bob Patreon and become a junior 
researcher today! Now go and watch another entry  

00:21:16.380 --> 00:21:21.780
from the files of Dr. Bob, like SCP-150 
Body Stealing Parasite - Ship of Theseus!