WEBVTT
Kind: captions
Language: en

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“Tell me if it starts to hurt,” the dentist
says before reaching into your mouth with

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a pair of orthodontic pliers and starting
to pull your front teeth back into place.

00:00:08.890 --> 00:00:12.759
Evidently, your screams aren’t enough of
an indication of the extreme pain you feel

00:00:12.759 --> 00:00:15.280
because he doesn’t stop pulling.

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After what feels like hours of excruciating
oral surgery, you’re finally standing outside

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the dentist's office texting with a friend.
“Come on, show me. It can’t be that bad,”

00:00:24.490 --> 00:00:28.250
reads the message from your friend. You’re
nervous to send her a picture though since

00:00:28.250 --> 00:00:32.200
you have a small crush on the girl and you
don’t want her to see you in this state.

00:00:32.200 --> 00:00:37.110
But after she asks you again you decide to
take a quick selfie and send it to her anyway.

00:00:37.110 --> 00:00:41.880
You snap a photo of your mangled mouth and
jaw. The mess of wires had to be hastily applied

00:00:41.880 --> 00:00:46.489
to move your remaining crooked teeth back
into place with globs of fast hardening epoxy

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and the result looks like a low-budget horror
movie prosthetic.

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You send the message and wait. You watch the
dots appear that indicate she’s writing

00:00:54.399 --> 00:00:59.440
a response, then watch as they disappear without
a reply. You sadly slip the phone back into

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your pocket and begin walking away.

00:01:01.930 --> 00:01:06.340
As you make your way home with your head hung
in shame you keep your mouth shut tight. You

00:01:06.340 --> 00:01:10.781
don’t want any passersby to see what you’ve
become. You decide to detour through the park

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to avoid any people as much as possible and
as you walk, you decide to stop at a picnic

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table next to a small pond.

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You sit at the table and watch the ducks mill
about in the water. “They have it so lucky,”

00:01:22.650 --> 00:01:26.530
you think. “Ducks never have to worry about
their teeth getting knocked out by a baseball

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and leaving them looking like a monster.”

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The ducks suddenly all start moving away from
your side of the pond, eventually taking flight

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and leaving completely. You get the sense
that they’re trying to get away from something

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and you turn around, but there’s nothing
behind you. “Oh, it must be me,” you think.

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But then you get the sense that there is something
behind you and turn again, still though, there’s

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nothing. It’s just you, the picnic table,
and the empty pond. You turn back to watch

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the still water but you can’t shake the
feeling that there’s someone behind you

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and turn again. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
you ask but no one answers. You turn back

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to the pond and -

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You scream in fright at the thing standing
before you and fall back off of the picnic

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table. You get up out of the dirt and you
don’t wait to stick around to see who or

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what this thing is. You start to run as fast
as you can but you immediately hear it chasing

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after you. Instinctually you take out your
phone and start trying to take pictures of

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whatever it is that’s behind you. You know
no one will ever believe you and you want

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some evidence of this, this… thing. You
manage to snap off a couple of pictures but

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you can hear the creature gaining on you.

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You scream as your mouth begins to ache. Perhaps
running this soon after your surgery is causing

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your damaged teeth to shift, and the pain
is intense. It starts to feel like your mouth

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is full of jagged rocks, but you can feel
that it is your teeth pushing out and stabbing

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into your mouth.

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You take one last picture before the creature
leaps on you, sending you both to the ground

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and your phone tumbling into the dirt.

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Early the next morning, a police perimeter
has been set up in the park. The detective

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arrives and walks past the traumatized looking
jogger who must have been the one that discovered

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the grisly scene. An officer guarding the
site lifts up the police tape so the detective

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can enter the crime scene that surrounds a
body lying under a white sheet.

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The detective asks the officer if they’ve
found anything yet and the office hands the

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detective a plastic bag containing a dirty
cellphone. The detective puts on a latex glove

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and removes the phone from the bag. The screen
is cracked but it still works. There’s numerous

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messages on the screen that look like they’re
from someone trying to apologize for not responding

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sooner, then asking where the phone’s owner
is and if they’re mad at her.

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The detective opens the phone’s camera app
and starts looking at the last photos that

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were taken. It’s a strange series of pictures.
They seem to all be selfies that a young man

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was taking as he ran through the park. It
almost appears as though there’s a figure

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behind him but it’s hard to tell. There’s
a foggy white vignette on the pictures that

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gets worse the further he looks, slowly closing
in until the last photo is nothing but a blurred

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milky white screen. The detective flips the
phone over and looks at the lens which he

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can see is completely covered in a hard white
substance.

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The detective places the phone back in the
evidence bag and kneels down next to the body.

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The police officer turns away, he’s already
seen the victim and doesn’t need to again.

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The detective pulls down the sheet to reveal
a truly shocking sight. The boy’s mouth

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is a mess of teeth, far far too many teeth.
There are teeth growing out of every part

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of his gums at horrible angles, filling his
mouth and jutting out at painfully odd angles.

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Who could have done this? What could have
done this?

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The local police department may not have had
any idea what the state of this victim meant,

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but the SCP Foundation did, because they had
seen the same occurrence dozens of times before.

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In fact, they had seen it happen so many times
that they had classified this anomalous entity

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as SCP-4910, but it had already earned a much
ominous nickname within the Foundation. It

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was known as... The Grinner.

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Very little is known about SCP-4910, and eyewitness
accounts of the creature are all extremely

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brief, due to those who have interacted with
it quickly succumbing to its effects. What

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is known is that SCP-4910 is a quadruped,
and appears to be made partially, or perhaps

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entirely, out of teeth.

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Those who encounter SCP-4910 quickly experience
its primary anomalous effect, which is that

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it causes the extremely rapid overproduction
of teeth in its victims’ mouths. Existing

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teeth will quickly increase in size, protruding
farther out of the gums than should be able,

00:05:33.880 --> 00:05:37.520
while new teeth will begin to sprout from
any available space in the mouth including

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the roof of the mouth and underneath the tongue.

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These new teeth will completely fill the mouth,
which almost immediately inhibits their ability

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to speak or vocalize at all. The creature
will then use this opportunity to attack and

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incapacitate the victim, before starting to
feed.

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Further adding to the mystery of SCP-4910’s
appearance comes from the effect it has on

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any nearby recording equipment. Cameras and
other devices that come within SCP-4910’s

00:06:04.100 --> 00:06:08.380
proximity will have their critical components
compromised by a sudden appearance of a layer

00:06:08.380 --> 00:06:12.820
of dentin, which is the calcified material
that partially makes up teeth.

00:06:12.820 --> 00:06:18.070
Interestingly, SCP-4910 seems to possess some
level of intelligence, as it appears able

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to differentiate between normal civilians,
who it hunts for sustenance, and members of

00:06:22.520 --> 00:06:27.199
organizations that seek to hunt down and contain
or harm it, which it uses for an even more

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nefarious purpose.

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While the exact mechanics are still unclear,
it seems as though SCP-4910 is able to “infect”

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certain anomalous organization members with
its ability, causing them to act as a vector

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for the effect, who then spread it to even
more victims. This effect is, of course, of

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great concern to the Foundation, and containment
protocols for infected victims have been hastily

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put into place. Should a member of staff begin
bearing a grin with too many teeth, or multiple

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tooth-filled smiles, they are to be immediately
immobilized by any means necessary, though

00:07:01.319 --> 00:07:04.970
preferably with a firearm that allows one
to keep an appropriate distance and hopefully

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prevent any further spread of the effect.
The infected individual is then to be doused

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in a hydrochloric chemical compound that will
reduce the afflicted to a pulp-like substance.

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Once this pulp is no longer animate, it can
be transferred to the closest incineration

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site for disposal.

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Should a member of personnel have an interaction
with SCP-4910 and feel that they were exposed

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to its anomalous effects, they may be saved
by taking immediate medical action. Oral surgery

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to remove the additional teeth has been found
to be effective when the procedure is undergone

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in the first one to two hours following exposure,
though the victim will suffer lifelong permanent

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physical issues from the procedure.

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Once three hours have passed, the effect will
have spread to the rest of the body, with

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teeth appearing virtually anywhere. Unfortunately
for the victim, should the infection reach

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this point, pain management has been shown
to be ineffective, and there is nothing that

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can be done to alleviate their suffering save
for termination.

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SCP-4910 remains at large and has been given
the Keter classification. Mobile Task Force

00:08:04.690 --> 00:08:10.039
Epsilon, codenamed “Tyrfing Black” is
the only MTF authorized to respond to sightings

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and they have been given permission to engage
the creature and utilize lethal force if necessary

00:08:14.419 --> 00:08:19.210
due to the danger this anomaly presents specifically
to the SCP Foundation.

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The girl sighs and slumps in her seat, kicking
at the back of the bucket seat in front of

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her. Her mother, sitting in the car’s front
passenger side seat, doesn’t even notice;

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she’s too busy taking photographs out the
window and chattering with her husband, who’s

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driving the car. That’s all they’ve been
doing all day, and the girl is sick to death

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of it. Her parents dragged her on this stupid
vacation trip, and now she’s got to waste

00:08:41.669 --> 00:08:45.690
her whole summer away from her friends.
She stares out the window and watches the

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pastoral countryside slide past. The quaint
little villages and rolling hillsides really

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excite her parents, but she could not care
less. Mom and Dad planned this family vacation

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across Europe for months, but she would much
rather have gone someplace interesting instead.

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There are only so many boring old castles
and stupid cathedrals that you can look at

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before you just lose your mind.
The girl sighs and crosses her arms across

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her chest in silent resignation. “Guess
we’re just gonna look at more dumb buildings,”

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she mutters.
“Honey, can you stop that? Your father worked

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really hard to put this trip together, and
the least you could do is pretend to have

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a good time,” says her mother, momentarily
lowering her camera to berate her ungrateful

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daughter. It’s the first time that her mother
has acknowledged her all day.

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“I think you’re really gonna like today’s
itinerary,” says her father, grinning as

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if he’s got a delicious secret that he can’t
wait to share. “We know it’s been hard

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for you spending your whole summer away from
home, so today we’re gonna do something

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just for you.”
“Uh-huh,” says the girl. “Sure, dad.”

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She rolls her eyes and pulls out a cell phone.
At least she can still get Internet access

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out here! Desperate for something to distract
her from the monotony of this car trip, she

00:09:53.850 --> 00:09:57.720
quickly scrolls through her feed and reads
all the notes that her friends back home are

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posting. She frowns. Her classmates are all
posting about the latest blockbuster film

00:10:02.620 --> 00:10:07.310
in the girl’s favorite media franchise,
Vampire Boyfriend. She grits her teeth. She

00:10:07.310 --> 00:10:11.620
likes to consider herself a Vampire Boyfriend
super fan. She’s a well-known poster in

00:10:11.620 --> 00:10:16.630
the Vampire Boyfriend online community, famous
for her fan fiction as well as her own original

00:10:16.630 --> 00:10:21.579
character: Vampire Girlfriend.
In fact, her writing is somewhat controversial.

00:10:21.579 --> 00:10:25.850
A lot of Vampire Boyfriend purists have accused
her character Vampire Girlfriend of being

00:10:25.850 --> 00:10:30.750
a Mary Sue, and they object to her stories
where Vampire Boyfriend meets and falls madly

00:10:30.750 --> 00:10:34.690
in love with her – to the point that he
forgets his canon lover from the film series,

00:10:34.690 --> 00:10:37.390
Vampire Wife.
She’s annoyed to see that her friends got

00:10:37.390 --> 00:10:41.310
to see the new Vampire Boyfriend movie on
opening night, while she’s stuck out here

00:10:41.310 --> 00:10:44.980
on this stupid family vacation! The movie
won’t premiere in Europe for another few

00:10:44.980 --> 00:10:49.220
months, and there’s no way she’s going
to be able to avoid spoilers for that long.

00:10:49.220 --> 00:10:53.430
Everything about this situation seems tailor-made
to irritate her, and the excited giggles of

00:10:53.430 --> 00:10:57.750
her parents in the front of the car, as they
exchange knowing glances, are only annoying

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her more.
“Trust me, you’re going to love this!”

00:11:00.230 --> 00:11:05.010
says her father again. He peers at an unfolded
roadmap in his lap, mutters something under

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his breath, and turns the car off the main
highway and onto a narrow gravel road.

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The girl grits her teeth as the car rattles
over the uneven ground so hard that it nearly

00:11:14.209 --> 00:11:18.910
jostles her cellphone from her grasp. She
tries to distract herself by typing some notes

00:11:18.910 --> 00:11:22.760
to herself, plot points for the latest Vampire
Boyfriend fanfiction that she’s working

00:11:22.760 --> 00:11:28.250
on. In her new story, Vampire Girlfriend is
going to be kidnapped by werewolves, leading

00:11:28.250 --> 00:11:32.780
Vampire Boyfriend to have an existential crisis
as he struggles to find meaning in a world

00:11:32.780 --> 00:11:37.510
without his beloved. She makes a note that
Vampire Girlfriend should look, dress, and

00:11:37.510 --> 00:11:42.420
talk just like her. After all, she imagines,
wouldn’t she be the perfect match for Vampire

00:11:42.420 --> 00:11:46.130
Boyfriend?
She pauses, a momentary dreamy expression

00:11:46.130 --> 00:11:50.410
on her face, as she imagines how much better
a weekend together with Vampire Boyfriend

00:11:50.410 --> 00:11:54.860
would be compared to this boring car trip.
“This can’t be right,” mumbles her father,

00:11:54.860 --> 00:11:59.440
scanning the horizon. “But the directions
said…” Suddenly he brightens up. “Oh!

00:11:59.440 --> 00:12:02.900
There it is! Playland!”
The girl cranes her neck to see that the car

00:12:02.900 --> 00:12:06.660
is fast approaching what appears to be a little
carnival at the end of the road. She rolls

00:12:06.660 --> 00:12:11.530
her eyes. Oh, great. Of course, her parents
would take her here! First, they bore her

00:12:11.530 --> 00:12:15.430
with endless visits to museums and historical
sights, and now, when they want to make it

00:12:15.430 --> 00:12:20.100
all up to her, they take her to a carnival
for babies. She’s not a kid anymore, but

00:12:20.100 --> 00:12:23.440
her parents still think that this sort of
goofy nonsense should excite her.

00:12:23.440 --> 00:12:27.790
“I know you’ve been bored going to all
the historical sites with us, honey pumpkin,”

00:12:27.790 --> 00:12:31.750
says her father as he pulls the car into a
parking slot and applies the brake. “That’s

00:12:31.750 --> 00:12:35.779
why I asked the hotel concierge if there was
anything good around here for kids. And, wouldn’t

00:12:35.779 --> 00:12:40.910
you know it, the next morning, what did I
find shoved under our door? Three free tickets!”

00:12:40.910 --> 00:12:43.680
He holds up the tickets as if they were a
trophy he’d won.

00:12:43.680 --> 00:12:46.779
The girl’s mother nods approvingly. “Now
that’s good service. I hope you left him

00:12:46.779 --> 00:12:50.290
a big tip.”
The girl groans. “You can’t be serious,

00:12:50.290 --> 00:12:54.420
dad! A carnival? What, do you expect me to
ride on the tea cups or something? I’m 15!

00:12:54.420 --> 00:12:59.010
I’m not a dumb baby anymore!”
“Language, young lady,” admonishes her

00:12:59.010 --> 00:13:03.250
mother as she unbuckles her seat belt. “Your
father worked really hard to find this place

00:13:03.250 --> 00:13:07.100
just for you. The least you could do is show
a little gratitude for once!”

00:13:07.100 --> 00:13:11.640
“Oh, you think you’re too old NOW,”
says her father. “But I bet, once we see

00:13:11.640 --> 00:13:16.779
some of these rides, boy, I’ll bet you feel
just like a kid again!” He inhales deeply.

00:13:16.779 --> 00:13:21.040
Even inside the car, the unmistakable fair
smells of funnel cake and corn dogs are in

00:13:21.040 --> 00:13:28.160
the air. “You smell that? Smells like fun!”
“Sure. Fun.” The girl pockets her cellphone.

00:13:28.160 --> 00:13:31.260
The family exits the car and walks toward
the Playland gate, where they’re greeted

00:13:31.260 --> 00:13:35.271
by a costumed employee.
"Welcome to Playland!" announces the employee

00:13:35.271 --> 00:13:39.320
in a chipper voice. “Your favorite amusement
park! When you’re at Playland, you’ll

00:13:39.320 --> 00:13:42.750
find that the worries of the day melt away…
and it’s time for play!”

00:13:42.750 --> 00:13:47.710
“Oh, you speak English,” says the father.
He turns to the mother. “See? Now that’s

00:13:47.710 --> 00:13:51.500
service!” He hands over the complimentary
tickets. The employee takes them with a smile

00:13:51.500 --> 00:13:54.329
and a flourish and then ushers the family
through the gate.

00:13:54.329 --> 00:13:59.000
The girl, however, can’t stop staring at
the gatekeeper. If she didn’t know any better,

00:13:59.000 --> 00:14:03.350
she would think that he was dressed like Vampire
Boyfriend? But that doesn’t make any sense.

00:14:03.350 --> 00:14:07.570
It must just be a coincidence. But once they
enter the park, she sees that all the employees

00:14:07.570 --> 00:14:11.709
are dressed like Vampire Boyfriend! The guy
standing behind the counter of the ring toss

00:14:11.709 --> 00:14:15.630
booth, the guy manning the balloon station…
the uniform for this part looks like the outfit

00:14:15.630 --> 00:14:19.810
that she imagined Vampire Boyfriend would
be wearing in her first fan fiction story!

00:14:19.810 --> 00:14:23.330
“Wait…” says the girl, staring up at
the bundle of helium balloons floating above

00:14:23.330 --> 00:14:28.000
the balloon vendor. Each balloon bears the
name “Vampire Boyfriend” and the fanged

00:14:28.000 --> 00:14:32.870
bat logo of the film series. So it’s not
a coincidence at all? This theme park really

00:14:32.870 --> 00:14:37.360
is themed after her favorite films?
Her father notices her change of expression

00:14:37.360 --> 00:14:41.589
and he nudges her in the ribs. “Eh? Eh?
I told you that you’d like it… This is

00:14:41.589 --> 00:14:44.990
all about those movies you like so much, huh?
Ghost Boyfriend or whatever?”

00:14:44.990 --> 00:14:50.100
“It’s Vampire Boyfriend, Dad,” she says
distantly, but she’s too mesmerized by her

00:14:50.100 --> 00:14:52.300
surroundings to put much feeling into the
barb.

00:14:52.300 --> 00:14:56.190
“How much for a balloon?” asks her father,
pulling open his wallet and quickly thumbing

00:14:56.190 --> 00:15:00.180
through a stack of local currency.
“Oh, no charge!” says the balloon vendor

00:15:00.180 --> 00:15:03.620
brightly. He plucks a string from the bundle
and hands it over. “Everything’s free

00:15:03.620 --> 00:15:07.910
for our valued special ticket holders!”
“Well, would you listen to that!” says

00:15:07.910 --> 00:15:12.070
her father. He replaces his wallet in his
back pocket. “Now, this is the kind of carnival

00:15:12.070 --> 00:15:16.230
that I wish we had back in the States!”
The girl awkwardly takes the proffered balloon.

00:15:16.230 --> 00:15:20.231
She feels silly holding it, but she’s more
confused about why it’s free. The whole

00:15:20.231 --> 00:15:24.470
point of offering free entry into a carnival
is to gouge people with over-priced rides

00:15:24.470 --> 00:15:29.730
and souvenirs, right? But everywhere she looks,
she can’t help but notice signs advertising

00:15:29.730 --> 00:15:33.930
“Free corn dogs!” and “Bumpers Cars!
Unlimited Rides for $000.” How can this

00:15:33.930 --> 00:15:38.610
carnival make enough money to keep operating
if it’s not charging for anything? In fact,

00:15:38.610 --> 00:15:41.510
how can this carnival make enough money to
keep operating when it’s based around a

00:15:41.510 --> 00:15:46.120
niche film like Vampire Boyfriend? Are there
really that many Vampire Boyfriend fans out

00:15:46.120 --> 00:15:50.051
here to keep this place in business?
Not that there’s anyone else around. As

00:15:50.051 --> 00:15:54.569
she scans her surroundings, she realizes that,
while there are plenty of costumed employees

00:15:54.569 --> 00:15:58.930
bustling around the fair, she doesn’t see
any other fair goers. It’s as if this whole

00:15:58.930 --> 00:16:02.550
carnival was created and maintained solely
for her benefit!

00:16:02.550 --> 00:16:06.279
“Hey, pumpkin, how about some ride? I bet
you’d love to try out some bumper cars,

00:16:06.279 --> 00:16:10.130
huh?” says her father. “How about we take
a race, and you see if you can beat your old

00:16:10.130 --> 00:16:13.350
man, huh?”
He points to a bumper car ride across the

00:16:13.350 --> 00:16:18.310
midway. The girl stares. Like all the other
rides, it’s covered in Vampire Boyfriend

00:16:18.310 --> 00:16:23.420
murals. This one depicts a young woman running
away from a pack of werewolves – and the

00:16:23.420 --> 00:16:27.300
young woman looks almost exactly like the
girl. It couldn’t be… but there’s no

00:16:27.300 --> 00:16:31.510
other explanation! The young woman in the
mural matches exactly the description of the

00:16:31.510 --> 00:16:35.420
girl’s character Vampire Girlfriend from
her fan fiction story! And the image of the

00:16:35.420 --> 00:16:38.990
werewolves looks like it’s an illustration
of the scene where Vampire Girlfriend gets

00:16:38.990 --> 00:16:43.300
kidnapped.
How could this be? Could it be that the artist,

00:16:43.300 --> 00:16:48.310
obviously a fan of the Vampire Boyfriend films,
is also familiar with her fan fiction? But

00:16:48.310 --> 00:16:51.740
even if that was the case, it’s absurd to
think that he would use it as inspiration

00:16:51.740 --> 00:16:57.160
for a theme park ride! Who other than her
would possibly recognize this scene?

00:16:57.160 --> 00:17:01.199
“Hmm,” says the girl’s mother, walking
up behind her and peering at the mural. “Why,

00:17:01.199 --> 00:17:05.750
that girl looks just like you.”
“I know! She does!” says the girl quickly.

00:17:05.750 --> 00:17:09.709
It’s almost a relief to know that her mother
has also noticed the resemblance; at least

00:17:09.709 --> 00:17:14.589
it means that she’s not imagining things.
At the same time, she feels a twinge of guilt.

00:17:14.589 --> 00:17:18.510
Readers online are always accusing her of
using Vampire Girlfriend as a thinly disguised

00:17:18.510 --> 00:17:22.480
self-insert. Seeing this larger-than-life
picture of Vampire Girlfriend makes her think

00:17:22.480 --> 00:17:26.400
that there might be some merit to the accusation!
“Come on, you lot, stop worrying about some

00:17:26.400 --> 00:17:30.160
old picture and let’s have some fun!”
says her father. He offers money to the ticket

00:17:30.160 --> 00:17:33.430
taker parked behind the kiosk, but that man
merely shakes his head.

00:17:33.430 --> 00:17:37.660
“Your money is no good here, sir,” says
the ticket taker. “The bumper cars are free

00:17:37.660 --> 00:17:41.750
for our favored guests today!"
Her father clambers into the rink and ambles

00:17:41.750 --> 00:17:45.799
toward a bumper car. Her mother tugs at the
girl’s arm as if to encourage her to join

00:17:45.799 --> 00:17:49.580
in, but the girl resists.
“Come on! What’s gotten into you?” says

00:17:49.580 --> 00:17:52.910
her mother.
“This place is just weird!” says the girl.

00:17:52.910 --> 00:17:56.570
“Like, half of the stuff here isn’t even
from the official Vampire Boyfriend lore!

00:17:56.570 --> 00:18:01.580
It’s all stuff that I made up for my stories!”
Her mother rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Really,

00:18:01.580 --> 00:18:04.770
we go to all this trouble to find something
that you would like to do, and all you want

00:18:04.770 --> 00:18:08.160
to do is complain?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, is there some problem

00:18:08.160 --> 00:18:12.580
here?” The family is startled as another
employee walks up to them. He’s also dressed

00:18:12.580 --> 00:18:17.110
like Vampire Boyfriend, and a wide smile is
plastered across his face. “You folks look

00:18:17.110 --> 00:18:21.250
like you’re upset about something.”
“You’re damn right I’m upset about something!”

00:18:21.250 --> 00:18:25.950
yells the girl. In her rage, she throws her
drink at the employee. He barely reacts as

00:18:25.950 --> 00:18:30.390
the cup explodes against his chest, dousing
him with sticky soda. “What’s going on

00:18:30.390 --> 00:18:34.440
here? Where did you hear about Vampire Girlfriend?”
“Ma’am, Playland is designed to give every

00:18:34.440 --> 00:18:37.610
visitor the perfect experience!” says the
employee blandly.

00:18:37.610 --> 00:18:40.360
“That’s not good enough! Tell me what’s
going on here!”

00:18:40.360 --> 00:18:45.130
The employee’s attitude changes on a dime.
His bright smile fades and suddenly his tone

00:18:45.130 --> 00:18:49.180
turns stern. “Ma’am, I’m afraid that
you’re going to ruin everyone’s fun if

00:18:49.180 --> 00:18:53.940
you keep up this sort of behavior. We like
to keep things fun here at Playland. If you

00:18:53.940 --> 00:18:58.260
want to spoil the fun, I’m afraid I’ll
have to ask you to leave.”

00:18:58.260 --> 00:19:02.700
“Fine! Then we’ll leave!”
“Oh, come on, young lady, we just got here!”

00:19:02.700 --> 00:19:05.880
snaps her mother. “We literally drove all
day to get here and you want to leave after

00:19:05.880 --> 00:19:09.200
just one ride?”
“You don’t even like rides!”

00:19:09.200 --> 00:19:13.429
“There’s a principle involved here,”
says her father sternly as he saunters up.

00:19:13.429 --> 00:19:16.950
“Young lady, if that’s your attitude,
then I think maybe you should go wait in the

00:19:16.950 --> 00:19:19.760
car! Because your mother and I intend to have
a good time.”

00:19:19.760 --> 00:19:23.740
The girl doesn’t have a chance to argue.
The employee rests his hands heavily on her

00:19:23.740 --> 00:19:28.179
shoulders and turns her around. “Don’t
worry, folks, we’ll escort her back to your

00:19:28.179 --> 00:19:31.020
car. You can join her as well when you’re
ready.”

00:19:31.020 --> 00:19:35.090
The girl cannot believe what’s happening!
The employee politely but firmly steers her

00:19:35.090 --> 00:19:39.500
toward the exit, and frog marches her out
the gate. He abandons her in the parking lot,

00:19:39.500 --> 00:19:43.590
tipping his hat and smiling brightly before
he disappears back inside the park.

00:19:43.590 --> 00:19:47.510
“Please try to enjoy yourself, ma’am,
until your parents are ready to join you.

00:19:47.510 --> 00:19:51.240
In the meantime, why don’t you work on that
new fan fiction you’ve been planning?”

00:19:51.240 --> 00:19:56.110
“How do you know about that!?” yells the
girl. The employee doesn’t answer, simply

00:19:56.110 --> 00:20:00.590
turning and fading back into the crowd. She
rushes to the gate but the gatekeeper stops

00:20:00.590 --> 00:20:03.580
her.
“Sorry, ma’am, no re-entry without a ticket!”

00:20:03.580 --> 00:20:07.701
“But I have a ticket!” she cries. “You
saw it! My dad gave it to you, like, half

00:20:07.701 --> 00:20:13.070
an hour ago… come on. You can’t be serious!”
She tries to push past him, but the gatekeeper

00:20:13.070 --> 00:20:17.930
grabs her wrists with surprising strength
and holds her. Still smiling, he firmly escorts

00:20:17.930 --> 00:20:22.059
her back out to her car before releasing her.
“Please, ma’am, don’t make a scene.

00:20:22.059 --> 00:20:26.260
You’re going to disturb our guests.”
“Who’s in charge here? I… I need to

00:20:26.260 --> 00:20:29.230
talk to the manager! I want my parents back
right now!”

00:20:29.230 --> 00:20:33.559
The gatekeeper doesn’t even respond; he
simply returns to his station. There’s nothing

00:20:33.559 --> 00:20:38.250
that the girl can do now but wait. She sits
down in the gravel and leans her back against

00:20:38.250 --> 00:20:43.490
the side of the car. Minutes turn to hours
and still her parents haven’t returned.

00:20:43.490 --> 00:20:46.040
Eventually, she goes back to yell at the gate
keeper again.

00:20:46.040 --> 00:20:49.170
“Where are my parents!? They should have
been back hours ago!”

00:20:49.170 --> 00:20:52.860
“Sorry, ma’am, I guess your parents are
just having too much fun right now. I’m

00:20:52.860 --> 00:20:56.169
sure you’ll see them again soon, though,”
says the gatekeeper.

00:20:56.169 --> 00:21:00.640
The girl shivers as she feels a bite in the
cool twilight air. She notices that the sun

00:21:00.640 --> 00:21:05.120
is starting to dip behind the mountains. It
will be dark soon. How much longer could they

00:21:05.120 --> 00:21:08.720
take? Even if they decided to ride on every
ride in the park, surely they would be done

00:21:08.720 --> 00:21:11.480
by now?
“What times does the park close?” asks

00:21:11.480 --> 00:21:16.860
the girl, a note of panic rising in her voice.
The gatekeeper blinks serenely. “Playland

00:21:16.860 --> 00:21:21.679
is open 24/7, ma’am. We’re always here
when you want to play!”

00:21:21.679 --> 00:21:26.250
The girl feels the color drain from her face
as she ponders the possibilities. Her father

00:21:26.250 --> 00:21:30.400
has the car keys, so she can’t take the
car to go for help… She pulls out her cellphone,

00:21:30.400 --> 00:21:34.450
but she doesn’t know the number she would
need to alert any local authorities. And it’s

00:21:34.450 --> 00:21:38.510
not like she speaks the language, anyway!
Other than the employees here at Playland,

00:21:38.510 --> 00:21:42.440
she hasn’t met a single person in this whole
trip who speaks English! She’s completely

00:21:42.440 --> 00:21:48.820
helpless, trapped, and there’s nothing that
she can do except wait and hope. As the night

00:21:48.820 --> 00:21:53.970
settles in, she realizes that her wait might
have just started.

00:21:53.970 --> 00:21:58.070
It might not be the happiest place on earth,
but it definitely tries to be. And while the

00:21:58.070 --> 00:22:02.830
world is full of sketchy amusement parks,
most of them just want your money. The amusement

00:22:02.830 --> 00:22:08.710
park known as SCP-1357, however, genuinely
wants you to have a good time. Sometimes it

00:22:08.710 --> 00:22:13.370
wants you to have a good time whether you
want to or not.

00:22:13.370 --> 00:22:18.701
SCP-1357 is a theme park with an area of approximately
4 square kilometers located somewhere in Poland.

00:22:18.701 --> 00:22:25.970
The park has four entrances, at each of the
cardinal directions. SCP-1357 is highly selective

00:22:25.970 --> 00:22:30.370
about who it allows to enter the park, restricting
access to parties that meet the following

00:22:30.370 --> 00:22:34.500
criteria: The group must contain at least
two adults in a romantic relationship, it

00:22:34.500 --> 00:22:38.950
must contain at least one member who is under
the age of 18 and who thinks of the aforementioned

00:22:38.950 --> 00:22:43.390
romantic couple as their guardians, and every
member of the party must possess a free ticket

00:22:43.390 --> 00:22:50.170
– hereafter referred to as SCP-1357-B.
The park does not charge for admission, and

00:22:50.170 --> 00:22:57.200
the only way to gain access is to have possession
of an instance of SCP-1357-B. Once inside,

00:22:57.200 --> 00:23:02.380
SCP-1357 looks like any other carnival with
thrill rides, amusement arcades, midway games,

00:23:02.380 --> 00:23:07.970
and concession booths. Highly unusual for
a carnival, though, is that SCP-1357 does

00:23:07.970 --> 00:23:14.049
not accept any money; all rides, food, and
souvenirs are free. The layout and theme of

00:23:14.049 --> 00:23:17.900
the park are different for different visitors
and appear to be highly contingent on the

00:23:17.900 --> 00:23:21.880
desires of the youngest member of any visiting
party. Often, the park will appear themed

00:23:21.880 --> 00:23:26.409
after various popular media properties, such
as Batman, Winnie the Pooh, or Barney the

00:23:26.409 --> 00:23:32.169
Dinosaur. However, visiting parties accompanied
by more imaginative kids may encounter substantially

00:23:32.169 --> 00:23:37.570
weirder things in the park – including talking
animals, sentient foodstuffs, temporal displacements,

00:23:37.570 --> 00:23:42.030
and even extradimensional portals.
Although the park normally sits empty, when

00:23:42.030 --> 00:23:47.440
a group meeting entry requirements arrive
at the gate, SCP-1357 will spontaneously manifest

00:23:47.440 --> 00:23:55.410
a full working staff, people designated as
SCP-1357-A. Instances of SCP-1357-A appear

00:23:55.410 --> 00:24:00.909
to be ordinary humans of various ages, ethnicities,
sexes, and genders, all clothes in matching

00:24:00.909 --> 00:24:07.909
uniforms, suggesting that they are employees
of the park. Instances of SCP-1357-A are exceptionally

00:24:07.909 --> 00:24:13.560
friendly and helpful, and are extremely dedicated
to making sure that visitors to SCP-1357 have

00:24:13.560 --> 00:24:17.950
a good time. In fact, there’s nothing that
they care about more.

00:24:17.950 --> 00:24:23.540
There is, however, a darker side to SCP-1357,
and one incident suggests the frightening

00:24:23.540 --> 00:24:27.260
lengths to which the park will go to make
sure that its younger visitors truly enjoy

00:24:27.260 --> 00:24:32.480
their stay. As part of an experiment, a foundation
agent visited the park with his own family,

00:24:32.480 --> 00:24:36.830
each member equipped with audio recording
devices that continuously transmitted to foundation

00:24:36.830 --> 00:24:43.649
consoles. During his stay, he attempted to
interrogate an instance of SCP-1357-A. The

00:24:43.649 --> 00:24:48.790
instance of SCP-1357-A refused to answer the
agent’s questions about the purpose or origin

00:24:48.790 --> 00:24:53.330
of the park, instead lamenting that the agent’s
attitude was “going to spoil the fun”

00:24:53.330 --> 00:24:56.159
for his family.
Eventually, instances of SCP-1357-A escorted

00:24:56.159 --> 00:25:02.840
the agent to an exit and forcibly removed
him from the park. When his wife attempted

00:25:02.840 --> 00:25:08.890
to follow him, the couple’s daughter refused
to leave. Instances of SCP-135-A separated

00:25:08.890 --> 00:25:12.799
the daughter from her family, removing the
wife from the park and keeping the daughter

00:25:12.799 --> 00:25:16.460
inside, leaving the parents with only vague
assurances that their daughter would be returned

00:25:16.460 --> 00:25:18.630
when she was ready to leave the park.

00:25:18.630 --> 00:25:22.370
Attempts to forcibly recover the daughter
proved futile, and even a well-armed rescue

00:25:22.370 --> 00:25:29.540
team was unable to overcome the seemingly
infinite numbers of SCP-1357-A that SCP-1357

00:25:29.540 --> 00:25:34.929
manifested to protect itself. Hopes that SCP-1357
might indeed allow the daughter to leave once

00:25:34.929 --> 00:25:39.600
she became bored with park attractions also
proved to futile; audio captured from daughter’s

00:25:39.600 --> 00:25:45.260
recording device seems to indicate that when
she eventually demanded that SCP-1357-A’s

00:25:45.260 --> 00:25:49.740
release her, she was instead placed into some
sort of machine that altered or brainwashed

00:25:49.740 --> 00:25:56.320
her into becoming an SCP-1357-A herself.
Subsequent park visits by foundation researchers

00:25:56.320 --> 00:26:01.409
have revealed a new SCP-1357-A that matches
the daughter’s physical description but

00:26:01.409 --> 00:26:07.620
does not display any memories of her past
life. Interactions with the SCP-1357-A that

00:26:07.620 --> 00:26:13.000
resembles the missing daughter reveal that,
like other instances of SCP-1357-A, her only

00:26:13.000 --> 00:26:18.590
thoughts are on how to please park visitors
and help them enjoy a pleasant visiting experience.

00:26:18.590 --> 00:26:22.900
In the end, Playland may offer the ultimate
amusement park experience for free… but

00:26:22.900 --> 00:26:27.059
it might still exact a price way too high.

00:26:27.059 --> 00:26:30.920
These winters are getting worse every year.
That’s for sure.

00:26:30.920 --> 00:26:34.960
The Old Cattle Rancher doesn’t know if it’s
the climate changing, God’s judgment arriving,

00:26:34.960 --> 00:26:40.779
or if he’s just getting older and struggling
to keep up. Probably a strong mix of all of

00:26:40.779 --> 00:26:46.169
it. Whatever the cause, it doesn’t change
the facts. It’s deathly cold out there.

00:26:46.169 --> 00:26:51.130
His ailing, elderly Ma’s health continues
to deteriorate. He hasn’t heard from his

00:26:51.130 --> 00:26:55.950
delivery driver, Jorge, in days. And on top
of it all, his loyal dog, Marybell, is out

00:26:55.950 --> 00:26:58.811
there, barking into the darkness of the barn.

00:26:58.811 --> 00:27:03.210
The Rancher heads out to fetch her. He doesn’t
know what he’d do if she froze.

00:27:03.210 --> 00:27:07.450
He whistles, but she doesn’t look back at
him. She just carries on barking up that road

00:27:07.450 --> 00:27:12.560
into the snowy night. The Rancher wades through
the snow and peers in the direction she’s

00:27:12.560 --> 00:27:13.560
looking.

00:27:13.560 --> 00:27:16.980
“There’s nothing there girl, get inside.”

00:27:16.980 --> 00:27:18.820
But Marybell keeps barking. She’s insisting.

00:27:18.820 --> 00:27:21.360
He looks again. Is that…?

00:27:21.360 --> 00:27:25.560
The Rancher takes off running up the road.
All thoughts of cold immediately gone from

00:27:25.560 --> 00:27:30.110
his mind, he races towards the figure as fast
as he can. His frozen fingers fumble at the

00:27:30.110 --> 00:27:35.309
zipper on his parka. Icy wind stabs the insides
of his lungs. Marybell shoots off ahead of

00:27:35.309 --> 00:27:36.309
him.

00:27:36.309 --> 00:27:40.409
There, he pulls the zipper down and wrestles
the thick coat off of his shoulders just as

00:27:40.409 --> 00:27:44.330
he reaches the tiny figure. He drops to his
knees and throws the coat over the shoulders

00:27:44.330 --> 00:27:49.330
of the little girl standing alone in the snow.
Quick as he can, he wraps it tightly around

00:27:49.330 --> 00:27:53.850
her, pulling the hood up and over her head.
He takes her tiny shoulders in his hands and

00:27:53.850 --> 00:27:55.380
gives her a shake.

00:27:55.380 --> 00:27:58.410
“Are you okay? Hello? Can you hear me?”

00:27:58.410 --> 00:28:04.080
The girl sways for a moment, then collapses.
He catches her and, in one deft motion, scoops

00:28:04.080 --> 00:28:07.740
her into his arms and takes off back down
the road in the direction of his farm. Where

00:28:07.740 --> 00:28:13.019
the hell had she come from? There are no buildings
around here for miles. No one uses that road

00:28:13.019 --> 00:28:17.290
except Jorge. And in this weather, she couldn’t
have walked all the way over those mountains,

00:28:17.290 --> 00:28:19.289
she’d have frozen solid.

00:28:19.289 --> 00:28:23.710
He bites the finger of a glove and pulls it
off. With his bare hand, he clasps one of

00:28:23.710 --> 00:28:28.580
hers. By the feel of her skin, she pretty
much is frozen solid already. He needs to

00:28:28.580 --> 00:28:30.289
get her warmed up. Now.

00:28:30.289 --> 00:28:34.630
He kicks open the front door and bundles inside
with a flurry of snowflakes and an anxious

00:28:34.630 --> 00:28:39.360
dog at his heels. The fire’s not quite dead
yet, so he rushes over to the hearth and lays

00:28:39.360 --> 00:28:43.690
the little girl down next to it. He can barely
see her at all wrapped up in his enormous

00:28:43.690 --> 00:28:45.840
coat. She doesn’t seem to be moving.

00:28:45.840 --> 00:28:49.909
“Ma! I’m home! I… I found someone.”

00:28:49.909 --> 00:28:54.660
The Rancher grabs two dry logs from the side
and throws them onto the fire. He piles kindling

00:28:54.660 --> 00:28:59.230
high on top of them and blows steadily into
the embers at the bottom. They glow and swell

00:28:59.230 --> 00:29:05.500
in size. No taking yet. He blows again for
longer. And again. He feels his head starting

00:29:05.500 --> 00:29:10.140
to swim. A crackle. A lick of flame. It’s
taken!

00:29:10.140 --> 00:29:14.620
Panting, he turns back to the bundled-up coat
on the floor with the child inside. Still

00:29:14.620 --> 00:29:18.730
no movement. A sickening knot tightens his
stomach. What if she’s…?

00:29:18.730 --> 00:29:21.809
No. Don’t let yourself think that. Not yet.

00:29:21.809 --> 00:29:26.620
He reaches down and gently undoes the zipper
on the parka. His trembling fingers push back

00:29:26.620 --> 00:29:27.659
the hood.

00:29:27.659 --> 00:29:33.919
She’s pale. Deathly pale. Her dark brown
hair is wet and clings to her scalp. The tips

00:29:33.919 --> 00:29:40.370
are frozen. At a guess, she must only be 9
years old. Eyes closed, lips a sickening blue.

00:29:40.370 --> 00:29:45.860
But that’s not the color that scares him
the most. On her neck, there’s red.

00:29:45.860 --> 00:29:49.690
Delicately as he can, the Rancher takes the
coat off her shoulders and hangs it up by

00:29:49.690 --> 00:29:54.440
the fire. She’s dressed only in a plaid
shirt, way too big for her. It looks like

00:29:54.440 --> 00:29:59.510
an adult’s shirt, similar to an old one
he used to have years ago. But on her neck,

00:29:59.510 --> 00:30:05.230
her hands, her feet, is that same deep red.
Layers of blood, frozen to her skin.

00:30:05.230 --> 00:30:10.620
He sits back, his mind blank. He’s seen
that much blood before. Sure he has. When

00:30:10.620 --> 00:30:15.000
you work with cattle, it’s an unfortunate
part of the job. He’s seen cows bleed out

00:30:15.000 --> 00:30:20.419
during childbirth. The girl in front of him?
She’s the same color as those orphaned calves

00:30:20.419 --> 00:30:22.149
that lie crying on the floor.

00:30:22.149 --> 00:30:26.799
A groaning sound fills the room. The Rancher
looks across at the armchair where his Ma

00:30:26.799 --> 00:30:31.190
sits. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t
look at the girl on the floor. She just stares

00:30:31.190 --> 00:30:34.720
into the fire, same way she always does.

00:30:34.720 --> 00:30:38.860
Ma groans again. Trying to express something
she doesn’t understand. Being in a world

00:30:38.860 --> 00:30:39.870
without living in it.

00:30:39.870 --> 00:30:46.970
“Ma, it’s okay. Sorry if I startled you.
We have a um… we have a guest with us.”

00:30:46.970 --> 00:30:51.159
But she just keeps on groaning and staring
into the fire. The Rancher buries his head

00:30:51.159 --> 00:30:56.870
in his hands and lets out a deep breath. Only,
the sound of his breath is joined by another.

00:30:56.870 --> 00:31:01.980
A tiny breath, rattling and rasping through
a damaged child’s throat. Trying its best

00:31:01.980 --> 00:31:03.779
to keep its host alive.

00:31:03.779 --> 00:31:08.500
The Rancher opens his eyes and stares at the
child. She isn’t conscious, not by a long

00:31:08.500 --> 00:31:12.700
shot, but she’s breathing. A little at a
time. The icicles in her hair have turned

00:31:12.700 --> 00:31:16.400
into rounded droplets of water that glow by
the heat of the fire.

00:31:16.400 --> 00:31:20.500
He snaps back to his senses. He’s not doing
her much if she’s just lying there soaking

00:31:20.500 --> 00:31:26.080
wet. He runs off upstairs and grabs some towels
and a fresh flannel shirt to wear. After several

00:31:26.080 --> 00:31:30.240
minutes of drying her off, he’s confident
enough that he’s got most of the water off.

00:31:30.240 --> 00:31:34.210
There’s still a lot of blood caked to her
skin, but as far as he can tell, there’s

00:31:34.210 --> 00:31:36.760
no wound anywhere that it could have come
from.

00:31:36.760 --> 00:31:41.610
Brow furrowed, he leaves her under a bundle
of blankets and fills up the kettle with water.

00:31:41.610 --> 00:31:45.409
Hanging it carefully over the fire, he walks
over to the cabinet and fishes out a tin of

00:31:45.409 --> 00:31:50.389
coco from the top shelf. Hasn’t been used
in years but should still be fine. He would

00:31:50.389 --> 00:31:55.210
make it with milk, but she’s probably dehydrated.
Lifting the kettle’s lid with the poker,

00:31:55.210 --> 00:31:59.110
the Rancher pours the brown powder inside
and waits for it to boil.

00:31:59.110 --> 00:32:03.559
The little girl’s eyes are open now. She’s
staring into the flames. Her lips are looking

00:32:03.559 --> 00:32:06.010
a little more pink, her skin a little more
blotchy.

00:32:06.010 --> 00:32:12.000
“You’re safe here. Just stay by the fire
and warm up a bit. You like cocoa?”

00:32:12.000 --> 00:32:16.390
The little girl drags her eyes away from the
flames. Her expression is mostly blank. She

00:32:16.390 --> 00:32:18.289
looks too tired to be confused.

00:32:18.289 --> 00:32:19.580
“I don’t know.”

00:32:19.580 --> 00:32:22.429
“I think you will. Ma always gave me cocoa.”

00:32:22.429 --> 00:32:24.500
“Okay.”

00:32:24.500 --> 00:32:29.710
And with that, the farmhouse falls silent.
The little girl stares into the fire. The

00:32:29.710 --> 00:32:34.220
Rancher watches her, finally feeling the wave
of exhaustion crashing over him. His Ma has

00:32:34.220 --> 00:32:38.940
fallen asleep in her armchair. Only Marybel
stays awake through the whole night, staying

00:32:38.940 --> 00:32:44.810
close to the little girl by the fire. Occasionally
licking her toes to try and warm them up.

00:32:44.810 --> 00:32:45.810
**

00:32:45.810 --> 00:32:49.299
By the morning, the snow’s stopped, but
the huge drifts remain. As the Rancher walks

00:32:49.299 --> 00:32:53.690
across to the barn, he finds it hard to believe
that just a few hours ago, the winds were

00:32:53.690 --> 00:32:58.740
whipping at his face as hard as they were.
The world this morning is totally still.

00:32:58.740 --> 00:33:02.451
What the Rancher finds even harder to believe
is that there’s a little girl in his house

00:33:02.451 --> 00:33:07.039
right now, fast asleep by the fire. He checked
her forehead when he woke up this morning,

00:33:07.039 --> 00:33:10.769
and she miraculously hasn’t caught a fever.
She can’t have been out in that weather

00:33:10.769 --> 00:33:16.480
for too long, but it only makes the question
more mysterious. Where did she come from?

00:33:16.480 --> 00:33:19.549
Marybell didn’t get up this morning. From
all of the excitement last night, she must

00:33:19.549 --> 00:33:24.429
have been too tired for today. Walking through
the crisp morning air, he can’t really blame

00:33:24.429 --> 00:33:29.850
her. He shoulders the barn door open. A column
of steam curls out of the opening. All of

00:33:29.850 --> 00:33:34.110
that warmth, humidity, and cattle smell is
strangely comforting this morning.

00:33:34.110 --> 00:33:38.360
But as the Rancher goes around checking on
all the cows inside, he very quickly discovers

00:33:38.360 --> 00:33:44.519
a problem. They’re thin, way too thin. Some
of them look to be on the verge of starvation.

00:33:44.519 --> 00:33:48.600
He’d missed it last night as he drove them
down in the dark but in the warm glow of the

00:33:48.600 --> 00:33:54.440
barn’s lights it’s unmistakable. These
cows haven’t been eating properly.

00:33:54.440 --> 00:33:58.400
He pours out several sacks of grain for them
into the troughs, and they all gather round

00:33:58.400 --> 00:34:02.610
hungrily, filling both their stomachs as fast
as they can. The Rancher leans on the railing

00:34:02.610 --> 00:34:07.360
for a moment confused. Even in this cold,
there was still plenty of green grass for

00:34:07.360 --> 00:34:10.760
them up on the ridge. That’s why he’d
taken them up there. They should have had

00:34:10.760 --> 00:34:13.169
no trouble eating until the snow came in last
night.

00:34:13.169 --> 00:34:18.190
He doesn’t like this one bit. Last time
Jorge had driven down and collected some of

00:34:18.190 --> 00:34:21.610
the meat, he’d had a few questions about
the quantity being smaller than usual. Were

00:34:21.610 --> 00:34:26.540
the cows sick at all? Not that the Rancher
could tell. But now looking at them it’s

00:34:26.540 --> 00:34:29.080
clear as day. Something’s up.

00:34:29.080 --> 00:34:30.080
**

00:34:30.080 --> 00:34:31.080
“You hungry?”

00:34:31.080 --> 00:34:34.350
The little girl nods. They sit across the
table from one another eating homemade bread

00:34:34.350 --> 00:34:39.110
and soup. Ma stays over by the fire. Marybel
slowly wanders over to the kitchenette and

00:34:39.110 --> 00:34:40.940
flops down on the floor, exhausted.

00:34:40.940 --> 00:34:42.419
“Where you from?”

00:34:42.419 --> 00:34:43.649
The girl shrugs her shoulders.

00:34:43.649 --> 00:34:47.889
“You know how you got out here? Remember
anything from last night?”

00:34:47.889 --> 00:34:52.060
The little girl just eats her soup and shakes
her head. She doesn’t look particularly

00:34:52.060 --> 00:34:54.899
scared or worried. Just a little confused.

00:34:54.899 --> 00:34:58.520
“Where are your parents? Do you have parents?”

00:34:58.520 --> 00:35:03.800
Again the little girl shrugs. The Rancher
sits back and folds his arms. He’s tried

00:35:03.800 --> 00:35:08.089
to call into town, but his phoneline’s gone
out in the blizzard. Not much to be done until

00:35:08.089 --> 00:35:11.260
this snow clears. He’s got a good relationship
with the police around here, if he explains

00:35:11.260 --> 00:35:14.619
the situation, then it will all be okay.

00:35:14.619 --> 00:35:18.010
“What do you know? Can you remember anything
from last night?”

00:35:18.010 --> 00:35:24.540
“It was dark,” the girl slurps her soup.
“I was hungry, so hungry. Then I saw the

00:35:24.540 --> 00:35:25.820
light and I went towards that.”

00:35:25.820 --> 00:35:26.970
“My car.”

00:35:26.970 --> 00:35:31.760
“No. Well, yes. Later on, it was your car.
But before, it wasn’t.”

00:35:31.760 --> 00:35:34.700
“What was the light then? And where were
you?”

00:35:34.700 --> 00:35:38.630
“I don’t know. It was just… the light.”

00:35:38.630 --> 00:35:42.850
Now he’s even more confused. But, try as
he might, the Rancher can’t figure any of

00:35:42.850 --> 00:35:47.480
it out and, try as she might, the little girl
can’t remember anything more precise than

00:35:47.480 --> 00:35:48.480
that.

00:35:48.480 --> 00:35:49.480
**

00:35:49.480 --> 00:35:52.420
The pair of them hop into the car and drive
back out up the road that afternoon. The snow

00:35:52.420 --> 00:35:56.250
is piled so high that the Rancher is having
to get out twice as often as he did the previous

00:35:56.250 --> 00:35:58.359
night to clear a track for them.

00:35:58.359 --> 00:36:02.530
He isn’t actually sure what he’s brought
her out here looking for. Clues maybe? He

00:36:02.530 --> 00:36:06.510
almost laughs at himself at the thought, but
that’s probably the best word for it. If

00:36:06.510 --> 00:36:10.839
he can figure out how she got here, then he
can work on understanding who she is and how

00:36:10.839 --> 00:36:12.089
to get her home.

00:36:12.089 --> 00:36:16.730
There’s the damage to the phone line. One
of the masts has collapsed, sagging heavily

00:36:16.730 --> 00:36:21.660
on the lines. That’s not something he can
fix on his own. No sir. Looks like he’ll

00:36:21.660 --> 00:36:25.890
have to wait for the snow to melt before making
any phone calls again. That could be in one

00:36:25.890 --> 00:36:31.120
week, that could be in three months. He glances
at the child sitting in the passenger seat.

00:36:31.120 --> 00:36:35.230
She’s just staring out of the window in
amazement, wrapped up in as many layers as

00:36:35.230 --> 00:36:38.450
he could put on her. They may be stuck together
for a while.

00:36:38.450 --> 00:36:43.490
A lurch! The pickup plunges dangerously to
the left. The Rancher slams on the breaks,

00:36:43.490 --> 00:36:47.780
and it comes to a stop just in time. A large
chunk of snow in front of them comes loose

00:36:47.780 --> 00:36:54.250
and slips off the side of the road. It tumbles
down into a gully that he hadn’t even spotted.

00:36:54.250 --> 00:36:58.470
With all this snow on the ground, he has no
frame of reference. Everything is just white.

00:36:58.470 --> 00:37:00.250
“Stay here.”

00:37:00.250 --> 00:37:04.250
The Rancher opens the door and climbs out.
He wishes Marybel was with him, but she’d

00:37:04.250 --> 00:37:08.330
wanted to stay home again. Poor dog, she must
really be going through it if she wasn’t

00:37:08.330 --> 00:37:10.970
even up for a ride in the pickup.

00:37:10.970 --> 00:37:14.760
Carefully as he can, testing every step before
making it, the Rancher creeps over to the

00:37:14.760 --> 00:37:20.339
edge of the gully. It’s bigger than he thought,
much bigger. It continues down, more and more

00:37:20.339 --> 00:37:23.510
sharply, for a few hundred feet. All the way
down into a…

00:37:23.510 --> 00:37:24.700
“Ah, no.”

00:37:24.700 --> 00:37:30.570
There’s a semi down there. A big rig, warped
and bent, lying on the rocks. Just a glance

00:37:30.570 --> 00:37:35.290
is enough to tell the Rancher it’s Jorge’s,
but he just keeps staring at it in disbelief.

00:37:35.290 --> 00:37:37.829
It can’t be. It…

00:37:37.829 --> 00:37:38.829
But it is.

00:37:38.829 --> 00:37:40.300
“Stay in the car.”

00:37:40.300 --> 00:37:44.339
The Rancher reaches past the little girl and
into the backseat. Grabbing a pair of crampons

00:37:44.339 --> 00:37:48.720
and some rope, he straightens up and looks
at the girl. She knows it’s serious, he

00:37:48.720 --> 00:37:50.599
can see the concern on her face.

00:37:50.599 --> 00:37:53.800
“Stay in the car,” he repeats.

00:37:53.800 --> 00:37:58.230
By the time the Rancher makes it down to the
truck, his legs and back are killing him.

00:37:58.230 --> 00:38:02.240
All this work over the last 24 hours is going
to start taking its toll sooner or later,

00:38:02.240 --> 00:38:07.030
but some things have to be done. He pauses
by the semi. It’s on its side, he’ll have

00:38:07.030 --> 00:38:10.069
to climb up onto it and try to open the door.

00:38:10.069 --> 00:38:12.099
Some things have to be done.

00:38:12.099 --> 00:38:16.500
He hoists himself up and manages to clamber
onto the metal door. It’s badly crumpled,

00:38:16.500 --> 00:38:20.470
and the window is smashed in. He doesn’t
fancy his chances of being able to get it

00:38:20.470 --> 00:38:25.750
open. One look through the window shows him
that he won’t want to do that anyway.

00:38:25.750 --> 00:38:30.270
Blood coats every inch of the inside of Jorge’s
truck. The cabin that the Rancher is so used

00:38:30.270 --> 00:38:36.480
to seeing and sitting in is almost unrecognizable.
Smashed glass is sprinkled across every surface,

00:38:36.480 --> 00:38:40.400
with a dark brownish red layer of gore frozen
into everything else.

00:38:40.400 --> 00:38:46.010
There, in the midst of it all, still wearing
a seatbelt, is Jorge’s body. It dangles

00:38:46.010 --> 00:38:50.619
like a limp carcass at a butcher shop. Like
the cows he hangs in the slaughterhouse. And

00:38:50.619 --> 00:38:56.750
like those cows, a large chunk of Jorge is
missing. His fat stomach is gone, not just

00:38:56.750 --> 00:39:02.500
cut open but gone. The tops of his thighs
too and much of his chest. So much of him

00:39:02.500 --> 00:39:08.160
is just missing, open arteries and lifeless
nerves dangle in place. That must have been

00:39:08.160 --> 00:39:09.470
a hell of a crash.

00:39:09.470 --> 00:39:13.920
The Rancher reaches over and pulls Jorge’s
cap down over his eyes. Not much else to be

00:39:13.920 --> 00:39:17.990
done right now. Ain’t no way he can clean
this mess up by himself.

00:39:17.990 --> 00:39:22.230
But as the Rancher climbs up the valley, his
mind starts to connect some dots. Dots that

00:39:22.230 --> 00:39:27.210
leave a sick feeling in his stomach. He’s
seen that much blood somewhere else, or rather

00:39:27.210 --> 00:39:29.599
on someone else, just last night.

00:39:29.599 --> 00:39:34.770
He slams the door to the pickup shut and starts
to drive back down the track. Since the snow’s

00:39:34.770 --> 00:39:38.700
stopped, all of the drifts that he’d cleared
earlier remain clear. It’s only a few minutes

00:39:38.700 --> 00:39:43.080
drive back down to the farm. He doesn’t
say a word the whole way, and neither does

00:39:43.080 --> 00:39:46.590
the little girl. She clearly senses something’s
up.

00:39:46.590 --> 00:39:50.599
The sick feeling in his stomach remains. He
pulls up the handbrake and the two of them

00:39:50.599 --> 00:39:52.319
sit in silence outside the farmhouse.

00:39:52.319 --> 00:39:55.680
“There was a truck in that valley. Did you
know that?”

00:39:55.680 --> 00:39:56.680
“Yes.”

00:39:56.680 --> 00:39:59.060
“Is that where you came from last night?”

00:39:59.060 --> 00:40:00.800
“I don’t remember.”

00:40:00.800 --> 00:40:06.579
“Was he…” the Rancher stops. “Jorge
didn’t have any kids. What were you doing

00:40:06.579 --> 00:40:07.780
in his truck?”

00:40:07.780 --> 00:40:08.980
“I don’t know.”

00:40:08.980 --> 00:40:10.910
“Did he… was he…”

00:40:10.910 --> 00:40:14.770
The Rancher can’t bring himself to accuse
his best friend of the words that almost left

00:40:14.770 --> 00:40:15.770
his mouth.

00:40:15.770 --> 00:40:19.680
“Do you think you might now remember because
something bad happened to you?”

00:40:19.680 --> 00:40:21.380
“I don’t know.”

00:40:21.380 --> 00:40:25.550
The Rancher closes his eyes for a long moment.
Silence fills the pickup.

00:40:25.550 --> 00:40:28.119
“Come on. Let’s get inside.”

00:40:28.119 --> 00:40:32.829
But inside wasn’t the safe haven he’d
been hoping for. Ma’s been throwing up.

00:40:32.829 --> 00:40:37.190
Not just once but a few times. She’s distressed,
groaning aimlessly for someone to come and

00:40:37.190 --> 00:40:42.700
save her. Marybel is pacing around the room
yelping and whining. The Rancher immediately

00:40:42.700 --> 00:40:45.780
goes upstairs to get some rags to clean up
with.

00:40:45.780 --> 00:40:48.000
Perfect timing. As usual.

00:40:48.000 --> 00:40:52.230
But he stops in his tracks when he comes back
down. His Ma’s stopped moaning. The little

00:40:52.230 --> 00:40:57.369
girl is kneeling by the armchair, holding
the old lady’s hand. The room is calm. The

00:40:57.369 --> 00:41:01.180
little girl gently places the frail hand back
on the armrest and comes over to take the

00:41:01.180 --> 00:41:05.960
rags from the Rancher. Returning to the old
lady, the girl goes about mopping her up as

00:41:05.960 --> 00:41:07.579
best she can.

00:41:07.579 --> 00:41:10.180
Marybel slumps back down on the floor.

00:41:10.180 --> 00:41:11.180
**

00:41:11.180 --> 00:41:14.690
And that is how the four of them exist for
the next few days. Ma gets sicker steadily,

00:41:14.690 --> 00:41:19.310
but the little girl stays by her side all
day long, caring for her in every way. The

00:41:19.310 --> 00:41:23.521
Rancher’s glad of that. It gives him the
time he needs to help his cows outside. None

00:41:23.521 --> 00:41:25.710
of them are in a good shape.

00:41:25.710 --> 00:41:30.110
Whatever it is, they’re still getting thinner.
He feeds them all the grain they’d normally

00:41:30.110 --> 00:41:35.940
need, and then some, and they always finish
it off. Yet none of them are getting any fatter.

00:41:35.940 --> 00:41:39.980
The Rancher leans on the railing, trusty dog
by his side. His energy is starting to really

00:41:39.980 --> 00:41:43.950
lag behind what he needs. The last couple
of days, even though he hasn’t done all

00:41:43.950 --> 00:41:46.510
that much, have totally taken it out of him.

00:41:46.510 --> 00:41:48.630
“What do you think it is, Marybel?”

00:41:48.630 --> 00:41:52.880
He looks down at his little friend. She’s
looking thinner, too, actually. But she’s

00:41:52.880 --> 00:41:54.640
been eating just fine…

00:41:54.640 --> 00:41:56.859
It hits him.

00:41:56.859 --> 00:42:01.619
Tapeworms. As soon as the word comes into
his head, it makes total sense. His cows,

00:42:01.619 --> 00:42:05.300
his entire herd by the looks of things, have
been riddled with tapeworms.

00:42:05.300 --> 00:42:06.380
“Ah hell.”

00:42:06.380 --> 00:42:10.750
He hasn’t got anywhere near the amount of
medicine needed to give some to all of them.

00:42:10.750 --> 00:42:14.750
Even if he did, a lot of them are looking
pretty far gone. The chance of reinfection

00:42:14.750 --> 00:42:18.670
would be high. He needs supplies. He needs
Jorge.

00:42:18.670 --> 00:42:23.560
Marybel whines softly next to him. He knows
what they have to do.

00:42:23.560 --> 00:42:24.560
**

00:42:24.560 --> 00:42:28.060
Laying Marybel down carefully by the fire,
the Rancher administers the tapeworm medicine.

00:42:28.060 --> 00:42:32.230
For a few hours, they lie there together.
He strokes her side waiting for her to pass

00:42:32.230 --> 00:42:37.160
it. The little girl watches over his shoulder.
His Ma sits back in her chair, mumbling to

00:42:37.160 --> 00:42:38.160
herself.

00:42:38.160 --> 00:42:41.819
He hasn’t talked to the little girl anymore
about Jorge yet. He isn’t sure what there

00:42:41.819 --> 00:42:46.930
is to say. Maybe he should ask if Jorge was
sick. After all, the cows clearly have had

00:42:46.930 --> 00:42:50.869
these tapeworms since before the other night.
Jorge may have picked up contaminated meat

00:42:50.869 --> 00:42:53.990
from him last time he came. Maybe…

00:42:53.990 --> 00:42:58.350
Marybel passes the worm on the rug. The smell…!

00:42:58.350 --> 00:43:03.339
The Rancher uses the tongs next to the fire
to pick the worm up. It’s long and pale.

00:43:03.339 --> 00:43:08.890
And dead. He tosses it into the fire and puts
the tongs in the flames for a bit to sterilize

00:43:08.890 --> 00:43:14.770
them. The worm sizzles and pops in the flames.
The sound makes his stomach crawl.

00:43:14.770 --> 00:43:19.220
The Rancher glances around and sees the little
girl staring at the tapeworm. He looks past

00:43:19.220 --> 00:43:23.349
the girl to his Ma sitting in the chair. Her
turn next.

00:43:23.349 --> 00:43:24.349
**

00:43:24.349 --> 00:43:28.050
But as that night and the following morning
reveal, it’s too late. His Ma’s groans

00:43:28.050 --> 00:43:33.351
turn into cries of pain. She openly sobs by
the fire, clutching at her stomach. Every

00:43:33.351 --> 00:43:38.359
time the Rancher tries to give her the medicine,
she just vomits it back up. Each time she

00:43:38.359 --> 00:43:41.970
vomits, there’s more and more blood mixed
in.

00:43:41.970 --> 00:43:45.560
The little girl gets more and more upset.
It’s not fair on her to have to witness

00:43:45.560 --> 00:43:49.849
something this traumatic and disgusting, but
there’s nowhere else for her to go. She

00:43:49.849 --> 00:43:53.380
shouldn’t even be here at all. The fact
that she is means she has to help. That’s

00:43:53.380 --> 00:43:54.589
all there is to it.

00:43:54.589 --> 00:44:00.819
By sunrise, his Ma has passed away. There
is nasty red bruising all across her abdomen,

00:44:00.819 --> 00:44:05.140
which tells him she must have bled out internally
from this worm. He’d been too late to realize

00:44:05.140 --> 00:44:10.030
what was wrong. Too late with the cows and
too late with his Ma. He covers his Ma with

00:44:10.030 --> 00:44:14.200
a blanket and tells the little girl not to
go and wash her hands. He needs to check on

00:44:14.200 --> 00:44:15.620
the cattle.

00:44:15.620 --> 00:44:20.780
Sure enough, during the night, a handful of
them died too. The calves. They were the ones

00:44:20.780 --> 00:44:25.230
to go first whenever something like this happened.
Mother cows stood over their calves, licking

00:44:25.230 --> 00:44:27.859
their heads. Willing them to wake up.

00:44:27.859 --> 00:44:33.390
The Rancher drags each body out to the back
and burns them. He can’t risk any more contamination.

00:44:33.390 --> 00:44:36.610
As the carcasses burn, he allows himself to
cry.

00:44:36.610 --> 00:44:37.610
**

00:44:37.610 --> 00:44:41.550
But when the Rancher comes back into the house,
it’s full of noise. A noise that takes his

00:44:41.550 --> 00:44:47.640
brain a long time to comprehend. Crying. But
his own. Not the little girl either. No, it

00:44:47.640 --> 00:44:53.760
was a new sound: it was a baby. A newborn
child screaming at the top of its lungs.

00:44:53.760 --> 00:44:57.250
The Rancher can’t believe what he’s looking
at. The little girl is sitting by the hearth

00:44:57.250 --> 00:45:03.280
with Marybel at her feet. In her arms, drenched
in blood, is a baby. The girl looks up at

00:45:03.280 --> 00:45:05.140
him and smiles sweetly.

00:45:05.140 --> 00:45:07.160
“It’s a boy.”

00:45:07.160 --> 00:45:12.030
Then she turns around to his Ma's body under
the blanket. A sickening red patch soaks through

00:45:12.030 --> 00:45:14.940
the fabric, right over where her stomach would
be.

00:45:14.940 --> 00:45:17.000
“What the hell happened here?”

00:45:17.000 --> 00:45:19.630
“I’ve got a little brother.”

00:45:19.630 --> 00:45:26.030
Securing and containing SCP-1003 has proven…
challenging. This is largely because the tapeworm

00:45:26.030 --> 00:45:31.160
that causes all of this damage is virtually
indistinguishable from echinococcus granulosus,

00:45:31.160 --> 00:45:34.970
the common variety of tapeworm that causes
hydatid disease.

00:45:34.970 --> 00:45:41.849
The tapeworm, designated SPC-1003-1, follows
the same lifecycle as other regular worms.

00:45:41.849 --> 00:45:45.960
Its eggs come into contact with an animal
through contaminated meat, saliva, or unclean

00:45:45.960 --> 00:45:51.130
surfaces and are ingested. Once inside the
gut they grow and latch onto the inside of

00:45:51.130 --> 00:45:55.359
the digestive tract where they feed on the
nutrients of the food traveling past them,

00:45:55.359 --> 00:46:00.750
steadily growing bigger and stronger. Once
mature, they lay eggs which pass out in the

00:46:00.750 --> 00:46:04.080
animal’s excrement to continue the process.

00:46:04.080 --> 00:46:08.420
Infections spread quickly, particularly in
unsanitary conditions amongst livestock, and

00:46:08.420 --> 00:46:13.279
can often be difficult to contain as, by the
time the symptoms - nausea, weight loss, fever

00:46:13.279 --> 00:46:18.109
- start to manifest in the infected, the worms
have likely already reproduced and have a

00:46:18.109 --> 00:46:20.990
new generation growing in the guts of other
animals.

00:46:20.990 --> 00:46:26.560
As far as the foundation is aware, SCP-1003
follows this normal pattern in all observed

00:46:26.560 --> 00:46:31.050
animals, except humans. When a human ingests
an egg from this tapeworm, a very different

00:46:31.050 --> 00:46:36.250
creature starts to grow in their gut. Human
embryos, with the same genetic code as the

00:46:36.250 --> 00:46:41.340
tapeworm, begin to form. The rate of their
growth is greatly accelerated, however. By

00:46:41.340 --> 00:46:46.630
just 8 weeks, they are as mature as the typical
3-week-old neonate - or newborn child - although

00:46:46.630 --> 00:46:51.540
similar in size to an 8-week-old embryo at
13-16cm.

00:46:51.540 --> 00:46:55.670
Many eggs usually enter this ‘fertilization’
period, but almost all of them die before

00:46:55.670 --> 00:46:59.750
having a chance to develop much beyond the
early stages. They stand the best chance of

00:46:59.750 --> 00:47:03.579
survival when buried in the hepatic tissue,
where they can absorb plenty of nutrients

00:47:03.579 --> 00:47:09.359
from their host. The host at this point usually
starts to experience mild symptoms. Lethargy,

00:47:09.359 --> 00:47:12.970
the occasional stomach cramp, nothing particularly
severe… yet.

00:47:12.970 --> 00:47:19.240
The embryos that survive soon develop rows
of temporary razor sharp. At this point, passively

00:47:19.240 --> 00:47:23.990
absorbing nutrients is no longer enough for
them. They bury their teeth into the soft

00:47:23.990 --> 00:47:28.630
tissue surrounding them and begin to eat.
Once they enter this stage, their rate of

00:47:28.630 --> 00:47:33.000
growth increases exponentially, the more flesh
they consume.

00:47:33.000 --> 00:47:38.280
Eventually burrowing out into the world, the
Tapeworm Child is born drenched in blood.

00:47:38.280 --> 00:47:42.099
The size and apparent age of the child that
emerges from the corpse are determined by

00:47:42.099 --> 00:47:46.730
the size of the person they consume. For example
the child eating its way out of the Rancher’s

00:47:46.730 --> 00:47:51.510
Ma appeared to be only a 10-month-old child
as there was very little of the frail old

00:47:51.510 --> 00:47:56.430
woman for it to eat. By contrast the little
girl who emerged from Jorge’s gut had plenty

00:47:56.430 --> 00:48:00.700
of fat to feast on and so was able to grow
to the size of a 9-year-old.

00:48:00.700 --> 00:48:05.170
Once the child emerges, the teeth that they’d
used to eat their way out quickly come loose

00:48:05.170 --> 00:48:09.630
and are replaced by regular human teeth. The
children themselves have no memory at all

00:48:09.630 --> 00:48:13.550
of where they’ve come from or what they
are. They have the same motor and linguistic

00:48:13.550 --> 00:48:18.540
skills that a regular child would possess
at their age. Nothing, aside from their DNA,

00:48:18.540 --> 00:48:22.900
marks them out as being any different from
the children around them. Blissfully ignorant,

00:48:22.900 --> 00:48:24.530
just like the children around them.

00:48:24.530 --> 00:48:28.880
It is theorized that many of these children
end up in orphanages. With no birth certificates

00:48:28.880 --> 00:48:33.349
or identifiable parents, they fall through
the gaps in the system, quickly lost to the

00:48:33.349 --> 00:48:38.500
world. The only way to really track them at
all is to follow the infections they cause.

00:48:38.500 --> 00:48:42.960
You see, these Tapeworm Children have one
final curse they must live with. Their bodily

00:48:42.960 --> 00:48:47.740
fluids, their saliva, and sweat, contain the
same tapeworm protoscolex that will develop

00:48:47.740 --> 00:48:53.960
into SCP-1003-1 as soon as it is ingested
by another creature. Making the cycle start

00:48:53.960 --> 00:48:59.350
all over again. If you want to track down
a Tapeworm Child, and I highly advise that

00:48:59.350 --> 00:49:04.109
you don’t, all you have to do is follow
the trail of nasty stomach infections, internal

00:49:04.109 --> 00:49:09.359
bleeding, and freak pregnancies amongst the
outcasts of society. It, unfortunately, will

00:49:09.359 --> 00:49:10.359
not take long.

00:49:10.359 --> 00:49:16.619
There are currently ten instances of SCP-1003-2
in containment. The children live in Bio-Research

00:49:16.619 --> 00:49:21.700
Area 13 under strict supervision. Researchers
are only permitted to enter their cells whilst

00:49:21.700 --> 00:49:26.589
wearing full-body biohazard suits, but first
must have Level 4 security clearance, and

00:49:26.589 --> 00:49:31.190
must have written permission, and can only
enter with specific research goals agreed.

00:49:31.190 --> 00:49:35.280
All staff are regularly tested for the presence
of any kind of tapeworms in their system.

00:49:35.280 --> 00:49:39.059
No other animals are permitted in this facility.

00:49:39.059 --> 00:49:44.180
Everyone in this school knows to step aside
when the goth girl is on the move. She strides

00:49:44.180 --> 00:49:48.850
down the school hallway, confident that no
one will challenge her as the undisputed ruler

00:49:48.850 --> 00:49:53.750
of this high school. It’s not just her dark
wardrobe or her black nails and eyeliner that

00:49:53.750 --> 00:49:59.390
intimidate the other students – her domineering
attitude and sharp tongue make her feared.

00:49:59.390 --> 00:50:03.700
She brushes past a gaggle of underclassmen,
who wilt under her devastating gaze.

00:50:03.700 --> 00:50:08.010
“Beat it, dorks,” she hisses, jerking
her head to indicate that they should get

00:50:08.010 --> 00:50:12.609
out of her way. The other students disperse
instantly, afraid to chance really getting

00:50:12.609 --> 00:50:16.230
an earful.
Her terrible reputation means that no one

00:50:16.230 --> 00:50:19.960
ever makes trouble for the goth girl. But
it’s more than just her attitude that keeps

00:50:19.960 --> 00:50:24.030
her on top. It’s also all those rumors around
her.

00:50:24.030 --> 00:50:28.559
The rumors started last year, just after a
new transfer student arrived in their school.

00:50:28.559 --> 00:50:32.700
She was a younger classman, who shared the
goth girl’s same dark fashion sense and

00:50:32.700 --> 00:50:37.329
sensibilities. Students even saw the younger
girl occasionally hanging out with the school’s

00:50:37.329 --> 00:50:42.670
resident goth population. But it was no secret
that the goth girl didn’t like her. Maybe

00:50:42.670 --> 00:50:47.040
she felt like this younger girl was homing
in on her territory or even angling to take

00:50:47.040 --> 00:50:51.859
her place among the goth crew. Whatever the
case, other students couldn’t help but notice

00:50:51.859 --> 00:50:55.980
how the goth girl’s lip quivered or her
eyes flashed whenever the younger girl tried

00:50:55.980 --> 00:51:01.351
to worm her way into the goth gang’s meet-ups.
Then, one day, the younger girl didn’t come

00:51:01.351 --> 00:51:05.710
home from school. The younger girl’s parents
reported her missing and organized a whole

00:51:05.710 --> 00:51:10.720
search party. The police spent weeks tracking
down every lead, desperately looking for anything

00:51:10.720 --> 00:51:15.859
that might tell them what became of the missing
girl… but found nothing. Rumors spread around

00:51:15.859 --> 00:51:19.770
school that the goth girl had something to
do with it. After all, hadn’t the younger

00:51:19.770 --> 00:51:24.349
girl been her biggest rival? Hadn’t she
always hated the younger girl? And, if anyone

00:51:24.349 --> 00:51:28.200
at this school would have had the chutzpah
to actually do something sinister… it would

00:51:28.200 --> 00:51:32.109
be her, right?
Despite all the gossip, though, no evidence

00:51:32.109 --> 00:51:36.329
ever surfaced to link the goth girl to the
disappearance. The police even interviewed

00:51:36.329 --> 00:51:39.410
her several times, but she always denied knowing
anything.

00:51:39.410 --> 00:51:43.849
“Yeah, I didn’t like that little brat,”
she said in the police interview. “She was

00:51:43.849 --> 00:51:46.790
always getting underfoot and thinking that
she could hang with us. But that doesn’t

00:51:46.790 --> 00:51:51.470
mean that I did anything to her. I mean, it’s
not like I would have REALLY wanted to hurt

00:51:51.470 --> 00:51:53.880
her!”
The goth girl concluded her statement with

00:51:53.880 --> 00:51:58.250
a knowing smirk, as if she was pleased with
herself for getting away with murder. But

00:51:58.250 --> 00:52:03.120
you can’t build a case out of a smirk, so
even if the police suspected anything they

00:52:03.120 --> 00:52:07.700
were forced to let her go.
Eventually, life at school returned to normal.

00:52:07.700 --> 00:52:12.250
Other than a few fading missing child posters
still fixed to telephone poles around town,

00:52:12.250 --> 00:52:17.030
most students eventually forgot about their
missing classmate. But the goth girl’s fearsome

00:52:17.030 --> 00:52:21.369
reputation persisted. Could she have actually
had something to do with that younger girl’s

00:52:21.369 --> 00:52:25.790
mysterious disappearance? Now that other students
thought she might have actually killed someone,

00:52:25.790 --> 00:52:30.920
they naturally found her even more intimidating.
The goth girl didn’t mind, though. After

00:52:30.920 --> 00:52:35.030
all, she already thought most of the other
students were normie losers, anyway, so she

00:52:35.030 --> 00:52:39.119
liked that they gave her a wide berth.
The goth girl walks toward the end of the

00:52:39.119 --> 00:52:43.890
hallway, pushing open a designated fire exit
door and slipping out behind the school.

00:52:43.890 --> 00:52:48.190
Today, the other goths are hanging out behind
the school building. They nod curtly as the

00:52:48.190 --> 00:52:52.390
goth girl joins them.
“What’s going on, losers,” she says,

00:52:52.390 --> 00:52:56.390
adopting an aura of bored detachment.
“I was just telling them that there’s

00:52:56.390 --> 00:53:00.680
this haunted game you can download,” says
the goth boy. “It’s all messed up. Like,

00:53:00.680 --> 00:53:04.290
the game knows all your worst secrets, and
the more you play, the more it taunts you.

00:53:04.290 --> 00:53:09.951
Then, when you finish, you just disappear.”
The other goths snicker at the story. None

00:53:09.951 --> 00:53:14.040
of them really believe it, but it makes for
a fun spooky tale to help set the atmosphere

00:53:14.040 --> 00:53:19.109
as the sun sets. But one girl is more skeptical
than the rest, to the point that she’s almost

00:53:19.109 --> 00:53:21.869
insulted by how obviously fake this story
is.

00:53:21.869 --> 00:53:25.300
“What do you mean, you just disappear?”
asks the girl.

00:53:25.300 --> 00:53:28.760
The boy shrugs. “I dunno. I just know that
no one ever sees them again.”

00:53:28.760 --> 00:53:32.420
“I don’t believe that at all,” say the
goth girl. “That sounds made up.”

00:53:32.420 --> 00:53:37.869
“No, no,” says the boy. “It’s 100%
real. It’s called ‘The Book of Tamlin.’

00:53:37.869 --> 00:53:42.460
“Okay, sure, whatever you say. And who exactly
is Tamlin?”

00:53:42.460 --> 00:53:47.099
The boy shrugs. “I don’t know. Clearly,
I haven’t played it, since I’m still here.”

00:53:47.099 --> 00:53:51.079
The girl rolls her eyes. “That’s ridiculous.
I’ll show you right now.”

00:53:51.079 --> 00:53:54.849
She whips her cellphone out of her backpack
and starts to thumb through the app store

00:53:54.849 --> 00:53:59.730
until she sees it: The Book of Tamlin. It’s
right there in the store? That just makes

00:53:59.730 --> 00:54:04.470
this whole story seem even sillier. She would
expect that, if there were a real haunted

00:54:04.470 --> 00:54:09.599
app, it would only be accessible via the dark
web or maybe a strange glitch that randomly

00:54:09.599 --> 00:54:14.960
installed it into doomed victims’ phones.
But it’s right here, for anyone to download!

00:54:14.960 --> 00:54:18.720
With a skeptical smirk on her face, she punches
the button to begin the installation.

00:54:18.720 --> 00:54:23.230
“It’s right here in the app store,”
says the goth girl. “Any of you chickens

00:54:23.230 --> 00:54:26.180
gonna play?”
The other goths eye each other nervously.

00:54:26.180 --> 00:54:31.220
Sure, they were all pretty quick to dismiss
the ominous story about this weird game before.

00:54:31.220 --> 00:54:36.100
But now that their friend is challenging them
to actually play it, they don’t feel quite

00:54:36.100 --> 00:54:39.940
so confident.
The goth girl snorts derisively. She wonders

00:54:39.940 --> 00:54:44.460
why she bothers hanging out with these poseurs.
They’re the closest thing that she has to

00:54:44.460 --> 00:54:48.329
friends, since so few other students even
dare approach her… But what does a bossy

00:54:48.329 --> 00:54:53.300
prima donna like her really need with friends
anyway? She watches as the game loads up the

00:54:53.300 --> 00:54:58.790
intros screen and then gameplay begins. She
snorts again. The Book of Tamlin appears to

00:54:58.790 --> 00:55:03.670
be a hidden object game, where the point is
to discover various objects hidden in a larger

00:55:03.670 --> 00:55:06.480
image. This is baby stuff, thinks the goth
girl.

00:55:06.480 --> 00:55:11.530
“Find the 10 black cats in the cemetery,”
instructs the game as it pulls up a cartoony

00:55:11.530 --> 00:55:16.000
image of a graveyard. The goth girl’s finger
hovers over the screen, and she quickly taps

00:55:16.000 --> 00:55:20.290
it whenever she spots a black cat crouching
behind one of the pixelated tombstones. Is

00:55:20.290 --> 00:55:24.090
this supposed to be scary?
The screen fades, and an empty room with a

00:55:24.090 --> 00:55:28.580
pair of doors fades in. The goth girl intuits
that she’s supposed to pick one to advance

00:55:28.580 --> 00:55:32.730
to the next screen. Rolling her eyes, she
selects the door on the left.

00:55:32.730 --> 00:55:39.700
The next scene looks familiar. Too familiar.
It’s a bedroom… her bedroom, in fact!

00:55:39.700 --> 00:55:43.700
She recognizes the dark décor and the black
clothing thrown on the floor. She narrows

00:55:43.700 --> 00:55:49.099
her eyes suspiciously. Surely that’s just
a crazy coincidence, right? She eyes the other

00:55:49.099 --> 00:55:53.460
goths, but they don’t give any indication
that they were expecting this twist. Are they

00:55:53.460 --> 00:55:56.140
playing a trick on her?
‘Find the outfits that make your parents

00:55:56.140 --> 00:56:00.829
ashamed to be seen with you,‘ says the instructions.
She grits her teeth. What’s the deal with

00:56:00.829 --> 00:56:04.839
this stupid program insulting her? She knows
that her parents don’t exactly approve of

00:56:04.839 --> 00:56:09.160
her fashion choices, but this stupid game
can’t know that. It’s probably just guessing

00:56:09.160 --> 00:56:12.610
that any young person who plays the game will
probably have had quarrels with their parents

00:56:12.610 --> 00:56:16.089
about the way they dress. That’s pretty
normal, right?

00:56:16.089 --> 00:56:20.770
Again, the empty room with the two doors appears.
This time, the goth girl chooses the one on

00:56:20.770 --> 00:56:23.670
the right.
The next screen after that is a picture of

00:56:23.670 --> 00:56:28.060
a pretty garden, and the instructions say
to pick out ten pretty flowers. The next is

00:56:28.060 --> 00:56:33.480
a barnyard with instructions to find five
cows. The goth girl starts to relax. That

00:56:33.480 --> 00:56:37.839
weird screen with her room must have just
been a fluke. Otherwise, this game seems pretty

00:56:37.839 --> 00:56:41.109
mundane.
But the next screen makes the goth girl’s

00:56:41.109 --> 00:56:45.770
face go as white as a sheet. Her eyes bug
out of her head and sweats starts to bead

00:56:45.770 --> 00:56:51.530
on her forehead. No. No way. There’s no
way that this next screen could be real!

00:56:51.530 --> 00:56:57.320
The image that appears is familiar to her.
It’s a real-life place. She knows because

00:56:57.320 --> 00:57:02.950
she’s been there. It’s an image of a particular
ravine, deep in the local woods. People sometimes

00:57:02.950 --> 00:57:07.430
throw old garbage down there, so it’s full
of old washing machines and wrecked cars.

00:57:07.430 --> 00:57:12.480
Years ago, an old oak tree fell across the
chasm, and now the dead log functions as a

00:57:12.480 --> 00:57:16.400
makeshift bridge. Sometimes kids dare one
another to cross it.

00:57:16.400 --> 00:57:21.819
The instructions read: ‘Find the girl who
wanted to be part of your club.’

00:57:21.819 --> 00:57:26.660
The goth girl doesn’t need to search the
image to know what she’ll find. She knows,

00:57:26.660 --> 00:57:30.710
deep in her heart, that the hidden object
that she’s being instructed to find will

00:57:30.710 --> 00:57:35.660
be a broken body lying at the bottom of the
ditch, half hidden under old blankets and

00:57:35.660 --> 00:57:39.930
debris. How could this game know? She was
so careful.

00:57:39.930 --> 00:57:43.920
She remembers last school year when that younger
girl kept trying to usurp her place in her

00:57:43.920 --> 00:57:48.200
clique. It made her so mad! But that younger
girl seemed to look up to her, to think of

00:57:48.200 --> 00:57:53.790
her as the leader of the group and the one
who she needed to impress in order to be accepted.

00:57:53.790 --> 00:57:58.339
That was good. The goth girl knew she could
use that to her advantage. She told the younger

00:57:58.339 --> 00:58:02.580
girl to meet her in the woods, by the old
ravine, late at night. Of course, it was nothing

00:58:02.580 --> 00:58:06.450
sinister, it was just for a little initiation
test to prove that the younger girl could

00:58:06.450 --> 00:58:11.330
take her place as part of their gang. The
younger girl was only too excited for her

00:58:11.330 --> 00:58:13.790
test!
The goth girl was waiting at the ravine when

00:58:13.790 --> 00:58:18.140
her younger rival finally arrived.
“I came as fast as I could,” said the

00:58:18.140 --> 00:58:22.030
younger girl. “What do you need me to do?”
“Listen, I see how you want to hang out

00:58:22.030 --> 00:58:25.661
with us,” said the goth girl. “But you
have to prove yourself if you want to be part

00:58:25.661 --> 00:58:30.470
of our group. But you have to understand,
us goths, we embrace the darkness. We’re

00:58:30.470 --> 00:58:34.900
not scared of the void. We only take the coolest
and the bravest, the kids who aren’t afraid

00:58:34.900 --> 00:58:38.960
of death. So you have to show me that you’re
willing to look eternity in the eye. All you

00:58:38.960 --> 00:58:43.390
have to do to join us is to cross this ravine
over that log over there.”

00:58:43.390 --> 00:58:47.990
She pointed at the fallen log. The younger
girl looked frightened, but she nodded. The

00:58:47.990 --> 00:58:52.390
goth girl half-expected her to turn tail and
run home, but she was surprised to see her

00:58:52.390 --> 00:58:57.600
rival make her way toward the log. Maybe she
wasn’t as much of a poseur as the goth girl

00:58:57.600 --> 00:59:00.580
thought!
The goth girl didn’t mean for anything bad

00:59:00.580 --> 00:59:05.130
to happen, she really only wanted to scare
the younger girl. Maybe she could freak her

00:59:05.130 --> 00:59:07.880
out enough that she wouldn’t want to hang
out with them anymore, and then she wouldn’t

00:59:07.880 --> 00:59:12.539
have to deal with that little pest anymore!
The younger girl clambers up atop the log

00:59:12.539 --> 00:59:16.789
and slowly starts walking across the deep
gorge, carefully placing one foot in front

00:59:16.789 --> 00:59:21.310
of the other. But the peeling bark of the
old log is more slippery than it looks, and

00:59:21.310 --> 00:59:25.500
it’s hard to keep her footing in the dark.
The younger girl makes it almost halfway across

00:59:25.500 --> 00:59:30.420
the ravine before she loses her footing. With
a yelp, she lurches to the side and falls

00:59:30.420 --> 00:59:34.350
down the slope, tumbling head over heels,
and landing amongst the garbage with a sickening

00:59:34.350 --> 00:59:37.200
crunch.
The goth girl screamed in shock. She stared

00:59:37.200 --> 00:59:41.460
down in the ravine, seeing the younger girl
lying still at the bottom, her neck bent at

00:59:41.460 --> 00:59:46.789
an impossible angle. It was obvious that the
fall had killed her instantly.

00:59:46.789 --> 00:59:52.451
The goth girl knew she was in trouble. Or
was she? Nobody knew she was out here, nobody

00:59:52.451 --> 00:59:56.430
knew that she’d asked the younger girl to
meet her here. All she had to do was keep

00:59:56.430 --> 01:00:01.680
her mouth shut and nobody could pin this on
her. The plan worked. She worked out her alibi

01:00:01.680 --> 01:00:05.960
and stuck to it during all the police interviews,
never deviating, practicing her story until

01:00:05.960 --> 01:00:10.660
it sounded natural. The cops fell for it,
clearing her as a suspect before moving on

01:00:10.660 --> 01:00:16.020
in their investigation. For a whole year,
she had carried this terrible secret. Of course,

01:00:16.020 --> 01:00:20.250
it got easier over time. She gradually convinced
herself that the whole thing was a terrible

01:00:20.250 --> 01:00:24.609
accident, it couldn’t have been prevented,
she had nothing to feel guilty about.

01:00:24.609 --> 01:00:30.900
And yet somehow, this game knew! This game
knew exactly what she had done!

01:00:30.900 --> 01:00:34.750
The phone slips from her palsied fingers and
drops to the ground. The other goths look

01:00:34.750 --> 01:00:39.260
at her in confusion. They’ve never seen
their leader in such a state of terror. What

01:00:39.260 --> 01:00:43.130
could have spooked her so bad?
“Which of you made this dumb game?” she

01:00:43.130 --> 01:00:44.910
snaps. “It must have been one of you…
fess up!”

01:00:44.910 --> 01:00:48.670
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,”
says the goth boy, “I already told you,

01:00:48.670 --> 01:00:52.000
it’s supposed to be haunted and…”
“I don’t know what you think you know,

01:00:52.000 --> 01:00:56.680
but you don’t know anything!” shouts the
goth girl, hysterical in her fear. Has she

01:00:56.680 --> 01:01:01.470
been found out? Was this entire game just
an elaborate ruse to trick her into confessing

01:01:01.470 --> 01:01:06.079
her guilt? Well, she’s not going to fall
for it! She’s still the queen boss of this

01:01:06.079 --> 01:01:09.520
school and if any of these losers think that
they can knock her off her perch with a silly

01:01:09.520 --> 01:01:13.960
game… they’re dead wrong!
“What do you mean ‘we don’t know anything?’”

01:01:13.960 --> 01:01:17.900
The other goths are murmuring amongst themselves.
Of course, they’ve heard the rumors about

01:01:17.900 --> 01:01:21.960
their leader as well, but they never really
gave them much credence. She may be a little

01:01:21.960 --> 01:01:26.020
sharp, but that doesn’t make her capable
of murder. But the way that this game has

01:01:26.020 --> 01:01:31.050
freaked her out so much is really beginning
to make them wonder. The goth girl is frantic

01:01:31.050 --> 01:01:35.780
now, seeing her control slip away as the other
kids begin to mull the possibilities. She

01:01:35.780 --> 01:01:39.300
can’t believe this! She wonders, desperately,
if someone was there that night to see the

01:01:39.300 --> 01:01:43.930
whole terrible accident play out... or maybe
she let something slip without knowing…

01:01:43.930 --> 01:01:46.119
what other explanation could there possibly
be?

01:01:46.119 --> 01:01:50.310
“I’m out of here! Leave me alone! Don’t
follow me!” she yells as she stomps away.

01:01:50.310 --> 01:01:54.569
The other goths don’t make any move to follow,
intimidated by the wrath of their leader.

01:01:54.569 --> 01:01:59.589
But when the goth girl throws open the door
to head back inside the school, she’s confronted

01:01:59.589 --> 01:02:04.829
with an unexpected sight. Instead of the long
gray hallway, lined with lockers, that she

01:02:04.829 --> 01:02:10.750
expected, she instead sees a single empty
room. It couldn’t be, but it looks exactly

01:02:10.750 --> 01:02:14.440
like the empty room from the game, the one
that she glimpsed between levels.

01:02:14.440 --> 01:02:18.819
“This isn’t supposed to be here!” she
cries. Behind her, the other goths stare in

01:02:18.819 --> 01:02:22.470
confusion. They too recognize the room from
the game, but they can’t figure out for

01:02:22.470 --> 01:02:24.990
the life of them how it’s managed to appear
in real life.

01:02:24.990 --> 01:02:29.880
What’s going on? Is her guilty mind playing
tricks on her? No, that can’t be… the

01:02:29.880 --> 01:02:33.780
reaction of the other goths shows that they
see it too. She doesn’t think she can trust

01:02:33.780 --> 01:02:38.310
her senses, but she also feels an overwhelming
urge to step into that empty room.

01:02:38.310 --> 01:02:43.300
“Don’t go in!” calls the goth boy, but
it’s too late. Internally her rational mind

01:02:43.300 --> 01:02:49.319
is screaming at her to stay out, but she can’t
control her feet. She steps inside and the

01:02:49.319 --> 01:02:53.560
door swings closed behind her.
The goth boy runs to the door and yanks it

01:02:53.560 --> 01:02:58.069
open, hoping to help his terrified friend.
But beyond the door he sees nothing but the

01:02:58.069 --> 01:03:03.890
ordinary hallway that’s always there. The
mysterious empty room is nowhere to be seen.

01:03:03.890 --> 01:03:07.660
And the goth girl has completely vanished
with it.

01:03:07.660 --> 01:03:16.140
Not many people would say that SCP-1590, better
known as The Book of Tamlin, is any fun. SCP-1590

01:03:16.140 --> 01:03:20.490
is a downloadable app SCP-1590 has been designated
as Euclid, and seven copies of the game are

01:03:20.490 --> 01:03:24.620
currently held by the foundation in a containment
locker for experimentation purposes.

01:03:24.620 --> 01:03:30.529
Whenever the foundation discovers new instances
of SCP-1590, information technicians initiate

01:03:30.529 --> 01:03:35.089
an immediate DDoS attack on the hosting server,
and an MTF is to be sent in to appropriate

01:03:35.089 --> 01:03:39.710
all hardware. Any systems that were able to
download copies of the game before the DDoS

01:03:39.710 --> 01:03:44.349
attack should be infected with the 'ComAmA'
computer virus to prevent unwitting innocents

01:03:44.349 --> 01:03:50.240
from playing the game.
SCP-1590 is a one-kilobyte program, or 'application,'

01:03:50.240 --> 01:03:56.190
designed for use with touch screen hardware
such as tablets. Attempts to view SCP-1590's

01:03:56.190 --> 01:04:03.579
coding reveal only the numbers 1 through 66,666
in numerical order, but on the front end,

01:04:03.579 --> 01:04:09.220
SCP-1590 plays as a mostly ordinary video
game in the hidden object puzzle genre. Like

01:04:09.220 --> 01:04:13.119
other hidden object puzzle games, the player
is given a list of objects that they must

01:04:13.119 --> 01:04:19.339
find in a scene within an allotted amount
of time. What makes SCP-1590 unusual, though,

01:04:19.339 --> 01:04:23.720
is that as the game progresses, the scenes
and hidden objects become more personal to

01:04:23.720 --> 01:04:28.210
the player – often referencing traumatic
or unsettling events from the player’s life.

01:04:28.210 --> 01:04:34.299
It is not known how SCP-1590 is able to gain
such intimate knowledge of a player, but since

01:04:34.299 --> 01:04:39.500
some players report that SCP-1590 seems privy
to personal secrets that have never been revealed

01:04:39.500 --> 01:04:43.920
to another person, it is unlikely that it’s
just due to very good research on the part

01:04:43.920 --> 01:04:48.059
of the game’s designers.
The game always begins with the same dedication

01:04:48.059 --> 01:04:53.559
screen, containing the message "To Joey, who
taught me how to be cool.” The dedication

01:04:53.559 --> 01:04:58.279
continues, listing another name who “who
almost made it out." This second name changes

01:04:58.279 --> 01:05:03.250
with every play-through, but is always the
name of the previous person to play the game.

01:05:03.250 --> 01:05:07.510
The dedication screen is followed by an animated
cut scene, with a humanoid silhouette standing

01:05:07.510 --> 01:05:12.609
on the deck of what appears to be an oil tanker.
The screen turns bright white, then returns

01:05:12.609 --> 01:05:17.760
to the oil tanker. A yellow wall, larger than
the ship, has been added to the scene. The

01:05:17.760 --> 01:05:22.279
wall's appearance causes a wave to crash over
the ship, waving the humanoid overboard.

01:05:22.279 --> 01:05:27.430
The screen fills with bubbles, and the words
'The Book of Tamlin' and 'Start Game' appear

01:05:27.430 --> 01:05:31.810
overlaid on the bubbles. The significance
of this animated sequence, as well as the

01:05:31.810 --> 01:05:35.930
title ‘The Book of Tamlin,’ if any, is
currently unknown.

01:05:35.930 --> 01:05:40.050
When a player chooses 'Start Game,' the title
screen fades into an image of a cluttered

01:05:40.050 --> 01:05:44.500
room. The user is presented with a series
of tasks, directing them to find objects hidden

01:05:44.500 --> 01:05:49.140
in the room image. The allotted time to find
every object in a scene ranges from one to

01:05:49.140 --> 01:05:54.400
twelve minutes. Once the user finds every
object in a scene, a set of doors appear on

01:05:54.400 --> 01:05:58.060
screen, and the player must choose one to
progress in the game.

01:05:58.060 --> 01:06:03.550
The game continues through a random number
of screens, labeled from 7 to 43. Eventually,

01:06:03.550 --> 01:06:07.130
if the user fails to find all objects in a
scene within the time limit, the next scene

01:06:07.130 --> 01:06:11.400
will be an empty room. The words "You've found
out everything there is to find about the

01:06:11.400 --> 01:06:16.869
House! Now all you have left to find, is the
way out!" appear on the screen. At this point,

01:06:16.869 --> 01:06:20.630
the game ends, and cannot be replayed by the
same user.

01:06:20.630 --> 01:06:24.630
The actual length of the game appears to vary
from player to player, but even players who

01:06:24.630 --> 01:06:29.000
appear to win the game, always finding all
hidden objects within the time limit, will

01:06:29.000 --> 01:06:32.680
eventually be shown the same end screen and
receive the same message.

01:06:32.680 --> 01:06:38.460
As strange as the game is, what happens next
is even stranger. Within seventy-two hours

01:06:38.460 --> 01:06:43.349
of completing the game, whether a player has
ostensibly won or lost, the player will encounter

01:06:43.349 --> 01:06:48.420
the final room from the game in real life.
They will find that some ordinary door, possibly

01:06:48.420 --> 01:06:53.180
in their home or work place, no longer leads
to the room it should lead to… but instead

01:06:53.180 --> 01:06:57.970
leads to the empty room from the end of the
game. If someone other than the player attempts

01:06:57.970 --> 01:07:02.609
to pass through the door, they will find themselves
not in the empty room from the game but instead

01:07:02.609 --> 01:07:07.660
in the room that the door normally leads to.
If the player passes through the door, though,

01:07:07.660 --> 01:07:12.460
they disappear into the empty room. Any tracking
devices cease to transmit after the user passes

01:07:12.460 --> 01:07:16.750
through the doorway.
The Foundation currently has no idea who or

01:07:16.750 --> 01:07:23.520
what is behind SCP-1590 or how the game manages
to access users’ memories. It’s also not

01:07:23.520 --> 01:07:27.960
clear what purpose the game solves, whether
it’s intended as a therapy device to help

01:07:27.960 --> 01:07:32.190
subjects’ work through hidden trauma or
as an instrument of justice to punish wrongdoing.

01:07:32.190 --> 01:07:36.760
Either way, you might want to make sure you
have a clean conscience before you download

01:07:36.760 --> 01:07:41.760
any new mysterious games for your phone. You
never know when you might find yourself confronting

01:07:41.760 --> 01:07:43.180
The Book of Tamlin.

01:07:43.180 --> 01:07:46.320
You can never win a fight in Minnie Mouse
ears.

01:07:46.320 --> 01:07:51.089
The Girlfriend learns that lesson the hard
way in the car driving through Florida.

01:07:51.089 --> 01:07:55.160
No matter how articulate you are, how many
one-liners your brain throws together on the

01:07:55.160 --> 01:07:58.859
spot, or even how right you are, if you are
wearing Minnie Mouse ears, you just won’t

01:07:58.859 --> 01:08:00.020
win the argument.

01:08:00.020 --> 01:08:05.740
‘You said it was all booked!’ she yells,
throwing her arms in the air and sending drops

01:08:05.740 --> 01:08:09.349
of iced caramel latte all over the inside
of the rental car.

01:08:09.349 --> 01:08:13.070
He snatches the drink out of her hand and
plants it firmly in the cupholder. He yells

01:08:13.070 --> 01:08:16.690
back at her that it wasn’t his fault, how
was he supposed to know the payment was declined?

01:08:16.690 --> 01:08:21.490
‘You didn’t even check for a confirmation
email?!’ she scowls and crosses her arms.

01:08:21.490 --> 01:08:24.420
Her boyfriend glances across at her and laughs.

01:08:24.420 --> 01:08:28.671
‘I just can’t take you seriously in those,’
her Boyfriend says, pointing at the Minnie

01:08:28.671 --> 01:08:29.850
Mouse ears.

01:08:29.850 --> 01:08:34.000
She punches the button to wind the window
down, rips the ears off her head, and is about

01:08:34.000 --> 01:08:39.310
to throw the big black ears out the window…
only she can’t do it. Looking at the little

01:08:39.310 --> 01:08:44.160
bow, she feels her bottom lip start to tremble.
She deflates, feeling the fight go out of

01:08:44.160 --> 01:08:45.160
her.

01:08:45.160 --> 01:08:49.480
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I just really
wanted to go to Disney World.’

01:08:49.480 --> 01:08:50.950
‘I know.’

01:08:50.950 --> 01:08:55.411
The pair of them drive in silence for a moment.
The fight wasn’t really about Disney. None

01:08:55.411 --> 01:09:00.040
of their fights were ever about what was really
wrong. They’d always pick stupid, superficial

01:09:00.040 --> 01:09:05.130
things and shout about those, but not say
what was really going wrong deeper down.

01:09:05.130 --> 01:09:09.811
That said, not getting to go to Disney World
isn’t just a superficial thing to her. Growing

01:09:09.811 --> 01:09:13.880
up in Sleepy Eye, Minnesota, she was very
much used to having to explain to people where

01:09:13.880 --> 01:09:19.929
she was from. Sleepy Eye, yes, that’s its
real name. It’s near New Ulm. Near Mankato?

01:09:19.929 --> 01:09:24.159
About 2 hours from Minneapolis. If you don’t
know where Minneapolis is, she can’t help

01:09:24.159 --> 01:09:25.159
you.

01:09:25.159 --> 01:09:30.450
Anyway, this trip was her first real adventure.
She’d never left Minnesota much before.

01:09:30.450 --> 01:09:35.100
The flight down to Florida had been her first
time on an airplane. All to come to the Happiest

01:09:35.100 --> 01:09:40.500
Place on Earth. Only, they got to the front
gates, and her boyfriend realized his payment

01:09:40.500 --> 01:09:41.690
had been declined.

01:09:41.690 --> 01:09:46.569
Do they have the money to buy two new tickets
on the door? Of course not. They’ve blown

01:09:46.569 --> 01:09:51.630
it all on airfares, car rental, airport food,
and a pair of Minnie Mouse ears.

01:09:51.630 --> 01:09:55.831
‘I’m sure there are plenty of great things
to do in Florida,’ her Boyfriend says, trying

01:09:55.831 --> 01:09:57.130
to sound optimistic.

01:09:57.130 --> 01:09:58.969
‘For free?’

01:09:58.969 --> 01:10:03.780
He doesn’t reply. They just drive on in
silence. Without a ticket to go to Disney

01:10:03.780 --> 01:10:07.620
World, they have no choice but to spend what
little cash they have left on a motel for

01:10:07.620 --> 01:10:10.730
the night. It takes them about an hour to
get there.

01:10:10.730 --> 01:10:14.310
The Girlfriend gets straight out of the car
and into their room, slamming the door behind

01:10:14.310 --> 01:10:18.790
her. Her Boyfriend will just have to take
a walk for a bit. There are cockroaches in

01:10:18.790 --> 01:10:23.170
the sink and some questionable stains on the
bed, walls, and every flat surface in the

01:10:23.170 --> 01:10:27.690
room. There is apparently a pool out the back,
but she’s heard the stories of alligators

01:10:27.690 --> 01:10:32.679
roaming around this state and is in no mood
to roll that dice in a place like this.

01:10:32.679 --> 01:10:36.969
She opens YouTube on her phone and puts on
a horror video to listen to in the background.

01:10:36.969 --> 01:10:39.989
That calms her down, she loves that kind of
thing.

01:10:39.989 --> 01:10:44.429
After 20 minutes, there’s a soft knock at
the door. Looking apologetic as anything,

01:10:44.429 --> 01:10:48.719
her Boyfriend nudges his way into the room,
holding a brochure in his hand. She snatches

01:10:48.719 --> 01:10:53.550
it off him without a word and reads it with
as grumpy of an expression as possible.

01:10:53.550 --> 01:10:56.220
Spooky Self-Guided Tours in Florida!

01:10:56.220 --> 01:11:01.510
Visit the infamously haunted Pensacola Lighthouse
today to chill your bones in the Florida heat.

01:11:01.510 --> 01:11:03.920
Explore the scariest spot on the coast for
FREE!

01:11:03.920 --> 01:11:06.730
With a special Disney twist…

01:11:06.730 --> 01:11:11.800
Okay fine. Her Boyfriend does know how to
cheer her up, but she can’t let him know

01:11:11.800 --> 01:11:14.770
that. He’s still supposed to be in trouble.

01:11:14.770 --> 01:11:18.610
But the following night, as the pair of them
approach the lighthouse in the pitch darkness,

01:11:18.610 --> 01:11:23.100
she can’t help but crack a smile. With the
light at the top turned off and the railings

01:11:23.100 --> 01:11:27.179
surrounding the building stabbing sharply
into the air, the place certainly looks pretty

01:11:27.179 --> 01:11:30.719
haunted. The brochure tells them that the
place is a maritime museum during the day

01:11:30.719 --> 01:11:35.929
but is currently closed to the public for
maintenance. However, there’s a spare key

01:11:35.929 --> 01:11:37.230
to be found right under…

01:11:37.230 --> 01:11:38.530
‘Got it!’

01:11:38.530 --> 01:11:42.070
Her Boyfriend straightens up proudly and turns
to hand her the key that he retrieved from

01:11:42.070 --> 01:11:46.240
under the flower pot. She scowls at him, to
make sure he still knows he’s in trouble

01:11:46.240 --> 01:11:50.790
for not getting them into Disney, but she
does secretly feel a little glimmer of affection.

01:11:50.790 --> 01:11:54.760
He’s always been the first behind the couch
during horror movies, so he’s clearly trying

01:11:54.760 --> 01:11:56.570
his best to make it up to her.

01:11:56.570 --> 01:12:00.659
The creaking noise that she was really hoping
for doesn’t come when she opens the door.

01:12:00.659 --> 01:12:05.091
It opens smoothly. Her Boyfriend flicks the
light switch instinctively and the inside

01:12:05.091 --> 01:12:09.810
of the museum immediately lights up, showing
glass cabinets, old nautical equipment, and

01:12:09.810 --> 01:12:11.489
a few flags.

01:12:11.489 --> 01:12:16.090
She groans and switches the lights back off.
It’s not exactly a haunted tour if you just

01:12:16.090 --> 01:12:21.290
turn all the lights on. But the magic of the
room is gone now. They’ve now seen everything,

01:12:21.290 --> 01:12:25.130
nothing lurking in the dark. No shadows. Just
a boring old museum.

01:12:25.130 --> 01:12:28.550
They trudge into the next room. There’s
so much street light spilling through the

01:12:28.550 --> 01:12:33.030
window that they can see practically everything
in here as well. It’s a recreation of the

01:12:33.030 --> 01:12:38.020
old lighthouse keeper's bedroom. A couple
of old-looking beds, antique wardrobes, and

01:12:38.020 --> 01:12:41.429
clothes from the olden days. So much for a
haunted lighthouse.

01:12:41.429 --> 01:12:46.261
‘This is so lame,’ the Girlfriend groans
and switches the light on. Even her Boyfriend

01:12:46.261 --> 01:12:50.220
isn’t looking scared by any of this. ‘There’s
literally nothing to be scared of in here.

01:12:50.220 --> 01:12:52.280
Can we just go home?’

01:12:52.280 --> 01:12:56.610
Her Boyfriend looks apologetic again. He’s
really tried to salvage this vacation, but

01:12:56.610 --> 01:12:59.590
it just hasn’t happened. She can’t be
too mad at him.

01:12:59.590 --> 01:13:03.909
‘You know what, no,’ she says. ‘Let’s
at least finish looking around this museum,

01:13:03.909 --> 01:13:07.960
then we can go. We can just switch on the
lights, read the exhibits and see the view

01:13:07.960 --> 01:13:09.360
from on top of the lighthouse.’

01:13:09.360 --> 01:13:13.840
So they do that. The pair of them go back
into the first room and start reading through

01:13:13.840 --> 01:13:15.409
the signs under each of the displays.

01:13:15.409 --> 01:13:20.860
There is a diagram explaining all of the different
knots that sailors used to tie. A long paragraph

01:13:20.860 --> 01:13:25.150
all about how the lighthouse used to burn
oil but now runs on electricity generated

01:13:25.150 --> 01:13:26.150
by…

01:13:26.150 --> 01:13:30.560
The Girlfriend yawns. Without the adrenaline
of any ghosts, museums are much harder work

01:13:30.560 --> 01:13:35.090
in the middle of the night. It isn’t even
Disney-themed like the brochure promised.

01:13:35.090 --> 01:13:39.260
The only Disney thing in here is that Mickey
Mouse mascot in the corner. It doesn’t even

01:13:39.260 --> 01:13:43.700
fit with the rest of the museum, just a random
costume on a mannequin. It must be almost

01:13:43.700 --> 01:13:44.989
7 feet tall.

01:13:44.989 --> 01:13:49.520
Her Boyfriend is staring at it real close.
He leans in, examining the material up close

01:13:49.520 --> 01:13:51.050
under the bright museum lights.

01:13:51.050 --> 01:13:55.550
‘This thing’s weird,’ he says. ‘I
wonder how old it is. Look, the white’s

01:13:55.550 --> 01:13:58.620
all faded, and it’s got this fur effect…’

01:13:58.620 --> 01:13:59.710
CRUNCH!

01:13:59.710 --> 01:14:03.721
Mickey Mouse chomps onto her Boyfriend’s
arm with a ferocious set of teeth. Neither

01:14:03.721 --> 01:14:08.950
of them reacts at all, frozen by total disbelief
as Mickey stands there, his huge, rat-like

01:14:08.950 --> 01:14:13.340
fangs embedded in the Boyfriend’s arm. He
yanks it from the cartoon character’s jaws,

01:14:13.340 --> 01:14:16.260
blood leaking from the wounds. How can this
be happening!?

01:14:16.260 --> 01:14:21.730
Mickey’s eyes flick between the two of them.
He raises a gloved hand and waves.

01:14:21.730 --> 01:14:25.790
The Boyfriend shrieks, turns on his heels
and runs, clattering into one of the exhibits

01:14:25.790 --> 01:14:30.200
as he goes. He crashes into her and the wound
on his arm hits her in the chest. She looks

01:14:30.200 --> 01:14:34.350
down, confused at the bloodstain on her shirt,
then back at Mickey Mouse.

01:14:34.350 --> 01:14:37.470
He gives a little shooing motion with his
hands. Run.

01:14:37.470 --> 01:14:42.500
Now it’s her turn to scream. She grabs her
Boyfriend and bundles him out of the room.

01:14:42.500 --> 01:14:45.271
Mickey was standing right by the entrance.
They’re gonna have to hope there’s another

01:14:45.271 --> 01:14:50.110
way out somewhere deeper in the museum. They
run through room after room, every few steps

01:14:50.110 --> 01:14:54.421
turning to see Mickey following them. He isn’t
running at all, he’s sauntering along, arms

01:14:54.421 --> 01:14:59.550
swinging cartoonishly around. Just like in
Steamboat Willie, he’s whistling a tune

01:14:59.550 --> 01:15:01.660
to himself as he goes.

01:15:01.660 --> 01:15:05.280
That must be the door out of here! The pair
of them crash into it and go tumbling into

01:15:05.280 --> 01:15:09.560
the next room. There is blood everywhere.
Her Boyfriend is looking more and more pale

01:15:09.560 --> 01:15:13.320
by the second. They’re not outside though,
they’re in a small circular room with a

01:15:13.320 --> 01:15:16.540
spiral staircase running up, up, up into darkness.

01:15:16.540 --> 01:15:20.480
Mickey’s whistling is getting louder. They
don’t have a choice here. The Girlfriend

01:15:20.480 --> 01:15:24.639
jumps up and hauls her tiring Boyfriend to
his feet. Putting his unwounded arm over her

01:15:24.639 --> 01:15:28.770
shoulder, she half carries him up the stairs,
feeling the metal spiral shudder under them

01:15:28.770 --> 01:15:34.980
with every step. Halfway up, she looks back
over her shoulder. Mickey is standing in the

01:15:34.980 --> 01:15:37.160
doorway. He waves enthusiastically.

01:15:37.160 --> 01:15:40.870
Her legs are burning by the time she reaches
the top of the lighthouse. Barging open the

01:15:40.870 --> 01:15:45.989
door, she throws her Boyfriend rather unceremoniously
up onto the balcony around the big light.

01:15:45.989 --> 01:15:50.310
Panting, she turns back around to look back
down into the darkness below them. Mickey

01:15:50.310 --> 01:15:52.710
is standing by a big switch on the wall.

01:15:52.710 --> 01:15:55.250
‘Huh HUH!’ he laughs and flips the switch.

01:15:55.250 --> 01:16:00.110
A big clunking sound comes from the light
next to her. Very slowly at first, it starts

01:16:00.110 --> 01:16:05.850
to spin. The light flickers on dimly, dimly
at first, then gets brighter. Faster and faster

01:16:05.850 --> 01:16:10.630
it spins, brighter and brighter the beam until
it’s blinding.

01:16:10.630 --> 01:16:14.640
She raises an arm to shield herself from the
piercing light. Against the dark of the night,

01:16:14.640 --> 01:16:19.600
her eyes can’t adjust between light and
dark fast enough. She’s going blind up here.

01:16:19.600 --> 01:16:24.360
From below, she hears a heavy footstep on
metal. Then another. The whistling starts

01:16:24.360 --> 01:16:29.640
again as Mickey cheerfully makes his way up
to them. She glances down at him. He waves

01:16:29.640 --> 01:16:34.900
happily up at her again. She almost waves
back instinctively. No, now’s not the time.

01:16:34.900 --> 01:16:36.560
She needs to come up with a plan.

01:16:36.560 --> 01:16:41.010
But her brain just can’t do it. For all
the horror movies she’s watched, all the

01:16:41.010 --> 01:16:45.000
times where she’s screaming at the TV telling
the protagonist what to do, now that she’s

01:16:45.000 --> 01:16:49.800
in one for herself, she’s got nothing. Oh
wait, maybe she does have something.

01:16:49.800 --> 01:16:54.290
A pair of gloved hands appear on the door
frame, gripping the wood tightly. A smiling

01:16:54.290 --> 01:16:59.270
Mickey Mouse pops his head around the door,
blood all over his chin. He just stays there

01:16:59.270 --> 01:17:03.490
for a moment, eyes flitting between her and
her Boyfriend, bleeding out on the floor.

01:17:03.490 --> 01:17:04.490
‘Huh HUH!’

01:17:04.490 --> 01:17:08.480
He sticks a comically large shoe out from
the doorway and steps out onto the gallery

01:17:08.480 --> 01:17:13.360
to join them. The light swings around and
shines in his face, as soon as it hits him,

01:17:13.360 --> 01:17:18.060
he bears his teeth, thousands of them jammed,
and shrieks in their faces.

01:17:18.060 --> 01:17:23.790
That’s it. The Girlfriend runs at him, fast
as she can. At the last moment, she jumps,

01:17:23.790 --> 01:17:28.429
bends her legs, and, with all the force she
can muster, two-foot kicks him in the chest.

01:17:28.429 --> 01:17:33.080
The giant mascot is really solid, he’s so
heavy that all of her efforts only just about

01:17:33.080 --> 01:17:36.420
knocks him off balance. But it’s enough.

01:17:36.420 --> 01:17:41.010
Tripping over his own giant shoes, Mickey
falls backwards. His back hits the railing,

01:17:41.010 --> 01:17:46.140
and for a second, it looks like he’s going
to be okay, but his momentum is just too much.

01:17:46.140 --> 01:17:50.900
His feet fly up into the air as he tips back
over it, tumbling down into the darkness and

01:17:50.900 --> 01:17:53.060
laughing all the way down.

01:17:53.060 --> 01:17:54.060
CRUNCH!

01:17:54.060 --> 01:17:59.659
Mickey lands, impaled on the spiked railings
outside the lighthouse. One of the rails stabs

01:17:59.659 --> 01:18:05.300
straight through his head. His smile freezes
in place. His laughter stops.

01:18:05.300 --> 01:18:09.360
Her Boyfriend is not looking okay. He’s
barely conscious now, lying in a sickeningly

01:18:09.360 --> 01:18:14.090
large pool of blood. They need to get him
to a hospital fast. Still not recovered from

01:18:14.090 --> 01:18:18.330
carrying him up the lighthouse stairs, she
now has to haul him back down them. The pair

01:18:18.330 --> 01:18:22.360
leave a red trail all the way through the
museum, but that’s the last of her concerns

01:18:22.360 --> 01:18:23.830
at this point.

01:18:23.830 --> 01:18:27.800
Not looking across at Mickey lying dead on
the railing, the Girlfriend dumps her Boyfriend

01:18:27.800 --> 01:18:32.179
into the passenger seat of the rental car
and goes round to the driver’s side. She

01:18:32.179 --> 01:18:35.650
doesn’t have a license but she did a few
lessons this year. Should be fine, the roads

01:18:35.650 --> 01:18:40.659
will be empty. All she needs to do is get
them to a hospital.

01:18:40.659 --> 01:18:44.179
Her Boyfriend is groaning in the passenger
seat. She starts fishing through his pockets

01:18:44.179 --> 01:18:49.139
for the keys. She glances up at the mirror.
Mickey is still lying on the fence motionless.

01:18:49.139 --> 01:18:53.969
The door to the museum is closed, just like
how they’d left it. Or wait, did they leave

01:18:53.969 --> 01:18:55.360
it open?

01:18:55.360 --> 01:18:59.469
She tries the other pocket, her Boyfriend
is trying to say something. She shushes him,

01:18:59.469 --> 01:19:03.929
he can tell her later, but he keeps trying.
Raising his uninjured arm, he points at something

01:19:03.929 --> 01:19:07.330
on the dashboard. Her Mouse ears. What’s
the big deal?

01:19:07.330 --> 01:19:12.070
They’ve already dealt with Mickey Mouse.
No, wait. Not Mickey.

01:19:12.070 --> 01:19:13.070
Minnie.

01:19:13.070 --> 01:19:14.070
BANG!

01:19:14.070 --> 01:19:18.620
Two large dents appear on the car’s roof
right above their heads. The Girlfriend desperately

01:19:18.620 --> 01:19:23.300
turns back to her Boyfriend, searching pocket
after pocket for these keys. Why does he have

01:19:23.300 --> 01:19:25.699
so many damn pockets on these shorts?!

01:19:25.699 --> 01:19:29.650
She glances out the window and stops dead
still. Peering through the glass at her, head

01:19:29.650 --> 01:19:35.020
upside down as she leans over from the roof,
Minnie Mouse waves at her. The gloved hand

01:19:35.020 --> 01:19:39.440
stops moving and points at the third pocket
down on the left. The Girlfriend reaches into

01:19:39.440 --> 01:19:44.440
it and finds the keys. Minnie gives a big
double thumbs up, tilts her head back, and

01:19:44.440 --> 01:19:45.880
slams it into the glass.

01:19:45.880 --> 01:19:47.639
BANG! BANG!

01:19:47.639 --> 01:19:52.360
Again and again, she pounds her forehead on
the windshield. The glass sags and fractures

01:19:52.360 --> 01:19:56.489
into smaller and smaller pieces. The Girlfriend
doesn’t have time to sit and wait, though,

01:19:56.489 --> 01:20:00.960
she stabs the keys into the car and starts
the engine. Slamming the accelerator to the

01:20:00.960 --> 01:20:05.490
floor, the car shoots off into the night.
Minnie gives her another double thumbs up,

01:20:05.490 --> 01:20:08.820
winds a hand back, and punches it through
the window.

01:20:08.820 --> 01:20:12.909
The Girlfriend screams. The hand grabs the
top of her Boyfriend’s head and starts to

01:20:12.909 --> 01:20:18.100
slowly twist it around. No matter how much
she swerves the car, the Girlfriend can’t

01:20:18.100 --> 01:20:22.989
knock the mouse off the roof. Round and round
her Boyfriend’s head goes.

01:20:22.989 --> 01:20:23.989
Crunch!

01:20:23.989 --> 01:20:27.780
His vertebrae detached and grate against each
other. His head is looking all the way backwards

01:20:27.780 --> 01:20:32.409
at his seat, but Minnie keeps turning it.
Round and round until he’s looking straight

01:20:32.409 --> 01:20:37.310
forwards again, neck crumpled and splitting,
eyes lifeless.

01:20:37.310 --> 01:20:40.300
Minnie puts a hand to her mouth and giggles.
Oops!

01:20:40.300 --> 01:20:45.110
The road disappears from under the car, and
it freefalls for a second, the nose tipping

01:20:45.110 --> 01:20:50.250
forward. Crash! The nose lands first, tipping
the car forwards and throwing the Girlfriend

01:20:50.250 --> 01:20:54.760
through what remains of the windscreen. She
tumbles across the sand, feeling her arm snapping

01:20:54.760 --> 01:20:55.920
underneath her as she goes.

01:20:55.920 --> 01:21:01.530
In a blur, she tries to get to her feet but
collapses. Rolling onto her back, she stares

01:21:01.530 --> 01:21:06.560
up at the stars as the sea laps against her
cheek. A pair of giant round ears with a little

01:21:06.560 --> 01:21:13.260
pink bow block her view. Minnie peers down
at her, spotting the girl’s broken arm.

01:21:13.260 --> 01:21:18.540
With two giant gloved hands, she reaches down
and takes the arm in her grip, breaking it

01:21:18.540 --> 01:21:23.511
back the other way and shoving it together
until it resembles how it used to look. Minnie

01:21:23.511 --> 01:21:25.980
gives her the double thumbs up.

01:21:25.980 --> 01:21:31.480
The Girlfriend doesn’t even try to move.
This is it. She’s accepted her fate.

01:21:31.480 --> 01:21:36.199
But Minnie looks sad. Putting her hands under
the Girlfriend’s armpits, she lifts her

01:21:36.199 --> 01:21:41.449
up and puts her back on her feet. She makes
that same shooing motion Mickey did before.

01:21:41.449 --> 01:21:47.511
The Girlfriend stumbles back a couple of paces
but falls over again. Exasperated, Minnie

01:21:47.511 --> 01:21:52.510
throws her hands in the air, picks the Girlfriend
up again, and puts her back on her feet.

01:21:52.510 --> 01:21:57.210
Minnie points at her. You. She then makes
a little running motion with her fingers and

01:21:57.210 --> 01:21:59.909
points off up the beach. You run.

01:21:59.909 --> 01:22:06.990
‘Just kill me,’ the Girlfriend says, exhaustion
wracking her every word. Minnie puts her head

01:22:06.990 --> 01:22:12.110
in her hands, even more exasperated than before.
The Mouse puts her hands together and makes

01:22:12.110 --> 01:22:14.940
a begging motion. Please?

01:22:14.940 --> 01:22:20.000
The Girlfriend just stands there. Minnie throws
her arms in the air, looks down at the girl,

01:22:20.000 --> 01:22:25.550
and shrieks bearing all her teeth. She stays
put. Minnie pushes her over, jumps down into

01:22:25.550 --> 01:22:30.070
a straddling position, and punches the Girlfriend
in the head with her gloved hand.

01:22:30.070 --> 01:22:34.190
Pain fills the girl’s head, shooting the
fear back into her. With nothing left, the

01:22:34.190 --> 01:22:39.251
girl pushes herself free and stumbles away
from Minnie. She hobbles up the beach, blood

01:22:39.251 --> 01:22:44.010
flowing freely down either side of her head.
She’s going as fast as she can, but it’s

01:22:44.010 --> 01:22:46.060
barely faster than a walk.

01:22:46.060 --> 01:22:50.200
Behind her, Minnie is covering her eyes and
counting on an outstretched hand. Playing

01:22:50.200 --> 01:22:54.801
hide and seek. There’s nowhere for her to
go though, nowhere to hide. They’re just

01:22:54.801 --> 01:23:00.650
on an open beach stretching out in front of
her and behind her. Nowhere to go except…

01:23:00.650 --> 01:23:05.600
She splashes out into the sea, up to her knees,
her waist, her chest, now she’s just fully

01:23:05.600 --> 01:23:10.300
swimming. Her broken arm screams at her from
the motion. She barely has the strength to

01:23:10.300 --> 01:23:14.440
kick. Salt water splashes up into her ear
holes and feels like it’s washing straight

01:23:14.440 --> 01:23:18.230
into her brain. The world sounds strange and
choked.

01:23:18.230 --> 01:23:22.190
The girl cranes her neck around to see Minnie
standing on the shore. The Mouse waves at

01:23:22.190 --> 01:23:27.340
her enthusiastically. The girl waves back.
Minnie giggles.

01:23:27.340 --> 01:23:31.840
The two of them stay like that for almost
an hour: the girl steadily dying in the sea,

01:23:31.840 --> 01:23:37.090
trying to stay afloat; Minnie waiting enthusiastically
on the shore. With each wave, the girl is

01:23:37.090 --> 01:23:42.200
slowly brought closer and closer to the mouse,
until she’s lying helplessly at the creature’s

01:23:42.200 --> 01:23:48.739
giant feet. The last thing she sees is a pair
of giant round ears.

01:23:48.739 --> 01:23:54.889
Turns out she had been wrong. You can absolutely
win a fight with a pair of Minnie Mouse ears.

01:23:54.889 --> 01:23:58.620
Next time you are considering going on vacation
in the state of Florida, it would be wise

01:23:58.620 --> 01:24:02.760
of you to avoid reading any brochures you
may come across just in case you come across

01:24:02.760 --> 01:24:11.429
SCP-3640. A seemingly harmless brochure, SCP-3640
can be found all across the state though it

01:24:11.429 --> 01:24:14.239
is currently unknown how they come into being.

01:24:14.239 --> 01:24:18.739
These brochures will promote self-guided tours
within the state, all of areas that have particular

01:24:18.739 --> 01:24:24.830
ghost stories, folklore, or rumors of hauntings
attached to them. These tours are free and

01:24:24.830 --> 01:24:30.140
promise tourists an up close and personal
look at the haunted history of Florida. However,

01:24:30.140 --> 01:24:34.730
most are not prepared for just how ‘up close’
these tours end up being.

01:24:34.730 --> 01:24:38.929
If you read this brochure and decide to go
along to the location advertised at the time

01:24:38.929 --> 01:24:45.639
it lists, you will be met with instances of
SCP-3640-Alpha. In this case, these creatures

01:24:45.639 --> 01:24:50.159
manifested themselves as Mickey and Minnie
Mouse. However, they can take the form of

01:24:50.159 --> 01:24:54.929
any uniformed mascots associated with the
Walt Disney Media conglomerate. These mascots

01:24:54.929 --> 01:25:00.530
will hunt you down mercilessly, but with all
the charm and squeaky-clean joy we all know

01:25:00.530 --> 01:25:01.530
and love.

01:25:01.530 --> 01:25:05.341
Live ammunition does little to stop these
SCPs when directed at the body, but a clean

01:25:05.341 --> 01:25:10.030
headshot has been proven to do the trick.
It is fortunate then for our tourist couple

01:25:10.030 --> 01:25:14.600
that Mickey’s head was impaled on the railing.
What is less fortunate, however, is that they

01:25:14.600 --> 01:25:21.110
were there together. This is because SCP-3540
has a few interesting rules for how it operates.

01:25:21.110 --> 01:25:27.960
In order for SCP-3640-Alpha instances to engage
in the hunt, every member of the party has

01:25:27.960 --> 01:25:32.650
to have read the brochure. If a group of five
go to a haunted house at the designated time,

01:25:32.650 --> 01:25:38.239
but only four of them have read the brochure,
they will enjoy a nice spooky but safe evening.

01:25:38.239 --> 01:25:42.420
If all members of the party have read the
brochure, however, the same number of mascots

01:25:42.420 --> 01:25:47.330
will manifest and hunt them down. For a group
of twenty college students, you can only imagine

01:25:47.330 --> 01:25:50.650
the colorful range of Disney characters that
come out to play.

01:25:50.650 --> 01:25:54.910
These SCPs will also only remain within their
state borders. If you find yourself being

01:25:54.910 --> 01:25:59.239
hunted down, you can either run for the border
or find a good place to hide until the times

01:25:59.239 --> 01:26:02.090
allotted for your self-guided tour come to
an end.

01:26:02.090 --> 01:26:07.780
It remains unclear how these SCPs grow, reproduce,
or where they go outside of their hunting

01:26:07.780 --> 01:26:13.530
times, if they continue to exist at all. Who
knows, there are a lot of back rooms in Disney

01:26:13.530 --> 01:26:15.929
World with all mascot costumes lying around…

01:26:15.929 --> 01:26:20.290
The Walt Disney Company is under continuous
surveillance to ascertain any link between

01:26:20.290 --> 01:26:25.500
SCP-3640 and the brand themselves. To this
day, a letter from the Company to a local

01:26:25.500 --> 01:26:32.260
governor in 1979 is the only tie to have been
found between them and the creatures. It reads…

01:26:32.260 --> 01:26:33.699
Dear Governor Askew,

01:26:33.699 --> 01:26:37.719
The Walt Disney Company thanks you for your
cooperation in this matter regarding the unlicensed

01:26:37.719 --> 01:26:41.760
Walt Disney character operators. Please pass
along the following information, collected

01:26:41.760 --> 01:26:45.760
by the outstanding men and women of the City
of Orlando's Police Department, to the Florida

01:26:45.760 --> 01:26:47.010
National Guard:

01:26:47.010 --> 01:26:51.530
If a character is spotted, call to get its
attention and then rapidly flash your flashlights

01:26:51.530 --> 01:26:54.900
at the costume. If it does not flinch, fire
on sight.

01:26:54.900 --> 01:26:59.260
Aim at the head if possible; else, aim at
the knees to disable them and then finish

01:26:59.260 --> 01:27:04.050
them off with head shots. Body shots have
been shown to lack effectiveness.

01:27:04.050 --> 01:27:08.570
Deceased characters are to be incinerated.
No other means of disposal are advised.

01:27:08.570 --> 01:27:12.889
We are currently pursuing alternative legal
means of shutting down these unlicensed operators

01:27:12.889 --> 01:27:15.679
and hope to achieve a settlement within the
end of the year.

01:27:15.679 --> 01:27:19.179
Cordially yours,
The Walt Disney Company

01:27:19.179 --> 01:27:23.610
All he could see were glimpses, flashes of
movement, but he could clearly makeout that

01:27:23.610 --> 01:27:28.750
there was a girl. He could see the man walk
up behind her and slip a bag over her head.

01:27:28.750 --> 01:27:33.301
There was a struggle. A body being dragged
through the dark, and then the sound of a

01:27:33.301 --> 01:27:38.469
shovel scraping against the hard dirt. The
body is thrown into the shallow hole, and

01:27:38.469 --> 01:27:43.100
as the dirt begins to rain down on her face,
her eye opens up.

01:27:43.100 --> 01:27:49.110
The boy’s eyes open too and he sits up with
a panicked jolt. Shaky and covered in sweat,

01:27:49.110 --> 01:27:53.500
he looks around his dark room and realizes
that it was only a dream.

01:27:53.500 --> 01:27:58.281
The entire morning as the boy gets ready,
rides the bus, and sits through school, all

01:27:58.281 --> 01:28:02.179
he can think about is the dream… and the
girl.

01:28:02.179 --> 01:28:06.890
A group of teenage girls are out for a ride
in one of their father’s sports car convertible.

01:28:06.890 --> 01:28:10.869
They’re having too much fun, and driving
much too fast down the dark country roads.

01:28:10.869 --> 01:28:16.260
It doesn’t take much, it never does, just
the shadow of an animal bolting across the

01:28:16.260 --> 01:28:21.310
road but it’s enough to make the driver
jerk the wheel, causing the car to lose control.

01:28:21.310 --> 01:28:25.969
All of the girls scream, but none more than
the one who is tossed from the sliding, spinning

01:28:25.969 --> 01:28:29.150
car.
The girls stand around their dead friend and

01:28:29.150 --> 01:28:33.770
make a solemn pact, no one will ever know
that she was with them. But what will they

01:28:33.770 --> 01:28:39.380
do with her? One of them points towards the
woods and everyone turns to look at the dilapidated

01:28:39.380 --> 01:28:40.380
shed.

01:28:40.380 --> 01:28:44.830
As the girls, now dirty from their long night
of digging and then filling a hole, emerge

01:28:44.830 --> 01:28:50.500
from the shed into the dim morning light,
none of them are aware that beneath the dirt,

01:28:50.500 --> 01:28:53.260
the girl is still breathing.

01:28:53.260 --> 01:28:57.600
The boy gasps for air and struggles in the
dark. He throws the blankets off of him before

01:28:57.600 --> 01:29:00.710
realizing that he is safe in his own bed.

01:29:00.710 --> 01:29:04.469
Another breakfast, another ride to school,
another day of classes where the boy can think

01:29:04.469 --> 01:29:09.510
of nothing but the girl from his dreams. Who
is she? He’s never seen her in his life,

01:29:09.510 --> 01:29:12.639
he’s sure of it. But then why does she keep
appearing in his dreams?

01:29:12.639 --> 01:29:16.949
The boy is snapped out of his deep train of
thought by the teacher slapping his desk and

01:29:16.949 --> 01:29:20.469
he apologizes before focusing on his studies
once again.

01:29:20.469 --> 01:29:25.040
The look on the woman’s face is a mix of
sadness… and annoyance. She doesn’t know

01:29:25.040 --> 01:29:30.810
how much longer she can go on like this. It
never stops, how can someone cough so much?

01:29:30.810 --> 01:29:35.570
The woman sits in her chair and tries to push
away the same thought that comes to her over

01:29:35.570 --> 01:29:40.280
and over… that it would be better for both
of them if it would just end.

01:29:40.280 --> 01:29:45.430
The girl coughs loudly in her bed. The disease
has ravaged her lungs and it takes all of

01:29:45.430 --> 01:29:50.350
her willpower not to scratch at the burning,
itching sores on her face and chest. She looks

01:29:50.350 --> 01:29:54.800
towards the door with dazed eyes and sees
her mother enter the room. She’s carrying

01:29:54.800 --> 01:29:59.440
a tray with soup just like she always does
at this time, even though she has no appetite

01:29:59.440 --> 01:30:00.770
at all.

01:30:00.770 --> 01:30:04.159
As her mother gets closer she can see that
the tray is empty… and it isn’t a tray

01:30:04.159 --> 01:30:11.199
in her hands, it’s a pillow. The girl can
barely muster a scream as the woman places

01:30:11.199 --> 01:30:13.960
the pillow over her daughter’s face.

01:30:13.960 --> 01:30:17.940
As the mother walks out of the old shed in
the backyard and towards the house she stops

01:30:17.940 --> 01:30:22.800
for a moment. Can she hear the sound of coughing
coming from the shed?

01:30:22.800 --> 01:30:27.340
That morning at breakfast, the boy’s father
tells him in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t

01:30:27.340 --> 01:30:31.219
want to hear any more about the girl. It’s
just a dream, and he needs to put it out of

01:30:31.219 --> 01:30:35.780
his mind. What he needs to be focusing on
is school. The note from his teacher said

01:30:35.780 --> 01:30:39.199
that he isn’t paying attention in class
and if that keeps up he’s going to have

01:30:39.199 --> 01:30:43.909
much bigger problems. The boy promises, no
more about the girl.

01:30:43.909 --> 01:30:48.090
As the boy stares out the bus window, it isn’t
his fault that thoughts about his dream rush

01:30:48.090 --> 01:30:53.070
into his head. Because as the bus drives along
the country roads he catches a glimpse of

01:30:53.070 --> 01:30:58.590
something down a long, tree covered driveway
- it’s the house from his dream.

01:30:58.590 --> 01:31:02.980
The shed door opens with a creak, allowing
a sliver of light from the full moon to fall

01:31:02.980 --> 01:31:08.390
inside. The boy enters the shed as quietly
as he can and goes inside. He soon emerges

01:31:08.390 --> 01:31:12.869
with his bike, and a shovel strapped to his
back before riding away from his own backyard

01:31:12.869 --> 01:31:14.360
into the night.

01:31:14.360 --> 01:31:18.170
The boy stops his bike at the bottom of the
driveway leading up to the old, abandoned

01:31:18.170 --> 01:31:23.119
house. He rides up the drive and doesn’t
even consider stopping at the house, his destination

01:31:23.119 --> 01:31:25.160
is somewhere else.

01:31:25.160 --> 01:31:29.380
The boy lets his bike fall to the ground in
the backyard and stares at it… it’s the

01:31:29.380 --> 01:31:34.469
shed he’s seen so many times before despite
never seeing it in person. It’s dark and

01:31:34.469 --> 01:31:39.700
quiet, the shed silhouetted against the large,
bright moon. He approaches the only door on

01:31:39.700 --> 01:31:45.361
the small shed and reaches for the handle.
It opens with a loud, rusty squeak. The boy

01:31:45.361 --> 01:31:50.470
takes out a flashlight and turns it on, illuminating
the shed’s interior.

01:31:50.470 --> 01:31:55.080
Inside is nothing except for a wooden bench
sitting on the dirt floor. But wait, there

01:31:55.080 --> 01:32:01.199
is something else. A spot on the ground appears
different, blackened, almost as if it were

01:32:01.199 --> 01:32:06.480
burned. This is the spot though. This is the
place the boy keeps seeing in his dreams.

01:32:06.480 --> 01:32:09.760
He knows she’s down there. She needs his
help.

01:32:09.760 --> 01:32:14.290
The boy thrusts his shovel down into the dirt
but it doesn’t even scratch the surface.

01:32:14.290 --> 01:32:19.040
The ground is cold and hard. He strikes down
again and the shovel pierces into the dirt.

01:32:19.040 --> 01:32:23.840
The shovel suddenly falls to the ground though
as the boy begins to cough. He drops to his

01:32:23.840 --> 01:32:29.130
knees as the coughing becomes a fit. He can’t
stop and now he can’t breathe. It feels

01:32:29.130 --> 01:32:34.050
like his throat is filling with… something.
He falls to the ground, still coughing as

01:32:34.050 --> 01:32:38.409
he feels whatever is filling his throat and
lungs moving and vibrating. With a final,

01:32:38.409 --> 01:32:43.909
great hacking cough he unleashes a swarm of
creatures from his mouth. He lies in the dirt,

01:32:43.909 --> 01:32:48.820
struggling but unable to get any air, as the
buzz of thousands of locusts drowns out his

01:32:48.820 --> 01:32:52.469
final noises.
It’s no surprise that what this young man

01:32:52.469 --> 01:32:57.530
ran into wasn’t a dream at all, but an interaction
with an anomaly that has since been classified

01:32:57.530 --> 01:33:04.610
as SCP-4595, but also has the quite simple
and appropriate name of… Witch.

01:33:04.610 --> 01:33:10.010
SCP-4595 is the designation given to a small
room located inside of a woodshed, that is

01:33:10.010 --> 01:33:14.750
itself found behind a home near the town of
Jasper, Indiana. The house appears to have

01:33:14.750 --> 01:33:19.230
been abandoned for some time, and there are
no reliable records of who the home’s most

01:33:19.230 --> 01:33:24.250
recent or original owners were.
The only item inside the woodshed is a simple,

01:33:24.250 --> 01:33:29.179
rough hewn, wooden bench, though at the time
of the anomaly’s discovery, two other objects

01:33:29.179 --> 01:33:34.050
were found as well. The first was a small
shovel, the type that might be used for gardening.

01:33:34.050 --> 01:33:38.690
The shovel appears to be ordinary in every
way, except for the very tip which has what

01:33:38.690 --> 01:33:43.670
looks to be a bloodstain on it, though tests
have been able to retrieve any genetic material

01:33:43.670 --> 01:33:48.780
from the discoloration. The second object
was a small human skeleton.

01:33:48.780 --> 01:33:52.679
The body of the deceased person was removed
from the woodshed, and an autopsy revealed

01:33:52.679 --> 01:33:57.780
that it had belonged to an adolescent male,
roughly 11 to 13 years old. While the exact

01:33:57.780 --> 01:34:01.670
cause of death was unable to be determined,
it is extremely likely that it was due to

01:34:01.670 --> 01:34:07.730
the anomalous effects that SCP-4595 produces,
but more on those in a moment.

01:34:07.730 --> 01:34:11.570
Further examination of the woodshed reveals
that the word “WITCH” has been scrawled

01:34:11.570 --> 01:34:15.550
on the door with charcoal, though it is unknown
who wrote the message and whether it is meant

01:34:15.550 --> 01:34:20.410
to serve as a warning or has some other purpose.
It is highly likely though, that the word

01:34:20.410 --> 01:34:26.900
is referring to the final element of SCP-4595,
the body that is buried beneath the woodshed’s

01:34:26.900 --> 01:34:28.360
dirt floor.

01:34:28.360 --> 01:34:32.219
Ground penetrating imaging tools were brought
in to investigate the shed, and researchers

01:34:32.219 --> 01:34:35.720
discovered that underneath one portion of
the floor that appears to have been scorched

01:34:35.720 --> 01:34:40.060
at some point, a body is buried roughly one
meter beneath the surface, which has since

01:34:40.060 --> 01:34:46.710
been designated as SCP-4595-A. Scans have
revealed the body to be a humanoid figure,

01:34:46.710 --> 01:34:51.480
vaguely feminine in appearance. It’s limbs
are twisted in a painful, and unnatural manner,

01:34:51.480 --> 01:34:56.541
and there are several large wounds present
on its face, chest, and neck. But perhaps

01:34:56.541 --> 01:35:00.820
strangest of all is that despite evidence
at the site pointing to the location not having

01:35:00.820 --> 01:35:05.320
been disturbed for many years, the corpse
buried beneath does not seem to show any signs

01:35:05.320 --> 01:35:09.940
at all of decomposition, still appearing as
it most likely did at the time it was interred

01:35:09.940 --> 01:35:10.940
in the ground.

01:35:10.940 --> 01:35:16.110
You are most likely asking yourself why the
SCP Foundation has relied solely on subterranean

01:35:16.110 --> 01:35:22.869
imaging in order to assess the state of SCP-4595-A,
and why they don’t simply dig up the anomalous

01:35:22.869 --> 01:35:28.100
corpse. The reason why they haven’t is due
to the anomalous effects present at the site.

01:35:28.100 --> 01:35:33.040
Testing on SCP-4595 has concluded that anyone
who enters the shed and remains there for

01:35:33.040 --> 01:35:38.430
any substantial amount of time will begin
to experience a number of effects. First,

01:35:38.430 --> 01:35:43.020
they will start to feel paranoid, getting
the impression that someone is watching them.

01:35:43.020 --> 01:35:47.500
This purely mental effect is quickly followed
by a physical one, where the individual’s

01:35:47.500 --> 01:35:53.060
skin will start to itch. Those who linger
in SCP-4595 long enough will eventually begin

01:35:53.060 --> 01:35:57.230
to violently scratch at themselves in an attempt
to relieve the itchiness.

01:35:57.230 --> 01:36:01.889
These effects, while very uncomfortable, will
eventually subside if they leave the location,

01:36:01.889 --> 01:36:05.350
and it is very likely that they are meant
to serve as a warning of what will happen

01:36:05.350 --> 01:36:10.860
if one partakes in the most dangerous aspect
of SCP-4595, which is disturbing the body

01:36:10.860 --> 01:36:12.949
buried beneath it.

01:36:12.949 --> 01:36:18.830
Anyone who attempts to impact SCP-4595-A by
attempting to dig it up or otherwise remove

01:36:18.830 --> 01:36:24.000
it from the location, will quickly experience
a horrendous anomalous effect. The individual

01:36:24.000 --> 01:36:27.830
will soon find that they are experiencing
a shortness of breath, and soon will begin

01:36:27.830 --> 01:36:32.960
coughing and choking, and be unable to breathe
at all. This is due to a phenomenon in which

01:36:32.960 --> 01:36:37.760
any empty space in their chest cavity, lungs,
airways, stomach and intestines, will completely

01:36:37.760 --> 01:36:44.130
fill with Schistocerca gregaria, better known
as the desert locust. The insects will continue

01:36:44.130 --> 01:36:48.530
to appear within the individual’s body until
they expire, a process that typically takes

01:36:48.530 --> 01:36:50.120
mere minutes.

01:36:50.120 --> 01:36:54.770
Any locusts that manage to escape the individual’s
body, most often through the mouth and nose

01:36:54.770 --> 01:36:58.960
will disappear into a vapor that quickly dissipates
the moment they cross the threshold of the

01:36:58.960 --> 01:37:00.080
woodshed’s doorway.

01:37:00.080 --> 01:37:05.850
So far, no method has been determined that
can prevent any of SCP-4595’s effects, and

01:37:05.850 --> 01:37:10.199
for the time being, no personnel are allowed
to enter the anomalous shed except for testing

01:37:10.199 --> 01:37:17.350
purposes, but even in those cases the disturbance
of SCP-4595-A is not allowed. Due to the relative

01:37:17.350 --> 01:37:21.369
ease with which the Foundation can secure
the site and is able to prevent anyone from

01:37:21.369 --> 01:37:25.690
entering, it has been classified as Safe,
with the additional disruption class of Dark

01:37:25.690 --> 01:37:33.860
and the risk class of Warning.
Just what is SCP-4595? Is the SCP-4595-A body

01:37:33.860 --> 01:37:39.031
a victim? Doomed to an eternity beneath this
ramshackle shed? Or is it a monster? Sealed

01:37:39.031 --> 01:37:43.660
away for some unknown purpose, the only warning
for us to stay away being a single word on

01:37:43.660 --> 01:37:50.650
the door? Maybe one day, we’ll finally know
the answer to why SCP-4595 is only known as

01:37:50.650 --> 01:37:51.949
the Witch.

01:37:51.949 --> 01:37:54.550
It all started with the roses dying.

01:37:54.550 --> 01:37:58.510
Only the one bush at first. The Old Man had
come out to water his garden the same way

01:37:58.510 --> 01:38:05.179
he did every morning. It was looking sad and
brown, leaves drooping and branches hardening.

01:38:05.179 --> 01:38:06.650
Just the one bush in the corner.

01:38:06.650 --> 01:38:12.429
But the next day, the bushes on either side
of it had died too. Within a week, it was

01:38:12.429 --> 01:38:14.869
that whole corner of the garden.

01:38:14.869 --> 01:38:18.909
As the Old Man puts on his gardening gloves
at the sink and stares out of the kitchen

01:38:18.909 --> 01:38:24.040
window, he knows that something is seriously
wrong with his poor plants. The flourishing

01:38:24.040 --> 01:38:27.940
garden, so neatly maintained throughout all
of his retirement years - his pride and joy

01:38:27.940 --> 01:38:32.440
- is now steadily dying before his very eyes.

01:38:32.440 --> 01:38:37.469
Living in a small one-story house, there isn’t
much left for him to do. Out in Bushey, right

01:38:37.469 --> 01:38:42.520
on the edge of what could be considered London,
there is very little going on with his day.

01:38:42.520 --> 01:38:46.590
Inside the house, he hangs all of his photos
of the Lancaster Bomber that he and his squad

01:38:46.590 --> 01:38:51.830
flew in the Second World War. Although those
days are long behind him now, he chose to

01:38:51.830 --> 01:38:56.060
live here because on the hill that his house
is on, he can see the planes taking off and

01:38:56.060 --> 01:38:57.650
landing from the nearby RAF base.

01:38:57.650 --> 01:39:03.719
And where does he like to sit and watch the
planes? From his immaculate garden.

01:39:03.719 --> 01:39:08.790
The Old Man scowls at it. The perfectly trimmed
hedges, blossoming trees, uniform grass, and

01:39:08.790 --> 01:39:13.460
colorful beds are all being ruined by a dark
stain steadily spreading from the back right

01:39:13.460 --> 01:39:17.760
corner. Starting with that rose bush in the
corner and spreading out, everything in a

01:39:17.760 --> 01:39:23.360
rough circle measuring close to 15 feet is
withering away and dying.

01:39:23.360 --> 01:39:25.320
Not on his watch.

01:39:25.320 --> 01:39:29.771
The kettle finishes boiling. He has to use
his old gas hobs to heat up the water. The

01:39:29.771 --> 01:39:34.860
cooker is apparently long past its lifespan.
The ignition stopped working years ago, so

01:39:34.860 --> 01:39:40.000
he has to use matches to start it. If he leaves
on the gas by accident… well, there wouldn’t

01:39:40.000 --> 01:39:42.159
be much of a kitchen left.

01:39:42.159 --> 01:39:46.699
He pours the water out into a mug and starts
brewing his morning cup of tea.

01:39:46.699 --> 01:39:50.900
A few minutes later, the back door slides
open, and the Old Man emerges, trowel and

01:39:50.900 --> 01:39:55.940
cup of tea in hand. Years ago, he would have
marched purposefully across the grass, but

01:39:55.940 --> 01:40:01.210
now he is forced to plod instead. His knees
and back are both starting to give out from

01:40:01.210 --> 01:40:06.170
the years of tending to his precious green
friends. But the fire is still in his belly.

01:40:06.170 --> 01:40:11.080
He reaches the edge of the dead patch and
looks down. The lawn isn’t just yellowing,

01:40:11.080 --> 01:40:15.570
it’s fully brown. He pokes at the grass
with his shoe, and it breaks apart to the

01:40:15.570 --> 01:40:21.619
touch. How strange. He’s never seen anything
die off so suddenly and uniformly. It isn’t

01:40:21.619 --> 01:40:26.310
just a bad bed or an infection spreading around,
it’s a clear patch of death where nothing

01:40:26.310 --> 01:40:28.960
in the given area stands a chance.

01:40:28.960 --> 01:40:33.660
He steps onto the brown grass and walks to
the corner where that first rosebush died.

01:40:33.660 --> 01:40:37.860
The base of the fence is rotting away in that
corner, giving him a peek into his neighbor’s

01:40:37.860 --> 01:40:42.260
garden. With a good deal of groaning and aching,
the Old Man lowers himself onto his hands

01:40:42.260 --> 01:40:44.340
and knees and peers under the fence.

01:40:44.340 --> 01:40:47.300
A pair of eyes meet his.

01:40:47.300 --> 01:40:51.800
The Old Man yells out in surprise. The person
on the other end screams. After a moment they

01:40:51.800 --> 01:40:56.300
look under again and start laughing. It’s
just the Mom from next door. She has kids

01:40:56.300 --> 01:41:00.179
who like to play in the garden on their trampoline
while he’s working. They’ll often talk

01:41:00.179 --> 01:41:01.719
over the fence to him between bounces.

01:41:01.719 --> 01:41:05.060
‘I hope I didn’t give you a heart attack!’
she teases.

01:41:05.060 --> 01:41:09.340
He reassures her that he’s made of sterner
stuff than that. Then they get to the matter

01:41:09.340 --> 01:41:14.420
at hand, what is going on in their gardens?
She is having the same issue too. That same

01:41:14.420 --> 01:41:18.710
circle is spreading out over her side too.
Everything it touches is dying.

01:41:18.710 --> 01:41:22.750
‘Well then, it has to be coming from this
corner,’ the Old Man says.

01:41:22.750 --> 01:41:26.600
The pair of them pull the fence apart around
the corner, creating a little hole between

01:41:26.600 --> 01:41:31.520
their gardens. It’s short work. The boards
break apart at the lightest touch. Before

01:41:31.520 --> 01:41:35.489
long, they have a little work site ready.
There must be something down in this corner

01:41:35.489 --> 01:41:37.800
that’s causing all of this.

01:41:37.800 --> 01:41:42.360
Side by side, the Old Man and the Mom from
next door start to dig. The soil feels strange

01:41:42.360 --> 01:41:46.780
to dig through, there’s a kind of stickiness
to it, as if there’s a very faint layer

01:41:46.780 --> 01:41:52.179
of slime binding it together. Could it be
a dead animal? That’s the Old Man’s best

01:41:52.179 --> 01:41:56.270
guess right now, but it doesn’t seem very
convincing. Surely that would nourish the

01:41:56.270 --> 01:42:00.660
soil with more nutrients. It might offset
the pH balance a bit but not to the extent

01:42:00.660 --> 01:42:01.660
of…

01:42:01.660 --> 01:42:02.660
Crack!

01:42:02.660 --> 01:42:06.989
The Mom’s trowel breaks. She holds it up
to her face, confused. The metal shovel scoop

01:42:06.989 --> 01:42:10.909
has broken. The tip of it has fallen off.
Half snapped, half melted.

01:42:10.909 --> 01:42:13.720
‘I just bought this the other day!’

01:42:13.720 --> 01:42:18.000
But the Old Man isn’t looking at the trowel
anymore. Instead, he’s staring into the

01:42:18.000 --> 01:42:22.161
hole that the pair of them have dug. Down
there at the bottom, underneath the piece

01:42:22.161 --> 01:42:28.160
of broken metal something is moving. He plants
a gloved hand on either side of the hole and

01:42:28.160 --> 01:42:31.510
leans down over it, peering at whatever it
is.

01:42:31.510 --> 01:42:37.500
Worms. Tiny brown worms. Each writhing and
wrapping around the others, tying and untying

01:42:37.500 --> 01:42:38.500
knots.

01:42:38.500 --> 01:42:42.310
He straightens up with a groan, takes his
gloves off, and pushes himself to his feet.

01:42:42.310 --> 01:42:47.080
‘We need to call the Council. There’s
something dead down here that is rotting badly.’

01:42:47.080 --> 01:42:51.290
The woman from Hertsmere Council was clearly
not very interested in sending a waste disposal

01:42:51.290 --> 01:42:55.619
team down when the Old Man called her. She
told him they would stop by the bungalow in

01:42:55.619 --> 01:43:00.671
three to five working days and hung up. Several
calls later, she relented and agreed that

01:43:00.671 --> 01:43:03.460
they would send a team across that afternoon.

01:43:03.460 --> 01:43:08.020
Soon after 4pm, a knock comes at the door.
The Old Man escorts the waste disposal team

01:43:08.020 --> 01:43:12.191
around the side entrance, keen for them not
to traipse any mud through the house. Clearly

01:43:12.191 --> 01:43:17.030
annoyed by this, the two workmen for the Council
trudge around the side and out into the garden,

01:43:17.030 --> 01:43:20.590
grumbling about how they have more important
things to be getting on with.

01:43:20.590 --> 01:43:24.090
The Old Man chooses to ignore them, leading
them to the back corner of his garden and

01:43:24.090 --> 01:43:29.030
pointing down into the hole he and his neighbor
had dug just that morning. Only the hole is

01:43:29.030 --> 01:43:30.030
empty.

01:43:30.030 --> 01:43:32.820
‘What are we looking at here?’ one of
the workmen grunts.

01:43:32.820 --> 01:43:37.570
It is a good question. There’s nothing at
the bottom of the hole, no writhing worms,

01:43:37.570 --> 01:43:42.610
not even the shard of the trowel. It’s just
an empty hole. The Old Man kneels back down

01:43:42.610 --> 01:43:47.190
by the hole and scoops back the dirt a bit
with his own trowel. Nothing.

01:43:47.190 --> 01:43:51.099
The Old Man hears words muttered that he hasn’t
heard since the War as he escorts the two

01:43:51.099 --> 01:43:55.460
gentlemen back to their van. They slam the
doors more heavily than necessary and drive

01:43:55.460 --> 01:44:00.469
off down the quiet suburban street, leaving
the Man standing confused on his doorstep.

01:44:00.469 --> 01:44:04.910
The next day when he goes out to garden, the
circle of death hasn’t grown. It still looks

01:44:04.910 --> 01:44:09.440
bad. The plants inside it are clearly dead,
but it hasn’t spread any further than it

01:44:09.440 --> 01:44:14.380
was the previous day. The Old Man sips his
tea over the sink and stares out at the garden.

01:44:14.380 --> 01:44:17.380
It must have been next door, that would be
it.

01:44:17.380 --> 01:44:20.800
Before the Council had shown up yesterday,
the Mom must have come outside and bagged

01:44:20.800 --> 01:44:25.330
up whatever dead thing was back there and
thrown it out herself. Good. He just hopes

01:44:25.330 --> 01:44:27.179
it doesn’t stink up the bin.

01:44:27.179 --> 01:44:32.440
Now to do the sad part of the task and clear
away all of his dead plants. Those rose bushes

01:44:32.440 --> 01:44:37.260
had been planted the year he moved in. His
wife had planted them. As he dons his gloves,

01:44:37.260 --> 01:44:42.219
the Old Man feels a wave of sadness wash over,
but before he can experience it too deeply,

01:44:42.219 --> 01:44:48.300
he notices the holes. The tips of his gloves
are gone, his fingers poking clean out. In

01:44:48.300 --> 01:44:52.340
fact, looking down at his trousers, he notices
a pair of holes on the knees of them from

01:44:52.340 --> 01:44:54.460
where he’d been kneeling in the dirt yesterday.

01:44:54.460 --> 01:44:58.830
A knock at the front door makes him jump.
He goes out to see the Mom from next door

01:44:58.830 --> 01:45:03.420
standing anxiously outside his place. She’s
glancing up and down the street as she talks.

01:45:03.420 --> 01:45:07.750
She asks if he’s seen either of her boys.
He shakes his head, hasn’t seen them all

01:45:07.750 --> 01:45:11.960
day. He reassures her it's probably nothing.
Back in his day, boys used to go out of the

01:45:11.960 --> 01:45:16.239
house first thing in the morning and be back
for dinner. Parents these days are too sensitive,

01:45:16.239 --> 01:45:20.440
too anxious. The look on her face tells him
that he isn’t helping. She mutters something

01:45:20.440 --> 01:45:25.250
about having seen someone suspicious walking
down the street. Someone strange. No use worrying

01:45:25.250 --> 01:45:30.040
about it for now, she heads off in the direction
of the local park to go and look for her sons.

01:45:30.040 --> 01:45:33.489
The Old Man calls out to her as she leaves,
thanking her for sorting out the dead animal

01:45:33.489 --> 01:45:38.540
from the end of the garden. She looks back
at him confused. She hadn’t touched it.

01:45:38.540 --> 01:45:42.630
All the rest of the day, the Old Man stands
by his curtains, twitching them open every

01:45:42.630 --> 01:45:46.830
now and then to peer out and see if the boys
are anywhere to be seen. He’s locked all

01:45:46.830 --> 01:45:51.970
of his doors and left the keys under his pillow.
But sunset comes and goes. Night time creeps

01:45:51.970 --> 01:45:54.040
over the suburbs. No children in sight.

01:45:54.040 --> 01:45:59.181
He’s just about to go to bed when he spots
someone on the corner of the street. Just

01:45:59.181 --> 01:46:03.650
outside the glow from the streetlights, the
figure lurks over by the street sign. The

01:46:03.650 --> 01:46:08.270
person moves strangely, taking shaky footsteps
and seeming to move slightly aimlessly around

01:46:08.270 --> 01:46:10.370
the pavement, avoiding the light.

01:46:10.370 --> 01:46:15.300
He opens the curtain wider and peers outside.
His eyes definitely aren’t what they used

01:46:15.300 --> 01:46:19.270
to be, he can’t really make out who the
person is at all. The safe thing to do is

01:46:19.270 --> 01:46:24.040
to stay inside. A man of his age should make
sure not to get involved. But the photo of

01:46:24.040 --> 01:46:28.230
him standing by his Lancaster on the wall
tells him something different.

01:46:28.230 --> 01:46:32.260
The Old Man straightens up as best as he can
and walks over to the front door. He doesn’t

01:46:32.260 --> 01:46:36.190
take a weapon with him. He won’t need one.
He will go over and talk to this gentleman,

01:46:36.190 --> 01:46:40.099
ask him what he’s doing hanging around this
neighborhood at night, and if things go poorly,

01:46:40.099 --> 01:46:43.619
he will walk back inside and promptly call
the police.

01:46:43.619 --> 01:46:47.770
The thrill of the confrontation excites him
a little. He’s missed this. As the cold

01:46:47.770 --> 01:46:51.730
night air blows against his face, he feels
his youthful energy returning to him once

01:46:51.730 --> 01:46:56.570
again. He calls out to the man on the corner.
The shadowy figure stops pacing and slowly

01:46:56.570 --> 01:46:58.949
turns around to get a better look at him.

01:46:58.949 --> 01:47:02.940
The Old Man can tell even from this distance
that the gentleman on the street is a good

01:47:02.940 --> 01:47:07.500
deal taller than him, but that shouldn’t
matter much. He’ll go over, have some stern

01:47:07.500 --> 01:47:11.690
words, and that will be that. If this strange
man knows anything, it will be that he should

01:47:11.690 --> 01:47:13.699
respect his elders.

01:47:13.699 --> 01:47:17.300
The Old Man crosses the road and stands under
the streetlight, just a few feet away from

01:47:17.300 --> 01:47:22.219
the man. Frustratingly, his eyes still can’t
quite make out the man’s face. The Old Man

01:47:22.219 --> 01:47:25.030
clears his throat and rolls up his sleeves.

01:47:25.030 --> 01:47:29.030
‘Sir, this is a residential neighborhood
with young children and an excellent relationship

01:47:29.030 --> 01:47:33.290
with local law enforcement. I would advise
you to move along, or I will be forced to

01:47:33.290 --> 01:47:34.969
call the authorities.’

01:47:34.969 --> 01:47:40.620
But the sound that greets the Old Man is enough
to immediately do away with any of his bravado.

01:47:40.620 --> 01:47:46.460
His blood runs cold as the figure in front
of him starts to laugh. It is a gruff rasping

01:47:46.460 --> 01:47:50.730
noise, with a slight squelching underneath
it. Come to think of it, every little movement

01:47:50.730 --> 01:47:53.989
this figure makes, there’s a little squelch.

01:47:53.989 --> 01:47:58.960
The laugh stops suddenly. Sharply. The figure
turns the rest of the way around to face the

01:47:58.960 --> 01:48:04.810
old man head-on. It takes a step forward.
Light falls across it, revealing a mass of

01:48:04.810 --> 01:48:09.840
wriggling, convulsing worms. Millions of small
brown worms all weaving in and out of one

01:48:09.840 --> 01:48:15.040
another, dripping a thick and sticky liquid
onto the street. The creature has no face,

01:48:15.040 --> 01:48:20.090
no features, no skin, nothing. It has the
shape of a man, but that is where the resemblance

01:48:20.090 --> 01:48:25.270
ends. It is utterly inhuman. Utterly terrifying.

01:48:25.270 --> 01:48:30.260
The Old Man almost topples backward in surprise
but steadies himself. A fall at his age would

01:48:30.260 --> 01:48:35.659
be very bad news indeed. The creature reaches
out a writhing arm toward him. Liquid drips

01:48:35.659 --> 01:48:40.710
from it onto the sidewalk. A small puff of
gas comes up from it as the liquid bubbles,

01:48:40.710 --> 01:48:45.610
burning a little dent into the stone. So that’s
what was killing his roses.

01:48:45.610 --> 01:48:49.550
Fast as he can, the Old Man turns and hurries
back to his house. He doesn’t want to turn

01:48:49.550 --> 01:48:53.699
around for risk of losing his balance. He
will get inside, lock the door and call the

01:48:53.699 --> 01:48:58.761
police. They will know precisely what to do.
That squelching sound is behind him, taking

01:48:58.761 --> 01:49:01.719
shaky inhuman steps to follow him.

01:49:01.719 --> 01:49:05.869
The Old Man reaches the front door and slams
it shut. He grabs the landline in the hallway

01:49:05.869 --> 01:49:09.449
and immediately dials 999, the British emergency
number.

01:49:09.449 --> 01:49:14.739
‘Hello… police, please… there is a gentleman
loitering outside my domicile… he appears

01:49:14.739 --> 01:49:20.820
to be made of worms… worms, yes… no, no
medication… just myself…’

01:49:20.820 --> 01:49:25.739
There’s a thud at the door. Then a second
thud. The Old Man drops the receiver and takes

01:49:25.739 --> 01:49:32.570
a few steps back. No more thuds, no more noises.
Maybe that was a slight overreaction. The

01:49:32.570 --> 01:49:36.010
Old Man straightens up and clears his throat.
Nothing to worry about.

01:49:36.010 --> 01:49:42.489
A sizzling sound fills the hallway. The door
starts to look… strange. Two patches are

01:49:42.489 --> 01:49:47.929
appearing on it, the paint cracking and discoloring.
The patches start to bulge outwards, then

01:49:47.929 --> 01:49:52.980
a drop of liquid seeps through. It falls on
the welcome mat and burns a hole clean through

01:49:52.980 --> 01:49:56.080
it. The Old Man’s eyes widen.

01:49:56.080 --> 01:50:00.929
Worms. Just two or three at first, then a
few more, then a dozen more, burrow their

01:50:00.929 --> 01:50:06.389
way through the door, each dripping with that
foul liquid. The holes grow larger and larger

01:50:06.389 --> 01:50:10.490
until the creature has two large armholes
burnt clear through the wood. The creature

01:50:10.490 --> 01:50:15.290
grips what remains of the door with its wormed
fingers and wrenches the wood apart.

01:50:15.290 --> 01:50:19.570
It towers over the Old Man as it stands in
the doorway, its surface crawling and wriggling

01:50:19.570 --> 01:50:21.820
as its feet burn holes into the carpet.

01:50:21.820 --> 01:50:26.560
The book hits the creature square in the chest,
knocking it off balance. The Old Man throws

01:50:26.560 --> 01:50:30.510
another book and another. He knew it was a
good idea to keep his bookshelf out in the

01:50:30.510 --> 01:50:36.570
hallway. He grabs another but hesitates and
puts it back; not the first editions. Instead,

01:50:36.570 --> 01:50:40.659
he heaves the old Yellow Pages in both of
his hands and launches it as hard as he can

01:50:40.659 --> 01:50:42.510
at the worm monster.

01:50:42.510 --> 01:50:46.170
The book smacks into its chest with enough
force to break a chunk of it apart. The creature’s

01:50:46.170 --> 01:50:51.820
chest bursts open, sending worms flying through
the air. Something red falls out onto the

01:50:51.820 --> 01:50:57.730
carpet. A baseball cap - a child’s baseball
cap, half-digested.

01:50:57.730 --> 01:51:01.929
The Old Man gasps and puts a hand to his mouth.
The worms splattered against the wall start

01:51:01.929 --> 01:51:07.079
to slide down towards the carpet, eating through
the wallpaper as they go. Once on the ground,

01:51:07.079 --> 01:51:11.230
they start to crawl and wriggle back over
to their body, reabsorbing into the mass from

01:51:11.230 --> 01:51:14.599
the feet. The creature straightens up like
nothing ever happened.

01:51:14.599 --> 01:51:16.800
He’s going to need more than books.

01:51:16.800 --> 01:51:21.830
‘Hello?’ It's the mom from next door.
The Old Man’s eyes widen further. ‘I saw

01:51:21.830 --> 01:51:25.239
your door was still open, I was just wondering
if you’ve seen…’

01:51:25.239 --> 01:51:29.550
The Mom appears in the front doorway just
behind the monster, takes one look up at it,

01:51:29.550 --> 01:51:34.560
and freezes. She has a rusty old zippo with
a dim flame to light her way. The wormed mass

01:51:34.560 --> 01:51:39.909
turns round to her. In the same rasping voice
that it laughed with earlier, it says one

01:51:39.909 --> 01:51:42.710
word. Her name.

01:51:42.710 --> 01:51:47.770
Then it notices something and flinches slightly.
The lighter in her hand. For a second, the

01:51:47.770 --> 01:51:53.850
Old Man, the Mom from next door, and the giant
worm monster all look at the tiny little flame.

01:51:53.850 --> 01:51:57.690
Then it goes out. The creature lunges at her,
grabbing her by the shoulders and wrenching

01:51:57.690 --> 01:52:02.960
her into a ferocious hug. The smell of dissolving
flesh fills the hallway as she screams in

01:52:02.960 --> 01:52:03.960
agony.

01:52:03.960 --> 01:52:08.820
The Old Man does everything he can not to
throw up. He needs to get out of the house.

01:52:08.820 --> 01:52:12.739
The back door, he’ll go out the back while
the creature eats. Step by step, he creeps

01:52:12.739 --> 01:52:17.040
away from the distracted monstrosity next
to his coat rack, trying his best not to be

01:52:17.040 --> 01:52:21.521
heard. He slides the kitchen door closed and
puts a chair against the handle. It’s not

01:52:21.521 --> 01:52:24.460
much, but it’ll buy him a few seconds.

01:52:24.460 --> 01:52:28.270
He turns, rushing to the glass sliding doors
at the back of the house, and reaches for

01:52:28.270 --> 01:52:34.639
the key on the side. Only it’s gone. Of
course. He left all the keys under his pillow.

01:52:34.639 --> 01:52:37.170
The pillow in the bedroom that’s right next
to…

01:52:37.170 --> 01:52:41.270
His shoulders slump. He turns back around
and sees a crack of light under the kitchen

01:52:41.270 --> 01:52:45.949
door. A couple of worms are crawling their
way under it, gathering together and starting

01:52:45.949 --> 01:52:48.460
to form on the tiles.

01:52:48.460 --> 01:52:51.980
That’s it then. It’s all over. Nothing
left for it.

01:52:51.980 --> 01:52:55.849
The Old Man lets his eyes wander around the
room. That creature is making its way into

01:52:55.849 --> 01:53:00.190
this kitchen no matter what he does. All he
has are a few precious seconds until those

01:53:00.190 --> 01:53:05.429
worms are big enough to come after her. He
wants to spend those seconds the right way.

01:53:05.429 --> 01:53:09.159
Feeling his ragged breathing starting to find
a steadier rhythm, he walks over to that old

01:53:09.159 --> 01:53:13.890
picture on the wall. Him and his crew, all
his best friends, standing young and proud

01:53:13.890 --> 01:53:15.420
in front of their bomber.

01:53:15.420 --> 01:53:19.989
He’d experienced this feeling before, this
moment. When you know that your demise is

01:53:19.989 --> 01:53:24.450
guaranteed, it removes some of the panic.
The uncertainty of ‘Will I make it? What

01:53:24.450 --> 01:53:29.540
can I do? Do I have a chance?’ It’s a
sickly thing. It leaves you in the lurch,

01:53:29.540 --> 01:53:34.070
trying desperately to battle against your
own nerves. Once it’s decided, however.

01:53:34.070 --> 01:53:36.820
Well, then everything becomes a lot clearer.

01:53:36.820 --> 01:53:41.030
He’d felt this way in the war when their
bomber was shot at while flying over occupied

01:53:41.030 --> 01:53:45.840
France. They were steadily losing altitude
and airspeed as they crossed back over the

01:53:45.840 --> 01:53:50.050
channel. The seven of them had each taken
a quiet moment to say their prayers and look

01:53:50.050 --> 01:53:52.679
out at the stars flitting above them.

01:53:52.679 --> 01:53:57.780
Only they hadn’t died. In fact, they were
all being incredibly foolish. The solution

01:53:57.780 --> 01:54:01.679
was so simple that when the Old Man’s rear
gunner suggested they just drop all their

01:54:01.679 --> 01:54:06.520
remaining bombs into the water to save weight,
the group of them had all burst out laughing.

01:54:06.520 --> 01:54:10.690
One by one, the bombs dropped silently into
the sea. They are probably still down there

01:54:10.690 --> 01:54:14.520
to this day. No explosions…

01:54:14.520 --> 01:54:15.520
Explosions.

01:54:15.520 --> 01:54:19.680
The Old Man smiles. Maybe it’s not quite
over after all.

01:54:19.680 --> 01:54:23.960
He looks back at the ball of worms assembling
on his kitchen floor. As more worms crawl

01:54:23.960 --> 01:54:28.860
under the door and join the mass, it takes
on different strange shapes. First a mouse,

01:54:28.860 --> 01:54:34.290
then a rabbit, a cat, dog, in a moment, it
will be the size of a hog.

01:54:34.290 --> 01:54:38.869
Rushing over to his gas stovetop, he twists
all four of the dials all the way up. They

01:54:38.869 --> 01:54:43.420
whine and hiss at him, spewing acrid-smelling
gas into the air. Already his head starts

01:54:43.420 --> 01:54:46.969
to swim. He’ll have to time this just right.

01:54:46.969 --> 01:54:50.909
He snatches the trowel and a box of matches
up off the countertop and goes to the sliding

01:54:50.909 --> 01:54:53.840
glass door. This is it.

01:54:53.840 --> 01:54:58.199
Rasping laughter fills the room as the creature
stands to its full height, head almost brushing

01:54:58.199 --> 01:55:02.050
against the ceiling. The Old Man can feel
himself losing consciousness from all the

01:55:02.050 --> 01:55:04.130
gas in the room.

01:55:04.130 --> 01:55:05.130
Bang!

01:55:05.130 --> 01:55:07.460
He slams the trowel against the glass door.
Nothing.

01:55:07.460 --> 01:55:08.460
Bang!

01:55:08.460 --> 01:55:13.619
He does it again. Still hopeless. The laughter
grows louder as he hears squelching footsteps

01:55:13.619 --> 01:55:15.110
behind him.

01:55:15.110 --> 01:55:16.110
Bang!

01:55:16.110 --> 01:55:20.320
This time there’s a slight chip. He hits
it again and again. Trying his best to shatter

01:55:20.320 --> 01:55:25.790
it, but while the little chip grows into a
crack it’s not working. A warm squishy mass

01:55:25.790 --> 01:55:30.410
smothers his shoulder. Worms burrow into his
flesh, seering white hot pain throughout his

01:55:30.410 --> 01:55:31.410
body.

01:55:31.410 --> 01:55:33.270
That’ll have to do.

01:55:33.270 --> 01:55:35.480
The Old Man strikes the match.

01:55:35.480 --> 01:55:36.480
BOOM!

01:55:36.480 --> 01:55:42.340
Glass shatters, flames bloom out of the house,
licking the last remaining healthy flowers.

01:55:42.340 --> 01:55:46.510
Burning worms fly in all different directions,
scattered across the lawn, the back fence

01:55:46.510 --> 01:55:51.670
and beyond. The Old Man thuds onto his back,
looking up at the billowing smoke making its

01:55:51.670 --> 01:55:57.280
way up towards the stars, as the scared worms
burrow their way back into the ground.

01:55:57.280 --> 01:56:01.110
He would never understand the monster that
attacked him that night. Thankfully, this

01:56:01.110 --> 01:56:02.690
is where I come in.

01:56:02.690 --> 01:56:07.480
There is something about fire that unlocks
this primal fear in almost all living creatures,

01:56:07.480 --> 01:56:15.180
and SCP-906 is no different. Nicknamed the
Scouring Hive, SCP-906 is the blanket designation

01:56:15.180 --> 01:56:20.090
for a supercolony of worm-like invertebrates
that appear to share a semi-advanced ‘hive

01:56:20.090 --> 01:56:21.090
mind’.

01:56:21.090 --> 01:56:26.199
The individual worms are dark brown in color
and appear to have some level of shared intelligence.

01:56:26.199 --> 01:56:30.360
When separated from the colony, the worms
will crawl towards its general direction but

01:56:30.360 --> 01:56:34.949
demonstrate a reduced level of problem-solving
capabilities. However, once they are back

01:56:34.949 --> 01:56:38.780
as part of the group, the Scouring Hive is
a formidable predator.

01:56:38.780 --> 01:56:45.110
When hungry, this SCP becomes acutely aggressive,
secreting a viscous, highly corrosive acid

01:56:45.110 --> 01:56:50.900
that can eat through flesh, hair, bones, and
clothing, alarmingly quickly. Capable of adapting

01:56:50.900 --> 01:56:56.260
its form to mimic other animals and humans,
this SCP seems to find a level of thrill in

01:56:56.260 --> 01:57:01.320
the chase. Able to parrot a very rudimentary
estimation of human speech, it can say names

01:57:01.320 --> 01:57:06.699
and even laugh, which it often does while
pursuing its prey. It is theorized that this

01:57:06.699 --> 01:57:11.870
ability to impersonate others is used to lure
subjects into dangerous situations. Like young

01:57:11.870 --> 01:57:17.010
children playing alone in their garden hearing
a strange noise from over the fence…

01:57:17.010 --> 01:57:21.500
While it can take various forms, the Scouring
Hive is at its most lethal when it chooses

01:57:21.500 --> 01:57:26.119
to attack directly. Taking the form of a kind
of ‘carpet’ of worms, it flows across

01:57:26.119 --> 01:57:30.880
the ground quickly, climbing surfaces, squeezing
through narrow gaps, and finding creative

01:57:30.880 --> 01:57:35.340
solutions to stalk otherwise inaccessible
targets. It has been known to swarm through

01:57:35.340 --> 01:57:39.960
various circuitous routes like drainpipes
and air vents while on the hunt.

01:57:39.960 --> 01:57:43.989
Once it has reached its prey, it envelopes
them, coating them in that acidic secretion

01:57:43.989 --> 01:57:48.630
that rapidly breaks down living tissue into
a slurry for the worms to consume. While it

01:57:48.630 --> 01:57:53.540
is unclear whether this is a genuine reaction
or just another instance of parroting, this

01:57:53.540 --> 01:57:59.030
SCP seems to enjoy gloating at this stage.
Laughing at and mocking its prey as it consumes

01:57:59.030 --> 01:58:04.409
it. How a colony of worms has reached this
level of cognition is unknown.

01:58:04.409 --> 01:58:09.110
While tougher than your average garden worms,
the Scouring Hive is not invincible. Susceptible

01:58:09.110 --> 01:58:15.300
to incineration, freezing, and full-body disintegration,
SCP-906 can be neutralized if the need should

01:58:15.300 --> 01:58:19.770
ever arise. When under existential threat,
the colony will begin to undergo a period

01:58:19.770 --> 01:58:24.989
of rapid reproduction. As long as just a handful
of worms survive, the colony is able to rebuild

01:58:24.989 --> 01:58:26.750
itself quickly.

01:58:26.750 --> 01:58:33.010
That is why SCP-906 is currently held in secure
storage in a 3x3m, fully airtight, acid-resistant

01:58:33.010 --> 01:58:39.480
box. It is kept at a constant 5 degrees celsius.
At this cool temperature, SCP-906 operates

01:58:39.480 --> 01:58:46.110
at a much-reduced capacity. Consuming less
food, reproducing at a reduced rate, and moving

01:58:46.110 --> 01:58:51.300
slowly. Should that temperature ever increase,
all SCP personnel are to evacuate immediately

01:58:51.300 --> 01:58:56.820
and ready themselves to terminate any worms
they see with flamethrowers and liquid nitrogen.

01:58:56.820 --> 01:59:01.170
While this supercolony is currently contained,
it is unknown whether more instances of these

01:59:01.170 --> 01:59:05.670
worms exist outside of the Foundation walls.
Slowly burrowing their way through the dirt

01:59:05.670 --> 01:59:09.820
towards one another, until they have enough
to start to feed.

01:59:09.820 --> 01:59:15.570
The full moon hangs heavy in the night sky
over the dense jungle canopy. Below, the darkened

01:59:15.570 --> 01:59:21.230
palm trees stand silent in the humid air,
festooned with vines and lianas, and tropical

01:59:21.230 --> 01:59:26.650
insects hum in the undergrowth. The night
is quiet and dark here, far from the city,

01:59:26.650 --> 01:59:31.790
in one of the farthest, most secluded provinces
of the Philippines. One would hardly expect

01:59:31.790 --> 01:59:36.540
anyone to be out at this time of night.
The young woman is hurrying home, carrying

01:59:36.540 --> 01:59:40.099
a lantern before her face so that she can
see where she’s going in the pitch black

01:59:40.099 --> 01:59:44.740
of the night. Her swollen belly reveals that
she’s at least several months pregnant,

01:59:44.740 --> 01:59:49.270
her new middle throwing her off balance just
enough that she has to be careful not to stumble.

01:59:49.270 --> 01:59:53.679
A woman in her condition, she thinks, shouldn’t
be out at this time of night and certainly

01:59:53.679 --> 01:59:55.679
shouldn’t have to do household chores like
this.

01:59:55.679 --> 02:00:00.829
But the work has to get done, no matter what!
She carries a basket of wet laundry under

02:00:00.829 --> 02:00:04.940
her other arm; she is returning from washing
her clothes in the river and, if she had planned

02:00:04.940 --> 02:00:09.420
things out better, she would have been home
long before the moon rose. Unfortunately,

02:00:09.420 --> 02:00:12.880
she spent far too much time gossiping with
several other village women before getting

02:00:12.880 --> 02:00:17.620
to work on scrubbing her filthy clothes against
the rocks. Luckily, it’s not too far from

02:00:17.620 --> 02:00:21.960
the river back to her home in the village.
The worst thing that might happen, she reminds

02:00:21.960 --> 02:00:26.070
herself, is that she might lose her footing
in the dark and trip over a rock or a root.

02:00:26.070 --> 02:00:30.469
There’s no chance that she might run afoul
of some nocturnal animal, she tells herself…

02:00:30.469 --> 02:00:34.909
even though the sudden chills down her spine
and sweat dripping from her brow reveals the

02:00:34.909 --> 02:00:39.420
truth, that she doesn’t believe that at
all and, in fact, she’s getting more and

02:00:39.420 --> 02:00:44.550
more nervous as she staggers through the dark.
It isn’t just the threat of wild animals.

02:00:44.550 --> 02:00:48.639
She remembers the stories that her mother
told her when she was a little girl, all about

02:00:48.639 --> 02:00:53.550
sinister supernatural monsters that live in
these woods. Of course, those are just stories

02:00:53.550 --> 02:00:58.079
invented to scare children, she tells herself.
She’s a grown woman now, about to have a

02:00:58.079 --> 02:01:02.909
child of her own. She shouldn’t be worried
about bogeymen! She just needs to keep her

02:01:02.909 --> 02:01:06.219
head on her shoulders and she’ll be sure
to arrive home safely.

02:01:06.219 --> 02:01:10.840
The lantern throws its light over a figure
standing below the crook of a katmon tree.

02:01:10.840 --> 02:01:15.710
The woman jolts, nearly dropping her laundry.
She gulps back a scream as she realizes that

02:01:15.710 --> 02:01:19.460
what she sees isn’t a wild animal but rather
a person.

02:01:19.460 --> 02:01:23.869
“Oh sorry,” says the young woman, her
voice shaking a little. “I didn’t think

02:01:23.869 --> 02:01:27.170
anyone else was still out this late. I thought
you were a wild animal.”

02:01:27.170 --> 02:01:32.590
“Don’t you worry, little one,” says
the figure in a soft, sibilant voice. The

02:01:32.590 --> 02:01:37.489
figure steps forward and the young woman recognizes
her. It’s an old woman from the village,

02:01:37.489 --> 02:01:42.230
her back hunched and her long white hair falling
over her shoulders in a messy tangle.

02:01:42.230 --> 02:01:46.199
The young woman feels inexplicably nervous
running into this particular villager here

02:01:46.199 --> 02:01:50.250
in the jungle at night. Many of the village
kids whisper that she’s actually a witch

02:01:50.250 --> 02:01:55.159
who has all kinds of weird supernatural powers.
Even some of the village elders are afraid

02:01:55.159 --> 02:02:01.010
to cross her for fear of getting cursed. “Where
are you going at this hour? Someone in your

02:02:01.010 --> 02:02:06.260
condition shouldn’t exert yourself so much.”
“I’m just heading home,” says the young

02:02:06.260 --> 02:02:12.400
woman, hefting the basket of laundry for emphasis.
“It’s dangerous to be out so late alone.

02:02:12.400 --> 02:02:19.670
Here, let me walk home with you. There’s
safety in numbers, you know.”

02:02:19.670 --> 02:02:22.510
“T-thank you.” The young woman almost
wants to protest that she doesn’t need any

02:02:22.510 --> 02:02:26.340
help getting home, because she really does
not want to spend any more time with this

02:02:26.340 --> 02:02:29.750
old woman.
But, at the same time, she is reluctant to

02:02:29.750 --> 02:02:33.889
say anything that might insult her… after
all, even if the young woman doesn’t believe

02:02:33.889 --> 02:02:38.679
in witchcraft, it’s not like she wants to
take any chances. Besides, the truth is that

02:02:38.679 --> 02:02:43.340
she is rather frightened of being alone in
the dark and any company is better than nothing,

02:02:43.340 --> 02:02:48.140
even if it’s this strange old woman.
“How far along are you, honey?” says the

02:02:48.140 --> 02:02:52.560
old woman, placing a hand against the surface
of the young woman’s protruding belly. The

02:02:52.560 --> 02:02:56.520
young woman grimaces. She doesn’t like this
old woman intruding on her personal space

02:02:56.520 --> 02:03:02.030
like this. The old woman’s hands are wrinkled
and veiny, flecked with liver spots, and her

02:03:02.030 --> 02:03:06.650
fingers topped with gnarled talons. The young
woman wants to cry out at the sight of them

02:03:06.650 --> 02:03:10.610
but she bites her tongue.
Instead, she answers the old woman’s probing

02:03:10.610 --> 02:03:16.949
question as calmly and politely as she can.
“Very nice, very nice,” says the old woman,

02:03:16.949 --> 02:03:20.940
her rheumy eyes never straying from the young
woman’s belly and her hands still rubbing

02:03:20.940 --> 02:03:25.810
against her stomach as if she trying to reach
something within. The old woman makes a strange

02:03:25.810 --> 02:03:30.250
sound in her throat, like she’s smacking
her lips in hunger, but it’s hard to see

02:03:30.250 --> 02:03:34.420
anything in the dark. The young woman can
only nod in confusion, but she quickens her

02:03:34.420 --> 02:03:39.030
pace. She hopes that she can get home soon
and, once she’s home, she can get away from

02:03:39.030 --> 02:03:43.540
her unfortunate travel companion.
The old woman keeps pace, grabbing her younger

02:03:43.540 --> 02:03:48.010
traveling companion by the arm and holding
tight. Her grip is surprisingly firm for such

02:03:48.010 --> 02:03:52.460
a seemingly frail old woman, and the young
woman again wonders if maybe there’s something

02:03:52.460 --> 02:03:57.840
supernatural about this ominous crone. She
wants to pull her arm away, but the old woman’s

02:03:57.840 --> 02:04:02.710
long claws pinch cruelly into her flesh. It’s
as if the old woman is silently warning her:

02:04:02.710 --> 02:04:05.750
Don’t pull away. I’m too strong for you
to escape.

02:04:05.750 --> 02:04:11.310
"What a sweet little bundle of joy you carry
there,” says the old woman as if speaking

02:04:11.310 --> 02:04:17.290
to herself. “What a delectable little burden.”
The young woman knows that she’s still talking

02:04:17.290 --> 02:04:21.710
about her unborn baby, but all this mumbling
just makes her more worried.

02:04:21.710 --> 02:04:25.800
They continue walking, the young woman staring
resolutely at the small circle of illumination

02:04:25.800 --> 02:04:29.910
thrown by her lantern onto the path ahead,
doing everything in her power to not look

02:04:29.910 --> 02:04:35.030
at the old woman standing at her side for
fear that she might scream. Why is she so

02:04:35.030 --> 02:04:39.940
nervous? Worse, does the old woman sense her
fear? The young woman has heard that witches

02:04:39.940 --> 02:04:44.860
are easily offended and that’s the last
thing that she needs now. She continues walking,

02:04:44.860 --> 02:04:48.690
the old woman gibbering and whispering in
her ear, plying her with odd questions about

02:04:48.690 --> 02:04:52.989
her pregnancy.
“Eating well, have you? You know it’s

02:04:52.989 --> 02:04:57.960
very important to eat right when you’re
carrying, so that the baby can be born strong

02:04:57.960 --> 02:05:02.280
and healthy.”
“R-right,” says the young woman. She really

02:05:02.280 --> 02:05:06.800
doesn’t need this unsolicited advice. She
heaves an audible sigh of relief as the village

02:05:06.800 --> 02:05:11.940
comes into view over the next bluff.
Thank God, she thinks, I’m almost home!

02:05:11.940 --> 02:05:15.469
She just hopes that the old woman will take
a hint and leave her alone once they arrive

02:05:15.469 --> 02:05:20.469
at her doorstep. She wonders if this old woman
might try to come into her home or maybe steer

02:05:20.469 --> 02:05:25.340
her toward some other destination. But what
can she do? All she can do is keep walking

02:05:25.340 --> 02:05:30.051
home and hope for the best.
“Is it just you, is it? Is the father in

02:05:30.051 --> 02:05:35.230
the picture, hmm? I haven’t seen you with
any young men lately, have I?” asks the

02:05:35.230 --> 02:05:39.570
old woman. Her nosiness is really starting
to irritate the young woman, enough that she

02:05:39.570 --> 02:05:43.690
almost forgets her fear.
“No, it’s just me,” says the young woman

02:05:43.690 --> 02:05:48.619
automatically. She immediately regrets that
confession. What is this old woman planning?

02:05:48.619 --> 02:05:53.220
Is she up to some mischief? Now she knows
that the young woman lives alone and there

02:05:53.220 --> 02:05:57.160
won’t be anyone around to see whatever this
crone is planning. Her grip tightens on the

02:05:57.160 --> 02:06:02.510
young woman’s arm as if to warn her again.
The village is quiet and dark. Everyone else

02:06:02.510 --> 02:06:07.360
has already gone to bed by now, so the pair
of them walk down narrow, still streets. The

02:06:07.360 --> 02:06:13.020
only sound is the crunch crunch crunch of
gravel under their feet. After what seems

02:06:13.020 --> 02:06:16.969
like an eternity, they arrive at the front
gate of the young woman’s house.

02:06:16.969 --> 02:06:21.520
“Well, here I am,” she says, a little
too loudly and firmly to be completely casual.

02:06:21.520 --> 02:06:25.630
“This is my home. Thanks for keeping me
company on my way home.”

02:06:25.630 --> 02:06:29.889
To her immense relief, the old woman lets
go of her arm. The young woman immediately

02:06:29.889 --> 02:06:34.099
pulls away, rubbing the deep bruises left
by the old woman’s gnarled talons.

02:06:34.099 --> 02:06:39.690
“Think nothing of it, my dear.” The old
woman smiles widely, a long rope of saliva

02:06:39.690 --> 02:06:44.490
dribbling from her slack lips. Her teeth look
jagged and misshapen – it’s hard to see

02:06:44.490 --> 02:06:48.670
in the dark, but they look more like the teeth
of a wild beast than a human.

02:06:48.670 --> 02:06:52.020
It must be her eyes playing tricks on her
in the dim light, though. The young woman

02:06:52.020 --> 02:06:56.650
can’t help but recoil in disgust, but luckily
her face is hidden in shadows so the old woman

02:06:56.650 --> 02:07:01.889
doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m happy to
help. I hope to see you again very soon.”

02:07:01.889 --> 02:07:07.280
The young woman doesn’t wait any longer.
Even before the old woman turns to leave,

02:07:07.280 --> 02:07:11.969
the young woman scampers across her yard and
yanks open her door. She runs inside and pulls

02:07:11.969 --> 02:07:16.680
the door shut behind her. Her heart is racing
and her breath comes in ragged pants. She

02:07:16.680 --> 02:07:20.849
can feel the baby in her belly kick, suddenly
agitated by its mother’s fear.

02:07:20.849 --> 02:07:25.590
“Shh, it’s okay,” she coos softly, patting
her stomach and hoping that her tender voice

02:07:25.590 --> 02:07:31.320
will help to calm her baby. “I know you’re
scared… I’m scared too. That old woman

02:07:31.320 --> 02:07:35.400
frightened me half to death! They say that
she’s a witch and I’d almost believe it.

02:07:35.400 --> 02:07:39.320
What a strange experience!”
She pulls the curtain aside and peeps out

02:07:39.320 --> 02:07:44.210
the window. The old woman is gone. The young
woman looks up and down the street, but sees

02:07:44.210 --> 02:07:49.050
no sign of her traveling companion. She inhales
deeply and feels the tension drain from her

02:07:49.050 --> 02:07:54.070
body as she lets her breath out. Thank goodness
that’s all over! She can’t explain why

02:07:54.070 --> 02:07:58.929
this whole night has unnerved her so much,
but there was just something so uncanny about

02:07:58.929 --> 02:08:02.410
that strange old woman. She’s glad to be
rid of her.

02:08:02.410 --> 02:08:06.630
The young woman tries to put the whole experience
out of her head as she prepares for bed. As

02:08:06.630 --> 02:08:10.409
she pulls on her night clothes, she startles
when she hears something heavy and loud clatter

02:08:10.409 --> 02:08:15.260
across the roof. It’s not unusual for roof
rats or other nocturnal animals to scurry

02:08:15.260 --> 02:08:18.550
across the roof at night, but this sounds
louder than usual.

02:08:18.550 --> 02:08:23.300
“It’s probably nothing,” she tells herself
as she climbs into bed. “I’m still just

02:08:23.300 --> 02:08:27.260
upset about meeting that old woman on my way
home from the river. That whole thing must

02:08:27.260 --> 02:08:30.940
have jangled my nerves worse than I thought
if I’m flinching at every little sound.

02:08:30.940 --> 02:08:34.760
I’ll be fine when it’s light out. The
sooner I get to sleep, the sooner it’ll

02:08:34.760 --> 02:08:37.910
be morning.”
Even though her nerves are rattled, she is

02:08:37.910 --> 02:08:43.050
quite tired after a long day and it doesn’t
take long before she drifts off to sleep.

02:08:43.050 --> 02:08:47.969
The young woman’s eyes close and her breathing
becomes slow and steady, the shallow rhythms

02:08:47.969 --> 02:08:54.490
of sleep. Inside her head, she might be troubled
by strange dreams, but to any outside observer,

02:08:54.490 --> 02:08:58.639
she is dead to the world.
Asleep in bed, she doesn’t react to the

02:08:58.639 --> 02:09:03.139
clattering on the roof. Whatever is up there
is making an awful racket as it drags itself

02:09:03.139 --> 02:09:07.210
over the roof tiles. If someone were around
to watch, they would see that whatever is

02:09:07.210 --> 02:09:13.610
on the roof is no rat. It’s a darkened figure,
almost big enough to be human, but strangely

02:09:13.610 --> 02:09:18.530
truncated. Two massive leathery wings unfurl
behind it, extended to help the strange creature

02:09:18.530 --> 02:09:23.699
maintain its balance upon the roof. It drags
itself forward using only its hands, long

02:09:23.699 --> 02:09:27.630
talons tapping at the roof shingles as it
seeks a loose tile, anything that will give

02:09:27.630 --> 02:09:33.840
it access to the house below. Its finger finds
a crack. Wheezing and panting, the creature

02:09:33.840 --> 02:09:38.429
leans forward, putting its eye to the crack
to peer into the room below. The young woman

02:09:38.429 --> 02:09:44.520
is asleep in bed directly below. And that’s
exactly what this creature was hoping for.

02:09:44.520 --> 02:09:49.489
The young mumbles in her sleep, her mind filled
with disturbing dreams. She’s oblivious

02:09:49.489 --> 02:09:53.510
when, all of sudden, something drops through
that crack in the ceiling. It’s long and

02:09:53.510 --> 02:09:58.489
slippery and covered in thick, wet mucus.
It looks for all the world like a tongue,

02:09:58.489 --> 02:10:04.130
but it’s far too long to be any human tongue.
It drops lower and lower into the room, extending

02:10:04.130 --> 02:10:09.030
closer and closer to the young woman sleeping
in her bed. The disgusting appendage caresses

02:10:09.030 --> 02:10:13.600
her face, leaving a wet slug-trail of saliva
across her forehead, as if it’s looking

02:10:13.600 --> 02:10:19.699
for something. Then brushes against her lips
and the tongue seems to find what it wants.

02:10:19.699 --> 02:10:23.900
Instantly, it snakes into her open mouth and
shoots down her throat. The young woman starts

02:10:23.900 --> 02:10:28.650
to sputter and choke, her limbs thrashing
and flailing – but still, she is held fast

02:10:28.650 --> 02:10:32.710
in the grip of sleep. Some wild nightmare
is playing out in her head – perhaps she

02:10:32.710 --> 02:10:37.070
fantasizes that she is drowning in a river
or choking on some food or being strangled

02:10:37.070 --> 02:10:41.909
by a fiend. Whatever she’s thinking, it
couldn’t be further from the truth: that

02:10:41.909 --> 02:10:45.300
an alien tongue has jammed itself down her
throat.

02:10:45.300 --> 02:10:49.780
The tongue pushes deeper and deeper inside
her until it makes contact with her womb.

02:10:49.780 --> 02:10:53.820
A trained anatomist might balk at the idea
that the tongue could find her womb by accessing

02:10:53.820 --> 02:10:58.699
her throat, but somehow it has done exactly
this, snaking its way through the labyrinth

02:10:58.699 --> 02:11:04.150
of her insides to find her unborn baby. A
sticky aperture opens up at the tip of the

02:11:04.150 --> 02:11:08.450
tongue, revealing that the tongue is hollow
– like a massive soda straw. It sucks up

02:11:08.450 --> 02:11:13.250
the baby like a vacuum, slurping it up, up,
up and out, the bulge of its prey traveling

02:11:13.250 --> 02:11:17.489
up the length of the tongue like a wild pig
swallowed by a boa constrictor.

02:11:17.489 --> 02:11:21.610
Once the baby is gone, the tongue slides out
of the woman’s mouth and retracts back toward

02:11:21.610 --> 02:11:25.719
the ceiling, disappearing back through the
subtle crack. There’s a clatter on the roof

02:11:25.719 --> 02:11:29.520
again, followed by the soft flutter of leathery
wings.

02:11:29.520 --> 02:11:34.770
The young woman settles back into a deep,
still sleep, the awful sensation of suffocation

02:11:34.770 --> 02:11:40.059
having passed. The rest of the night is peaceful
and quiet, but, when she awakens the next

02:11:40.059 --> 02:11:45.520
morning, she finds that the nightmare isn’t
over. She wakes with a strange empty feeling

02:11:45.520 --> 02:11:50.160
in her guts. Something is very wrong! She
throws aside her covers and stares at herself

02:11:50.160 --> 02:11:55.239
in shock. Her baby is gone! Her rounded belly
has deflated back to its pre-pregnancy state

02:11:55.239 --> 02:11:59.590
and she can sense, as only a mother can, that
she is no longer carrying something within

02:11:59.590 --> 02:12:04.699
her. She shrieks in terror at this bizarre
revelation. What could have happened? What

02:12:04.699 --> 02:12:08.760
could be responsible?
That young woman just had an encounter with

02:12:08.760 --> 02:12:17.239
SCP-5201. SCP-5201 is a humanoid subspecies
native to the Philippines, dubbed Homo sapiens

02:12:17.239 --> 02:12:22.300
visceralis but known by many local names across
the Philippine Islands, including the aswang,

02:12:22.300 --> 02:12:28.820
the tik-tik, or simply the viscera sucker…
but it is most commonly known as the manananggal.

02:12:28.820 --> 02:12:34.800
During the day, an instance of SCP-5201 looks
like an ordinary human. At a glance, there

02:12:34.800 --> 02:12:40.159
is no way to immediately distinguish an instance
of SCP-5201 from a regular member of homo

02:12:40.159 --> 02:12:45.370
sapiens. However, Foundation researchers have
found that there do exist certain retinal

02:12:45.370 --> 02:12:50.830
irregularities unique to SCP-5201, so the
agency has developed a portable retinal scanner

02:12:50.830 --> 02:12:55.110
for use in quickly identifying instances of
SCP-5201.

02:12:55.110 --> 02:13:01.550
SCP-5201 is far easier to tell from an ordinary
human at night, when it undergoes a strange

02:13:01.550 --> 02:13:06.639
and startling metamorphosis. It unfolds a
pair of membranous wings, resembling those

02:13:06.639 --> 02:13:12.780
of a bat, from its back. Even more startling,
its torso splits in two. Its upper torso then

02:13:12.780 --> 02:13:14.600
flies off in search of prey, intestines trailing
behind it as it sails through the air, while

02:13:14.600 --> 02:13:22.440
its lower torso is hidden in a secure location
until SCP-5201 can reconnect. SCP-5201 will

02:13:22.440 --> 02:13:27.110
seek out human prey, most likely relying on
a keenly attuned sense of smell, and, once

02:13:27.110 --> 02:13:32.130
it has chosen a victim, will alight on the
roof of their home and then snake its preternaturally

02:13:32.130 --> 02:13:37.110
long, tube-like tongue into the house below
so that it can feed.

02:13:37.110 --> 02:13:41.880
SCP-5201 feeds by inserting its tongue into
the orifices of unfortunate sleepers and sucking

02:13:41.880 --> 02:13:47.429
out their internal organs as easily as you
would suck soda through a straw. SCP-5201

02:13:47.429 --> 02:13:52.679
will happily eat human livers, stomachs, and
intestines, but its favorite food is unborn

02:13:52.679 --> 02:13:58.719
fetuses, so much so that instances of SCP-5201
disguised in their human form can often be

02:13:58.719 --> 02:14:03.449
recognized by their tendency to drool at the
sight of pregnant women.

02:14:03.449 --> 02:14:08.610
SCP-5201 are well known to local humans, who
live in fear of nocturnal attacks by the dreaded

02:14:08.610 --> 02:14:15.469
manananggal. Interestingly, SCP-5201 can be
repelled by Abrahamic holy objects, like rosary

02:14:15.469 --> 02:14:20.409
beads or crucifixes, or can be staked through
the heart with sharpened shafts of bamboo

02:14:20.409 --> 02:14:26.730
– very similar to the means used against
vampires in western folklore. SCP-5201 is

02:14:26.730 --> 02:14:30.980
especially vulnerable when its upper torso
is out hunting, so it will always take the

02:14:30.980 --> 02:14:36.090
utmost care to hide its abandoned lower torso
in a secret, secure location.

02:14:36.090 --> 02:14:41.429
If you can find the hidden lower torso, it
is possible to kill SCO-5201 by sprinkling

02:14:41.429 --> 02:14:47.730
its exposed viscera with spices like garlic,
salt, or vinegar or, failing that, even ash

02:14:47.730 --> 02:14:53.030
or urine. This causes an unusual reaction
that is not yet fully understood by Foundation

02:14:53.030 --> 02:14:58.300
researchers, but will prevent the two halves
from rejoining. If the two halves of the manananggal

02:14:58.300 --> 02:15:03.210
cannot rejoin before dawn, sunlight will kill
the creature. If none of these methods are

02:15:03.210 --> 02:15:09.270
available, it is also possible to repel SCP-5201
by using a specialized whip fashioned from

02:15:09.270 --> 02:15:13.260
the tail of a sting ray.
The SCP foundation currently has an undisclosed

02:15:13.260 --> 02:15:20.320
number of domesticated SCP-5201 instances
held in the Fauna Containment Wing of Site-235.

02:15:20.320 --> 02:15:24.360
Because this species has been known to practice
cannibalism, each specimen is to be held in

02:15:24.360 --> 02:15:29.219
its own personal containment cell. While there
are obvious ethical and logistical concerns

02:15:29.219 --> 02:15:36.099
with feeding human organs to SCP-5201, the
Foundation has discovered that SCP-5201 can

02:15:36.099 --> 02:15:41.939
still easily thrive on a diet of any newborn
mammal with a mass of at least 1 kilogram.

02:15:41.939 --> 02:15:46.139
Piglets have so far proven to be the most
cost-effective and available options, but

02:15:46.139 --> 02:15:52.579
other species can be substituted as necessary.
All entrances to SCP-5201 containment cells

02:15:52.579 --> 02:15:57.610
are to be guarded by at least two Level-2
personnel equipped with stingray whips, crucifixes,

02:15:57.610 --> 02:16:01.130
or some other object found to cause harm to
SCP-5201.

02:16:01.130 --> 02:16:09.099
Unlike humans, SCP-5201 have an unusual asexual
reproductive process. The lower body can regenerate

02:16:09.099 --> 02:16:14.330
a new upper torso via a process similar to
epimorphic regeneration observed in autotomous

02:16:14.330 --> 02:16:19.770
lizards. The severed upper torso of an SCP-5201
would leave behind the parent's lower torso

02:16:19.770 --> 02:16:26.090
to search for a compatible female human. SCP-5201
would attack and consume this human, claiming

02:16:26.090 --> 02:16:31.599
her lower torso as its own. Smearing ash,
urine, or spices into the exposed innards

02:16:31.599 --> 02:16:36.090
of the lower torso inhibits this process and
prevents effective reproduction.

02:16:36.090 --> 02:16:42.090
The exact origin of SCP-5201 is unknown. Although
the creature is endemic throughout the Philippines

02:16:42.090 --> 02:16:46.610
and historical records indicate that it has
inhabited the islands since at least 1500,

02:16:46.610 --> 02:16:50.729
when it was first described by Spanish sailors
to the islands, fossil remains and genetic

02:16:50.729 --> 02:16:56.309
testing indicate that it is actually an invasive
species from outside the Philippine archipelago.

02:16:56.309 --> 02:17:01.439
SCP-5201 is currently believed to be extinct
in the wild, following eradication efforts

02:17:01.439 --> 02:17:07.510
by the Foundation in the 1990s. An epidemic
of SCP-5201 attacks in the early 90s prompted

02:17:07.510 --> 02:17:11.370
the SCP Foundation to join forces with the
Supernatural Committee of the Philippines

02:17:11.370 --> 02:17:16.950
and the Global Occult Coalition to take action
to prevent SCP-5201 from spreading to other

02:17:16.950 --> 02:17:22.330
countries. Dubbed Project Dipsy, the operation
involved amnesticizing the major cities of

02:17:22.330 --> 02:17:27.780
the Philippines, funding propaganda campaigns
to dismiss SCP-5201 as a product of folklore

02:17:27.780 --> 02:17:33.870
and urban legends, and eventually domesticating
the surviving SCP-5201 population for cellular

02:17:33.870 --> 02:17:38.280
regeneration research.
Because of its aggressiveness and taste for

02:17:38.280 --> 02:17:43.950
human flesh, SCP-5201 specimens regularly
attempt to breach containment, and thus, have

02:17:43.950 --> 02:17:48.500
been given the designation Euclid. And while
the SCP Foundation has done its best to eliminate

02:17:48.500 --> 02:17:53.460
the threat of SCP-5201 in the wild, there’s
no guarantee that a few instances of this

02:17:53.460 --> 02:17:57.330
vicious monster might have slipped through
the cracks and possibly even spread out into

02:17:57.330 --> 02:18:01.930
the wider world beyond its home in the Philippines.
You still might want to search your room for

02:18:01.930 --> 02:18:05.800
any suspicious cracks or holes before you
bed down for the night. Because there are

02:18:05.800 --> 02:18:10.689
very few things less pleasant than waking
up from restless dreams to find a long slimy

02:18:10.689 --> 02:18:13.090
tongue jammed down your throat.

02:18:13.090 --> 02:18:17.050
The boy and his father have spent the entire
morning cleaning out the basement of the boy’s

02:18:17.050 --> 02:18:23.229
grandfather, and the boy is absolutely exhausted.
After yet another trip up those rickety cellar

02:18:23.229 --> 02:18:27.990
steps, the boy collapses onto the old living
room couch. He can still hear his father puttering

02:18:27.990 --> 02:18:32.570
around downstairs, yelping and gasping in
surprise every time he finds some memento

02:18:32.570 --> 02:18:37.500
of his childhood stashed among the debris.
The boy sighs in annoyance. He doesn’t really

02:18:37.500 --> 02:18:41.139
know his grandfather, so he doesn’t feel
any sense of loss as they tear through the

02:18:41.139 --> 02:18:46.090
boxes and bags in the basement. His father,
however, insisted that the boy come along.

02:18:46.090 --> 02:18:49.920
It’ll be good for us to spend some time
together, he said, and the boy suspects that

02:18:49.920 --> 02:18:53.219
his father is trying to deal with his own
guilt about his strained relationship with

02:18:53.219 --> 02:18:57.420
the boy’s grandfather. Perhaps he hopes
that a day of father-son bonding is just what

02:18:57.420 --> 02:19:01.880
they need to make sure that they don’t grow
apart as his father did with his grandfather.

02:19:01.880 --> 02:19:06.149
The boy, however, doesn’t think that cleaning
out a musty old basement should qualify as

02:19:06.149 --> 02:19:11.480
effective father-son bonding. It’s super
boring! Worse, it turns out that the boy’s

02:19:11.480 --> 02:19:15.330
deceased grandfather was an absolute hoarder
who couldn’t throw anything away, so the

02:19:15.330 --> 02:19:20.370
house is filled with all sorts of worthless
garbage. The boy groans. His feet ache from

02:19:20.370 --> 02:19:25.099
traipsing all those stairs, and his back aches
from carrying boxes. He thinks that he deserves

02:19:25.099 --> 02:19:29.099
a little break.
He pulls a small handheld gaming console from

02:19:29.099 --> 02:19:32.600
the pocket of his hoodie and turns it on.
I’ll just play for a couple minutes, he

02:19:32.600 --> 02:19:36.030
thinks to himself, then I’ll go help dad
some more. He won’t mind if I take a short

02:19:36.030 --> 02:19:39.460
break to recover.
The boy is sitting on the battered couch in

02:19:39.460 --> 02:19:43.030
the living room, playing the latest game on
his handheld game console, when his father

02:19:43.030 --> 02:19:47.010
lurches into the room, carrying a gigantic
white plastic box in his arms.

02:19:47.010 --> 02:19:51.319
“Check it out, sport!” says his dad, a
wide grin on his face. “Look what I just

02:19:51.319 --> 02:19:55.109
found in the basement!”
The boy briefly looks up from his game, resisting

02:19:55.109 --> 02:20:00.229
the temptation to roll his eyes at his father’s
annoying enthusiasm. His father is always

02:20:00.229 --> 02:20:04.530
getting excited for the dumbest things! As
for that white box? The boy has never seen

02:20:04.530 --> 02:20:08.260
anything like it.
“It’s a Sega Dreamcast!” the father

02:20:08.260 --> 02:20:12.149
says as he sets the white box on the living
room floor and starts to untangle the mass

02:20:12.149 --> 02:20:16.320
of wires protruding from the back of the object.
“This was my favorite video game system

02:20:16.320 --> 02:20:20.000
when I was a kid! I guess your grandfather
just couldn’t throw it away.”

02:20:20.000 --> 02:20:23.800
“What else is new,” mutters the boy under
his breath, but he bites his tongue as he

02:20:23.800 --> 02:20:28.350
watches his father studiously pick apart the
knots in the tangled wires. Obviously, this

02:20:28.350 --> 02:20:33.040
hunk of junk has big sentimental value for
his Dad. Reluctantly, he slides off the couch

02:20:33.040 --> 02:20:36.760
and takes a seat next to his father on the
floor, and together the two of them set up

02:20:36.760 --> 02:20:40.240
the Dreamcast.
“This had all the best games!” continues

02:20:40.240 --> 02:20:45.080
his father. “Soul Caliber! Sega vs Capcom!
Oh, you’re going to love these!”

02:20:45.080 --> 02:20:49.590
After a few minutes, his father has the wires
plugged into the television and the hand controllers

02:20:49.590 --> 02:20:53.420
ready. He nudges his son in the side with
his elbow. “What do you say, champ? You

02:20:53.420 --> 02:20:57.729
ready to go mano a mano against your old man
with some real video games? I’m about to

02:20:57.729 --> 02:21:02.190
school you in what REAL games are like. None
of this silly… what is it called?... Amongus

02:21:02.190 --> 02:21:06.359
junk like you play today!”
“It’s not called Amongus, Dad,” mutters

02:21:06.359 --> 02:21:10.800
the boy under his breath but his father is
already distracted pulling out old games.

02:21:10.800 --> 02:21:15.160
His father holds up a CD clamshell and pries
it open, revealing a stack of silvery discs.

02:21:15.160 --> 02:21:20.300
“And look at this! All my old games too!”
The boy tries to contain his boredom as his

02:21:20.300 --> 02:21:24.090
father rattles off a list of his favorite
old video games, none of which are familiar

02:21:24.090 --> 02:21:29.439
to the boy. But eventually, his father reaches
one disc that isn’t familiar.

02:21:29.439 --> 02:21:33.700
“Eurhythmics?” he says, squinting at the
title embossed across the disc. “I don’t

02:21:33.700 --> 02:21:37.479
remember this one. I wonder if your grandfather
got it after I moved out…”

02:21:37.479 --> 02:21:43.220
The father pauses as if overcome with emotion.
The boy can imagine what his father is thinking.

02:21:43.220 --> 02:21:47.319
Did his grandfather buy this disc knowing
how much his father loved his Dreamcast video

02:21:47.319 --> 02:21:51.560
games and hoping that maybe it could serve
as a reconciliation present between them?

02:21:51.560 --> 02:21:55.351
That’s exactly the sort of dopey sentimental
thing that his dad would think after spending

02:21:55.351 --> 02:21:58.851
all morning going through his grandfather’s
junk and reminiscing about what could have

02:21:58.851 --> 02:22:01.760
been.
“Uh, it looks like… it’s some sort of

02:22:01.760 --> 02:22:05.641
dance game?” prompts the boy, hoping to
get his father to focus more on the game than

02:22:05.641 --> 02:22:09.950
his feelings of nostalgia and loss.
“Oh, right, right,” says the father. “I

02:22:09.950 --> 02:22:13.960
wonder why grandpa had this when he didn’t
have a dance mat to connect? Maybe you just

02:22:13.960 --> 02:22:16.810
have to hit the control buttons in rhythm…
hmmm..”

02:22:16.810 --> 02:22:20.979
He holds it up, the reflective disc shining
brightly in the light of the overhead lamp,

02:22:20.979 --> 02:22:24.990
and the boy stares at the silvery disc in
confusion. He’s seen pictures of CD-ROM

02:22:24.990 --> 02:22:30.420
discs before, in old catalogs or even movies.
But he’s never seen one in real life. Who

02:22:30.420 --> 02:22:34.540
even uses discs like that anymore? Everything’s
just downloadable from the Internet these

02:22:34.540 --> 02:22:37.689
days!
“What is that, anyway?” asks the boy “A

02:22:37.689 --> 02:22:41.040
CD?”
“This is not a CD,” says his father, a

02:22:41.040 --> 02:22:45.700
slight edge of annoyance in his voice. The
boy rolls his eyes. His father is always acting

02:22:45.700 --> 02:22:49.640
like he should be familiar with the outdated
dinosaur technology of his father’s youth.

02:22:49.640 --> 02:22:53.720
When will his dad learn, just because this
junk as important to his father when he was

02:22:53.720 --> 02:22:57.700
growing up doesn’t mean that it’s still
important to the next generation! The boy

02:22:57.700 --> 02:23:01.170
holds his tongue, knowing that his father
will probably start to sulk if he’s reminded

02:23:01.170 --> 02:23:06.450
that time marches on… and that he’s no
longer as hip and with-it as he likes to think

02:23:06.450 --> 02:23:09.370
he is.
“It’s a GD-ROM,” says his father as

02:23:09.370 --> 02:23:13.359
if those words are supposed to mean anything
to the boy. “It stands for Gigabyte Disc

02:23:13.359 --> 02:23:17.399
Read-Only Memory.”
The boy has no clue what that means, and he

02:23:17.399 --> 02:23:20.590
hopes that his father isn’t about to start
a lecture on the different kinds of obsolete

02:23:20.590 --> 02:23:24.290
video game tech that he’s suddenly decided
are so vitally important for his son to know

02:23:24.290 --> 02:23:29.210
about. Luckily, his dad doesn’t launch into
a long-winded talk; he’s too curious about

02:23:29.210 --> 02:23:32.670
what’s on this mysterious disc to bother
about that now.

02:23:32.670 --> 02:23:36.450
The father shoves the disc into the Dreamcast
and settles down on the floor, gripping the

02:23:36.450 --> 02:23:40.620
controller with both hands. He’s as excited
as a kid in a candy store as he waits for

02:23:40.620 --> 02:23:44.600
the screen to boot up; the boy can’t remember
the last time that his father has been so

02:23:44.600 --> 02:23:49.740
eager for anything. But his excitement is
short-lived as the first loading screen boots

02:23:49.740 --> 02:23:55.319
up. A cheerful, happy melody plays from the
Dreamcast’s speakers. The game title, Eurhythmics,

02:23:55.319 --> 02:24:00.050
flashes on screen with options for one or
two players listed below it.

02:24:00.050 --> 02:24:04.660
The father clicks over to “two players,”
nodding for his son to pick up the other controller.

02:24:04.660 --> 02:24:08.740
The boy does as he's told. He can’t imagine
that this game is going to be any good. How

02:24:08.740 --> 02:24:12.660
old is it anyway? It’s from when his dad
was a kid, so that’s all the way back in

02:24:12.660 --> 02:24:17.290
the 90s… this game might as well be 100
years old for all the boy cares!

02:24:17.290 --> 02:24:20.840
Immediately when the father chooses “two
players,” the screen starts to glitch. The

02:24:20.840 --> 02:24:24.590
father yells in frustration, throwing his
controller to the floor, but the boy sighs

02:24:24.590 --> 02:24:28.830
in relief. Thank God, at least now he won’t
have to pretend that this dinosaur game is

02:24:28.830 --> 02:24:32.580
anything good!
“I guess it’s busted,” says the boy,

02:24:32.580 --> 02:24:35.700
ready to turn away from the Dreamcast. But
his father is insistent.

02:24:35.700 --> 02:24:39.689
“No, no, it’s just warming up! Watch,
I’ll fix this!” He grabs his controller

02:24:39.689 --> 02:24:43.640
and tries to click on “Two players” again.
The screen only glitches more.

02:24:43.640 --> 02:24:47.380
“Okay, okay, just gimmie a minute!” says
the father. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll

02:24:47.380 --> 02:24:50.470
just take the disc out and blow on it. I’m
sure that’ll work!”

02:24:50.470 --> 02:24:54.779
The boy stares in confusion. It’s a disc,
not a cartridge! He doesn’t see any way

02:24:54.779 --> 02:24:59.550
that blowing on it will have any effect. His
father is just desperately grasping at straws,

02:24:59.550 --> 02:25:02.649
upset that his attempt at father-son bonding
is being thwarted.

02:25:02.649 --> 02:25:07.561
Meanwhile, the cheerful loading screen music
starts to fray, stuck repeating a single reverberating

02:25:07.561 --> 02:25:12.740
note that gradually degenerates into a tuneless
cacophony. The pixels shimmy and wobble on

02:25:12.740 --> 02:25:16.939
screen, the image fracturing worse and worse
as the father struggles to get the game console

02:25:16.939 --> 02:25:21.350
to respond to his commands. The boy watches
the screen with disinterest at first, but

02:25:21.350 --> 02:25:25.990
then… wait, what’s going on?
The more he stares at the screen, the more

02:25:25.990 --> 02:25:30.491
the random noises and broken graphics seem
to form into something strange, something

02:25:30.491 --> 02:25:37.561
unknowable, but also… something vaguely
coherent? He blinks in confusion, his jaw

02:25:37.561 --> 02:25:41.530
dropping. He wants to call his father’s
attention to the bizarre formations on screen,

02:25:41.530 --> 02:25:45.359
but his father is too busy wrestling with
the controller to notice the effect that he’s

02:25:45.359 --> 02:25:48.700
having.
“Dad! Dad! Look at the screen!” says the

02:25:48.700 --> 02:25:51.229
boy, grabbing his father’s shoulder and
pointing.

02:25:51.229 --> 02:25:57.260
“Huh? What is it? Did it work? What the…”
The father furrows his brow in confusion as

02:25:57.260 --> 02:26:01.710
he notices the wildly oscillating image on
the TV screen for the first time. “That

02:26:01.710 --> 02:26:07.271
doesn’t look like a Dreamcast game at all.
It’s all broken! I… I think?”

02:26:07.271 --> 02:26:12.450
The colors swirl around the screen in hypnotic,
psychedelic patterns, and both father and

02:26:12.450 --> 02:26:17.950
son find themselves mesmerized, unable to
look away. The boy is only vaguely aware of

02:26:17.950 --> 02:26:21.811
what computer graphics in the late 90s would
have looked like, but he’s reasonably sure

02:26:21.811 --> 02:26:26.359
that no underpowered 90s console could produce
something this wild.

02:26:26.359 --> 02:26:30.710
The boy feels himself getting groggy, his
brain fogging over as he stares at the wildly

02:26:30.710 --> 02:26:35.030
oscillating shapes on the screen. He feels
like he could almost make sense of them if

02:26:35.030 --> 02:26:40.430
he just tried hard enough… it’s like looking
at one of those old-fashioned Magic Eye pictures,

02:26:40.430 --> 02:26:44.780
where the image only collapses into sense
if you cross your eyes just right. But these

02:26:44.780 --> 02:26:48.399
strange swirls of color are something far
beyond that.

02:26:48.399 --> 02:26:53.700
The swirls spiral into distinct vortex patterns,
to the point that the boy might almost believe

02:26:53.700 --> 02:26:58.910
that he’s looking at eyes. Yes, that’s
it. He’s sure of it! He wants to panic as

02:26:58.910 --> 02:27:03.040
he becomes aware of the sensation of being
watched… he feels like something beyond

02:27:03.040 --> 02:27:09.150
the screen, some malevolent entity, has somehow
gained access to his world via this video

02:27:09.150 --> 02:27:14.490
game and is now watching him, sizing him up
like a predator would size up its prey. He

02:27:14.490 --> 02:27:19.149
can’t think of anything except those staring
eyes with their rotating pupils. He wants

02:27:19.149 --> 02:27:24.500
to fall forward and disappear into the eternal
nothingness of those awful eyes!

02:27:24.500 --> 02:27:29.240
Next to him, his father is silent. Like the
boy, he’s also enraptured by the infinite

02:27:29.240 --> 02:27:33.569
eyes on screen.
“Oh my God,” he mutters, so quiet that

02:27:33.569 --> 02:27:40.190
the boy can barely hear him. “Do you…
do you see the eyes? It’s your grandfather…

02:27:40.190 --> 02:27:45.800
he’s watching us… from beyond… I know
that’s him…”

02:27:45.800 --> 02:27:49.680
The boy doesn’t know whether his father
is right; his father is probably just letting

02:27:49.680 --> 02:27:54.130
his guilt color his perception, because the
boy doesn’t feel like there’s human intelligence

02:27:54.130 --> 02:27:58.560
on the other side of the screen. Whatever
is out there, whether it’s an alien mind

02:27:58.560 --> 02:28:04.050
from beyond human ken or simply a computer
program given awful sentience by a freak accident,

02:28:04.050 --> 02:28:08.819
it’s not something that the boy can even
begin to comprehend. He feels his mind shutting

02:28:08.819 --> 02:28:13.890
down in the face of that terror, as if his
brain simply cannot take the strain anymore.

02:28:13.890 --> 02:28:18.970
He’s only vaguely aware of his father hitting
the floor in a dead faint. That should worry

02:28:18.970 --> 02:28:23.350
him. He should be frightened, he should want
to rush to his father’s side and try to

02:28:23.350 --> 02:28:29.210
shake him back awake… but his brain can’t
make his body respond. He feels his arms and

02:28:29.210 --> 02:28:34.520
legs getting weak and his eyelids getting
heavy. It isn’t long before his eyes drift

02:28:34.520 --> 02:28:39.149
shut, and the boy collapses onto the floor
next to his father.

02:28:39.149 --> 02:28:43.490
Hours later, after the sun has already set,
a car pulls up in front of the house, and

02:28:43.490 --> 02:28:48.060
the boy’s mother gets out. She frowns as
she looks at the front of the house, noting

02:28:48.060 --> 02:28:52.130
that the lights are on inside and the front
bay window casts a yellow square of light

02:28:52.130 --> 02:28:56.120
across the front lawn. The boy and his father
must still be inside!

02:28:56.120 --> 02:28:59.890
They were supposed to have finished moving
all that junk hours ago. She’s tried calling

02:28:59.890 --> 02:29:03.291
both of their cellphones, to remind them that
they should be home for dinner, but neither

02:29:03.291 --> 02:29:08.529
father nor son has answered any of her calls
or texts. She’s not worried, though. They

02:29:08.529 --> 02:29:12.359
often ignore their phones when they get really
involved in an activity, and she suspects

02:29:12.359 --> 02:29:16.029
– rightly – that her husband probably
found some childhood relic in the basement

02:29:16.029 --> 02:29:19.642
that’s distracted him from getting the task
done. She’s willing to bet that the two

02:29:19.642 --> 02:29:22.819
of them probably haven’t even finished cleaning
the basement!

02:29:22.819 --> 02:29:26.910
She walks up the garden path and puts her
hand against the doorknob. The door creaks

02:29:26.910 --> 02:29:32.330
open. She frowns. Nothing sinister about that,
right? Of course, they wouldn’t bother to

02:29:32.330 --> 02:29:37.560
lock the door if they were still working inside,
right? Nevertheless, she feels a strange chill

02:29:37.560 --> 02:29:43.660
run up her spine. Why is she suddenly so nervous?
She pushes open the door and fumbles for the

02:29:43.660 --> 02:29:48.439
light switch. The foyer is dark – as is
most of the house. The only light comes from

02:29:48.439 --> 02:29:52.780
the living room, and she can that something
within is throwing dancing shadows against

02:29:52.780 --> 02:29:58.050
the far wall. She hears a toneless, mechanical
drone emanating from the living room. Are

02:29:58.050 --> 02:30:02.020
they watching television? That would be just
like them to turn on the tube and completely

02:30:02.020 --> 02:30:07.050
lose track of time! But what TV show would
make an awful din like that?

02:30:07.050 --> 02:30:10.920
She storms into the living room, ready to
read her husband and son the riot act, but

02:30:10.920 --> 02:30:16.221
then she stops dead in her tracks. Her husband
and son are here alright, but they’re lying

02:30:16.221 --> 02:30:21.000
in crumpled heaps upon the floor, staring
glassy-eyed at the ceiling. She screams as

02:30:21.000 --> 02:30:24.720
she rushes to her husband, praying that she’s
wrong, that they’re just playing a prank

02:30:24.720 --> 02:30:28.880
on her, that they just got tired and lay down
on the floor to rest… but as she presses

02:30:28.880 --> 02:30:34.210
her finger against his wrist, she feels that
he’s cold and lifeless. He’s dead and

02:30:34.210 --> 02:30:39.910
has been for hours! Her son, pale and cold
and lifeless, lies next to him.

02:30:39.910 --> 02:30:44.580
She looks up, her gaze connecting with the
television screen. It continues to flash vacillating

02:30:44.580 --> 02:30:49.649
images in an erratic loop, nonsense static
that she can’t understand. But, if she didn’t

02:30:49.649 --> 02:30:55.540
know better, she might almost feel like…
it’s watching her. The strange swirling

02:30:55.540 --> 02:31:02.340
eyes stare back, unblinking and eternal.
What started as a misguided attempt at father-son

02:31:02.340 --> 02:31:08.180
bonding time ended in tragedy, because those
GD-ROM discs weren’t ordinary discs at all…

02:31:08.180 --> 02:31:15.870
but rather instances of what the SCP Foundation
has dubbed SCP-4904. SCP-4904 is a set of

02:31:15.870 --> 02:31:21.061
seven modified GD-ROM discs manufactured by
the Sega Corporation; SCP Foundation agents

02:31:21.061 --> 02:31:26.780
have been able to pinpoint the date of manufacture
of each disc sometime between 1997 and 1999.

02:31:26.780 --> 02:31:32.410
The GD-ROM was a proprietary format originally
used for the Dreamcast video game console,

02:31:32.410 --> 02:31:36.450
developed by Yamaha as an answer to fighting
the piracy that was rampant among more standard

02:31:36.450 --> 02:31:40.910
compact discs and to offer increased storage
capacity without the expense of the fledgling

02:31:40.910 --> 02:31:46.760
DVD-ROM. The GD-ROM seemed promising at the
time as it had a storage capacity of a full

02:31:46.760 --> 02:31:52.620
gigabyte, 42% higher than conventional CDs.
Ultimately, though, GD-ROMs failed to catch

02:31:52.620 --> 02:31:58.510
on and were quickly outpaced by DVD technology.
The seven discs in the SCP Foundation’s

02:31:58.510 --> 02:32:03.120
storage are visually indistinguishable from
non-anomalous GD-ROM discs, except for their

02:32:03.120 --> 02:32:08.109
serial numbers. The serial numbers give some
indication of the mystery behind their origin,

02:32:08.109 --> 02:32:12.140
revealing that they were created by Sega’s
enigmatic “R&D-0” division during the

02:32:12.140 --> 02:32:18.110
height of the 90s console wars. It is estimated
that R&D-0 produced a total of between 60

02:32:18.110 --> 02:32:23.670
and 100 experimental GD-ROM discs similar
to those in SCP-4904, but the rest of the

02:32:23.670 --> 02:32:30.930
production line is currently unaccounted for.
Each SCP-49004 GD-ROM contains one Sega video

02:32:30.930 --> 02:32:35.790
game, including Sonic Adventure, Sega Rally
Championship 2, House of the Dead 2, Sega

02:32:35.790 --> 02:32:41.580
Bass Fishing, Godzilla Generations, Virtua
Fighter 3tb, and an unreleased 3D rhythm game

02:32:41.580 --> 02:32:45.620
by the name of Eurhythmics. But the result
when anyone tries to play any of these different

02:32:45.620 --> 02:32:51.280
games is always the same.
When an instance of SCP-4904 is fed into a

02:32:51.280 --> 02:32:56.810
Dreamcast console, it causes the optical disc
drive's reader to move in unpredictable ways,

02:32:56.810 --> 02:33:02.220
accessing disc data seemingly at random. At
first, the game boots up as expected and seems

02:33:02.220 --> 02:33:06.950
perfectly ordinary. But when a player progresses
past the loading screen, the game very quickly

02:33:06.950 --> 02:33:12.810
becomes illegible. Sprites and assets blend
into each other in asymmetrical chunks, maps

02:33:12.810 --> 02:33:18.040
recursively render onto other maps, and soundtracks
transform within seconds into incessant, oscillating

02:33:18.040 --> 02:33:21.030
noise.
A perfunctory glance at the results seems

02:33:21.030 --> 02:33:26.229
like absolute chaos, but eventually, observers
will start to notice patterns within the noise.

02:33:26.229 --> 02:33:31.490
These eventually coalesce into complex renderings
of landscapes and figures wildly inconsistent

02:33:31.490 --> 02:33:36.970
with the content of the original games and
computationally impossible for 1990s-era video-game

02:33:36.970 --> 02:33:41.580
hardware to render. Repeated tests by SCP
foundation agents have turned up a recurring

02:33:41.580 --> 02:33:48.260
motif in the images shown by SCP-4904 – spinning
discs that resemble malevolent eyes.

02:33:48.260 --> 02:33:53.450
SCP agents hoped that research into R&D-0
and the man responsible for the discs’ creation

02:33:53.450 --> 02:33:59.450
might help to explain the reason or the purpose
of SCP-4904. R&D-0's former lead hardware

02:33:59.450 --> 02:34:03.900
programmer Ken Matsuya has said on record
that the team encountered numerous problems

02:34:03.900 --> 02:34:09.420
in implementing the discs' anti-piracy encryption
measures. The result was unplayable. Frustrated

02:34:09.420 --> 02:34:13.850
by this failure, Sega ordered that the encryption
project be abandoned, and the prototype discs

02:34:13.850 --> 02:34:17.750
quietly destroyed.
However, it does not appear that Sega’s

02:34:17.750 --> 02:34:22.280
orders were carried out to the letter. Matsuya
himself rescued seven of the discs, hoping

02:34:22.280 --> 02:34:26.630
to learn more about the issue on his own time,
and it’s possible that other discs not currently

02:34:26.630 --> 02:34:32.100
known to the foundation also survived. With
the help of improvised Sega hardware, Matsuya

02:34:32.100 --> 02:34:36.980
spent the next four years trying to understand
the cause behind the discs' erratic behavior.

02:34:36.980 --> 02:34:42.320
Notebooks recovered from his apartment contain
numerous sketches of the disc-generated visuals,

02:34:42.320 --> 02:34:46.470
depicting fractal combinations of landscape
and figures seemingly drawn from places outside

02:34:46.470 --> 02:34:51.810
of the game data themselves, and stylized
spinning discs in the shape of eyes.

02:34:51.810 --> 02:34:56.890
Matsuya himself met a strange and untimely
end when he was found dead from a heart attack

02:34:56.890 --> 02:35:02.569
in his apartment in August 2003. Stranger
still, an autopsy revealed that large portions

02:35:02.569 --> 02:35:07.170
of his brain stem and limbic system were missing.
His death puzzled authorities, since there

02:35:07.170 --> 02:35:12.770
was no evidence of any human -- or even non-human
-- intrusion. Matsuya had apparently loaded

02:35:12.770 --> 02:35:18.260
one of the SCP-4904 instances in his possession
into his home Dreamcast before his death,

02:35:18.260 --> 02:35:21.930
because the distinctive psychedelic visuals
were playing on his television screen at the

02:35:21.930 --> 02:35:26.040
time that his body was discovered.
Foundation agents suspected that the visuals

02:35:26.040 --> 02:35:29.761
might have some connection with Matsuya’s
death, leading to the discs’ subsequent

02:35:29.761 --> 02:35:35.640
classification and containment, but intensive
tests on SCP-4904 by Foundation personnel

02:35:35.640 --> 02:35:41.350
have failed to shed any light on the situation.
Both the discs’ strange behavior and Matsuya’s

02:35:41.350 --> 02:35:48.130
death remain complete mysteries.
Is SCP-4904 a gateway into some other dimension,

02:35:48.130 --> 02:35:52.540
and its bizarre images a signal from another
world? Could it be a message from beyond the

02:35:52.540 --> 02:35:58.040
veil? Or is it all just due to a simple computer
glitch, and Matsuya’s death just a freak

02:35:58.040 --> 02:36:04.040
coincidence? Whatever the case, the Foundation
is doing its best to uncover the truth. SCP-4904

02:36:04.040 --> 02:36:08.500
has been given the object class safe, but
should be stored in conditions comparable

02:36:08.500 --> 02:36:14.620
to those needed to keep non-anomalous discs
viable. All seven instances of SCP-4904 are

02:36:14.620 --> 02:36:19.610
kept in a climate-controlled Safe-class storage
locker at Site-15. Long-term tests lasting

02:36:19.610 --> 02:36:24.750
over an hour should only be conducted on reinforced
modified hardware to prevent disc deformation

02:36:24.750 --> 02:36:25.920
or explosion.

02:36:25.920 --> 02:36:29.840
If he breathes, the bear will see him.

02:36:29.840 --> 02:36:34.720
Lying flat on his stomach, the Boy has no
choice but to watch as the hulking brute eats

02:36:34.720 --> 02:36:37.560
his father before his very eyes.

02:36:37.560 --> 02:36:42.050
Lying in the thicket just a few trees away,
the Boy knows that any small movement he makes

02:36:42.050 --> 02:36:47.950
could prove fatal. A bear this large, hunting
for its hibernation, will have no issue chasing

02:36:47.950 --> 02:36:53.541
him down in a split second and doing exactly
what it did to his father to him. The Boy

02:36:53.541 --> 02:36:58.700
is utterly powerless. All he can do is stay
deathly still and watch.

02:36:58.700 --> 02:37:02.670
They’d found the tracks too late. On the
way back to camp, they’d been following

02:37:02.670 --> 02:37:07.110
the wooded cliff that lines the ocean’s
edge. Bows and salmon slung over their shoulders,

02:37:07.110 --> 02:37:11.130
they had been so proud of their catch and
the prospect of bringing it back to the tribe

02:37:11.130 --> 02:37:15.020
that they hadn’t kept their wits about them.
By the time they’d seen the enormous prints

02:37:15.020 --> 02:37:19.630
in the dirt, the sound of lumbering footsteps
were already echoing through the trees behind

02:37:19.630 --> 02:37:20.630
them.

02:37:20.630 --> 02:37:24.319
The Boy’s bow is too far out of reach, he’d
dropped it when his father pushed him into

02:37:24.319 --> 02:37:28.340
the thicket. He’s got the knife hanging
at his side, but he doubts it's long enough

02:37:28.340 --> 02:37:32.910
to even get through the bear’s fatty hide.
In contrast, the only thing protecting him

02:37:32.910 --> 02:37:37.360
from its bite is the leather hide slung across
his shoulders and a woven garment from the

02:37:37.360 --> 02:37:41.811
tribe’s elders. One slash of the bear’s
claw and he’d be…

02:37:41.811 --> 02:37:46.819
A breeze ruffles his hair. The Boy’s eyes
widen in horror. That wind hadn’t come from

02:37:46.819 --> 02:37:52.820
in front of him, but from behind. Blowing
his scent - his fear - directly towards the

02:37:52.820 --> 02:37:57.859
bear’s nostrils. The Boy plants his muddy
palms into the dirt, staring at the animal.

02:37:57.859 --> 02:38:03.000
Its nostril twitches. Then twitches again.
It half turns its head, sniffing the air.

02:38:03.000 --> 02:38:07.830
Maybe it won’t bother with him. The bear’s
turning back to its meal already. The Boy

02:38:07.830 --> 02:38:11.740
lets out a sigh of relief. And a twig snaps.

02:38:11.740 --> 02:38:16.360
The bear snarls and whips its head around.
For a second, the two of them lock eyes, predator

02:38:16.360 --> 02:38:22.279
and prey, then the Boy takes off running.
Fast as he can, he leaps through the undergrowth,

02:38:22.279 --> 02:38:26.440
ferns and nettles whipping at his shins. He
fumbles the knife out of its sheath and slings

02:38:26.440 --> 02:38:30.800
the water skin off his shoulder, throwing
it wildly behind him. He doesn’t know if

02:38:30.800 --> 02:38:34.490
he hit the bear, he doesn’t have time to
turn around and see. It’s going to be on

02:38:34.490 --> 02:38:35.530
him in an instant.

02:38:35.530 --> 02:38:40.380
Up ahead, he sees sunlight streaming through
the thick trees. The cliff edge, if he can

02:38:40.380 --> 02:38:45.750
just get to that, maybe he can climb down
and- no, there’s no time. Besides, bears

02:38:45.750 --> 02:38:50.899
are better climbers, better swimmers… better
runners. All the Boy can hope for is that

02:38:50.899 --> 02:38:55.720
he’s a better jumper. Him and the boys from
the tribe have lept off plenty of cliffs along

02:38:55.720 --> 02:38:59.610
the shore, but never these ones. There are
too many rocks, too many shallows.

02:38:59.610 --> 02:39:04.950
But the thundering of four enormous paws behind
him is looming and larger and larger. He can

02:39:04.950 --> 02:39:09.420
almost feel the bear’s hot breath on the
back of his neck. There’s nothing for it,

02:39:09.420 --> 02:39:10.820
here goes.

02:39:10.820 --> 02:39:15.779
The trees clear, the sun blasts his skin,
a claw slashes at his back, and the Boy launches

02:39:15.779 --> 02:39:20.350
himself into the air. The wind carries him.
The weightlessness of wheeling his arms and

02:39:20.350 --> 02:39:25.400
legs through the empty sky is almost enough
to make him laugh with joy, until the Boy

02:39:25.400 --> 02:39:30.920
looks down. The cliff is higher, much, much
higher than he’d realized. His momentum

02:39:30.920 --> 02:39:35.510
carries his torso forwards into a tumble.
He’s not going to land straight. And he

02:39:35.510 --> 02:39:40.819
can see jagged rocks everywhere beneath him.
The Boy closes his eyes and crashes into the

02:39:40.819 --> 02:39:41.890
sea.

02:39:41.890 --> 02:39:46.000
All of the air is slammed out of his lungs.
His knee hits something hard and sharp in

02:39:46.000 --> 02:39:50.960
the water. A swell throws him away from the
shore and pulls him deep. Without air in his

02:39:50.960 --> 02:39:56.710
chest, he can’t float. Kicking hard as he
can, the Boy swims upwards, eyes still screwed

02:39:56.710 --> 02:40:02.040
shut. His face bashes into a sandy rock. No,
that’s not upwards. Which was is it? Which

02:40:02.040 --> 02:40:03.681
was should he swim?

02:40:03.681 --> 02:40:07.960
The ocean current rolls him over and over.
Darkness fills his mind.

02:40:07.960 --> 02:40:12.230
But his feet find a hard surface, and he pushes
against it, launching himself through the

02:40:12.230 --> 02:40:17.080
water, kicking hard as he can. The darkness
fades. Light!

02:40:17.080 --> 02:40:20.660
The Boy’s head breaches the water, and he
splutters for air, rubbing the water out of

02:40:20.660 --> 02:40:25.050
his eyes, he looks around wildly. The sea
has carried him away from the cliff and out

02:40:25.050 --> 02:40:29.410
into open water. It’s lifting and dropping
him with each wave, carrying him this way

02:40:29.410 --> 02:40:32.300
and that like a flower in the wind.

02:40:32.300 --> 02:40:38.729
And there, traversing the cliff face, scrambling
down the rocks, is the bear. The Boy’s stomach

02:40:38.729 --> 02:40:43.569
turns. It reaches the bottom of the cliff
and sees him there in the water. Tipping back

02:40:43.569 --> 02:40:49.100
its head, it roars at an almighty volume,
deafening the Boy over the sound of the waters.

02:40:49.100 --> 02:40:53.649
Even from this distance, the animal looks
impossibly large. It dwarfs the boulders that

02:40:53.649 --> 02:40:55.750
line the water’s edge.

02:40:55.750 --> 02:41:00.360
It slips into the water, barely making a ripple,
and kicks off from the shore. Going straight

02:41:00.360 --> 02:41:06.020
for him, the bear is covering the distance
so fast he only has seconds left. With barely

02:41:06.020 --> 02:41:10.130
the strength to keep himself afloat, the Boy
knows he’ll never be able to outswim this

02:41:10.130 --> 02:41:15.300
creature. Instead, he takes a deep breath
and looks up at the woods, remembering all

02:41:15.300 --> 02:41:17.920
of the happy moments he’d spent in there
with his father.

02:41:17.920 --> 02:41:22.530
A current swells beneath the Boy and almost
throws him out of the water. An enormous shadow

02:41:22.530 --> 02:41:28.130
flies through the depth beneath him. A whale?
It couldn’t be. Whatever it is, the shadow

02:41:28.130 --> 02:41:32.950
is swimming straight at the advancing bear.
So fixated on its prey, the bear doesn’t

02:41:32.950 --> 02:41:36.410
even notice what’s approaching until it’s
too late.

02:41:36.410 --> 02:41:41.240
The ocean explodes. A blast of water, as tall
as the cliffs themselves, shoots up into the

02:41:41.240 --> 02:41:45.910
air and showers the Boy’s head. Somewhere
in the midst of the spray, a monster erupts

02:41:45.910 --> 02:41:50.700
from the depths. Snappings its jaw around
the bear, it lifts the animal into the air,

02:41:50.700 --> 02:41:55.530
and throws it against the cliff. The impact
is so strong, that a small landslide follows

02:41:55.530 --> 02:41:58.910
the bear’s rolling body as it tumbles back
towards the water.

02:41:58.910 --> 02:42:03.890
But the Boy has eyes only for the monster
emerging from the sea. Crawling up the rocks

02:42:03.890 --> 02:42:07.760
with one gnarled foot after another, the Boy
can hardly make sense of what he’s looking

02:42:07.760 --> 02:42:12.830
at. It seems to have some kind of scaly hide,
harder than the rocks surrounding it. A wave

02:42:12.830 --> 02:42:18.220
crashes against the monster as it leers over
the bear and sinks its teeth into the animal’s

02:42:18.220 --> 02:42:19.220
hide.

02:42:19.220 --> 02:42:23.609
Unable to look away, the Boy kicks out and
starts swimming away up the coast. Only once

02:42:23.609 --> 02:42:28.160
he’s a long way around the bay does he dare
to clamber out and back onto land.

02:42:28.160 --> 02:42:32.029
That night, once the rest of the tribe have
gone to sleep, the Boy can’t help but lie

02:42:32.029 --> 02:42:37.740
wide awake in his tent. Without his father
here, it’s just… it’s not the same.

02:42:37.740 --> 02:42:41.939
Quietly rolling up the hide doorway, the Boy
slips out into the night. They’re camped

02:42:41.939 --> 02:42:46.950
by a small cave with beautiful smooth walls
inside. They say it’s the cave of their

02:42:46.950 --> 02:42:53.710
ancestors, the place where all life started.
The fire in the cave has to always burn.

02:42:53.710 --> 02:42:58.491
Fortunately for him, the cave is empty. The
Boy stares up at the wall in wonder. Finger

02:42:58.491 --> 02:43:04.460
drawings of animals, hunters, mothers, shamans,
gods, and forests fill almost every part of

02:43:04.460 --> 02:43:09.000
it. Only one space remains in the corner,
a finger painting of the rocky cliffs with

02:43:09.000 --> 02:43:14.319
the swelling sea beneath. Dipping his finger
into the paint, the Boy sits by the wall and

02:43:14.319 --> 02:43:19.439
starts to paint. A terrible monster crawling
out of the sea, with a scaly hide stronger

02:43:19.439 --> 02:43:20.820
than any rock.

02:43:20.820 --> 02:43:22.060
‘That’s it.’

02:43:22.060 --> 02:43:24.800
‘You know that just from some finger painting?’

02:43:24.800 --> 02:43:29.140
The Archeologist turns to the group of researchers
surrounding him in the cave. UV lights are

02:43:29.140 --> 02:43:33.260
set up all along the walls. With the blue
and violet shapes revealed all across the

02:43:33.260 --> 02:43:37.939
stonework, the Archeologist can’t help but
empathize with the spiritualism of their long-forgotten

02:43:37.939 --> 02:43:41.820
ancestors who’d lived in these caves thousands
of years ago.

02:43:41.820 --> 02:43:46.520
The Professor was the one who asked the question.
A cold woman, standing well over six feet

02:43:46.520 --> 02:43:51.170
tall with a crop of fiery ginger hair. To
him, she seems less of a scientist and more

02:43:51.170 --> 02:43:53.750
of a military leader. But what does he know?

02:43:53.750 --> 02:43:57.290
‘Walk with me,’ she says and leads him
out of the cave.

02:43:57.290 --> 02:44:01.350
Personnel fills the surrounding area, most
of them are armed. Cranes lift huge sheets

02:44:01.350 --> 02:44:06.330
of reinforced lead plating into place. Several
mysterious vats line the edge of the forest,

02:44:06.330 --> 02:44:10.000
each adorned with more warning and hazard
signs than you’d see in a nuclear power

02:44:10.000 --> 02:44:14.700
station. The two of them have to pause for
a moment as three tanks roll past them.

02:44:14.700 --> 02:44:16.410
The Archeologist breaks the silence.

02:44:16.410 --> 02:44:20.279
‘You know the reason I started all my research
in the first place? Did I ever tell you that

02:44:20.279 --> 02:44:24.790
story? Every early civilization in the world
- whether it’s Ancient China, Mesopotamia,

02:44:24.790 --> 02:44:29.330
South America, Northern Europe - all these
cultures, you take a look at their mythology,

02:44:29.330 --> 02:44:30.770
and what do you find?’

02:44:30.770 --> 02:44:34.720
The Professor ignores him, instead choosing
to bark orders at a group of agents talking

02:44:34.720 --> 02:44:38.590
over coffee. They all immediately dump their
drinks and get back to work.

02:44:38.590 --> 02:44:44.550
‘What one thing do they all talk about,
even though it never existed? Dragons. All

02:44:44.550 --> 02:44:48.450
these disparate people with no contact with
one another, all of them still draw pictures

02:44:48.450 --> 02:44:49.450
of dragons.’

02:44:49.450 --> 02:44:53.870
The Professor stops walking at the edge of
the cliff. The pair of them stand there, surveying

02:44:53.870 --> 02:44:58.140
the vast ocean stretching out in front of
them as researchers, agents, and workers rush

02:44:58.140 --> 02:45:02.319
around behind them. After a long pause, the
Professor asks him to proceed.

02:45:02.319 --> 02:45:07.340
‘In Ancient Hebrew texts, when they talk
about God creating the world in seven days,

02:45:07.340 --> 02:45:08.880
what happens on day five?’

02:45:08.880 --> 02:45:12.910
The Professor flicks the hair out of her eyes
and replies curtly: ‘God created fish in

02:45:12.910 --> 02:45:15.399
the sea and birds in the sky.’

02:45:15.399 --> 02:45:19.740
‘Not exactly. Look at the original Hebrew.
He created all of the fish that team in the

02:45:19.740 --> 02:45:25.390
sea sure, but he also created ‘leviathan’.
A serpent like monster from the depths, as

02:45:25.390 --> 02:45:26.850
old as the world itself.’

02:45:26.850 --> 02:45:30.319
‘You think that’s what we’re dealing
with?’

02:45:30.319 --> 02:45:32.880
‘Maybe… or something worse.’

02:45:32.880 --> 02:45:37.330
By nightfall, preparations are operational.
Enormous flood lights switch on, one after

02:45:37.330 --> 02:45:41.390
another, illuminating an enormous steel box
with an open lid at the top, surrounded by

02:45:41.390 --> 02:45:46.181
armed agents, huge net launchers, and several
tanks. It all seems a bit excessive as far

02:45:46.181 --> 02:45:48.000
as the Archeologist is concerned.

02:45:48.000 --> 02:45:52.170
He isn’t officially still supposed to be
here, but in all of the scramble for the Foundation

02:45:52.170 --> 02:45:56.770
to get the capture site ready, no one noticed
that he had stuck around. From the viewing

02:45:56.770 --> 02:46:01.000
platform several hundred meters away, he has
to watch it all unfold through a pair of binoculars.

02:46:01.000 --> 02:46:06.140
Out above the water, suspended from one of
the cranes, is an elephant carcass. The Professor

02:46:06.140 --> 02:46:09.500
told him that the Foundation had even marinated
it for extra flavor.

02:46:09.500 --> 02:46:14.050
He had only been recruited into this project
a couple of months ago, but from what he could

02:46:14.050 --> 02:46:18.529
tell, it’s been an ongoing priority for
the Foundation for several years now. The

02:46:18.529 --> 02:46:22.640
scale of the operation of just setting up
at this site is already mind-boggling, but

02:46:22.640 --> 02:46:27.360
they’ve been chasing up leads like this
for years now. Arriving at scenes they suspect

02:46:27.360 --> 02:46:31.200
this creature has been sighted in the past
and setting up traps for it.

02:46:31.200 --> 02:46:35.460
He was only brought in out of desperation.
The Foundation had exhausted all recent hunting

02:46:35.460 --> 02:46:39.820
grounds and was trying to cast the net even
wider. He’d just been quietly working on

02:46:39.820 --> 02:46:44.279
his university research paper about ancient
reptile drawings when the agents had let themselves

02:46:44.279 --> 02:46:45.660
into his office.

02:46:45.660 --> 02:46:49.660
But staring through his binoculars now, the
Archeologist knows there’s no chance of

02:46:49.660 --> 02:46:54.359
this operation actually working. They have
floodlights, for crying out loud. No intelligent

02:46:54.359 --> 02:46:57.479
predator would come anywhere near that elephant
carcass.

02:46:57.479 --> 02:47:02.760
Movement. Not in the waters or in any of the
lit-up areas. No, there’s something in the

02:47:02.760 --> 02:47:07.330
forest line, just behind a group of researchers.
He reaches instinctively for his walkie-talkie,

02:47:07.330 --> 02:47:11.590
then stops himself. How many times had he
got jittery before and reported something

02:47:11.590 --> 02:47:15.800
preemptively? The agents already don’t take
him seriously as it is. He can’t be jumping

02:47:15.800 --> 02:47:16.800
at shadows.

02:47:16.800 --> 02:47:21.319
But there it is again. A shape moving fast
through the trees. He scans the binoculars

02:47:21.319 --> 02:47:25.570
this way and that, trying to find it. Just
a group of researchers there, some agents

02:47:25.570 --> 02:47:30.149
there, supply crates, researchers, agents,
wait. Weren’t there more of them a second

02:47:30.149 --> 02:47:34.380
ago? He looks closer. Someone’s gone missing.

02:47:34.380 --> 02:47:35.810
He clicks on the radio.

02:47:35.810 --> 02:47:38.770
‘South lookout team, report in.’

02:47:38.770 --> 02:47:39.770
Nothing.

02:47:39.770 --> 02:47:40.950
‘South lookout team.’

02:47:40.950 --> 02:47:44.979
A sickening feeling settles in his stomach.
With all those bright lights everywhere, they

02:47:44.979 --> 02:47:49.569
are casting a lot of dark shadows. He has
to do something fast.

02:47:49.569 --> 02:47:53.120
Running down from the lookout point, the Archeologist
takes off running through the trees to the

02:47:53.120 --> 02:47:57.109
site. He holds his radio up to his mouth as
he goes, trying to get anyone to respond,

02:47:57.109 --> 02:48:01.070
but it’s hopeless. The thicket cracks and
crunches under his feet as he tries to make

02:48:01.070 --> 02:48:05.750
his way through the dark woods, ignoring the
feeling that crawls up his neck of being watched.

02:48:05.750 --> 02:48:10.140
A boulder blocks his way. The Archeologist
grabs onto it with both hands and hauls himself

02:48:10.140 --> 02:48:15.070
on top of it, stopping for a moment to catch
his breath. From up here, he can see the floodlit

02:48:15.070 --> 02:48:19.810
capture site. The tanks and cranes still sit
rumbling ready to go at a moment’s notice,

02:48:19.810 --> 02:48:24.760
but he can’t see any ground crew anywhere.
He switches the radio to the open channel

02:48:24.760 --> 02:48:28.440
and calls out for anyone to respond. The Professor’s
voice crackles back at him.

02:48:28.440 --> 02:48:32.210
‘What are you still doing here? This is
a highly dangerous operation that you don’t

02:48:32.210 --> 02:48:33.819
have clearance for!’

02:48:33.819 --> 02:48:38.700
He yells at her to cancel it. They need to
evacuate the site immediately. It’s compromised.

02:48:38.700 --> 02:48:44.100
She laughs derisively and cuts off the channel.
No. She has to believe him! People are dying,

02:48:44.100 --> 02:48:46.010
and more of them will if she doesn’t…

02:48:46.010 --> 02:48:48.270
The Archeologist whispers to himself in the
darkness.

02:48:48.270 --> 02:48:53.160
‘It’s no monster. It’s just an innocent
creature. You’re playing with a power you

02:48:53.160 --> 02:48:54.560
don’t understand…’

02:48:54.560 --> 02:48:59.240
It’s strange. For a moment, he swears he
almost hears a voice whispering something

02:48:59.240 --> 02:49:04.811
back to him in the woods, but when he looks
around, he’s all on his own. He has to keep

02:49:04.811 --> 02:49:09.109
moving, the creature could be anywhere. Hopping
off the jagged boulder, the Archeologist takes

02:49:09.109 --> 02:49:13.540
off running through the forest once more,
looking over his shoulder every few steps.

02:49:13.540 --> 02:49:17.000
The light must be playing tricks on him. In
the darkness, he can’t see the boulder he

02:49:17.000 --> 02:49:18.381
was standing on a moment ago anywhere.

02:49:18.381 --> 02:49:23.060
He bursts out of the treeline and into the
clearing right next to the steel box. A ramp

02:49:23.060 --> 02:49:27.800
leads up to the top of it with a large trap
door suspended over the open lid. Well, if

02:49:27.800 --> 02:49:31.130
he wants to be seen and heard, that’s where
he needs to go.

02:49:31.130 --> 02:49:35.090
The Archeologist runs up the ramp and waves
his hands wildly in the air. The tanks all

02:49:35.090 --> 02:49:39.340
turn their turrets to aim at him. The crane
holding the enormous steel lid for the enclosure

02:49:39.340 --> 02:49:44.600
looms menacingly above his head. And there,
marching out onto the field, looking absolutely

02:49:44.600 --> 02:49:49.340
furious, is the Professor. Her red hair looks
more like a ball of flames right now.

02:49:49.340 --> 02:49:52.180
‘We need to evacuate the site now. It’s
here!’

02:49:52.180 --> 02:49:56.020
She snarls and marches up the ramp to meet
him. Jabbing a finger in the Archeologist’s

02:49:56.020 --> 02:49:59.100
face, he suddenly realizes how much taller
she is.

02:49:59.100 --> 02:50:03.779
‘You are not jeopardizing our one chance
of catching this thing. Get out of the way,

02:50:03.779 --> 02:50:07.620
or I will have you detained. Besides, what
evidence do you have?’

02:50:07.620 --> 02:50:13.420
But the Archeologist isn’t looking at her.
Instead, his eyes stare in horror at the elephant

02:50:13.420 --> 02:50:18.859
carcass suspended behind her. There was a
huge, reptilian bite mark taken out of it.

02:50:18.859 --> 02:50:24.290
A testing bite, like the ones given by sharks.
She turns to follow his gaze, and all of her

02:50:24.290 --> 02:50:27.000
rage is washed away in a sickening delight.

02:50:27.000 --> 02:50:28.609
‘It’s here.’

02:50:28.609 --> 02:50:32.600
A scream from the crane holding the elephant
makes them both jump. But by the time they

02:50:32.600 --> 02:50:37.450
look up at the cabin, all they see is a hulking
shadow leaping away into the darkness. The

02:50:37.450 --> 02:50:41.910
Professor clicks on her walkie-talkie and
starts issuing commands. No one responds,

02:50:41.910 --> 02:50:45.689
except the tank crews. She tries again. Radio
silence.

02:50:45.689 --> 02:50:50.360
Now the gravity of the situation really starts
to hit her. Eyes wide with panic, she runs

02:50:50.360 --> 02:50:54.319
off down the ramp, barking into her radio
and leaving the Archeologist up here on his

02:50:54.319 --> 02:51:00.180
own. Suddenly, under all of these lights,
he feels very exposed. It could be anywhere

02:51:00.180 --> 02:51:01.450
in the shadows.

02:51:01.450 --> 02:51:06.310
Footsteps. Heavy, planted footsteps tremor
through the ground. And out of the woods,

02:51:06.310 --> 02:51:10.940
walks the creature. Several meters long, fat
from all of its hunting, the beast that would

02:51:10.940 --> 02:51:16.899
soon be known as SCP-682 slinks into view.
It looks up at him, standing there on the

02:51:16.899 --> 02:51:21.220
trap door over a metal box and looks like
it’s almost ready to laugh at how easy this

02:51:21.220 --> 02:51:22.280
will be.

02:51:22.280 --> 02:51:23.280
BOOM!

02:51:23.280 --> 02:51:27.460
The tank blast hits the creature square in
the torso, knocking it sideways.

02:51:27.460 --> 02:51:28.460
BOOM!

02:51:28.460 --> 02:51:29.460
BOOM!

02:51:29.460 --> 02:51:30.460
BOOM!

02:51:30.460 --> 02:51:34.771
The three tanks open fire one after the other,
laying round after round into the colossal

02:51:34.771 --> 02:51:39.710
reptile, kicking more and more dust into the
air. Before long, there’s a crater in the

02:51:39.710 --> 02:51:44.710
ground so large that it looks almost like
an asteroid hit it. Smoke and dust fill the

02:51:44.710 --> 02:51:45.930
air.

02:51:45.930 --> 02:51:50.340
The Archeologist’s eyes fill with tears.
That majestic creature, roaming the earth

02:51:50.340 --> 02:51:56.391
long before mankind ever did, exterminated
just like that. Cowards, that’s what people

02:51:56.391 --> 02:51:59.450
really are. Cowards.

02:51:59.450 --> 02:52:04.630
But as the dust clears, a groaning sound echoes
around the clearing. The Archeologist shields

02:52:04.630 --> 02:52:09.811
his eyes and peers into the crater as best
as he can. But there’s nothing there.

02:52:09.811 --> 02:52:10.910
BOOM!

02:52:10.910 --> 02:52:15.680
He wheels around and almost falls backwards
in shock. The SCP has snuck through the haze

02:52:15.680 --> 02:52:19.640
and leaped onto one of the tanks. It bites
and tears at the armored bodywork, doing all

02:52:19.640 --> 02:52:25.700
it can to destroy it. In a panic, two of the
tanks point toward one another and fire, destroying

02:52:25.700 --> 02:52:30.069
themselves in the process. The creature rounds
on the remaining tank and bites down hard

02:52:30.069 --> 02:52:35.399
on the barrel. The tank fires, the round going
straight down the monster’s throat and exploding

02:52:35.399 --> 02:52:40.060
inside its gut. The backdraft from the blast
shoots back through the tank, and a puff of

02:52:40.060 --> 02:52:42.450
smoke trails out of the hatch at the top.

02:52:42.450 --> 02:52:49.609
And suddenly, once again, the clearing is
quiet. Turning back to the Archeologist, SCP-682

02:52:49.609 --> 02:52:54.580
slinks towards him, smoke still curling up
out of his leering teeth. With heavy thunking

02:52:54.580 --> 02:52:59.560
steps, it climbs the ramp towards him, stopping
just short of the trap door.

02:52:59.560 --> 02:53:05.319
The two of them stare each other in the eye,
predator and prey. Neither move for a moment,

02:53:05.319 --> 02:53:09.200
then it opens its mouth. The Archeologist
closes his eyes…

02:53:09.200 --> 02:53:15.189
‘Do you know that you disgusting creatures
deserve this?”

02:53:15.189 --> 02:53:18.979
He opens them. Did the monster just speak?

02:53:18.979 --> 02:53:24.240
‘What do they hope to accomplish by attacking
me?”

02:53:24.240 --> 02:53:30.729
He gulps hard. That whisper he heard in the
woods. The rock he’d been standing on.

02:53:30.729 --> 02:53:36.180
‘They’re scientists. Scientists always
try to learn more things, understand the world

02:53:36.180 --> 02:53:43.850
better. We think you can’t be killed. So
we’re… they’re testing their hypothesis.’

02:53:43.850 --> 02:53:48.720
The creature growls. The stench of rotten
flesh fills the Archeologist’s nose. It

02:53:48.720 --> 02:53:53.320
takes a step towards him, then another. The
Archeologist runs, he’ll leap off the other

02:53:53.320 --> 02:53:56.790
end of the platform, it’s a big jump, but
he could make it. The predator’s breath

02:53:56.790 --> 02:54:01.660
is on the back of his neck. He jumps, just
as the trap door gives way.

02:54:01.660 --> 02:54:06.439
With an enormous thud, the SCP falls into
the steel enclosure. Before it has a chance

02:54:06.439 --> 02:54:11.210
to move, the crane unhitches the steel lid,
and it crashes down into place, sealing the

02:54:11.210 --> 02:54:16.270
monster inside. The Archeologist lands in
the dirt and rolls onto his back to see the

02:54:16.270 --> 02:54:20.109
Professor, wild-eyed and cheering, up in the
crane’s cabin.

02:54:20.109 --> 02:54:24.680
He lies there on his back panting and staring
up at the stars. A clunking sound echoes through

02:54:24.680 --> 02:54:29.609
the clearing, and the gurgle of a liquid flowing
through pipes. He sits up, adrenaline still

02:54:29.609 --> 02:54:34.170
pumping through him. The Professor has plugged
a pipe into the metal enclosure and is running

02:54:34.170 --> 02:54:36.399
gallons and gallons of liquid into it.

02:54:36.399 --> 02:54:40.381
He follows the tube with his eyes, all the
way to the enormous hazardous vats on the

02:54:40.381 --> 02:54:42.590
edge of the clearing.

02:54:42.590 --> 02:54:43.980
Hydrochloric Acid.

02:54:43.980 --> 02:54:47.250
His eyes widen in horror. The Professor laughs
at him.

02:54:47.250 --> 02:54:53.930
‘Come on, cheer up. We’re just scientists,
that’s what you said. Just testing a hypothesis!’

02:54:53.930 --> 02:54:58.790
The lights go out on Maple street, as a young
woman takes stock of her marriage and the

02:54:58.790 --> 02:55:03.540
man she once thought she knew. She sits at
the kitchen counter, absently stirring a cup

02:55:03.540 --> 02:55:07.880
of tea that went cold hours ago, but she just
can't bring herself to stand and heat it back

02:55:07.880 --> 02:55:12.920
up. She glances at the baby monitor sitting
next to her, grabs it, and holds it to her

02:55:12.920 --> 02:55:17.760
ear. Steady, peaceful breathing. The baby
is fine. No one needs a thing from her right

02:55:17.760 --> 02:55:18.760
now.

02:55:18.760 --> 02:55:22.729
She stares at the seat across from her, where
her husband sits every morning, sharing coffee

02:55:22.729 --> 02:55:28.569
and breakfast before they start the day. She
glances at the clock: 8 PM. He'll be home

02:55:28.569 --> 02:55:34.800
soon. She'll have to face him, have to find
a way to look him in the eye, force a smile.

02:55:34.800 --> 02:55:38.860
Pretend she doesn't know that he's getting
home two hours late, from who knows where.

02:55:38.860 --> 02:55:41.400
The thought turns her stomach.

02:55:41.400 --> 02:55:45.640
It wasn't always like this. Their marriage
wasn't always a tense charade, their home

02:55:45.640 --> 02:55:51.220
a haunted house. He was sweet that first year,
he'd buy her flowers and take her out to dinner,

02:55:51.220 --> 02:55:54.399
he'd kiss her in the morning before they'd
even brushed their teeth. He wouldn't come

02:55:54.399 --> 02:55:59.130
home smelling like his secretary's perfume.
But ever since the baby, something's been

02:55:59.130 --> 02:56:04.580
different. The light behind his eyes has gone
dim. He won't help with late-night feedings,

02:56:04.580 --> 02:56:09.830
won't change diapers, most of the time, he
acts as if the baby doesn't exist. His own

02:56:09.830 --> 02:56:10.960
son.

02:56:10.960 --> 02:56:15.420
He just comes home, stares vacantly at the
TV, and expects her to handle everything without

02:56:15.420 --> 02:56:19.880
so much as a single complaint. She hasn't
slept in weeks, she hasn't been down to her

02:56:19.880 --> 02:56:25.750
art studio in the basement in months. Then,
a sound shakes her from her thoughts. She

02:56:25.750 --> 02:56:30.340
hears the unmistakable rumble of a car pulling
into the driveway, and fixes a stiff smile

02:56:30.340 --> 02:56:35.399
on her face. Maybe she'll leave him, maybe
tonight she'll work up the courage to say

02:56:35.399 --> 02:56:40.920
those words that will change everything: "I
want a divorce." The baby barely has a father

02:56:40.920 --> 02:56:43.649
now, what difference would it really make?

02:56:43.649 --> 02:56:47.390
The woman's husband stumbles through the door,
lipstick on his collar and the smell of whiskey

02:56:47.390 --> 02:56:51.820
on his breath. He greets her with a kiss on
the cheek, more out of obligation than anything

02:56:51.820 --> 02:56:57.630
else, and grabs himself a can of soda from
the fridge. She offers him some stew from

02:56:57.630 --> 02:57:01.910
the stovetop, he brushes her off, saying "I
already ate." She doesn't bother asking when

02:57:01.910 --> 02:57:07.060
or how, when he supposedly came straight home
from work. There's no point, she knows he'll

02:57:07.060 --> 02:57:08.060
only lie.

02:57:08.060 --> 02:57:12.910
"Do you want to say goodnight to the baby?"
She asks. It's a test, as she watches his

02:57:12.910 --> 02:57:15.220
face for any flicker of fatherly affection.

02:57:15.220 --> 02:57:20.960
"Isn't it asleep by now?" It. He calls their
son "it."

02:57:20.960 --> 02:57:25.390
"He's sleeping, but you could still go up
and see him. If you're quiet."

02:57:25.390 --> 02:57:29.280
"I had a long day. I'm tired. I'll see it
in the morning."

02:57:29.280 --> 02:57:31.550
She can't help herself. "Him."

02:57:31.550 --> 02:57:33.069
"What's that?"

02:57:33.069 --> 02:57:36.479
"Him. He's not a thing. He's our child."

02:57:36.479 --> 02:57:40.820
He sets the can on the coffee table with a
heavy clatter. "Do you have to nitpick every

02:57:40.820 --> 02:57:43.100
word that comes out of my mouth?"

02:57:43.100 --> 02:57:45.280
She deflates at the outburst. "No."

02:57:45.280 --> 02:57:51.300
He sighs, shaking his head. "Don't look at
me like that. I can't stand when you stare

02:57:51.300 --> 02:57:52.900
at me."

02:57:52.900 --> 02:57:58.149
She averts her eyes, looking down. "Fine.
I'll go up and check on him. You enjoy your

02:57:58.149 --> 02:57:59.460
relaxation time."

02:57:59.460 --> 02:58:04.810
That's it. Tonight is the night. She's going
to pack a bag tonight. She'll leave, and start

02:58:04.810 --> 02:58:08.930
a new life, just her and her son. He won't
even miss them when they're gone, it'll be

02:58:08.930 --> 02:58:13.529
better for everyone this way. She'll just
go upstairs, check the baby, and wait for

02:58:13.529 --> 02:58:18.380
him to fall asleep. Then she'll just cut and
run. It's not like he deserves a proper goodbye

02:58:18.380 --> 02:58:23.989
from her, she can go away, go to her sister's
place. As she fantasizes about leaving him,

02:58:23.989 --> 02:58:28.170
spending peaceful days in a little country
house with her son, and maybe a dog, she finds

02:58:28.170 --> 02:58:32.489
that the baby has spit up all over his pajamas.
She scoops him up into her arms to make sure

02:58:32.489 --> 02:58:37.750
everything is okay otherwise, and he's fine,
just a mess. As she holds him, he stirs awake

02:58:37.750 --> 02:58:38.880
and begins to cry.

02:58:38.880 --> 02:58:45.270
"Oh sweetheart...I'll need to change you,
and give you a bath. Shh, shh, it's okay.

02:58:45.270 --> 02:58:46.270
You're alright."

02:58:46.270 --> 02:58:49.600
"What's wrong?" Her husband's voice comes
from the doorway, startling her.

02:58:49.600 --> 02:58:54.580
"It doesn't concern you." She can't help herself,
her resentment creeps into her voice. "He

02:58:54.580 --> 02:58:55.580
just needs a bath."

02:58:55.580 --> 02:59:00.101
"What, you think I can't bathe my own son?"
He scoffs. "That's it?"

02:59:00.101 --> 02:59:05.630
"Well, you haven't done it yet. So." When
she turns to look at her husband, there are

02:59:05.630 --> 02:59:06.630
tears in his eyes.

02:59:06.630 --> 02:59:12.830
"I'll do it now." Something in his voice is
so sincere, she falters in her determination

02:59:12.830 --> 02:59:18.300
for a moment. Maybe he'll really try. Maybe
things will go back to how they used to be.

02:59:18.300 --> 02:59:23.450
And she really, really needs a rest. So, she
hands the baby over to him, and sits down

02:59:23.450 --> 02:59:28.340
in the soft chair in the corner of the nursery.
Before too long, the exhaustion overcomes

02:59:28.340 --> 02:59:30.760
her and she nods off.

02:59:30.760 --> 02:59:34.640
In her sleep, she can't see her husband leaving
the bathroom to go downstairs and catch the

02:59:34.640 --> 02:59:40.029
last twenty minutes of the Dodgers game, leaving
the baby alone in the tub. When she stirs

02:59:40.029 --> 02:59:46.181
awake, the crib is still empty. She can still
hear the water running, and she knows. She

02:59:46.181 --> 02:59:53.630
just knows what has happened. What she let
happen. No, what he did. A glance into the

02:59:53.630 --> 03:00:00.010
bathroom confirms her suspicions, and with
a primal scream of pain, rage, and heartbreak,

03:00:00.010 --> 03:00:03.460
she tears down the stairs to confront the
murderer himself.

03:00:03.460 --> 03:00:07.470
She finds him asleep on the couch, and takes
a moment to catch her breath, to wipe the

03:00:07.470 --> 03:00:13.590
tears from her eyes. Did he do it by accident?
Or on purpose, to punish her, to free himself

03:00:13.590 --> 03:00:18.460
from their marriage once and for all, to break
her heart beyond repair? It doesn't matter,

03:00:18.460 --> 03:00:23.820
in the end. What's done is done, whether he
meant it or not.

03:00:23.820 --> 03:00:28.239
But what can she do? What could ever make
this right? She wants to scream, to set the

03:00:28.239 --> 03:00:34.689
house on fire, to tear him to shreds. Then,
she spots it: the baseball bat leaned against

03:00:34.689 --> 03:00:39.590
the wall by the door, in case of an intruder.
She picks it up, feeling the weight of the

03:00:39.590 --> 03:00:44.600
wood in her hands, the heft of it. Swung hard
enough, with real intent behind it, it could

03:00:44.600 --> 03:00:51.220
really do some damage. Slowly, thoughtfully,
she walks back toward the couch, raises the

03:00:51.220 --> 03:00:54.720
bat, and swings.

03:00:54.720 --> 03:00:58.960
It only takes one good hit to get the job
done, but she swings the bat a few more times

03:00:58.960 --> 03:01:05.740
anyway as something inside of her bends and
bends and breaks, until the tears stop falling,

03:01:05.740 --> 03:01:10.880
until her vision comes back, and everything
stops looking like a wash of red. He doesn't

03:01:10.880 --> 03:01:15.070
even scream, never wakes from his stupor to
see the look on his wife's face when she gets

03:01:15.070 --> 03:01:21.340
her revenge. He's just gone. She wipes the
red from her eyes, and lets the bloodied bat

03:01:21.340 --> 03:01:26.660
drop to the floor. She started the day as
a wife, as a mother, but now she's ending

03:01:26.660 --> 03:01:33.320
it as a killer. He deserved it, she tells
herself. He took her baby from her, so she

03:01:33.320 --> 03:01:38.979
got him back. But why doesn't she feel any
relief? Why does she still feel the gnawing

03:01:38.979 --> 03:01:43.279
grief in the pit of her stomach, feel the
darkness clawing at her heart?

03:01:43.279 --> 03:01:46.760
First thing's first, she needs to get him
out of the living room, out of sight of prying

03:01:46.760 --> 03:01:53.029
eyes and nosy neighbors. She could try to
bury him, but where? The yard isn't exactly

03:01:53.029 --> 03:01:58.370
private, and she's not sure how much she could
even dig up before sunrise. No, that won't

03:01:58.370 --> 03:02:03.061
do. Then the idea hits her, and she grabs
him by the arms and begins dragging the lifeless

03:02:03.061 --> 03:02:08.439
body of the man she once loved toward the
basement stairs. He's heavy, much heavier

03:02:08.439 --> 03:02:13.210
than she expected, but she supposed they called
it "dead weight" for a reason. She grunts

03:02:13.210 --> 03:02:17.460
and struggles as she drags him down the stairs,
wincing as his head bumps against the steps

03:02:17.460 --> 03:02:22.660
before reminding herself- he's not using it
anymore. She surprises herself with a laugh,

03:02:22.660 --> 03:02:25.280
a dry sound echoing in the empty basement.

03:02:25.280 --> 03:02:29.511
She drags him past the last stair, and he
lands on the floor with a thud, in the room

03:02:29.511 --> 03:02:33.280
that she converted into her home art studio
when they first bought the house, back when

03:02:33.280 --> 03:02:37.800
things were still good. Her eyes dart about
the room, the half-finished paintings, the

03:02:37.800 --> 03:02:42.690
wood carvings she abandoned when she got pregnant,
the paints and long-dried-out lumps of clay,

03:02:42.690 --> 03:02:47.750
the potter's wheel in the corner. Her eyes
settle on a metal frame, large and twisted

03:02:47.750 --> 03:02:52.489
into a vaguely human shape. She had crafted
it years ago, intending to cover it with concrete

03:02:52.489 --> 03:02:55.300
and paint it, but never got around to it.

03:02:55.300 --> 03:03:00.410
No, she had been forced to put it away. Her
husband hadn't liked it, had thought it was

03:03:00.410 --> 03:03:05.610
"creepy," and "odd," and didn't want her working
with such heavy materials. Just another thing

03:03:05.610 --> 03:03:09.250
he took from her. Another dream he destroyed.

03:03:09.250 --> 03:03:12.939
It's just about his size, now that she takes
a look at it with him lying limply on the

03:03:12.939 --> 03:03:18.840
ground so close by. With a little bit of muscle,
some determination, he would fit right inside.

03:03:18.840 --> 03:03:23.890
And there are the tubs of cement, still sealed
tight and ready to mix, just as she left them.

03:03:23.890 --> 03:03:27.200
She could shove him into the frame, paint
him with layer on layer of cement, and it

03:03:27.200 --> 03:03:32.350
would be like he had disappeared in the night.
A fitting coffin for the man, she thought.

03:03:32.350 --> 03:03:37.340
A perfect place to hide him, too. No one would
ever know. No bones to dig up in the garden

03:03:37.340 --> 03:03:42.859
out back, no smell of rot seeping out from
beneath the floorboard. She smiled to herself,

03:03:42.859 --> 03:03:48.380
just a little bit. In death, her husband would
help her finish her greatest work. She didn't

03:03:48.380 --> 03:03:55.510
consider herself a wife or a mother, not anymore,
but she was still an artist. And he would

03:03:55.510 --> 03:03:57.271
be her art.

03:03:57.271 --> 03:04:01.180
As she mixes the cement, she hums a little
song to herself, beginning to feel something

03:04:01.180 --> 03:04:06.700
like peace. Everything is ruined, her life
as she knew it completely turned upside down,

03:04:06.700 --> 03:04:10.470
but she is here in the art studio, creating
again.

03:04:10.470 --> 03:04:15.380
"Not a waste of time now, is it?" She remarks
to her husband's body. He doesn't answer.

03:04:15.380 --> 03:04:20.510
Typical. "Why get an art degree, you said?
Well, it prepared me for this, didn't it?

03:04:20.510 --> 03:04:24.189
I wonder what I'll do with you when you're
done. Maybe I'll keep you down here. But that

03:04:24.189 --> 03:04:28.450
seems like a waste. Maybe I'll get you displayed
in a gallery, let people buy tickets to take

03:04:28.450 --> 03:04:35.670
a look at you. You'll be my masterpiece. You'd
hate that, wouldn't you? Me, thriving, creating,

03:04:35.670 --> 03:04:40.029
all without you there to make snide comments
and treat me like dirt."

03:04:40.029 --> 03:04:44.279
As she waits for the concrete to become usable,
she turns her attention back to the metal

03:04:44.279 --> 03:04:50.240
frame. Time to put her ex-husband in his place.
She lifts him, and begins to wedge his body

03:04:50.240 --> 03:04:54.950
into the metal structure. He is heavy, getting
heavier all the time, and left a trail of

03:04:54.950 --> 03:04:59.080
blood behind on the floor that she would have
to clean up and bleach later, but after several

03:04:59.080 --> 03:05:04.900
sweaty minutes, he is in place. He looks correct
to her, sitting there in the frame. Ready

03:05:04.900 --> 03:05:10.250
to become something new, something different,
something better than he ever was in life.

03:05:10.250 --> 03:05:14.850
The concrete is ready, and she begins to smooth
it over the body and metal frame, flesh and

03:05:14.850 --> 03:05:18.860
blood, and sweat and grit, layer upon layer
upon layer.

03:05:18.860 --> 03:05:24.010
Mix, smooth, wait, mix, smooth, wait.

03:05:24.010 --> 03:05:28.979
All the while she talks to him, weeps bitter
tears into the concrete. At one point, she

03:05:28.979 --> 03:05:33.010
pricks her finger, her blood dripping into
the mixture and becoming part of the sculpture.

03:05:33.010 --> 03:05:39.141
For days she carries on this way, not breaking
to eat, bathe, or sleep. After three days

03:05:39.141 --> 03:05:43.290
pass, she runs out of concrete. But the sculpture
is not finished, she'll need to go out and

03:05:43.290 --> 03:05:44.880
get more.

03:05:44.880 --> 03:05:49.779
She takes a shower, washing away the dust,
the blood, and the guilt, changes into fresh,

03:05:49.779 --> 03:05:54.700
clean clothes, and takes a drive into town.
She picks up more concrete first, telling

03:05:54.700 --> 03:05:58.939
the clerk some story about home improvements
she's working on. He asks if she's married,

03:05:58.939 --> 03:06:01.010
if her husband will be helping with the work.

03:06:01.010 --> 03:06:03.739
"I'm recently separated." She replies.

03:06:03.739 --> 03:06:08.420
On the way home, a small store catches her
eye. It's a place she's driven by plenty of

03:06:08.420 --> 03:06:13.140
times, a little occult shop filled with herbs
and tapered candles and strange leather-bound

03:06:13.140 --> 03:06:17.520
books. She isn't sure if she believes in this
sort of thing, not really, but something makes

03:06:17.520 --> 03:06:22.729
her park and walk inside anyway. A gnarled
old woman behind the counter spots her, and

03:06:22.729 --> 03:06:28.360
without speaking, points her toward a room
in the back. It's different there, darker,

03:06:28.360 --> 03:06:32.731
filled with vials of thick dark liquid, shelves
full of skulls that might be human, though

03:06:32.731 --> 03:06:39.040
she isn't sure. In the back of the room, there
is a bottle of paint, deep red and vibrant.

03:06:39.040 --> 03:06:43.700
What it's doing here, she couldn't be certain.
But as soon as she sets eyes on it, she knows

03:06:43.700 --> 03:06:48.790
she needs to have it, needs to add it to her
sculpture to make it truly complete.

03:06:48.790 --> 03:06:53.660
She brings it to the woman at the counter,
but she just says "Take it. No charge. I can

03:06:53.660 --> 03:06:59.109
tell you really need it. Just be careful what
you use it for, it's powerful stuff."

03:06:59.109 --> 03:07:03.130
She wants to ask what that means, what is
so powerful about this little bottle of strange

03:07:03.130 --> 03:07:08.030
red paint, but she doesn't. She's much too
exhausted, and much too determined to get

03:07:08.030 --> 03:07:12.920
back home and put the finishing touches on
her masterpiece. She drives straight home,

03:07:12.920 --> 03:07:17.830
and hauls the concrete and paint inside, carrying
it down to the basement. She's dizzy from

03:07:17.830 --> 03:07:23.120
hunger and lack of sleep, but she doesn't
care. She has one singular vision right now,

03:07:23.120 --> 03:07:28.130
and she must see it carried out. She mixes
more concrete and slathers the whole shape

03:07:28.130 --> 03:07:32.899
again, sculpting out the round, bulbous head,
the arms at its sides, the legs and feet,

03:07:32.899 --> 03:07:38.850
the curve of the whole figure covered in thick
gray sludge. In potential. A blank canvas.

03:07:38.850 --> 03:07:45.910
Before it dries, she opens the paint. It smells
musty, rich, and somehow ancient. It clings

03:07:45.910 --> 03:07:49.840
to the bristles of her brush like a living
thing, and takes to the surface of the sculpture

03:07:49.840 --> 03:07:54.870
eagerly, spreading out as if of its own volition
as she brushes it on evenly.

03:07:54.870 --> 03:07:59.010
She paints the whole thing, every inch of
it. At first, it doesn't seem as if there

03:07:59.010 --> 03:08:03.160
will be enough paint to finish the job, but
somehow that little bottle coats the whole

03:08:03.160 --> 03:08:09.210
figure in deep, dark red. She looks down at
her hands, stained just as brightly as they

03:08:09.210 --> 03:08:14.370
were when she swung that baseball bat. She
looks back up at her creation, the amalgamation

03:08:14.370 --> 03:08:21.080
of the fear, the pain, the heartbreak, the
pure, primal rage, and begins to cry. The

03:08:21.080 --> 03:08:25.880
tears fall freely into her palms and, without
thinking, she smears them into the concrete

03:08:25.880 --> 03:08:29.100
and paint until they disappear into the art.

03:08:29.100 --> 03:08:35.700
Then, she takes a step back, watching it all
dry. All of that work, all of that time, that

03:08:35.700 --> 03:08:41.819
great, yawning chasm of loss, and this is
what she has made of it. She loves it and

03:08:41.819 --> 03:08:45.780
she hates it all at once, and she can't stop
staring at the place where its eyes would

03:08:45.780 --> 03:08:51.810
be, if it had them. She half expects to see
something looking back. She shakes her head,

03:08:51.810 --> 03:08:56.210
looking down at the floor for a moment. Then,
she hears the sound of stone and metal grinding

03:08:56.210 --> 03:09:02.180
together. Her gaze snaps back up, and she
sees that the sculpture has moved, just a

03:09:02.180 --> 03:09:05.649
little. Its head, turned in her direction.

03:09:05.649 --> 03:09:11.100
In an instant, her husband's words come back
to her. "Don't look at me like that. I can't

03:09:11.100 --> 03:09:14.149
stand when you stare at me like that."

03:09:14.149 --> 03:09:19.700
It couldn't be...She stares at it for a long
time, her eyes watering from the effort. She

03:09:19.700 --> 03:09:25.930
blinks. Her eyes open, and the sculpture is
gone. There it is again, the grind of metal

03:09:25.930 --> 03:09:32.710
and stone against each other. Then, with the
sound of bones snapping, everything went dark.

03:09:32.710 --> 03:09:37.780
Her hate, her vengeance, her desperate act
of violence and creation, with a splash of

03:09:37.780 --> 03:09:42.811
the most unusual paint, led to the creation
of a deadly masterpiece that would one day

03:09:42.811 --> 03:09:47.070
be known as...SCP-173.

03:09:47.070 --> 03:09:52.860
The Store Manager had heard of crazy customers,
but this was something else. A mob comes barrelling

03:09:52.860 --> 03:09:57.649
towards the store, visible through the display
windows as they charge down the street. They

03:09:57.649 --> 03:10:03.130
all look crazed, much closer in appearance
to rabid animals than human beings, frenzying,

03:10:03.130 --> 03:10:07.710
foaming at the mouth. A few of them stumble
in their haste while rushing for the automatic

03:10:07.710 --> 03:10:11.489
sliding doors.
Some fall to the ground, only for others to

03:10:11.489 --> 03:10:16.330
clamber over them, leaping like athletes going
over hurdles, with all the same speed but

03:10:16.330 --> 03:10:21.780
with none of the grace. To the staff inside
the store, they look like a pack of zombies,

03:10:21.780 --> 03:10:26.010
all apparently infected by the same virus
that had given them such a ravenous hunger…

03:10:26.010 --> 03:10:30.239
for savings!
“I thought Black Friday was a week ago,”

03:10:30.239 --> 03:10:35.390
the Trainee remarks, as the doors slide open
and the first mob spills inside. “Welcome

03:10:35.390 --> 03:10:40.069
to the Mattress Madness Megastore everyone,
if you could kindly form an orderly-”

03:10:40.069 --> 03:10:44.290
Within seconds, the Trainee vanishes as a
tidal wave of maddened mattress store customers

03:10:44.290 --> 03:10:49.819
starts to pile into the store. Each and every
one of them is deranged, that much is clear

03:10:49.819 --> 03:10:54.590
even from a distance. Across the store, the
Store Manager watches as his colleagues are

03:10:54.590 --> 03:10:59.350
shoved and tackled out of the way, just from
their misfortune of standing too close to

03:10:59.350 --> 03:11:02.920
the entrance.
It's only as one of the mob wanders closer

03:11:02.920 --> 03:11:08.810
that the Store Manager notices their eyes;
both lids stay shut, somehow closed despite

03:11:08.810 --> 03:11:13.330
the crazed customer standing upright. They
aren’t screwed tightly, it’s clear this

03:11:13.330 --> 03:11:18.450
person isn’t forcefully keeping their eyelids
clamped down. Instead, they’re gently sealed,

03:11:18.450 --> 03:11:24.940
as if the customer is still asleep… or sleepwalking.
The whole situation was astounding; first

03:11:24.940 --> 03:11:29.090
thing in the morning, just at opening time,
a horde of sleepwalking customers barged their

03:11:29.090 --> 03:11:33.940
way into the Mattress Madness Megastore, moving
– and fighting retail staff – as if they

03:11:33.940 --> 03:11:38.660
were all still awake and fully aware. And
as if that isn’t bizarre enough, it quickly

03:11:38.660 --> 03:11:42.739
turns out these people aren’t here because
they’re eager not to miss out on great deals

03:11:42.739 --> 03:11:47.910
on their bedroom furniture. To the Store Manager’s
horror, the mob has come to the Mattress Madness

03:11:47.910 --> 03:11:53.660
Megastore… for breakfast.
He watches an elderly woman, eyes closed,

03:11:53.660 --> 03:11:57.950
shuffle up to a luxury Cashmere Pillow Top
California King size mattress and proceed

03:11:57.950 --> 03:12:02.910
to eat it. And not bite by bite either, not
even ripping off pieces to chomp through like

03:12:02.910 --> 03:12:09.979
so much cotton candy. In a far more horrifying
fashion, the old lady eats the mattress whole.

03:12:09.979 --> 03:12:14.689
The Store Manager feels his blood run cold
at the sight of her mouth widening unnaturally,

03:12:14.689 --> 03:12:20.119
unhinging like a snake eating its prey; except
in this bizarre, unaired nature documentary,

03:12:20.119 --> 03:12:25.040
the snake is a human being, and its meal is
a perfectly good bed that moments before had

03:12:25.040 --> 03:12:30.569
been resting on a stylish ottoman frame.
The same exact display of confusing carnage

03:12:30.569 --> 03:12:35.160
is unfolding all over the Mattress Madness
Megastore, people devouring entire Egyptian

03:12:35.160 --> 03:12:40.500
Cotton mattresses. Some have even devoured
their respective meals and are already moving

03:12:40.500 --> 03:12:45.811
on to any accompanying pillows or cushions,
feeding on them in much the same way. The

03:12:45.811 --> 03:12:50.010
few members of staff bold enough to try and
intervene can’t seem to wake the sleepwalking

03:12:50.010 --> 03:12:54.740
shoppers up, no matter how hard they grip
each one by the shoulders and shake, nothing

03:12:54.740 --> 03:12:59.000
can deter them from devouring divans and munching
on memory foam.

03:12:59.000 --> 03:13:03.660
A sudden, terrifying, and inescapable thought
cuts through all the confusion, striking the

03:13:03.660 --> 03:13:09.590
Store Manager with even greater fear: the
stock room. Behind a series of doors, marked

03:13:09.590 --> 03:13:15.321
with signs reading ‘Employees Only’, are
shelves upon shelves of new units. The Mattress

03:13:15.321 --> 03:13:20.410
Madness Megastore being a much bigger outlet
means there’s additional inventory to replace

03:13:20.410 --> 03:13:26.170
any mattress on the shop floor that gets sold.
And more mattresses mean more food for the

03:13:26.170 --> 03:13:28.319
mob!
The worry that these sleepwalkers might soon

03:13:28.319 --> 03:13:33.200
develop a taste for human flesh never occurs
to the Store Manager. He hurriedly races around

03:13:33.200 --> 03:13:37.810
the store, gathering up as many of his surviving
staff as he can, and urges them to help him

03:13:37.810 --> 03:13:42.930
defend the stock in the back room. Some are
already abandoning their posts, ripping nametags

03:13:42.930 --> 03:13:46.910
off their polo shirt uniforms, and rushing
to leave the store; they aren’t willing

03:13:46.910 --> 03:13:53.439
to die for $7.25 an hour. The Mattress Madness
Megastore has insurance, it’ll cover the

03:13:53.439 --> 03:13:58.069
damaged stock once the crazed customers have
feasted on feather beds. But the Manager urges

03:13:58.069 --> 03:14:02.800
them to stay; the store’s insurance covers
stock that is damaged in transit – not mattresses

03:14:02.800 --> 03:14:07.649
that are eaten by hungry lunatics!
A few stay, using the Manager’s desperation

03:14:07.649 --> 03:14:12.040
to leverage pay raises and more annual vacation
days in exchange for their help during this

03:14:12.040 --> 03:14:17.300
crisis of cashmere carnivory. With his resistance
force gathered, the Store Manager commands

03:14:17.300 --> 03:14:21.130
the remaining employees to charge for the
door at the back of the store. But some of

03:14:21.130 --> 03:14:26.120
the nearby mattress eaters overhear in the
sleepwalking state. The staff freeze, uncertain

03:14:26.120 --> 03:14:30.790
whether to bolt for the stock room, and risk
being chased by the hungry customers. They

03:14:30.790 --> 03:14:35.990
need a distraction, a sacrificial lamb, to
grab the horde’s attention. And with a solemn

03:14:35.990 --> 03:14:41.109
expression, the Store manger realizes what
he must do: this isn’t a fight he’ll make

03:14:41.109 --> 03:14:45.240
it out of alive.
He leaps up onto a twin innerspring and calls

03:14:45.240 --> 03:14:49.950
out to the crazed customers.
“Attention, everyone!” He bellows. “I’d

03:14:49.950 --> 03:14:54.300
like to announce… that all our mattresses
are half off for the next five minutes!”

03:14:54.300 --> 03:14:59.220
The crowd goes even more rabid, all eager
to eat the pillowy pedestal the Store Manager

03:14:59.220 --> 03:15:04.310
is standing upon. His staff flees in the opposite
direction, rushing to barricade themselves

03:15:04.310 --> 03:15:08.960
inside the storeroom while their boss meets
a grisly demise, and the crazed customers

03:15:08.960 --> 03:15:14.730
devour every remaining mattress in sight.
But what on earth could have possibly caused

03:15:14.730 --> 03:15:19.560
such a scene to unfold? What was the inciting
incident for this unprecedented act of mass

03:15:19.560 --> 03:15:25.689
mattress-cide, the divan destruction, and
combination carnage? All it took was one seemingly

03:15:25.689 --> 03:15:31.780
innocuous image, an unassuming online post,
to stir over seven thousand people into a

03:15:31.780 --> 03:15:36.380
featherbed feeding frenzy.
It’s December the 3rd, 2020, almost an entire

03:15:36.380 --> 03:15:42.070
day before the deranged events that would
soon unfold at the Mattress Madness Megastore.

03:15:42.070 --> 03:15:46.600
And just like he does most days after college,
the Student is trawling various internet forums

03:15:46.600 --> 03:15:51.529
in search of things to laugh at.
He’s procrastinating, and through inaction,

03:15:51.529 --> 03:15:55.790
allowing himself to be buried under a veritable
avalanche of assignments, all with rapidly

03:15:55.790 --> 03:16:00.340
approaching dates that they’re due in by.
But he doesn’t care, he can always do them

03:16:00.340 --> 03:16:06.140
tomorrow. As far as he’s concerned, there’s
plenty of time for him to waste doing… well,

03:16:06.140 --> 03:16:09.699
very little.
But no matter where he looks, nothing brings

03:16:09.699 --> 03:16:13.989
with it even the smallest hit of dopamine.
It’s been hours since he stopped checking

03:16:13.989 --> 03:16:18.061
the clock at the bottom right hand corner
of his computer screen, instead wearing out

03:16:18.061 --> 03:16:22.500
the muscles of his finger as it spins the
scrolling wheel of his mouse. His social media

03:16:22.500 --> 03:16:28.020
feed is all the same, more doom and gloom,
and despite his searching, he can’t find

03:16:28.020 --> 03:16:34.540
anything funny to alleviate his ongoing existential
nightmare for so much as a second. If anything,

03:16:34.540 --> 03:16:38.910
seeing every anxiety-inducing post about the
state of the world., or dour headlines of

03:16:38.910 --> 03:16:44.970
reposted news articles only makes everything
worse. That is, until the fateful link appears

03:16:44.970 --> 03:16:48.651
in his inbox.
It's from one of his friends at college, living

03:16:48.651 --> 03:16:53.270
in the dorm across campus. The pair of them
constantly swapped links, and exchanged memes

03:16:53.270 --> 03:16:57.770
over direct messages, sometimes while sitting
in the middle of important lectures. So, the

03:16:57.770 --> 03:17:01.340
Student quickly opens up the latest message
from his friend, pleased to have something

03:17:01.340 --> 03:17:06.439
to relieve the monotony instilled by the prior
several hours’ worth of mindless scrolling.

03:17:06.439 --> 03:17:11.170
Sure enough, his friend’s message sits waiting
to be read in his inbox. It’s just a single

03:17:11.170 --> 03:17:15.810
blue hyperlink, with no additional context
offered. Nothing to indicate what the link

03:17:15.810 --> 03:17:20.689
is or what website it leads to, or even why
the Student’s friend bothered to send it.

03:17:20.689 --> 03:17:24.779
They’re long past the need to provide context
for the memes they send each other. The link

03:17:24.779 --> 03:17:29.940
redirects to a familiar corner of the internet
to the Student, the Deep Fried Memes subreddit.

03:17:29.940 --> 03:17:34.380
Just seeing that written in the hyperlink
is enough to spur an enthusiastic click; it’s

03:17:34.380 --> 03:17:38.920
like going home, back to somewhere warm and
welcoming, where everybody knows your name,

03:17:38.920 --> 03:17:43.240
and they’re always glad you came. And where
the Student knows he’s bound to find something

03:17:43.240 --> 03:17:47.550
to entertain himself.
A ‘deep fried’ meme is usually a heavily

03:17:47.550 --> 03:17:52.770
edited image, with a number of different filters
added to it. Its contrast is boosted, the

03:17:52.770 --> 03:17:56.899
picture is over-saturated and distorted, all
to the point wherein the colors are unnatural,

03:17:56.899 --> 03:18:02.800
and the image appears as a grainy, washed-out
mess of pixels. And they’re one of the Student’s

03:18:02.800 --> 03:18:07.540
favorite sub-genre of funny posts.
Opening up the link sent by his friend, he

03:18:07.540 --> 03:18:12.340
finds one such deep-fried meme staring back
at him. It depicts a man, long-haired and

03:18:12.340 --> 03:18:17.439
wearing dark clothes, presumably a fan of
heavy metal music. In front of the Metalhead

03:18:17.439 --> 03:18:22.430
is a table, with a chessboard placed neatly
atop it. The pieces on the board are distributed

03:18:22.430 --> 03:18:27.550
in such a way that places the Metalhead in
checkmate. And his opponent? Directly opposite

03:18:27.550 --> 03:18:33.670
him at the table is a glass bowl filled with
water, and a goldfish aimlessly swimming around.

03:18:33.670 --> 03:18:38.479
And to top off this Louvre-worthy masterpiece
is text, seemingly cut and paste from various

03:18:38.479 --> 03:18:43.410
different places judging by the alternating
fonts and styles. The words have been placed

03:18:43.410 --> 03:18:48.340
into a sentence that reads:
“Tell me your secrets, fish.”

03:18:48.340 --> 03:18:52.760
And the Student explodes with laughter. As
if answering his prayers for some humorous

03:18:52.760 --> 03:18:56.670
entertainment to avoid working on his college
assignments, his friend had appeared out of

03:18:56.670 --> 03:19:01.220
the blue and delivered a perfect deep fried
meme. But that momentary boost in serotonin

03:19:01.220 --> 03:19:06.640
levels quickly subsides, and the Student knows
how these exchanges work. This has to be reciprocal,

03:19:06.640 --> 03:19:11.460
a mutual trading of memes, like for like,
akin to swapping trading cards in the playground

03:19:11.460 --> 03:19:16.350
at a younger age. And so, he searches the
subreddit for a token worthy of returning

03:19:16.350 --> 03:19:19.560
to his friend.
He clicks on a search filter, sorting the

03:19:19.560 --> 03:19:24.470
results from the top posts of all time to
the most recent posts of the day. These were

03:19:24.470 --> 03:19:29.010
fresh, hot off the presses – or out of the
deep fryer, in this case. And the newer they

03:19:29.010 --> 03:19:33.950
were, the lower the chances that his friend
had already seen them. Scrolling through,

03:19:33.950 --> 03:19:37.689
the Student is met with a few underwhelming
attempts that weren’t worthy of the prestige

03:19:37.689 --> 03:19:43.380
expected by the Deep Fried Memes subreddit;
they’d be better suited for posting on r/cringe.

03:19:43.380 --> 03:19:49.319
But then, it appears; the perfect deep-fried,
crispy, golden brown, cooked-to-perfection

03:19:49.319 --> 03:19:52.600
picture to send back to his friend.

03:19:52.600 --> 03:19:57.590
The distorted image is a photograph of a bed,
specifically a king-size mattress on what

03:19:57.590 --> 03:20:01.970
looks like a polished wooden bedframe – although
it’s not easy to tell, thanks to just how

03:20:01.970 --> 03:20:06.899
grainy the picture has been made. Whoever
edited this meme knew what they were doing,

03:20:06.899 --> 03:20:11.229
and has nailed the absurdist, bizarre humor
that the Student and his friend thrive on.

03:20:11.229 --> 03:20:16.100
A label over the mattress simply reads ‘King
Size’ and the meme is captioned in a classic

03:20:16.100 --> 03:20:19.150
‘Top Text/Bottom Text’ format with the
phrase:

03:20:19.150 --> 03:20:24.160
“A feast fit for a king”
And the pièce de resistance, the crowning

03:20:24.160 --> 03:20:28.770
touch that makes this meme-worthy of the Student’s
lofty standards, is the title given to it

03:20:28.770 --> 03:20:34.399
by the original poster. It sums up the meme
perfectly, succinctly in three words: ‘Eat

03:20:34.399 --> 03:20:39.500
Your Mattress’. The Student erupts into
uncontrollable fits of laughter, so much so

03:20:39.500 --> 03:20:43.699
that tears start to stream down his face.
His stomach almost feels like it might explode

03:20:43.699 --> 03:20:47.180
at just how fine he thinks the post he’s
found is.

03:20:47.180 --> 03:20:50.930
Through giggles that hit like the aftershock
of an earthquake, he copies the link to the

03:20:50.930 --> 03:20:55.101
Eat Your Mattress meme into a message and
hits send, to share the hilarity with his

03:20:55.101 --> 03:21:00.620
friend. Little does he know, he’s just condemned
his friend to the same fate that now awaits

03:21:00.620 --> 03:21:06.530
him. As soon as he falls asleep, it’ll happen.
And the Student and his friend aren’t the

03:21:06.530 --> 03:21:10.680
only ones either.
The post spreads, either sent directly from

03:21:10.680 --> 03:21:15.250
one person to another, or seen by those just
browsing the Deep Fried Memes subreddit and

03:21:15.250 --> 03:21:20.500
happening across the Eat Your Mattress photo.
Not all of them find it funny, they don’t

03:21:20.500 --> 03:21:24.860
have to. They aren’t even required to share
it, to pass it on to someone else and help

03:21:24.860 --> 03:21:29.860
the post spread like wildfire. They’ve looked
at it, and that’s enough.

03:21:29.860 --> 03:21:34.200
Come the next day, an estimated seven thousand
people across the world have seen the same

03:21:34.200 --> 03:21:39.420
meme. And it affects them all in the exact
same way, becoming a directive, a command

03:21:39.420 --> 03:21:43.680
planted in their subconscious, one that they
will act on without even realizing.

03:21:43.680 --> 03:21:49.090
It’s been only a few hours since all the
carnage erupted at the Mattress Madness Megastore,

03:21:49.090 --> 03:21:54.109
but by now, the SCP Foundation has swept in
and taken control of the scene. A cordon section

03:21:54.109 --> 03:21:58.080
of multiple blocks, under the cover story
of a dangerous gas leak. It’s enough to

03:21:58.080 --> 03:22:02.500
keep civilians and prying eyes away without
asking too many questions. But as for the

03:22:02.500 --> 03:22:06.949
Foundation personnel themselves, they’ve
got plenty of unanswered questions of their

03:22:06.949 --> 03:22:09.609
own.
Two members of the clean-up team are reviewing

03:22:09.609 --> 03:22:13.550
the store’s security footage, baffled by
the sights of the chaos that unfolded there

03:22:13.550 --> 03:22:19.609
earlier that same morning. On the screen,
frenzied customers are eating entire mattresses,

03:22:19.609 --> 03:22:24.210
stretching their mouths wide open and swallowing
them whole. They watch as the Store Manager

03:22:24.210 --> 03:22:28.680
appears to make an attempt at a noble sacrifice
to distract the horde of ravenous customers,

03:22:28.680 --> 03:22:31.710
so his employees can rush towards the store
room.

03:22:31.710 --> 03:22:35.950
But the Manager is fine; once the horde has
eaten all the mattresses out on the store’s

03:22:35.950 --> 03:22:39.890
main floor, they start trying to break into
the stock room out back, where the other employees

03:22:39.890 --> 03:22:45.399
have used layers upon layers of cellophane-wrapped
mattresses to barricade the door. By the time

03:22:45.399 --> 03:22:49.490
the Foundation arrives, the customers have
already forced their way into the stock room,

03:22:49.490 --> 03:22:53.350
and have devoured around half of the mattresses
while exhausted employees try to wake them

03:22:53.350 --> 03:22:57.120
from their sleepwalking state.
The Foundation sees to it that everyone affected

03:22:57.120 --> 03:23:01.540
is rapidly administered with memory wiping
amnestics to forget all about the ordeal.

03:23:01.540 --> 03:23:06.050
Their next job is to try and track down the
source of whatever caused this unprecedented

03:23:06.050 --> 03:23:10.631
outbreak of mattress eating. But being experts
in all things anomalous, it doesn’t take

03:23:10.631 --> 03:23:15.830
the Foundation long to start pursuing possible
explanations. Having already confirmed this

03:23:15.830 --> 03:23:20.760
wasn’t a viral anomaly, their next course
of action is to investigate possible memetic

03:23:20.760 --> 03:23:24.899
causes. And sure enough, a common factor quickly
presents itself.

03:23:24.899 --> 03:23:29.399
The mob that attacked the Mattress Madness
Megastore, along with subjects who have engaged

03:23:29.399 --> 03:23:34.812
in similar acts of mattress eating across
the world, all have one thing in common. Each

03:23:34.812 --> 03:23:40.130
one has been exposed to the ‘Eat Your Mattress’
post on the Deep Fried Memes subreddit. It

03:23:40.130 --> 03:23:44.030
takes some deduction on the Foundation’s
part to figure out the cause, after all, the

03:23:44.030 --> 03:23:48.530
meme in question is similar to a number of
others posted in the same subreddit. As a

03:23:48.530 --> 03:23:53.250
result, the Foundation’s online detection
software – or ‘web crawlers’ – initially

03:23:53.250 --> 03:24:01.180
fail to flag the mattress meme as an anomalous
image. Once they do, it is designated as SCP-5126.

03:24:01.180 --> 03:24:05.820
But with a cause established, the pieces start
to fit together. The Foundation’s researchers

03:24:05.820 --> 03:24:10.199
soon realize what the image does – another
reason it was initially missed is that its

03:24:10.199 --> 03:24:15.109
effects only occur once the subject that has
seen it falls asleep. The Student is one such

03:24:15.109 --> 03:24:19.279
subject who lived through this. He dozes off
in his gaming chair, well past the middle

03:24:19.279 --> 03:24:24.189
of the night, hours after he’s first seen
SCP-5126.

03:24:24.189 --> 03:24:28.979
While sound asleep, without waking up once,
he starts to seek out his mattress, laying

03:24:28.979 --> 03:24:33.680
unoccupied on his bed on the other side of
his cramped dorm room. He and all the others

03:24:33.680 --> 03:24:39.430
who have seen SCP-5126 then consume their
mattresses, including, in many cases, their

03:24:39.430 --> 03:24:44.949
pillows, any cushions, and even plush toys.
Their bodies stretch unnaturally to accommodate

03:24:44.949 --> 03:24:49.990
the meal, only to return to normal once they
have done the deed. Having returned to normal,

03:24:49.990 --> 03:24:54.819
the Student – and the others like him – remain
unaware they’ve just eaten a mattress.

03:24:54.819 --> 03:25:00.380
But the Foundation is left puzzled, there’s
still one question that hasn’t been answered.

03:25:00.380 --> 03:25:04.580
Their examination of the several hundred customers
at the Mattress Madness Megastore revealed

03:25:04.580 --> 03:25:09.370
that the consumed mattresses aren’t digested
like food ordinarily is – they vanish without

03:25:09.370 --> 03:25:15.859
a trace. So, this naturally begs the question,
where are all these eaten mattresses going?

03:25:15.859 --> 03:25:20.360
Well, the Foundation quickly comes up with
an experiment to find out…

03:25:20.360 --> 03:25:25.251
They place tracking devices inside the cell
of a member of D Class Personnel, and expose

03:25:25.251 --> 03:25:33.370
him to SCP-5126. Sure enough, the meme takes
effect, and once asleep, he eats his mattress.

03:25:33.370 --> 03:25:37.930
The experiment is going exactly as the Foundation
planned; now they can follow the signal from

03:25:37.930 --> 03:25:42.740
the tracking devices to pinpoint the destination
that all the consumed mattresses are disappearing

03:25:42.740 --> 03:25:48.390
to. And, after several sweeps of the Earth’s
surface, their satellites discover a ping,

03:25:48.390 --> 03:25:51.680
coming from a remote location in the state
of Montana.

03:25:51.680 --> 03:25:57.699
MTF Sigma 16 suit up, ready to head out to
the location. This Mobile Task Force operates

03:25:57.699 --> 03:26:02.670
under the codename ‘Slumber Party’, and
it’s up to them to investigate. They come

03:26:02.670 --> 03:26:07.410
across a large structure, it looks a lot like
a medieval castle, but it has been built out

03:26:07.410 --> 03:26:13.330
of mattresses and large cushions; it’s the
ultimate pillow fort. It even has pillars

03:26:13.330 --> 03:26:17.800
and all the fortifications you’d expect
from a real historical castle, all made out

03:26:17.800 --> 03:26:22.000
of even more pillows.
The Slumber Party team enters the fort, and

03:26:22.000 --> 03:26:26.550
quickly discovers that the structure is able
to anomalously reconstruct itself. Sigma Three

03:26:26.550 --> 03:26:31.470
kicks over a stack of pillows and plush toys
arranged to resemble a statue and watches

03:26:31.470 --> 03:26:36.640
as it reforms after collapsing. The team ventures
deeper into the pillow fort, and is quickly

03:26:36.640 --> 03:26:40.960
met with humanoid entities that are also made
out of pillows. An entity swipes a pillow

03:26:40.960 --> 03:26:46.450
arm at Sigma One, but she ducks out of the
path of the attack. Drawing her firearm, she

03:26:46.450 --> 03:26:52.000
fires, causing a plume of feathers to spray
out of the pillow person. The entity is unphased,

03:26:52.000 --> 03:26:56.130
and several additional shots do nothing; even
a taser is ineffective!

03:26:56.130 --> 03:27:02.020
The pillow entities are exhibiting extreme
resistance to damage, but Sigma Two has an

03:27:02.020 --> 03:27:06.890
idea. She grabs a pillow from one of the walls,
and uses it to bash the entity attacking her

03:27:06.890 --> 03:27:12.899
teammate, Sigma One. The pillow person collapses
into a pile on the floor, inanimate. And just

03:27:12.899 --> 03:27:18.510
like that, the Mobile Task Force has a way
to fight back. They all grab pillows, and

03:27:18.510 --> 03:27:23.030
make quick work of their attackers, before
they move on to explore the rest of the castle.

03:27:23.030 --> 03:27:29.660
Then, they encounter… the King. There is
a man, sitting atop a large stack of cushions

03:27:29.660 --> 03:27:34.891
wearing a nightcap and pyjamas, eating feathers
from an expensive brand of pillow. Scattered

03:27:34.891 --> 03:27:40.230
around him are empty pillowcases. Trying to
ignore the smell, the Slumber Party team attempts

03:27:40.230 --> 03:27:45.189
to interrogate him. He claims to be the King
of Cushion, obsessed with pillows since a

03:27:45.189 --> 03:27:50.910
young age. Their smell, taste, and texture
inspire him to create a kingdom of plush,

03:27:50.910 --> 03:27:55.479
his masterpiece of mattresses. It doesn’t
take very long for the Foundation operatives

03:27:55.479 --> 03:28:01.870
to realize that this man is insane.
They question him about how SCp-5126, the

03:28:01.870 --> 03:28:07.290
Eat Your Mattress meme, works – how is it
able to make people consume entire mattresses

03:28:07.290 --> 03:28:13.260
and send them to the King’s cushiony castle?
And why? Well, the King explains that buying

03:28:13.260 --> 03:28:17.960
mattresses is expensive, so in order to build
his castle, he’s outsourced the gathering

03:28:17.960 --> 03:28:23.020
of building materials. As he sees it, he is
offering people affected by the meme a delicious

03:28:23.020 --> 03:28:27.260
meal in exchange for their beds, spreading
the world of pillows so he can gather resources

03:28:27.260 --> 03:28:30.680
for his kingdom.
Suddenly, he challenges the Slumber Party

03:28:30.680 --> 03:28:35.319
team to a pillow fight for having tracked
him down. The king of Cushion takes up a pillow

03:28:35.319 --> 03:28:39.920
in one hand, and charges towards the Mobile
Task Force, armed and ready to do battle with

03:28:39.920 --> 03:28:46.380
them all. He is quickly incapacitated by Sigma
One’s taser and drops to the floor, defeated.

03:28:46.380 --> 03:28:53.131
Now designated SCP-5126-A, the King of Cushion
is transported back to the SCP Foundation

03:28:53.131 --> 03:28:58.570
for analysis and containment. Their testing
reveals he possesses no anomalous properties

03:28:58.570 --> 03:29:02.700
whatsoever, and the King actually requires
his stomach to be pumped thanks to the copious

03:29:02.700 --> 03:29:06.979
amounts of pillow feathers he’s been eating.
The Foundation gets to work dismantling his

03:29:06.979 --> 03:29:10.590
pillow fort, and moving all the components
into storage.

03:29:10.590 --> 03:29:14.910
And as for the Eat Your Mattress meme itself,
the Foundation’s webcrawlers are keeping

03:29:14.910 --> 03:29:19.420
an eye out for any other posts of the anomalous
image. And don’t worry, if you find yourself

03:29:19.420 --> 03:29:23.820
giggling at a funny deep fried image that
jokingly implies you should eat your mattress,

03:29:23.820 --> 03:29:27.449
the Foundation will ensure you don’t remember
it happening, and they’ll even throw in

03:29:27.449 --> 03:29:33.000
a replacement for your swallowed mattress
at no added cost – now that’s a bargain!

03:29:33.000 --> 03:29:35.399
‘Introducing Tamagotchi!

03:29:35.399 --> 03:29:39.109
Are your parents super lame and refusing to
buy you a pet?

03:29:39.109 --> 03:29:41.860
Well, eat my shorts, mom and dad!

03:29:41.860 --> 03:29:46.630
With the all-new Tamagotchi you can have the
best pet you could ever ask for. Living in

03:29:46.630 --> 03:29:48.580
the digisphere in your pocket!

03:29:48.580 --> 03:29:53.380
With three simple buttons and a chain to hang
your keyrings on, you can make your Tamagotchi

03:29:53.380 --> 03:29:58.631
your own. Care for it day and night. Watch
them sleep, play bodacious games, and make

03:29:58.631 --> 03:30:03.500
sure you keep an eye out for if they need
to go to the toilet! Peeeeyyyyeewww!

03:30:03.500 --> 03:30:09.730
Throw it in your backpack and take it to school,
just don’t let your teacher catch you…

03:30:09.730 --> 03:30:11.190
oh snap!

03:30:11.190 --> 03:30:15.699
Tamagotchis are da bomb. Bet you really wanna
go and buy one now, don’t you?’

03:30:15.699 --> 03:30:19.989
The Detective throws her bag onto the couch.
She wanted nothing more than to have thrown

03:30:19.989 --> 03:30:24.699
it off as soon as she walked through the door,
but if anything in it broke, she’d be screwed.

03:30:24.699 --> 03:30:27.949
They don’t have the money for rent at the
moment, can’t be adding additional costs

03:30:27.949 --> 03:30:28.949
onto that.

03:30:28.949 --> 03:30:33.740
Her Boyfriend barely glances up at her from
the couch. Still wearing the same blue t-shirt

03:30:33.740 --> 03:30:37.989
he’d worn to bed last night and with a packet
of Doritos next to him, it’s pretty obvious

03:30:37.989 --> 03:30:43.029
how he’s spent his day. The TV switches
to another commercial.

03:30:43.029 --> 03:30:47.311
She taps him gently on the shoulder, offering
him a warm smile. He jumps a little, seeming

03:30:47.311 --> 03:30:51.399
to come out of a little reverie. Affection
fills his eyes as soon as he sets them on

03:30:51.399 --> 03:30:56.460
her. He hastily brushes Doritos dust off his
hands and holds them up, tapping out words

03:30:56.460 --> 03:30:57.460
in sign language.

03:30:57.460 --> 03:31:00.720
‘Sorry, I zoned out. How was your day?’

03:31:00.720 --> 03:31:04.859
The Detective sinks into her usual spot on
the couch and snuggles up next to him, nuzzling

03:31:04.859 --> 03:31:11.040
her head into his neck. After a quick hug,
she untangles her hands and signs her reply.

03:31:11.040 --> 03:31:12.040
‘Long.’

03:31:12.040 --> 03:31:15.359
He kisses her on her forehead. She goes on
to tell him all about the case she’s been

03:31:15.359 --> 03:31:18.801
working on. It’s more of a hunch at this
point than a case really. There has been a

03:31:18.801 --> 03:31:23.939
big spree of shopliftings, burglaries, and
muggings over the last couple of months. A

03:31:23.939 --> 03:31:28.270
significant uptick from this time last year,
but everyone is at a loss to figure out why.

03:31:28.270 --> 03:31:32.850
She’s having to spend a lot more on gas
driving around to break-ins at the moment.

03:31:32.850 --> 03:31:36.590
Her Boyfriend watches her hands recount the
events with a tender look of concern on his

03:31:36.590 --> 03:31:37.590
face.

03:31:37.590 --> 03:31:40.899
‘Don’t worry,’ she signs. ‘I’ll
make sure they reimburse me for the gas.’

03:31:40.899 --> 03:31:46.320
He nods and seems to relax a little. She hesitates
before signing the next bit.

03:31:46.320 --> 03:31:49.750
‘Did you do any job applications today?’

03:31:49.750 --> 03:31:54.569
Her Boyfriend sighs and shakes his head, he
looks ready to be told off but instead she

03:31:54.569 --> 03:31:59.300
gives him a big cuddle. Something in him seems
to break and after a moment she can feel him

03:31:59.300 --> 03:32:03.710
shaking in her arms. Even though she can’t
hear him, the Detective knows her Boyfriend

03:32:03.710 --> 03:32:06.952
well enough to know that he is crying.

03:32:06.952 --> 03:32:10.790
She pulls away from him and makes firm reassuring
eye contact with him, before signing.

03:32:10.790 --> 03:32:14.610
‘It’s okay. We can do the next one together
if that would be easier?’

03:32:14.610 --> 03:32:19.350
And so the two of them do that. They cook
dinner together, her Boyfriend listening to

03:32:19.350 --> 03:32:23.859
the radio while she enjoys the feeling of
the bass in her chest. Then, once everything

03:32:23.859 --> 03:32:28.069
is washed up and the apartment is dark and
cozy, they sit down at their kitchen table

03:32:28.069 --> 03:32:29.739
and hand write a cover letter.

03:32:29.739 --> 03:32:33.970
They would have typed it up on their Macintosh
but they’d sold that and their printer a

03:32:33.970 --> 03:32:38.479
few months ago to cover their utility bills.
But handwriting is okay too.

03:32:38.479 --> 03:32:43.390
Her Boyfriend had been working at Dell when
they met. 1993, the height of the Dot Com

03:32:43.390 --> 03:32:47.410
boom when any kid with a math degree and a
keyboard could shoot up the ladders in tech

03:32:47.410 --> 03:32:48.910
giants across the country.

03:32:48.910 --> 03:32:54.790
Two years later, that bubble burst, and he’d
lost his job. Fiercely smart and incredibly

03:32:54.790 --> 03:32:59.321
kind, her boyfriend hadn’t been able to
find work for around 13 months now. Every

03:32:59.321 --> 03:33:04.250
day the Detective’s heart broke a little
more to see how low his confidence was dipping.

03:33:04.250 --> 03:33:08.300
He was an amazing person, by far the most
exceptional guy she’d ever met and ever

03:33:08.300 --> 03:33:13.460
would meet, and yet the constant rejection
letters, failed interviews, and lack of options

03:33:13.460 --> 03:33:17.970
had steadily worn him down to a delicate and
exhausted ghost of himself.

03:33:17.970 --> 03:33:21.850
But that only makes her want to love and support
him even more.

03:33:21.850 --> 03:33:25.610
He scrawls a signature at the bottom of the
cover letter, and they carefully fold it,

03:33:25.610 --> 03:33:29.770
along with his resume, and slide them both
into an envelope. She cuddles him from behind

03:33:29.770 --> 03:33:33.290
and gives him a gross wet kiss on his cheek,
enough to make him giggle.

03:33:33.290 --> 03:33:38.490
There. At least he’s got one happy moment
from today. He turns to her and grins, raising

03:33:38.490 --> 03:33:39.800
his hands to talk to her.

03:33:39.800 --> 03:33:42.069
‘I might buy a Tamagotchi.’

03:33:42.069 --> 03:33:43.090
‘A what?’

03:33:43.090 --> 03:33:47.930
‘The commercial on TV. It was playing when
you got home. I really want one, can I buy

03:33:47.930 --> 03:33:48.930
one?’

03:33:48.930 --> 03:33:53.170
A little twinge pulls at her heart. She really
ought to say no. Money is so tight at the

03:33:53.170 --> 03:33:58.500
moment with them both relying on her income,
and it’s hard to… ah what is she saying?

03:33:58.500 --> 03:34:02.180
He’s clearly going through a lot right now,
and maybe something fun would be good for

03:34:02.180 --> 03:34:07.420
him. Even if it does just look like some silly
kids toy from Japan. She raises her hands.

03:34:07.420 --> 03:34:08.890
‘Of course, you can.’

03:34:08.890 --> 03:34:12.800
And the pair of them go back over to the TV
and flick it on.

03:34:12.800 --> 03:34:13.800
*

03:34:13.800 --> 03:34:17.370
The next day is a bit of a blur. It’s the
Detective’s first day on yet another shoplifting:

03:34:17.370 --> 03:34:22.460
her first foray into fashion. Pairs of Air
Jordans on display had been stolen, smashed

03:34:22.460 --> 03:34:27.149
glass everywhere, but the thieves had left
all the cash in the register. A couple other

03:34:27.149 --> 03:34:32.790
items were missing too, all very hip stuff.
Tie-dye shirts, jnco jeans, a lot of camouflage,

03:34:32.790 --> 03:34:37.979
that kind of thing. Stuff that’s on TV and
the radio all the time at the moment.

03:34:37.979 --> 03:34:42.460
By the time the Detective gets out, she’s
only got 10 minutes to rush to Toys R Us before

03:34:42.460 --> 03:34:47.649
it closes. Thankfully, the Tamagotchi display
is right by the front entrance. Almost totally

03:34:47.649 --> 03:34:52.479
sold out, but with one lone box left, she
snatches it up and cheerfully takes it to

03:34:52.479 --> 03:34:54.200
the cash register.

03:34:54.200 --> 03:34:57.859
As she walks out of the store and looks down
at the box in her hands, she can’t help

03:34:57.859 --> 03:35:02.829
but wonder, why the hell would her boyfriend
want to play with a little children’s toy?

03:35:02.829 --> 03:35:03.829
*

03:35:03.829 --> 03:35:07.550
As soon as the Detective opens the door to
her apartment, she is struck by a change.

03:35:07.550 --> 03:35:11.740
Instead of sitting on the couch watching TV,
her boyfriend is in the kitchen, radio belting

03:35:11.740 --> 03:35:16.460
out at full volume. Her heart flutters. Could
it be…? Has he heard back from one of his

03:35:16.460 --> 03:35:17.460
jobs?

03:35:17.460 --> 03:35:21.270
He sticks a head out from around the kitchen
door and grins at her, beckoning her inside.

03:35:21.270 --> 03:35:24.910
She grins back, quickly hiding the Toys R
Us bag behind her back.

03:35:24.910 --> 03:35:30.400
It smells amazing in here. Onions and garlic,
oregano, rich tomatoes, a hint of wine in

03:35:30.400 --> 03:35:34.680
the sauce, he’s really gone all out making
her favorite chili for dinner tonight. He

03:35:34.680 --> 03:35:39.660
waves her over to the pan and motions for
her to take a deep smell. She does, enjoying

03:35:39.660 --> 03:35:44.010
all of the aromas filling the air. There’s
something smoky in there too, a new smell

03:35:44.010 --> 03:35:47.430
she doesn’t recognize. She turns to her
Boyfriend quizzically.

03:35:47.430 --> 03:35:51.689
He grins and explains to her in sign language
that it’s charred peppers, held over the

03:35:51.689 --> 03:35:56.109
flames on the hob just long enough to blacken
and then thrown into the food processor to…

03:35:56.109 --> 03:36:00.279
‘Hang on,’ she interrupts him. ‘We don’t
have a food processor.’

03:36:00.279 --> 03:36:05.110
Her Boyfriend grins proudly and steps to one
side to reveal a brand new shining food processor

03:36:05.110 --> 03:36:09.450
sitting proudly on their countertop. He explains
to her that he bought it that day. It has

03:36:09.450 --> 03:36:13.529
ten speed settings, multiple blades you can
switch out, a miniature container for spice

03:36:13.529 --> 03:36:14.660
blends and…

03:36:14.660 --> 03:36:17.949
She stops him again. How much did this cost?

03:36:17.949 --> 03:36:23.120
He looks sheepish. A wave of realization crosses
his eyes, and he looks back at it guiltily.

03:36:23.120 --> 03:36:29.359
‘I just really wanted it,’ he signs. ‘Thought
it would make a nice romantic dinner for us.’

03:36:29.359 --> 03:36:33.163
The Detective softens. Of course, he was just
trying to make the effort for her. It wasn’t

03:36:33.163 --> 03:36:38.319
fair of her to tell him off for doing that.
Opening the Toys R Us bag she pulls out the

03:36:38.319 --> 03:36:42.529
Tamagotchi and holds it out to him. Compared
to this expensive food processor, her gift

03:36:42.529 --> 03:36:47.189
looks pretty insignificant, but her Boyfriend’s
face lights up straight away.

03:36:47.189 --> 03:36:51.029
He grabs it off her and rips the toy out of
the packaging in a frenzy. His eyes shine

03:36:51.029 --> 03:36:56.359
and dance around as he hatches his first Tamagotchi.
He looks like a child on Christmas day. She

03:36:56.359 --> 03:36:59.890
can’t help but join in laughing with him,
as they go to sit on the couch and watch some

03:36:59.890 --> 03:37:01.580
TV together.

03:37:01.580 --> 03:37:06.649
But the next day, when the Detective gets
home, she notices a hole in their wall. A

03:37:06.649 --> 03:37:11.150
literal hole. Their landline is missing. Her
Boyfriend’s face pops out from around the

03:37:11.150 --> 03:37:16.069
corner, just as it did the previous day, with
that same grin. Only this time, he’s brandishing

03:37:16.069 --> 03:37:20.609
a brand new cell phone in his outstretched
arm. It’s tiny, about the size of a brick,

03:37:20.609 --> 03:37:25.670
with the name Nokia emblazoned across the
top. That can’t have been cheap.

03:37:25.670 --> 03:37:29.960
This time she doesn’t share in his excitement.
Indeed the next day, she can’t even muster

03:37:29.960 --> 03:37:34.229
up a smile when he proudly demonstrates the
alarm on his new G-Shock, laced up his new

03:37:34.229 --> 03:37:39.320
Jordan’s, and started excitedly flipping
through his box set of R. L. Stine books.

03:37:39.320 --> 03:37:40.320
That is enough.

03:37:40.320 --> 03:37:44.380
She can’t deal with this anymore. She’s
been struggling so hard to make ends meet.

03:37:44.380 --> 03:37:47.930
Meanwhile, he is throwing away hundreds of
dollars on products he had never mentioned

03:37:47.930 --> 03:37:53.110
before. She snaps. It can be very frustrating
being mute because you can’t shout to let

03:37:53.110 --> 03:37:54.311
your anger out.

03:37:54.311 --> 03:37:58.220
All that energy instead goes into her sign
language, her hands swinging and slapping

03:37:58.220 --> 03:38:02.069
into each other as her face contorts. What
is wrong with him? Why is he being like this?

03:38:02.069 --> 03:38:05.680
She’s doing everything she can to keep a
roof over their heads while he’s just throwing

03:38:05.680 --> 03:38:09.420
all of her money down the drain? How could
he be so cruel?

03:38:09.420 --> 03:38:14.529
The more she rants, the more guilty her Boyfriend’s
face becomes. Tears fill his eyes, his bottom

03:38:14.529 --> 03:38:20.090
lip starts to tremble, and before long, he
is bawling in front of her. Can’t keep going,

03:38:20.090 --> 03:38:25.220
not seeing him like this. Her hands fall limply
to her sides. After a moment, he raises a

03:38:25.220 --> 03:38:28.819
sniffling face to her and signs something
simple back.

03:38:28.819 --> 03:38:34.170
‘It’s the TV. The commercials, they’re
just too persuasive.’

03:38:34.170 --> 03:38:38.271
She snorts a laugh. That’s it. If he’s
not going to give her a serious answer, she’s

03:38:38.271 --> 03:38:42.750
not going to have a serious conversation.
She storms off up to bed, leaving him alone

03:38:42.750 --> 03:38:46.090
downstairs. He switches the TV off.

03:38:46.090 --> 03:38:51.250
That next day, she wakes up to breakfast in
bed, but no sign of her Boyfriend. She doesn’t

03:38:51.250 --> 03:38:55.490
touch any of it, getting a coffee and croissant
on her way into work instead from this up-and-coming

03:38:55.490 --> 03:38:57.860
coffee place called Starbucks.

03:38:57.860 --> 03:39:01.239
Today is a chance for her to take her mind
off things. She’s at a crime scene, in a

03:39:01.239 --> 03:39:05.279
poor neighborhood. The previous night the
man who lived there had been sitting downstairs

03:39:05.279 --> 03:39:09.859
with his blinds open out to the street. He’d
noticed a suspicious figure walking past who’d

03:39:09.859 --> 03:39:11.880
peered in through the glass.

03:39:11.880 --> 03:39:15.380
Before he knew what was happening, a brick
crashed through his window, and the burglar

03:39:15.380 --> 03:39:19.489
was in his home, running from room to room,
ransacking the place and trying to make off

03:39:19.489 --> 03:39:23.910
with different items from the house. The homeowner
had run to his gun safe and shot the burglar

03:39:23.910 --> 03:39:25.630
in the back four times.

03:39:25.630 --> 03:39:30.439
This crime scene investigation was mostly
a formality, but as the Detective arrived,

03:39:30.439 --> 03:39:34.399
one of the officers came over to her. He didn’t
know sign language, so the pair of them wrote

03:39:34.399 --> 03:39:38.310
down their conversation on her Detective’s
notepad - yes, she carries a notepad, some

03:39:38.310 --> 03:39:39.979
stereotypes are true!

03:39:39.979 --> 03:39:44.040
The officer has a hunch and a good one. The
burglar broke into the house, knowing full

03:39:44.040 --> 03:39:49.130
well the homeowner was watching him, a highly
risky thing to do. But what was most peculiar

03:39:49.130 --> 03:39:53.240
was the list of items that the burglar had
been trying to steal. The officer shows her

03:39:53.240 --> 03:39:55.540
the list and her jaw drops.

03:39:55.540 --> 03:39:58.069
G-Shock watch
Food processor

03:39:58.069 --> 03:40:00.890
Nike Air Jordans
R. L. Stine books

03:40:00.890 --> 03:40:01.890
A Tamagotchi

03:40:01.890 --> 03:40:06.989
An officer across the room remarks that these
are all really high-demand items at the moment.

03:40:06.989 --> 03:40:11.180
His own wife and kids have been pleading for
some of these for weeks. The crime scene photographer

03:40:11.180 --> 03:40:15.580
agrees. It all gets written on the notepad
so that the Detective can follow the conversation.

03:40:15.580 --> 03:40:18.819
‘What was this man’s employment status?’
she asks.

03:40:18.819 --> 03:40:19.920
‘Unemployed.’

03:40:19.920 --> 03:40:23.920
She looks around the room. There’s not much
in the way of furniture here. Just a couch

03:40:23.920 --> 03:40:26.279
pointing at a big TV…

03:40:26.279 --> 03:40:30.180
The Detective drives home right away, to the
surprise of her Boyfriend. He gets up from

03:40:30.180 --> 03:40:34.310
the couch and comes to see her right away.
He’s dressed much better, a white shirt

03:40:34.310 --> 03:40:37.620
on. He’s tidied the house. The TV is off.

03:40:37.620 --> 03:40:42.500
He goes to start apologizing as soon as she
walks in, but she brushes it aside, signing

03:40:42.500 --> 03:40:43.570
urgently to him.

03:40:43.570 --> 03:40:47.061
‘I need you to tell me everything about
what you’ve been watching on TV.’

03:40:47.061 --> 03:40:52.100
Confused, he runs through his list of regular
shows that he’s been watching. Buffy, Quantum

03:40:52.100 --> 03:40:55.910
Leap, The Fresh Prince, Friends, of course.
She shushes him.

03:40:55.910 --> 03:40:59.270
‘What about commercials? All the things
you’ve bought recently, talk to me about

03:40:59.270 --> 03:41:00.270
those commercials.’

03:41:00.270 --> 03:41:05.050
He looks stumped. They’re just normal TV
commercials. Nothing special or exciting.

03:41:05.050 --> 03:41:06.600
They’re all different. Different actors,
messages, companies. It clicks in the Detective’s

03:41:06.600 --> 03:41:07.890
head. That’s it!

03:41:07.890 --> 03:41:10.850
‘What about the voice over?’

03:41:10.850 --> 03:41:19.750
‘I don’t know. It’s a man I think. Yeah,
it might be the same man. You know what, I

03:41:19.750 --> 03:41:21.910
think it is. It’s the same voice each time.’

03:41:21.910 --> 03:41:24.020
‘And he only does those commercials?’

03:41:24.020 --> 03:41:27.750
Her Boyfriend thinks hard for a second. He
nods.

03:41:27.750 --> 03:41:32.620
It takes a long time for the police to mobilize.
As usual. The Detective takes her findings

03:41:32.620 --> 03:41:36.649
to the Commissioner at her first opportunity
but he looks pretty non-plussed. This spate

03:41:36.649 --> 03:41:42.069
of burglaries and muggings, all because of
some persuasive voice over actor? Really?

03:41:42.069 --> 03:41:46.380
Everyone wants a Tamagotchi, everyone wants
a pair of Jordans. These are just passing

03:41:46.380 --> 03:41:48.319
fads, that’s all there is to it.

03:41:48.319 --> 03:41:52.880
So she does it herself. The Detective visits
all of the advertising agencies that ran the

03:41:52.880 --> 03:41:56.560
local versions of the commercials she has
listed and finds the details for the voice

03:41:56.560 --> 03:42:01.439
actor on her third try. He’s in the same
state but another city. But by the time she

03:42:01.439 --> 03:42:05.870
gets an afternoon to drive out and pay him
a visit it’s too late.

03:42:05.870 --> 03:42:10.181
The apartment she visits is empty. After banging
on the door for several minutes, a neighbor

03:42:10.181 --> 03:42:14.161
sticks their head out of a window and yells
something at her. The Detective can’t understand

03:42:14.161 --> 03:42:17.900
however, so the woman comes downstairs and
writes a grumpy note.

03:42:17.900 --> 03:42:20.880
‘He’s dead. Yacht accident or something.’

03:42:20.880 --> 03:42:23.090
Only she can’t spell yacht properly.

03:42:23.090 --> 03:42:24.090
*

03:42:24.090 --> 03:42:28.170
The Detective pushes open her apartment door
dejectedly. All that effort, all that chasing

03:42:28.170 --> 03:42:32.711
for nothing. It wasn’t so much about trying
to solve the burglaries. Those were just things

03:42:32.711 --> 03:42:37.069
being taken. It was about understanding what
had happened to the love of her life. Her

03:42:37.069 --> 03:42:42.000
kind caring Boyfriend, the man who’d brought
her so much joy, who had always been so considerate

03:42:42.000 --> 03:42:47.021
and gentle with her, suddenly going on a spending
spree and almost bankrupting her? It just

03:42:47.021 --> 03:42:51.939
hurt too much and now coming back to her apartment
and having to face up to that tense relationship

03:42:51.939 --> 03:42:53.939
just felt…

03:42:53.939 --> 03:42:57.630
Arms wrap around her and hold her tight. Her
Boyfriend’s hand brushes the back of her

03:42:57.630 --> 03:43:02.420
hair, and the smell of his cologne fills her
nose. After a moment, her arms wrap around

03:43:02.420 --> 03:43:06.890
him. After another moment, they both start
to cry together.

03:43:06.890 --> 03:43:10.279
He leads her into the kitchen where he’s
cooked her favorite chili again, only without

03:43:10.279 --> 03:43:15.680
the smoky smell. She looks around the kitchen.
The food processor is gone. He pulls away

03:43:15.680 --> 03:43:19.859
from her and explains that everything is gone.
All of his bad purchases he’d made have

03:43:19.859 --> 03:43:24.010
been returned, he hands her the cash for them
in full. He still wants those items - he wants

03:43:24.010 --> 03:43:26.109
them more than anything else - he explains.

03:43:26.109 --> 03:43:28.380
But more than any of those things, he wants
her.

03:43:28.380 --> 03:43:35.830
The TV is gone too. So as they sit down that
evening together, they just enjoy doing nothing

03:43:35.830 --> 03:43:40.239
together for a bit, catching each other’s
eyes over dinner and smiling uncontrollably

03:43:40.239 --> 03:43:43.760
before getting out a sheet of paper and writing
another job application.

03:43:43.760 --> 03:43:49.109
There’s something about this application,
the Detective thinks. This one could just

03:43:49.109 --> 03:43:50.909
be the one.

03:43:50.909 --> 03:43:54.580
Ask anyone about the 90s, and they’ll have
more fads to tell you about than historical

03:43:54.580 --> 03:44:00.070
events. Furbies, Beanie Babies, Gel Pens,
Napster, the list goes on. But for residents

03:44:00.070 --> 03:44:06.479
in a certain part of the USA, some of these
trends seemed to be a touch more… obsessive.

03:44:06.479 --> 03:44:13.979
And that is all down to the actions - or rather,
the voice - of one man. SCP-661, the world’s

03:44:13.979 --> 03:44:14.979
best salesman.

03:44:14.979 --> 03:44:20.950
We didn’t get to meet SCP-661 today so allow
me to introduce him to you. The salesman is

03:44:20.950 --> 03:44:25.510
a middle-aged caucasian male. He is somewhat
overweight, but with no major health issues

03:44:25.510 --> 03:44:28.870
aside from what is typical for someone of
his age and size.

03:44:28.870 --> 03:44:34.580
If you were to have a conversation with SCP-661,
and I advise you not to, you would find him

03:44:34.580 --> 03:44:40.550
rude, abrasive, and tiresome. He has a short
temper and makes regular demands. You would

03:44:40.550 --> 03:44:45.180
quickly find that he is very much used to
having his own way, and for good reason. For

03:44:45.180 --> 03:44:50.510
you see, this salesman is persuasive. Very
persuasive.

03:44:50.510 --> 03:44:54.680
Foundation testing has found that this SCP
is capable of extreme manipulation, verbally

03:44:54.680 --> 03:44:58.990
persuading you to want what he tells you to
want virtually instantaneously. It sounds

03:44:58.990 --> 03:45:03.630
dramatic in those words, but the effect is
far more subtle than you may realize, which

03:45:03.630 --> 03:45:08.630
is the reason why he was able to operate for
a while before being discovered by the Foundation.

03:45:08.630 --> 03:45:13.659
Test subjects report the effects of his persuasion
as feeling like a continuous low-level compulsion

03:45:13.659 --> 03:45:18.520
- a desire bubbling away underneath the surface
- until they encounter an opportunity to act

03:45:18.520 --> 03:45:24.250
on it. At this point, it becomes an all-consuming
obsession, not satiated until you have fulfilled

03:45:24.250 --> 03:45:25.620
the urge.

03:45:25.620 --> 03:45:29.540
The effect is strongest with physical objects,
which is likely why this salesman enjoyed

03:45:29.540 --> 03:45:34.660
so much success providing voiceovers for local
marketing campaigns. Any product that he was

03:45:34.660 --> 03:45:38.300
selling would fly off the shelves anywhere
where the commercials featuring his voice

03:45:38.300 --> 03:45:43.710
were aired. Perhaps those crazes in the 90s
weren’t so innocent after all.

03:45:43.710 --> 03:45:47.739
Testing on the salesman has proved enlightening.
D-class personnel was ordered to physically

03:45:47.739 --> 03:45:52.160
assault him, but he was able to stop the attack
almost immediately by simply explaining to

03:45:52.160 --> 03:45:56.279
them that they didn’t want to hurt him.
However, test subjects who were threatened

03:45:56.279 --> 03:46:00.229
with execution if they stopped attacking him
were able to continue to beat the salesman

03:46:00.229 --> 03:46:04.569
up for several minutes before the researchers
decided he’d had enough. Though, notably,

03:46:04.569 --> 03:46:08.779
they made it abundantly clear the entire way
through the assault that they didn’t really

03:46:08.779 --> 03:46:10.250
want to hurt him.

03:46:10.250 --> 03:46:14.779
SCP-661 naturally poses some level of threat
to the general public as his ‘abilities’

03:46:14.779 --> 03:46:19.520
could easily be used for far more nefarious
purposes than selling a few more Troll Dolls,

03:46:19.520 --> 03:46:24.830
and so guards have permission to terminate
him in the event of his escape. That seems…

03:46:24.830 --> 03:46:26.030
unlikely.

03:46:26.030 --> 03:46:32.000
SCP-661 is held in a standard holding cell
measuring 6m x 8m. Any researchers interacting

03:46:32.000 --> 03:46:36.330
with him must wear noise-canceling ear protection
at all times, unless they are deemed to be

03:46:36.330 --> 03:46:38.950
totally deaf by SCP medical staff.

03:46:38.950 --> 03:46:43.350
Incidentally, it was the work of the Detective
you heard about today that drew the Foundation’s

03:46:43.350 --> 03:46:48.920
attention to SCP-661. Unaffected by his commercial
work, she was in the perfect position to connect

03:46:48.920 --> 03:46:53.520
the dots and uncover his existence. With operatives
through law enforcement, the Foundation was

03:46:53.520 --> 03:46:58.819
quick to catch onto her theory and apprehend
him before word traveled too far. That ‘yacht

03:46:58.819 --> 03:47:03.170
accident’ story was enough to keep the public
from ever discovering his existence.

03:47:03.170 --> 03:47:07.439
That said, you should still be careful out
there. Who knows if another instance of this

03:47:07.439 --> 03:47:12.420
SCP exists somewhere? Have you ever seen a
commercial too tempting to ignore? Watched

03:47:12.420 --> 03:47:19.699
a YouTube ad that you decided not to skip?
No? Me neither. But still, be careful!

03:47:19.699 --> 03:47:23.930
Seeing that shadowy figure coming towards
him makes the Worker turn and run. He hasn’t

03:47:23.930 --> 03:47:27.890
had the time, nor the luxury of freezing on
the spot, or waiting for it to get closer

03:47:27.890 --> 03:47:31.580
so he could get a clearer view. He just runs.

03:47:31.580 --> 03:47:35.649
With every pace, every hurried, horrified
step, comes the mental image of the strange

03:47:35.649 --> 03:47:40.760
figure gaining on him. In his head, every
movement he catches in the corner of his eye,

03:47:40.760 --> 03:47:46.330
every shuffling sound he detects, the… thing
was right behind him, inches away and ready

03:47:46.330 --> 03:47:49.990
to strike. So, he just keeps on running.

03:47:49.990 --> 03:47:54.279
Only seconds ago, it was just standing under
a streetlight. A ways ahead of the Worker,

03:47:54.279 --> 03:47:58.620
barely moving. He calls out to it, assuming
it’s a person, somebody maybe lost or in

03:47:58.620 --> 03:48:04.540
need of help. But then, it steps into the
light. And it’s not a person at all. The

03:48:04.540 --> 03:48:08.810
head of the suit isn’t on properly, it droops
at an angle, like it hasn’t been affixed…

03:48:08.810 --> 03:48:14.569
or is barely hanging on. The crude, lazy-eyed
face is haphazardly drooping; that, too, isn’t

03:48:14.569 --> 03:48:19.150
on right, as the entire head sways unnervingly
with each approaching step.

03:48:19.150 --> 03:48:23.279
Maybe underneath the suit, hiding beneath
all that dirty orange fir, still coated in

03:48:23.279 --> 03:48:28.390
grime despite the rain. Perhaps there is a
person in there, whose arm hefts an old baseball

03:48:28.390 --> 03:48:35.010
bat as they plod closer and closer to the
Worker. But all he sees is the monster. The

03:48:35.010 --> 03:48:39.819
filthy costume might be clumsily made, but
the Worker instantly recognizes the all-too-familiar

03:48:39.819 --> 03:48:44.529
resemblance of an orange cat from a popular
comic strip. It’s what starts him running…

03:48:44.529 --> 03:48:49.990
that and the blunt weapon the monster is holding
as it menacingly makes its way closer.

03:48:49.990 --> 03:48:53.699
The downpour doesn’t let up as the Worker
turns a corner, met with the sights of two

03:48:53.699 --> 03:48:57.520
bright, blinding white beams of light cutting
through the rain. A car, speeding its way

03:48:57.520 --> 03:49:01.489
down the road. It catches the Worker in its
headlights, and he starts frantically waving

03:49:01.489 --> 03:49:04.470
his arms, encased in the sodden fabric of
his jacket.

03:49:04.470 --> 03:49:09.439
“Help! Oh, please! Please help me!” he
yells. “Something’s coming after me! I

03:49:09.439 --> 03:49:11.300
think it’s trying to kill me!”

03:49:11.300 --> 03:49:16.050
The driver doesn’t stop, instead simply
cruising past. The worker can just about see,

03:49:16.050 --> 03:49:20.090
through the passenger side window, the vehicle’s
sole occupant giving him a strange look from

03:49:20.090 --> 03:49:25.550
inside the safety of his car. Almost as quickly
as it appears, the car has driven off, its

03:49:25.550 --> 03:49:29.900
headlights already fading from view thanks
to the rain. What the Worker doesn’t realize

03:49:29.900 --> 03:49:34.830
is that the driver’s look of confusion wasn’t
directed at him… but at the thing following

03:49:34.830 --> 03:49:35.830
him.

03:49:35.830 --> 03:49:40.170
The creature gives a low, animalistic sound,
which causes the Worker to spin around. Now

03:49:40.170 --> 03:49:45.390
he sees it, right up close in all its foul,
ginger glory. A tail dangles lazily from the

03:49:45.390 --> 03:49:49.720
lower portion of the suit, trailing in puddles
laden with muck, the water making the fur

03:49:49.720 --> 03:49:55.280
even dirtier than it already is. It’s so
close that the awful, pungent stench of the

03:49:55.280 --> 03:50:00.840
thing hits the Worker’s nostrils, a sickening
smell that somehow seems to fit with the grim,

03:50:00.840 --> 03:50:02.970
gross costume and its wearer.

03:50:02.970 --> 03:50:07.640
Seeing the wet, fur-coated suit so close,
he realizes that it isn’t covered in the

03:50:07.640 --> 03:50:11.859
soft, plush synthetic coat that he expects
a costume like that to be made of. It looks

03:50:11.859 --> 03:50:18.511
real, like actual cat hair, on a huge, humanoid
shape, with the legs and arms of a man. Arms

03:50:18.511 --> 03:50:22.830
that were midway through swinging a baseball
bat right at the Worker’s head.

03:50:22.830 --> 03:50:27.370
He ducks just in time, the dull, wooden bat
glancing off the bricks of a nearby building,

03:50:27.370 --> 03:50:31.410
narrowly missing the Worker’s head. As it
bounces off the wall, the blunt weapon slips

03:50:31.410 --> 03:50:36.250
from the soggy gloves of the suit and clatters
to the ground. The second he hears the wooden

03:50:36.250 --> 03:50:40.489
bat land on the floor, the Worker turns his
heel and runs again, taking advantage of those

03:50:40.489 --> 03:50:44.760
precious few seconds to get further distance
between him and his attacker. It’s only

03:50:44.760 --> 03:50:48.560
exactly as he turns his back that he wishes
he’d reached for the bat himself to fight

03:50:48.560 --> 03:50:49.859
back.

03:50:49.859 --> 03:50:53.840
Rushing further down the rainswept street,
the Worker can hear the heavy, slumping footsteps

03:50:53.840 --> 03:50:58.160
of the suited attacker giving chase. He alternates
between looking straight ahead, the raindrops

03:50:58.160 --> 03:51:02.980
streaming down his face and getting into his
eyes, and daring to glance back over his shoulder.

03:51:02.980 --> 03:51:07.030
Every time he does, he’s met again with
the horrifying sight of the suit behind him.

03:51:07.030 --> 03:51:11.060
He wants nothing more than to escape, to get
out of this nightmare wherein he is soaked

03:51:11.060 --> 03:51:15.600
head to toe in rainwater and fear, running
for his life from someone dressed as the comic

03:51:15.600 --> 03:51:17.649
strip cat he sees every day.

03:51:17.649 --> 03:51:21.880
But as strong as his will to escape is, he
can’t bear to let the fur-suited pursuer

03:51:21.880 --> 03:51:26.540
out of his sight for even a second. If he
can’t see it, then it might be anywhere.

03:51:26.540 --> 03:51:29.939
At least looking told him that it was still
right behind him, bearing down on the Worker

03:51:29.939 --> 03:51:34.750
with its bat now firmly back in hand. The
shrill noise of chainlinks rattling sounds

03:51:34.750 --> 03:51:39.029
behind him, as the attacker in the suit starts
striking a nearby fence, making the Worker

03:51:39.029 --> 03:51:42.620
more and more aware that, with every strike,
it’s getting closer…

03:51:42.620 --> 03:51:46.790
Through the relentless downpour, the Worker
spots a shape standing on the sidewalk, just

03:51:46.790 --> 03:51:51.760
a few feet ahead. Short, stationary, something
he sees every day of his life but never pays

03:51:51.760 --> 03:51:56.880
any notice to. But tonight, it might just
be the thing that saves his life: a trash

03:51:56.880 --> 03:52:02.260
can. It’s full, and that means heavy, and
any second now, he’ll be close enough to

03:52:02.260 --> 03:52:03.260
reach it.

03:52:03.260 --> 03:52:08.189
A plan forms in seconds, erupting like a fire
with gasoline thrown on it - if that gasoline

03:52:08.189 --> 03:52:13.570
was pure, terrified adrenaline of being chased
by someone in an orange cat costume. Reaching

03:52:13.570 --> 03:52:17.779
out, as soon as his fingertips grip the wet
metal rim of the can, the Worker pulls as

03:52:17.779 --> 03:52:22.710
hard as possible, his instincts keeping him
from stopping running. The trash can clatters

03:52:22.710 --> 03:52:27.069
behind him as he passes, followed by the heavy
thud of the attacker falling to the ground

03:52:27.069 --> 03:52:31.740
as it trips over the obstacle and lands furry
head first in the garbage now strewn over

03:52:31.740 --> 03:52:32.950
the sidewalk.

03:52:32.950 --> 03:52:36.620
The Worker knows he’s only got another short
window, another blessing of a precious few

03:52:36.620 --> 03:52:41.390
seconds to get far enough away from his attacker.
He turns, changing course to rush across the

03:52:41.390 --> 03:52:44.890
street; there’s an old warehouse over there.
If there are security guards working, they

03:52:44.890 --> 03:52:49.310
might be able to help. If not, and the place
is unguarded, then at least it could be somewhere

03:52:49.310 --> 03:52:53.710
to hide. A sudden, blaring noise pierces the
Worker’s eardrums before he can make it

03:52:53.710 --> 03:52:57.729
all the way to the opposite sidewalk. It’s
a horn, coupled with a bright pair of lights

03:52:57.729 --> 03:53:02.069
appearing as if from nowhere. Then, before
he can turn to see it coming…

03:53:02.069 --> 03:53:03.109
Impact.

03:53:03.109 --> 03:53:07.109
First, against the hood of the car, speeding
through the rain towards him, unable to stop

03:53:07.109 --> 03:53:11.720
in enough time. Next, the pain of hitting
the jagged blacktop of the road, the second

03:53:11.720 --> 03:53:16.290
impact as the Worker lands a few feet away,
spots of rain still pattering against his

03:53:16.290 --> 03:53:20.590
face as everything goes from dark to pitch
black for a few seconds.

03:53:20.590 --> 03:53:24.649
His head floods with scenes from earlier that
day, as if his life was about to start flashing

03:53:24.649 --> 03:53:29.340
before his eyes - only in reverse. The news
of the comic strip doing poorly arrives at

03:53:29.340 --> 03:53:33.521
the Paws Inc office, and with it, the knowledge
that - if there are going to be layoffs - then

03:53:33.521 --> 03:53:38.260
he’ll be first. He’s the new hire, after
all. It didn’t matter that the once-beloved

03:53:38.260 --> 03:53:43.229
comic of a cartoon cat is losing its popularity,
going stale after so many years in print.

03:53:43.229 --> 03:53:47.110
It upset the investors, and the Worker has
been worrying all day if he’d be the one

03:53:47.110 --> 03:53:49.130
fired to appease them.

03:53:49.130 --> 03:53:52.100
Until he suddenly remembers what’s coming
after him.

03:53:52.100 --> 03:53:55.960
Fighting back and clawing his way back to
consciousness, he struggles back to his feet,

03:53:55.960 --> 03:53:59.859
screaming with pain. He’s injured, that
much he can certainly tell, even if he doesn’t

03:53:59.859 --> 03:54:01.040
know how badly.

03:54:01.040 --> 03:54:04.960
“Hey, hey, mister!” the driver calls,
stopping his car and starting to climb out

03:54:04.960 --> 03:54:09.029
of the vehicle. It’s a different driver
and car this time, and unlike the first, he

03:54:09.029 --> 03:54:13.409
makes the effort to stop… a mistake that
is about to cost him greatly.

03:54:13.409 --> 03:54:17.380
He sees the Worker getting back up, ignoring
his calls. He raises his voice to cut through

03:54:17.380 --> 03:54:18.880
the noise of the pouring rain.

03:54:18.880 --> 03:54:23.770
“Hey! Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t
see you! My lights were on low, wipers were

03:54:23.770 --> 03:54:27.340
going, it wasn’t until you rushed out across
the street that… Anyway, look, let me at

03:54:27.340 --> 03:54:31.149
least get you to a hospital! We can exchange
our insurance information once they get you

03:54:31.149 --> 03:54:32.229
all patched up!”

03:54:32.229 --> 03:54:36.220
The Worker wasn’t listening. He hears the
driver’s words but pays him no mind; he’s

03:54:36.220 --> 03:54:41.170
still so intent on getting away that it takes
him a second to realize. The car. It’s a

03:54:41.170 --> 03:54:47.810
way out. And then, the Worker makes the same
mistake as the driver… he stops. And when

03:54:47.810 --> 03:54:52.600
he does, he sees what has clambered back to
its fur-coated feet and is now shuffling towards

03:54:52.600 --> 03:54:53.600
the driver.

03:54:53.600 --> 03:54:55.510
“Look out!” the Worker yells.

03:54:55.510 --> 03:54:57.850
The driver turns, just in time to see.

03:54:57.850 --> 03:55:02.340
“What in the hell?” he exclaims. “Wait
a minute, why are you dressed in a Garfield

03:55:02.340 --> 03:55:03.340
costume?”

03:55:03.340 --> 03:55:04.340
Whack.

03:55:04.340 --> 03:55:08.420
The sound of the bat being swung at the driver
makes the Worker feel sick. He turns his back

03:55:08.420 --> 03:55:12.450
and moves as quickly as he can towards the
warehouse, despite the pain and the horrified

03:55:12.450 --> 03:55:17.970
screams coming from behind. Beneath the rain,
there’s something else; a twisted, vile

03:55:17.970 --> 03:55:22.550
squelching noise that quickly snuffs out the
driver’s dying cries. The Worker doesn’t

03:55:22.550 --> 03:55:26.479
dare to look back this time. He doesn’t
want to see what’s happening.

03:55:26.479 --> 03:55:29.989
Lifting a heavy metal shutter, and pulling
it shut behind him, he finds himself in the

03:55:29.989 --> 03:55:34.080
warehouse. It’s completely deserted. There
isn’t a single sign of any life anywhere.

03:55:34.080 --> 03:55:37.970
The only sound is the pattering of rainwater
against the hard concrete floor, dripping

03:55:37.970 --> 03:55:42.260
through a hole in the ceiling. Guided by the
low, glowing light of the streetlamps outside

03:55:42.260 --> 03:55:46.050
that bleeds through the warehouse windows,
the Worker starts fumbling around for a place

03:55:46.050 --> 03:55:47.620
to hide.

03:55:47.620 --> 03:55:51.939
Just as he crawls underneath a large pallet
rack, he hears a metallic rattling as the

03:55:51.939 --> 03:55:57.090
fur-suited monstrosity lifts up the shutter.
It’s inside. With heavy, plodding steps

03:55:57.090 --> 03:56:02.210
in its suit, it paces up and down the aisles
of discarded shelving. The Worker clamps his

03:56:02.210 --> 03:56:06.470
soaked hands against his mouth, trying to
mask his panicked breathing… only to let

03:56:06.470 --> 03:56:10.000
out a scream as he feels something grab his
ankle and pull.

03:56:10.000 --> 03:56:14.910
With ease, the thing dressed as a disheveled
Garfield pulls him out of his hiding place.

03:56:14.910 --> 03:56:19.330
Instinctively, the Worker thrashes his legs,
landing a solid kick to the creature. As his

03:56:19.330 --> 03:56:23.279
foot connects, he notices it doesn’t feel
like a person underneath the suit. There’s

03:56:23.279 --> 03:56:28.510
no body, no familiar outline of a human being
beneath all the soggy fur and stench. It’s

03:56:28.510 --> 03:56:29.909
just a slimy mass.

03:56:29.909 --> 03:56:35.550
Nonetheless, the kick knocks the garish Garfield
back - only a few paces, but better than nothing.

03:56:35.550 --> 03:56:39.840
He scrabbles to his feet, standing and running
as fast as he can in the opposite direction…

03:56:39.840 --> 03:56:44.029
only to hit a wall at the far side of the
warehouse. The shutter is the only way out,

03:56:44.029 --> 03:56:49.090
and right now, it’s wide open - but Garfield
stands between the Worker and freedom. He

03:56:49.090 --> 03:56:53.330
turns to dart down the next aisle, between
the rows of shelves, keeping his eyes on the

03:56:53.330 --> 03:56:57.399
attacker as he passes underneath the hole
in the ceiling. The rain is still coming down

03:56:57.399 --> 03:57:00.100
through it, leaving a puddle on the floor…

03:57:00.100 --> 03:57:03.690
The Worker’s focus is locked on the beast.
He suddenly feels his foot slipping out from

03:57:03.690 --> 03:57:08.159
under him, that awful lurch of his heart as
he falls. The puddle, he’s slipped over

03:57:08.159 --> 03:57:12.279
and come crashing down to the ground, the
force of the concrete striking his back knocks

03:57:12.279 --> 03:57:14.359
all the breath from his lungs.

03:57:14.359 --> 03:57:18.859
Everything is spinning in a nauseating mix
of pain, disorientation, and terror. Above,

03:57:18.859 --> 03:57:24.920
through the unrepaired ceiling, drops of rain
come pouring down on him. Then, a low agonized

03:57:24.920 --> 03:57:31.659
meow from somewhere nearby. The monster, Garfield,
brings its bat swinging down and sharply connecting

03:57:31.659 --> 03:57:36.250
with the Worker, lying on the ground. A new
surge of pain wracks his body, right at the

03:57:36.250 --> 03:57:39.750
hip where the baseball bat just landed in
an unforgiving blow.

03:57:39.750 --> 03:57:44.920
The Worker can do nothing but scream; in pain
and fear. A horrible sound, like something

03:57:44.920 --> 03:57:50.520
wet tearing, fills his ears over his own cries.
He remembers the sickening feeling of a slimy

03:57:50.520 --> 03:57:55.331
mass being aggressively pushed into his face.
It’s disgusting, rancid, but even under

03:57:55.331 --> 03:58:00.050
all the horror and the repulsive taste, he
can detect familiar hints.

03:58:00.050 --> 03:58:07.199
, beef, tomato sauce, cheese; all of it moldy
and rotten, but still recognizable. The monstrous

03:58:07.199 --> 03:58:13.720
SCP-3166 forces further fistfuls of lasagna
down the Worker’s throat until the screaming

03:58:13.720 --> 03:58:14.720
stops.

03:58:14.720 --> 03:58:17.840
He’d always hated Mondays.

03:58:17.840 --> 03:58:24.400
You've seen his face before, probably during
a particularly distressing bout of sleep paralysis.

03:58:24.400 --> 03:58:30.279
His appearance can vary a bit from manifestation
to manifestation, but a few traits are always

03:58:30.279 --> 03:58:34.909
present: he resembles an elderly man, his
touch corrodes everything in his path, his

03:58:34.909 --> 03:58:39.660
presence creates a disgusting, black mucus-like
substance thought to be a method of pre-digestion

03:58:39.660 --> 03:58:45.500
of his prey, and he is rotting. No matter
his appearance, he is always in some stage

03:58:45.500 --> 03:58:50.980
of decomposition, gray skin sloughing away
from yellowed bone, eyes milky and flat but

03:58:50.980 --> 03:58:56.400
brimming with malice, wide mouth stretched
into a wicked grin.

03:58:56.400 --> 03:59:01.070
The entity is incredibly difficult to contain;
its corrosive properties and ability to vanish

03:59:01.070 --> 03:59:06.029
into solid matter and disappear into its pocket
dimension lair make it a threat as unpredictable

03:59:06.029 --> 03:59:11.271
as it is dangerous. The smell of decay, and
the presence of visible corrosion on any surfaces

03:59:11.271 --> 03:59:16.529
nearby, may be the only warning a person gets
before the Old Man grabs them in his decomposing

03:59:16.529 --> 03:59:22.000
arms, dragging them off to a painful, terrifying
demise. We know where the being disappears

03:59:22.000 --> 03:59:26.359
to, and have learned a great deal about how
he operates, but where did he come from?

03:59:26.359 --> 03:59:28.010
What I found was so distressing, that I almost
hope it isn't true.

03:59:28.010 --> 03:59:33.370
It is the year 2000. Dr. Robert Scranton and
his wife, Dr. Anna Lang, are the head researchers

03:59:33.370 --> 03:59:38.420
at SCP Foundation Site-120. Over the course
of their happy relationship, the two have

03:59:38.420 --> 03:59:43.279
been working on an experimental research project,
an early prototype Reality Anchor device called

03:59:43.279 --> 03:59:47.920
the "Lang-Scranton Stabilizer." After a lot
of late nights at the office, working and

03:59:47.920 --> 03:59:52.390
reworking the theory, it is, at long last,
ready for testing.

03:59:52.390 --> 03:59:58.021
Dr. Scranton is standing in Reality Lab A,
as Dr. Lang observes from a nearby room. He

03:59:58.021 --> 04:00:02.120
follows the same routine he has followed each
time they tested the LSS, walking down a line

04:00:02.120 --> 04:00:06.939
of buttons and levers, pressing and flipping
each into place. The little red blinking light

04:00:06.939 --> 04:00:11.980
signifies that the microphone is recording
his every comment and observation. Suddenly,

04:00:11.980 --> 04:00:17.229
the routine is broken by a low rumbling sound
from deep, deep within the earth. The ground

04:00:17.229 --> 04:00:21.600
beneath him begins to shake, and Dr. Scranton
stumbles, losing his balance as the once-solid

04:00:21.600 --> 04:00:26.610
floor begins to roil and quake as the seismic
shift rolls through the Site. He hears the

04:00:26.610 --> 04:00:31.810
unmistakable grind and splintering of metal
and plastic as the LSS, too, begins to shake,

04:00:31.810 --> 04:00:34.390
components sliding out of place and breaking
off.

04:00:34.390 --> 04:00:39.400
Nearby, Dr. Lang's monitor goes dark as the
security feed is cut short by the earthquake's

04:00:39.400 --> 04:00:45.250
damage. "Robert!" She screams, making a break
for the door and rushing to Reality Lab A,

04:00:45.250 --> 04:00:48.960
terrified that she will find her husband's
body lying on the floor. When she and the

04:00:48.960 --> 04:00:55.400
guards reach the room, however, they find...nothing.
Well, not nothing, entirely. The room is a

04:00:55.400 --> 04:00:59.300
wreck, bits of machinery strewn across the
floor, the smell of burning plastic in the

04:00:59.300 --> 04:01:04.650
air. But the Lang Scranton Scrambler's Control
Panel and Dr. Robert Scranton are nowhere

04:01:04.650 --> 04:01:05.650
to be found.

04:01:05.650 --> 04:01:11.000
Dr. Lang falls to her knees in the suddenly
empty room, pounding at the floor in despair.

04:01:11.000 --> 04:01:16.010
"Where did he go?!" She demands, but of course,
no one knows the answer.

04:01:16.010 --> 04:01:22.899
No one wants to say what they're thinking.
Wherever he is, Dr. Scranton is probably dead.

04:01:22.899 --> 04:01:28.420
Probably long, long gone. And he is never
coming back. But no one says it, not out loud.

04:01:28.420 --> 04:01:34.609
They just think it, and keep thinking it for
the next five years, eleven months, and 21

04:01:34.609 --> 04:01:35.670
days.

04:01:35.670 --> 04:01:40.659
The time passes, and most everyone forgets
about Dr. Robert Scranton. Everyone except

04:01:40.659 --> 04:01:45.640
for Dr. Anna Lang. She never gives up hope,
never lets go of the possibility that somewhere,

04:01:45.640 --> 04:01:51.949
in another world, another time, on another
planet, her love is still alive. One day,

04:01:51.949 --> 04:01:57.830
she wakes up and it's December 23, 2005, a
day like any other save for its uncomfortable

04:01:57.830 --> 04:02:01.130
proximity to the holidays she struggles to
celebrate anymore.

04:02:01.130 --> 04:02:07.739
But then, in the middle of the day, something
impossible happens; the LSS Control Panel

04:02:07.739 --> 04:02:13.010
reappears in Reality Lab A. It isn't how anyone
last saw it, though. It is coated in some

04:02:13.010 --> 04:02:20.640
sort of unidentified organic matter, and it
reeks of blood, vomit, and decay. As her colleagues

04:02:20.640 --> 04:02:26.130
try to shield her from the sight, try to warn
her away, Dr. Anna Lang wades into the area,

04:02:26.130 --> 04:02:29.859
desperate for a glimpse at any sign of her
husband's fate.

04:02:29.859 --> 04:02:33.899
As she makes her way into the containment
field, she is unable to contain her horror.

04:02:33.899 --> 04:02:38.460
"Oh, god, what the hell, what — what is
all this? This… this is… this is the…

04:02:38.460 --> 04:02:42.399
Oh, god. Robert? Robert?! Robert, is this
you? Oh, god, please, please, no, don't let

04:02:42.399 --> 04:02:48.699
it be you, don't let it be you, Robert?! I
thought, I thought — How can this thing

04:02:48.699 --> 04:02:49.699
be—?"

04:02:49.699 --> 04:02:53.920
Her colleagues try to stop her, but she touches
the Lang Scranton Stabilizer interface, and

04:02:53.920 --> 04:03:00.439
it fires to life. It still works! Somehow,
it still works! She racks her brain for what

04:03:00.439 --> 04:03:06.210
to do next, before saying: "Access Audio Log,
play back starting from January 2, 2000!"

04:03:06.210 --> 04:03:10.239
The machine prompts her to verbally state
her password, and her voice shakes as she

04:03:10.239 --> 04:03:13.180
replies, "Password is 'Anna bo banna'."

04:03:13.180 --> 04:03:18.770
"Request acknowledged. Processing…" The
machine replies, "I'm sorry, there are no

04:03:18.770 --> 04:03:27.990
audio logs for January 2, 2000. Dr. Scranton
accessed log on January 13, 2000 via voice-recognition

04:03:27.990 --> 04:03:29.130
at time—"

04:03:29.130 --> 04:03:34.010
Anna slams her hands down on the machine with
a cry, "Play back now, dammit! Play it back!"

04:03:34.010 --> 04:03:37.649
A researcher warns her not to touch any of
the material with her bare hands, but she

04:03:37.649 --> 04:03:42.520
doesn't hear him. She is too busy, calling
out to Robert, hoping that somehow, somewhere,

04:03:42.520 --> 04:03:43.520
he can hear her.

04:03:43.520 --> 04:03:47.750
"There's so much blood here, there's so much,
honey. Are you okay?! Where did you go?! Oh

04:03:47.750 --> 04:03:52.909
god, oh god, oh god…" Something small and
metallic clatters to the floor, lost in the

04:03:52.909 --> 04:03:57.430
sludge. She retrieves it, wipes it off on
her lab coat, and holds it to the light. She

04:03:57.430 --> 04:04:01.689
would recognize it anywhere. She slipped it
onto her true love's finger on the happiest

04:04:01.689 --> 04:04:07.620
day of her life. It's Robert's wedding ring.
Her knees buckle at the realization, she collapses

04:04:07.620 --> 04:04:11.739
to the ground, and her head cracks against
the floor.

04:04:11.739 --> 04:04:15.550
One of her colleagues snaps into action, "Report,
this is Dr. Matthew Skinner, reporting from

04:04:15.550 --> 04:04:19.449
Site-120 Reality Lab A, I need medical attention
here immediately!"

04:04:19.449 --> 04:04:24.120
Once Dr. Lang recovers from her fall, she
demands access to the rematerialized control

04:04:24.120 --> 04:04:29.080
panel. She is going to go through the audio
logs, one by one, and find out exactly what

04:04:29.080 --> 04:04:35.069
happened to her husband, even if the truth
is as ugly as she fears. The machine whirrs

04:04:35.069 --> 04:04:38.670
to life, and her lost love's voice emanates
from the speakers.

04:04:38.670 --> 04:04:39.670
"Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday,
September 19, 1961. Favorite color, blue.

04:04:39.670 --> 04:04:59.510
Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer." Wife,
Anna. She has green eyes. I love her very

04:04:59.510 --> 04:05:00.569
much."

04:05:00.569 --> 04:05:05.110
He repeated these simple truths to himself
for days, before he even realized that the

04:05:05.110 --> 04:05:06.970
control panel was picking up his voice.

04:05:06.970 --> 04:05:14.390
"My name, is Robert Scranton. Yeah, yeah,
my name, is Robert Scranton, former researcher

04:05:14.390 --> 04:05:23.060
at Foundation Site-120. It has been… I don't
know, actually, I… I can't remember. I…

04:05:23.060 --> 04:05:31.580
I estimate it's been ten days, but, I-I-I
don't, I can't… Oh God, can anyone hear

04:05:31.580 --> 04:05:39.360
me?! I-I-I don't know what's happened, I-I
don't know where I am, and-and, please, please

04:05:39.360 --> 04:05:45.339
is anyone there?! Hello?! Anyone?! ANYONE?!"

04:05:45.339 --> 04:05:49.430
He began keeping track of how much time passed,
as best he could.

04:05:49.430 --> 04:05:57.460
"Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty-eight
minutes. Oh… Jesus."

04:05:57.460 --> 04:06:01.859
Back at the Foundation, with at least a tenuous
knowledge of where Dr. Scranton could be,

04:06:01.859 --> 04:06:05.800
personnel try their best to stage some kind
of rescue effort. A Mobile Task Force team

04:06:05.800 --> 04:06:10.810
is ordered to attempt to replicate the experiment
with a hastily-assembled Lang-Scranton Stabilizer

04:06:10.810 --> 04:06:15.470
copy. The result is an explosion that kills
three of them. Senior Researchers also approach

04:06:15.470 --> 04:06:21.760
SCP-343, a powerful reality warper known to
some as God, hoping to get some insight from

04:06:21.760 --> 04:06:27.310
him about where Dr. Scranton could be found.
His response is, “He’s beyond any of us

04:06:27.310 --> 04:06:32.830
now. I’m truly, dreadfully sorry.”
Anna starts having nightmares. She twists

04:06:32.830 --> 04:06:38.500
and turns in bed, haunted by visions of her
beloved Robert consumed by darkness. A strange

04:06:38.500 --> 04:06:44.020
specter starts to appear in her dreams: A
man with a horrible, rotted face. She turns

04:06:44.020 --> 04:06:48.479
to her bedside table in the night, numbers
blurry on the screen of her alarm clock. The

04:06:48.479 --> 04:06:52.550
photograph of herself and Robert that she
keeps there - Something is wrong with him.

04:06:52.550 --> 04:06:58.580
Wrong with his face. Is it that same awful
rotted man? She screams and closes her eyes.

04:06:58.580 --> 04:07:03.600
When she opens them, the photo is normal again.
She weeps into her pillow. It can’t keep

04:07:03.600 --> 04:07:05.620
going on like this.

04:07:05.620 --> 04:07:11.810
This place… It's some sort of reality gap,
I think.

04:07:11.810 --> 04:07:21.489
If I don't concentrate on it, it's fine, but
I feel this… tingling all over my face.

04:07:21.489 --> 04:07:27.800
I'm not sure why. Two months, fifteen days,
four hours."

04:07:27.800 --> 04:07:33.220
Anna begins to accept the horrible truth:
She may not see Robert ever again, and holding

04:07:33.220 --> 04:07:38.110
on to the foolish fantasy that she will is
starting to kill her. She repeats it to herself

04:07:38.110 --> 04:07:43.210
like a mantra at work: “Robert Scranton
is dead, Robert Scranton is dead, Robert Scranton

04:07:43.210 --> 04:07:48.820
is dead.” One day, a coworker notices her
muttering and strikes up a conversation. It’s

04:07:48.820 --> 04:07:53.170
been years since Robert disappeared, what’s
the harm in talking to someone again? She

04:07:53.170 --> 04:07:57.101
even finds herself smiling and laughing at
his jokes. But when he asks if she’d like

04:07:57.101 --> 04:08:02.729
to go for coffee, she gets a flash of Robert
screaming in the darkness. Of that terrible

04:08:02.729 --> 04:08:07.550
rotted face, grinning. She runs to the bathroom
to throw up and weep.

04:08:07.550 --> 04:08:14.109
“The tingling in my face has worsened.”
“I wish I could sleep here. But all this

04:08:14.109 --> 04:08:18.660
damn gunfire overhead.
Can’t take it anymore. Can’t take it.

04:08:18.660 --> 04:08:24.340
Trench foot. Shell shock. Hell would be a
reprieve from a place like this.

04:08:24.340 --> 04:08:29.890
And all the men, all the poor souls who look
up to me. Who call me ‘Corporal.’ What

04:08:29.890 --> 04:08:34.660
a joke. To think I have any more idea of what’s
going on here.

04:08:34.660 --> 04:08:38.410
Anna can hear it in his voice, he's getting
worn down.

04:08:38.410 --> 04:08:43.279
As Anna feels her emotions start to dull and
fade, she begins accepting more dangerous

04:08:43.279 --> 04:08:48.460
assignments from her superiors - Perhaps hoping
just to feel something again. She works on

04:08:48.460 --> 04:08:54.180
the SCP-682 case - trying to devise more futile
termination methods. She spends time with

04:08:54.180 --> 04:09:00.819
SCP-939, the abominations known as With Many
Voices, until they start to imitate Robert’s

04:09:00.819 --> 04:09:07.470
voice, and she knows she can’t do this anymore.
She works with SCP-280, Eyes in the Dark,

04:09:07.470 --> 04:09:12.330
feeling no fear whatsoever as it floats towards
her. The worst thing that could possibly happen

04:09:12.330 --> 04:09:19.119
to her has happened already - Now, she’s
just waiting. Killing time. She has no idea

04:09:19.119 --> 04:09:24.470
of the further horrors to come.
“Lately, I’ve been hearing whispers in

04:09:24.470 --> 04:09:32.970
the dark. I think the rats are talking to
me. How funny. My troops must think me mad,

04:09:32.970 --> 04:09:39.760
but what does it matter? This is a mad place.
A mad time. A mad man is perhaps best suited

04:09:39.760 --> 04:09:41.090
to a time like this. So many went over the
top yesterday, only to be cut down by machine

04:09:41.090 --> 04:09:50.710
gun fire. Isn’t it odd that I laughed? It
was so funny.

04:09:50.710 --> 04:09:58.580
I think perhaps this mental malady is connected
to a physical one. Nosebleeds and vomiting

04:09:58.580 --> 04:10:09.609
spells. This strange, black liquid, faintly
acidic to the touch. But so… Delicious.

04:10:09.609 --> 04:10:18.720
So fun. My troops tell me I look unwell. Like
anything about this is well! Maybe I’ll

04:10:18.720 --> 04:10:24.830
sneak into one of their bedsits tonight and
teach them to lighten up a bit. None of them

04:10:24.830 --> 04:10:33.630
smile anymore. Me? I’m always smiling. I’ll
teach those little cowards to smile too…”

04:10:33.630 --> 04:10:38.800
as she listens to more of the logs, she’s
forced to reckon with the fact it really isn’t

04:10:38.800 --> 04:10:44.420
him anymore. Not as she’d ever known him.
He’d become… Something else.

04:10:44.420 --> 04:10:54.430
“All the others are dead! Hahaha!
All my good, hard work. Making them dead.

04:10:54.430 --> 04:10:59.600
I followed them down the length of the trench.
Their silly little bullets didn’t hurt me.

04:10:59.600 --> 04:11:13.790
Oh no. Oh. no, no, no. The look on their faces.
All the screaming as they saw me. How thrilling,

04:11:13.790 --> 04:11:22.909
to savor their fear as I approached. All those
screams - What are you? You horrible old man?

04:11:22.909 --> 04:11:30.050
I showed them what I am
I can walk through walls now, you know.

04:11:30.050 --> 04:11:41.740
Have all the fun I want. Yes, yes, yes!
Nothing can hurt me anymore. And I can hurt

04:11:41.740 --> 04:11:42.740
everyone.”

04:11:42.740 --> 04:11:51.200
“And when the war is over… I’ll go home.
Go home to my sweetheart. I know she’s waiting

04:11:51.200 --> 04:12:00.880
for me. I can’t wait to see her, to touch
her beautiful face. My lovely, lovely Anna.”

04:12:00.880 --> 04:12:07.220
Hearing him like this, so broken, so utterly
transformed, it's too much for her to bear.

04:12:07.220 --> 04:12:13.119
The work always needs her, and she returns
to it day after day. One night, she sits up

04:12:13.119 --> 04:12:18.010
late, making her way through a stack of paperwork,
when she hears it.

04:12:18.010 --> 04:12:25.770
A curious sound. Drip...drip...drip...something
thick dripping steadily onto the floor behind

04:12:25.770 --> 04:12:32.199
her. The smell of rot fills her nostrils,
making her gag. She turns, and comes face

04:12:32.199 --> 04:12:40.500
to face with SCP-106, dripping its slimy black
mucus onto the floor, bringing decay to everything

04:12:40.500 --> 04:12:45.710
it touches. It reaches out toward her, grasping
at her arm. She breaks free, but not before

04:12:45.710 --> 04:12:49.659
its touch melts away the fibers of her lab
coat, threatening to seep through the fabric

04:12:49.659 --> 04:12:55.409
to her skin. All the while, it's staring straight
at her, like it knows her.

04:12:55.409 --> 04:12:59.979
Anna runs out of the lab as fast as she can,
shouting for help. A guard tries to come to

04:12:59.979 --> 04:13:03.800
her assistance, firing his weapon at the Old
Man, but the bullets don't leave a dent, don't

04:13:03.800 --> 04:13:08.540
even slow him down. The Old Man grabs the
weapon from the guard's hands, letting the

04:13:08.540 --> 04:13:14.989
metal rust, warp, and melt in his grasp. Then,
he turns his corrosive touch on the guard's

04:13:14.989 --> 04:13:18.030
face.
Anna screams in horror at the sight, but she

04:13:18.030 --> 04:13:23.050
can do nothing to help him. All that she can
do is keep running, and hope that the monster

04:13:23.050 --> 04:13:25.279
doesn't catch her.

04:13:25.279 --> 04:13:29.930
She runs as fast as her legs can carry her,
but she isn't as young as she once was, and

04:13:29.930 --> 04:13:34.290
years of sitting at a desk have made her muscles
stiff and weak. Her foot hits the ground at

04:13:34.290 --> 04:13:39.149
just the wrong angle, and she stumbles, falling
to the ground. She scrambles back to her feet,

04:13:39.149 --> 04:13:44.609
but when she looks up, something is horribly
wrong. Her surroundings have changed. It looks

04:13:44.609 --> 04:13:47.580
like the Foundation Site, but it's not quite
the same.

04:13:47.580 --> 04:13:52.060
It's as if someone tried to recreate the facility
from memory, and couldn't retain all of the

04:13:52.060 --> 04:13:53.239
details.

04:13:53.239 --> 04:14:02.000
Then, she hears it again. The drip, drip,
drip. He's here. She spins around, and there

04:14:02.000 --> 04:14:08.899
it is, that awful face, so close to her own.
She takes a trembling step back, when suddenly,

04:14:08.899 --> 04:14:12.090
the monster speaks.
"Anna..."

04:14:12.090 --> 04:14:18.520
It's him. She knows it, as surely as she knows
that she is about to die.

04:14:18.520 --> 04:14:23.540
The monster that once was Robert Scranton
reaches out and caresses Anna's cheek with

04:14:23.540 --> 04:14:29.479
his wrinkled hand. She screams as the skin
begins to droop, and he seals her lips with

04:14:29.479 --> 04:14:35.609
a kiss that makes her insides drip like melting
wax. The two become one once again