Item #: SCP-ES-251
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: A weekly cleaning team has been assigned to the SCP-ES-251 room. The cleaning processes must be carried out with sterile materials and avoid damaging the tissues of SCP-ES-251-1. The texts released annually by SCP-ES-251-1 will be sent to Dr. Santiago Vicario for analysis and interpretation.
Description: SCP-ES-251 is ███████ G█████ ████, Spaniard, 1.73 m tall, officially died by suicide between October and November 1947, at the age of 43. According to records, he was a medical graduate who never practiced medicine and a narrative writer whose work was censored at the beginning of the dictatorship and of which no record is preserved. Apparently he is in a vegetative state where his only functional systems are the circulatory and nervous systems.
SCP-ES-251 is located in the center of a 40 m2 room in an abandoned building in the ██████ district, Madrid. SCP-ES-251 is naked, completely skinned, with multiple muscles completely torn and presents various bone trauma of different magnitude. All of its internal organs (with the exception of the brain, heart and blood vessels) are atrophied in an advanced state of putrefaction. He has multiple small tumor masses distributed in different areas of his muscle tissue and his eyes, ears, nose, hair and teeth have been removed. Nevertheless, continuous brain activity has been determined in the subject by means of electroencephalograms, which does not seem to differ much from that regular in the population during REM sleep cycles. Similarly, SCP-ES-251 has an almost constant heart rate of 40-45 bpm. According to the medical analyses that have been performed, he does not have any type of cardiovascular pathology and aspects such as blood glucose and oxygen levels, despite the lack of a functional hepatic and respiratory system, are regular at all times.
The subject is elevated 50 cm in height by significant extensions of his radial arteries through his wrists and by extensions of the femoral veins protruding from his knees All of these coalesce into a complex blood vessel system originating from the walls of the room in which he is located, henceforth referred to as SCP-ES-251-1. Apparently, the arteries and veins that support it are attached to a series of muscle fibers that allow enough tension to keep the body elevated. SCP-ES-251-1 occupies a large portion of the room's walls, ceiling and floor; all of which are also covered with layers of dried blood, fecal debris and unusable smooth muscle structures. A total of 14 single-cavity myocardial structures similar in structure to cephalopod gill hearts have also been identified, which appear to cooperate with blood pumping and are coordinated with ~2 second error.
All vessels terminate in capillaries with lymphatic capacity. At 2 meters in front of SCP-ES-251 a three-dimensional net-like arterial and venous anastomosis structure of approximately 1 x 0.3 x 0.3 m is organized from the ground vertically, supported in a similar manner to SCP-ES-251; and in its center is located a non-anomalous functional typewriter.
SCP-ES-251-1 performs small movements very gradually that start in SCP-ES-251 and expand throughout the system. These actions consist of movements of external contraction and rotation of the vessels, being able to move a few centimeters at most by such action. This sequence of movements ends in the structure in front of SCP-ES-251, where the energy accumulated to perform this procedure is used to press one of the writing buttons in an apparently deliberate manner. In a parallel event, some capillaries and minor vessels are organized, again gradually, inside the platen of the machine, systematically denaturing the collagen of its walls to synthesize an object similar in shape to a sheet of paper from its epithelial and muscular tissues. In this process, the impression of the key is captured by means of a substance rich in hemoglobin that mimics ink.1. Consequently, after varying periods of time, coherent sentences in Spanish are synthesized, and between October 25 and 30 the object is released, similar to a sheet of paper containing what appear to be micro-narratives, which are dropped on the floor and have no further effect, nor do they contain any type of memetic or infohazardous agent.
At the time of the discovery of SCP-ES-251 in 2015 none of these structures were found in the room, so it is theorized that they either began to be synthesized upon discovery or had been previously collected by unidentified individuals.
Masked witch
Scene I
Living room with antique furniture, a rocking chair and a television. Grandmother is sitting with a blank stare. Five knocks are heard at the door. The grandma gets up and opens the door. Emilio enters the scene.
Emilio: Good afternoon. Are you María del Carmen Pérez?
Grandma: Yes, yes. That's me.
Emilio: You see, I'm here to visit Ignacio.
Grandma: Ignacio is upstairs, locked in his room as usual. It looks like a cavern in there, hey, I don't know how the boy is able to stand that smell.
Emilio: Could you tell him to come downstairs? I need to talk to him.
Grandma: (puts her hand to her head.) Ugh, it's not going to be possible, I don't think. The boy is very stubborn. He's been through a lot, poor thing, you know, and he's at an age where there are many changes in his body. Would you like a cup of tea?
Emilio: (handing her a greeting card.) No, ma'am. My name is Emilio Gonzalez, and I work for Social Services. We have received a report that Ignacio hasn't been in class for four months. It's a very serious problem.
Grandma: I've already told you, he's going through a lot of changes and he's a little embarrassed to be seen. He's grown up, he's growing a lot of hair and he's put on a few pounds, of course that's because in this house we don't go hungry and we don't leave food on the plate. Besides, the little boy doesn't need to go to school, he is very smart. You see, he knows the names of a lot of animals.
Emilio: I don't think you understand the magnitude of the situation. We have inquired into your case, and you are not fit to serve as legal guardian of the child. I have a court order with me that removes your parental rights.
Grandma: Young man, don't use so many strange words with me, I'm not a lawyer or a doctor or anything like that.
Emilio: I have to take Ignacio with me. Do you understand that?
Grandma: Oh, sure. It would do my boy good to go for a walk and get some air. You see, he's been very sad because of my daughter and son-in-law.
Emilio: I give you my condolences for that.
Grandma: There was already mourning. Besides, my Flores had always been a very carefree child. When she was a little girl, we had an elm tree that my husband had planted with his own hands and the little girl spent the whole day climbing and climbing, she was very energetic. Oh, my Flores. And oh, my Manolo, how lonely you have left me. At least now I have Ignacio to keep me company, although he doesn't leave his room. Because I don't see him, I don't even see him go to the bathroom. I only bring him food, and he always eats it all of it.
Emilio: (frowns and snorts.) You're going off the deep end. Could you tell me which is Ignacio's room?
Grandma: It's upstairs.
Knocking is heard above the room.
Emilio: What is that?
Grandma: He must have woken up in a bad mood again. I think it would be better if you came another day.
Emilio: If I come another day, it will be with three policemen on my back.
Grandma: Wow, you have police friends? My Manolito also worked for the police. He was a very tall and big man when he was young, and he worked all day long, until he retired and dedicated the rest of his years to me. Of course, at that time, I was angry with my Flores because she wouldn't bring my only grandson to visit, no matter how much I asked him to. Well, that's funny, now I am the one who takes care of him.
Emilio: I don't have time for this nonsense.
Emilio runs up the stairs and leaves the scene. The grandmother smiles and leaves the scene.
Scene II
Children's room. Dimmed lighting. There are posters on the wall, the curtain is drawn and there is a closet at the back of the room. In the center, there is a bed covered by a red sheet, which is lumpy. Emilio opens the door with force and enters the room.
Emilio: (looks toward the bed.) Ignacio, are you there? (pauses, holds his nose.) Please, it smells so bad in here. Ignacio, can you hear me? (pause.) Look, my name is Emilio and I just want to talk to you for a minute. (pause.) Ignacio?
Emilio slowly approaches the bed and pulls back the sheet. Underneath are long strips of piled-up human skin, hair and feces. Emilio turns away from the bed and begins to walk backwards, horrified. He crashes into the closet and flinches. The closet begins to shake, the doors open and a very tall humanoid entity with mantis-like features pounces on Emilio. With its raptorial legs, it beheads Emilio and rips open his abdomen. The grandma enters the scene.
Grandma: Wow, my Ignacio, how big have you grown? You're gorgeous, you're the spitting image of your grandfather. You can tell that my food is what has made you grow big and strong. Now you've really grown into your bones. Eat the whole plate, come on, you're not eating anything, boy.
Note from Dr. Vicario: On February 16, 2016, a controversial case emerged in the press in Villa de Vallecas, Madrid, about an elderly woman with Alzheimer's disease in charge of her two grandchildren aged 6 and 9, who were requisitioned and disposed of in a foster home due to the guardian's dementia condition.
May I dance with you?
The two young men were running in the rain trying to cover their heads with their arms. It wasn't entirely their fault, by the time they individually decided to leave hours before departure, they couldn't have known the weather was going to turn that way. It was also funny to think that none of them had come with their car, perhaps thinking that they would not be in a position to drive by dawn. Be that as it may, it was a rather romantic scene and, in a way, pathetic too, for two people who had only just met.
Already soaking wet after nearly a quarter of an hour of splashing, they reached the walls of a huge mansion. He gave her a push to go over it and then followed her, and then entered through a broken window.
I didn't expect this when you told me to come to your house.
-Very funny. We can wait here until the rain stops. It's a bit dirty, yes, but we'll be safe here.
-Check it out, all the clocks are broken and stopped at the same time, what a coincidence. Have you ever entered this ruined house before?
-Yes, several times. Let's say that my friends and I have had a party or two here.
-Wow, how sophisticated!
-You don't know it well.
A flash of lightning dazzles them and, 3 seconds later, they hear it thunder. The girl shudders.
-It looks like we're going to be here for a while, we'd better make ourselves comfortable- commented the boy.
-I'd be delighted. Well, while we're at it, tell me something about yourself. What do you do?
No, no, no. Let's not break the magic yet, we'll have time for those… let's say, banalities in another time. But if you feel like it, I can tell you a legend, one that takes place in a mansion like this one.
-Is it a horror story?
-It's a love story. Does it scare you?
-No?
-Then you don't know what you're talking about. You see, many, many decades ago, the mansion I'm talking about was owned by a prestigious aristocrat, whose name has been erased from the annals of history.
-Hahaha, annals- interrupted the girl.
-Good point, I think I'm going to stop using that word. The fact is that the poor wretch fell deeply in love with a young woman, who months later would be accused of witchcraft. By that time, they already had quite a serious relationship on their hands, they were one, or almost. One midnight, the lovers danced together in the living room, illuminated through a large window by the full moon. He, being a fan of masquerades, was wearing a blindfold, something she found both amusing and attractive. However, some gentlemen of the Holy Inquisition came to the house. Banging on the door with the intention of breaking it down, they wanted to take the supposed witch away to judge her.
-This is getting interesting.
-I see that I've managed to get your attention. She looked him in the eyes and said "If you really want it, not even death can separate us, but the price could be fatal". He nodded without hesitation and then embraced her as they continued to dance. Thus, she pulled a dagger from her dress and did not stop until she reached his heart. The mansion was tinged red, as was the moon, and then she kissed him. With that kiss she took more than his life: she took his soul. By the time the knights managed to enter, they found only the lifeless body of the aristocrat. A breeze from a broken window blew out all the candles.
-And what happened to her?
-Here is perhaps the most fabled part. It is said that she kept the young man's heart in her bosom, and thus managed to transcend the limits of mere humanity. He was someone with two souls, with two hearts, simply complete, perfect. He could be whoever he wanted to be, whoever he wanted to appear to be, because he would no longer have to make anyone else fall in love. And, of course, there is nothing that can kill real love. "'Till death do you part," in his case, was not fulfilled. However, a small part of the aristocrat remained for all eternity anchored in that mansion, at that very moment.
-Well, it got a bit twisted at the end, maybe. Did you really mean to tease me with that story?
-No, but I do have a little surprise, give me a second.
The boy left the room where he was and, when he came back, he was wearing a red mask.
-I haven't celebrated another party in your honor for a long time. Tell me, may I have this dance?
The debut of the sawbones
Dr. Reyes: Hi. Uh… Can I?
Interviewer: Dr. Reyes? Sure, come in, come in. Sit down and leave your resume on the table.
Dr. Reyes: Yes. I must say that this place is more… Let's say nicer than I imagined.
Interviewer: I'm glad to hear that. Give me a second… Wow, 11 years on the emergency surgical service. That's quite a bit of experience, for sure. And you were a pioneer in heart transplantation at your county hospital. Now that's very interesting, could you tell me more about that?
Dr. Reyes: Of course, but I hope this stays between us.
Interviewer: We're a team here, and we'll take our confidences to the grave. That's one of the keys to working together: trust.
Dr. Reyes: That sounds great. Well, it turns out we had a problem, and the solution just involved disassociating ourselves a little bit from the law. The operation turned out to be simpler than I expected, and there were no major complications. It seemed like that heart didn't want to stop beating. And as far as the patient was concerned, the recovery was quite rapid and we lost track of him when he was discharged.
Interviewer: We are in need of staff capable of performing those kinds of novel techniques. It would allow us to expand our portfolio of services. By the way, this is not the public sector, we're not talking about patients here. We're talking about customers. We talk about money. What matters to us is what we get paid, and not so much the complications that may arise from the procedures. I hope this mentality does not conflict with your work ethic, it is one of the pillars of this job.
Dr. Reyes: Well, a hunter doesn't aim at the deer if he doesn't want to shoot.
Interviewer: That' s a nice statement. Now, could you explain to me why you want this job?
Dr. Reyes: I'm going through some financial difficulties, and to tell you the truth, if I keep working overtime at my hospital, the stress and lack of sleep will eventually eat me up. I need something new as well as profitable, and this opportunity is perfect for me.
Interviewer: I see, but how did you find this job?
Dr. Reyes: Surgeon?
Interviewer: No, the position in this company.
Dr. Reyes: Oh, of course, I'm sorry. I'm a little nervous. I heard about it from a good friend of mine, a fellow worker at the hospital. He happens to work here in the evenings, and when he saw an opening, he thought I might be interested. And he was right.
Interviewer: I have a whole battery of other questions, but you know what I tell you? I like you. If you want it, the position is yours. In fact, you can start work right now. We have a girl down the hall ready for a kidney removal. They've been talking about her a lot on social media lately, I'm sure you recognize her. All the equipment and staff you may need is ready.
Dr. Reyes: Fantastic, thank you very much! You won't regret it.
Interviewer: I hope so.
Dr. Reyes: And tell me, is the patient already anesthetized?
Interviewer: As I was telling you before, we don't have patients here, we have clients. And the client has paid extra for the girl to be conscious during the whole operation. She's gagged, so that shouldn't be a problem for her. By the way, you don't need to wear that mask, your confidentiality is more than guaranteed at all times. Remember, we are a team.
Note from Dr. Vicario: In April 2018, a vast organ trafficking network was discovered in the Community of Madrid, and the following two months an investigative campaign was arranged that ended with 18 detainees. To date, there is no news that the network is still active.
Barefoot dancing on the snow
Tábata gets out of his extravagant carriage and shivers in the cold. She manages to appreciate, hidden behind a snowy mantle, the palace under which she would live until the fateful day of her death. And behind the immense gate she is greeted by a peculiar character: a dwarf, hunched over, with a made-up face and a mask. He is the harlequin of the duke's court, and at the same time his closest confidant. He will be Tábata's servant during that night, the eve of her wedding day.
The host does not say a word. He shows his respects to his new mistress with a bow and, by prancing, urges her to follow him. He wishes to show her his new home - or, perhaps, his new prison. They travel through the winding corridors, he watches her shiver with cold and laughs. The chandeliers on the walls are useless, nothing would ever warm the girl's heart again.
All the rooms, all the halls, the whole castle seems to be dead. Under the moonlight she could see furniture hidden behind white sheets and a thin layer of dust. There is no one else in that icy place besides the strange couple. Not even the duke himself is there, whom Tábata has never even met. That decision was never hers, just like her own existence.
At the end of the small excursion, the jester leads her to the largest chamber, to the heart of the palace. A solitary place, upholstered with pictures of faceless people, perhaps due to deterioration; and by the coat of arms of the duke's family. In the center, a banquet had been prepared for the arrival of the bride. His companion prepares the seat for him and stands at his side. The food is delicious, but cold.
Well, tell me, what is the duke like?
-My lord is a withdrawn person, and, because of his title, too busy. He spends a lot of time outside the palace, leaving a servant alone and abandoned.
-No one else lives here?
Not a single soul. But don't worry, I'll take care of you in my lord's absence.
After these words, he bursts out laughing. Tábata drops the cutlery and a tear leaves her face, and like a snowflake falls to the ground.
-If you wish, I can show you to your quarters.
And again, they both escape from the scene to enter the gloomy labyrinth of corridors again. When they arrive, he asks her to leave her shoes outside and leaves her. She was now alone in a room whose aesthetic beauty she was unable to appreciate. She thinks only of how she will become another piece of furniture covered by a sheet that no one will come to cherish in that frigid palace.
Before she goes to bed, the jester comes to the door and offers her a glass of white wine with a very sweet taste.
-Take this, it will help you to have a pleasant sleep.
The next morning turns out to be even colder. A series of maids wake her up and prepare her with everything she might need for the big ceremony. They are all dressed in black with veils covering their faces, and they do not speak. They then escort her to the great hall where she had dined the night before, filled with masked people who do not deign to look at her. At the end of a long white carpet stood an imposing figure with his back to her.
The harlequin manifests himself and pours her another glass of wine, which slips through her fingers and cracks on the floor, but no one seems to care. He grabs her arm to start walking, however, Tábata is still barefoot. She feels no pain, for she no longer feels her icy feet. Before reaching the altar to seal her fate, she stumbles and falls to her knees, tearing her dress with the wine cup.
Thus, Tábata looks behind her and sees a trail of blood, but not on a pure white carpet, but on the snow. She no longer feels cold and has stopped shivering. She looks around and finds herself in the palace courtyard, moonlit and alone, or so she thinks. There is a sweet taste in her mouth and she hears frantic laughter coming from the castle. Tábata also laughs in thanks, while her face turns pale and her body melts into the snow.
Weaving a fate
She was the most virtuous of them all, and her name reflected it well: Agatha. She lived by and for sewing, for her needles and for her art; and I was devoted to her. Inspired by her mother, and her mother's mother, she used her pins as fingers, even more dexterous with them. The quilts, tapestries and even scarves she wove went beyond the material: they told fascinating stories about other lives, or about her own. And in one of those stories, to my good fortune, I appeared. I appeared to weave together a bright future.
She rarely came out of her studio, but I didn't need to: I was able to perceive the beauty of her being with each of her creations, which carpeted our home. I think there came a point when I could no longer feel her fingers from so many pricks, I think there came a point when her fingers were needles.
More versed than Arachne in her work, but she never sinned of pride, only of honesty, desire and innocence. No, Agatha did not fight against Minerva, but against the Moirai themselves. She wished to conceive a child, a beautiful fragment of her soul that could inherit her legacy and where all the love of her creations could flow. The illusion in her eyes when that little being was growing inside her was unparalleled. For months, my dear Agatha tapestried a whole room in her honor, trying to tell the story of her life, of the little girl. Tapestry upon tapestry you could read more than words.
The day came sooner than I expected. I couldn't see her all day, waiting in the cold, damp hospital room. I heard screaming, I heard crying, but it may not have been the crying I expected. Finally the doctor came out of the operating room, and with a distressed face he was not able to convey the news to me. He did not know how to explain to me that so many stories would not come to pass.
She was devastated, and remained motionless all night, looking at all the tapestries she had knitted for the poor creature, all the needles with which she had drawn her little face, all the scars on her fingers. I wanted to leave her alone, and at dawn I discovered a large pool of blood coming out of that room. She had sewn up her eyes, unable to see again those absurd stories of a life that is no longer life.
And now that she is gone, with this pin in hand I wonder if I should weave this story into a tapestry, or should I write it in my veins.
Flat characters
It is not strange to suffer from sleep disorders when the only light comes from a few fluorescent lights that barely allow you to read a book. Hundreds of meters away from any form of life that can say good morning, or maybe even evening or even night. After having spent days in a pressurized steel tube to adapt to the high abyssal pressures with no other company than madness itself, time becomes insignificant.
But at last, the period necessary for acclimatization had ceased. Now all he had to do was prepare the equipment in the diving bell and wait patiently until he hit bottom. His task was simple: a loss of power supply had been reported in one of the platform sectors, so it was assumed that the submerged cables had been damaged, so he would have to perform a mere diagnostic work of the damage.
Of course questions arise: How is it that a deep sea diver is authorized to dive more than 2 km alone? Well, the platform did not have sufficient capital to hire a sufficient number of divers to perform multiple tasks simultaneously, and the remaining team was repairing one of the platform's columns, whose stability had been compromised by a major impact. Of course, the legality of sending a single operative was still questionable, but he already had a great deal of experience, so he would not object. Now, how could cables designed to withstand more than 15 atmospheres and impacts of nearly a kiloton be damaged? That's what he intended to find out.
As he descended, he couldn't help thinking that, upon his return, he would again have to wait several days in solitude before he could see the sun again. Not even decades of experience could accustom a social being like a human to being alone. He thought about these things aloud, as if he were in dialogue with someone, although no one was supposed to answer him. And during the long hours of the immersion, his eyes kept closing. At first he tried to bite his thumb or keep talking, but he was overcome by drowsiness, and each time his conscience was unable to act.
And at some point, a loud bang is audible. He shuddered with fright, but his wakefulness was short-lived and his head kept jerking with half-open eyes. Now, again something hits the hull, and again, and again, and again. It's hard to tell where the bumps are coming from, let alone if you're not paying attention. He feels as if he is at home, and someone is knocking insistently at the door.
What the hell! Go away, I don't want any publicity.
But now the knocking increases in frequency, and in force. The diving bells are not designed to break, but to deform, and a significant dent is forming in front of him. He is somehow aware that something is going terribly wrong, and that his life is at risk, but he is unable to act. Like sleep paralysis. But he is still able to utter words.
No, stop it. What-what do you want from me?
Crush you
He tries to answer but only gets forced breaths and mumbled nonsense. There are more and more dents all over the place, and they are getting deeper and deeper. What was once an enclosure that could barely fit a person seated in, is getting narrower and narrower, leaving barely enough space for a closet. He was beginning to fear dying, paradoxically, crushed by the very bell that protected him from being crushed by the ocean.
The space continues to shrink, and with another great impact, his torso is thrust forward. He bangs his head intensely against the wall and, thanks to this, achieves a few seconds of lucidity that he uses to turn on the lights of the bell. Scratching his thighs in an attempt to wake up, he looks through the porthole at his feet. Thanks to the light, he manages to see a multitude of colors, which slowly take shape in his mind. Shrimp? No, even worse. Crabs. Lobsters. Stomatopods. Dozens of crustaceans hitting the bell with the force of .22 caliber bullets.
It's being slowly consumed and unable to act, as if they're squeezing a soda can. Time feels slower by the second as he struggles to regain his consciousness and get out of the crusher. He manages to speak, sleepwalking.
What is this? Am I dreaming?
No, I'm crushing you. I'm crushing your body, I'm crushing your mind, I'm crushing your life. Everything will be flat.
And so, all the crustaceans I could see quickly peeled off. The floor could be seen with the wires like sheets of paper, and something sliding along with them. I no longer knew if what I was seeing was real. It was huge. I saw tentacles all over, constricting the cables and rocks, coming out of a snaking body. And at the end of it all, two heads or two monumental valves from which crustaceans kept coming out. These two rise to the height of the bell, and slowly close.
Now you will be flat.
Note from Dr. Vicario: On January 21, 2021, the ███ ██ ██████ station, an oil platform just 700 km from San Francisco, USA, was declared closed due to infrastructure deterioration. Publicly it was made known that a series of explosive incidents had occurred without any injuries causing damage of too high a cost that they were unwilling to address. There is no record of the death of any of the workers on the platform.
My heart aches
He grabbed his left arm and lost consciousness. A myocardial infarction due to long-developing heart failure. They revived him once, and then again, and considered whether to do it a third time if necessary, but there was good news, and bad news too. A neighbor in the community had just become brain dead after a choking situation, making him the perfect candidate for a transplant. True, he was far down on the transplant list, but being a small town, they skipped the protocols and would already try to hide it.
Surprisingly, the operation was successful. The only major sequelae was the onset of sleep apnea. He would wake up with a dry mouth feeling that someone was choking him, that no matter how much he wanted to, he could not breathe in. That was the smallest price to pay, knowing that his heart had been removed.
As soon as he came to his senses, he asked for his wife, Anna. The nurses looked at each other, puzzled, and commented that no one had come to visit him yet. He then asked to make a call:
-Hello, sweetheart, where are you? Come visit me when you can, I'm looking forward to seeing you.
-What? Who is it?
-Who's it going to be, silly? It's me, Josh.
-Josh?
-Your husband.
-If this is a joke, it's not funny. Don't call again.
The memories prior to the operation were still fuzzy. He tried to dig into his memory, looking for a reason why his wife didn't want to talk to him. He remembered the frantic sound of mattress springs and a very dry taste on his tongue, as if he was sucking fabric; and muffled screams, but it wasn't his voice, or Anna's voice. Hopefully, in time his memory would clear.
Given her situation, the doctors decided to discharge him a few days later with appropriate treatment to prevent rejection. It was already dark when she arrived home, and she found it locked. He didn't want to ring the doorbell so he could surprise Anna, so he went to the key that they kept under the doormat in case of emergency. He crept in and entered the alarm code.
He went up to his room and saw his wife sleeping peacefully, taking up the entire mattress. He tried to curl up next to her, but as soon as he landed on the bed, she shuddered and screamed. Under what little light was coming in through the window, she picked up and brandished the lamp on the nightstand.
-Who the hell are you?
-First, put that down, will you? It cost me an arm and a leg. Second, it's me, Josh. We've been married for 13 years, but what's wrong with you?
-My husband's dead, you bastard.
-Dead? Ah, I think I understand you. No, it was just a scare, but in the end they could operate me. Don't you recognize me?
-I can guarantee you that my husband is dead. He died before my eyes in this very bed. The pig wanted a divorce… But it doesn't matter now, get out of my house!
And with those words, Josh's heart woke up and he could remember everything. Yes, he was in another body, but that didn't affect the feeling of disappointment and betrayal. They began to struggle, until Josh pinned her down, and with the help of a pillow, tried to choke her, just as she had done some time before.
-This could have ended differently Anna, but this is what you wanted. I'll wait for you in hell.
Charity feast
It was a very fortunate, or perhaps very unfortunate, family to survive the calamities of nuclear war. But the world had changed, it had been "mutilated", and the post-war situation of poverty, misery and death would continue indefinitely. To subsist in a hostile environment where food and water are scarce or contaminated, and the solidarity of humanity has been replaced by a justified selfish behavior in pursuit of survival.
The once exemplary Torres family had been confined to their own basement, which acted as a bunker. The father, the mother and two small helpless children. Two months after the end of the war, resources in their new home were becoming scarce, so the father decided to leave on an expedition from which everyone knew he would not be able to return. Now the family unit, the only thing they could rely on, had become fragmented. The mother, with her two children, were abandoned, awaiting the end.
But hope returned with a series of frantic knocks on the bunker door. They expected to find their father, and they did, but not in the way they had hoped. He rested dying on his knees, emaciated and starving, with a letter in his lap. He handed it to the mother and fell to the floor, from where he would not rise again. Still, it was not the cruelest situation the little ones had ever witnessed.
On the back of the letter, there was a sentence written in presumably her husband's blood and handwriting.
You have to go. It's the only thing I could find, and it's also your only option. They couldn't do anything for me, but they can still save you.
The letter, typed on a gold backdrop, was an invitation to a banquet that evening at a mansion just a few kilometers from their position. The risk of going out because of the radiation at that time was the least of it. However, the mother had never known of the existence of such a compound, so she did not know if she could trust what appeared to be a wealthy altruist, but as the father of the family had written, there was no alternative.
That night the three of them gathered their belongings and set off for the mansion, in the distant hope that they could provide it with shelter. Oddly enough, it was safer to leave at night than during the day. Arriving at the mansion, they were greeted by a tall, burly man wearing a mask of what appeared to be a goat. Showing him the invitation, and without a word, he let them in. It was a huge compound, with long, labyrinthine corridors through which the doorman led them. In the different rooms of the mansion, they could see many others wearing animal masks.
Finally, they arrived at the main hall: a huge chamber with a long table that could easily fit 40 people. They sat down, and as time went on, 3 more families arrived. As the fourth arrived, a very old man who claimed to be the host of the dinner also entered.
-Ladies, gentlemen, and children too; you are welcome to my humble abode. In these times of crisis and misery, cooperation is key to maintaining our humanity. Tonight, you may eat to your heart's content, that is all I have to offer.
-And what do you expect us to offer you?" interrupted the mother.
-I expect nothing more than your company. And now, without further ado, let the banquet begin!
Having said this, a dozen masked workers were covering the table with different foods: soups and stews, cheeses and sausages, grilled meats… And for dessert, jelly. However, none of the workers sat with them at the table. During the meeting, the families shared their losses and hardships, and the old man explained how he had managed to amass his fortune before the war. He had owned multiple farms and even zoos around the world, as he was a great fan of animals. He was a kind and serene person, but you could tell he looked a lot at the solid gold grandfather clock on one of the walls of the room. When they had all had their fill, the host stood up.
-I thank you very much for accepting my invitation and listening to the little stories of an old man like me. Before you leave, I would like to treat you to a visit to my private zoo, home to some of my favorite animals that I was able to save at the time. They are my only real companions.
-Sorry, yes, here. Is there any way you can give us shelter? This mansion is huge, and I'm sure you''ll enjoy our company," commented the mother.
-So you want to live here with me? Does everyone else want to live here too?
-All the guests nodded.
-Well, I guess I can't refuse. Welcome to your new home. And before I show you to your quarters, follow me, I can't wait to show you my cattle.
The old man, accompanied by some of his workers, escorted everyone to the attic of the mansion. The closer they got to the top floor, the more the banging could be heard above, so it was not unreasonable to think that he truly had animals there. The corridors seemed endless, and it gave the feeling that they had been walking in a circle for a long time. Many began to stagger, and one by one they fell to the ground. By the time they realized it, they had no strength left, and they all gave up.
The mother woke up with her 3 children in a tiny cage, in what appeared to be an attic, surrounded by dozens of animal cages with other families. There the old man was watching them.
-I'm sorry, perhaps the food they were served was not in the best of states, so I asked my subordinates to take them to their rooms. I hope they are to your liking. I hope you will prove to be as pleasant company as you were last night, and if I should tire of you, well…. You can imagine, I will be able to host a new feast.
Prisión de carne y hueso
There are fates worse than death. At the end of the day, death comes to all souls, but the road carved out can be very painful. However just death may be, life is always arbitrary, and therein lies the balance of existence.
The police found her, abandoned, in the ditch of one of the roads in the vicinity of the city. After three months of arduous searches and campaigns trying to recover the young woman, all hope had been abandoned, with the hope of at least being able to find her inert body. Deep down, everyone wished to see her once more, and to be able to appease all the damage that the kidnapping had caused in their hearts. And that wish came true, but at what cost.
Wrapped in a white sheet, bordering on the limit to be considered a shroud, she lay motionless waiting for someone to help her. The officer who uncovered her left the scene on the spot to empty her entrails, and he was followed by all the officers on patrol. She felt watched, judged, embarrassed. They confirmed that she was still breathing and the scandal was even greater, but she was unaware of anything. She only knew that there were people with her, and she could not understand anything else.
At the hospital they couldn't do much, but they managed to keep her stable while they tried to figure out how to tell everyone what they had found in the ditch. It wasn't human anymore, because no human has the right to end up like that. Her legs and arms had been amputated, but she didn't have the memory of a clean cut, but they were slowly being torn apart, taking measures to keep her conscious at all times. His eyes were not in their sockets. His ears, as well as his nose and tongue, had been severed. His eardrums would not function again. His lips had been irreversibly sealed, and he was dependent on a parenteral tube for nourishment. What was left of what was once the beautiful face of a young woman was suffering from acid burns. Last but not least, her torso was covered with scars and sutures from operations trying to remove organs. Just enough to keep her alive.
And of course, who knows how many times she could have been taken advantage of. No one could ever know because she could not speak, or gesture, or even blink. She had no human form of communication, nor was there any way to communicate with her. Hundreds of people passed by crying at the foot of her bed. She made the front page of magazines, newspapers and TV news more times than you can count on your fingers. And the tragedy of her story spurred a relentless investigation into the network of criminals who caused her misfortune. But she couldn't know that.
Now she had been forced to live in her own world. A sordid place, without color, without sound; only with a deep pain that would never go away. She could not escape in any way, and no one could come to visit her. She was locked in her own mind, and had lost track of time and reality. Her memories were becoming more and more diffuse, and the clarity of her mind was blurring. Her only desire at that moment was to end her misery once and for all. He could no longer tolerate being a living tree. But unfortunately, no one could ever help her because no one knew what she was thinking.
Note from Dr. Vicario: There is no record of any such extreme case to date.
SCP-ES-251-1 stopped producing output on the writing machine after the release of the document in Addendum 9. Months later, a member of the cleaning team accidentally pressed the button corresponding to the letter "A" on the machine, which reactivated the activity of SCP-ES-251, writing after 10 days the sentence "And there is still one more story to tell", and again, the activity ceased. Based on this information, Dr. Vicario theorized that there could be a direct communication with SCP-ES-251 by means of the writing on that typewriter, which was corroborated after pressing the keys corresponding to the word "hello.", which was written and underneath it was written "A pleasure.".
The following document is the transcript of the interaction between Dr. Vicario and SCP-ES-251 by the procedure described above, a process that took place over a period of 150 days.
Dr. Vicario: Hello.
SCP-ES-251: A pleasure.
Dr. Vicario: Are you a human being?SCP-ES-251: I used to be.
Dr. Vicario: My name is Santiago, what is your name?SCP-ES-251: It was redacted.
Dr. Vicario: How did you end up like this?SCP-ES-251: When I was forbidden to write with ink, I learned to write with blood.
Dr. Vicario: Who do you write for?SCP-ES-251: For those who want to read, like you.
Dr. Vicario: Do you intend to tell me something with your stories?SCP-ES-251: Literature always hides a message behind.
Dr. Vicario: Which one?SCP-ES-251: I'm afraid I'm just a mere writer, I'm not the one who must interpret it.
Dr. Vicario: Do your stories refer to real events?SCP-ES-251: Every form of literature has its basis in reality.
Dr. Vicario: Does what you write about happen in real life?SCP-ES-251: Fate is already written.
Dr. Vicario: Why did you stop writing?SCP-ES-251: I have one more story to tell you, but it will be difficult for you to read it.
Dr. Vicario: I'll try to interpret it, that's my job. Can you tell me that story?SCP-ES-251: That last story, that's you, Santiago. You are Décima2.
Dr. Vicario: What does that mean?SCP-ES-251: My stories have told the lives of all men and all women. Ever since are no longer children, know love, achieve their first job and contribution to society, seal the bond with the person they intend to share the rest of their lives with and have offspring in which to shape their lives. However, routine grows within them and they loathe their work. and even to the person to whom they entrusted their heart, and thus end up alone at the mercy of the elements, waiting for decay and old age to consume them.
Dr. Vicario: What's that got to do with me?SCP-ES-251: All human beings adapt to this pattern, to this novel structure, and although sometimes a particular life may turn out to be a more original story, they can always be read similarly to my stories. But your story is a totally different tale, Santiago. Your destiny is not written, but my Tenth Story will be the tale of your life.
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