The SCP Experience - A Bloody Lullaby to Save Them All | SCP-2073

Episode Date: May 13, 2022

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-2073: A Bloody Lullaby to Save Them All This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2073, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

I'm being at board of Viarai. Embarked and profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet. Publiere. Savoy. Admire. Admire. And profite. Villaray, the voice that we love that we're going to do with a knife. I was standing over him with a knife. I say, nearly crying at the fresh memory. I need help. I need help. What were you going to do with the knife? The man asks. His name is Castillo. And he's a doctor. A head doctor.

I don't know what I was going to do, okay? I tell him. I don't know. But I do know. I just can't bring myself to say it. Castillo looks at me as if he knows I'm lying. Then he smiles thinly. Why don't you tell me about it from the beginning?

He says. You don't need to worry about me judging you. That's not what I'm here for. But if I'm to help you, I need to hear the whole story. I look around Castillo's office. I've never been to a shrink before, but I've seen them in movies. And their offices always look like this, dark, muted colors, bookshelves lined with books,

a comfortable leather chair for the patient and another chair. This one higher for some reason, for the doctor to sit in. I look back at Castillo, who has a calm look on his face, his black, beard is bushy, and the black hair at his temples has streaks of gray in it. His green eyes stare out of a knowing and friendly face. He doesn't have glasses, but every time I look away, I imagine he does. It seems like he should. To tell you from the beginning, means I have to go back three years, I tell him. My voice doesn't shake with the words. I'm starting to calm down. That's fine, Castillo said.

We've got time. I nod and close my eyes, thinking back to the night of my son's birth. And I start talking, telling Castillo my story. They say that as soon as you see your child, you make a connection. And while maybe that's true for mothers, as I'm sure it was true for my wife, it wasn't the case for me. I'm not saying I didn't feel pride and joy and happiness that my son and my wife were both healthy after the birth. I did. But I didn't feel that immediate connection with Silas. We left the hospital,

an actual family for the first time, about 48 hours after we got there. I was exhausted, and I can't imagine how tired Vanessa was, even though she'd slept a little after Silas was born. We tried to sleep when we got home. Vanessa got some rest, but I couldn't. Not for a long time. I was worried that I didn't love my son. I thought I was supposed to feel all the love in the world for him as soon as I held him in my arms, but I didn't. So when I finally got to sleep, I had this terrible dream. I was holding Silas in my arms while standing in the middle of a ruined city. Everything was scorched black and covered with ash. These weird black tendrils were all over the ruined building. making strange shapes and spirals. They were coming out of cracks in the ground. Columns of smoke rose up all around into the night sky, and even the sky was wrong. The stars were different somehow,

like they'd all shifted around and were no longer just a chaotic sprawl. They were organized, which made everything worse. The stars shouldn't be organized into rows, but at least I had my son. I remember thinking that. I was looking at the apocalyptic landscape all around, thinking, at least I have my son. But then I noticed he wasn't moving. He was just limp in my arms. And when I looked down, his guts were spilling out.

And one of his eyes had been ripped from its socket. I was crying. Even before I looked down, I realized I was crying. And suddenly, there were all these things around these beings, telling me that it was all my fault. They were angry. They didn't seem like humans, but I couldn't really see them. I knew they were angry, though.

They were telling me I could have prevented it all. Right about the time I realized that these beings were around, I also heard these words repeated in my head, almost like a lullaby, and they kept repeating. That night, the night of my son's birth, was the first first. time I had the dream, but it wasn't the last. I've been having it for three years, not every night, but enough to make it seem like I had it every night. Everything is the same in the dream, aside from little changes here and there. The lullaby is always the same. It's like I know it by heart now, after hearing it so many times. So what did I do? How did I cope with these nightmares,

with a feeling that I'd already failed my son, I started drinking to make it go away. I thought I wasn't meant to be a father, but I wasn't about to abandon my wife and son, because I came to love my son. It didn't take long for that connection to form. And I felt that love. All the love in the world, just for him.

I felt it. And I thought the dreams would go away when I felt it. But they didn't. Some nights, I would find myself standing in his room, looking down into his crib, not remembering how I got there. I would have these terrible thoughts in my mind, terrible things that I couldn't believe were my own thoughts. And sometimes Silas would be looking up at me, smiling and making noises, his little hands reaching

for his daddy. The dream would come to me then. I'd picture myself holding his dead body amid all that rubble in the middle of a dead world. Even though I knew all he wanted was to be picked up, to be held by his dad, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I feared what I'd do if I picked him up in those moments. I feared that my dream would suddenly become a reality, that I'd suddenly be holding him, and he'd be dead.

And I knew that it would be my fault. I would have done it to him. I would have failed him. And this kept happening. We got him a bed, so instead of standing over his crib, I'd find myself standing over his little bed, his growing, but still tiny body slumbering under the covers. The dreams continued.

But once Silas started talking, they changed. They changed for the worst. In these new dreams, I would look down at him in my arms. His belly still ripped open, and his left eye still hanging out. But he would open his good eye and look up at me, and he'd ask me in his gentle new voice, why I did it to him. I had no answer.

I never had an answer. The whole time this was going on, Veronica knew something was wrong. But he didn't tell her about the dreams. How could I? At first, she thought I was going into our son's room at night to watch over him like a good dad. until she came into the room one time and saw that I was crying. When she asked why, I wouldn't tell her.

I couldn't. This about brings us up to why I'm here with you now, I tell Castillo. This part I know, Castillo says. Veronica caught you standing in front of Silas's bed with a knife in your hand, and she called the police. I don't blame her, I say, with the drinking and the strained. behavior. She says she doesn't know me anymore. Castillo nods. I need to make a quick call, he says. I apologize for this interruption, but I'm afraid it can't be helped. Just sit tight,

and I'll be back momentarily. I nod as Castillo gets up and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. He comes back in about five minutes, but he doesn't sit down again. He stands by the door. We're going to take a little trip, he tells me. What? Where? To see your son. I think it'll be important for the therapy. But my wife, she doesn't. We've already talked to your wife about this, he says. We? Who's we? My associates. Come on, Mr. Ellis. This is important. I stand up and follow him out, wondering just what the hell is going on. I've never heard of a psychologist taking a field trip with a patient. But all I know about this stuff is what I've seen in movies.

We drive for over half an hour in a black SUV. Castillo sits in the back with me, while two guys in suits sit up front. When we leave the city and head into the woods, I know something is up. You guys are taking me to a mental institution, aren't you? I ask. I'm not mad, though. I think it's probably the best thing for everyone.

We're taking you to see your son, Mr. Ellis, Castillo says. We're almost there. The facility is massive. It screams government money. With the serious security protocols and the utilitarian gray buildings, it's tucked away in a valley with only one way in and one out. I see a couple of helicopter pads, only one of which is occupied with a helicopter. After going through security, we drive to the back of the campus and down into an underground parking garage. I know Castillo is lying about taking me to my son, but I don't really care.

It's better this way. After we park, Castillo and the two men lead me out of the parking garage and into an elevator that takes us down several floors. I realize that the facility is even bigger than I thought, since it clearly extends underground. We exit the elevator and walk down a wide concrete corridor, turning left through a doorway. I'm ushered into a room with strange equipment placed around. There's a window on the far wall, but it doesn't look outside. It looks into an adjacent room. There's a bed in that room, and my son is on that bed. My eyes go wide.

What the hell is he doing here? I say. Where's Veronica? What is going on here? Mr. Ellis, Castillo says, you're not crazy. I wish I could tell you that you are, but you're not. You've been chosen. Why you? I don't know.

But I do know that the burden on your shoulders is a heavy one. Perhaps the heaviest of all burdens. What are you talking about? I say. Tell me who you people are. Before Castillo can answer, A tremor runs through the ground, shaking the whole room. A crack forms in the corner, black tendrils creeping slowly out of it and swirling into geometric shapes on the concrete.

The shaking fades away. Damn it! Castillo says. I was afraid of this. We don't have any time to waste. I hear his words, but they don't register. I'm staring at the tendrils coming out of the cracks. Those are the same as in my dream. I say.

One of the guys in the black suits runs out of the room, talking into a radio. The other one looks between Castillo and me, worry written on his face. Castillo appears by my side and presses the handle of a knife into my hand. I look down at it, then up at my son in the other room. The earthquake didn't wake him up. Is he sedated? I asked Castillo. Yes, it's better this way.

You know what to do, Mr. Ellis. Please, hurry. It's real? I say, tears creeping down my face. I knew it was real. I didn't want it to be, but I knew. Another tremor shakes the room, and more cracks start to appear. Out in the hall, an alarm starts going off.

I hear the sound of scared people running. Please, Mr. Ellis, Castillo says over the noise, You can stop this. It has to be you. No one else can do it. If your wife hadn't stopped you, None of this would be happening. It's all on you now. That's what they said in my dreams. They told me so many times. I started to believe it.

Only me. No one else. They're right, Castillo says. I walk over to the door to the adjacent room. I turn to Castillo and say, tell my wife that I love her and that I'm sorry. Can you do that? Castillo nods. I open the door and step inside. The shaking continues as I sit down. on the bed next to my son. Cracks form and tendrils crawl out. I hear the faint sound of laughter. I have seen the world burning, I say, starting the lullaby. I have seen the world turning. The tipping point is my life. I pause and raise the knife. The ground feels like it's about to split open. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the that the black tendrils all around have formed into humanoid shapes. The laughter is coming from

them, and it's growing louder, as if to combat the roar of the earthquake. I jab the tip of the knife deep into my wrist and drag it down my forearm. Blood wells up and pours out of the deep gash. I hold my arm out over Silas's head, allowing the thick red liquid to dribble on his face. The father must spill blood over the sun, I continue. For the curse is bound to the life of the father, and the blood is life's coin. Since such life is the father's, it is the father that must pass his blood to the son.

The laughing is even louder now. I switch the knife into my other hand and slice my right wrist open. Then I finish the lullaby. A life for all things, a worthy bargain. So receive this my bound, my child, and be anointed with this morning life. I love you. I feel myself growing faint as the blood leaves my body. I hope Silas stays sedated long enough that he won't wake up drenched in his father's blood.

At least he'll wake up. I think as I lie down next to him. At least he won't die. Not now. Not before he's had a chance to live. I've done my part. I've protected my son. I can't give him all the love in the world anymore.

But I can give him the world. I can give him life. The laughter suddenly dies, along with the shaking. As the life drains from me and my eyes close, the last thing I see is my son. His tiny chest moves up and down as he sleeps. And as my lungs draw in the air for the last time, I realize that's enough.

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SCP 2073 is a set of hazardous reality-altering phenomena centered around a humanoid entity, designated SCP 2073-A. SCP-273 events comprise multiple localized reality shifts, consisting of the materialization of dark-colored matter forming sinew-like veins on objects in geometric patterns, and the manifestation of mist and clouds of ashes. It's also common for these events to cause moderate to severe damage to nearby structures,

due to the emergence of anomalous matter through static surfaces. Witnesses have compared localized reality shifts to earthquakes that grow in intensity and range. SCP 2073 will occur only if, SCP 2073-A has produced a biological sun in previous years. SCP 2073-A becomes convinced that SCP 2073 will occur, and that, if left unchecked, SCP 2073 will trigger an unspecified XK end-of-the-world scenario. Once SCP 2073 manifests, SCP 2073-A will typically seek to commit suicide while in close proximity to its firstborn son.

This event, designated lullaby event, occurs between three and ten years after the latter's birth. At this point, its sun will become a new, latent instance of SCP 2073-A. If this suicide is prevented, thereby postponing a lullaby event for long periods of time, SCP 2073-A will likely cause an XK-class end-of-the-world scenario.