The SCP Experience - A Deal with the Devil | SCP-738

Episode Date: December 31, 2021

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-738: A Deal with the Devil Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-738, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ 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

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Do you believe in the devil? Slade's question hung in the air between us. I searched his face for any sign that he was joking, but found none. You're serious? I asked for my seat facing his desk. Listen, Slate said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his brand new desk. Forget for a minute that we've known each other for a long time. Forget that we've been friends for years.

Forget that our wives are friends. Try to think of me as your boss now. I know it's a strange transition, but I have to believe that you would be asking me the same if you'd got the promotion in my place. Slade smiled. His perfect white teeth gleaming out of the same. at me under his bright blue eyes. So, he continued, do you believe in the devil? No, I said, suddenly nervous, running a hand through what little hair I had left on my head.

I'm a man of science, Slade. You know that. Please, Fletcher, Slade said, leaning back in his wing back to chair. While we're interacting in an official capacity, call me Dr. Slade. Right, sorry, I said. My eyes darting down. to his desk and landing on the picture of his wife. My gaze lingered on the beautiful woman for a moment, too long. And when I looked back up at Slade, he was smiling sadly at me, pityingly. I willed him to let it go, to just get on with whatever he'd called me into his new office for. But he didn't. How's Mary? he asked me, referring to my wife. She's good, I said. How's Trish? Oh, she's doing very well, thank you, Slade said. Her new book is coming out next month. Oh, tell her congratulations for me,

I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster. It was impossible to have even the shortest conversation with Slade without being reminded of how perfect his life was, his perfect best-selling author wife, his perfect smile and thick, quaffed hair, his tan that never seemed to fade no matter what the time of year. And now his promotion, a promotion that I was infinitely more qualified for, I'd put in more time with the foundation. I even had one more degree than Slade did for Christ's sake. But if I'd come to learn anything during my life, it was that these kinds of things were rarely based on merit. They were a popularity contest, even at the foundation. Slade let a long moment pass before speaking again. The reason I ask about the devil is because I'm reassigned.

you to a new case. SCP 738. It's a set of peculiar furniture that's just been transported here from another location. The previous researcher in charge of it is currently undergoing psychiatric care. He insists that the furniture is a conduit to the devil himself. His last experiment on SCP 738 was quite a travesty.

They lost several people. In fact, the brass wanted to stop experimenting altogether, but I convinced them to give us a shot. I told them you're the right man for this job. Right, I said. Thank you. I'll have Cindy give you all the research. There's quite a bit.

Videos and notes and sound recordings. Take a few days to get acquainted with it. And then come to me with your research proposal. Sound good? Yes, Dr. Slade. Thanks, I said, standing up to leave the room. Hey, Fletcher, Slade said from behind me. Are you all right with this? I mean, is our working relationship going to be a problem?

No, of course not, I said, trying to sound the right amount of offended. Good, you can go now. It was three days of reading, watching, and listening to the research before I actually started my own experiments on SCP 738. The SCP consisted of three pieces of furniture, all made of mahogany, a desk, a wing-backed chair, and a guest chair. They were beautiful pieces, probably worth upwards of $50,000. They looked as if they belonged in an Italian mansion or a Fortune 500 CEO's office. I had the furniture arranged in a concrete room that had a door and a one-way reinforced window so I could see in, but those in the room couldn't see out. I also had cameras and other recording devices placed around the room. The door to

the observation room opened and in walked one of my junior researchers, a woman named Meredith Baxter. She was followed by Tim Walker, who had an IQ under 60, and was a member of the on-site Class D personnel. It was important for us to use low IQ individuals for this experiment. The research I'd inherited was very clear on that. Are you ready? I asked Baxter, handing her a small earpiece I could use to talk to her while she was in the room. She nodded, putting the earpiece in. Walker gazed around the observation room with a blank look on his face. He wore glasses and a threadbare blue jumpsuit.

His hair was shaved, close to his scalp, and he had a pronounced slouch. Okay, let's get started, I said. Baxter led Walker into the concrete room and directed him to sit in the chair facing the desk. Walker did as he was told, settling down in the fancy chair, while looking around. with that same blank look on his face. Baxter stepped back and rescued her clipboard from under her arm. She readied her pen to take notes. What do I do? Walker asked.

Just sit there and wait, Baxter said. Something should happen soon. Answer my questions when I ask them. Can you do that for me? Walker nodded. The large wing-backed chair behind the desk moved, leaning back as if someone had sat in it. But there wasn't anyone there.

Hello, Walker said, looking at the chair. I moved closer to the observation window. Who do you see, Walker? Baxter asked from her spot against the wall. There's a man sitting there, Walker said. He's a nice man, reminds me of my uncle. Is he speaking to you? Tell me what he's saying.

He wants to know what I want, Walker said. He wants to know what I want, Walker said. He wants to make a trade. What do you want? Baxter asked. I'm hungry. I want a pizza. A cheese and pepperoni pizza.

I don't like the food here. Huh? Walker suddenly turned back to the big chair behind the desk, which moved slightly. I guess I can give you them, he said to the chair. Give him what? Baxter asked.

Walker, what are you going to give him? He wants my glasses. Walker said, reaching up and fingering his spectacles. That's fine, I said, communicating with Baxter through our earpieces. Let's go with it. She nodded. Okay, if that's what you want to do, Tim, that's okay, she said. Walker thought for a moment, slouching further into the chair. Okay, dokey, he said finally.

One of the desk drawers opened, and a piece of parchment came floating out of it, followed by a feather quill and an ink bottle. I knew from the research that the parchment was made from human skin, but the feather had never been positively identified, nor had the ink. The feather dipped itself in the ink and then began writing on the parchment. Walker watched with a smile on his face. Suddenly, Baxter dropped her clipboard and hurried to the door. She banged on it, unable to open it from the inside for safety reasons.

What's wrong? I asked. Please, just let me out. I can't be in here anymore. I can't. Okay, I said, and opened the door for her. She rushed into the observation room and attempted to push past me, but I grabbed her arm. What's going on? I said. I don't know, she said, tears streaming down her face. Whatever is in there was trying to get into my head. I could feel it poking and prodding as soon as that ink and quill came out. Do you still feel it? No, no. It stopped when I came in. here. The research I gathered never said anything about that, I said, more to myself than her. I looked back into the room and saw that a plain white pizza box had appeared on the desk,

and Walker's glasses were gone. Okay, said to Baxter. You stay here and observe. I'll go in to finish this off. Is that okay with you? Yes, she said, wiping her cheeks. Yes, I'm okay. I'll stay in here. Good. I turned and walked through the door into the room, bending to pick up Baxter's dropped clipboard. Walker had opened the pizza box and was already halfway through a steaming slice. He looked content as he squinted up at me from his seat. Pizza grease smeared around his lips. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting. Your story could be next. If you've got the drive, they'll help you find your path to the Olympics. Let's see what you've got.

Sign up for free at rbc training ground.ca. Glasses for a pizza, I thought. Is that it? What do you want, doctor? A voice said. I turned, startled to see a man in a red and black suit sitting in the big chair behind the desk. He looked like a combination of my grandfather

and an old professor I had when earning my undergrad degree. I'm not supposed to be able to see you unless I'm sitting there, I said, pointing at the chair Walker was sitting at. The man shrugged. Things change, he said. Who are you? I asked. Who do you want me to be? Are you the devil?

The man laughed, leaning back in his chair. You don't really believe in the devil, do you, Fletcher? I flashed back to my conversation with Slade three days ago. No. So, what do you want? I heard Baxter talking into my earpiece, asking me what was going on. I put up a hand to make her stop.

I wanted to see where this went. Nothing, I said. I don't want anything. That's a good one, the man said. I've yet to meet a man or a woman who doesn't want anything. I shrugged. Things change. He laughed again, this time louder.

Very good, he said. I couldn't help but smile. I know what you want, he said after a moment. Yeah? What's that? You want Slade's life. Isn't that right? You want his looks, his confidence, his job.

And you definitely want his wife. I mean, who wouldn't, right? Sure, I said, laying on the sarcasm. Why not? I'll take it all. I looked down at the parchment on the desk, thinking about how far I could take this. I wouldn't ever sign anything, so I knew I was safe. Even if he could deliver something so crazy, I wouldn't sign anything,

even if I did really want Slade's life. What'll you give for it? he asked. Well, it's a big ask. What would be a fair trade? I said. The man in the black and red suit brought a hand to his chin and furrowed his brow and thought. I looked over to Walker and saw that he was oblivious to anything happening in the room. He scarfed down nearly half the pizza, and that's where all his focus was. I've got it, the man said.

Your wife, you give me your wife, and I'll give you Slade's life. I smiled at him, but deep inside, I wanted to make the trade. I loved my wife, but in that moment, the thought of living Slade's life. life, his seemingly perfect life, was too much of a temptation. A deep part of me cried out. Yes, yes, take the deal. I said nothing. Done, the man said smiling up at me. What? No, I didn't agree to anything. Oh, but you did. Something was happening to me. I felt light, as if I was beginning to float, but it was a terrible feeling. Everything turned fuzzy in the room. No, I didn't sign anything.

I said in a voice that seemed to fade away as I spoke. This, it's just a formality. You wanted the trade. Now you got it. The blurry room faded. I woke up in Slade's office, sitting in his chair. I got up from his desk, crying out. My hands were shaking as I looked down at my body.

But it wasn't mine. It was Slades. I ran out of the office and down the hall to the experiment. I barged through the door to find Baxter, Walker, and me in the observation room. I stared at myself through Slade's eyes, feeling a low-grade disgust with the way I looked, the receding hairline, the bad skin, the gut. I was just coming to see you, the old me said. I noticed that he was crying. Did he know? Was Slade in there? In my old body? Did he know what I'd done? I just got a call, Fletcher continued. It's my wife.

It's Mary. There's been a terrible accident. My guts convulsed, and I doubled over. Throwing up on the floor as images of Mary raced through my mind. Images of our courtship, our marriage, our child together. Dear God, our three-year-old child, Andrew. I'd killed her. I'd killed Mary, the love of my life. Are you okay, Dr. Slade? Baxter said, reaching down to help me up. As she did soon, she did soon. So, Slade's memories and feelings mixed with mine, and I knew that Slade had been trying to get Baxter in bed. I saw memories of him flirting with her, and one of him grabbing her ass in the hallway as she passed. I had no idea you felt this way about Mary, Fletcher said to me, helping me up from the floor with Baxter's help. Behind him, Walker looked at me with wide, curious eyes, a plain white pizza box clutched in his hands. I'm so sorry, I said to Fletcher. I'll take it back. I'll take it back. Take what back? Fletcher said, then shook his head.

I'm sorry, Slade, but I don't have time for this. I need to go deal with this right now. I need to go now. Fletcher left the room quickly, and I watched him go, wishing like nothing else that I could be back in my own body, that I could take it back, that I could have my wife back. Did you know her well? Baxter asked, rubbing my back with one hand. I thought about the question. My own memory. still jumbled up with Slade's. A vision of my wife wearing fancy lingerie in a strange hotel room surfaced. It was a memory that seemed somehow foreign to me. And as it came into clearer focus, I realized why.

It was one of Slade's memories. Slade had been fucking my wife. My wife had been fucking Slade. I pushed Baxter away from me and ran back to Slade's office, the fury and humiliation building to a crescendo inside me. I knew he had a gun safe in one of his drawers. I knew that because Slade knew that. I entered the combination and pulled out the gun, a Glock 19.

I made sure there was a bullet in the chamber before I put the barrel in my mouth with a sick satisfaction. I would make Slade pay for what he'd done to me. Just before I pulled the trigger, I heard the disembodied laughter of the man in the black and red suit. SCP 738 consists of three components, a matched set of mahogany furniture, including one desk, one straight-backed chair currently labeled, and one ornate throne-styled office chair labeled, all with brass embellishments and royal purple velvet padding.

The effect begins when a person sits in the straight-backed chair. Audio recorders record a distorted voice speaking. This voice will make offers and promises, trying to tempt the occupant of the straight-backed chair with a trade. accepting the deal causes the agreed upon wish or command to be fulfilled to the letter. Furthermore, it will cause the occurrences stated in the price to be paid. The entity has actively stated that the occurrences in the price are intended to cause an amount of emotional and or physical pain equal to the amount that the requester desires what they request.

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