The SCP Experience - An Anomalous Haircut | SCP-2944

Episode Date: December 9, 2024

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-2944 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2944 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Cyrus Spears  * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Debbie asked as she inched towards the parking space. She kept looking down at her rear-end camera like she was trying to correct her position, but she was perfectly in line with the faded white stripes on the asphalt. May rolled her eyes and pulled down the visor in front of her, sliding back the little plastic shield that covered the mirror and taking one last look. She was good at pretending to have second thoughts,

when in reality, she was very sure of what she had to do. I hate my hair, May said. You know this. I've been complaining about it for how long now? It feels like every day this week, Debbie told her. And I know you. You have to complain about it a little bit, then go back and live with it,

then put it up in a bun, then go on Pinterest and turn everything into a dream haircut board. Right, May agreed. And I've done all those things. I've wanted my haircut for a while now. But I had to wait on all my Christmas money to come in. Yeah, that's the other thing, Debbie mentioned. How much is this setting you back again? $300.

May unbuckled as nonchalantly as she could and slid out the side door as soon as Debbie turned off the car. I have a lot of hair. Right. Debbie got out as well and hit the button on her fob until her car beeped. So $300, and then you're going to regret it almost instantly. Do you know how much shopping you could get? done? I don't know. Maybe buy a new hat and try that first. You have no faith in me.

May rotated on her heel to face the wide glass windows of the salon behind her. There were endless advertisements with stylish pictures of the latest hair trends pasted to the inside, and they all stared down at her like saints carved into the side of a cathedral. She couldn't remember the last time she had touched her hair with anything that wasn't a boxed die from the drugstore shelf, and that had been almost three years. years ago. Debbie looked like she wanted to say something else, but she kept her mouth shut. She pulled the door open and gestured for May to walk in first. May stepped inside, her low red heels clacking against the gleaming linoleum. The black speckled floor was polished to

a mirror shine to where she could almost see her face on the surface. Immediately, she was faced by a row of stylists' chairs in front of white partitions decked out with mirrors and trinkets as individual markers of personality. I guess I will wait here, Debbie said. She picked a spot near a glass coffee table and grabbed a magazine. May nodded in vague acknowledgement, still looking around for a hint of another human soul. Hello? May finally called out.

She walked towards a wooden desk and set her purse down on top of it. The heavy weight of her keys and a collection of enamel, plastic, and puffy key chains hit the surface with a dramatic bang. She winced a little bit, not wanting to seem like she was impatient, but she was also starting to get nervous. She glanced over her shoulder and back at Debbie, who just raised an eyebrow at her and turned a magazine page. Can I help you?

A new voice spoke as a head of bright red hair popped up in her peripheral vision. May swung her head around with a smile already on her lips. It was the sort of insta smile that came from someone who was used, used to working retail. Hey, how are you? I have an appointment. My name is Mae Wilds. Wilds?

The receptionist turned to page in her appointment book and ran a painted fingernail down the columns. Oh, here you are. Looks like I'll be taking care of you today. Come on back. She waved and May followed her, gripping her purse close and wishing she had asked Debbie to join. She was a big girl.

She was an adult. She could handle getting her hair cut on her own. But as she sat down in front of the mirror and felt her chair getting pumped up, all her doubts started to collect in the bottom of her stomach and made her feel like she had to run to the bathroom. You have such beautiful hair, the woman behind her said as she pulled out a thin black cape. What are we doing with it today? Thanks, May said.

She whittled down her smile just a little bit and reached up to touch her thick black locks. I don't know, really. I just want something different. It's been this length my whole life. I want to change. I see, the stylist said. Something sassy and cute, maybe? She drove her fingers into the sides to lift up some of the hair.

How short do you want to go? I figured I would leave that up to you, May said. She gulped even as she spoke the words, feeling them like they were a rock lodged in her throat. I want it to be very different, and I know I have a lot of hair, so I know it will take a while. Just work your magic. She leaned back against the salon chair and tried not to slouch.

She regretted not taking some sort of CBD gummy before embarking on this venture. The stylist's smile in the mirror was odd. For a minute, her brown eyes looked as fire engine red as her hair. May sat up a little straighter at the sight. But she didn't say anything. When she blinked, the stylist had turned away. Well, you're in luck, she said. Quirk is my middle name, and you've got a lot to work with.

I think we can afford to be a little bit adventurous. She cupped her fingers around May's jaw and lifted it high, tilting it far enough back that the tendons in her neck began to strain. Hold this position for me, she said. I've got a reference that I haven't used in a long time. What reference is that? May asked. The stylist forced her head up even further.

Try not to talk, the stylist said. This requires a lot of concentration, and if you move, it won't be symmetrical. May started to nod, but then she stopped herself. The last thing she needed was to end up with a lopsided hairstyle. There was no music playing, which she became painfully aware of while listening to the rustle of tools on the workspace in front of her. Liquids were poured, razors were plugged in, and dryers were tested before any cutting actually began.

Then the stylist stepped behind her and sprayed her down with freezing cold mist, soaking her hair through. May bit her bottom lip to keep from flinching at the sudden blast she hadn't been expecting. Then it began, combing, cutting, razoring, and then blow-drying. It felt like it took an eternity. She couldn't see anything because her head was too high to look into the mirror, so all she could focus on were the water-stained ceiling tiles above her head. She counted the cracks that ran along the sides of a dusty air vent,

and tried not to think too hard about all the weight that was falling from her head. Every time her stylist gripped her head again and forced it back into the position she wanted, May could tell that she was that much lighter. Then the razor came towards her brow. May flinched and shrank back. It's part of it, the stylist said, and grabbed May's face to hold her still while razoring a line down her eyebrow. May's heart began to race.

By the time the stylist whipped off the cape and began to shake the tendrils of fallen hair off the surface, May felt dizzy. Her world spun just a little, and Squiggly's wriggled around in the corner of her eyes as she took the first glimpse of herself in the mirror. She didn't recognize herself. The difference was absolutely staggering.

She didn't have much hair left, comparatively. All the length was on the floor, and what remained was cropped asymmetrically at different angles and hung close to the shoulders, but didn't quite touch them. The line down her left eyebrow pulled it all together. Yet, she couldn't help but feel like she looked like someone's hard rock style Barbie. She was too stunned, in fact, to speak.

She tried to stammer out the right thing to say, which was... Oh my God, amazing! I love it! But that wasn't quite what came out. The stylist didn't seem to be paying attention anyway. She was wiping down her shears like they were the blade of a short sword that she had just taken to battle. You look great, the stylist said. I think this hairstyle is going to do amazing things for you. I really do. Let's get you all checked out, shall we?

$300 plus tax. plus tip. May swiped her credit card. Debbie hadn't said a word since she emerged. She just kept staring at the back of May's head, like the Mona Lisa had been spray painted there or something. May's cheeks were the same shade of red as her bright Mac counter lipstick. So maybe Debbie had been right. Maybe this was a mistake. But it was hair, right? It would grow back. It's cold as hell out here, Bree muttered under her breath. May wasn't listening to her friend's complaints. She was too busy scrolling through the long list of homework assignments

that she had to turn in over the next 24 hours. There's no seats inside. May finally responded after pulling her eyes away. It's not that bad anyway. Bree looked at her like she was nuts. It's going to snow tonight, she huffed. You're not even wearing a jacket. May glanced down.

Her long-sleeved crew neck was doing its job just fine. But now she felt self-conscious. I'm going to go in, Bree said. There's a table by the window, and it has an empty chair. I'll sit there and wave to you, and it will be almost like we're studying together. I'll be in as soon as another chair is free,

May told her. Bree only nodded as she stood up and gathered her laptop in books into her arms. She shuffled inside through the back entrance, puffing and puffing like the air was solid, and she was trying to suck down one full breath. May shook her head and glanced back at her laptop. Her arm itched like crazy, but it had been itching for the last several days,

ever since she got her haircut. Her skin had been extra sensitive, and she didn't know what to do about it. She wasn't sure if it was the cold or something else, but it was driving her crazy. May shoved her sleeve up past her elbow and scratched the inside of her elbow, Just brushing her hand across the fine hairs close to the edge of the joint sent a shiver all the way up to her shoulder and down her back. May's whole body shuddered and she heard a knock. She looked up.

Bree was tapping on the window and pointing to an empty chair across from her. May nodded and waved to show that she would be there in just a second. May turned her arm over and glanced at the top. She didn't have any goosebumps, and the black hairs were not standing straight up like she expected. Instead, the hairs were flat, and they formed what looked almost like a woven pattern over the surface of her skin. May's stomach flipped at the sight, and she clamped her wrist, pulling her hand up her arm and brushing the hair back. Another shiver got sent down her spine, and once the hair stood up, the skin that was left exposed,

felt like it had been exposed to a block of ice. The sudden cold was so painful that May yelped and brushed the hair back down. It laid flat for another second, then it slowly curled back into its woven pattern. The skin underneath felt like it was defrosting. May bit the inside of her cheek so hard that she felt part of it click between her teeth. Bree knocked against the window again, and May shut her laptop before standing up to join her. Whatever was going on with her body, she would figure it out later. A few hours later, May returned to her student apartment and made her way to her room with

without turning on any of the lights. Her two roommates were gone for the upcoming winter break, but she had elected to stay a few extra days and work on her assignments, rather than return home where her overbearing mother and two annoying brothers would only be a distraction. Besides, she knew her mother would have a lot to say about her haircut. She had texted her father a picture,

and he had only responded with a thumbs down emoji. She didn't have a lot of hope for their face-to-face responses. May sat down on her bed and pulled her laptop open once again. She leaned over it to squint at the screen and tried to force her brain to recognize the words she was reading. She was running entirely on coffee and fumes. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten, but she had to get her paper written. Her hair slid over her shoulders and dangled in the farthest corners of her vision.

It was too short to pull up effectively, but too long to stay out of her face. That was the most annoying thing about it. May swept it back and tucked it behind her ears, but it just fell into her face again. She growled and grabbed a plastic clip from her backpack, sweeping her hair up and imprisoning it before returning to her work. Seconds later, a loud bang came from beside the bed, and her hair fell back into her face. May jumped and looked over. The plastic claw clip had hit her dresser and was now laying on the floor, and her

Her hair was swinging against the side of her face, brushing her jaw like it was mocking her. May's heart hammered, and she stood to pick up the clip. Maybe she hadn't secured it tightly enough. Her hair was thick and had a habit of losing clips because of that. She twisted her hair back up and pushed the claw clip in again, really digging the teeth in to try and secure it close to her scalp. May sat back down on her bed, but no sooner had she settled, she heard the sounder. again. This time she actually felt the claw clip sliding off her scalp, and then it just went

flying, like someone was pulling it free and throwing it. May sprang up as soon as she heard the clip hit the dresser. She turned around, but there was no one behind her. She swallowed hard and went to pick up the claw clip, but her hands were shaking. Jen? She called out. Aggie? If either of her roommate stayed behind to pull a prank, that would be childish, but less terrifying than the alternative. No one answered her. May walked over to her dresser and set the claw clip down. She braced herself against the edge and looked into the mirror, trying to keep her breathing even and watched to see if anyone came up behind her. No one came. It's your imagination, she thought to herself. May picked up an elastic hairband. She raised her hands, never tearing

her eyes away from the mirror. The moment she went to sweep her hair into a ponytail, the tendril sprang up. It was like static electricity, except not as frazzled. It went up in long locks, like tentacles, and curled at the ends as if it was going to come down and attack her. May screamed and grabbed at her hair, but the curled ends wrapped around her fingers tight enough that the fleshy tips turned purple. She dropped the elastic. May tried to pull her hands free, but the grip her hair had on them was too tight. She couldn't pull hard enough without ripping the hair out of her scalp, which was so sensitive

that even a slight tug sent daggers of pain shooting down her neck. May screamed again and whipped her head around, shaking her hands wildly, but that just seemed to get them entangled further. She fell to her knees. tendrils of hair wrapped underneath her jawline and coiled around her neck. They tightened, May choked, clawing at her throat to try and break the strands that were restricting her breathing. Her fingers were too clogged with hair.

She couldn't get her nails to pierce through the strands and dig at the ones that were wrapped around her throat. It was simply too much. May gasped for breath, and her vision started to whirl. She lowered herself to the floor even further, still trying to snap the thick black strands. that felt more like wires. She thrashed, kicking her feet out, until her toes and heels banged against the dresser and the wall,

trying to alert someone, anyone. She tried to scream. But when she opened her mouth, more hair began to fall into the open cavity, and she snapped it shut, breaking a few of the strands between her teeth. The world was getting dark. She couldn't tell if the blackness creeping around the edges of her vision

was more hair, or if she was that close to passing out, May writhed helplessly on the floor until she no longer had the energy to kick her bruised feet against the wall. The smell hit her first. As soon as Aggie opened the door to her student apartment, she was hit with a gag-worthy stench of rotten meat. Of course, that had to mean either Jen or May hadn't taken out the trash before they left, which was directly against student housing policy, and she would be taking it up with their property manager. Aggie dragged her suitcase in and shut the door behind her.

She walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light switch first thing. A mass of black flies went scattering as soon as the light came on, forming a cloud in front of her eyes, and she screamed. Aggie backed away, almost tripping over her suitcase, and reached into her coat pocket to grab her phone. Trash was one thing, but a house full of flies was another. She dialed her mother's number. Mom, I can't with these girls anymore.

She was close to tears, her throat swelling up as she pushed open the bathroom door. There were flies everywhere, on the walls and on the mirror, but the trash can was empty. Her mom babbled a question on the other side of the phone, but she was barely listening. It smells like shit in here, Aggie yelled. She opened up the hall closet door, but there was nothing. No hidden trash bags, no crushed pizza boxes filled with the... rotting food. Like, as soon as I came through the door, and I can't find what it is. She grabbed the handle to May's room. It wasn't locked. She pushed it open.

I just can't! Her rant ended in a sharp screen. Aggie dropped her phone with her mother pouring out questions as it fell, and the phone landed on the carpet right next to a big, plastic claw clip. May's contorted body lay on the floor, completely gray and bloated, covered in large black flies that buzzed around angrily at the sudden intrusion. There was hair wrapped around her neck and filling her open mouth. The only thing visible on her whole face, in fact, was her bulging, bloodshot eyes. They stared right at Aggie, who couldn't look away as she bent down to pick up her phone. At the very moment she touched it, she could have sworn she saw a long lock of hair slide out of the dead girl's mouth.

SCP 2944 is an anomalous hairstyle achieved by following a highly specific grooming procedure, known as Procedure Gamma 2944, which grants the wearer conscious control over every hair follicle on their body. The effectiveness of these abilities depends on the precision with which the procedure is executed, with controlled hair displaying increased flexibility, sensory input, and reduced static buildup. Subjects can perform tasks like sensing objects with body hair, weaving hair for warmth, or unconsciously reacting to threats by stiffening their hair. However, control is lost once follicles are plucked or shed. The hairstyle requires intricate and precise cuts, including patterns on the scalp, eyebrows,

and sideburns, making its replication highly challenging.