The SCP Experience - Ball of Sharp | SCP-162

Episode Date: July 19, 2024

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-162 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-162 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Cyrus S. * * * 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

I think I've got it open! Jerry could not help but Crow triumphantly as the rusted metal lock fell away from the storage shed door. It clanked against the ramshackle plywood ramp underneath his feet, and he kicked it into the unmoed grass. Thank God! His wife Paula's voice came from behind his shoulder. I was about to give up and call someone to bulldoze the entire thing. That would be a waste of money, Jerry said.

After all, we have no idea what's in some. There can be some real gold in here. Old video games, exercise equipment, a riding lawnmower. He shoved his hands underneath the bent lip of the shed's door and started to push it upward. The aluminum groaned and crinkled as it folded in, sliding up its track reluctantly and disappearing into the roof above his head. Hold! His wife coughed and waved her hand in front of her face.

Oh my God. It smells like rotten garbage. It might be rotten garbage, Jerry smiled and stepped into the shed. The floor sank a bit underneath his shoe, and he put a little extra weight on his leg to test it out before taking another step. Careful where you step. I don't think this is very well supported. Really nice of the previous owners to leave us a whole building we can't use. Paula made a face and looked around. As if leaving all that shit in the attic wasn't enough for us to deal with.

We found some good stuff there, though. said. Do you know how much a good vinyl can sell for these days? I will have to take your word for it. Paula walked deeper into the shed, holding up her flashlight to move the beam over the jumble of things in front of her. Jerry followed suit, shedding light on some old tools piled into a corner, most of which were rusted beyond salvaging. There was a deteriorating workbench that looked like it might still have some use left in it and supported a stack of fishing poles that were in very shades of disrepair. Beyond that, there wasn't much, some old crates and boxes that could be thrown out, but nothing major. Well, it's not rotten at least, Jerry said. He walked over

to the workbench to inspect it a little closer, running his flashlight beam over the smaller drawers and shelves, looking through them all. Maybe that smell is old bait, something like that. Maybe, Paula nudged a crate with her foot. Less than I expect to. which is good. I don't know. Is it even worth cleaning out? We could just tear it down and have everything hauled away at once. The realtor said it had electrical connections, so I think we can build something new here and make that office space I wanted. Probably, Jerry said. But I don't know. I'll probably sort through these fishing rods and see if any of them are salvageable. A good one can fetch a mint on the right market, you know? Paula rolled her eyes. All right, she's

said. Well, while you're doing that, I'm going to go inside and make some lunch. Do you want anything? I'll take a sandwich. Jerry set down his flashlight and picked up one of the fishing poles to look it over. While you're doing that, I might stack these outside to have a better look. Go for it. His wife stepped over another box as she headed for the entrance. Watch out for snakes. Jerry set the last fishing rod down in a haphazard pile on the plywood entry ramp and dusted off his hands. He wiped them down the side of his jeans and then turned around to walk back into the shed one more time. Most of the rods were unusable, but there were one or two he was pretty sure he could save. He checked the workbench over just to see if there was anything he missed. He pulled open a few drawers and found

some extra fishing line, some old tackle containers, and a box for baitworms that only had one, dried up and crusted, stuck to the bottom. He threw that to the side and went for the last drawer closest to the floor. It was jammed. Jerry tightened his grip on the handle and tried to rattle the door loose, but it was not coming free. The edges around it looked like they had been painted over. Jerry muttered under his breath and dropped down into a squat.

He plunged his hand down into his jean pocket and pulled out a knife that was no bigger than his finger. He flipped it open and pressed the tip against the side of the drawer. A thin layer of cheap paint cracked immediately under the pressure, and he worked the knife back and forth all the way around, cutting the drawer out from its seal. When he finished, he set the knife down and used both hands to grip the edges before rattling the drawer again.

This time, it made a satisfying sound, and he grabbed the handle to give it one more good, solid bull. The paint ripped away, tearing a long piece away from the wood, as the drawer came sliding out fast. It was heavy and completely disconnected from its track, so it dove towards the ground and made an ugly, clunking sound as it hit the shed floor. It narrowly avoided hitting Jerry in the foot. At first, it did not look like there was anything inside.

Then the light coming in from over his shoulder bounced off something and Jerry leaned in to look closer. It was a tall mangled ball of metal, and it looked like they were mostly fishing hooks. They were brand new and shiny, so he could not imagine how they had gotten to be in that state. If he could get them untangled, though, they would be nice to sell. It was worth a shot. He looked around for something to try and grab them with. It wasn't really worth slicing up his hand if he could avoid it.

He spotted an old pair of barbecue tongs laying on the ground and leaned over to pick them up. He touched the sides with his fingers and scooted it along the floor until he could get a grip, and then he sat back up. Jerry stuck the tongs down into the drawer and went to grab the ball of tangled objects, but it slipped out from between the tongs as if it was oiled. Jerry frowned and went to grab it again,

and the ball slipped away, rolling to the other side of the drawer and ramming itself into an opposite corner. Jerry used both hands this time. He pressed down on the sides of the tongs and grabbed the ball in its pincers. All of the sudden there was a horrible, screeching metal-on-metal sound that seemed to fill the room.

The sound shot down his ear canal and made him feel like the drum was being ruptured. Jerry cried out in pain and fell back, throwing the tongs across the shed and setting his teeth angrily. He glared at the ball with every rational thought being driven out of his head by the awful, piercing scream that was like two nails being shoved into the sides of his skull. He plunged his hand down into the drawer and went to grab the tangled hooks with his bare fingers. The hooks were razor-sharp and sliced into his skin immediately, sinking deep and getting stuck in his flesh. The pain was God-awful. Blood welled up and poured over his fingers like he had nicked a vein.

His blood ran as thin as water and as dark as cranberry juice. Jerry cried out again and tried to shake off the ball, but the hooks bit deeper. It felt like the needle-sharp tips were scraping against his bones, gouging out shards and going for the meat. Mero! Jerry reached around the floor, searching for anything that could help him. His fingers found his pocket knife, and he ended up grabbing it in desperation. Jerry stabbed the ball with the blade, trying to work it in deep enough that he could get enough leverage to pull it off his hand. The hooks shivered, but instead of releasing him, they came apart and expanded, sucking the knife right out of his hand and pulled it into itself.

The knife disappeared until it was just the blade sticking out from the side. side of the ball, and Jerry caught himself staring, dumbfounded. What was he supposed to do? The pain radiated up his arm and made his shoulder ache. He felt like his whole arm was going to fall off. It was driving him crazy. His vision had black fuzzies creeping in from the corners and his whole world was spinning out of control. Jerry tried to grab the ball with his other hand, and the hooks snagged on his fingers. A new thread of pain, hot and fast like lightning, lit up every nerve like he had been electrocuted. Jerry only realized he was screaming

because his mouth and throat were dry. It was like he had kept them hanging open for hours. With both hands caught, he kept struggling. The more he writhed, the deeper the hooks seemed to go, and the more stuck his hands became. He was wrist deep in the jumble, and there was so much blood that it was pulling by his feet. He was desperate, like an animal caught in a trap.

He crashed down onto his ass and extended his arms as far out as he could. He brought his leg up to jam his foot against the tangle, wanting to knock it off his hands. The hooks pulled at his flesh, and he felt something tear. It was a horrible image of his hands peeling away from the bones like a pair of gloves. He swallowed too much air at once. Choking down fear, he tried to pull his leg back, but the bottom of his shoe was stuck on the hooks. His heart pounded in his throat. beating rapidly like a caged bird, and he tried to wrestle with the tangle to at least get his leg back.

The hooks sank deeper into his souls and then tore through the fabric sides. The sharp tips jabbed his flesh through his cotton socks and curled into his feet like talons. As Jerry writhed in pain. He rapped back and forth until he lost his balance and landed on his side. One leg stuck out helplessly while the other was sinking deeper into the mess of fish hooks. He called for help. The sound came tearing out of his throat and faded into a helpless whimper. Tears rolled down his face, and the hooks jangled as he tugged on his hands again.

Something new ripped, and another jolt of agony paralyzed his wrists, while more blood seeped through the sharp tangle of silver, dripping from the grisly points. He tried to push it off with his foot again, thinking maybe the blood would have lubricated the steel enough, but his only reward was another red stain spreading across the side of his shoe. Jerry moaned miserably and closed his eyes. All he could smell and taste was blood.

All he could feel was pain. Help me! He screamed again. His voice was ragged from being yanked out of the dry cavern of his throat. Help me! Paula! I'm stuck. I can't get out. Help me, please, please, help me. Lazzang sur-joled,

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pay money pay for example pay for example. The condition until she turned down the radio. At first, she thought it was something else, like a cat that had gotten trapped between their fence slats. Paula set down the knife she had been using to slice up tomatoes for sandwiches

and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel before hurrying to the back door. Once it was open, she realized that the sound was not a cat at all. It was her husband, and he was screaming her name. Paula broke into a run. She dashed across the yard and all but flew towards the shed where a sad pile of old fishing rods slumped against the ramp. She slowed down enough to step over them, holding her hand up to focus her eyes and try to get a glimpse inside the building. Cherry? She called back. Paula! His voice was more desperate than before. He sounded like he had been sobbing.

Paula, I'm stuck. Come get me, please. I'm coming! I'm coming! Paula clattered up the plywood ramp. I'm coming! Don't move! It took a second for her eyes to adjust. Her shoe hit a puddle of something, and she slipped across the floor. She managed to stick her arms out and regain her balance. When she could finally see, she noticed a wide red trail from the door to her shoe. Her stomach flopped. Cherry! What? She turned to look at him.

He was caught up by the workbench. One leg shoved underneath, and the other bent and stuck between his arms. Both hands were trapped in what looked like an enormous tangle of wires, fish hooks, and other metal objects. His face was contorted in agony and chalk white, and his jeans were soaked in blood that was dripping from the mass. He looked up at her with the most horrifyingly anguished gaze. His eyes were rimmed in dark circles,

and sweat, plastered his brown hair to his forehead. He barely looked alive. Paula screamed. She fell down to her knees and reached out to try and help him. She was not even thinking about getting stabbed herself. She could not even begin to sort out. how he had gotten into the mess. She did not even get a chance to touch the mass. Jerry groaned as soon as her hand came close, but it was not a sound of pain this time. His eyes rolled up,

and she thought she saw something like a smile fluttering around the corner of his mouth. Don't touch it, don't touch it, he moaned. His back arched, even though he was on his side, and his hips squirmed like he was trying to thrust into the empty air, even though he couldn't because of how his legs were positioned. Oh, oh, why? Don't touch it. Don't touch it. His scream was almost as animal and ragged

as it had been when he was calling out in pain. Paula recoiled, bringing her useless hand up to rest against her chest instead. She stared at him, unsure of what to do, and there was only one other thought racing through her mind. I need to call an ambulance, she said. I think that's the only thing I can... Stop!

Jerry cried out again. This time, his voice carried that sharp edge of pain she had heard before. Stop! Stop! Stop! Don't touch it! Stop! Oh my God, Paula! Get it off! Get it off! He was back to riving. Whatever moment had occurred, where he did not feel the pain had clearly passed. Paula sprang forward again and went to grab the tangled ball, even though he was thrashing around so much that she was having a hard time getting to it. Jerry! She shouted. Jerry! You need to let me. do it? I can't. I can't. It hurts too much. It hurts. He screamed. Paula finally caught the ball

on her hands, and as soon as she grabbed it, she felt the hooks slice open her skin. At first, she did not even see the lacerations, but then the blood started to pop up in numerous thin red lines and leak. She tried to take her hands back, but the hooks snagged on the webbing between her fingers. And when she tried to jerk it back, the meat on the sides of her hands got caught in even more. Soon, she was wrist-deep, and she could not even feel Jerry's hands rubbing against hers.

The tangle was never ending, and they were both getting swallowed. The more they struggled, the deeper they sank, like being trapped in quicksand. Jerry! Even the act of crying out was painful. It was like she was being stabbed

over and over again. She knew he could not do anything, but she called out for him anyway. Jerry! Help me! Help! Look at all these fishing poles! Todd nudged, the sad pile with the toe of his boot.

They look like they've been here a while. Something that our realtor conveniently left out of her pictures, his husband Greg replied with a snort. When she said fully wired shed, this wasn't exactly what I pictured. Well, Todd looked up. It's not that bad. We can poke around, and if there isn't anything worth saving,

we can just have it ripped down and put up a new one. Sure, Greg said as he stepped over the pile. But it is the principal. He scrunched up his nose and leaned into the shed. It smells like someone used this place to store their trash. What does that rotting hamburger smell? It could be that an animal got trapped underneath and expired there, Todd said. The exterminator did say we would be dealing with raccoons.

Wonderful, Greg said. Absolutely wonderful. He stepped a little deeper into the shed. pausing to a point towards a workbench that was shoved up against the back of the wall. Look at that! Todd swiveled his head. The mess that Greg was indicating was a tangled ball of wires and fish hooks, and maybe some other pieces of scrap metal.

It was sitting on the ground next to a broken drawer, half concealed by a shadow. That looks dangerous, Greg said. We should clean that up so the kids don't try to play with it. I'll get it. Todd looked around for something to pick the metal up with. There was no way he was going to risk getting cut. A pair of barbecuing tongs that looked like they had seen better days were thrown on the floor nearby. And he bent to pick them up.

Go inside and be with the kids, he said. I'll clean this up and be there in a minute. SCP 162 is a mass of fish hooks, fish line, needles, scissors, and other sharp objects in a rough ball shape, close to eight feet in width and 2.1. seven feet in height. After being in SCP 162's vicinity, subjects have reported feeling drawn to the object in order to touch it. This desire can extend for several weeks after seeing the item, becoming an obsession in many cases. The draw increases the more SCP 162 is observed, and subjects will become violent towards anyone attempting to restrain or remove them from SCP 162. Touching

SCP 162 will immediately result in several hooks becoming embedded in the subject's skin. The experience is extremely painful, much more so than normal fish hooks. Struggling or attempting to escape will ensnare the subject more, likely resulting in the subject's complete entrapment on the surface of SCP 162. Subject will bleed profusely, resulting in death after a prolonged period of time. Subjects whose skin is impenetrable, is impenetrable to SCP 162's fish hooks, such as SCP 1063, have proven to be immune to SCP 162's compulsion effects. Attempting to remove a subject from SCP 162 will result in the

entrapment of the remover or gross bodily harm to the subject's flesh. Subjects will many times cycle between expressing extreme pain and requesting assistance to statements of pleasure and requests to be left alone, even attempting to grab and entangle personnel attempting to rescue them. Activation of SCP 1114 within the proximity of SCP 162 has proven to be an effective means of freeing a subject from entrapment, though SCP 162's compulsion effect still remains.