The SCP Experience - Bloody Roots | SCP-307

Episode Date: December 20, 2024

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-307 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-307 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett  * * * 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

Lazang sur-gillet, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes. Oh, you'd say that's the hour Dojo? Prere to play? Vive the pleasure

with Leo Jo. The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-a-soo and the money to buy-Bas Bonanza.

Without exigance to miss and with the payments instantane. Hey, I've gained! Woo-hoo! Sentire the pleasure

Play-Ojo 18-10 and plus, 1-Depos only depots only depo in Ontario. 50 tours on the machine to buyonance sub

Bix Bonanza, depop minimum, of 10 dollars, Veillage me in a way to be responsible. The conditions apply. As I send the axe plunging toward the earth, I imagine I'm cutting into a human body instead of the tree roots I'm actually attacking.

I picture slicing into my neighbor Ted with the axe blade. With this swing, it makes a gouge in his leg. With the next one, the leg separates from his body. Two more swings, and I've cut through an arm. But even in my imagination, I can't bring any reality to the fantasy. It's like I'm cutting into a dead-shaped dummy, with foam limbs and watery red juice as blood, like a child's poor attempt at making a gory scene for a haunted house. Maybe that's a good thing.

Maybe I should be glad that even my imagination doesn't have the wherewithal to conjure up realistic visions of hacking my asshole neighbor apart. Still, as I hack away at the thick tree roots, a feeling of giddy excitement spreads through me, Similar to the feeling after taking a hit of weed from my occasional joint. And as when I smoke the occasional joint, I feel a sense of rebelliousness that makes me think of my teenage years. I whack at the roots, which I painstakingly dug up over the last two hours, hoping I will do enough damage to my neighbor's weeping willow tree that it will die.

The wooden fence that denotes the property line is only about six feet away. The willows trunk grows on the other side of it, but its branches extend over my yard, nearly a mirror image to the roots that grow under my yard. Not only does the tree make mowing a pain in the ass, thanks to all the branches it sheds, but I've already had to spend several thousand dollars repairing a water line that the roots grew into. I had no idea until that happened, but apparently weeping willows are known for their fast-growing roots that can spread far beyond the reach of their branches. After Googling what to do about my neighbor's tree branches over my property line,

I decided to follow Google's advice and talk to Ted about it. Trimming the branches over my yard wouldn't do anything for the roots, but at least it wouldn't be such a pain in the ass to mow. It was something. But trimming them without first talking to Ted about it seemed like the wrong thing to do. At the time, I was sure might be. neighbor, who I hadn't shared ten words with, would be reasonable. I was wrong. When he answered the

door, I approached the subject in a man-to-man manner, explaining my situation to him, and asking him nicely if he would mind me cutting the branches that extended over my fence. I see you got a nice old dog over there, Ted replied, leaning in close like an old friend as we stood on his porch. An old chocolate lab, right? I bet that's a good dog. I bet you love that dog. He leaned away from Anne smiled, the hair from his mustache, dangling from the miniature bushes,

growing out of his nostrils. Don't touch that tree. Don't touch that goddamn tree. That was our first real interaction. When Caitlin and I moved into the house some six months ago, we would wave to him whenever we saw him out and about. He never returned the gesture, so we stopped trying soon enough.

Hell, the only reason I even knew his name was because we'd accidentally received a piece of his mail once. I knew he was crotchety, but I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The implied threat against my dog made me sick to my stomach. Only later, when I was trying to sleep that night, I thought about Ted's several cats that always seemed to be terrorizing bull, our dog. I should have threatened his cats, I thought to myself, staring at the gloomy ceiling. while Caitlin snoozed next to me. Of course, I came to my senses and refused to stoop so low as him. I never threatened him or his cats.

I simply bided my time and studied his schedule and waited for the right moment. That moment is now. I take a break from hacking at the roots and pull out my phone to look at the time. If my guess is right, Ted shouldn't be home for another couple of hours. By then, I'll have hacked these roots. roots up pretty good. I'm also going to put some herbicide on them before covering them back up like nothing happened. I put my phone away, wipe my brow, and get back to chopping.

I'm at it for another ten minutes before a feeling like I'm being watched comes over me. As soon as I stop chopping, I can hear the idling vehicle. My heart drops into my stomach, and that excited, rebellious feeling is replaced by one of shame and fear of being caught. I look over my shoulder toward the road, cursing myself for not installing a front fence already. Dead stares at me from his idling truck. He looks furious. His face is red and his sinewy left arm, which hangs out the open window, is pressed against the side of his door as if he's trying to crush it. After a long moment of eye contact, he moves, disappearing from view as he turns into his driveway next door.

Feeling ill, I look over it, Bull. who lies nearby in the house's shadow. He's sleeping soundly. Of course he is. What did I think? The Ted was going to wave a magic wand and hurt my dog? How ridiculous. I step over to the fence and peer through a crack,

seeing Ted's garage door go down. I've been caught red-handed, and there's nothing I can do about that. But do I really believe Ted will actually do anything about it? I search myself for an answer, looking over at Bull again. A smile comes onto my face. Nah, I growl, pacing in my living room with Caitlin standing nearby,

trying to bring me back to Earth. You don't know he even did anything. Of course it was him. Bull goes missing just three days after he catches me hacking the roots to his precious tree? That can't be a coincidence. No way. He told me he was going to do something to Bull. He fucking told me.

No. Actually, he was very careful not to tell you that. I ignore my wife, still pacing, wondering if Bull really could have wandered off. He's an old dog, and he has been acting strangely the last few months. But I can't remember the last time he wandered off the property. It's why I let him roam around without a leash and without a front fence to keep him inside. All he likes to do is lay around. He's way past his days of chasing cats or cars.

No, this has Ted's fingerprints all over it. I stopped pacing and look toward the window that faces Ted's house. Thick curtains are drawn over it. I'm going over there. It's the middle of the night. Good. Maybe I'll catch him off guard. Dressed in shorts, a holy t-shirt, and house slippers, I head out the front door and down the walkway toward the sidewalk.

But out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse a piece of root I dug up the other day. It's about the size and shape of a hammer. I detour and grab it from the pile of severed roots I hadn't bothered to cover up. Then I march over to Ted's house. I'm faintly aware that Caitlin has followed, whispering harshly for me to stop, to come to my senses. But as soon as I stepped foot on Ted's porch, she slinks back to our side of the fence, probably to watch through a crack between the slats. She's scared of Ted.

It has been, since shortly after we moved in. I used the root to bang on his front door. Open the goddamn door, Ted, I say, not caring if I wake up the neighbors. The deadbolt clicks metallicly. A moment later, the door opens and the barrel of a gun juts out, stopping inches from my face. Ted opens the door the rest of the way and peers out from behind the large revolver. All the things I was going to say have suddenly deserted me. I stand dumbly, holding the root limply by my leg.

Coming over here with a weapon? Ted asks, looking down at the route. Yelling? Banging on my door? I could have killed you. You're lucky I didn't. Finally, I managed to get a hold of myself. Where's my dog?

What did you do to him? Ted smiles from behind his gun. No idea what you're talking about, Glenn. I haven't seen your dog. Haven't touched your dog. And frankly, I don't give a shit about your dog. Now get off my property, or I'll be forced to call the police. Fucking call them!

I shout, memories of bull flitting through my mind. Come over here with a weapon again. I will shoot you, asshole. Ted slams the door in my face. Your precious tree will die soon. I shout at the door, sounding more whiny than I want. I give it six months, you miserable prick. I tossed the route down on his doorstep and then rush back to my own house, seething and shaking with rage.

Days pass. I go to work. I go to the gym. I make dinner every other night. In my spare time, I put up flyers with pictures of bull along with my phone number. I do this, not because I believe bull is actually lost, but because I hope someone finds his body. Also, I've started toying with the idea of killing one of my neighbor's cats. The notion fills me with shame, but I can't seem to shake the idea. I want to hurt Ted as much as he has hurt me.

He's taken my best friend away and that old sense. about an eye for an eye sounds pretty attractive to me. The flyers will give me some sort of reasonable deniability. At least that's my hope. Of course, if something should happen to one of Ted's cats, he will certainly know I'm the cause. Just like I know, he's the one who killed Bull. But knowing and proving are two very different things, as I've experienced myself so recently. If I thought I could prove it, I would have called the police. After all, I haven't broken any laws. I'm perfectly within my legal rights to trim any branches or cut any roots that grow onto my property. The truth is, I haven't involved the police because I want to handle this myself.

I just need to be smart about it, so I don't get caught. It's after dinner on a Friday night, and I'm heading through the backyard to the gate and the back fence. All the houses on this side of the street back up on a swath of untended woodland, and I often like, like to go for little walks in the wooded area, even if the going is tough with all the underbrush. I step out, closing the wooden gate quietly behind me. I work my way into the woods, angling to my right, so I'll eventually be directly behind Ted's house. As I go, I take a joint and a lighter out of my cardigan pocket and light up. I pause for a moment, allowing my eyes to readjust to the darkness after the relative brightness of the flame.

Then I resume my journey. I take my time, smoking as I move through the thick underbrush, until I'm about 50 yards behind Ted's house. I find a spot with a decent line of sight, and then stand, watching his house. He doesn't have a back fence, so I can see clearly into his backyard. His yard is dark, the back porch light is off. I scan for any movement, seeing nothing at first. With the joint halfway gone, I put it out and save the rest for later.

Then I resume my watch. Finally, after about 15 minutes, I see some movement. My heart rate increases as I watch the orange and white cat stride toward the back of the property, toward me. Licking my lips, I start forward, reaching into my jeans pocket for a pouch of mushy cat treats. According to the cat lovers on Reddit, this flavor is so fragrant, cats come running. whenever a pouch is opened. I keep the pouch in my hand, unopened, until I can get closer to the animal.

But as I'm moving, picking my footing carefully because of the thick vegetation, something else catches my eye. It's a squirrel, seemingly frozen on the ground about five feet ahead of me. Its eyes are open, tail curved, and a question mark. I expect the animal to bolt as I take a step closer, but it doesn't so much as twitch.

Then I see that it's tangled in some kind of ivy. I'm not a plant guy, but I know a creeper when I see one. I just can't tell what kind of vine this is. Although hard to tell for sure in the dark, I think the leaves have a faintly purplish hue, and there are green thorns poking out between leaf stalks. The plant seems to be wrapped around one of the squirrel's legs and its neck. I've never heard of any plant that could do that,

unless the squirrel was already dead and had been standing there like that for several days. But that's the thing. The squirrel looks fresh as a daisy. Curious, I search around and find a stick. It's about two feet long, so I have to get a little closer to get within poking distance. The squirrel doesn't move.

It must be dead. I ease the tip of the stick closer and closer to the animal. Something moves, causing me to gasp and jerk the stick back. An ashamed smile comes over my face, and I laugh at my own cowardice. Weed gets me like that sometimes. Regaining my composure, I look at the squirrel again. It hasn't moved. But it looks like some of the ivy has.

Impossible. Maybe I stepped on something that the ivy is wrapped around, pulling a vine. Scanning the ground, I see no such thing that I could have moved. Shaking my head, I reach back out with the stick. When the tip of it is about an inch away from the squirrel, something moves again. This time, I see it clearly. A vine branching off the ivy darts toward my outstretched hand, like a snake trying to strike its prey. I jerk back on instinct, backpedal, and trip falling to my ass.

The ivy, although still stretched out toward me, doesn't move any farther. I stare at it, eyes wide, sure that my high is to blame for this whole thing. Plants don't move like that. Maybe Venus fly traps, but certainly not vines. None that I've ever heard of. Over on the other side of the vines, something makes a slight sound in the underbrush. My heart lurches into my throat as I look that way.

When I see orange and white fur, I breathe out a sigh of relief. It's one of Ted's cats, the one I saw coming out of his yard. It pauses as it sees me, muscles tightening as if getting ready to bolt. My original mission comes back to mind. I look down at the pouch of cap treats in my left hand.

Then I look up at the unmoving squirrel amid the vines. Staying seated and trying not to move too fast, I sit cross-legged and whisper. While I speak to the cat, who has yet to bolt, I tear the top off the pouch and squeeze some of the smelly goop out, so it will waft in the wind. The cat perks up, look at the cat perks up, perks up, looking directly at my hand.

Yeah, it's a treat just for you, I say. Come here and get it. The cat makes no move. It's smart. It knows I'm up to something. Leaning forward slowly, I reach out and put the pouch down on the ground. Then I lean back and pretend not to be a threat. The cat creeps toward me, approaching the vines and the squirrel.

It comes a little closer, eyes on the prize. Come on, come on. The cat is wary of the frozen squirrel, so it tries to go around the thing. What happens next happens fast. The vines move like lightning, two of them shooting out toward the cat. One grabs its foreleg and the other its back leg on the same side. The cat immediately freezes, going stiff, still standing. Eyes wide and breath-held, I watch with fascination, waiting for something to happen. But nothing does. Minutes pass. The cat remains frozen in that position. The vines remain wrapped around its legs.

What the hell just happened? After a few more minutes pass, I stand up and search around for a longer stick, finding one easily. I reach out with the stick, ready to jerk back if the ivy tries to touch me again. Now, I do what I didn't manage to do before. I touched the squirrel with the stick.

It's like touching a balloon with attack. The squirrel collapses in on itself as though it was nothing but an empty sack of fur. I scoff, not able to believe my eyes. Then I shift the stick to poke the cat, but I think better of it at the last moment. Instead, I leave the cat as is and stand up. Then my eyes move as if on their own, and I look at the back of Ted's house. I look at it for a long time.

I'm sitting in the living room, staring at the blank TV screen, when the pounding comes from the door. Finally, I think. It took him four days to notice one of his cats was missing. Four days. With a grin on my face, I stand up from the couch, just as Caitlin comes into the room. She pauses when she sees the look on my face. We haven't been talking much lately, and I must look like an insane person. Not to worry, it will all be over soon.

It's for me. Go back to whatever you were doing. It's going to be okay. Caitlin opens her mouth to say something, but I turn away and stalk toward the front door, which Ted is still banging on with the fury of the... a man buried alive. Just before I opened the door, I changed my expression to one I've been practicing in the mirror. It has to look at once, innocent and knowing, concerned, and sardonic. Before I get the door all the way open, Ted shoves through and gets into my face. I'm actually

surprised he doesn't have his gun in hand. Where's my cat, you son of a bitch? Cat? What cat? Ted's nostril hairs dance on an angry snort of air. Go fuck with me! You thought I did this. something to your stupid dog, but I didn't. Now you've messed with the wrong guy. If you did something, I mean, what does it look like? Because I saw a cat out in the woods behind your house last night, an orange and white one, looked like something was wrong with it. Ted pauses, eyes focused on mine as if looking for the lie, but I've practiced this. And besides, I'm not lying, not technically.

Shummy, he says, backing off and stepping onto the porch. I'm sure you can find it yourself. It's just behind... No, you show me right now. Let's go! It takes all I have not to smile. That giddy excitement comes to me again, building with each step I take out of the house. The evening sunshine is soft and colorful,

approaching magic hour. The weather is perfect. It feels like I'm a teenager again, daring to do something I could get in big trouble for. But the plan is working beautifully, filling me with confidence. Ted falls in behind me as we walk down the side of my house to the back gate. He glars at me as I step aside, holding the gate open.

He studies me warily, then gestures with one hand for me to keep moving. He wants me to stay in front of him. I angle through the woods, scanning the ground carefully just in case that stuff is grown elsewhere in the last four days. I think it was over here. You think I'm stupid? Ted asks. I stop and look over my shoulder. Seeing the pistol in Ted's hand.

I guess he had it tucked in his back waistband. Whoa! I say, raising my hands. I'm just trying to be neighborly. I really did see an orange and white cat out here, just over there. You're going to try to beat me up or something out here? Because you can forget it. I'm not stupid.

And I didn't touch your goddamn dog. Okay, I believe you. I lie. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm telling the truth. You want me to show you or not. I'll keep my hands up the whole time if that makes you feel. better. Ted considers. I think he's going to say no and turn back around, but after a few long moments, he nods. We move through the woods, the sun weakening and going golden as it

slants through the trees, deepening shadows, snake all around us. I round a thick oak and stop. I gesture with my chin. Right there. Ted can't see what I'm looking at because of the oak tree and some bushes in the way. So he has to come closer to bring it into view. I watch his face, seeing the moment his eyes land on his precious cat. They go wide, and the gun tilts sadly toward the ground. The cat is just as I left it, seemingly frozen in place. I just hope Ted doesn't notice the collapsed squirrel until it's too late. Then he's moving past me, saying, Dexter! Dexter! I ease over toward a large bush on my left, eyes darting down toward it, and then back up to Ted. His gun is all but forgotten at his side. He slows as he

comes near the vines, with their purplish leaves and their green thorns. Dexter, what's wrong? Just a few more feet now, just a few more. Come on, come on. Ted comes to a stop, just a few feet away from the creeper, about where I was when I used a stick to poke the squirrel. Ted has seen it. I can tell by his body language that he's seen the flattened squirrel. What the hell? He says to himself, leaning forward. I think about rushing forward to push him, but I know I would make too much noise tromping through the underbrush. It would alert him.

And if he didn't shoot me, he could drag me into the vines with him. So I wait and watch as my heartbeat dances on my ribs. He moves a small step closer, leaning in, looking at the squirrel. A vine shoots out at him, reaching for him with three tendrils. Shit! Ted shouts, throwing himself back. The vines miss him by inches. He lands on his butt and scrambles away, eyes still fixed on the fast-moving vines.

Oh well, I think, reaching into the bush and yanking my plan B out. I heft the axe as I dart forward, making a bunch of noise just like I thought. But now Ted is on the ground, and he's facing away from me, and I'm closing in fast. He turns awkwardly, eyes bulging when he sees the axe I've raised over my head. He raises his pistol, bringing it across his head. bringing it across his body. He was fast enough to avoid the vines, but he's not fast enough to avoid the axe,

which smashes into his forehead with a crack. Ted's body goes limp with the impact, the pistol dropping out of his hand. I think about how this looks. I could say he brought me out here to kill me, threaten me with the gun because he thought I did something to his cat. I could say I was out here chopping wood and had conveniently left the axe nearby.

It's not the best plan, certainly not as good as my cat. my plan A with the vines, but it's something. I stare down at Ted as his eyes flutter, then his limbs begin twitching. The gash in his forehead looks deep, but maybe not deep enough to end him. I think of Bull, who was 11 years old. Poor Bull, who never did anything to anyone. Such a good dog.

That teenage excitement takes a sudden turn, going darker, as if it's copying the sunset that's slowly plunging the woods into a latticework of shell. shadows. Ted continues to twitch. My hate flares. I bring the axe up and remember cutting into the tree roots, imagining it was Ted I was chopping apart. Now's my chance. I bet he's not filled with foam. I bet his blood's not watery like Kool-Aid. Filled with an overwhelmingly dark glee, I whip the axe down. I'm splattered in Ted's blood when I creep home after dark, easing the back door open and looking around for Katelyn. Katelyn yells from the, Katelyn yells from the living room. Is that you? I've been calling your phone for half an hour. Guess who came home?

As if to answer her question, Bull comes lumbering into the kitchen, thick tail whipping the cabinets as he approaches me. Hey boy, I say grinning. You're okay. You're really okay. Bull licks Ted's blood off my arms. The reality of what I've done comes crashing down on me, and my legs go limp. I sit down heavily on the floor as Bull continues licking Ted's blood. I'm going to prison for a long, long time. Caitlin comes into the room and sees me, her expression going from joy to dread in a heartbeat. SCP 307 is a creeping vine, similar in appearance to the common English ivy, save for the presence of greenish thorns on the stems and the tendency of the leaves to exhibit

a purple hue. The vine appears to be carnivorous and exhibits some degree of intelligence. When in the presence of a warm-blooded animal, it grows at a startlingly rapid rate in the direction of the animal, often growing three vines at a time in what appears to be a flanking maneuver. Upon contact, SCP 307 paralyzes the victim, and then liquefies and drains all internal organs, musculature, and blood. The mechanisms by which it does this are presently unknown. They have, however, led to researchers calling it spider-eye. Ivy.