The SCP Experience - BUGBOX | SCP-5020

Episode Date: July 31, 2023

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-5020: BUGBOX This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5020 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Jordan Grupe Check out more of his work here: https://www.reddit.com/user/Jgrupe/ 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 #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Things were difficult after my wife and I split up from our troubled relationship. I left our apartment and car with her, as well as our 10-year-old cat, who I bitterly missed. It was hard to leave, and even harder trying to find a place to live. After a few weeks of couch surfing, I moved into an elderly woman's basement, upon seeing an ad she had posted for it online. The basement was cold and neglected, filled with spiders whose webs I began to notice more and more frequently. They reappeared quickly, even after I had cleaned them up with a broom. The webs would get caught in my hair or on my arm as I walked around,

and sometimes I would feel baby spiders skittering down my back or up my leg. Despite my efforts to eradicate them, I kept seeing arachnids everywhere and purchased traps in an effort to keep them under control. But the traps didn't work either. The old woman who rented the basement was named Mrs. Lancaster. She was friendly and sometimes offered me food if she had made too much for dinner. I always told her I'd pay her for it, but she quickly waved me off. Normally I would be happy for the home-cooked meals,

but soon I was going out for fast food and getting takeout instead of eating with her. I would tell her I wasn't hungry when she offered. There was something off about the woman. I just couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. Her food always tasted a bit weird as well. I continued running from her, but I kept my distance. I avoided the upstairs, which was easy enough,

since I had my own bathroom and living area, as well as a bedroom on the lower level. After purchasing a mini-fridge and a hot plate, I had little reason to venture up there. I began to see the old woman less and less, but she would sometimes see me out front, smoking a cigarette on the porch. And one day she struck up a conversation with me.

You can smoke in the garage if you want, she said to me. I've seen you shivering out here in the snow. As long as you clean up after yourself, it's okay with me. It was late winter, and I was happy to take her up on her offer. I'd been trying to quit cigarettes, but with the stress of the breakup and everything else going on, I was finding it difficult.

And so I found myself sitting in the old woman's cold, musty garage, smoking cigarettes, and watching Netflix on my phone most days. I would prop the phone up on an old cardboard box and sit back on a half-broken reclining office chair, which had been left out there, along with an ashtray. The back of the disused chair poked uncomfortably into my spine in a poor effort at lumbar support, and I used that pain as an excuse not to linger out there for too long.

But as the months passed, I became more and more comfortable in the musty old garage, bringing a space heater and plugging in a stereo. I hooked up an old laptop and used it to watch movies instead of squinting at the tiny screen on my phone. I also found a more comfortable chair at a local yard sale to avoid permanently damaging my back from the broken one. I began smoking like a chimney, spending hours out in the garage, inhaling sawdust from decades-old piles, scattered beneath carpentry equipment. Mrs. Lancaster's husband had passed away and left behind a garage full of tools, construction material, and boxes, which I sometimes examined curiously out of the corner of my eye while chain smoking

and drinking beer. I had begun to drink pretty regularly. The evenings were long and lonely without much to do, and somehow I picked up the bad habit of drinking PBR to pass the time. It helped me sleep at night, too. Without it, I just tossed and turned in a fit of existential rambling thoughts. The mornings were another story, but I tried not to think about those, and usually slept through them. As the months passed, it began to warm up, and soon spring arrived, and then summer. A heat wave hit the area,

and suddenly I was very thankful to be living in a basement. It stayed cool down there, and I made a habit of hiding out from the heat. I worked from home, so there was no real reason to go out, except for food. And soon I was ordering Uber Eats to avoid even that, using the hot weather as an excuse for my hermit lifestyle. I was still missing my cat, my old life, and my old apartment, but I knew I had made the right

decision leaving, and had no desire to go back to the constant, never-ending bickering which had become my marriage. Still, it seemed like I was in a rut. I kept trying to shake myself out of it, but I found myself incapable of doing so. The weeks and months dragged on, until a hot night in August when my entire life changed. It was around 2 a.m. and I was out of my time. in the garage, watching a rerun of the office on my laptop. I'd been out there for a while and the air was blue with smoke. I had cold beer on ice beside me, and as I sipped on one of them, I heard a noise from my right. Glancing over, I scanned the shelves filled with old boxes and camping equipment, looking for the source of it, but I couldn't find it. It sounded a bit like a

mouse. The light above me was an old incandescent one, and it flickered with an orange glow that I wished was brighter. When I looked behind me, towards the garage door, all I could see was darkness. I ignored the sound, focusing my attention on the show I'd seen a thousand times before. After watching the final episode, I had simply hit the rewatch button to view the whole series from the beginning again. It was my comfort show, and I could watch it every day and never get bored. No matter how many times I had seen an episode, I would always catch something new. At Dunder Mifflin, Jim had just put Dwight Stapler in Jello, and Michael was laughing as Ryan suggested he put Jim in custody. That noise came again from behind me this time, and then to my left. Oh no, I talk to

myself. There must definitely be mice in this garage. I'll have to talk to Mrs. Lancaster about hiring an exterminator. Still, I didn't move. The idea of mice, didn't scare me. It just made me feel a bit put off. I would deal with it in the morning, though. It wasn't like anything could be done about it right now anyways. I paused to the show, distracted now by the occasional rustling sounds from nearby. They were getting more and more frequent and difficult to ignore. Then, up ahead, there was a different noise. It was a buzzing, insectile sound, but louder and stranger than any I'd heard before. I tried to pinpoint where it was coming from, and a second later I had my answer. There was a box straight ahead of me,

under the incandescent light. It was stacked underneath another box, which looked like it was heavier and was crushing it beneath its weight. The box underneath looked wet and sunken in, as if it was full of something which had spilled on it, old motor oil, or expired food products, maybe. That box was where the buzzing sound was coming from, and a moment later something spilled out of it. It was a fat black bug, as big as a rat. It was covered in a viscous, tarry liquid, kicking its legs in the air as it tried to turn over. The thing had fallen out of the box and was now stuck on its back, trying desperately to right itself. What the fuck? I muttered to myself as I stared at it, trying to figure out what the hell

I was looking at. I'd never seen anything like it. The size of the thing was completely unnatural, as if it had come from another continent or another planet altogether. A second later, there were more of them crawling out from the box, flattening themselves as they pushed their way out from beneath the other, heavier crate on top. There's something else here now, something new. From, exclusively on Paramount Plus, it's the series Stephen King calls Scarious Hell. Everything here is impossible, but it's also real. Sci-Fi Vision calls it the best show streaming right now.

We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules. Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home. From Binge All Episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Once they were out in the open, they took off and began to fly, spattering the garage with black goo which was coating them like oil. Some of it sprayed out in my direction, and I felt it hit my skin. I looked down to see the tarry liquid squirming and moving across my flesh.

It was alive, wherever it was. I tried to brush it off, screaming as I flailed at it, and batted ineffectually at the sticky black tar, which was moving up towards my face, inching closer and closer like a slug. There were some paper towels nearby, and I picked them up, using a fistful of them to wipe away the sludgy stuff. That seemed to work,

as the friction of the paper towels allowed me to pick up the strange liquid organism and tear it from my flesh. It writhed and squirmed like living snot in the paper towel, and I crushed it in my fist and then beneath my shoe for good measure. That box was full of those horrible bugs, I realized. They were several of them flapping around the light bulb, as if drawn to its glow. The black sludge was still being sprayed from their wings in fine droplets. Others were near the top of the box, squirming and shittering as they tried to get out. The bugs that were flying around the light bulb were between me and the door, blocking my way out.

I didn't want to get anywhere near those things. Instead, I turned around and bent down to open the sliding steel garage door which led outside. I'd gone out this way more than once. When I tried to lift up the door, it wouldn't budge. I tried again and again, but the door wouldn't go up. It was stuck or locked. Mrs. Lancaster wouldn't have done that, would she? I couldn't think of any reason why she would lock me in here, unless.

I tried to shake the paranoid thoughts from my mind, but found they wouldn't go away. Something about all of this felt deliberate. Mrs. Lancaster, that strange old woman, I told me to smoke in the garage, and now I was trapped in here with a bunch of mutant bugs that looked like they were escaping from another dimension. More and more of them were crawling out by the second,

and I could see other, larger bugs beneath them, waiting for their turn to climb out of the box. With no other option, I decided I would have to make a run for the door leading back into the house. If I had to, I would bring up to. I would break it down. Something told me it was going to be locked as well.

I pulled my shirt up over my head and raced beneath the light where the bugs were flying around in frenzied circles. The black sludge splattered down on me from above, and I tried to ignore that horrifying sensation of something crawling across my skin, where my hands were exposed. Turning the knob in my hand,

I was not completely surprised to find that it was locked. For the first time ever, it was locked. Of course, this only confirmed my suspicions about Mrs. Lanky, cast her. She was not a normal old woman. She was something else entirely. And she had locked me inside this garage with this freakish box full of bugs. It was more than just a box full of bugs, though. I knew that, already somewhere deep down in my lizard brain. The box was just a clever disguise for some sort of gateway to another dimension, a world full of hideous bugs just waiting to escape. And now they were, on the hottest day of the summer, when it was the perfect

temperature for them. Suddenly I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw something that didn't make sense. It was a spider that resembled a daddy long legs, except it stood as tall as I was. The thing had emerged from the box and was now striding toward me on legs as long as hockey sticks. Its face was a disgusting over-magnification of something I'd seen on a nature program. I screamed, spinning back towards the door and throwing my shoulder against it. The bugs were still buzzing and flying around the light behind me, dimming it further, with their sludgy discharge. The room was almost drenched in darkness now,

and I could barely see a thing. But I could still make out the shape of the enormous spider, which was making its way towards me, and was now less than two feet away. I could smell the strange alien stench of its breath, and could see its mandibles opening and closing in anticipation. Backing up, I'd drop-kick the door with every ounce of force I could muscle. The door crashed open as wood splintered and broke near the door jam.

As I dove out of the garage, I could hear the attack of the spider miss as it crashed into a pile of boxes. The thing had left at me at the last second. If I hadn't broken the door open with that kick, it would have latched on to me. I raced away from the garage and down the hall towards my living area, which was separated from the hallway by a door. It didn't lock, but at least it was something. Busing sounds could be heard emerging from the garage as more and more giant bugs began to emerge. I made the mistake of turning around and saw cockroaches the size of Rottweilers and millipedes as well as well as widest telephone poles, their bodies trailing off out of sight. Things that flew and things that

crawled, things that went up both the walls, things that chirped and things that chittered, all of them familiar, except a hundred times larger than they should have been, raced towards me from the garage door. I hated even looking at them, the bristly hairs which stood out on their legs, their long antennae and their excessive eyes. And striding through the midst of all of them was that huge spider, coming at me with its long legs. Slamming the door shut, I held my body weight against it, Then I pulled out my phone and called 911. The only problem was, when I told the operator what my emergency was, she hung up on me, telling me to call an exterminator.

Apparently, the police aren't concerned with mutant bugs, but I guess she probably thought I was exaggerating. So, I did a quick Google search, holding the door shut with my backside as the weight of a hundred giant bugs pressed up against it. I could see their legs reaching beneath the door, trying to get in. Shuttering, I looked back at my phone. I needed to focus. I had to get help before Mrs. Lancaster realized I escaped.

Maybe she already had realized and was coming down here to finish the job. Exterminators are plentiful in the city where I live, so I quickly selected the first one with the top rating. Secure and contain pest control. They guaranteed full protection from all insects, large or small. I just hoped they were serious about that promise, because I was going to put their skills to the test. I quickly dialed the number in a man with a gruff voice picked up.

Secure and contained past control, he said. How can we assist you? I need help. I screamed. There are bugs in the basement where I'm living. Huge bugs, like, bigger than you've ever seen. Can you get somebody over here right now? Please, I'll pay you double your normal rates.

Triple! The man only hesitated for a second. What's your address? He asked. We'll be there in five minutes. I told him, and before I could even finish speaking, I heard the dial tone again, as if he already knew where the house was.

The next five minutes were the longest and most terrifying of my life. Not only were the giant bugs insistent on trying to get in, but Mrs. Lancaster was outside as well, twisting the door handle and turning it with more force than I would have thought possible. Let us in, let us in. She kept saying over and over again. There are so many of us and we're so hungry. Finally it stopped when I heard the door crash open on the main level.

No! The old woman screeched from just outside the door. Then I heard the floorboards creaking as she moved away from it. It sounded like her footsteps went up a nearby wall, and I heard her walking away across the ceiling. Help! I yelled, hoping the pest control people could hear me. I need some help down here!

Footsteps could be heard racing toward me, and then muted voices were speaking just outside. Stay where you are! Someone announced. We'll let you know when it's safe to come out. I was just happy they were there. I didn't want to scare them off, but I had to tell them about Mrs. Lancaster for their own safety.

The homeowner, she's not completely stable. I said, trying to be truthful without scaring them out of the house. If you see her, maybe just called the cops. After a few moments, one of the men replied, We are familiar with Mrs. Lancaster from previous visits. Several long minutes later, the door opened, and the men let me out of the room. I could have hugged them with gratitude, but settled for a handshake. I noticed there were no signs of giant mutant bugs anywhere,

as if I had imagined the whole thing, but I knew I hadn't. Thank you for saving me, I said. I don't know what the hell those things were, or where they came from. But you guys are miracle workers for taking care of them as fast as you did. Hey, that's what we do. Secure and contain pest control. Your protection is our guarantee. The other guy looked at me a little suspiciously.

Are you all right? I'm surprised you'd call sounding so upset over a few spiders. I mean, yeah. The problem was. pretty bad, but it wasn't as scary as you made it out to be. Go easy on him, the other man said, winking at me. Those daddy long legs can be pretty scary when they're fully grown. The two men left before I could say another word, and I followed them up to the front door, looking hesitantly around for Mrs. Lancaster. Oh, I don't think you'll see her again for a while, the friendlier of

the two exterminator said on his way out. Mrs. Lancaster likes to travel. Don't be surprised if she disappears and you need to find a new place to live. I nodded, too stunned to respond. It didn't make sense. None of it made any sense. How would they not seen the giant bugs? Or had they seen them and they were just covering it up? And if so, why? I went upstairs for the first time in a long while, searching the upper level. I couldn't find Mrs. Lancaster anywhere, but I did find some other things. Boxes and boxes filled with bones. Previous tenants, I guessed. The owners of the old ash tray and the broken office chair I'd found in the garage. Mrs. Lancaster had killed not just one, but several people by the looks of it.

All I had to do was count the skulls to know for sure, and I found at least eight of those. Some were fragmented and broken. I should have called the police right then and there, but something compelled me to continue searching, and to go into her bedroom, to see what was inside. When I opened the door, I almost screamed. I thought it was her at first, laying on her bed with her. their arms folded across her chest, looking asleep or dead maybe. But then I realized it wasn't actually her, but a husk of Mrs. Lancaster, a white, crusty, translucent shell in the exact

shape of her form. And on her face was a wide grin. It reminded me of how a snake will shed its skin or a crab. As they grow larger and larger, they outgrow their outfit, so to speak. Was Mrs. Lancaster getting bigger? God, I hoped not. She was a little. She was a little. already terrifying enough as it was. I didn't want to think of a 10-foot-tall version of that crazy old bat. I slammed the door shut, as if there was a ghost inside, panting as I stood there for a second to get my bearings. What the hell should I do? I wondered. I can't stay here. Sure you can, a voice in my mind replied, a voice that didn't really sound like my own thoughts. Who is that? I asked in my own head. Instead of words, I saw an image flashed before my vision, as if there were

someone playing a movie in my mind, but I had no control over it. I saw that black, tarry sludge being cast off by the flying bugs in the garage. I saw some of it land on my arm and begin to squirm and crawl up towards my ear, and then I saw it go inside. What the fuck are you? I asked the thing inside my head. And again, I saw images, a dark pool of living water, black as the night sky, an ocean of that dark sticky stuff, squirming and writhing and looking for somewhere to go. On a nearby shore, I could see a trillion giant insects, their bodies pressed up against each other, standing still, as if waiting. Up above that dark ocean was an alien sky,

where three moons could be seen with the same crescent shape cast upon them. Then a voice spoke back to me in my head. The question is not what we are. The question is, what are you? After a few seconds of thought, I replied, I'm me, I answered back aloud. No, the voice said back. No, you are food.

A welcome feast for an army.