The SCP Experience - Clowny Clown Clown | SCP-2912

Episode Date: June 7, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation NEUTRALIZED class object, SCP-2912: Clowny Clown Clown This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2912 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

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The globe on the beach looked like a dead jellyfish. It was just a pale sack of black and white striped skin that jiggled whenever Alan poked it with the end of his long, crooked piece of driftwood. His friend Milo stood behind him. gearing over his shoulder at the glob. Actually, it looked more like someone's slightly melted jello cup that had been abandoned. Milo's mouth and nose were scrunched up to the point where they had all but disappeared into a wrinkled lump.

Alan poked the glob a little harder, and it made a sound like a punctured accordion. Cotton candy pink water burbled out of the sides, bubbling up on the sand before getting washed away by the oncoming waves. What is it? Milo asked. Alan shrugged. A jellyfish, he said with what he hoped, sounded like full confidence. Don't touch it, or I'll have to pee on you. Milo recoiled. What?

Revolion made his voice crack. Peeing is the only way to get rid of a jellyfish sting. Alan replied matter-of-factly. Then you will have to ride in the truck pit on the way home so we can air you out. That chance, Milo backed away. I'm not letting you piss on me. He shoved Alan between the shoulders, and the older boy stumbled forward, narrowly avoiding stepping on the gooey striped mass. Hey, watch it!

Alan swung his stick around and knocked his friend against the shoulder. I don't want to get stung! The striped blob rippled without being touched. Alan turned and gave it a look, still holding out the driftwood. Gross! Milo said from behind him. Let's go back to the house. It moved again.

Alan disregarded Milo's urge to turn around and stepped a little closer, prodding at the goo once more with the end of his stick. More pink water strained out of the sides, but this time, the blob made a weird sound. It was a mechanical sort of giggle, like from a baby doll's voice box, mixed with a squeaking sound you'd hear from a dog toy. The sound made Alan's insides jump, but he only took a slight step back.

back. That's fucking weird, Milo swore from behind him. Alan nodded in agreement. I didn't know jellyfish could make sounds like that, Alan said. He pushed the end of his stick underneath the creature's flabby side and pulled it up. It drooped and hung off the end of the stick like sopping wet seaweed. I don't think they can, Milo said. The quiver in his voice gave Alan pause. Alan flipped the striped glob over and moved it like a pancake. He was not sure what he expected, but on the other side, he saw what looked like a face. More specifically, it looked like a clown face. It had a big white mouth that looked like it had been drawn on with a white paint marker

and turned down into a frown. Its eyes were wet black beads staring up at the sky, surrounded by two white diamonds. There were arms and legs, but they were spindly and shriveled, curled up against the sagging body like a bug that had been flattened. It did not look like a jellyfish at all. Alan's stomach flopped. Fear sent a surge of vomit splashing against the back of his throat and he swallowed it down. So maybe it wasn't a jellyfish. Maybe it was just someone's toy that had gotten caught up in the tide.

That would have made sense, except why did it look so flesh? if that was the case. The striped body rocked on its own again. There was not even any water moving underneath it to make it possible. It let out another strangled accordion wheeze and then rock from side to side. The shrivelled arms and legs did not move from their atrophied position. The thing sides began to fill out, and it looked like it was starting to inflate like a beach ball. It got rounder and rounder, until it rolled across the sand.

the sand, spinning around in a little circle and leaving a track in the sand. Alan had no idea what he was witnessing. He wanted to run, but his feet were stuck in the wet sand. Milo was frozen behind him, and both boys just watched as the striped clown thing just spun in circles with its arms and legs stuck uselessly against its body. Finally, the clown ball rolled up until it was facing forward, and it raised itself off the sand about an inch or so, just floating there. It faced the boys, and its shiny black eyes blinked. The corners of its sad white mouth turned up and then it grinned,

flashing a set of sharp teeth that were a sickly pale green like seafone. The clown thing stuck out its tongue. It was pitch black, and it unfurled like the long-crolling hypoferrinx of a beetle. It made a loud, startling sound like a party horn, And that was enough to jolt the boys out of their frozen state. Alan's legs felt too wobbly to carry him, but he still high-tailed it down the beach. His feet pounded against the hot sand and little shells sliced open his souls, leaving behind stinging cuts.

He did his best not to trip. He was so focused on staying upright that he did not even glance behind him to see if Milo was still there. He could only assume, from his friend's occasional yelps, that he was. That party horn sound came again. Tears stung Alan's eyes and raced down his cheeks even as he ran. He was too afraid to do anything but cry. He did not even know where he was going. He just knew he had to get away.

A heavy wave swelled and crashed against the beach. Alan caught a glimpse of something black and white bobbing up and down on the crest. It spun as it rolled towards the beach and then went flat as it landed, like a tire being punctured on a nail. He was coming up on a pier. Alan dove and ducked behind one of the wooden beams, shivering as the cool gray shadows fell over in. He looked around for Milo, but he could not see his friend.

Milo had completely disappeared from view. Alan's feet throbbed. He sat down hard and pulled his legs up underneath him, keeping his eyes glued to the beach and on the new, flattened clown arrival. Terror made his guts wobble as another wave came rolling in. and when it broke apart on the sand, it left behind three more sad, flattened sacks of clown flesh. How many are there? He tried to get a better look down the length of the beach without compromising his hiding place.

Alan dug his nails into the wood beam in front of him so hard that he was afraid it would split. He was only underneath the pier long enough for his breathing to even out again. Eventually, his grip on the wooden beam in front of him relaxed. It was like the clowns could sense his sudden ease. They began to wobble again on their own, and their sides rose like rapidly inflating balloons. They rolled over, one by one, under their backs. Their wide mouths and round, blinking eyes stared straight up at the sun

with their crumpled arms and legs not even twitching. They rose from the sand, wobbling in the air unsteadily before spinning around to face the pier. He did not know how they could see. him, if they could see him, but it felt like they were staring straight at him. They opened their mouths and their black tongues came shooting out. With so many clowns clumped together, their wagging tongues looked like spider legs. The party horn sounds they made came in at different pitches, making a hellish chorus that

rose up above the sound of the crashing waves. Another sound joined them. A sound like a bouncing rubber ball. Alan gripped the wooden beam again and turned his head to look out from underneath the pier. He saw Milo running towards him, directionless, waving his arms helplessly and frantically. The top of Milo's head was completely eclipsed, down to the shoulders by a fleshy-striped clown ball. It was sucking on him like he was a candy stick. The loud slurping sounds were as cartoonish as they were grotesque.

Alan wanted to do something, anything, to save his friend. but he could not bring himself to move. He thought he heard Milo screaming from inside the clown ball, although it was impossible to tell for sure. The other clowns were getting excited. They bounced up and down in the air, rising and falling like a dozen rubber balls while their tongues curled and uncurled

and made that awful honking noise. Milo's arms flapped faster, like he was trying to take off and fly. He staggered through the sand, kicking up more sand than he was managing him to cover groundwise. The clown ball started to squeeze around his head like a sponge. Its sides heaving in and out, while pink liquid started to stream out the edges of its mouth. Pink rivulets streamed down Milo's bare chest to his stomach.

Milo finally brought his waving arms up and stuck his hands to the sides of the clown ball. Its mouth opened up and all the suction released with a pop. It fell off Milo's head and bounced away when it hit the ground. Rolling back to join the other clowns that were collecting along the edge of the beach. There had to be dozens now. Lasagne sur-goled, power-maintened for 15 minutes. Oh, you'd say that's the lojo.

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Always in trying to negotiate, to exchange these cards of hockey, the bonhom, these bracelets, even des colations. You know, that each thing has a value. Well,

before, before, the things have been not really changed. Negoti T-D you can't be renuwee with your instinct of negotiation. With, without operation

gratite, no amount of minimum and no free mensual. You're made for negotiate, and the appellee Nogesitititre TD is made for you aid. Telecharge it right now. Alan knew there was no way he was getting out.

Milo made a strangled, garbling sound that brought Alan's attention back to him. His friend was just standing there, and his entire head was covered in blood. It was red all the way down to his neck, right where the clown's mouth would have ended. It looked like,

all the skin had been sucked right off. And the only thing that was left was the exposed, pulsing muscle, and thick purple veins. Alan closed his eyes. But it was not enough to fight back the wave of vomit and horror that took over. He lurched forward, pushing his hand against his stomach as he spewed into the sand. With every convulsion that ripped its way through his body, he prayed for it to be the last one. His eyes scanned the beach in front of him, darting back and forth from the shadows underneath the pier as he tried to keep an eye on every single clown as they began to cluster together.

They were like seagulls, with their high-pitched honks melding into one singular hellish noise. He had to get out from underneath the pier. Alan dug his toes into the sand until he could feel every shell grinding down into his skin. He had to get out. He had to run. He took off without thinking about it. He had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the low lip of the beam. Allen sped blindly towards the dunes that crested the top of the beach

and spanned the long boardwalk. Beyond that were beach houses and apartments and arcades. Beyond that were people, although he could not fathom how the awful squawking and honking had not drawn any attention. It was so loud to him, louder than the waves. The noise rammed itself down his ear canals until the only thing he could hear above it

was the ringing white noise that warned him of the pending explosion of his eardrums. At least, that was what it felt like. He wanted to scream. He felt like he should scream. He needed to get someone's attention somehow. But if no one had noticed the clowns by now, it was doubtful that they would notice him. His only hope was to get over the dunes and touch the boardwalk. He tried not to look behind him. The sound of party horns pursued him. Alan just kept running. His legs burned and his feet left bloody tracks in the sand. The air was starting to smell like burnt popcorn. Alan gagged. Every stumble made him feel like he was going to puke. His toes jammed against so many deep holes

and shells and pieces of driftwood that he knew it was only a matter of time before he tripped over something and did not get back up in time. The party horn sound never got any closer, but it never faded either. It stayed exactly the same, like he was still under the pier. It was getting harder to keep his eyes fixed ahead. The dunes weren't getting any closer either. He felt like he might as well have been running in place. Or maybe he was rolling. Maybe he was spinning in the air like one of those clown balls.

Spinning, spinning and spinning. Maybe he would get stuck here. Alan's foot hit a hole. He cried out as his ankle turned in an unnatural direction and he went down. The sound that came out of his mouth was a harsh, bright sound. It was like a party horn. It had to be that one of the clowns was close. It had to be that they had caught up with him, and he could not even hear his own screams above those awful sounds they were making. Alan curled up until his knees were resting

against his chest and his arms were tight against his sides. He laid in that fetal position, waiting in the hot sand for one of the clowns to come up and attach itself to him like they had with Milo. That image kept flashing across his vision, Milo's red, skinless face, and his ugly exposed veins. Alan crushed his legs so tightly against his body that sharp pain rocketed all the way down to his twisted ankle, but he swallowed the sound. He was afraid of what would come out of his own throat. There was a flash of black and white. One of the clowns was rolling around where he had falling. He could see it just out of his reach, striped skin and all. Its beady black eyes flashed as they disappeared and reappeared, and then it rocked back and forth on its sides while its atrophied arms

never moved. It rolled a little closer, and Alan reached out. He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he snatched the clown, grabbing it by the section that he determined was its face. The clown's mouth fell open, and it made a sound like a plastic bag. getting popped. Its skin was tacky and squishy at the same time, like grabbing onto a blob of homemade gloop. Alan's entire body cringed as he dragged the clown closer to him. He did not let it go. He dug his fingers into its striped skin until he could feel it pressing up against the underside of his short nails. When the clown was close enough, he lifted it into the air. He brought it back down against the sand and he beat it, raising it back up as soon as it bounced off the beach and then flinging it back down again.

The clown made a sound like a rubber hammer when it hit the sand. Alan was not sure what he wanted it to do. He wanted it to burst, maybe, or see what happened when it broke apart. He wondered if there was anything inside. Maybe there were a bunch of bones like a vestigial twin inside a lump, or maybe a little alien-like creature, rolling around like a hamster in a ball. Or maybe there was nothing and just more pink goo. But it did not matter how hard he hit it.

The clown would not break apart. And it started to giggle. The sound was awful and broken, as if the clown was running on dying batteries. Alan shivered again and flung the clown as far away from himself as he could. He half expected it to come swinging back like a boomerang, but it stayed away. He could still hear the horrible honking noise

as they bounced up and flew around the beach. Alan lowered his head and tried to bring up his arms. It hurt to pull them up, so he gave up on covering his ears. He let them stay tight against his side, and he kept his knees pressed against his chest. It was safer that way. He pushed his head down even lower until his chest was touching his collarbone.

He wanted to become a ball. Being in the shape of a ball felt safe. His mouth was fixed in the downturned frown. He could not pull the corners up no matter how hard he tried. But it didn't really matter. He had nothing to smile about anymore. Alan managed to get a few more blinks in before they slowed to the point where he stopped blinking altogether.

His lids slid back and got stuck to the orbital bone, and he could not move his arms to use his fingers to pluck at them and pull them back down. He could not roll onto his back to glance at the sun, but he could only assume it was setting because of the shadows on the sun. his skin. They looked like long, dark, horizontal stripes. Ball shape was safe, clown shape was safe. His breathing slowed, and when it exited his nose, it sounded like an accordion being squeezed. SCP 2912 designates three roughly humanoid organisms resembling typical circus clowns. SCP 2912-1, SCP 2912-2, and SCP 2912-3.

Genetically close to human, all instances, sharing a relatively recent common ancestor in Homo sapiens. SCP-2912 entities have undergone severe and varied corporeal and psychological augmentations. All contained instances of SCP 2912 were abruptly neutralized on 1116, 191919. The incident determined to be entirely accidental with blame placed on Pole 4569's failure to communicate relevant information to foundation personnel. SCP 2912-1 overview It has an almost entirely spherical body. It has a complete lack of a skeletal system. While its legs, arms, and head did exist, they were found to be vestigial and heavily atrophied.

Closely resembling an air-filled balloon, SCP 2912-1 was able to transport itself through the air via an internal gas bladder, created from the left lung, so grossly enlarged that it occupied the majority of internal space and modified anal sphincter, black and white skin, forming horizontal stripes around its body, capable of extending a long black tongue,

the act producing a vocalization similar to the sound produced by party horns. Although its level of intelligence could not be ascertained, it was at least capable of understanding several English words, mostly in the form of commands. Fan of soccer, you could assist a moment historic. You could gain the bid for the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2026 with Visa.

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