The SCP Experience - Cockatrice | SCP-1013

Episode Date: August 15, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-1013: Cockatrice  This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1013, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Check out the Author's work here: newpulptales.com DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In high school, my teachers taught me that no man is an island. With all due respect to my former educators, I humbly disagree. I never felt comfortable around my peers. Humanity always seemed too willing to show cruelty and hostility to those who were different. As a student, I was shy and prone to writing poetry, leading to constant ridicule and further ostracization for my classmates. As soon as possible, I bought a small parcel of land with the inheritance from my parents' deaths. It started with just a small cabin and a loyal dog named Jed for companionship. Animals proved kinder and less judgmental than humans, and what began as a remote cottage

soon became a small farm. I've been living in my humble abode for 20 years now. My trips into town are infrequent, and the locals keep their distance from me. While I might have started as tall and slim, life on the farm and tending to my animals has transformed my physique. I do so not for vanity. It's simply a byproduct of my challenging but satisfying life. All the same, people are wary of the broad-shouldered hermit that I've become. Good.

The less conversation I have with the outside world, the better. I'm content to go into town only for supplies and to check out a weekly stack of books from the local library. Tonight, I sit beside the stirring embers of the fireplace with a book in my lap. The night is cool enough that it doesn't need rekindling. And Ned, Jed's son, snores loudly atop my feet, keeping them warm with his tremendous bulk.

A cow's scream ripped through the night, Immediately waking Ned with a burst of barks and knocking the book from my hand. I recognized the scream instantly as Bessie, my eldest dairy cow. People who don't live alongside livestock don't realize the sounds they make when they're scared. Their screams sound oddly human, especially this far away from any of the other sounds of civilization. It's not long before the rest of my cows join it with loud moos of terror, as Bessie suddenly falls silent. The screams send Ned into a violent frenzy.

His barks shake the scant photos on my wall as he charges at the door and tears into it with his claws. None of my words calm him down. Ned takes his responsibilities as a guard dog too seriously. Instead, I walk the short distance to my gun rack and grab my shotgun and flashlight. I open the door and Ned bolts towards the cat. Even with the disturbing sounds, I'm calm as I follow in Ned's wake.

He's an enormous dog and can protect himself. This isn't the first time we've had to defend our flock from outside predators. The downside to living far away from the rest of humanity is living closer to the wild. We've often dealt with a pesky fox or mountain lion, and once, a small but determined pack of coyotes. None of these experiences prepare me for what I see in the dim moonlight. Most of the cows are running in a panicked circle, except for Bessie, who lies on her side in the small clearing. Am I too late? Ned doesn't wait for me.

He barks and darts under the fence while I quickly work the lock and step into the small pasture. As I get closer to Bessie, Ned's barking stops. He stands by her side. His head, cocked in confusion. He kneels in close and sniffs at her. One of Bessie's eyes has been gouged from the socket. There's a pool of blood flowing steadily from the wound, but other than that, I can't see any damage.

I flick on the flashlight and freeze at the side of her body. Her fur is discolored and matted, standing on from the rest of her otherwise unmarred coat. I might not be traditionally educated, but I still know enough not to touch something so strange with my bare hands. Instead, I reach out and tap the spot with the barrel of my shotgun. It clunks like a heavy stone. Something rises from Bessie's insides, and Ned growls again.

Beneath his implied threat, I hear the sound of tearing meat and a loud snap. There's something inside Bessie eating her from the inside out. Not knowing what else to do, I raise my gun and fire a shot into the air. The blast sends the cows into a fresh panic, and the thing inside Bessie reverses course. It snakes its way up her stomach and back toward her wounded eye. I pump the gun's action, discarding the shell, and ready my aim for the next shot. I breathe and steady myself when a flash of gray erupts from Bessie's throat. I squeeze the trigger on reflex, and the recoil,

drives into my shoulder as the shotgun pellets blow apart Bessie's skull, missing the creature entirely. I pump and fire three more shots at the gray blur as it dashes across my pasture and into the woods. Ned pants heavily at my side, smart enough not to go after the thing while I was shooting at it. Standing in the pasture, my body starts to shake, and I know it's not from the cold. I've been living up here a long time, but I've never seen anything like that. What's it supposed to be? One of those, what do you call it? Performance art pieces.

Sheriff Taylor removes his hat to rub the few scant survivors of gray hair atop his otherwise barren skull. He's been the sheriff for as long as I can remember, mainly because he runs uncontested in every election. Pushing 70 and 300 pounds, it's a miracle he's still alive, especially since he's on his fifth cigarette since a row. arriving at my farm.

Whatever it is, it's creepy as shit, Deputy Mills says. Deputy Mills is the son of somebody I went to high school with. If I recall right, the elder Mills' father and Sheriff Taylor are best friends. It would explain why Mills looks fresh out of high school. He's doing his best to grow a beard, but it looks like fuzz on an unripe peach. Sheriff, I'm telling you. I try to put urgency in my voice without coming off his country. crazy. It's taken me all morning to convince them to come to my farm. Something came out of the

woods last night. It did this. Since last night, the stone features of Bessie's skin have spread to the rest of her body. What was fur, utter, and hooves less than 24 hours ago is now solid granite, with only a few exceptions. The bits of Bessie's brain that survived the shotgun and blast are still gray and bloody, swarming with a large circle of flies. Her remaining eye remains a gentle white brown, wide with terror, and the inside of her mouth is still open and filled with flat teeth. Did? What exactly? Sheriff Taylor asks. His tone somewhere between accusing and condescending. I quickly summarized everything that happened last night, how I came outside to investigate and found Bessie like this. Then I told him about

about the thing inside her and how I managed to frighten it off, and how in the time since then, the rest of Bessie has turned to stone. Uh-huh, the sheriff hitches up his belt. Well, Edgar, I think I'd like to buy some moonshine off you if it's that strong. Mills' laugh is louder than naturally. Either the sheriff doesn't notice,

or he's very fond of his joke as his grin grows. I cross my arms and glare at the older man. How many years have I been up here, Sheriff? And how many times have I bothered you? Do you honestly think I'd waste time sculpting a cow and stuff it with blood and gore just for what? Some attention? Nah, nah, I'm not saying that.

Sheriff Taylor brings a hand up to his thick jowls. Just, well, hell, Edgar. I can't be the first one to tell you this. But living like you do ain't healthy. People who spend a lot of time by their lonesome, well, they start to see things. I point my finger at Bessie's remains. You're telling me you don't see that, too? Sheriff Taylor sighs and forces himself to look at Bessie, and his face goes yellow.

Well, it's mighty peculiar, I'll give you that. But what exactly do you want me to do about it? To do your job. I bite down the sarcastic remark and swallow. Can't you run some tests on the remains? See if there's anything out of the ordinary. Run some tests! Deputy Mills snorts.

Yeah, sure. You want to help us load it into the trunk? The sheriff nods. The boy makes a good point, Edgar. I sigh and walk to my small barn. If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself. The Hermit's philosophy, I guess. I return with a large pickaxe over my shoulder, and Sheriff Taylor stiffens while Deputy Mills slowly reaches for his gun. I ignore them both, walk over to Bessie, and then raise the pickaxe high over my shoulder.

It comes down over her body with a loud crack. I ignore my memories of the cow that come with each strike. After several long minutes of hard swings, her side crumbles. Mills and Taylor swear at the fresh stench of blood. Most of Bessie's organs are gone, but the inside of the stone is still lined with bone and gore. Reaching inside, I scoop up a handful of the blood-covered gravel and offer it to the sheriff. These should be small enough to carry back. Sheriff Taylor's throat rises before quickly turning away and coughing.

He waves his arm at Mills, and the younger deputy quickly dons a pair of gloves and a small plastic bag. There's an energy about him that matches his arm. his youthful appearance. He probably doesn't get much opportunity to play CSI in a small town like ours. We'll run some tests and get back to you, Sheriff Taylor fans his face with his hat. But these things take time, Edgar. I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. I walked them back the way they came and watch as their patrol car slowly backs down my gravel driveway. These things take time, if they even do them. As the The sheriff waves at me.

I know I'll have to deal with the creature myself. If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself. Lazzang sur-joled, puissance-molyne, for 15 minutes. Oh, you'd say that's the door. Prere to enjoy. Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo,

the casino on-line that proposes the most recent machines-a-sou and the games of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours, on Big Bas Bonanza, without exigance of mis-mise, and with payments instantane. Hey, I've gained! Woohoo!

Senture the pleasure. Play-O-Joe. 18-and-and-plus, 1st3rd, 50 tours-grat suh on the machine-soubeck-bass-bonanza. Depos minimum of $10. Veye, I'm doing to

responsible. The conditions apply to my other animals. I try to pass the time by reading. No matter how hard I try, though. I stare at the same words as I reread the same page over and over. I don't know how I know,

but the creature will come back tonight. It's a feeling of certainty sunk deep into my bones. Ned has come to the same realization. That, or he's mimicking my paranoia. Instead of taking his usual positions at my feet, he's stalking across my small living room, shooting anxious glances at the door every few minutes.

Before the sun drops over the horizon, I let Ned out to do his business for the evening like I always do. Only this time, I'm sure to grab the shotgun before stepping outside with him. I watched Ned from the porch when his head. head suddenly cocks to the side. There's something off about the evening, and it takes me a while to notice the absence. Usually, the hens in the nearby chicken coop are clucking up a storm before bedtime. This time, though, they didn't make a peep. Ned bolts towards the coop, his legs moving faster than I can track them. I rush after him, but the steps to the porch creak and snap,

tossing me to the ground. My head bounces off the grass and the world blurs around me, but the sudden silence of Ned's barks spring me to my feet, and I pick up my gun and head after him. Ned stands frozen before me, and I wait for my vision to clear before raising the shotgun to my shoulder. At first, I think he's staring down one of the chickens, but it's too big to be one of ours. It lacks any feathers, and its body is all molten gray.

The similarities to anything innocent stop at its head. It's attached to a long, scaly body, supported by four legs, each ending with tipped claws. Its tail is longer than its body and coils behind it like a whip, ready to strike. I put my finger to the trigger, but the creature locks eyes with me as I do. It slitted, gold gaze bores into mine, and my whole body stiffens. Bullet trigger, God damn it! I scream, but my lips remain shut tight. and my finger refuses to budge.

As the fear builds in my body, I try to turn and flee, but my knees are as unresponsive as the rest of my body. The thing opens its crooked beak and darts toward me, the same gray blur as last night. The skin on my ankle sears as it sinks its fangs into my flesh, but even then, I cannot move or scream.

Ned's body jerks as he breaks from his trance. He spins with a growl and launches himself at the stranger, reptile. He grabs it roughly with his jaws and lifts it in the air, tearing more meat and blood from my ankle. My body collapses and I scream, and as I scramble back, I realize that I can move again. The creature hisses at Ned. It whips its tail across his face, and Ned yelps in pain. My senses return, and I reach for the shotgun, aim, and fire. Ned barks in confusion, and the creature's frills rise from its head, increasing its height.

I aim for that and not the eyes this time. My shot goes wide once more, and the thing turns and scurries off into the night. I call Ned over, and he whimpers as he limps in my direction. Flinch him, I kneel and pet him. The monster's tail has ripped out Ned's eyes. Another hiss comes from the darkness, and Ned answers it with a growl of his own. Before I can stop him, Ned tears into the woods, his barks and growls, quickly growing distant. Swearing, I reload my shotgun and hurry into the woods after them.

The only light is the moon high above me, peeking through the tall pine tops. I trudged through the woods with Ned's barks and occasional howls of pain as my only guide. Although the sounds are clear in the night, my pace is slow. The pain in my ankle is burning. changing as I walk. At first, it was red-hot agony, but then it started to throb like I've twisted it, and my foot is soon dead weight. Each step is agony, and the pain is crawling up my leg. Stumbling, I rested against a tree and pulled my pants leg up. Oh God, no! My ankle is marred with the same stone color as Bessie. The stone is moving up and down my leg.

I know it spread through and covered my foot without taking off my shoe. My toes refused to move, and the entire appendage feels heavy and dead. Ned's whimper of pain snaps me back to the present. I do my best to ignore the pain even as it crawls up my body, seemingly moving faster at the revelation. I break through a small clearing and find Ned tangled with the creature. His body is marked with lashes from the thing's tail and a litany of bite marks. Through the dim glow of the moon, I can make out that his fur is already tinged with stone.

I raise my shotgun, but the creature's gaze finds me, and my whole body tightens again. Ned, though, now blinded, is immune to the beast. He grabs it by the neck, trapping it between his jaws, and the creature hisses as Ned lifts it in the air. Before he can sink his teeth in, Ned's whole body goes rigid. The transformation is complete. And my dog is now a stone statue. The creature is stuck in his jaws, writhing and trying to get free. Limping forward, I put the shotgun's barrel under the creature and squeeze the trigger.

The blast is deafening as its head blows off in a spray of gore. Its body topples from Ned's jaw and falls to the ground. A quiet whimper comes from deep in Ned's throat. And I put myself close to his head and whisper into his ear. boy, Ned. Good boy. The tears fall down my face, but it's the only comfort I can give my dog. He can no longer see me, only hear me, and his breathing slowly stops. Wiping my eyes, I set my gun down and roll my jeans up. The stone has already spread past my knees. I can't do anything else for Ned, besides sit with him and share his fate. As I wait to do,

die, the creature's body stirs. I pick up the shotgun, terrified that it's somehow alive, but only its tail is twitching in the dirt. Dismissing it as the last fidgeting of dying nerves, I lower my gun when the tail starts to break apart. Pieces break off into dozens of small bits of gray, and as I stare, tiny slitted eyes look up at me, and my body freezes in place. I can't reach from my gun before the swarm of smaller creatures crawl over me. Their tiny claws and fangs tear into the parts of flesh that haven't turned to stone. But I can't lift my jaw to scream. Then something tumbles in the dark beside us.

A loud sound scatters the creature off my body and tosses me in the air. I land on the ground and panic when I can't move. Slowly, though, I realize that it's not from the creatures. My body has shifted entirely to stone except for my eyes, which allow me to see the two shadows step through the woods. You're unlucky, son of a bitch, Hendricks. The two men couldn't be more opposites. One is broad-shouldered in wearing dark body armor.

He carries an assault rifle over his shoulder, with another gun holstered at his belt and several grenades strapped across his chest. The other is short and wrinkled, standing out in the forest with his white lab coat. worry too much, Murphy, the scientist says. My theory was ultimately proven correct. By allowing the cockatrice to roam free and feed, it triggered its reproductive reflex. He stops to pick something up with a pair of tweezers. It's one of the creature's offspring. Quite successful, I might add. Oh, sure, Murphy scoffs. Explain that to the higher-ups when you report you lost track of the damn thing.

If our tech geeks hadn't caught that report from the local PD, the ethics committee wouldn't hesitate before putting you in front of a firing squad. Yes, well, hundreds clears his throat as he puts the creature into a jar and finds the next one. Leaps and scientific progress are often triggered by high risk. So are executions. Murphy trails off as he sees me unmoving in the woods. Shit. We got a sick. Divvy down. Ah, Hendrix walks over and leans in front of me, staring directly into my eyes.

Fascinating. No matter how often I've observed this specimen's petrification, it's no less remarkable. Murphy grabs him roughly by the shoulder and flings him away. Finish cleaning up your fucking mess. Murphy waits, while Hendricks returns to his work of collecting the creatures, muttering the whole time, he looks down at me, and there's a trace of compassion in his eyes that was completely vacant in Andricks. Squatting down, he sits down next to me and doesn't say anything for a moment. It's for a good cause, he finally says. These things, we're going to weaponize them.

Tear them loose on some terrorist cells who want to do a lot of bad things to a lot of innocent people. It's going to save lives. But I guess that doesn't matter much to you, huh? Murphy pauses again to gather his thoughts. There's no cure. That's kind of the point of biological weapons, you know? And it's a very nasty way to go. Either those fucking things feed on you, or your organs collapse against the weight of the stone. I don't want to scare you. I just want you to know that this is your best out of your best. option. Without another word, Murphy pulls the gun from his holster. My vision blurs as he presses the barrel to my eye. The only part of me not turned to stone. I close my eyes, and the metal is a

cold relief against the solid pain encasing the rest of my body. SCP 1013 appears to be a small reptile with a distinctly avian head. A wide frill extends from the base of the head and can be flared out via bony spines radiating through the frill from the neck. The body appears similar to most common reptiles, with the exception of the head and abnormally long tail. While the main body is only 60 centimeters long, the tail is nearly 121 centimeters and exceptionally flexible. SEP 1013 has been observed to use this tail to trip and distract large prey. The head of SEP 1013 is distinctive, appearing to be able to be able to be able to be that of a male chicken on first viewing. However, SCP-1013 does not possess any standard

avian markers, besides the superficial resemblance. The beak is serrated and appears to possess very basic, needle-like teeth. The head also lacks any feathers, and has an enlarged waddle. SCP-1013 hunts by projecting a form of unknown radiation, wave, or memetic force into its prey. Subjects report a sudden stabbing pain in most major muscle groups. Paralyzed subjects are then bitten, beginning the calcification process. Research into this effect is ongoing, as no form of venom or viral agents have been detected from this bite. However, this contact will initiate a rapid change in cellular structure in the bitten subject. The outer skin tissues will begin a rapid calcification, growing very dense and inflexible over several minutes.

This will extend from the point of contact outward across the body and can calcify a human being in 15 minutes. This calcification extends approximately three centimeters into the body, leaving most internal tissues undisturbed. Calcification does not appear to affect the eyes, mouth, nose, or other major mucus membranes. There is no currently known way to reverse this process.