The SCP Experience - Dentophobia | SCP-5150

Episode Date: November 16, 2022

Check out my brand new UFO podcast here: THEY'RE OUT THERE SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-5150: Dentophobia This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5150, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z 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

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Viarai. The two-story building looms large as I approach. My nerves jangling and heart slamming around in my chest. The building itself is fine. A modern structure. It has a stone veneer. on the bottom floor and sleek wood on the top. Black metal trim outlines the box-like building and the many windows. It's fine. It's a building. What awaits me inside the building is a different

story. I make it to the front door, reaching for the black metal handle. I can't see inside with the sun reflecting off the glass, but I don't really need to. I know what's beyond the door. I know the the terror and helplessness that awaits behind the polite smiles and the friendly banter. Nope, I say, spinning on my heels and rushing back to the idling vehicle. I try the door handle on the passenger side, but it's locked. Come on, Mom, I say. Let me in. I can't do it. My mother looks at me from the driver's seat of the SUV.

Her mouth set and eyes hard. She shakes her head. I'll reschedule, I say, pleading. I can do it next week. After I see Dr. Roland one more time. Although I can't hear it, I see the rise and fall of my mother's chest as she sighs. Then she turns her attention to the control panel on her door.

I think she's going to hit the unlock button, but she doesn't. She cracks the passenger side window instead. We've been through this, she says. I'm not going to let you back in. You have to do this. Your teeth need to be checked out. Don't you want to be able to chew without pain again? The pain isn't that bad, Mom.

Really? It's fine. Lewis, you're a grown man. You need to face your fears. Just remember what Dr. Roland told you. Do the breathing exercises. You've prepared for this. I try to think of the magic words that will get me out of this hellish situation. But I know there aren't any.

I stick my hand in my jacket pocket and feel the small candy bars there. The urge to bring one out and devour it is almost unbearable. It's a coping mechanism, I guess. Whenever I feel stressed, I automatically go for sugar. That, coupled with my phobia of dentists, really isn't doing my teeth any favors. I know I can't go on like this, but it's so easy to work up the courage to do it right up until I have to step through the door. until I have to hear the whirring of drills and smell the minty stench of hell on earth. Okay, I say, nodding briefly.

Okay, I can do this. My mother nods and smiles. Remember, their advertising said they specialize in patients with dentophobia. They'll take good care of you, and I'll be right back here in an hour waiting for you. As I turn back to the building, I have a moment to consider my mom's naivete. She actually believes what companies say in their ads. But maybe it's true. Maybe this will be a breeze.

Still fingering the mini candy bars in my jacket pocket, I step up to the door and open it. The dental office smell hits me in the face like a wall of flames. My therapist, Dr. Roland, has been working with me for the last few months to prepare for this. showing me pictures of dentist offices and tools and friendly-looking dentists, giving me breathing exercises. So as I step through the door, I have a moment of pride. I've come a long way.

I'm actually doing it. I know if my mom hadn't insisted on picking me up from my apartment and driving me, I would already be gone. But still, you'd do what you got to do, right? stepping into the reception area, I note that the four waiting area chairs to my right are all empty. A head and to my left, next to a door. There's a desk with a woman sitting on the other side of it. She's wearing a surgical mask, which I find slightly odd, but I keep moving. My feet feeling like they're coated in concrete. The door closes behind me, and I hear what sounds like a lock engaging. It's probably

Probably just the latch seating itself in the strike plate, I remind myself to calm down, to not let my imagination run wild. Although I can't see her mouth, I can tell the woman is smiling at me. She has blonde hair, bound elaborately on top of her head, and the tanned skin of someone who frequents a tanning bed. She wears off-white scrubs pattern with little teeth and gums, like those wind-up chattering toys you see in movies from the 80s. I shiver, looking at those teeth, thinking of mine being yanked out and set aside. Hello? The woman says, her voice strangely muffled, like she has

cotton in her mouth. You must be Louis Serrano. I nod and managed to say yes. Great. If you could just sign this, she says as she hands over a clipboard with a piece of paper on it. There's a large X written in yellow highlighter next to the place where she wants me to sign. I grab a pen out of the nearby cup and scraw my signature. I'm so nervous I couldn't read the words on the paper even if I tried. As she takes the clipboard back, she says, Thank you, Lewis. Oh, can I see your teeth? Uh, what? Why do you need to see them? Are you the dentist? I'm going to dental school, yes. So I like to see as many teeth as possible, before and after you see the dentist.

Oh, I say. Uh, okay, I guess. I clamp my teeth and bring my lips back, showing her. Oh, yes. She says, like she's looking at a famous piece of art. Open water, please. I do what she says, opening my mouth. Her right hand darts forward,

and cold metal clamps onto two of my bottom front teeth. My eyes go wide and I try to pull back to get away from her. But she's pulling toward her at the same time, and the clamps are tight. Pain erupts in my lower jaw as she rips the two teeth out. I stumble back and fall to my butt in the reception area. I scream, mouth still open. The rich tang of blood fills my mouth. As I scramble to my feet, I see the woman dragging her surgical mask down with her left hand.

My two teeth held between the fingers of her right. Her mouth is crammed with teeth, making her cheeks bulge. She smiles, revealing bloody gums and teeth pointing in all directions. Then she jams my two teeth in there, damn near putting her whole fist in her mouth. I turned a lunge for the door, slamming into it. It doesn't budge. It's locked. Let me out! I scream, fumbling for a lock to turn, but finding none.

Let me out! As I spin around, thinking I'll grab one of the chairs from the waiting area to break the glass. Two figures appear in the doorway just past the reception desk. The two figures, a man and a woman, are both dressed in scrubs similar to the ones the receptionist is wearing. But, unlike the insane receptionist, they aren't wearing surgical masks. This allows me to see that they, too, have disfigured mouths. They're both smiling, snagletooth grins that look impossibly painful. Let's get you shut up for the dentist, the man says, his mask of teeth preventing his lips from moving properly to pronounce the words.

They come out not quite right, but not so distorted, I can't understand him. Let me out, I say, backing up against the door. I'm canceling my appointment. Oh, you can't cancel. The woman says, her words also distorted. You're already here. They start toward me. I'd dart a look at the chairs in the reception area, but I'd have to move toward the two people to get to them.

Without thinking, I reach inside my jacket pocket and grab hold of the small, collection of candy bars there. With my other hand, I pull out my phone to call 911. But as I bring the candy bars out of my jacket, the pair stops, their eyes fixed on the sweets, fear apparent on their faces. But go away! The man yells. This is a dangerous office, for God's sake! I raised the candy in my hand, and the two of them cringe, taking a step back. Stay away from me. I say as I turn my attention to my phone, I press the nine and then hit the one twice before a blur of movement catches my eye. I glance up just in time to see the man swinging one of the reception chairs at me.

One of the metal legs hits my left hand, knocking my phone out and sending a sharp pain up my arm. The blow also knocks two of the three candy bars out of my right hand. The man throws the chair down and lunges toward me. I whip my right hand up and hit him in the side of the head with the loosely held candy bar. It's not much of a hit. of a glancing blow, but the man screams and blood pours out of his mouth. The woman, who suddenly has a sharp dental instrument in her hand, lunges at me, stabs my left forearm with the hooked metal instrument. I scream and drop the candy bar, turning all my attention

to the metal implement sticking out of my arm. I pull the thing out, creating my teeth against the pain. When I have it out, I raise my head, ready to fight more. The receptionist is suddenly in front of me. She slams a man. mask over my face and I hear the hiss of gas coming through. It smells sweet, whatever it is. The other two are on me quickly, holding down my arms and legs while the gas does its work. After a couple of minutes, I feel drowsy and tingly. The immense terror I felt minutes before dwindles to a low unease, like the distant, somber cry of a train passing in the night. The man and the woman helped me up, while the receptionist holds.

holds the gas mask on my face, wheeling a tank behind her as she walks backward in front of me. They lead me to a room and flop me down into a dental chair, where they strap my arms and legs down. The receptionist takes the mask off my face and leaves the room. I look up through half-lidded eyes at the woman. The dentist will be with you shortly, she says. The man, whose mouth is still bleeding severely, smiles a bloody smile before following the woman out. As the gas begins to wear off, a man in a white lab coat, a surgical mask, and blue surgical gloves comes into the room. His receding brown hair makes for a large forehead over expressive blue eyes.

Well, hello there, he says in a jovial voice. I hear we had some trouble getting you back here, eh? Well, we do specialize in those with a severe phobia of dentistry. Pretty much everyone who comes through that door cries and cries and fights and begs us to let them out. He chuckles and shakes his head as he sits down next to me and turns on a bright light just over my head. Let me go, I say.

I'm still foggy, but the fear is starting to come back, along with the pain in my arm and my gums. This is insane. You're all insane. Don't you worry about a thing, he says. Dr. John Hendricks is here to help. No! I scream.

I don't... The dentist jammed something into my mouth, cutting my words off and keeping me from closing my jaw. He works it in, using both hands, expanding my jaw to its widest. I say, which is about the extent of my speaking abilities. Now, let's have a look-seat, he says, bending down to peer into my mouth. Oh my. Yes, we have our work cut out for us today.

Just sit back and relax, Mr. Serrano. The gas finally wears off as the dentist gets to work, and all I can do is scream. I stumble out the door of the dentist's office, a small branded baggy in one hand, and my phone and the other, both given to me at the door by the dentist just before he let me out. I start to dial 911, but there's no way I'll be able to talk. They won't understand me. So I hurried down the short concrete path and step into the parking lot next to my mom's SUV. She smiles at me as I wrench open the door and throw the little baggy into the footwell,

scattering the sampling of teeth care supplies. I don't get in the vehicle. That wasn't so bad, was it? She says. I glare at her and gesture to my swollen cheeks. Oh, they have to put cotton in there. You can take it out by the time we get you home, I'm sure. I shake my head and gesture at my left arm. But the wound has stopped bleeding and the blood is hard to see against my blue jacket. I give up and look down at my phone. I type out a message and show it to her. Call 911, she says. Why? You can't be serious. My lips and cheeks are numb, so I know I won't be able to move them without assistance. I put my phone down on the seat and use my fingers to pull open my mouth. My mother screams and cringes away from me. I nod and pick up my phone, thrusting it at her.

She stares at me for a long moment, at my mouth, then takes the phone and begins dialing, leaving the door open. I head to the back of the SUV and open the lift gate. Lifting the back floor panel to reveal the spare tire, I quickly locate the slim black toolbox my mom keeps in the car, bringing the toolbox back to the front seat. I listened to my mom, tell, them to send the police. As I open the box and find a pair of pliers, my mother lifts the phone away from her ear to speak to me. We'll get your mouth fixed, honey. We will. We'll find another dentist, a reputable one, and we'll get it fixed, I promise. I shake my head. No more fucking dentists for me. Then I tossed the toolbox out of the car and get into the front seat.

I flip the visor down and open the mirror. With my left hand, I open my lips. With my right, I bring the pliers up and grab hold of one of the dozens of teeth the insane dentist put into my mouth. I'll fix it my damn self. Lewis! What are you doing? My mom cries. I tighten my grip on the pliers and pull. SEP 5150 is a dental office located outside the northwestern perimeter of Indianapolis, Indiana. The only distinguishable feature of SCP 5150's exterior is an electrical source. sign above the front entrance of the building, which reads Dr. John Hendricks, DDS.

SCP 5150-1 is an entity that occupies the reception desk within the office. The physical characteristics of the entity resemble standard humanoid features, with the exception of its oral cavity. SCP-5150-1's maxillary and mandibular bones are disfigured and mutilated, with the regions expressing properties that include missing incisors, extra canines, and bleeding gingiva. Subjects entering SCP-5150 are required to interact with this entity before continuing or exiting the building.

Said entity has been observed to express aggressive behavior towards human subjects, attempting to steal their teeth and insert them into its own mouth. SCP-150-2 instances are dental hygienists, who have been observed in all sections of SCP 5150. These instances exhibit similar physical and anomalous properties to SCP 5150-1. They have been observed to attack human subjects until they are successfully able to apprehend them. Once apprehended, the instances will transfer subjects to an open examination room, where they will physically restrain them in a dental chair.

SCP 5150-2 instances carry traditional dental instruments on their persons at all times, which they can use as weapons. SCP 5150-3, otherwise known as Dr. John Hendricks, has been observed in all sections of SCP-5150. The entity has the ability to manifest extreme cases of Hyperdantia in human subjects. These manifestations do not occur naturally, with SCP 5150-3 being observed to insert teeth from an unknown source directly into a subject's mouth. Once SCP 5150-3 successfully operates on a human subject,

it will attempt to give them a bag containing miscellaneous over-the-counter oral health care products. Human subjects are required to take this bag before exiting the building.