The SCP Experience - Entire Family Chokes to Death on Single Calculator | SCP-2061

Episode Date: April 8, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-2061: Entire Family Chokes to Death on Single Calculator This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2061 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 #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

There were better ways to spend a Saturday, but Cecil could not think of any. It was his fault, in the end, for waiting so long to do his taxes. Waking up at 5 a.m. in a cold sweat, realizing that he only had 12 hours before the IRS brought the hammer down, was not the greatest start to his weekend. The anxiety had been enough to propel him out of bed into his desktop, but about 30 minutes in, the Internet shut down. the same internet that only his father knew the password to,

and his father had passed away four days ago, which was why everything was so chaotic. Now Cecil was counting on a cup of black coffee and some printed forms to save him. It was about seven in the morning before his sister walked into the kitchen and squinted at him from behind a curtain of dark bangs. She hugged her chest and walked over to the coffee maker, picking up the pot to pour the few inches left above the top.

sediment into her own cup. You're up early, she said. Her words tangled up in a yawn. Cecil pursed his lips and tapped the point of his number two pencil onto the newspaper thin booklet he was leafing through. Congratulations, Audrey, he said. You've traveled back in time. It's 1983 here, and I am doing my taxes by hand.

You're doing it by hand? She glanced at the calendar that was stuck to the refrigerator. Aren't they due today? Yep, he said. I get to mail them out on everything by 5 p.m. Sheesh! She stirred some creamer into her coffee. Well, you're fucked.

Thanks, he said. Also, the Wi-Fi is down. Yeah, she told him. I noticed. She leaned against the counter and tossed her hair out of her face. Why did you wait so long to do your taxes? You've had months. Well, he tapped the pencil harder.

With dad dying and all. Dad was only sick a few weeks before he passed. She blew on the surface of her coffee and then took a sip. If you want, I can help. I am better at math than you are. Not that much better than me at math, he said, letting his pencil drop as he fell back into his chair. He rubbed his face with his hands,

pushing his fingers into the corners of his eyes. I don't even know what I'm looking at anymore. What happens if you don't file anyway? You go to jail, Audrey said dryly. or at the very least, you get audited. I don't think either would be a lot of fun for you. They don't have Wi-Fi in prison either. I'd like to avoid that, he said.

So I guess, you know, if you have nothing better to do, I could stand to have your help. Mom's going to the cemetery today, making some final arrangements for the headstone. Lucky you, huh? Audrey glanced at the bulging plastic file of receipts and other papers that looked like he had dug them out from the floorboards of his car. I'm going to get some paper

into calculator, she said. I'll be right back. I have a calculator on my phone, he argued. You're going to need a better one than that, she retorted. Trust me. Hey, look what I found. Audrey tossed a plastic bag onto the table.

Cecil looked up and made a face. It was an old gallon Ziploc bag, dirty and dusty from having been shoved around the same junk drawer. Inside was an old calculator machine. machine, the kind with a roll of white paper sticking out above the number pad. What the hell? he asked.

Seemed appropriate. She sat down beside him and set down her own pad and paper. I found it in Dad's office. Looks like something he would use, Cecil snorted. A strange feeling turned over like a rock in his stomach. Maybe it was just the memory of his dad, who only a few weeks ago he could have called to handle this tax business for him. Everything had gone to shit so quickly.

Cecil opened up the Ziploc bag and slid the calculator out. Touching it made his fingertip stitch. Maybe it was dusted with asbestos or something. He wouldn't doubt it. How do you make it work? His sister rolled her eyes and folded towards her. I'll show you, she said. It's really not that hard.

Her busy fingers worked over the keypad, and Cecil could not tear his eyes away. There was something hypnotic about the way she flashed over the numbers. She struck every single digit with such decisiveness. He liked the clacking sound it made. He liked the sound the roll of paper made too, as it printed out the calculations that were already beyond his understanding. He wasn't focused on the numbers anymore.

He had almost forgotten why they were there. All he could think about was the silver calculator. He thought about what it would be like to set his teeth against the plastic and edge. How it would groan between his jaws if he tried to squeeze it shut with a device still in his mouth. He wondered what it would be like to run his tongue over that shiny silver surface. He might push his tongue between each little key and try to wiggle it under the edges. He thought he might be able to pop them up and swallow them. It was such a weird thought to have. But a moment ago, he had been entranced by her fingers. Now he wished that they would get out of the way.

Cecil reached out and set his fingers against the corner of the calculator. He pulled it more towards him, rotating it across the surface of the table until it was out from underneath Audrey's busy fingers. Her nail clacked against the side as her fingers descended, and she shot him in annoyed look. Cecil! she said. What the hell? What?

He pulled it more towards himself. He was salivating. He couldn't help it. He tried to control it and pushed his sleeve against his mouth. mouth to try and dab at the corners, but he did nothing to stop the demanding, intrusive impulses that had suddenly consumed his brain. It was plastic. Logically, he knew that. But he could not stop the thought of breaking it apart with his teeth like modeling chocolate. Like one of those hollow rabbits that get shoved into an Easter basket. His teeth ached. His whole mouth ached.

Cecil placed the corner of the calculator against his lips and began to push it in. It felt so natural sliding it into his mouth. It spread apart the corners and stretched the entryway open until it couldn't go any farther. Cecil made a frustrated sound. He wanted to fit the whole thing in. He stretched his jaw until it popped, but he still could not get the whole calculator inside. He kept pushing, and the plastic sides pressed up against his fleshy cheeks. He gripped the paper roll with his whole fist and continued to shove it harder, going

harder and more insistently than before. The need to consume the whole device was desperate. He could not think of anything else. Nothing would make him happier than putting the whole damn thing down his throat. Cecil! Audrey's voice sounded broken and then angry. It was a flash of white-hot anger, like she used to throw at him when he took one of her toys and threw it over the side of the staircase.

Stop that, Cecil! It is mine! Her response alarmed him. Suddenly, he knew he had to hide it. He had to get the entire thing inside of him that much faster. He had to swallow it whole so that Audrey could not have it. Cecil used both hands to shove it inside of his mouth. His jaw continued to stretch, and a horrible cracking sound filled his skull.

Pain like someone had tried to split his head in half with a hatchet, went rocketing down his spine and sent him tumbling off his chair. He hit the floor, groaned. Blood and spit were streaming down his hands, and he kept shoving the calculator into his mouth. It hit the back of his throat and he gagged. His entire chest convulsed, and he felt like he was going to vomit. His stomach clenched and then flopped.

The contents of his stomach, coffee and mini-donuts from that morning, sloshed around like a pot boiling over on the stove. More blood, or was it, vomit? Streamed down Cecil's face from his nose. His navel cavities burned, but it was all secondary pain to the bliss he felt in his mouth. Finally, it was being filled. And that shiny, silver plastic felt so good between his teeth.

He tried to bite down, but his jaw was no longer obeying him. Cecil braced his hands underneath his hanging chin and pushed it upward. Another clack of bone against plastic. Another horrible squeezing and popping, his more tendons came loose somewhere in his head. His throat expanded, and he choked again. He needed to get the calculator all the way down. Cecil braced his hands against the kitchen floor and slammed his head. his face into the linoleum. He had to get it down his throat. The calculator jammed even deeper

down his gullet, and a rush of elation took over. He slammed his face into the floor again, and this time his nose made a sound like grease popping in a frying pan. He couldn't breathe through his nose, and he couldn't breathe through his mouth either. It was so full of plastic and paper, so full of clacking keys and shiny silver. Cecil dragged his nails down his throat. His skin bulged around the calculator's shape as it sat wedged only a few inches down. He tried to work his hands against the bulges and pushed the device down his throat and kept going until the bursts of pain turned into a white screen across his vision. And the breaking cartilage in his ears turned into ringing that converted into noise.

Like sleeping sounds on an alarm clock. Cecil went to sleep. Beaneu at board of Viarai, Embarked and profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet. Publié. Savoy. Ammere.

And profite. Via Rae. The voice that we love that we am. Cecil's dead. His jaw would not give up the calculator. It was wedged too deep down his throat. Audrey used both her hands to try and pull it free.

But one of the corners was caught behind his teeth. She snarled in frustration and sturds. And stalled. up, walking through a puddle of her brother's blood to pull a bread knife out of its wooden block. She could not believe that her brother had tried to swallow the calculator before she could. She had been stroking it so lovingly, too, while she was typing on its flat black keys. She had clearly been interested and thought about doing the same thing, but he did not care. He was so selfish in every way, and he had to get everything he wanted, regardless of how she felt about it.

Well, not this time. He wasn't moving anymore, and he wasn't going to fight her. She was going to put the whole thing in her mouth, like she was supposed to in the first place. Audrey pushed the tip of the bread knife into the narrow gap in her brother's mouth and began to saw. She opened up one cheek and then the other, twisting her knife between his back teeth to pry open his jaw like a trap.

Amazingly, the calculator was still in one piece. It came out pretty smoothly once her useless brothers, teeth were out of the way. She pulled it free and watched his throat ripple as she did. Once she had the device back in her hands, she took a paper towel and wiped down the shiny silver plastic until it was free of any grime. In no time at all, it was perfect again. Audrey grinned, unable to stop herself, and opened her mouth as wide as she could. She set the calculator between her front teeth and let her tongue dance around the front edge before she started to slide it in.

Frustratingly, it kept hitting the sides of her mouth. It didn't want to go in much farther than that. Her tongue, too, kept getting in the way. Audrey pulled the calculator out and sat on the floor in despair, not caring that her brother's blood was soaking through her pajama pants. She stared at the calculator in her hands, unable to stop thinking about how satisfying it would be to shove the whole thing down her throat.

She wanted it so badly that her not. need brought tears to her eyes. She had to find a way. Another flash of silver caught her eye, but now it was a different kind. Audrey turned her head and wiped her fingers underneath her nose. The bread knife sat only inches away, her little knight in shining armor. Of course, she thought. Why hadn't she started with that? Audrey picked up the bread knife and slid the tip inside her mouth. She set the ragged edge against the corner of her cheek and started sawing. Blood poured down the side of her mouth, hot and thick, but she just laughed it away. It got easier when she got up towards the ear and then started on the other side.

It was such a relief to have her mouth hanging open, so much wider than before, and now slick with blood. She would have no problem getting the calculator inside now. Her tongue was still too big, though. That was a problem. Audrey stuck it out as far as she could and grabbed the tip, yanking it out even farther with one hand while setting the bread knife against it with the other. She didn't need her tongue, not really. It was just getting in the way. It was harder to cut through that her cheek meat, and it bled a hell of a lot more. She gagged on the fountain of blood that gushed down her throat and spat the muscle out onto the floor.

It was hard without her cheeks moving properly, but now her problems were solved. Audrey took the calculator and held it aloft like a sandwich. She pushed it into her mouth, and it slid in so much easier than before. She squealed with delight and kept pushing, gagging on blood and plastic and buckets of spit from all the saliva glands she had sliced open in her cheeks. She flattened her palms against the back of the device and kept pressing, shoving it even farther down. If she needed to, she would use the knife and hack apart her jaw. She would keep going until every bone she had was in splinters.

It didn't matter, so long as she got what she wanted. Audrey pictured a cartoon character swallowing something too large for its body, like when a mouse became the same shape as a cheese wedge it devoured. If she could have laughed, she would have, but there was no room for even that in her throat. Once she fell, her head hit the tile, and stars burst across her vision. They were silver, and then they were black. Everything tasted like rust and plastic, and then she couldn't taste anything anymore. When Marjorie Singlet returned home, both of her grown children were dead on the floor.

She called the police immediately. She was in too much shock to even scream. They took her down to the station for her official statement, but she had no information to give them. Other than finding them in the kitchen, she had no idea what happened. The knife that had been used was still at the scene, and the only person who was supposed to come around was the internet repairman. The police questioned him too, but the guy had never stepped foot inside the house. Marjorie sat at a white folding table in an interrogation room the size of a broom closet. There was one other chair, currently unoccupied, because the deputy had stepped outside to make a call. She could not erase the image of her children, lying dead on the floor.

She could not stop thinking about what their mouths had looked like. Both of them torn open, ravaged like hacked up scraps of meat. First her husband, and now this, all in one week. It was almost too much to bear. Marjorie glanced at the door and lifted her purse up from its place in her lap. The sheriff had tried to confiscate it, but her crocodile tears had kept him at bay. She set the purse down on the table and began to rifle through it,

glancing up at every sound to make sure that no one was coming in. She had lost everything, but at least she had not lost. lost the calculator. She had not seen it in years, but it had always been in that plastic bag. Her husband had always kept it tucked away and insisted they did not need to use it, which was ridiculous because it was perfectly good,

and it was going to fit so well inside of her mouth. That was comforting, at least. She did not have to think about anything else other than the shiny silver plastic sliding down her throat. Marjorie placed the edge of the device against her mouth, and drew in a deep breath, letting out a sigh of relief as she drew her tongue across her lips and swallowed in anticipation. With one more glance towards the door, as if the deputy himself was going to rush in and stop her, Marjorie set her teeth against the plastic and then started to shove.

SCP 2016 is a late 1970s, sharp, LC-Mate, EL 1185 electronic printing pocket calculator. SCP-261 produces a compulsive effect and over 99% of humans viewing it in person, within a range of approximately 20 meters. This effect is nullified if there is any solid physical object between SCP-261 and the viewer, even if the object is transparent. Windows, plastic bags, and other clear objects have proven sufficient to prevent the manifestation of SCP-261's effect. The compulsive urge manifests as an irresistible desire to insert any object capable of performing user-facing electronic mathematical calculations into one's own oral cavity as deeply as possible. The urge manifests regardless of the harm caused by its being acted upon, and a number of fatalities and severe tracheal injuries were caused by SCP-261 prior to the object's transfer to SCP-2016. Foundation containment.

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