The SCP Experience - Escaping the Nightmare | SCP-2028

Episode Date: May 23, 2022

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-2028: Escaping the Nightmare Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2028, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ 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

She knows. How? Did you blouse? No. The Devil Wears Prada 2. He's the movie event 20 years in the making. Honestly, can't with the secrets anymore, so I think we just should tell her. Will you two please spit it out already?

This Friday, be the first to experience it only in theaters. In light of the recent scandal, I'm here to restore your credibility. Oh, because we're a team now? That's a nice story. The Devil Wears Prada 2 in Theaters Friday. I'm frozen, unable to even blink. As I stare up from my bed at the corner of my dark bedroom, the wall bulges out toward me, like it's made of taut plastic. The sound of heavy, ragged breathing fills the room. As the wall

splits open, a torrent of blood pours out with a terrible roaring sound. The blood splashes around and settles on the ceiling and against the upper walls, as if the room has been turned upside down. Following the blood from the gaping hole on the wall, two impossibly long, and multi-jointed arms stretch out. The arms have no skin on them, exposing muscles and bits of black bones underneath. Two grinning skeletal heads with sharp teeth and large yellow eyes follow the arms.

These heads look down at me in the bed as the rest of the creature's disgusting, deformed body stretches itself into the upper corner of the room. As it reaches one hand down through the gloom, I finally snap out of my paralysis, flying out of my small twin bed toward my bedroom door. Ganking the door open, I rush out into the hallway, only to see that the ceiling here is also covered in an inverted river of blood.

Arms reached down out of the red liquid, arms just like the ones belonging to the creature in my room. They twist and turn on their too many joints, sharp fingers swiping at me as I run towards my parents' bedroom. I reached the door at the end of the hall, My small hands gripping the knob and turning it. I shoved the door open, revealing a tall man and ragged plaid pajamas standing there, grinning down at me. He's a man I recognize, a man I fear.

He reaches out for me, and I jolt awake in bed, breathing heavily and sweating. I look around my room, realizing that I'm in my apartment, not in my childhood bedroom. I'm a 25-year-old man, not a five-year-old boy. None of it was real. A wave of relief washes over me, and I can't help but laugh. None of it was real. Just a nightmare. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, pausing for a moment to look at the snow globe next to it.

It's too dark to see clearly, but it looks like there are images cycling through it, even though it was empty when I went to sleep. I'll be damned, I think. But I'm too tired, and in too good am mood. to dwell on it. So I lift my phone and look at the time. It's just past one in the morning. Setting my phone back down, I decide I might as well use the restroom while I'm up. My son Sean's bedroom is on the way to the one bathroom in our small apartment, so I peek in on him, making sure he's safe and asleep. He's seven years old, and pretty much the only

reason I'm alive. He wasn't planned, the product of a stupid decision when his mom and I were both 18. His mom, Anna, couldn't cut it, and she left about six months after he was born. So he's solely my responsibility now, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I don't really blame her for leaving. We were both pretty heavy opioid addicts when she got pregnant. At first, it was like a new lease on life. We both got clean, seeing the pregnancy as a sign to turn our lives around. But that didn't last long. At least not for Anna. She stayed clean through the pregnancy and gave birth to a healthy baby boy that we named after her dad. But raising a kid is hard, especially for two people who are barely more than kids themselves. So she started using again.

And I told her that she couldn't use around me and Sean. So she left. That was it. Last I heard, She was living in some squat in Boston with a bunch of other junkies. I tried to help her a few times, but there's no helping someone who doesn't want help. I know from experience that you have to really want to get clean, or you won't go through the hell of doing it. I stand in Sean's bedroom doorway, watching his narrow chest rise and fall as he sleeps. I want to make his childhood better than mine. I'm determined to keep him safe. to keep the nightmares away, to keep the big bad world out.

I guess that's a pretty normal feeling for a parent to have. Using the bathroom, I think back on the nightmare, laughing and shaking my head. Looking at it through the prism of clear-headed reality, it seems ridiculous. It's strange, but I've never been able to laugh about that nightmare before. It always leaves me shaky and drained and fearing further sleep. I've been having it since I can run. remember, almost every night, which is why I agreed to put that strange empty snow globe by my bed. It's supposed to be like a dream catcher, I guess, capturing nightmares so you can

get some decent sleep. A friend of mine who was into all that weird stuff gave it to me, as she told me not to use it more than three times and 30 days, so tonight is once. We'll see if it works when I go back to sleep. I fall back asleep almost immediately after getting back in bed. The sense of relief and happiness I felt since waking up from the nightmare has a lot to do with it, I'm sure. My alarm pulls me out of sleep hours later, and I wake up, feeling refreshed. I didn't have the nightmare again. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I inspect the snow globe, seeing that there are images in it, images of my childhood bedroom with blood all over the ceiling, and a monster coming out of the corner. Holy shit, I say to myself,

Why doesn't everyone have one of these? Of course, most people don't have nightmares every night. I'm still marveling at the snow globe when Sean runs into my room and jumps on the bed, calling, Daddy, I'm hungry. I put the snow globe out of sight in my nightstand drawer and then swoop a giggling Sean up and carry him into the kitchen for breakfast.

For the next three days, I feel happier and more outgoing than I have in a while. Work is good. Life is good. Everything seems to be going smoothly. I don't have the nightmare again for three nights. But on the fourth night, it's back. I wake up in a cold sweat again, breathing hard. The image of the tall man and the ragged pajamas echoes through my head. But this time I don't feel relieved. I only fear that if I go back to sleep again, I'll have the nightmare again. I reach for the snow globe in the drawer, pulling it out and looking at it. I remember what my friend,

Sheena told me about it, her instructions. Please reset, I say. Sure enough, the images of my nightmare fade away, and the snow globe is empty once again. This will be the second time I use it, and I promise myself I'll only use it one more time after this. Sheena said no more than three times and 30 days, so one more time, and then I wait. Once again, the snow globe works. I fall asleep and have the nightmare again, but I wake up. feeling relieved and the next three days are great. So I reset the snow globe again on the

fourth night, pre-empting the terrible nightmare. And it works again. That's three times. I tell myself when the three days of happiness are over. I'll just have to stick it out until the 30 days are up, which means waiting over two weeks until I can use it again. It's not like I've been miserable all the time before getting the snow globe, but there's a pretty big difference. I didn't realize how much the repeating nightmare was affecting my sleep and my energy. But now that I've seen how life can be without the nightmare, it's hard to go back. Still, I tough it out for five days. Before I convince myself, it'll be okay to use it just one more time. I reset it and use it again, and it works again. But when I wake up the next day, I see that a crack has developed

in the glass. The last thing I want is to break the thing, so I put it back in the door. drawer and try not to think about it for the next three days. And I don't. Of course I don't, because it's working its magic. But like clockwork, the fourth night comes around and I have the nightmare again. And I wake up scared, reluctant to go back to sleep, wishing I could use the snow globe just one more time. I pull open the drawer and take the item out, looking in at the images for my nightmare. Just two words could reset it. Just two little words. Just two little words. then I could use it again. Two voices in me argue.

One urges me to use it. One tells me that it's best not to. I look at the crack in the top and quickly decide not to use it. I rush to put it back in the drawer to get it out of my sight. And in my rush, it slips out of my hands and falls to the floor and breaks open. An explosion sweeps out from the shattered snow globe, a wave of black particles rolling over everything. Reflexively, I close my eyes and put my hands up, expecting pain.

But pain doesn't come. I open my eyes to see that the bedroom in my apartment has been transformed into the one from my childhood. I'm sitting on my bed, huddled in the corner. Somehow my adult self and my five-year-old self at the same time. And I'm looking up at the opposite corner of my bedroom. The wall bursts open, spewing blood with a deafening roar. Fear invades my heart, spreading from.

panic throughout my entire body. This feels real. It doesn't feel like a nightmare. The long, skimless arms stretch out from the hole in the corner, their sharp fingered hands smacking against the walls just below the pool of blood covering the ceiling. Two grinning skeletal heads with sharp teeth and glaring yellow eyes come out next. These heads look down at me in the bed as the rest of the creature's disgusting, deformed body stretches itself into the upper corner of the room. I can't move. I can barely breathe. The creature stretches one hand down toward me, but I still can't move. This is the part of my nightmare, where I run out of the room and down the hall, but I can't. Somehow, I can't. Then I hear Sean screaming. Daddy! His voice is full of fear

like I've never heard from him. My paralysis breaks, just as the hand grabs my shoulder. I pull away from it, feeling the pointed fingertips pierce my skin, leaving behind long. bloody gashes as I race toward the door. Sean screams again as I open my door and get into the hallway. There's a river of blood on the ceiling and an arm reaches down, grabbing my head and cutting my forehead open as I drop down to my hands and knees. The pain is real. This is really happening. Blood flows into my eyes from the cuts on my forehead, and I wipe it away absently, scrambling along the floor to my son's room, which somehow exists simultaneously with the layout of my childhood home. I burst into his room to see the tall man in the ragged pajamas

straddling him on his bed, his hands around Sean's throat. This scene sends a jolt of memory into my head, and I suddenly remember when I started having the nightmare, and why? The man is my uncle, my dad's brother. He was never quite right in the head, and he came to stay with us when I was five years old. He developed an obsession with me and would stare at me whenever my parents weren't looking. It wasn't a sexual thing. Instead, he got it in his head that I was evil. I only know this because he told me so one night when he tried to kill me. Before that night, he would come into my room and stand in the corner in his pajamas. He would watch me. For how long, I don't know. But I remember waking up several times and seeing him standing there. His tall, skinny frame,

and sallow face were the stuff of nightmares to my five-year-old mind. This went on for weeks without my parents' knowledge. But then one night, he tried to kill me. He sat on my bed, jolting me awake, and then he wrapped his bony hands around my neck and started squeezing. I managed to get a single scream out, which brought my mom and dad running. My dad had to hit him in the head with a porcelain piggyback

for my dresser to get him to stop. Somehow, I had managed to suppress this memory, but it had been surfacing in my nightmares ever since. And now it was real. Somehow, it was real. But my uncle was after my son now. I rush into Sean's room, grabbing his skateboard from where he keeps it propped against the wall.

Swinging as hard as I can, I hit my uncle in the side of the head with it. He falls off the bed, letting go of Sean, who I immediately swoop up with one arm. My uncle looks up at me from the floor. His skin is split open, his head, deformed. He transforms into the creature from my room, his skin receding and disappearing,

his limbs growing and adding joints, a second head forming from expanding shoulders. I dropped the skateboard and wrap Sean with both my arms, holding into my chest as he sobs. I run out of the room, bending over as I move down the hallway, feeling the hands swipe at me, cutting ribbons into my back. Then we're going out the front door and into the apartment hallway, where everything looks normal. I wake up one of my neighbors and have them call the police. When the cops arrive and search the apartment, they find nothing out of the ordinary, aside from a broken snow globe next to my bed.

My story sounds insane to them, and maybe it is. But the cuts on my body don't lie. They shrug it off as a home invasion gone wrong, insisting that the robber must have run out the door and gotten away when we were in the neighbor's apartment. But I know the truth. I know the snow globe is to blow. The good news is that I no longer have the recurring nightmare. Living it and realizing its origins have helped me get past it. The bad news is that Sean has nightmares almost every night now.

We've even moved to a new place, but it hasn't helped. Still, if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that we'll never use one of those snow globes again. This time, we'll opt for a dream catcher. SCP 2028 is a collection of empty snow globes. The following words are written on the underside of each snow globe. Remove the negative emotions and thoughts from your mind. With your friends at the Oneroy Collective, do not use more than three times per 30 days. In case of emergency, do not break the glass.

The anomalous properties of SCP 2028 manifest when one or more human subjects enter REM sleep within four meters of an instance. The subject will invariably experience a vivid nightmare. Upon waking up, the subject will feel an intense sensation of relief. For the following three days, the subject will report an increase in happiness and willingness to participate in social situations. The instance used will be filled with images from the subject's nightmare.

Sleeping next to a used instance yields no results. Should the phrase, please reset, be spoken within four meters of a used instance, The images will disappear, and it will manifest its anomalous properties again if used. Using an instance of SCP-20208 more than three times every 30 days causes damage to it in the form of cracks appearing on the glass. If an instance is used approximately six times in a 30-day period, or if it is broken through impact, a 28-Alpha event will occur immediately. This event consists of a local restructuring of reality surrounding the broken instance. Stead restructuring strongly resembles the events and physical laws found inside the nightmare stored inside the broken instance. Almost all 2028 alpha events have disappeared after a number of hours equivalent to those of the subject's sleep duration.

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