The SCP Experience - Exterminated | SCP-7781

Episode Date: January 15, 2025

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-7781 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7781 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett * * * 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

Yo, I'm home. Better not be doing anything nasty. I smile at my joke as I toss my keys onto the kitchen counter, along with today's mail on my work notebook. I already have my work shirt unbuttoned, and I know a shower is in my immediate future. Because I smell like the pest control chemicals, I spend my day spraying around people's houses and apartments. But it has been a long day.

Summer days and pest control are always long. and my dogs are barking. So I grab a beer out of the fridge and head for the living room. I can hear my nephew, Ethan, moving around upstairs. God knows what he's doing up there. I tried to remember what the hell I did with my time when I was 17, but it takes too much mental energy to remember that far back. After a swig of beer, I collapse onto the couch and bend over to take my boots off.

That's when I see something with eight hairy. legs scurrying under the coffee table. Normally I wouldn't be concerned with a spider in my home. Unlike the people who hire me, I don't mind having a few spiders around, but this one looks bizarre. I only catch a glimpse of it, but my mind insists that the spider's body resembles an eye with eight hairy legs sprouting from it. A human eye, complete with eyelids and lashes and everything. With one eyebrow arched, I shake my head. No way. You saw wrong. Saw what wrong?

Ethan says from right behind the couch, causing me to jump. Jeez, when did you become a freaking ninja? Ethan smiles, revealing a mouthful of braces. When he lived with my brother, he was pretty neglected as far as things like teeth and clothes and stuff went. My brother isn't exactly a model father. He has a lot of troubles that he's been dealing with for quite some time. And the kid's mother hasn't been in the picture since Ethan was a baby. He started living with me when he was 15, after my brother went to prison for the second time.

That was when we started getting his teeth sorted out, the poor kid. But he's always had a positive attitude. And since I have no children of my own, I like having Ethan around. He's a good kid. Still grinning, Ethan asks. What did you see wrong? Huh? Oh, nothing.

Don't worry about it. How was school today? Ethan shrugs. Not bad. How was your day? Kill a bunch of defenseless animals? Ha, ha, so funny. That joke never gets old.

Still smiling. My nephew comes around and sits next to me on the couch. Sensing an ask coming. I finish kicking my boots off and lean back with a skeptical look. on my face. What? Can I borrow the van, please? Ethan, my dude, we've been over this. It's the company's van, not mine. They don't want anyone but employees driving it. They won't know. Come on, I've got a date tonight, and I really don't want to ride the bus. I let out a long breath,

and then shake my head at him, smiling. Fine, but no drinking or smoking or dabbing or whatever the hell you kids do. Yes! Thank you, Al! I promise I will drive it completely sober. I can't help but smile. I know the kid won't drive drunk or stoned, but it's something I feel I have to say anyway. Just be careful. Don't mess with any of the stuff in the back, okay? Ethan showers me with thank yous and runs back upstairs to get ready for his date. An hour later, it's dark outside. I'm on my third beer, and Ethan is heading out. Once the front door shuts, it's just me and the TV. Now that I'm feeling relaxed and decompressed, it's time for a shower. On my way to my bedroom through the upstairs hallway, I see another spider. This one scurries into Ethan's dark bedroom

through the open door. I only see it for a heartbeat before it disappears. But that's just enough time to make me wonder if something is wrong with my eyes. This one didn't look like an eye spider, like the one downstairs. It looked like its body was made of hair-cutting scissors. I can't let this one go, so I step into Ethan's room and flip the light on. After scanning the floor for a few moments and seeing nothing, I had farther into the room. Ethan keeps it clean, so there aren't many places for a spider to hide, just the normal areas, under the beach. bed or the dresser or in the closet. As I get to my knees to look under the bed, I realize the job must be getting to me. There's no way what I thought I saw as reality. There's no spider in here

that looks like a pair of hair-cutting scissors. Without looking under the bed, I shake my head and stand up, telling myself to get it together. I go to my room and start stripping for the shower, thinking about how I always feel bad when I have to kill anything. on the job. I really don't mind spraying chemicals to keep insects out, but I don't like having to kill anything. So is my guilt manifesting in strange ways? It's the only thing that makes sense. Down to my boxers, I step into the bathroom and start the shower. When the water is up to temperature, I drop my drawers and get in, trying not to think about work. Steam builds up as the water washes away some of the chemical smell that perpetually sticks to my skin. As I reach for my bottle

of body wash, I notice a bar of green soap in the soap caddy. That's weird. I never use bar soap. And I know it wasn't there last night when I showered after work. I reach for the bar, but when my fingers are inches away, the thing sprouts legs, eight of them, and scuttles away from me along the shower wall. I jerk my hand away from the thing. and back away, almost falling out of the shower when my calves hit the lip of the tub. As I managed to right myself, reaching up and grabbing the shower rod, I notice movement overhead. Slowly tilting my head, I look up to see that the ceiling directly over my shower is completely obscured by thick, hairy, black spiders. My mouth creaks open on reflex, a scream, building in my throat.

Then the spiders drop. I feel them land on me. Their legs are fur, furrowing. and sticky, and there are thousands of them. The spiders scramble all over me as I throw myself out of the shower, getting tangled in the shower liner, and pulling the curtain rod down as I try to get free of the arachnids. I'm too scared to scream now, and my mouth is shut against the hairy legs, trying to pry my lips open. Driven by a fear so deep and instinctual, I finally disentangle myself from the shower liner and get to my feet. I rip open the bathroom door and come face to face with a crazed-looking man. His first presence is a complete mystery, but logic has gone out the window. As soon as I see his sharp face, I shout for help. But even as I'm crying out, my eyes bounce down to his lower body,

and I see that he's not a man at all, because eight huge hairy spider legs sprout from his waist, making him half man and half spider. He opens his mouth wide, too wide. A heartbeat later, a white web-like substance shoots out from the back of his throat, sticking to my face and obscuring my vision. I turned to run, but something wraps around my legs, and I'm pulled off my feet, hitting the floor hard enough to make the world go incoherent. Biennue at board of Viarai.

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From Binge All Episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. When I regain a little coherence, I've been dragged down into my basement and hung in the corner of the unfinished room. I only know this because I was just conscious enough as the manned spider dragged me down here. I know my own house, even if I can't see because of the strange webs over my eyes. I can't move.

My hands and feet are bound, and it feels like my entire body from the shoulders down has been encased in a kind of cocoon. As soon as I'm hanging up in the corner, I can feel spiders crawling up my body, body toward my face. I thrash, screaming against the web gag, trying to get them off of me. As they crawl over the web covering my face, I realize they're removing the web. I stop screaming and stop thrashing. They uncover my eyes first. I blink in the harsh light from the sole

naked bulb hanging in the middle of the room. It's more like a glorified crawl space than an actual basement. The floor is dirt. The walls are unfinished concrete. The ceiling, which is barely taller than me, is made of naked floor beams. Old spiderweb stretch between beams and take up whole corners. I have some boxes and other long-forgotten junk stored down here, but it's not much. For the most part, the basement is unused, unless you count all the spiders and other insects that live down here. I look down. My hands and feet are bound with the web shot from the man's mouth. It's as if I'm in a sleeping bag made from the sticky.

off-white substance. When my eyes adjust to the harsh light, I peer at the man-spider standing across the room from me, on the other side of the hanging bulb. I fixate on his legs, which don't appear to be man-made. They look organic, which is impossible. The reach as big around as my forearm, and the brown hairs on them are clearly visible even from here. The man stares at me, his arms crossed over his narrow chest. He has a look that I associate with vampires in old movies. His wedge-shaped face is pale, his cheeks sun, his skin clearly hasn't seen the sun. He looks to be in his late 20s or so, judging by his face and upper body. Although he wears no clothes on the bottom half of his body, he is wearing a black t-shirt that comes down just past his waist, obscuring where the spider

half of him meets the human half. I'm not so sure I want to see what that area looks like. The spiders crawl all over my face, and I finally drag my eyes from the man. I look around, seeing thousands of spiders crawling around, or simply standing still behind him. The vast majority of them are normal-looking spiders, but I see dozens of black widows and brown recluses among them. The job has desensitized me to arachnids,

but seeing so many of the dangerous creatures in one place causes a clammy sweat to spring up all over me. Sprinkled throughout the normal spiders or a couple dozen odd ones. I see the soap spider, a scissor spider, and several different eyeball spiders among others. It's not just the fact that the eyeball spiders somehow have human-like lids that blink every so often,

but it's the implication that gets to me. Where did those eyes come from? Did he take them from people to create these strange creatures? The spiders on my face removed the web, until my mouth is free. Al Johnson, the man says. You are a genocidal foot soldier who has killed countless spiders

while working for A&B pest control. What do you have to say for yourself? I'm so taken aback by this question that I can't think of a single thing to say for myself. I just make a few ineffectual noises, wondering where to begin. Nothing to say? Fine.

We will commence with the execution. Execution. Execution? I say. You're going to kill me? That is the punishment for genocide, yes. No. Why?

I mean, they're just spiders. As soon as I see the man's face change, I know it was the exact wrong thing to say. Disgust transforms his features and he uncrosses his arms, using them to gesture at all the spiders in the basement. Do it. The spiders rush forward. The spiders rush forward and began crawling up toward my face. Wait, wait! I didn't mean that!

Wait! My mind reels as I search for some means of escape, some way to stay my execution. My eyes flit around the basement, taking in the dirt floor and the concrete walls and the spider webs in the corners. Spider webs! Look around!

I shout, wincing as spiders bite me on my head and neck, while the others scurry toward me to do their part. Just look around the basement! There are two. There are tons of spiders living down here. Don't you see them? The man looks around, eyes taking in the webs between the support beams and in the corners. He raises a hand.

Pause, let's let him talk. We can give him that much. The spider stop, although I feel several bites pulsing on my neck and head. Thank you. What's your name? The man looks at me skeptically, crossing his arms again. Jack. Thank you, Jack. Really? I mean it. I'm breathing heavily. My head's swimming and buzzing at the same time.

So what about all the spiders down here? Jack asks. You think that makes up for all the ones you've killed on the job? No, no, I don't. I just... It should tell you something about me, right? About what's in my heart. I come home every night with a bunch of chemicals in my van, but I've never once sprayed my own house with them. Doesn't that tell you something?

I have no problem with spiders. I really don't. I'm just trying to make a living. Jack's face softened slightly as I speak, but not enough to give me hope. Is that true? He asks. Yes!

Jack lifts a hand to stop me. I'm not talking to you. He tilts his head as though listening, and then walks on his eight legs over to a corner near a large spider web. He listens and nods and says, Okay, I see. Then he does the same thing in other places throughout the basement.

Okay, he says, coming over to stand near me. So you've never sprayed in your own house? That doesn't mean that I can let you off the hook for all those other murders. Sorry, but my decision has been made. He raises his arm once again, but before he can gesture for them to resume killing me, I blurred out. I have an idea. Well, that will make everyone happy.

Eyebrow cocked, he says. What's the idea? Teach me. Teach me to communicate with them. He shakes his head. It's not that simple. Why not? Because you don't just learn to communicate with them.

You have to be a part of them. Of us. My gaze travels from Jack's face down to his legs. All eight of them. Then my eyes continue down until I'm looking at the spiders arrayed all over me. one of the eyeball spiders resting on my waist blinks up at me. I look back at Jack's face.

Okay, make me a part of them then. You made these spiders, right? The eyeball and soap and scissors spiders? Make me a part of them so I can communicate with them. You don't deserve to be part of us. It's not. Think about it! If I can communicate with them, think how many lives I can save.

If you kill me, the company will just be a little life. The company will just fill my spot with another exterminator. But if you let me live and allow me to communicate with them, I can tell them where they need to go to avoid pissing homeowners off. I can direct them to areas where they won't be bothered. Hell, I can even take them to better areas. I'll make up for all the killing I've done that way. It will be my mission from now on.

I study Jack's face as I speak. And by the time I'm done, I can tell I've gone a long way toward convincing him. Still, he takes several long moments to consider my offer. Maybe he's silently conversing with the spiders arrayed all around. Okay, he says. But it's not going to feel good, and you're going to have to give up a body part. Let's say, a toe. That will be easier for you to hide.

Fine, I say. That's fine. For the first time, Jack smiles. Okay, you can let him out of the web. He says. The spiders all over me start working to pull the webs apart. Then a loud bang comes from the door to the basement, followed by a yell. Rushing footsteps accompany the yell down the stairs.

Jack turns around to look at the stairwell while I peer that way, eyes wide. Ethan, shouting and wearing my chemical sprayer, jumps the last few steps into the basement. Take this, you sick bastard! He presses the trigger on the chemical sprayer, sending a jet of the liquid at Jack. No! I shout. Ethan, no! But he can't hear me.

Not only is he still shouting, but Jack is now screaming too as he scurries away, his spider legs steaming as if the chemicals are dissolving his exoskeleton. As Jack runs, I can hear him shout two horrible words. Kill them! The spiders go from freeing me to attacking me. Their fangs sink into me all along the length of my body. I thrash, feeling a little more freedom now that the spiders have partially freed me. I rip my arms free of the sticky web and start slapping the spiders away,

seeing several black widow and brown recluse's falling to the ground. The bites keep coming as I free my legs and fall to the floor. But as I look up, I see hundreds of spiders now attacking Ethan, who's beginning to panic. He turns the chemical sprayer on himself, dousing his legs with the liquid in an attempt to keep the spiders off him. It doesn't work. Spiders drop from the ceiling onto his head and shoulders, at times. attacking him even as Jack scurries up the stairs. Scambling to my feet, I lurch and grab my nephew by the arm. As I drag him out of the basement, I take the sprayer from him and douse the stairs as we go.

After shutting the basement door, we rush outside. In the driveway next to my work van, I swat and crush all the spiders attacking Ethan. Only once he is clear do I turn the attention to the dozen or so still on me. Jack is nowhere to be seen, but it doesn't matter. What matters is getting both of us to the hospital. I've never heard of anyone getting bitten by so many spiders, and I don't know whether we are in mortal danger or not. I get the keys from Ethan and force them into the passenger's seat.

Once I'm in the driver's seat, I pull out of the driveway and tear ass down the road. I'm still completely naked, aside from the bits of web that still cling to me, so it's not hard to see all the bite marks covering nearly every square inch of my body. The pain is starting, along with the fever-like symptoms. To take my mind off things, I talked to Ethan. So I guess the date wasn't any good? What the fuck was that?

Ethan cries. That guy had spider legs. How was that possible? I don't know, I answer honestly, trying to blink away my suddenly blurry vision as I get onto a main road. He was going to kill you, right? I got home and heard talking from the basement. I heard him threaten you. I did the right thing, right?

I recall my comment from earlier about Ethan being a ninja when he snuck up on me. He must have got home and snuck to the basement door, hearing everything but the last part where Jack agreed to let me go. I opened the door just to crack and saw all the spiders down there, so I just thought of the chemicals in your van.

Ethan pauses, grimacing as he looks out the windshield. I did do the right thing, right, Uncle Al? Yes, I lie. You did. Several drivers lay on their horns as I'd blast through a red light and direct a van onto the two-lane highway. My hands are going numb, and my limbs are swelling. The skin on my feet feels like it's going to split open. Ethan groans.

I look over to see him slumped against his door. Are you okay? I don't feel so good. I got bit a lot. I stare at my nephew as I begin to hallucinate. Suddenly, we're no longer in the vein. We're back at home, sitting on the couch, chatting. It's going to be okay, I say, slurring my words.

You can use the van. Just be careful with it, okay? A truck horn blares. Headlights fill the inside of the van. Ethan points out the windshield and screams. Look out! SCP 7781 is Jack Arthur Osborne, a genetically modified humanoid organism. Upon retrieval, Osborne was discovered to have undergone severe genetic modification, including the grafting of additional limbs, the growth of silk-producing glands, and a chitinous exoskeleton. Through currently unknown anomalous means,

Osborne is able to alter and combine the genetic data of various existing arachnid species with each other, other animals, and inanimate objects in order to produce entirely new organisms of the genus Arachne. These instances share few qualities with one another, despite initial similarities in physical appearances. All instances are inherently infertile and incapable of independent breeding. Before capture, it was Osborne's mission to kill every exterminator he could, before authorities caught up to him. Thanks to the sacrifice of two men, Al and Ethan Johnson, Osborne was caught before he could enact much of his plan. for 15 minutes. We'd say that's the

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