The SCP Experience - Face Your Fears | SCP-5223

Episode Date: January 20, 2023

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-5223: Face Your Fears This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5223, 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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Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home. From binge all episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Men shout behind me as I dodge down the aisles of the store. Cut him off! He's going out the back! You're fucking dead! High fluorescent lights illuminate the colorful racks of used clothing.

The secondhand store smells of mothballs and cheap detergent. Move! I shouted the elderly man ahead of me. He's shopping for some new pants by the look of it. He doesn't move and stares in shock from behind thick glasses. He's blocking the aisle. Get out of the way! I shout, lifting the pistol.

the pistol in my right hand and pointing it at him. He cries out and flinches, ducking out of the way just as I approach. I do a little jump twist and make it past it without slowing down much. Two flimsy doors are just ahead of me, leading to the back area of the store, where the employees sort and tag the items they sell. I burst through the doors, surprising a middle-aged woman with the crown of Auburn hair. She screams and drops the set of plates she's carrying.

They shatter as they hit the floor, but I'm already past her, heading for the back door. The men are still following. With any luck, they'll slip on the pieces of broken ceramic. After kicking open the back door, I find myself in a dimly lit parking lot. The starless night sky glows a faint orange overhead. I need a ride, but I don't have time to boost a car. Adjusting my grip on the small black backpack in my left hand, I gaze around the lot as I run away from the building.

There's an old-school truck with a figure sitting inside, in the passenger seat. But I can tell by the running lights that the engine is on. Perfect. As I get closer, I start to have my doubts. It's a classic truck, maybe from the 50s. If I get into a car chase, will it be able to hold its own? Then again, it's not like I have any other options. I hear the back door of the second-hand store bang open behind me.

The truck is 15 yards away. It's navy blue with black trim, and it would look right at home in a Norman Rockwell painting. The sudden clack of a gunshot erupts from behind me, followed by the whine of a bullet ricocheting off the blacktop. Shit! The figure in the truck is turning now, looking out the back window.

It's a man, an old guy with curly hair and a plump face. Gunshots sound again, and I ducked my head, moving from side to side to avoid taking a bullet. Motherfucker! A man shouts from behind me. I slam into the driver's side of the truck, reaching for the handle with my left hand. Fumbling, because I'm still holding the backpack.

Getting it open after what seems like a very long time, I jump behind the wheel. Slamming the door, I sink down into the seat and reach for the gear shift next to the steering wheel. It's not there. Of course, it's a manual. I'm screwed. The shooting has to.

stopped for now, but I can hear footsteps getting closer. There's no time to switch seats with the old guy so he can drive. No time for anything, really. I look at the old guy in the passenger seat. He doesn't look surprised at all, like he has a man with a gun jump into the truck with him every week. Sorry, I say. It's a stupid thing to say, but I feel like apologizing to everyone all of a sudden. My sister, my mom, my neighbor, the old guy back in the store, the woman, the who dropped the plates, I always wanted to do better, but I can't. I always seem to fuck it up. Now it's time to pay the price, but for some reason, I feel kind of at ease with it. When the guy's chasing me get to the truck, they'll probably pull me out and execute me. Best case scenario,

they beat the shit out of me and I'm in the hospital for a month. Time to take my medicine. I turn away from the guy with a plump, friendly face and reach for the door handle. But out of the corner of my eye, I see the man move. He reaches out and turns some kind of dial on the dashboard. There's a bright flash of light that makes me close my eyes momentarily. When I open them, I see we're no longer in a dimly lit parking lot. We're in the middle of some kind of massive hallway, with ornate stone doorways lining it. There's light coming from up above, but I can't see it sore.

Twisting in the seat, I look out the back window. There's no sign of the five guys who were chasing me, just the stone hallway, stretching out into the distance. What the... I ask. I'm Joseph, the guy says, reaching a hand out. I look at him, feeling kind of funny, like I'm in a dream. Trevor, I say, setting my gun down to shake his hand. Then my mind clears, and I yank my hand

way grabbing the gun again. Joseph smiles. His thick cheeks presses eyelids up into slits when he smiles. He reminds me of a great uncle I once had. Uncle Ray. You won't be needing the gun, he says. But you're welcome to hang on to it. Same with the backpack. Where are we? What's wrong with me? Joseph sighs. Both tough questions to answer. Luckily, the answer to the first will also help discover the answer to the second. What? I ask. Joseph opens his door and steps out. He walks around the front of the truck and opens my door. Come on out. There's something about this guy. I don't know what it is, but I feel like I can trust him. Besides, I have a gun and he doesn't. Still, it seems like I should be a little more concerned. Come on, Joseph says, cutting off my train

of thought. I don't bite. I shift and step out of the vehicle, still holding onto my gun and the backpack. Joseph signals for me to follow him. As we walk down the stone corridor, I glance at the archways over the ornate wooden doors on either side. They all have scenes above them, but I don't really understand what they are, at least, not until we stop in front of a door some 50 yards down from the truck. I look up at the scene carved above. of the door and cringe away in disgust. Oh, hell no, I say. What is this shit?

Joseph, who has half turned to look at me, smiles. Hey, Trevor, it's okay, he says. Come here. Uh-uh. Come on, he says. Don't you trust me? I don't even know you, man. I say. Yeah, but don't you trust me. I nod my head despite myself. Somewhere deep down,

I do trust this guy. I must be out of my mind. So what else is new? I stepped toward him, trying to ignore the carved scene over the large wooden door. As I approach, he puts one arm around my shoulders, and with the other, he reaches out and opens the door. Darkness spills out onto the stone floor.

I squint, looking inside, trying to see what's there. Joseph gives me a shove and I go tumbling into the darkness. I hit the ground at the bottom of a small pit, a rectangular one, about six feet deep. Suddenly, it's no longer pitch dark. I can see everything. Waves of dirt come rolling into the grave from above, just as thousands of squirming wet worms come out of the dirt walls. Forgetting about the gun and the backpack, I bring my hands up to ward off the dirt and the worms,

but it's no use. The little creatures squirm under my clothes as the dirt clogs my mouth and nostrils. I scream, but no one can hear me. Not under all this dirt. Panic is total. There's nothing else but pure, unadulterated fear until I feel like I'm going to burst.

But I don't burst, and I don't suffocate. I don't die. The worms don't eat me. They just squirm around, being worms. The weight of the dirt no longer feels oppressive. I open my eyes and find that I'm standing in the corridor, looking up at a scene above a door, a scene of a man at the bottom of a grave, covered in dirt and worms. I looked down at my body, seeing that I don't have any dirt on me. I'm as clean as I was before Joseph shoved me through the doorway, and the worms are gone.

Not only that, but I still have my gun and the backpack I stole from those guys. I look up to see Joseph standing there, staring at me. Not too bad, was it? he asks. Am I cured? I feel like I'm cured. Joseph smiles. I expect so, he replies. Holy shit, I say, looking around. Holy shit.

I smile and laugh and bring Joseph in for a hug. A weight has been lifted off my shoulders. How about your next fear? Joseph says, turning to venture down the stone corridor. I follow along. We come to a door with a large syringe carved into the stone overhead. Uh, I don't know about this, I say. All my earlier bluster suddenly gone.

I hate needles. We wouldn't be here if you love them, that's for sure. Now in you go. I swing the backpack on. hooking the straps over my shoulders. I step forward and reach my left hand out for the ornate knob. Then I hesitate. Want me to shove you in again? Joseph asks.

No, I say. No, I can do it. I open the door and step through. A sharp pain erupts in my foot. I look down to see that I'm barefoot, and there's a syringe sticking into my right big toe. Shaking the limb out, I turned to head back through the foot. door in a panic, but I run into a wall of syringes, their needles pointing outward. Suddenly,

the entire room is lined with needles and the walls are pressing in. They start firing out from the walls like darts, sticking me here and there. It hurts, but not bad. They never hurt that bad. It's just the anticipation that I hate. Still, I shift as the walls close in. And as the needles puncture my clothing and push into my skin. I close my eyes and accept that this could never happen to me in real life. Something clicks in my mind, and I open my eyes to find myself in the corridor again, outside the needle door. I look at Joseph and smile. Okay, he says. That's it for your biggest fears. Time to get you back. Wait, I say. I have other fears. What about that time I was bit by a dog as a kid? or my fear of clowns or heights.

Joseph shakes his head. You can't fool this place. It knows. You may think you're afraid of those things, but you're really not. Not in a way that matters. He reaches out toward me. Now, let's go.

I dodge back. No, no, I want to feel that brush again. I want to feel my fear evaporate. I want to feel free. I run to the nearest door, gun still in my right hand. I try to open it without even looking at the scene overhead. Trevor, Joseph says.

This is not how it works. He comes up behind me and grabs me by the shoulders. Get off! I say, jerking away and turning to run to the next door. Joseph pursues me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. Our feet get tangled up as I try to free myself, and we end up falling to the floor.

I twist around in a frenzy, getting my hands up to push him off. The gun on my right hand goes off. The sound is loud in the stone corridor. It echoes down the hall. Joseph straightens onto his knees. His eyes go wide as he looks down. My eyes follow, seeing the gory hole in the middle of his chest.

Blood pours out of the wound like water from a garden hose on full blast. A deadly combination of fear, panic, and shame twist up my insides. No! I say. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. Joseph falls away, landing on his back,

his hands over the wound. You? He rasps. You, bastard. They're the last word he speaks. His breathing stops, but his eyes stay open. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. Tears pour down my cheeks, seeming to burn my skin.

I look at the gun in my right hand. I can smell gunpowder. over the stench of blood and scorched organs. I placed the barrel under my chin. It feels right. Like this is the way it's supposed to happen. My death has been coming for a long time. Better for everyone that it happened sooner rather than later.

It'll keep me from fucking up any more lives. I grit my teeth, shut my eyes, and pull the trigger. Trevor? I open my eyes and see that I'm in the old truck. I'm behind the wheel. Joseph, who just said my name, is looking at me from the passenger's seat. I still have the gun in my hand. The backpack is still on my back.

What the? Some fears, Joseph says with a smile. Are harder to pin down than others. But I think we got to the bottom of that one, didn't we? I'm speechless for a long moment. It was all so real. But when I search myself, I find that some weights have certainly been. lifted, but not all of them.

I don't understand, I say. I can tell the buried alive one and the needle one are both gone, but the other one, Joseph nods, still smiling. Some fears serve us well. Some fears shouldn't ever be gone. But those kinds of fears can only be useful to us if we know what they are. Do you understand what your greatest fear is now? I swallow and nod.

I'm afraid of ruining other people's lives through my actions. All the trouble I've put my mom and sister through. That's what I'm afraid of. Right, Joseph says. Now that you understand it, you can act accordingly. He looks down at the gun in my hand as he says it. Robbing drug dealers isn't the best way to help the ones I love, is it? I ask.

Probably not, Joseph says. Find another way. One that won't come back on the ones who you love most. As I nod, I notice for the first time that the truck is parked right outside my house. The lights are on in the windows. I get out of the truck, leaving the gun inside. Somehow, I know Joseph will take care of it, but I hesitate. Unsure what to do with a backpack full of cash.

Joseph slides over into the driver's seat. You can't change the past. He says. You can only learn from it. What matters is how you go forward. I smile and shut the truck's door. As I walk around the back of the vehicle, I adjust the backpack. And when I get to the front door, I turn around to wave goodbye to Joseph.

But the truck is already gone. SEP 5223 is a 1941 Chevrolet split windshield pickup truck. Though the vehicle is capable of normal movement, how this is accomplished is not well understood. The vehicle is missing vital components to its engine. Moreover, while the vehicle is in motion, no audible engine noise can be heard. Beyond standard movements, SCP 5223 is also capable of teleportation and the creation of a pocket dimension. The means of this teleportation is not well understood. human stepping within 5 meters of the vehicle will be lulled into a suggestive state, similar

to that of the drug desomorphine. Victims of the suggestive state will become more jovial and agreeable, at which time they will be greeted by an elderly man, known as SCP 52223-1, who will typically be seated in the passenger seat of the vehicle. SCP 5223-1, who calls himself Joseph, will invite the guest into the vehicle and transport them to SCP 5223's pocket dimension. He can also transport his guest to one of many locations around the globe, should he be provided the opportunity. What is contained in the pocket dimension varies from encounter to encounter, although events in this dimension will remain consistent with what the guest is most fearful of. The events contained in SCP-5223's pocket dimension will most often present themselves as a challenge, monster, or nightmare. As such, these phobias often pose a severe danger to guests, although Joseph will often step in and aid guests during their time in this dimension.

Once a guest's time in the dimension is complete, the guest will then be permanently absolved of their phobias by unknown means, and he or she will be escorted back to the guest's desired location and will be free to leave. Lazzangue sur-gillet, puissance-moyance-moyance-moyne for 15 minutes. We're like to dojo. Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo. The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-assoo

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