The SCP Experience - For Celia | SCP-7738

Episode Date: September 26, 2025

When a schoolteacher begins seeing a faceless figure that no one else can, his happy suburban life unravels into a waking nightmare where the whisper of his own name might be the last thing he ever hears. This story was derived from ⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7738 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. ⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/⁠⁠ * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Oh, that also. And profite. Via Rae, the voice we love. Day one. Blood dripped down the wall and pulled on the floor in a dark bottle. The trail led up to the ceiling, where a body was suspended. The man's arms hung limply at his side, and his mouth was wide open as if stuck in a scream.

His eyes dangled from their sockets, swinging by a thread. And beside him, written in blood, were the words, Jack? A hand clasps my shoulder, and I jump out of my seat, sending papers flying across the desk. Celia! Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I blink away the image of blood's splattered walls and turn to focus on my wife.

It's fine. It's my own fault for encouraging high schoolers to write horror stories. Some of these are downright sadistic. Celia smiles and shakes her head. What did you expect? You're the one who introduced them to Stephen King and HP Lovecraft. I have no regrets. You might not be saying that when you can't sleep tonight.

I glance at the papers with the grimace. You might be right. She smiles at me, that wicked, sexy smile that I can never get enough of. I can help you take your mind off of it. I hold my breath as she steps closer and traces her finger along my chest. Even after five years of marriage, this woman can still turn my legs to jelly. I think that's a good idea. She shrieks.

as I scoop her into my arms and lead her upstairs. The story's forgotten for tonight. Day five. Something is wrong. Shadows lurk in every corner of the room, and I am suddenly certain that one of them contains something that shouldn't be there. The closet doors gape like the maw of a monster or the doorway to hell. Why don't I keep a weapon beside the bed? There's a baseball bat downstairs in the garage,

a knife in the kitchen, a razor in the bathroom. But nothing here, where I am most vulnerable. Why hadn't I thought of that before? I stare into the shadows as Celia sleeps soundly beside me. Her soft snores, a mockery of my fear. But I don't want to wake her. Not yet. Not until I know what's wrong.

I wait for what feels like an eternity, not daring to breathe. But nothing happens. Nothing creeps out of the closet. There is no sound of scratching or whispering. It's just the quiet bedroom of an average married couple in an average suburban home. Nothing is wrong. My heart slows as realization dawns. I must have had a bad dream.

That's what woke me up. Not something hiding in the bedroom. I shake my head and decide to stop reading horror stories before bed. I can't tell Celia about this. She would never stop making fun of me. I smile at the thought and curl beside her. closing my eyes to the shadows. Footsteps sound above me.

My eyes are suddenly wide open again. I nudge Celia without thinking, and she moans in response. Celia, do you hear that? What? Footsteps, listen. She's quiet for a moment. It's probably raccoons in the attic. She finally mumbles.

A nod. Right. Raccoons. That makes sense. Except shivers creep down. my spine as I nudge her again. Celia? We don't have an attic. I wait for her response, but she lets out another snore, and I know she's beyond my reach. The footsteps sound again, like someone is pacing back and forth, but Celia is right about one thing. Whatever it is,

it can't be in the house. I debate getting out of bed to check the roof, but think better of it. If there is some kind of serial killer or monster out there, I don't want to meet him unarmed in the freezing cold in nothing but pajamas. I close my eyes and try to sleep, but the sound of the footsteps reverberates through my skull for hours on end, until I finally get up at dawn and look outside. A snowstorm raged overnight, and the empty lawn is covered in a white blanket of powder. Whatever evidence the mysterious steps left behind, if any, is long gone now. Day 7. The hallways are so quiet this time of day. Most of the students have gone home, and few of the staff remain.

The stench of sweat and cologne lingers in the air as it always does, no matter how much disinfectant the janitors use. A breeze carries the smell away and scents chills down my arms. I pause and glance at the open doorway on the right. The science lab is empty, but the window has been left wide open. The winter air has significantly cooled the room, and I shiver as I step inside. Before I can walk over to the window, it slams shut on its own. I let out a yell and place my hand on my racing heart.

The word is a mere whisper, but it sends my heart racing all over again. I spin with my back to the window, but there's no one there. Hello? The only sound is the clock ticking above me. Tick, tuck, breath and shake my head. I've been far too jumpy lately. It's about time for me to head home anyway. Celia will wonder where I am.

I spare the room one last glance before returning to the hallway. I can't tell which direction the voice is coming from. But there's no one in the hallway. Yet I have the distinct feeling that someone is watching me. Every closed door suddenly feels like an eye watching my every move, following me down the hall. I quicken my pace. My footsteps, the only sound.

the only sound echoing through the space. The whisper is somehow louder now, even though I'm nearly sprinting. I glance behind me as I turn the corner, and suddenly my feet catch on something, and I lurched to the floor. Jack, are you all right? Mr. Stevens, the janitor, looks at me like I have horns sticking out of my head. I crane my head and peek around the corner, but the hallway is empty. Yes, sorry, I'm fine.

My voice is thin and wobbly, as I awkwardly. I awkwardly stand up and hand him back the mop I tripped over. I just thought I saw something. Did anybody come from that hall just before me? He frowns and looks behind me. No, I wasn't even aware anyone else was still here. Right. I debate asking whether he heard that whisper,

but he already seems to think I've gone crazy, so I won't push it. Well, have a good night then. He nods without replying, and I can still feel his whisper. gaze on my back when I exit the building, but the whisper is gone. If it was ever even there in the first place, the lights are dim, the popcorn is popping, and Celia is soft and warm beside me. We're watching a romantic comedy that she picked out, and I couldn't care less about,

but it's still a perfect night. She snuggles further into my arms, and I catch a faint whiff of vanilla. I inhale, and she laughs at me and play for you. swats my chest. I catch her hand and bring it to my lips, my eyes never leaving hers. I love you, darling, she smiles. I love you too, but I love you even more if you close the blinds. She shields her face from the sun, suddenly blaring in from the window. I roll my eyes at her and toss the blanket for my lap to do as she asked. We live on the edge of a forest and have a beautiful view of the trees, but they aren't tall enough to protect us from the glare of the setting sun.

I squint at the river of white that is quickly becoming an ocean. The snow is falling slowly in big flakes, and I can't help but watch it for a moment. Then something moves in the trees. My heart stops in my chest. I've seen deer before, and even foxes and the occasional coyote, but somehow I know in my bones this is no animal. The shadows slide apart as a man steps forward. He wears a dark cloak that hides his features,

and I can just make out a pale, spindly hand as he raises his arm and points straight at me. My breath catches. Honey? It comes out as little more than a whisper. What's taking you so long? Celia patters over to where I'm standing and looks out the window. What are you looking at? Don't you see that man?

I take her hand and use it to point back at him. She frowns in concentration. I am tense, waiting for the moment she sees. There's nothing there. What? I whirl around to face her and find concern in her eyes. Are you okay, Jack? I splutter, looking between her and the man.

You don't see that? Instead of answering, she closes the blinds and takes my hand. I think you've been a bit too stressed lately. Let's just sit down and have a nice evening. I nod. and follow her back to the couch. She snuggles beside me again, but no matter how warm she feels,

there is a chill in my bones that I fear will never go away. Look, Air Canada, does a sold world. Super, an offer for the assort. Station thermal, volcano. You've seen the price for the Japan? Hmm, epargne and sushi. Wow, the solds are good for Mayork also.

We could go to the plage and do a round-doney. Or, it'd say a long march on the board of the man. in Sicil. Mmm, I adore the cannoli. Wait, this sold is dendurring limited. Reserved at R-Canada.com or at your agent of voyage.

The conditions apply. Day 13. He's still there. I see him whenever I look in the backyard. He stands in the same spot, sometimes pointing,

sometimes not. I still haven't seen his face. I'm no longer certain he's human. I didn't believe in monsters and demons, but I didn't believe in monsters and demons, But I think I do now. I haven't mentioned him again to Celia, and she hasn't said anything.

I've started pretending he's not there, and when that doesn't work, I avoid the windows. School is my safe space, or I can forget about his existence completely. I haven't heard any more whispers of my name, and I've concluded that it must have been the wind traveling the halls and my overactive imagination. But the man is real. I know that much. The classroom is quiet as the students complete their writing exercise. Their heads are down, and they are either writing furiously or staring at a blank page.

I sit at my desk in grade papers, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. Jack? Yes? I realize as soon as I say it that I've made a mistake. None of my students would dare call me by my first name. And that wasn't a voice I recognized. It was the whisper from the hallways. the low, cold voice evocative of shivers and horror.

A few of the students look up with quizzical frowns. I hurriedly put my phone to my ear and exit the room, hoping they'll buy the ruse. I strain my ears, but the whisper is gone. With a sigh, I walked to the end of the hall. What is wrong with me? Hearing voices is never a good sign. And that man, who is he? What does he want?

I bang my fist against the glass in frustration. Something moves in the parking lot. I startle and look closer. A black figure emerges from behind a car and raises a finger towards me. No, no, no, no. He couldn't be here. He shouldn't be here. I don't even realize I am moving until the door slams shut behind me

and the winter breeze shoots through my thin shirt, sending prickles down my arms. By the time I reached the parking lot, my hands are bald and to fist. and I'm too angry to feel the cold. But the man is nowhere to be seen. I wander through the lot, peeking under cars,

and even looking over them. But there is no trace of him. Where are you? I shout in frustration. Suddenly, all the fight drains for me, and I feel exhausted. Leave me alone, I whisper. Please.

Is everything okay, Jack? I turn to find the principal beside a red Chevy, keys in hand, and a strange look on his face. How much of that did he see? Yes, I was just looking for something, but it doesn't seem to be here, so I'll just... I gesture awkwardly to the school.

He nods and glances at my classroom, where the students are gathered at the window watching. My face burns, and I stride away without another word. When I return, the students are back in their seats, but a few of them continue to glance at me with worried or fearful gazes. I smile at them, but then... That doesn't seem to help. How much longer can this go on? How am I supposed to get rid of this man if I can't even find him when I want to? I just need it all to go away.

Day 20. He's everywhere now. Down every hallway, around every corner, and every shadow. He watches me sleep. I can feel him, even when my eyes are closed. And that whisper follows me everywhere I go. I hear it in every silent moment. I haven't slept in days.

Every time I try, that voice crawls into my mind. It whispers my name over and over and over again. I've started spending my nights on the couch watching reruns of 90s sitcoms, because even a laugh track is better than that voice. Celia knows something is wrong, of course. She tries to guess what the problem is, but she never comes close. This morning, she sets my coffee down in front of me and stares deep into my eyes. Is it an affair?

A strangled laugh rises from my throat. Absolutely not. Then what is it? What's going on? I tell her the only thing I can. I wish I knew. She looks at me in a way she has never looked at me before. There is distrust in her eyes, betrayal on her face, hurt in her smile. I want to take her in my arms.

Tell her everything will be okay. But I can't lie to her. And I can't tell her the truth either. I sit in the principal's office feeling like a naughty child. My palms are sweaty, and I keep fidgeting with my tie. Outside, the mysterious man watches, his face obscured like always. I stare at him with all the hatred I can muster. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch, just continues standing there, a constant torment.

The door opens, and I tear my gaze away and force a smile. Jack, thanks for coming. Mr. Shadrack says as he sits at his desk. I already know what he's going to say. I've been expecting it for a while now, ever since he saw me in the parking lot. In addition to the whispers of the mysterious voice, the student body has been discussing me in the halls.

I see groups go quiet as I pass by, teachers looking the other way when I wave hello. They've seen me constantly gazing out the window, afraid to walk around corners, asking others if they've seen anything strange. I know my behavior has been odd, but who wouldn't act oddly when a strange figure is constantly hunting them?

It's come to my attention that you've been out of sorts lately. I have to ask, is there something going on that I should be made aware of? I want to tell him that he wouldn't believe me, but then I'd sound even crazier. Instead, I simply shake my head. His frown deepens, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Are you? Are you on drugs, Jack?

I know of some great resources that can help you, and we'll do whatever we can to get you through this. I cut him off before he can say more. No, I'm not on drugs. Right. He nods, but I can tell he doesn't believe me. Well, the board is out of discussion, and we think it's for the best that you take some time off. To do what?

See a therapist. Focus on your health. Do whatever you need to get. get back on track. My eyes wander back to the man outside, or demon, whatever he is. He stands there like a figure of mockery, daring me to get back on track. We both know that's impossible now. While I normally support therapists, I'm fully aware that if I see one, they'll call me crazy and send me straight to the loony bin. I know we can't call it that anymore, but the term feels accurate. If the man wouldn't follow me there, I'd gladly go. But he'll be there, just as he is here,

just as he is everywhere. Jack? I jump and turn back to the principal. He sits with his hands folded, his head tilted, awaiting my reaction. But what can I say? Yes, I'll rid myself of this haunting and return to normal. Oh, that I could. I simply nod and extend my hand. I understand, sir. His is somewhat hesitantly and takes my hand in his. His grip loose. I hope to see you back here soon, he says. I smile and nod again, but I won't be back. Day 30.

Jack, why did the school send out an email saying they're looking for a new English teacher? Because they are. I don't know how long I've been staring at the treeline, waiting for him to appear. But I don't glance away as Celia enters the room. What do you mean? Did you get fired? Yes. Jack, what the hell is going on? You need to get some help.

A sudden fury rises within me, and I finally look at my wife. You think I don't know that? You think I haven't considered every option? She backs away. I've never yelled at her before. Never. Just tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help. I glance away. My voice dull again. You can't. Just let me try. She pleads. Just leave me alone.

She remains still for a moment. Her eyes bore into me, but I don't meet them. Finally, she sighs and walks away. Day 34. The whispers won't stop now. They repeat endlessly, both in my mind and everywhere else. I've taken all the mirrors down. Whenever I look in one, he stands right behind me.

I still can't make out his face, though. He's cloaked in shadows, even in a bright room. I sit at my desk with a blank sheet of paper. He sits across for me, not pointing, just staring. I can't see his eyes, but I know he's looking straight at me. My fingers are shaking. My whole body seems prone to that lately, like I'm in a constant state of fear. The man-slash-demon has never done anything to me, not physically, but that doesn't mean

I'm not scared. He could change his mind and strike at any moment. I have no idea what he's capable of. Aside from what he's already done to me, that is. I've decided to write a story. It's about a man who lives a happy, normal life until a mysterious demon begins to plague him. The man's life quickly goes downhill.

He loses his job, his wife leaves him, and his friends won't talk to him, until one day he confronts the demon. The two stand face to face. The man looks him in the eye and sternly says, Leave me alone! and the demon disappears. The voices stop.

Life returns to normal. He gets his job back. His wife returns, and his friends welcome him back into their circle. And he never sees or hears the demon again. The end. I conclude with the flourish of the pen and glance at the seat across from me.

Leave me alone. I say each word with as much force as I can muster. Nothing happens. I'm not surprised. I've always found fiction a better alternative to reality. Fine then. Plan B. I arranged the story neatly on my desk and add Porcelia on the top page. It's hard to imagine a pill smaller than the nail of my pinky can actually kill a man, but here's hoping.

I stare into the hood of the figure on the other side of the desk and place the pill on my tongue. The world goes fuzzy. But I swear I can make out two glowing eyes staring back at me before everything goes blank. SCP-7738 is a memetic, info-hazardous illness that spreads through awareness of its existence, with a four-day incubation period before symptoms manifest. Early stages cause paranoia, auditory hallucinations, and the sensation of being watched, progressing into visual distortions, fabricated memories, and sightings of a humanoid entity known. known as SCP 7738-A, visible only to the infected.

As the disease advances, SCP 7738 takes control of the occipital and temporal lobes, inducing escalating paranoia, trauma, and hallucinations of SCP 7738-A stalking or chasing the patient. By two months, the infection dominates most of the brain, leaving survivors with catastrophic neurological damage, including sensory loss, motor impairment, and severe psychological instability. All patients reaching this stage have died, except Ethics liaison Atlas Keystone, the sole known survivor.