The SCP Experience - Hell Hall | SCP-7104

Episode Date: April 14, 2025

A group of death row inmates, drugged and strapped with cameras, are sent into an endless hallway where their own fear warps reality—and the only way out is to laugh their way through the nightmare. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7104 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

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bar-oblic concour. The reglements of the concourse is applicable going to die, die, die, we're probably going to die, die, die, die, tonight. I slap my palms over my ears at Ratliff's ridiculous off-pitch singing,

but I can't keep a little giggle from slipping out of my mouth. I really hope you die, die, die. Volsted sings right back at him before they burst into laughter. Why don't you all shut up before I kneecap you? One of the guards shots from behind us as we walked down the corridor. Whose idea wasn't to drug these idiots anyway? Who do you think? The other guard answers.

Dr. Fletcher said something about testing their perceptions. I don't know. The guy's nuts. I just do what he says. What the hell did he give them? I don't know, man. Just some cocktail of drugs and a syringe. He doesn't explain his experiments to me.

Ratliff and Volstead stumbled down the windowless corridor ahead of Comez and I. Volstead towers over Ratliff, but they have similar body language. That, and their shaved heads make them look like brothers from the back. Meanwhile, Comez and I couldn't be more different. I'm skinny as a bean pole, while Combes' belly leads the way wherever he goes. I'm so white I burn under fluorescent lights, and Combes is the kind of brown you find on people living at the equator. Yet, I wrap my arm around the man's narrow shoulders and look into his dark eyes. Why can't we be friends?

Get off me! Comey, shoving me into the wall. Apparently, the happy drugs aren't making him so happy. But my mood is so good, I can't help but laugh, even though I banged my elbow on the wall. Knock it off, keep walking. I raised my hands and surrender and move down the hall. The place we're in is not your standard foundation facility. It's an old, run-down industrial building that looks like the last time it got used

was before all the American jobs got shipped overseas. The ride over here took a couple of hours and was born. as hell. But it all seems worth it now that this warm, giddy feeling thrums within my body and mind. The guards direct the four of us through a doorway and into a wide room where Dr. Fletcher is busy overseeing a couple of his assistants. They have a few folding tables set up and arrayed with computers and what looks to be radios. As soon as we come in, the assistants hurry over with a small storage box. They take cameras out of the box and strap them to our chests over our our orange jumpsuits. Three of us giggle as these two young men affixed the cameras to us,

but Comez just grumbles and curses. I'm beginning to think he didn't get the same kind of drugs as us. When they're done testing the cameras, they give us earpieces and test those, ensuring we can communicate with them. I farted, Ratliff says by way of testing his earpiece. Then he makes a drawn-out farting noise with his mouth that has me howling like a hyena. Dr. Fletcher, who watches this exchange from behind lightly tinted glasses, nods his narrow head in satisfaction. Okay, let's get them inside. The two guards escort us toward the opposite end of the wide room,

where a door awaits. But it's not just any door. It has a grate over it, kind of like a door you'd see on a prison cell. The guards have to disengage two locks with two different keys to open the grate. Then they step back and usher us toward the still-closed door. Go ahead, Dr. Fletcher calls from behind us. Volstead, who is nearest the door, shrugs and opens it. The two guards tents, raising their weapons, but nothing happens.

It's just a short hallway, maybe 15 feet long, which leads to another door, identical to the one Volstead just opened. There is one set of lights in the ceiling providing illumination. Get inside and keep going through each door you come to, Fletcher says. We'll be monitoring you from here. It's very important that you all travel through each door together. I don't want you separated into two rooms. Do you understand? Let's fucking do it, Ratliff calls, pushing past Volstead and into the hallway.

The rest of us follow after him, with Kormez bringing up the rear. Once we're all inside, the guards shut the door. I can hear them locking the grate back into place. But I don't much care. I'm not sure I would care if I ran into a freakish monster in this hallway. so long as I still felt like this. Ratliff gets to the door at the end of the hallway. Then he turns around and raises his hands.

He pumps his fists in the air and does a little dance. Volstead and I start clapping him on and shouting encouragement. Keep going. Fletcher says over our earpieces. Or what? Ratliff says. What will you do to us? Nothing happens for a moment.

Then Ratliff goes stiff as a board as a buzzing sound emanates from the camera strapped to his chest. His eyes roll up into his head and his teeth clenched together. Then the buzzing stops and he drops to the floor. I point and laugh at him. Dumbass! Volstead doubles over and cackles loudly. Saliva spraying from his mouth, Fletcher says over the radio. Now keep moving.

Still laughing, Volstead and I help Ratliff up, who is gradually regaining control of his body after the electric shock. Please do not try to take them off, Fletcher says. in place and tampering will only cause shocks. And if you try to go backward through the doors, we will shock you, all of you. I glance over my shoulder to see that Comaz is frozen in the middle of messing with his camera. He glares down at the unit and then ceases his tampering. Helping rat lift with one arm, I opened the door with my free hand, revealing a hallway

identical to the one we're in. Same length, same light fixture, same door at the other end. is different. The four of us move through, and by the time we reach the next door in line, Ratliff can walk on his own again. Almost shit my pants back there, he says, laughing. Volstead and I think it's the funniest thing ever. We stop and laugh as Comez pushes past us to the next door. He opens it just a little ways and slips through, shutting it behind him. You all must go together, Fletcher says. Follow him.

Yeah, yeah. stepping to the door. But as I put my hand on the knob, a scream sounds from the other side. I pause, fear trickling into some distant part of my brain. But whatever drug I'm on dampens it down, and a smile inches across my face. I pull the door open just as Combs rushes back through, knocking into me as he comes. While I'm stumbling back, I get a glimpse inside the next short hallway. There are four mannequins inside, all of them naked, and each one of them looking like one of us. Commes gets behind the three of us, clearly still frightened. Dude, they're just mannequins, Ratliff says chuckling. You're scared of some mannequins?

They moved. Why do they look like us? Fletcher's weasley voice came over our earpieces. Please continue through. I don't want to have to shock you all. Ratliff goes first, followed by Volstead and I. Commes hangs back in the other hallway until he screams. Apparently from a shock to the chest. Then he comes with. We move toward the mannequins, which are facing each other, two on a side. As we get closer, I see that they really do look exactly like us, except they're made out of plastic. As I pass the one that looks like me, it turns its head toward me and blinks. I jump and scream like a little girl on a roller coaster, and then rush toward the door at the end of the hall. We all go through the next door, finding an identical hallway,

only this one doesn't have any mannequins in it. Instead, there are strange plants growing from the floor. Stopping just inside the hallway, three of us laugh like we're in a haunted house, while Commes sulks, staring warily at the plants will have to walk through. This is pretty fun, bolsted says. Let's keep going.

The plants are mostly at about ankle height, but some grow as high as my knees. I don't recognize them, but I'm not a plant guy, so I just walk through them. They brush harmlessly against my orange pant legs. Colmes brings up the rear, and when he's about halfway through, he screams.

Ow! What the hell! He covers the rest of the distance to the next door, hopping on his left foot and clutching his right. Ratliff points out him. What a baby! When Colmes gets to us, he raises his right pant leg and inspects the skin there. Something stung me.

I don't see any. Ratliff says. You big baby. Screw you! Commes lurches for Ratliff, grabbing the man's neck. He only manages to choke him for about five seconds

before there's a buzzing sound. Combez screams in pain and drops to the floor amid the plants. The buzzing stops, but the plants seem to dart at his face. And he continues screaming, frantically jerking his hands around his head and then scrambling to his feet.

Damn, bro, I say. Those plants don't like you. Were you a lumberman? jack in a past life or something? Red-faced and huffing, Commes rips the next door open into a hallway filled with colorful balls from a ball pit. Some of them spill out as he opens the door.

Oh, fun! Ratliff says, waiting into the balls like a kid at a playplace. Volstead and I follow, kicking the balls around and tossing them at each other, having a good old time. After a minute of this, I hear a wet car from behind me. Turning, I see Colmes, deep in the balls, leaning over and coughing. Even from this angle, I can see that his face is

deformed. With some effort, he lifts his right leg up. Even before he pulls the pant leg up, I can see that the flesh underneath is not right. It pushes unevenly against the previously baggy pant leg. When he does pull it up, I can't help but feel another minuscule trickle of fear. The flesh is swollen and discolored. Little zit-like postules, bubble and burst to reveal tiny black objects inside. He puts his leg down and raises his head, his eyes peering at me from inside deep pockets of deformed flesh. Dude, you look like the elephant man!

Ratliff says, shrieking with laughter. I laugh, but Volstead only chuckles. Then something else catches our attention. The balls around Combes' legs begin to shift. Dozens of them roll up his legs. Frantically, Commes tries to bring up. Komez tries to brush them off, but there are too many. He thrashes and careens from wall to wall as the balls cover him from head to toe.

For me, the horror barely registers. It's like watching a slapstick comedy routine. Even Kulmes' muffled screams hardly penetrate my drug-induced joy. With one edge of my perception, I notice that Volstead is only chuckling at the scene, while Ratliff and I are dying with laughter. And when the blood comes, Spewing out in great torrents from the narrow gaps between the colorful balls, Volstead's laughter dies entirely.

Commes collapses and sinks into the balls, his thrashing fading to a mere twitch here and there. While Ratliff and I are still laughing, Fletcher's voice comes through our earpieces. What's going on? What happened to Colmes? Pretty much anymore. Not good. I just watched a man die. I stifle a laugh at that. Die?

What does that even mean? At least it was funny. I've given you each different doses of my proprietary drug, Ledger says. Gomez, of course, didn't get any. He got a placebo. But the rest of you got varying doses. Volstead received the least,

which is why his is wearing off now. I think it's safe to say that your perception directly affects the anomaly. Do you understand what I'm saying? Volstead looks pale. His face drawn and his mouth turned down. You're saying that I'm going to die next? Not necessarily.

If you move quickly and control your perception, if you think happy thoughts, essentially, then you could make it out alive. What about these two guys? Volstead asks, gesturing at Ratliff and me. Ratliff received the second least amount of the drug. Spokane received the most. That means that Spokane has the best chance of surviving,

if he moves fast. Me? I asked, chuckling. Surviving? Right. I'm not afraid to die. Very good, Spokane. Very good. Jesus, this is messed up, Volstead says, turning to race toward the next door. How many more hallways are there? Fletcher doesn't answer right away.

We're not exactly certain. That's what we're hoping to find out today. But remember, you all must stick together. That is vitally important. Let's go. Volstead says, coming back and shoving us toward the next door. Relax, man, Ratliff says. It's not a race. Yes, it fucking is. Now move.

We head into the next hallway, where a humanoid figure made of black smoke awaits in the middle of the hall. This startles Volstead, but Ratliff and I are only curious. After a few seconds, the humanoid disappears, and we're rushed through the next door. In this hallway, we find several flesh-colored tendrils sprouting from the floor. Some of them are as big around as my leg at the base. tapering to about the size of my forearm at the tip.

They undulate gently as if in an ocean current. Gross, I say, pointing and looking at Ratliff so we can laugh about the weird things together. But as I turn, I see that Ratliff isn't smiling. He's frowning. A split second later, Volstead shoves Ratliff in the back. The smaller man goes stumbling forward, crashing right into a couple of the tendrils. As soon as he makes contact with them, they wrap around him. One grabs his left leg, and the other cinches around his right arm. But Ratliff's momentum is still too great, and he falls forward into the other tendrils.

They each grab a part of his body, and I can see the muscles under their human-like skin shifting as they yank at him. Volstead shoves me ahead of him. He keeps his hands on me, propelling me forward. Even in my drugged state, I know to step carefully around the tendrils. But I watch, chuckling, as we pass by a struggling Ratliff. Then, as we're getting to the next door, I hear a crunch and the splatter of liquid on the floor. Ratliff screams, although he can't get much effort behind it, because he has a tentacle wrapped around his neck. I glance back, peering around Volstead to see that one of Ratliff's arms has been ripped off.

One of his legs goes as I watch. A little bit more fear trickles in me as the drugs slowly wear off. Move! Volstead says, shoving me through the next door. I come back to myself just enough to realize that he hasn't kept me alive for anything but a selfish reason. He's going to do to me exactly what he did to Ratliff so he can have a better chance at survival. How's that for a happy thought? The next hallway is empty, and the one after only has a series of wooden chairs affixed to the walls and ceilings.

We duck around them, making sure not to touch them. Then we open a door onto the next hallway, and as soon as Volstead sees what's inside, he yelps and steps back. I'm still a little high, so I chuckle. Whoa, I see dead people. And it's true. Corpses stand in two lines on either side of the hallway, facing each other. Some of them are completely naked. Their flesh colorless and ashy in death.

Others are still clothed. Their gruesome injuries impossible to miss. One of them is even missing ahead. Before I can react, Volstead shoves me into the hallway. I stumble and fall to my knees between the two lines of corpse. They all look down at me. All but the headless one, of course. But they don't make a move toward me.

I get to my feet and walk to the other door, smiling at the dead people. Sorry, you're dead. I tell them as I pass. When I get to the door at the end of the hall, I look back at Volstead, who seems hesitant to make the journey. He glances at the corpses and steadies himself, straightening his spine before walking confidently down the hall. He gets about halfway through before the corpses converge on him,

Snorling as they attack. Oh shit! You shouldn't have told them you're sorry, they're dead! Of course, Volstead doesn't hear my advice. He's too busy screaming and having his insides ripped out by a bunch of dead people. Shrugging, I turn and head through the next door. The hallway that greets me is full of objects suspended in the air. There's a tricycle, a spiral-bound notebook, a pencil, a baseball, and an AK-47.

Cool, I say. stepping over to the AK-47 and grabbing it out of the air. All the other objects suddenly fall to the floor, startling me. With the AK in my hands, I chuckle at the scare. Some part of me says I might need the gun, so I keep it as I head into the next hallway, which is empty except for droplets of clear liquid dripping from the ceiling. I reach a hand out and let one of them hit my palm.

It feels like water. All good. But as I step farther into the hallway, something changes in my head. All I've just witnessed seems to bombard me, and a previously dampened part of my brain starts screaming at me, telling me I'm in danger. The easy smile falls off my face,

replaced by a furrowed frown. The liquid drips from the ceiling and onto my head, but it no longer feels like water. It feels like acid. Shit! I scream. The droplets burning my scalp and neck. I rushed through the room as fast as I can

and through the next door. This hallway has a damn bangle tiger in it. As soon as I step through the door, the tiger roars and rushes at me. Shaking with a sudden onslaught of adrenaline, I aimed the rifle and pull the trigger, firing the gun at least ten times, before I finally hit the tiger in the head. It falls into a heap on the floor.

I stand there, staring at it. All my happy thoughts completely gone now. It seems the drugs are wearing off, Fletcher says over my earpiece. If you want to make it out alive, you better hurry. After a moment of hesitation, I take his advice, leaping over the tiger and rushing through the next door into a hall with walls engulfed in flames. The heat hits me immediately, but I don't slow down. I run through the hallway, feeling my hair singe and my pants blacken.

And I keep running. I run through a hall filled with angry gnomes, one of which explodes when I kick it, severing a couple of my toes. I run, limping, through a hall with floating piranhas that apparently can survive without water. They attack me, and I move into the next hall with one of them gnawing on my ear. I rip it off as I run through razor-sharp grass that penetrates my shitty prison slippers. I run, I limp, and I bleed. I fire the rest of the AK's magazine into a huge tarantula, and then use the empty weapon as a bludgeon when I face my doppelgamer,

beating him to death with the stalk. I run, I limp, and I bleed until I can barely do anything but bleed. I'm about to give up, to lie down and die. when I decide to go through one more door, just one more. As I move through, I see Dr. Fletcher and the two guards standing there, smiling at me. Oh, thank God! I say, falling to my knees, heaving breathlessly. Thank God. I'm hated.

I look at Fletcher, who takes a step toward me, still smiling. Then his voice erupts in my ear. I'm afraid not, Spokane. For a moment, I'm confused, because Fletcher's lips didn't move as he spoke. to me. His voice only came through over my earpiece. Then I realize why. It's not real. Before I can lurch to my feet, Fletcher and the two guards rush at me, their torso splitting open vertically to reveal rows of sharp, bloody teeth. Son of us!

SCP 7104 is a spatial and temporal anomaly, taking the appearance of a standard five-meter-long hallway. A doorway is located at the end of this hallway, leading to an exact replica of SCP 7104. This cycle has been observed to continue approximately 300 times. Experiments show that any subject traversing this anomaly will have a direct effect on the entities that appear. In essence, fear causes the anomaly to attack a given subject. Only those subjects who can control their fear have made it successfully through the entire anomaly.