The SCP Experience - Hungry Bag | SCP-101

Episode Date: September 25, 2023

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-101: Hungry Bag This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-101 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Discover the Author's impressive series of SCP Tales here: https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BVWJFGV3 Check out more of Mr. Click's work here: newpulptales.com 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

It's never too early to plan your summer story in Europe with WestJet, from rolling countryside to cobblestone streets. Begin your next chapter. Book your seat at westjet.com or call your travel agent. WestJet, where your story takes off. There are a couple of things that I like about working security. First and foremost, I'm a night owl. I've always felt more comfortable being awake

while the rest of the world is asleep. This could be because of a lifetime plagued by insoletive. insomnia, or maybe just because of the simple fact that most people are assholes. Then again, what's the old saying? If you keep bumping into assholes all day, chances are you're the asshole. Either way, the bulk of humanity and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, and it's probably best if we keep as much distance from each other as possible. I'm happier for it, and let's face it, so are you. Security is a nice gig for people like me, especially when working the graveyard shift.

Most of the time, it's a whole lot of nothing that comes with a slight bump in the salary for working undesirable hours. The problem is that it's kind of hard to work security without other people. The company I work for likes to pair you with at least one other person for insurance reasons or something like that.

And for the last six months, that hasn't been too bad. They paired me with a college kid named Ethan, who mostly sits in his chair and sleeps all night while working on his PhD in criminology during the day. I don't bother him, and he doesn't bother me. It was a match made in heaven. But a couple of months ago, some vandals started tagging them all on the dead of night. Ethan and I got read the riot act since it happened while he was asleep, and I was off smoking a joint.

So they shackled us with Howlett. Trust me, you know Howlett. It's impossible to go through life, without ever encountering him. He's the stereotypical security guard, the guy who always wanted to be a cop and would litter them all with dead bodies if they ever let us carry a gun.

Something that Howlett spends half of the shift constantly bitching about. I do my best to diminish my thoughts of Howlett as I step into them all, knowing that I'll have the rest of the shift to gripe about him quietly in my mind. Might as well enjoy the last few minutes of tranquil silence

as my footsteps echo across the abandum. and mall a couple minutes asked closing. Grumbling, I adjust my uniform. Since they made Howlett's supervisor, he's insisted that we wear the ties and badges that come with a uniform. Frankly, I prefer looking as little like a cop as possible. People expect less of you then. I make my way upstairs to the unmarked door. It used to have security written in big, bold letters, but Howlett had maintenance strip it clean. You can't just announce to the criminals where you are. Ethan encountered something that he had learned in school about community policing. Apparently, the presence of authority can deter people from committing crimes. Makes sense to me. You're not going to rob a bank if 5-0 is parked

up front, sipping coffee. Powlett hadn't listened. And now, every time I see it, it's a stark reminder of his pathetic display of authority. Pushing open the door, I'm going to be. I'm going to greeted with a bit of nostalgia. Two chairs sit in front of a bank of black and white monitors. Ethan is dozing in one of them, wireless earbuds plugged into his ears. I stop at the table and frown at the empty, crispy cream box. Guess the last shift forgot to restock again. Sighing, I fill a cup of coffee and sit adjacent to Ethan. Sipping from my coffee, I think maybe we got lucky, and Howlett has taken a sick day. But then I catch him on one of the monitors,

moving toward us with a briefcase in tow. I let Ethan sleep a couple minutes more, then nudge him awake. Oh, hey, Jerry. Ethan's red eyes are rimmed with heavy shadows. I don't know how the kid finds the energy to keep up his full-time studies with a full-time job, even if he spends most of the latter sleeping whenever possible.

What's up? I hold up my hand and start counting back. backward. Five, four, three, two. All hands on deck! Helit screams. His skin is tinged redder than usual. We've got a code red 13! Ethan and I exchange confused glances. He's too tired to remember all the codes that Howlett's been hammering into us since taking over.

And I never bothered learning them to begin with. Raising the coffee to my lips, I take a drink and then hazard a guess. That guy sniffing shoes in the lady's foot locker is back? Howlett stiffens, his mustache bristling like a cartoon walrus. Suspicious package left unattended. Oh, writ 13. I nod and finish my coffee. Sorry, thought you said Purple Banana 7. Ethan snorts while holding back his laughter, which turns into a fit of pretend

coughs when Howlett turns his glare from me to him. I know Ethan needs the job, but there's not much Howlett can do to us if we show up on time and do what he says. I'm going to make sure that it doesn't contain any explosive components. Uh, Ethan Scoots his chair toward the monitors, putting as much distance between the briefcase and himself. Isn't that something we should notify the police about? The police will be notified if necessary. Don't worry, I completed a module on recognizing homemade explosives.

Until then, I need one of you to secure the perimeter. On it, I say, and stand from the chair. Ethan's shooting me an envious frown. We do whatever we can to avoid howl it, and I'm usually quicker on the draw. He nods to me as he carefully places the suitcase on the table between the coffee pot and the empty box of donuts. As soon as the door closes, I flip him the bird

and slide down the railing of the escalators to the ground floor. I put on a show of making the usual rounds before stepping out into the cold, early morning air, making my way toward a blind spot in our cameras. I make sure that my radio is turned on so that Howlett won't come looking for me unannounced. After that, I reach into my breast pocket and thumb the joint I'd been saving for tonight's shift.

It's a little early, but with Howlett on the case, I've got to take the opportunity while it's presented. I'm smiling as I step back into the mall. The weed has taken its effect, and my head feels light, the dim colors of the closed shut. are now vibrant and pulsing. I used to always spark up while I worked just to pass the time.

Ethan would do it with me from time to time, but Howlett has scared him straight. Speaking of Howlett, it's weird that he hasn't checked in yet. I glanced down at my watch. It's been almost 20 minutes. He usually calls in for a sit rep by now. Rather than dwell on that, I cherish the feeling. It's almost like old times. partly from enjoying the slight sense of freedom, but mostly from my impaired movements.

When I finally make it back to the security room, I blink. As usual, Ethan's snoozing in his chair, earbuds back into place. But there's no sign of Howlett. My mouth hangs open as I stare at the table. Wherever Howlett went off to, he must have replaced the donuts before he left. There's a fresh 12th-count box resting on the table. I might actually start to like working with the grumpy bastard so long as he doesn't pay too much attention to the smell coming off my clothes.

Biennue at board of Viarai. Embarked and profite. Embarked and relaxes. Cirotay, bookine. Oh, that also. And profite. Villaray, the voice that we love that we love. I reach into the box and then blink at the strange artwork staring back at me. Elucinations from smoking weed are just supposed to be the stuff of ultra-conservative propaganda, like reef or madness. But there's no other way to explain the grisly sight staring at me. It's a wad of red goop leaking from the wall and onto the floor.

I stare closer, and I recognized the bloody bristles. It's howl its face. Something skinned him alive and stuck his face to the wall. I yelp and step back, but something clamps down on my wrist. The lid to the crispy cream box closes tight, drawing a spray of blood. As I scream, one corner of the box opens. A long, slithering tongue snakes out from the back. It laps at the wall, mopping away the blood and leaving a trail of saliva.

Then it curls around the remains of Howlett's face. It snaps, withdrawing like a fly on a frog's tongue as it retracts into the box and belches. Pain shoots up my arm as I'm yanked forward. Half of my arm goes missing in another spray of blood. I scream and call out to Ethan, reaching out with my remaining hand. He remains sleeping in his chair, unable to hear me from the music blaring in his earbuds. I scream louder, hoping that maybe I can get through to him. My body launches forward again as the box opens.

Rows of jagged teeth surrounded me as my head plunges into the box. I buck and struggle, but my legs lift from the ground as the tongue wraps around my waist. Hot air engulfs me, and slime falls over my face as my chest falls on the teeth and the box closes shut. My eyes open slowly, disorientation wrapping around me as it always did after a long sleep. Between working on my Ph.D. and the graveyard shift at the mall, the sensation is not frequent. Usually, I can only count on getting a few 15-minute bursts of shut-eye with Howlett working as our supervisor. Luckily, I can usually count on Jerry to nudge me awake whenever he's looming nearby. My eyes nearly bulge out of my head as I see the time on my phone.

30? Shit. I overslept for two hours. Spinning in my chair, I look around for the others, but Jerry and Howlett aren't anywhere in sight. Not even Greg and Terry, the two guards that usually relieve us for the day shift. The last thing I remember was Howlett, prattling on about the suitcase and turning on some music to drown him out. I must have nodded off. I don't have time to worry about that. I've got a presentation due in an hour, and I can't afford to miss it. Glancing around the room, I look for my book bag and swear when I can't find it. I relax as I see it resting on the table next to the coffee pot. When did I put it there?

There's no time to wonder about that either. Stepping up to the pot, I pour myself a quick cut from the few remaining dregs, frowning at the burned smell. That one's refilled it in hours. Beggers can't be choosers, I remind myself, and pour in large quantities of cream and sugar. I gag after swallowing, the sweetness not a good one. enough to mask the burned scent, but the caffeine dusts the cobwebs from my mind. Hefting my backpack over my shoulder, my whole body sags. The textbooks for my class load are never light, but they're heavier than usual today, probably from a night of sleeping in

my chair. Forcing it out of my mind, I head toward the door, thinking about the presentation. I swallow, picturing the hundreds of eyes that'll be on me, my stage fright already rearing its ugly head. I freeze as hot breath lands on my neck, followed by a burp. I spin on my heel, slowed down by the heavy contents of my bag, but there's nothing behind me. Sign, I shake my head and head off to class, praying I'll make it in time. SEP 101 appears as a satchel or bag of intermittent size. With observations, ranging from an opening of 15 centimeters in diameter to 70 centimeters in diameter, the depth of the container has varied with the no standard mean of equality to the relative diameter.

The primary feature of SCP-101 is what appears to be a semi-humanoid mouth contained within the opening of the bag, with the mean standard of 31 centimeters of depth into the container, without more than two standard deviations of variance, regardless of the apparent external depth of the container. The mouth consists of 32 teeth of an off-white hue, all of equal shape and size consisting solely of incisors of approximately 10 centimeters in length. It has been observed, albeit not measured with accuracy, that within the mouth there is a tongue of indeterminate length, with observations ranging from 50 centimeters to 3.5 meters. The mouth appears wet and spongy, however, all attempts at

removal of possible fluids have resulted in failure with damage to the instruments and harm to the personnel. The current decision is that SCP 101 may be a part of a larger entity of extra-dimensional origin. SCP-101 is not externally mobile, however. Internal movements within the container can affect minor movements of the exterior of the container that consists of SCP-101's covering. It is understood that due to the nature of the size and probabilities of the container and object within, the object is of extra-dimensional interaction, if not origin. SCP-101 has exhibited polymorphic abilities, as well as a low level of sentience. SCP-101 has changed appearance and shape with the apparent end of enticing a subject into reaching

within the container. These appearances have ranged from money satchels to deli-boxes to crispy cream containers, to candy bags, all of which have an external appearance that is indistinguishable from that of the real containers. It has been proposed that SCP 101 is semi-sentient in its attempts to lure subjects in. SCP-101 is currently in use as a means of refuse disposal for Site 19. SCP-101 is not shown adverse reaction to having foreign matter introduced to it, including, but not limited to, paper product, sewage, cafeteria refuse, metals, polymers, oils, and other products which are not consumable by any known biological entity.

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