The SCP Experience - Hungry Eyes | SCP-080

Episode Date: July 6, 2023

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-080: Hungry Eyes This podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp. Go to betterhelp.com/scp today to get 10% off your first month! This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-080 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

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We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules. 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. I read this self-help book once when I was younger. It wasn't the typical tripe about achieving your dreams or looking at life with a more positive outlook. Instead, it had a much more realistic. message. Its theme boiled down to this, you're not special. Your problems are pretty much the same as

everyone else. The trick to living a happy life isn't trying to solve these problems, but letting go of the problems beyond your control. For a lifelong insomniac like me, it was refreshing. Instead of being plagued by my sleep disorder, I used it to my advantage. I managed to crank out most of my term papers in college in one sleepless night. While everyone else around me bitched and moaned about not getting their eight hours, I thrived on getting by with two or three hours of sleep at night. It served me well when I went into investment banking. I was available around the clock, noticing the dips and rises in the market long before anyone else. I made my first million before I was 30, and my first hundred million just five years later. The thing about millions

is that you don't need that many to live comfortably, and I had hundreds to spare. So, I retired before I turned 40. But sleep is a biological necessity. Decades of lack of sleep put me on the edge and made me short-tempered. There was always a shimmering quality to the world through my sleep-deprived, itchy eyes. Sounds fancy, right? It wasn't. Try walking around when the air ripples like water around you. I would spend my nights yelling at the slightest sounds of the night, a barking dog, a misfired car, or anything disturbing the perfect quiet I needed to sleep. When I built my cottage and retired to the countryside, I found the same problems. Crickets and owls are just as disturbing as the endless New York traffic.

You would think that without the pressures of work, and being able to live comfortably for the rest of my years, The lack of stress would result in more sleep. The opposite happened. Instead of a few scant hours of sleep at night, I sometimes went days without sleeping. I was always tired and angry that everyone managed to do what I couldn't without effort. That book I used to rave about? I burned it a year into retirement.

Sure, you can't afford to sweat the small things, but sleep is no small thing. At least not to me. Whenever I saw someone asleep on TV, a rage would build up inside me. Let's say I've gone through dozens of plasma screens since retiring. Maybe my problems aren't that different from everyone else's. Millions of people in the world have insomnia. But I never read about a case as severe as mine. And I followed the book's advice.

I turned my weakness into a strength and managed to accomplish more before 40 than most people do in their entire lifetime. The simple truth of the matter, it wasn't fair that I should have to live with constant suffering. I tried everything. Melatonin worked for a little bit, until my body built up an immunity to it. I might as well have been popping candy before going to bed. Sleeping pills slowed my mind and my body, but never brought me under. Don't even get me started on hypnosis. The shrink ended up just talking to me for an hour before asking me to come back to try again. Yeah, right. This is America.

There shouldn't be anything outside your reach if you have the money to do it, but every antidote offered by the psychiatric and medical community failed me miserably. That didn't stop me from trying every possible solution to finally get a good night's rest. It was 4 o'clock in the morning when I stumbled across the ad. It was nowhere near the top of Google's algorithm and looked pretty basic. The website was dated and bare bones, but the address wasn't far from my home. It guaranteed an end to all sleeping disorders after the first fifth. I stared at the simple logo, a pair of black eyes with three small z's above them.

My hopes were low as I stared at the logo. If this were a legit offer, you would think they would spend more on advertisements. But they guaranteed results, and it wasn't like money was an issue for me. I laid in bed until 8 o'clock that morning, then took a car to the Sweet Dreams Clinic. One of the things I missed the most was driving. I had collected a few beauties while I was working. My profession gave me a taste of living fast. Sadly, I had to put such pleasures behind me.

I was too afraid I might nod off and wrap myself around a tree. So, I did my best to ignore the inane conversation from the ride-chair driver. It was a harder task than it sounds. Everything is more of a struggle when you're sleep-deprived, but especially people. I led out a breath of relief when he finally pulled up alongside the Sweet Dreams Clinic. The office building was every bit as uninspiring as its online advertisement. It was a basic, egg-white color with nothing to draw your eyes toward it. Even knowing what to look for, I felt my eyes slipping past it,

like the intro to a TV show half a season in. There was a tiny sign over the door. It was the same as the ad. And I wondered if they had just... just taken a picture with a digital camera and pasted it to their website. As I stepped inside, I saw that the interior of the building was as bland as its exterior. Magazines at least a decade old rested on a wooden coffee table beside some fold-out chairs. The woman behind the counter would have fit at home in any library.

Her mousy eyes were hidden behind massive glasses with a pen tucked into her hair. She turned toward me and nodded. Sue was written on her name tag, a plain white sticker like you see at high school reunions. She picked up the phone, her voice barely a whisper. Dr. Reynolds, you have another patient. I thought that was strange. She didn't ask for my name, how I would be paying or my insurance card. I was used to most receptionists acting as a barrier to the physician's busy schedule.

Usually, I would be given a brief rundown of the procedure and scheduled for a consultation, but it was less than a minute before the door beside her counter opened. The man that stepped inside wore clothes almost identical to the woman, a white polo shirt and tan khakis. He was completely bald, even lacking eyebrows. His eyes, though, were a vivid green that reminded me of energy drinks that I used to drink during my college all-nighters. The smile he gave me was wide, showing an array of dazzling, spotless teeth. Got a live one, do we? Dr. Reynolds said and waved his hands frantically, beckoning me forward.

Right this way, sir. Come on in. The place was odd, no question about it. But at the same time, I couldn't help but admire their expediency. Barely a minute had passed since I walked in. And he already had the ball rolling. Maybe he was a bit manic. But didn't they say genius was a neighbor to madness? I followed Dr. Reynolds through the door and into a hallway.

He opened a door off to the side. The room was dark, with just a nightlight plugged into the opposite end of the room. The doctor had to take my arm as he guided me toward a chair opposite the nightlight. As I sat down, the doctor beamed at me. The dim light, seemingly magnified by his brilliant smile. Just relax. You should feel the effects of the procedure must be able to be able to be. momentarily.

Huh? I stared at him, disbelief creeping into my voice. You don't want to know what my problem is? My medical history? Hell, you haven't even asked my name yet, Doc. Dr. Reynolds smiled at him. I don't need to know any of that for a few simple reasons. One, we're the Sweet Dreams Clinic.

We specialize only in cases of insomnia. Two, I don't need to know your history, because if you came here, it means you've exhausted every other possible alternative. And third, I have a hundred percent success rate. I snorted. Yeah, well, I'll believe that when I see it. And see it, you shall.

Dr. Reynolds stepped beside me and pointed toward the nightlight. Now, all you need to do is stare at the light. I was almost at my limit, but I figured I'd wait him out and prove that nobody had a hundred percent success rate in anything. The light flickered, and shadows danced across the small circle it cast on the wall. The shadows converged into a figure constantly shifting shapes, as if it couldn't find one it liked, except for its eyes. They remained the same.

Dark pits rimmed with smoke that stared at me hungrily. Jesus Christ! I yelled and bolted from the chair. What the hell is that thing? Easy, sir. Calm down, calm down. Dr. Reynolds' voice was soothing enough to hold me a little. in place for a moment. His hands rested gently on my shoulder and lowered me back into the chair,

the cushion soft against my back. It's nothing to be alarmed about, merely a sophisticated hologram designed to lure you to sleep. Relax, it's hardly a fucking sheep, Doc, he chuckled and patted me on the shoulder. Think of it like a magic eye. Remember those? Just stare at it and let yourself relax. I grumbled, but didn't get up. At least he hadn't charged me any money yet. As I sat in the chair and did my best to relax, I couldn't help, staring into the hologram's eyes. They seemed to follow me wherever I looked. After 10 minutes, I was ready to get up, having felt no different, but Dr. Reynolds assured me it was only a matter of time. After 20 minutes, I started to hum a song when the doctor asked me to remain quiet. A few minutes later, I was ready to chalk the visit up as another loss, but I couldn't open my eyes. They were too heavy. This didn't make me panic. In fact, it did the opposite.

It had been so long since I felt myself drifting off. I had almost forgotten what the sensation felt like. I took a deep breath, and when I next opened my eyes, I was gone. I was on a beach. Crystal blue water lapped against the white sands. Women giggled as they walked by, wearing bikinis that left very little to the imagination, smiling at me as I lounged in a chair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized something was wrong.

A minute ago, I was in a doctor's chair, but now I was in Fiji or Thailand, or someplace where the rich go to escape the stresses of the world. But you are rich too, aren't you, sir? The voice sounded oddly like Dr. Reynolds. but the advice was sound enough. I stood from the lounge chair and stretched and yawned, feeling more refreshed than I had in my entire life. As I strolled through the sand,

I noticed only one other man on the beach full of Sports Illustrated Hopefuls. A bartender in a bright Hawaiian shirt smiled as he cut limes in a small tiki bar. What'll it be, sir? I glanced at the menu, but couldn't make out any of the words. How about something served in a coat?

coconut? He grinned. With a tiny umbrella? Doesn't that go without saying? It should. The bartender busied himself with his back turned to me, then set down a drink exactly as I described. Enjoy, sir. I sipped the drink, and my whole body shuddered in pleasure. Bananas, rum, and everything else wonderful about the tropics mingled an ecstatic dance on my tongue. I strolled through the beach, smiling at the women who smiled at the women who smiled.

even broader back at me. But then I flinched. My feet were burning. Just the sun baking the sand, sir. Ignore it. The voice was enough to get me to take another step. But it felt like stepping on hot coals. I looked down and gasped.

The sand had turned into a pool of bubbling black tar. My legs had sunk in, past the ankles. Shapes moved within the sludge and formed a pair of smoking eyes. Help me! I screamed and thrashed in the chair in Dr. Reynolds' clinic. Help me! What? Dr. Reynolds' face was open and panic.

No, just relax, sir. It's all part of the process. He shoved me, and I was back on the beach, sinking further into the blackness. It seared and burned into my flesh. I turned to the people on the beach, all of them staring at me. Help me! For the love of God, help me! The women circled me and grew closer, their hands probing my body. Just when I thought that dream might be taking a pleasant turn,

I noticed all their eyes were filled with shadows and smoke. They clamped their teeth into my neck, arms, and legs. I screamed as blood poured from a dozen different wounds. Don't fight it, sir. It'll all be over soon. The bartender appeared before me. He smiled beneath his dark eyes. He ripped my shirt open and threw his hands across my chest. Then his fingers dug in and ripped a strip of skin from my body.

I screamed as he chewed and floundered against. against Dr. Reynolds. He held me pinned to the chair. The receptionist from earlier was nearby. She filled a syringe and handed it to the doctor. He jabbed it toward me. But in my panic, I swung my fist wildly and caught him across the jaw. I jumped out of the chair and fumbled for the door.

I couldn't find it, but I did find the light switch. No, don't! I was past listening to the doctor. Flipping on the light switch, bathed the room in light. I looked across the room but found nothing. except the night light, flickering uselessly until it died. The receptionist crumpled to the ground, sobbing. Dr. Reynolds covered his mouth and said the same thing over and over.

My God! My God! My God! I thought their tears were ones of relief, that they were being controlled by that thing, the same way I was. But then he fell to his knees and screamed. My God has abandoned me! Their high-pierce screams cut through my ears, as I ducked out the door and ran outside, never looking back. My hands tremble from the meth working its way out of my body.

It makes the lines of coke I'm cutting, uneven and wide. The lines are shaky and jagged, but that's okay. I'm pretty sure my nostrils have widened to the size of quarters in the year since I started using. Dr. Reynolds hadn't been lying. His success rate really was 100%. Ever since his procedure, I've been able to sleep like a baby. Sometimes I nod off just sitting in a chair or listening to music. And I can't have that, because every time I fall asleep, the eyes are always there.

The dreams are always different, but they all end the same way, with those smoke-filled eyes gazing at me hungrily before it tries to devour me from the inside out. My heart shudders in my chest. I know I'm probably not that far away from a heart attack. Maybe that's the only way to get rid of that thing. I stopped thinking about it as I lean over. and start snorting. I miss my insomnia. It is unknown if SCP 80 has a physical mass or body, as all attempts to interact with it physically have failed and have been met with adverse effects.

Researchers and personnel have described SCP80 as various shadows and humanoid effigies, with the only common attribute being two smoking eyes. It has come to the attention of researchers that SCP 80 induces uncontrollable drowsiness upon anyone entering its teeth. chamber. After approximately 30 minutes, any person observing it will be forced into REM sleep and may suffer irreversible psychological damage. This effect occurs even if SCP 80 is being observed from a separate room. If at any time SCP 80 finds a way to hide itself, such as in a cupboard, under a bed, covered in a sheet, etc., it will disappear entirely. Additionally, if any light enters SCP 80's containment room with a greater luminance than that produced by a standard

children's nightlight, SCP 80 will instantly vanish. Both of these events are considered a containment breach, and any personnel responsible for this will be severely reprimanded and possibly reassigned.