The SCP Experience - It Only Needs a Puddle | SCP-1128

Episode Date: October 5, 2026

Listen without ads and get instant access to exclusive bonus stories with a 7-day FREE TRIAL of⁠ ⁠SCP Premium⁠⁠ — Cancel anytime. No commitment. 👉🏼 patreon.com/TheSCPExperience The Sea Devils have been warned about one rule above all others: never listen to a description of the anomaly they’re guarding. When someone breaks that rule over the radio, the team realizes the real danger isn’t what’s lurking beneath the water—it’s what happens once it knows you’ve heard about it. This story is derived from ⁠The SCP Foundation Database⁠ and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0.⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ ⁠⁠⁠ Author:  Jake Bible * * * 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 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Monson sits outside on the black crate with his back against the bridge wall. His sunglasses wrapped tight around his face, keeping the bright sunlight from making his headache and nausea worse. Even with the sunglasses, he still has his eyes closed, and he listens wearily as wash and knocks argue inside the bridge of their team's main assault boat. Somewhere out in the bright blue water, treat and crest are patrolling in their small speedsters.

If Monson concentrates, can hear the motors far out there over the water. But concentrating makes his head hurt even worse than the sun. So what? We do nothing? Wash snaps. Munson smirks. He knows that tone. Wash has already worked up.

Well past, pissed off. He knows that all Knox can do now is try to keep Wash from completely blowing his top. It's an anomaly that we're supposed to have nothing to do with. Knox insists. As long as we never hear the description, we won't be in danger. Who cares about danger? Wash snarls. We're the sea devils.

We eat danger for breakfast. Munson's stomach roils at the thought of food. He erps a little and presses the back of his gloved hand to his mouth until the nausea fades. What I am saying is our mission is to keep the area contained and not let anyone within the perimeter. We are not to engage with the anomaly. No matter how many people it kills. D-class subjects are not people. Knox replies.

Munson hears the conflict in the commander's voice. D-Class may have worse fates than all foundation personnel, sure, but they're still people. Knox's attitude is a product of the job. When you run and gun for the foundation, dehumanization becomes a prerequisite. Hey, we have activity below the surface in zone 13 of the grid. Crest calls over the comms. Was there a scheduled experiment for today? I didn't get the freaking memo if there was. Wash and Knox end their little tiff and step outside the bridge,

both shielding their eyes as they stare out over the water. Zome 13 is the other way, Munson says, and hefts his bulk up off the crate. He groans and pops his back, then takes a few deep breaths before he shoves past Knox and wash. Let's go see what the fuss is about. The three foundation operators make their way around the small boat to the starboard side. Munson points to 11 o'clock. That's 13, he says, and irps again. Damn, Munson, cover your mouth.

Wash complains. You smell like something pickled and boozed and crawled down your throat. The three men focus on where Munson is pointing. Far out is a small speedboat running tight circles. Wash grumbles. I'm not seeing anything. Me neither. Knox admits.

Yeah, well, Crest caught a bit of the anomaly's description a couple of weeks ago. Now he thinks every wave or bubble is the damn monster. Munson says. He steps back and leans against his side of the bridge. It warped his perception somewhat, but I don't think he's had full exposure, so he should be safe. Knox and Wash turn and glare at Munson. What? Crest has had exposure and didn't report it.

Knox snaps. He did report it. I watched him send the email to you. He copied the brass on it, too, just to cover his ass. He got the all clear to keep operating with the sea devils. I never saw that email. Nock says with barely controlled rage. Munson shrugs.

He sent it? Yeah, well, if he did, who read it? Wash asks. Munson shrugs again. Hey, guys, are you seeing this? There's something freaking huge down below. I mean huge, and it looks like it's getting closer to the surface. Do not describe the...

Nock starts the order, but it's too late. Crest is already barking out a description of what he is seeing. Munson pulls the comms piece from his ear, but he heard enough that he knows he and the rest of the sea devils are in a world of trouble, that they are now infected. Call it in now, Wash says to Knox. We need immediate extraction. I know. Just give me a minute to think this through.

I call the wrong jerk, and we could land in bigger trouble. Munson realizes something and puts his earpiece back in. Treat, you out there? Come in. Munson calls over the comms. Treat. What's your location? Knox and Wash turn and study Munson. He holds up a finger. He calls for treat again.

They wait. But their teammate does not respond. Only a burst of cruel static assaults their ears. Okay, he either got his earpiece out in time, or he just hasn't put it back in. Munson says. Or he heard it, and has already been eaten by the damn beast. Wash says. Don't jump to conclusions.

Knox says. We should head to shore, Munson suggests. Bring everyone in and regroup until we know the extent of the danger. Good idea, Knox says. The brass won't be any help to us out here. So we aren't calling this in? Wash snaps. Not until we know more.

Knox counters. Munson just leans against the wall, until Knox and Walsh turn and cock their heads at him. Munson pushes off the wall. Right, I'm driving the boat, he says and slips inside the bridge. While he does not feel up to driving anything, especially since he's sweating tequila out of his pores,

not being in the hot sun is a nice relief. He steps to the wheel and fires up the engine. Then he pushes the throttle forward slightly to about ten knots, easing the wheel to starboard, and picks up the handset from the dash. Treat? Crest? We're heading in. Meet at the doc ASAP so we can regroup and figure out next steps. An image of what Crest described flashes through Munson's mind. Stabbing is already fragile brain.

He tries to shake it off, but the mental afterimage of massive teeth and a giant, wide-open mouth, haunts him for a few more seconds. Damn it! Crest should have kept his mouth shut. Everyone in the sea devils knows that you can never, never, never, never, never hear a description of this anomaly, or it will have power over you. Mons and wonders if all the sea devils will be reassigned now. He shivers at the thought. He may be sick as a dog, but he was born to be on the water.

But being close to any body of water will be dangerous from this point on. He has a sinking feeling he and the others will be co-signed to desert duty from here on out. Thanks, Crest, he thinks. Munson is glad to be moving with the sun behind him. Staring directly at the orb would have split his head wide open. In the distance, he can still see Crest circling his speedboat around Zone 13. Hey, Crest? Monson calls overcoms.

Bring it in, man. Stop circling and move ass. Crest's boat doesn't change speed or trajectory. Crest, do you copy? There's more static and Monson frowns. He keeps his eyes on Cres. Crest's boat. Crest, buddy, break off and bring it in.

We're meeting at the dock in five. Move your ass. Munson turns the wheel to port, carving the water with the boat as he switches directions toward the east side of the island where they are based. But just as he is about to lose sight of Crest, water erupts around the speedboat, and something of impossible size bursts through the water. It's massive maw wide open. In one gulp, it devours and swallows Crest in his boat before disappearing back

below the surface. Half a second later, Knox and Wash cram into the bridge, eyes huge and full of terror. That's a lot bigger than I thought it'd be, Wash says in a hushed tone. I could have swallowed six boats of this size easily, Knox adds. Munson pushes the throttle forward. Knox and Wash have to grab onto handles to keep on their feet, but neither complains as Munson attacks the water, skipping over light waves as fast as the boat will go. The comms explode with shouting. Hey, where are you going? Treat calls.

What the hell's just happened out there? Treat, meet at the doc, Prano. We have all been exposed and need to regroup to discuss next steps. Next steps? Did I just see Crest get eaten? Is that one of the goddamn next steps we'll be discussing? Yeah, that, and how to keep our asses from being freaking debowered. So do as you were told, and meet at the damn doc.

You're sounding like Knox. Warsh says, bite me. Knox snaps. Monson ignores the two. He's got to focus on the way. water and getting them around the island's horn to the dock. Off to port, he sees the speck that his treat's speedboat, and something trailing behind it, which means the something is big if he can make it out at that distance and against the sun glaring off the waves.

Guys, Wash and Knox look at him, then turn their attention to port. Oh, crap, Knox says. Wash gets on the comms. Treat, you got a bogey on your ass, man. Push that throttle to max and get that toy boat. moving. I know, I see it. Feet replies in a panic. But you don't see what I'm seeing. This thing is massive, guys.

We are talking bigger than a... Stop describing it to us. Knocked shouts. Crest already screwed us, big time, so we don't need you to be sloppy seconds. Munson winces, a little harsh, especially since he isn't sure further description will actually make things worse. Seems like the first description was sufficient enough to screw them all. Then he realizes something.

Hey, do we have any amnestics on board? No one replies. He looks over his shoulder at Knox and Wash. Hey, are you two listening? Amnestics! We take them now and we forget the description. That works, right? They did all those tests on D-Class personnel, right? Hey, hey!

Neither Knox nor Wash are paying attention to him. Their focus is out port side and the thing emerging from the water behind Treats speedboat. It's like a side of a mountain is surfacing, and the mountain has teeth, huge, long teeth. What the hell is it? Wash asks. God damn it! Munson yells.

Knox! Hey, Commander, do we have amnestics or not on this boat? Visit BetMGM Casino and check out the newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. BetMDM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager. Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you,

Peace contact connects Ontario at 1-866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor. Free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Knox tears his attention away from the thing and finally focuses on Munson. Munson is about to ask again, but Knox just shakes his head. All amnestics are in the bunker, secured and locked away. Not a good they do us being there, Wash says. They weren't intended for it.

our use, but for us to use on any civilians who get too close to the grid. Which is ridiculous. Civilians getting close to, or even into, the secured grid won't be affected by the anomaly unless they've heard the beast's description. Munson knows this. All members of the Sea Devils know this. Munson has a feeling that Foundation Brass ordered that the Amnestics stay in the bunker. Makes things interesting, especially if, say, a mobile containment team like the Sea Devils

were to be accidentally in front. by the description. This is a setup, Munson says. What was that? Knox asks. We've been set up, or, if not specifically set up, our situations have been manipulated for possible exposure to the anomaly.

Wash looks like he's going to argue, but closes his mouth. He finds a chair behind him and sits down heavily, looking defeated. Outside, far off to port. Treats, speedboat races ahead of the encroaching beast's massive mouth. Crap! Knox says, and Munson doesn't know

if he's referring to his observation of them being set up or treats circumstances. Probably both. He's not going to make it. Wash says. How the hell do you know? You're sitting on your ass. Muntin shouts. He adjusts the angle of approach, bringing the boat closer to the shore.

Careful. Knox growls. You'll hit the rocks. I see the rocks. Don't worry. Why are they doing this? Wash asks. They were happy sacrificing D-Class.

What the hell is the brass thinking? Why put us in danger? Testing parameters. The specter's changed. Knox sighs. I think they want to see if it can be weaponized, especially against trained operators. What the hell does us being trained matter? Wash shouts.

He rubs his face over and over. Christ, that thing can swallow a whole damn platoon. Us being trained don't make a goddamn difference. Speak for yourself. Munson pushes the throttle completely into the red. Damn it, Munson, be careful. Knox yells. I heard you the first time, Commander, and I have no plans to crash us.

I'll get us to the dock. Munson swings the wheel to Starboard, then straightens out, avoiding the clumps of rocks, sticking up out of the surf only a few yards from the island shore. He now lost sight of Treat and the behemoth chasing him. Munson's only focus is on the horn he has to get around so he can reach the dock and get his team off the damn boat. Knox opens the bridge's door and sticks his head out. It's almost got him. Treat?

Treat, you need to bail. Let it eat your boat. Treat replies with static he shouts and curses. Don't work that way, wash mumbles. It'll go after him. The thing doesn't care about the boat because it ain't the boat that's been infected. It's us, all of us,

and he won't stop until it eats each and every one of us. We are screwed. Speak for yourself. Munson sees the channel he needs to thread. It'll save them maybe two seconds, but those two seconds could be all that matters. He aims the boat for the thin strip of smooth water, then holds tight to the wheel

as he gently curves the boat around the horn and into the bay on the other side. I've lost sight of Treat. Knox says. Guys, do not leave me. Do not close that bunker until I get here. Treat yells over the comms. I think I'm losing it. I've got the boat at full speed and... The sound of crashing in plastic and machinery shattering interrupts him. Then silence except for the slight undertone of an empty hiss. Those bastards, I'll kill all of them.

Wash says. Knox doesn't argue for once. Munson certainly doesn't argue. you. He's all for doing the double-tap dance on a couple of the foundation brass's skull. The two-bullet guarantee, as his old sergeant used to say. The bay is wide open before the boat, and Munson steers them toward the large dock sticking out from the shore. Munson aims for the open berth where this boat goes. He's not being exact in his aiming, since there's enough space for the two speedboats as well, and he knows that they won't be needing that space anymore.

Holy Christ! Knox yells. It's in the bay! The damn thing is. in the bay. How? Wash shouts and gets up off his ass to look. I don't freaking know how. You ask it. Munton goes back to ignoring the two as they bicker and argue over the logistics and reality of an anomaly defying physics. It's a damn anomaly.

It has been assigned the number SCP 1128 for God's sake. It's under the foundation's purview because it doesn't follow the rules of logic and reality. The two operators continue to argue and argue and argue. Monson doesn't care, at least until they stop arguing and suddenly go quiet. It's diving, Knox says, hurrying back into the bridge. Get us through that dock now, Monson. I am.

He should already be throttling back so they don't come in too hot. If he doesn't break soon, at the speed they are going, he'll shoot straight through the berth and end up grounding them on the beach. If the boat isn't torn apart before they make the sand, then he has an idea. Get ready to jump, he says as he narrows his eyes, studying the new approach that he wants to take. He turns the wheel. What are you doing?

Wash shouts as he races onto the bridge. Why are you turning? Did you say jump? Knox asks. Yeah, we are going to jump onto the dock and let the boat speed away. He holds up a hand to head off Wash's incoming objection. I know it is locked onto us, but this might give us maybe an extra two or three seconds.

All we have to do is get onto the dock, run down the dock, and be far enough from the water to not get eaten. Far enough from any water, Wash says. If we are even a foot away from a damn puddle, it'll find us. They don't play in puddles, Munson says. Get ready. He turns the wheel again and pulls back on the throttle.

Then he steps away from the controls and moves toward the bridge door. You guys coming or what? Wash and Knox are on Munson's ass, and the three of them hit the gunwale and wait, timing their jumps as close to the limit as possible. The boat gets closer and closer to the dock. Just as it is about to speed past the end, Munson leaps. He barely makes it. And his knees buckle as his boots hit the weathered boards.

Knox is next, and he collides with Munson's back, sending them both flailing flat under their faces. Munson rolls over, shoving Knox off of him and sits up. There's no sign of Wash. Wash! Munson shouts as he gets to his feet. Knox is up, and already pulling on Munson's arm. We have to go!

Wash is in the water. I can hear him! The man's panicked voice calls for help, just off the end of the dock, but neither Munson nor Knox can see him. And then they can. A bloody wash has lifted 100 feet into the air as the beast clamps down on his waist, biting him in half. Blood spurts out in a shower of red, spraying most of the dock. Monson and knocks are coated, but don't bother wiping themselves off as they watch, stunned, while the beast opens its jaws and washes lost from sight, slipping down into the thing's gullet.

The giant monster angles its body and splashes into the bay, sending a wave of water up over the dock, washing away a good amount of the blood. Considering its size, it should have splashed most of the water out of the bay when it crashed back down. In fact, as Munson sees it, half the things should still be visible. It had to be 50 or 60 feet thick and four times as long. The bay just isn't deep enough to hide it. But hide it, it does.

In the blink of an eye, it's gone, having submerged itself yet again. The bunker, Knox says, coughing up water. Munson nods, and the two men turn and sprint down the river. dock toward the sandy beach. They make it onto the sand and then aim for the tree line. Once there, Knox slows and catches his breath. So does Munson. Still speeding through the water in the bay, the abandoned boat takes a turn and heads straight for shore. Munson doesn't wait to watch it crash. He and Knox are already done with their break and are hurrying through the island's jungle, dodging palmettos and huge ferns as they retreat as far from the water as possible. They run for a good

10 minutes before they stop and Munson looks around. What the hell, Knox? You took us in the wrong direction. Knox blinks and studies their surroundings. Then he nods. Yeah, crap. Sorry. Alone, man, my bad. Munson points to the right. We need to go that way. Are you sure? Yes, I can hear the waterfall. Right. They start running, battling the foliage every step of the way. When they burst past a clump of palms. They see a huge pool of freshwater with a decent-sized waterfall cascading down into it. Misty spray picks up from the pool. Keep clear, Knox says. It travels via water. We'll be fine if we stay over here. Munson and Knox skirt the pool by sticking close to the trees. And they are almost all the way

around it when the misty spray becomes a giant mouth filled with teeth. Knox screams as the mouth snatches him, devouring him like he's a tiny little ant. Then the beast withdraws back into the missed, and Munson is suddenly all alone. He shakes it off, promising to let it all crash down on him once he's safely secured in the bunker. Double-checking his position, he slips back into the trees, putting extra distance between himself in the pool. But that's not all he has to avoid. It must have rained recently, because there are standing puddles of water here and there on the trail to the bunker. Munson has to push into the brush to keep from getting too close to the puddles, exhausted in all ways, physically, mentally emotionally.

Munson finally sees the bunker's entrance. Most would miss it, but he knows what to look for. He stumbles to the door, clears the vines away, and presses his palm to a very specific spot. A keypad emerges, and Munson types in the code. The bunker door slides away, just wide enough for a person to fit through. He's inside and slapping the red button that closes the door before the outside vines even stop swaying.

Once the door is closed, he stops and leans over, taking several deep, deep breaths. Visit BetMGM Casino and check out the newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. BetMDM and Game Sense remind you to play responsibly, 19 plus to wager. Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact connects Ontario at 1-866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor,

free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming, Ontario. But with the adrenaline surge, the sights of his teammates' deaths in his head, and the remnants of last night's tequila still in his system, Munson's guts decide now is the perfect time to finally rebel. He made it out of the bunker this morning, onto the boat, and all through the day. He managed to drive the boat back to the dock and get him and knocks off safely, even if they did make the mistake of going past the waterfall and the waterfall and the day.

the pool. He did all of that without throwing up once. Now his body has had it. It is done. Munson can feel his stomach churning. He races through the bunker, past the comm's room, past the dorm, past the galley, and into the latrine. Munson drops to his knees and skids the few feet to the closest toilet, where he shoves open the lid, grabs each side and hurls down into the porcelain bowl, turning the chemical blue-water green with his yellow bile. He heaves and heaves and heaves, His body still convulsing, even though he has emptied the contents of his stomach completely. Finally, when the spasms slow, then cease, he turns and sits his ass down, wiping his mouth while he leans back against the rim of the toilet.

Jesus, what a nightmare. Crest? Gone. Treat? Gone. Kncks and wash? Gone. Monson is all that is left of the sea devils, and he has no idea what to do. He has no one to trust. He should call it all in, but to whom? Someone in the foundation set them up for this little experiment, even though SCP 1128 was classified for containment and watch only. The file said testing had been halted,

serves him right for trusting a foundation file. Munson is still thinking about his next step when the toilet gurgles. He freezes. Water. The toilet bowl is full of water. It is completely impossible for a gargantuan sea monster like that thing to fit in a toilet. Completely impossible.

But then, impossible is his bread and butter. Carefully, slowly, Monson crawls away from the toilet. Just as it explodes, and a two big mouth snaps at him. He's up and running, passing exploding toilets before he gets to the latrine's other entrance. He's out in the hall and slamming the door closed behind him. He can hear the thing demolishing the latrine and silence. Monson looks down at his boots.

Water is leaking out from under the latrine door. No, no, no, no, he snarls and backs away quickly. He runs to a supply closet, grabs every towel he can find and runs back, tossing half the towels into the spreading water, stopping the flow immediately. He goes to the other door and does the same, securing both entrances. Munson knows his work isn't done. He has to shut off the water to the bunker, or the latrine will continue to flood, and the towels will lose that battle.

Jogging back past the galley, he finds the maintenance door and yanks it open. There is standing in water on the floor for some. reason. Munson stares at it, battling the fear that is trying to take him over. Shaking his head, he bellows at the top of his lungs as he jumps the standing water and collapses against the plumbing control hub for the bunker. Munson studies the controls quickly, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. As long as the water is behind him, he's in grave danger and he knows it. Nothing is labeled like it should be. He'd kick Treat's ass for the oversight, since Treat was in charge of bunker mechanical. But, well, finally finding the main valve, Munson grips it with both

hands and turns as hard and fast as he can until the valve squeals and won't turn anymore. Munson doesn't stick around. He hops the water and races out of the room, closing and locking the door behind him. His head is killing him, and his belly is still not completely settled. So Munson walks down the corridor to the infirmary. He finds the industrial-sized bottle of ibuprofen and grabs an industrial-sized handful of pills. As he leaves the infirmary, he shoves the pills into his mouth, but quickly realizes there is no way he can dry swallow that many at once. Munson jogs to the galley and straight for the stacked cases of bottled water in the corner.

He's almost choking on the pills by the time he gets there and tears the plastic off the top case. Then he snags a bottle, twists off the cap, and is about to take a huge swig when he looks down at the bottle. Is something in there? He peers through the neck and sees a small black speck, which quickly becomes a giant black speck. Before he can even scream, the massive mouth rips through the plastic bottle, envelopes Munson, then pulls back, taking the operator with it into the bottle itself.

Then the water bottle falls to the floor, no longer held by Munson, a man who is nowhere to be seen. The plastic clatters to the bunker's floor, spins and rolls a couple of feet, then comes to a stop. Far off from the comms room, a voice calls out, asking the sea devils for a status report. After a few minutes, the voice stops calling. A few minutes after that, the lights in the bunker shut off one by one, an unseen hand thousands of miles away remotely shutting down the experiment. SCP 1128 is an entity that manifests as a massive aquatic predator to anyone given a full description of the being's appearance through either spoken or written descriptions or visual depictions of the being.

Persons infected by SCP 1128 will initially exhibit no abnormal behavior, though some cases show a general aversion to activities involving bodily immersion in water, such as bathing or swimming. Should subjects ever be fully immersed in water, they will disappear completely under the surface of the water, regardless of the water's actual depth. In most cases, subjects will reappear moments later, in a panicked state and frantically try to leave the water. While in some other cases, the water

will become polluted with blood and debris, confirmed to be the remains of the subject. Subjects that have reappeared intact claim that they were transported to a vast ocean where they are pursued by SCP 1128. Interviews with these individuals carry some risk of further SCP 1128 contamination, as descriptions of the beings' appearance trigger further infections. SCP-1128 infection can be treated with Class C amnestics, as it appears memory of the entity or descriptions of it are required for its anomalous properties to take effect. Thanks for listening. Be sure to click that follow button with all notifications on to get notified every time a new episode is released.