The SCP Experience - It Won't Stop Staring At Me | SCP-4548 [Part 1]

Episode Date: August 25, 2025

At a remote mountain camp, a group of inmates enrolled in a mysterious rehabilitation program soon discover that the greatest threat to their freedom—and their sanity—may be written in the stars above. This story was derived from ⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4548 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

What's with the fences and the barbed wire? I've been so busy paying close attention to the men and women on the old school bus. I didn't realize we were pulling up to the camp, but Bray's question causes me to turn back around, facing forward in my seat so I can look out the windshield. Well, I say, looking at the tall barbed wire topped fence and this similar gate we're approaching. Well, this is a rehabilitation trip.

You're still technically wards of the state, so to speak. Your freedom isn't guaranteed unless you make satisfactory progress in the program. The armed prison guards on the bus with us should be a constant reminder to the 12 prisoners, but apparently not. Maybe it was a mistake giving them street clothes. Maybe we should have kept them in their orange jumpsuits. Most of the dozen inmates are too busy marveling at the forest we're driving through to pay much attention to what I'm saying. But Bray and a couple of of others are genuinely interested. For most of them, this is the only time they've been outside the walls of her prison in years. So essentially we're swapping one prison for another, Ray says.

His pale, angular face going hard as granite, while his colorless eyes fix on me. No, not at all. Have you ever been in a prison where there are cabins instead of cells? Trees instead of bars? Fun activities instead of a 22-hour lockdown? But we can't leave. Just shut the fuck up, Bray. Rouse snaps without shifting his gaze from the window. Bray's head snaps around to look at the black man, and then he lurches from his seat as he goes in for an attack.

Rouse jumps up, ready for him. I expect most, if not all, the other prisoners, to shout and cheer for the fight, but only two of them do. The others look sick and scared. curling in on themselves as if to disappear completely. One in particular, a young man named Barbosa, looks especially terrified, like the two men are a tornado that will suck him up into its deadly vortex.

Before any blows can be thrown, three of the prison guards are there, controlling the situation. They all have pistols, but they don't use them. They don't need them for this. I hope they won't need them for anything during this research expedition. Once they get the two men shoved back in their seats, I speak again. There's your one chance. If either of you start a fight again, you will be shipped back to prison. That goes for everyone.

Do you all understand me? Nodds and sullen yeses come from the 12 inmates. Now we're going through the gates, which are closing behind us. Half a mile farther, and the collection of structures comes into view. It's a regular summer camp, with a middle. mess hall surrounded by a loose ring of cabins. Sun glints off the water of a large pond through the trees to our right. On our left, we pass several fire pits in a row, surrounded by rustic wooden benches. As we slow on approach to the mess hall, four men and two women come out of

the structure, all dressed in what looks like new outdoor apparel. I've worked with them all before, except for Dr. Varner, who is running the experiment. I met him for the first time a few weeks ago, when this project began. He reminds me of Pierce Brosnan, not only in appearance, but in demeanor. Although graying, he wears old age well, and his apparent stoicism only adds to the commanding aura he has about him. Seeing me through the window as we pull up, Varner nods slightly, his disarming and ever-present smile firmly in place. I'm the first one off the bus, and I stand aside as the guards corral all the inmates off. It's late afternoon, when the mountain breeze, which carries the scent of fresh pine, feels good.

I look up at the cloudless blue sky. The stars will be out in a few hours. That's when the heart part begins. Mr. Fitch? I drop my gaze to see Barbosa standing next to me. He's the youngest of the bunch, and the only one who seems like he does. doesn't belong here. Keep moving, the guard says. No, it's okay, I tell the guard. What can I do for you? Barbosa, who was only 22, as his thin hands shoved deep into his pockets. He can't keep eye

contact with me for more than a few moments at a time. When I read his file, I cringed. I hate seeing young people in prison, and seeing them in our little experiments is a whole other level of tough. even if they did something as bad as what Barbosa did when he was 18. I was just wondering if there's any advice you can give me about this whole rehab thing. I really want to get better. I need to. Prison has been hard for me. I don't doubt it. He's a skinny kid with somewhat feminine features. I don't want to imagine what he's had to endure during his four years incarcerated. I tilt my head. Let's walk for a minute.

We meander slightly away from the others, but still head towards the mess hall, where orientation will take place. Really? What you need to do is be open to the therapy, I tell him, even though I hate the fact that I'm lying to the kid. Do what I and the other counselors ask of you. Take the exercises seriously. If you're really ready to rejoin society, you will make the progress necessary while you're here. The sick taste invades my mouth as soon as I'm sorry. done talking. I will, Barbosa says with a sad smile. I am ready. I made a big mistake when I was a teenager, but not a day goes by that I don't regret it. I have a little sister who's in foster care right now. She's only 13. Our dad died of an overdose, and our mom is in prison too. I was hoping I could

get out and adopt her or something. Do you think that's possible? Christ, I think with sudden anger, Who fucking chose this kid? He shouldn't be here? I nod my head. I think it's possible if you put in the work and do everything right. Our reports will hold a lot of sway with the parole board. We've reached the mess hall, and the others have already filed inside. Barbosa pulls one slender hand out of his pocket and extends it.

I shake his hand, feeling the delicate bones under the skin, and noticing his long eyelashes as I meet his gaze. Yeah. I'm sure he's added really hard in prison. The poor kid. Thank you, Mr. Fitch. I really appreciate it. I manage a sad smile.

Sure. Now let's get inside. We set the telescopes up when it was still daylight. Using computers, we programmed them all to look at a certain portion of the sky, or, more accurately, what will be in a certain portion of the sky at a certain time. I look at my watch, seeing that the time is fast approaching. Summer at night in the mountains can get a little chilly, so I have a flannel on, along with jeans and boots. Two other members of my team are here in the clearing with me, Gamboa and Jiang. We are no longer talking, no longer bitching about what little information

we've received about this project. Varner has limited our information under the guise of protecting us from the cognito hazard, but sometimes I feel like that's bullshit. Sometimes, I think those who run the foundation just don't want us to know any more than we absolutely have to. Mostly, our conversation was the same kind of griping about work conditions you hear anywhere in the world, more to vent and pass the time than anything else. Either way, the time for talking is past. Now, we're quiet, lost in our own nervous anticipation. And as I hear voices from the trail to the cabins,

I turn to see flashlights stabbing through the darkness under the night. the trees. The guards are bringing them up. I share a look with Gamboa and Gian, and think about not looking up at the night sky. I bet the stars are brilliant up here, far away from sources of light pollution. Too bad I can't enjoy them, not up here, not after what little I've been told about this project of ours. As agreed, I have the honor of telling the inmates what I want them to do, pair off and look through the telescopes, and then discuss with their partners how it makes them feel. They groan at this. Rouse says, This is some hippie-dippy bullshit. But with a little more prodding, they do as they're told.

They look through the telescopes at a certain portion of the sky, and they talk. Most of them making fun of the exercise loudly enough for me and the guards to hear. Gamboa, Jiang, and I pay close attention, making sure every one of them looks through a telescope at least once. Gradually, they ceased talking. Two hours after the exercise began, all 12 of them are silent, either looking through their telescopes or staring rapidly up at the splash of stars overhead. And they're all staring at the same star. Well, all of them but Barbosa, who's doing a good job of looking like he's staring at the star. If anyone finds out I warned him about this, I'll lose my job. And that's the best case scenario. You'll have to look at the sky,

I told him earlier, pulling him aside after dinner. But just focus on the big dipper, okay? You know what that one looks like? Barbosa nodded, looking more confused than anything else. I know it sounds crazy, but trust me, don't look anywhere else but at the big dipper. And when you look through the telescope, close your eyelid. Make sure you get close enough, so no one will notice that you have your eye closed. You get me? What the hell is? Just do it if you want to make it back to your sister, okay? Yeah, okay. I'll do it. Good. Now get back to your cabin. We never had this conversation. I recall our talk as Barbosa turns his head and glances my way. I make it a point not to show any

emotion, and with a slight nod of my head, I prompt him to look back at the sky, at the big dipper. He gets the hint and returns his gaze to the constellation. Why are you looking at me like that? Ray snaps. Like what? I asked for my chair in the small sitting room I'm using as an office. My stomach feels like one huge knot, and that sick taste is back in my mouth again. On the couch across from me, Bray shakes his head.

If you're trying to hide it, you're not doing a good job. Hide what? You're disgust. It's plain. day. You and all the others have been looking at me like that all fucking day. I just want you to stop it, okay? Just stop it. Ray is on the verge of tears. All of my one-on-ones have been like this today. That's how I know it's starting. I had no idea it would be this hard. None of the other experiments I've helped with were so intimate. Put subject and sell with anomaly. Make sure

everything is recording. Step back. Wait for the horrible things to happen. This time, I actually have to talk to them as the anomaly slowly takes hold, and it's making me sick to my stomach. The only thing that brings me some small amount of solace is that I'm helping Barbosa. It's all that's keeping me from the kind of self-loathing that the others are beginning to experience, and it's only going to get worse. I turn my attention to my notebook and jot a few things down, making sure my gaze is neutral. are you writing? I bet you're writing about what a worthless piece of shit I am, aren't you?

I promise you, that's not what I'm writing. Why would you think that? Bray snorts desperately. Come on, Fitch, don't lie to me. You're still doing it. It's all over your face. Grimising, he reaches up and grabs fistfuls of his hair. I fucking hate! He won't stop staring at me. Every time I close my eyes, I see that fucking star staring at me, hating me. Is it God? Is that God? Does God hate me? Tell me! Bray lurches up from his seat. I do the same, ready to defend myself if it comes to that. Summers, can you come in here, please? The door to the office opens, and the guard comes lumbering in. He sees Bray standing across for me in a threatening posture and immediately secures the man.

I retrieved the medicine kit from a table behind my chair. I fill a syringe with sedatives while Summer's Summers holds Bray in place, despite the smaller man's attempts to get free. Once I inject the man with it, he calms down a little. Please take him back to his cabin and send the next one in. Summers escorts Bray out, shutting the door behind him. As soon as they're out of the room, I reach into a pocket and press a button on the small remote there, turning off the hidden cameras and microphones. A moment later, there's a knock on the door.

Come in. Barbosa opens the door and steps inside. The young man looks terrified, his eyes hollowed out, and one hand bunched into a fist deep in his pocket. I tell him to close the door, and he does so. Once he's sitting down, I lean forward and whisper. What's happening? He asks in a quavering voice.

I shake my head. I can't explain it to you. The less you know, the better. You just need to get through this, and when it's all over, I'll give you something to help you forget, okay? For right now, just be yourself. Don't try to act like the others,

and stay away from them as much as you can. Their behavior will get very strange, but you shouldn't be in any danger. I'll write it up to make it seem like you weren't affected by it. By what? Does this have something to do with the star you told me to not look at? How could looking at a star make people act weird? I don't...

Summers opens the office door and peers in at us. Good? he asks, a confused look on his face. The nod in my stomach tightens. Yeah, we're good. Just starting the session. I just couldn't hear anything from out here. I was concerned. Thank you, but we're good. Mr. Barbosa here has noticed some strange behavior from the other attendees. I was just putting his mind at ease. Summer's eyes jump between me and Barbosa, who was facing forward stiffly, looking like he was just caught doing something wrong. Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything. I will. I reach into my pocket as Summers closes the door.

But I don't turn the recording devices back on yet. Looking at Barbosa, I say. Just answer honestly, as if you looked at the star the other night, okay? And don't ever drop your guard. There are cameras everywhere. This is the only place where we can speak freely now. Do you understand? Barbosa nods and swallows loudly. Turn the devices back on and start the session. Lasagne sur-gilled, puissance-moyerned for 15 minutes. We're like it's the hour dojo.

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50-tour-Toooo-Bibonananza. Depos minimum of $10. Valleyshoe to be in a fashion responsible. The conditions apply. I think it's time to separate them permanently. I say to Dr. Varner, who sits at the head of the conference table. The other team members sit next to me along one side of the large table. On the other side, a massive wall-mounted TV displays live feeds from all over the camp.

The guards are keeping an eye on the inmates, but they've been told not to intervene unless they get word from one of us over the radio. You think it's time to separate them permanent. Barner says, repeating my suggestion. It's one of his habits, especially when he's preoccupied with something else. And right now, he's preoccupied with watching the feeds. On one of them, Bray is standing next to a cabin and talking to a bush. On another, Rouse is looking into the still waters of the pond.

Neither man looks happy. Using a remote, Varner selects Bray's feed. It fills the screen. and the audio kicks on, allowing us to hear what he's saying, thanks to one of the many microphones hidden around the property. You don't even know me, he says to the bush. You don't get to judge me. Not until you've walked a mile on my goddamn shoes.

He lashes out, smacking the bush before turning abruptly around and walking away a few steps. Then he stops and spins around. Why do you hate me so much? Screaming, Bray lunges into the bush and thrashes around, ripping leaves off, snapping branches, and scratching himself up in the process. Dr. Varner backs out so we can see all the inmates again. The audio ceases.

I think there are some further along than others. I'd like to give it another day or two, see how it goes. Rouse has now found a stick, and he's bashing the water with it, presumably because he doesn't like his reflection. But not every inmate is acting so drastically. One of the women, keen, is lying on her bunk in a fetal position, shaking her head. She's been doing it for the last few hours. Most of the others are sitting, talking to themselves, and occasionally crying out in anguish.

Then there's Barbosa, who sits alone next to a cold fire pit, drawing in the ashes with a stick. He's the only one acting normal. Varner brings the young man's feet up, which causes a cold sweat to break out of a cold. on my back. None of the recording devices were on until after the stargazing activity, so there's no way Varner could know about my conversations with Barbosa. At least that's my hope. Ever since then, I've been very careful about talking to him. I'm surprised this one hasn't been affected, Barner says, turning to look directly at me. A pit forms in my stomach. You seem close with him, Fitch. What's your take? He fits.

It's the bill to a T. I don't understand why he's not showing any symptoms. I can feel eyes on me, but I'm so good at lying to subjects. I can lie to my peers. Yeah, I have a theory about that. Most of his anxiety seems to stem from his little sister, who's in foster care. He's mentioned her several times. Maybe that's why he hasn't been affected. All the others had pre-existing self-esteem issues. It's possible the prison psychiatrist misdiagnosed him. Varner seems to consider this for a moment before nodding. It's possible.

We can only trust what information we're given. And if that information is wrong... After trailing off, Varner backs out from Barbosa's feed so we can see everyone again. Then he starts asking questions of the others. That is, until I see Keene get up from the bed in her cabin and rush into the bathroom. The motion sensor cameras automatically follow her as she goes into the room with two showers, two toilets, and two sinks. She stops at one of the mirrors and punches it extremely hard, but it doesn't break.

The mirrors are polished metal for a reason. Uh, Dr. Varner, I gesture at the feed. Keene is making a move. Varner stops mid-sentence and selects Keen's feed. As the audio comes up, I hear the painful sounding thud of her punching. the mirror again. Should we call one of the guards? I ask.

Varner only shakes his head. All of us watch. Keene Yanks open the mirror, revealing the medicine cabinet behind. I'm relieved to see there are no toothbrushes there. They've been removed until bedtime for this very reason. Keene slams the mirror. It bounces open again, but she's already looking around the bathroom for something else. He won't stop staring at me!

She screams, moving into one of the toilets, dolls. A moment later she comes back out, having found nothing she was looking for. The polished metal mirror that's hanging open catches her eye. She stares into her own reflection for a long moment before she shrieks. Grabbing the mirror with both hands, she puts all her weight into ripping the medicine cabinet from the wall. The top screws come out first, bringing slivers of wood with them. Should we call the guard now? Jiang asks. Not yet, Varner says. I share a look with Jiang and then Gamboa. It seems they don't like this any more than I do. On the screen, Keen has managed to rip the entire medicine cabinet off the wall. She throws it to the floor,

mirror-side down and screws facing up. Dropping to her knees, she screams. Get out of my head! I'm calling a guard, I say, reaching for my radio, which sits on the table in front of me. But it's already too late. Keen lowers her right eye to the screw. There's no hesitation at all. She doesn't even blink as the sharp metal tip enters her eyeball. She keeps shoving down until the screw disappears into her eye socket. Then she yanks her head back up. The eyeball stays, kept there by the threads of the screw. Her ocular nerve trails and then snaps with her violent motion.

Laughing insanely, she shifts and positions her left eye over another screw. Get into the bathroom of cabin four! I shouted to my radio. Now! A look away as keen, skewers her left eye on the screw. For the first time since I met him, Varner's smile is gone. He sits in his chair at the head of the conference table and stares at me. It's just him and me.

He sent the others out a minute ago. Now comes the reprimand. But I find I don't really care at this point. Letting someone do that to themselves is sick, and I want no part of it. How long have you worked for the foundation, Lance? A long time. How long exactly? seven years?

And before that? The FBI. Right. So I'm sure you've seen some stuff. Worse stuff than this. So why disobey my orders now? Your personnel file says you've been an exemplary employee, and you've worked with some nasty skips, haven't you?

So why now? I shake my head. It just seems wrong. How far does it have to go before we stop it? Don't we have all the information we need without letting them do horrible things to themselves? No. We need to see how far they are willing to go. That's important to know.

It's the only way we can quantify the threat this skip poses. It's how we determine what kind of manpower to dedicate to containing this thing. But you know that. And I know you know it. It just feels wrong. I don't know how else to put it. So you still feel that you did the right thing by calling the good. guard, even though I told you to wait?

Yes, I do. I should have done it earlier. Varner sighs and shakes his head. This is unfortunate. I'm taking you off this case and writing you up with an official reprimand, he pauses. You disappoint me, Fitch. You really do. I'll arrange for a ride out of here in the next couple of hours.

Until then, you are not to have contact with any of the subjects. Is that clear? Yes. What? I couldn't hear you. Speak up. Yes, understood. Without another word, Varner stands and walks out of the room. The camera feeds are still on the TV. Keen has been taken to the infirmary. She'll be shipped out to a foundation medical facility once she's been stabilized. But I'm not so much concerned with her any longer. There's only one person I can still save. I find Barbosa among the camera feeds. He's strolling through the woods.

Looks like I'll be disobeying two orders today.