The SCP Experience - Knife. Scream. Cut to Black. | SCP-5733

Episode Date: December 27, 2021

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-5733: Knife. Scream. Cut to Black.  Author: Lucas Click This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5733, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Big Bas-Bananza, depot minimum of $10 dollars, veee to pay some The conditions apply. I run a hand through my greasy hair and scratch my chin beneath the week-long growth of beard. I look down at the notebook filled with lines scratched through all my different suggestions. Go for the car. Go for the gun. Go for help.

Dozens of different ideas, and all of them failures. My handwriting has become practically illegible in the frantic scrawl as I jotted down my last ideas. all of them failures as well. I opened another energy drink. I haven't worked on my blog in days. Haven't answered my phone. Haven't even gotten up for my chair, except to put the VHS back into the VCR.

I don't have time for anything else. I have to save her. I run a blog called the Slasher Files, not the most original name, but then my beloved movies aren't exactly original either. There's nothing I love more than movies with masked killers. The gorier, the better. My parents weren't great at monitoring what I watched,

and my obsession started after my older brother and I accidentally watched child's play at the tender ages of six and four. My brother was traumatized for life and locked all his toys in his closet. Me? I was hooked. Think of any slasher film, and I guarantee you that I've seen it. from the staple series like Friday the 13th and Texas Chainsaw Massacre to the obscure indies like Beware Children at Play and the Bowling Alley Butcher. I went to college and studied film and even worked behind the scenes on a few low-budget slasher's.

Eventually, I realized I had more fun analyzing and watching them than actually making them. It's not too surprising. Consider how many people prefer reading books overwriting them. Still, I couldn't keep my love of the genre to myself and my blog was born. A couple of years ago, my blog's slasher files began drawing enough subscribers and advertisers so that I could quit my day job and live the American dream. My job and my passion are one and the same, which is why I was so surprised when I stumbled across the VHS and the local flea market.

While it's odd for me to come across a slasher flick that I have a lot of the same, I have seen. I thought it impossible for me to stumble upon one that I knew nothing about. The box was as low budget as you could get, a plain black background with a butcher knife framed in a thin red rectangle. Its title, Return of the Suburb Slasher, was in the standard, cheap bloody font you've seen on everything from horror movie posters to Halloween cards. But the butcher knife was the tagline. Home is where the hell is, whatever that means. Slashers fans learn pretty quickly not to judge a book by its cover, especially when your tastes in film lend toward the trashy anyways.

The price was two bucks, and I needed content for the blog, so I bought it without hesitation. I went home that night, microwaved some popcorn, then sat down in front of the ancient, blocky, big-screen TV, hooked up to an equally ancient VCR. I have a much bigger and expensive setup for more recent flicks, but hey, movies like these are all about the nostalgia. The movie was nothing special at first.

It follows Heather Campbell planning a party while her parents are out of town. The party naturally falls on the 10th anniversary of a local slaughter by an unknown killer. An overused yet time-tested formula. I scribbled into my notebook. gathering material for my blog. It lost another point for the costume design of the killer, just a guy in overalls with a burlap sack over his face. Slasher fans can forgive a lot for a unique-looking killer.

Look at what a hockey mask and an inside-out mask of William Shatner did for the genre. What kept me hooked, though, was the production values, and I soon stopped taking notes as I got lost in all the guts and gore. Each killing was visceral and even more brutal than you would see in modern movies. People gasped, bloody dying breaths, and their entrails were pulled out in full display. The decapitations were a thing of beauty. They were laborious, and the camera never broke away as heavy wax from a machete, crushed bones, and severed tendons.

I wondered how they were able to capture the expressions changing on the dummy heads at a time when facial effects were severely limited at the time. No way this ever made it to the theaters. It was just too damn gory. Heather discovered all of her dead friends staged in the living room a little after the 90-minute mark. The slasher appeared, and I jumped in my seat, something I hadn't done in a long time.

She ran to the basement and locked the door behind her, looked around, and then stared right into the camera. Hey, mister, she said. I don't know you, and I don't know why you've just sat there watching this without doing anything, but please, I'm begging you. Help me out here. What can I do to survive this? What? I deflated in my chair and let out a long, disappointed sigh, and reached for my notebook.

I shook my head and voiced out my criticism as I jotted notes down. Christ, a quality popcorn flick ruined because the director thought it was a good idea to go, meta out of nowhere. Well, sorry my life is too metaphor, you asshole. I dropped the pen and looked up at the screen. Heather is still staring at me, and I shook my head. No, I couldn't have heard that. I've just seen one too many horror movies, and my mind is playing tricks on me.

And even if she had quoted me, maybe the director had thought someone would react just like I had to the sudden shift in tone. But hang on. Were they really saying meta in the 80s? I would have to do some research later. The doorknob twisted violently in the doorframe, and Heather looked away, then back toward me. Her eyes grew wide as the killer began to thump at the door.

Please, you've got to help me. Sorry, sweetheart, I said and chuckled. It might have been an experimental bit of slasher cinematography, but I doubt it was going to deviate much from the formula to spare her. Sweetheart, Heather banged her fists against the screen. You think this is funny, you sick fuck? My mouth dropped open. This couldn't possibly be real.

The director had just made a guess, but she was quoting me for God's sake. How could they have come close to anticipating my specific commentary 40 years into the future? The camera cut away from Heather, as the killer broke down a portion of the door. He shoved his gloved hand into the basement. unlocked the door and strolled forward. My eyes darted across the screen, and though I still couldn't believe it, I found myself shouting,

The hedge clippers! On the rack behind you! Heather dashed across the screen, while the killer's machete thudded into the floor behind her. As he struggled to lift it, she grabbed the hedge clippers. I let out a triumphant whoop, but she just stood there as the killer struggled to regain his weapon.

What are you waiting for, Heather? Kill him! She charged forward, but the killer raised his arm. The shears dug deep into his shoulder, and he roared and backhanded her. As she fell to the ground, he pulled his machete free, and the screen filled with him as he stood over Heather. He raised the machete over his head, and Heather screamed as the screen cut to black. My screen went blue before the VCR, made a loud churning noise, and spat out the tape.

Swallowing, I went over and examined it. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, and I glanced back at my chair. Had I just imagined the whole thing? Shaking, I put the tape back into the VCR and sat back down. I tried to fast forward to the same scene, but it refused to budge. Pressing rewind and pause also did nothing. So, I sat and watched the movie play again from the beginning. Heather?

I asked after her first appearance. Can you hear me? She ignored me. Because of course she did. She's a fictional character and a movie, genius. I chided myself. Feeling stupid, I continued to watch as another 90 and some odd minutes rolled by.

Once again, Heather discovered the bodies of her friends and sought refuge in the basement. And once more, she turned to the screen. Hey, mister, she said. I don't know you, and I don't know why you just sat there watching this without doing anything, but please, I'm begging you. Help me out here. What can I do to survive this? Right, I rubbed my eyes. Well, fighting didn't work last time. Last time?

I swallowed and shook my head. Forget about it. Run, Heather. To where? I'm locked in the basement. The window. There's a window behind you. She nodded and turned as the door shook violently again. The killer is quicker this time and makes a hole in the door as Heather slides out a table and climbs up to the window. His hand unlocks the door and Heather pulls herself up to the window and starts to shimmy through.

But then she freezes. Heather, what are you doing? Run! I can't! Her voice sounded strained as she kicked her legs. I'm stuck. The killer stalked over toward her and raised his machete. Heather screamed again, and the screen cut to black. A moment later, my screen went blue, and the tape again ejected.

Once more, I walked over and started the movie again. I haven't slept since then. Every time I watch the movie, I analyze it for something I missed. But everything I suggest is thwarted by the killer. When she tries to drive away, he's in the back seat. When she goes to the neighbors, he's already killed them in his waiting. When she picks up her father's shotgun, the killer already has the bullets. I rub my sore eyes as the movie plays out again.

I look down in my notepad, but a blank page stares back at me. I've tried everything. This time as the scene closes in, I have nothing but an empty page and a heart filled with dread. I look at Heather and realize I'm crying. It feels like I've spent more time with her than I have with any other person that I've known in my life. I've either fallen in love with her

or been driven insane. Maybe both. She looks at the camera again. Hey, mister. I know, Heather, I know. I wiped the tears from my eyes. I'm thinking. You don't look like you're thinking.

You look like you're sobbing in a chair. I open my mouth, but then stop. You can see me? Not just hear me? Yes. I stand up, but my legs have fallen asleep. and I collapse on the floor. Crawling across the floor,

I pull myself up in front of my TV screen. I reach my hand up and feel warm glass beneath the static. But then the screen ripples like water, and my hand slides through. Heather gasps, but then takes my hand in hers and smiles. I tug, and her hand parts through the screen into our world. Then she screams and her hand is ripped away. On the screen, the killer has Heather by the waist. He hoists her in the air and slams her.

onto the ground, yelling, I rush forward. It's like touching an electric fence, but I forced my head through and then my shoulders. I fell onto the basement with a heavy thud. The killer stands over Heather, his machete raised. I rush forward and grapple him tightly around the waist. He staggers back and slams me against a wall. The blow leaves me with just enough breath to call out. The stairs, run. Heather, run. She hesitates, her lip trembling, but climbs to her feet and scrambles up the steps. The smile on my face soon gives way as the killer shoves his elbow into my ribs. The cracking fills my ears and I can't breathe. I slump to the floor and look up. The machete is raised high above me. Then everything cuts to black. SCP 5733 is a VHS cassette tape

containing a recording of the horror movie, Return of the Suburb Slasher, which was, according to the cassette's slipcase, produced. by Crystal Elms Productions in 1983. No other record of the movie, production company, or cast has been found. SCP 5733's anomalous properties manifest at the 97th minute of the cassette's runtime. At the 95th minute, Heather discovers her friend's corpses staged in her living room. SCP 5733-1 appears at the other side of the room and begins to chase Heather. Heather runs into the house basement and locks the door behind her.

Once secure in the basement, Heather turns to the camera and says a variation of the following speech. Hey, mister, I don't know you, and I don't know why you've just sat there watching this without doing nothing, but please, I'm begging you. Help me out here. What can I do to survive this? Following this, the viewer of SCP 5733 can directly converse with Heather. Henceforth, designated SCP 5733-2 and advise her on how to escape from SCP 5733-1. When the tape of SCP 5733 is examined, it has a runtime of 97 minutes, ending with SCP 5733-2, locking herself in the basement before she speaks to the viewer. Despite extensive testing, SCP 5733-2 has yet to escape from SCP-5733-2 has yet to escape from

SCP 5733-1. SCP 5733-1 often seems to display advanced knowledge of the viewer's recommendations and advised course of action and uses this to preemptively sabotage escape attempts.