The SCP Experience - Kokopelli’s Corn Field | SCP-065

Episode Date: June 16, 2023

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-065: Kokopelli’s Corn Field 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-065 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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Objects and creatures that do not adhere to the laws of physics, thermodynamics, or any other science as we understand it. Some of these things are benign. Most of them, though, pose a direct threat to humanity, maliciously or ignorantly. One glimpse at them can turn someone insane, and in the wrong hands, they can devastate the entire planet. What are these things? That depends on whom you ask.

Those of the more scientific mindset call them anomalies. Those with security in mind call them threats. The investigative minds simply see them as mysteries. Fortunately, our organization knows what they are, describing them with a word almost as old as the written language.

Magic. Fortunately, our organization exists. We catalog and track those mystic objects that pose a threat to humanity. And, when necessary, we step in and deal with them, putting our lives on the line for humanity's survival. That is our mission statement. That is our goal. And we will stop at nothing to perform our self-appointed duties.

Who are we? We are the Global Occult Coalition, also known as the GEOPLE. I adjust the dark leather gloves of my hands, making sure not to touch the other team members in the van. They're spread out in wide berth to prevent such a thing, but it never hurts to be cautious, not with Baxter missing. A large part of our duty is monitoring cults across the world. Most of them are exactly what you think they are. A deluded but charismatic Messiah figure who convinces a bunch of lost souls to follow unwillingly and abandon all self-control. Most of them are engaged in some form of illegal activity, and we forward our

reports anonymously to local and federal authorities when we can. The Jones towns and Waco's aren't our concern. Cults are as old as humanity itself. Every now and then, though, a cult swells up not through natural means, but through magic. That's when we intervene. The children of Coco Pelley popped up on our radar as just another fringe moon. movement. Their numbers swelled quickly, and they set up operations on an old farm with an expanse of cornfield. We monitored them for over a year before we noticed a pattern. The children of Cocopelli gained funds and members after they sold their corn at the local fairs and festivals, and they had plans to expand their market and ship it across the country. That's why we sent

Baxter in, but he's missed his last two checkpoints. This was now an extract. action operation. T.L. Clark peers through the tinted windows of our van with night vision goggles across the farm. We have two sentries posted on the farmhouse. No other signs of life detected. Should we engage? I fight back the urge to grumble, noticing the slight irritation in Clark's voice. Clark comes from a family of seers and fortune tellers, but the gift wasn't passed on to him. Instead, he climbed the ranks of the GOC by becoming a commando, specializing in battling the occult. This is his team. He should be the team leader, and I should be here for backup.

But the GOC is still marred in the old ways, and thanks to my hands, that puts me in charge. No organization is perfect. You make the call, Clark. I adjust myself in the seat, knowing he wouldn't have suggested it if he didn't think it was the right call. His mouth quirks just a little, like an unpleasant smell is beneath his nose, and he nods. Snipers engage. I don't hear the shots. But looking through my night vision goggles, I watched the two figures go down.

The van doors spring open, and the small team of commandos swarm out in the night, soon joined by the snipers. I take the rear guard, keeping my hands at the ready but at a safe distance, making sure no one gets chumpy. Several more cult members get gunned down by silenced weapon fire as we make our way past the farmhouse. A glare fills my goggles as we near the edge of the cornfields. We strip the goggles from our heads and toss them to the dirt. As my vision clears, I see several spotlights erected around the field, aimed directly at us. Torches soon joined the blinding light, revealing the cult members, and my eyes widen. Baxter's estimations were way off.

There are hundreds of them, not dozens. Take them down! Clark yells. The gunfire is just as silent as before, but a wave of cultists fall to the ground dead. The return fire is deafening, and a shot rips through my leg, toppling me into the dirt with blood pouring from the wound.

One of Clark's commandos goes down, then another, and another. He's the last one standing until a bullet to the chest knocks him to the ground beside me. Clark is breathing heavily, but his body armor has done the job. He'll survive, from being shot, at least. The crowd gathers around us, their weapons raised,

until a voice makes them fall short. Stop! The crowd parts for the man. He's wearing robes of dark green and an ornate Native American mask. The walking stick in his hands has been carved into the shape of a flute. His voice carries as he speaks again.

Mercy, children. Soon these brave men and women We'll see the truth and join us as brothers and sisters. I know that voice. Baxter? He lifts his mask and smiles at me. Hello, Marley. I've been expecting you. My hands are forced behind my back as they slam a pair of cuffs on my wrist.

Most of Clark's commandos resist, but they're too badly wounded to do much. A few blows before Baxter's devoted cultists are all it takes before they're all in handcuffs. They force us to our feet, careless of our wounds, and march us through the cornfield. It's a maze that I can't make sense of, but the cultists walk with confidence as the stalks slap us as we march. My leg buckles under the strain, and I tumble to the ground. One of the cultists stands me up, but luckily, he doesn't notice as I twist my wrist, slowly working the glove down my hand. Chanting grows louder as they lead us into a clearing.

Baxter stands at the center, leading the chant in an ancient language I don't recognize. To his left is a large basket filled with corn. To his right is a statue. A man in a similar mask, but bent over like he's hunchbacked. A flute is in his hands and raised to his lips. It's not the statue's visage or age that sends a shiver down my spine. I can feel energy radiating from it, sinking deep into the ground beneath our feet. It's magic, affecting the earth itself and the vegetables growing from the corrupted soil.

The cultists line us up horizontally in front of Baxter, and I continue to work at my glove. Almost there. One of the commandos tries to rise as the cultists lift Clark to his feet. But a baseball bat to the stomach knocks him back down to the dirt. Clark isn't as lucky and is marched in front of Baxter. Baxter reaches into the basket and pulls out a piece of corn. He quickly strips away the green leaves revealing the vibrant yellow vegetable and offers it to Clark, who spits in Baxter's face.

Baxter only smiles as two more cultists join the rest, forcing Clark to his knees and his mouth open. Baxter shoves the cob into his mouth, then makes him take a bite with an uppercut to the jaw. They wrap their hands around Clark's mouth and jaw, making it so Clark has no choice but to swallow. All of the fight goes out of Clark in a matter of moment. His eyes cloud over and then blink rapidly before becoming clear. Baxter smiles and rests a hand on the Commando's shoulder. Do you feel it, brother? Yes.

There are tears in Clark's eyes as he rises and embraces Baxter. Thank you, brother. I hang my head in shame. I'm sorry, Clark. No apologies needed, Marley. Baxter smiles at me. We'll all be brothers soon. Forgiveness is a thing of the past.

I glare at him. I'm apologizing for not getting my glove off sooner, you son of a bitch. I can only get my glove down an inch, but it's enough. I press my bare wrist to the metal, and the cuffs crumble releasing my hands. Rising to my feet, I yank the glove off, revealing the black skeletal appendage it had concealed. Most people who have seen it are dead. The cultists charge, their guns raised, but I moved my black hand in a wide arc. Guns, knives, clubs, everything inorganic in their hands rots away and crumbles to dust.

Their shock is just enough time for me to pull off my other glove. My left hand is also skeletal, but blood red. I slash my left hand in the same arc as the black. Deep slashes erupt along the line of the cultists, polluting the ground red as they fall into pools of their blood. I step behind the commandos and open and close my black hand in rapid bursts, shattering their cuffs. They yell,

and charge as they enter the fray, taking fallen weapons from the cultists and erupting the night with fresh sounds of gunfire. Clark yells and runs at me, and I offer another silent apology. My hands are only good for one thing. Destruction. I make Clark suffering quick, opening and closing my left hand, crushing his heart as he topples to the ground. We're still outgunned and outmaned, so there's only one course of action. I look at the statue, raise my black hand, and squeeze. The same energy I felt before tightens against my hand, making it difficult to close.

Sweat pours from my body as I channel my will, forcing my hand shut. And as I do, the statue starts to crumble. I look over at Baxter, but his smile matches my own. And that's when I realize I've made a terrible mistake. As the statue shatters, a white light billows out from it. An explosion fills the air as the light radiates in a wide burst. The light lifts me into the air. I tumble through the cornfields before everything goes black.

I wake to the sound of chance, but they're different than before. It no longer sounds like some bizarre church choir. The voices are more guttural, bestial and alien. Climbing to my feet, I push past the corn stalks and stare in disgusted horror. The surrounding area has been untouched, except for the cultists and the commandos. They surged together in things that go against nature. Two commandos have fused together at the waist. They scream as their arms pull them in opposite directions.

Several cultists have formed into one gelatinous entity. Their arms and legs flail like boneless tentacles, while eyeless faces bulge from the mass. Everywhere I step is a scene of disaster and horror, and a familiar voice calls out to me again. Thank you, Marley. Baxter is now one with Clark. The cult leader's torso rises from the back of the dead commando.

Clark's limbs twist and bend. The bones break as the creature stands on its makeshift legs. Clark's neck has extended along with his spine, the commando's face dragging in the dirt like the club at the end of a hideous tail. Only by destroying the vessel, could we all be one? I knew only you could do it. I raised my left hand, ready to end this nightmare once and for all. But pain erupts up my fingers.

The skeletal talons are breaking away before my eyes. eyes, crumbling into dust. It doesn't stop there. The pain continues up my arm as my flesh is eaten away. I raise my right arm instead, but the same thing is happening. Agony erupts up my legs, and I topple to the ground. My whole body is disintegrating, my arms flaking away and my legs liquefying into a puddle of goo, flowing away from me and toward Baxter. I try to look away, but Baxter's laugh echoes around me as my body collapses. into itself. SCP-65 is a spherical region of space, approximately 12 meters in radius located on an abandoned farm.

SCP-65 was formed by the destruction of an anomalous artifact on site by the Global Occult Coalition. Immediately following this initial event, the radius of SCP-65 was estimated to have initially expanded to 108 meters in radius, resulting in the deaths of 11 GOC operatives and multiple civilians. Since containment by the foundation, the effective radius of SCP-65 has shrunk to and remained stable at its current size. SCP-65 causes abnormal transfiguration of any living organism within its area of effect. These effects include, but are not limited to, regression of specialized cells to an undifferentiated stem state, spontaneous separation and fusion of undifferentiated cells.

spontaneous necrosis of living tissue and reanimation of dead tissue. Rapid genetic mutation of living tissue. These effects occur at a rate proportional to the mass and complexity of the organism. Plants and insects show few of any effects. Small animals will exhibit alterations following several days of exposure. Larger animals will show harmful mutations within hours, and all human subjects exposed to the red zone have been fatally altered within approximately. 15 minutes of exposure.