The SCP Experience - Making Your Dreams a Reality | SCP-2081

Episode Date: November 18, 2024

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-2081 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2081 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience Author: Cyrus Spears * * * 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 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Jonathan honestly could not remember the last time he had slept a full night. In the days following his cousin's death,

it had been on and off, tossing and turning. He had spent Too many sunrises sitting on the balcony of his small apartment, looking out at the purple horizon and clutching a cup of coffee. Nothing seemed to help either. Not melatonin, not Benadryl, not even whiskey.

He tried to make the most of his mornings. If he wasn't going to sleep, he figured he might as well do something else worthwhile. He tried going to the gym. He tried walking to the local cafes. And he tried any other hobby he could get his hands on. Nothing was quite enough of a distraction to take the edge off his grief. When he went to the gym, the smell of metal and sweaty leather just brought back all the memories of him and his cousin Jude,

riding their bikes down the neighborhood cul-de-sac in the middle of June. When he went to the cafe, he remembered how much Jude liked lots of powdered sugar on his waffles, and how his aunt used to make them every Saturday morning when he stayed over. Memories on top of memories. They kept piling up like stones. They weighed him down and made every step drag as he walked along the sidewalk, with his headphones pushed deep in his ear canals. Even grungy, moody punk music was little more than a band-aid.

You should leave Illinois, his ex-boyfriend had urged him. You could go anywhere else, but it might be good to get away from your family. Jonathan thought about it, but he was never motivated enough to actually take the plunge. His life was in shambles. Everything was falling apart around him. His factory job fired him. His savings were drying up fast. Soon, there would be nothing left.

And still, he couldn't leave. He belonged here, in this grimy little city where dreams went to die, where all the cafes he tried to visit would close within the next three years because there wasn't enough local hipster money to keep the doors open. Jonathan dragged his hand across his nose and stopped at a crosswalk. There was no button to press, so he just had to wait. A stream of cars whizzed past him, and he had enough time to think about what it would be like to step out in front of one of them.

He wondered if he would feel the impact for very long. He wondered if Jude had died in agony, or if enough of his bones were broken that he didn't feel much of anything when he passed. His body was mangled from where the semi-truck had slammed into him. They found him half thrown over a guardrail. The sheriff had muttered something about wearing a black hoodie at night, and the truck driver had gotten off with a hefty fine. Not enough. Never enough.

Jonathan had to stop thinking about it, or he was going to go insane. In front of him, across the street, was a bookstore that Jude used to love. It was an old fire station that had been converted, and it had books on both levels. Jude could have gotten lost in there for hours. Jonathan wasn't much of a reader himself. He liked to sit on the steps outside and listen to music while waiting for his cousin. All those afternoons, long gone and wasted. Walking with Jude through stacks of used and new books would not have prevented anything.

But maybe it would have given Jonathan even more memories to all. hold on to. He regretted it so much. The dismay nodded his stomach, and he turned, heading to the little bookstore with a spray-painted sign above the door that just said books. Jonathan yawned as he walked through the door. Inside the bookstore, it was dark and cozy, and it smelled overwhelmingly of mildew and dusty pages. If there had been a couch in his immediate vision, he would have been done for. There was not a shopkeeper in the in sight. The closest thing to an authority figure was the orange cat curled up in a fluffy bed sitting next to the cash register. Jonathan greeted it with a nod, and the cat just stared

back at him with half-closed green eyes. He scanned the first few shelves. Rows of short paperback fiction with cracked spines were crammed as tightly as possible, with several spilling over into stacks on the floor. Nothing caught his eye, and he kept moving. The shelves just kept going. It was incredible to him how much bigger the entire building was from the inside. He kept walking until the light from the front windows disappeared, and he became incredibly aware of how dark the shop was. The broken fluorescent lights above his head flickered and buzzed, too dimmed to make any real difference. They collected flies on the other side of the glass, and he saw the twitching black bodies whenever he glanced up. Jonathan started running his hands along the shelves.

The texture changed from cracked paper spines to hard case wrapping, and eventually to cloth and leather. The books got older the longer he walked, and he had a feeling that he was wandering into a section that he could not afford, even if he wanted to. He came to a stop in front of a dark wooden shelf. It was the shortest shelf in the row. more like a bookcase from someone's house than a unit in a commercial building. It looked hand-carved, and the books on its top row were all leather, dark with gilded lettering hammered into the spine. His fingers skipped over an empty space,

and then the rest of the row was filled with several dark navy cloth-bound books. The navy-blue books looked like multiple copies of the same title. His suspicions were confirmed when he leaned in close and looked at the brassy lettering stamped onto the spines. It read, Making your dreams your reality, lucidity for beginners. The book itself was not very thick. It was easily under 100 pages.

Jonathan grabbed a copy and tugged it free, flipping it over to check out both sides. The front side had a part of a dust jacket taped to it. It was a generic-looking painting of space, and the book's title, making your dreams a reality, lucidity for beginners, was written in chrome font. Underneath the words was a picture of a translucent bed. It was nothing on the back.

Jonathan's mouth frowned, and he flipped the book open, taking a curious glance at the first few pages. He had been interested in lucid dreaming once. He had gone through every unsolved paranormal mysteries forum and gotten into plenty of arguments when he was 16. He had tried it once, but that never got him anywhere. Chapter 1, Why Lucidity was on the first page. If the dreamer has these lucid dreams often, they can even have an effect on his confidence, mood, and general well-being in the waking world.

Lucid dreaming is truly a way to make his dreams become his reality. A loud crashing noise sounded off from the front of the store. Jonathan's head came up, his heart pounding as a moment. as he scanned the shelves for any sign of an angry store clerk or, even worse, a disgruntled orange cat. Nothing. Jonathan took a deep breath and glanced back down at the book. He turned another dusty page.

Find what you are looking for? A reedy voice came from the book stacks. Jonathan looked around again, this time spying a pair of watery gray eyes behind a thick pair of glasses, peering at him to the empty space between books on a nearby shelf. I... Jonathan glanced down at the book in his hands. It was so old that all the information was probably outdated, but the first sentence had

grabbed him by the throat, and now he had been seized by the overwhelming need to bring it home. That is a heavy one, the voice continued. You have to be careful with it. You might become a little too good, and find yourself lost. Jonathan snorted under his breath. Lost? He asked.

If you go wandering in your dreams, you can get trapped inside of them. You will find that in Chapter 3. The person behind the books adjusted their glasses. I suggest getting at least that far before you jump in. I don't really intend to try it, Jonathan said. I just find it interesting. That is all. He wasn't going to go into the complexities of the universe with a stranger.

He would rather the store clerk believe that he was ignorant. Fair enough. If you go up to the front at the store when you are ready, I will meet you there. I'm ready, Jonathan held the book up to illustrate his point. The eyes disappeared from behind the bookstacks, and Jonathan heard shoes shuffling over the flat, compacted carpet. He made the journey back up to the front, certain that the clerk would have beaten him there. He didn't see anyone except the cat, and he set the book down by the register and waited. He rooted around in his jacket pockets, searching his wallet.

He hoped that the book was not egregiously expensive, because it would be embarrassing to say, You know what? Never mind. I'd have to walk away. No one ever came up to the counter. Jonathan waited until the analog clock on the wall told him that ten minutes had passed. And then he looked at the orange cat.

It stared back at him, silently judgmental. And he ended up passing a hand through his hair and shrugging. I won't tell if you won't, he whispered, looking back toward the dark bookshelves. He thought about going to seek out the book lurk again, in case he had been forgotten. But the side of the shelves brought that sick, knotted feeling back to his stomach. He wasn't sure why, but he would rather do anything than go back that way. The cat didn't stop him.

Jonathan tucked the book underneath his arm and walked out. As soon as he left the bookstore, Anick kicked up suddenly in his chest, and Jonathan broke out into a full run. It was hours before Jonathan looked at the book again. He threw it on the kitchen counter and tried to forget about it. If the police came by, he could successfully pretend to know nothing about it. He didn't know how the police were going to find him, or why they would be chasing after him for an old book that was probably last printed in the 70s, but he couldn't shake the paranoia.

After eating a little food and showering, he took it to bed with him and read a few chapters. Overall, it was an easy read. It was not dense in the way that some spiritual-style books could be. If nothing else, Jonathan found it pretty entertaining. He blazed through each chapter, starting in How to Achieve Lucidity, and reading all the way to the end of prophecies and alternate worlds.

The second to last chapter struck a chord. The title was, How to Reach Our Loved Ones Through Lucid Dreaming. A lump got stuck in his throat. Even though your loved one might be gone from this plane, it is possible to find them in other planes that are beyond the average human when they are awake. When we are asleep, however,

our minds become limitless and boundaries can be conquered. He could not even imagine it. His dreams had been so flat and lackluster, since Jude's death. The idea of seeing his cousin's face again, even in his sleep, brought up a flurry of complicated emotions. It wasn't like he could sleep, though, anyway. He figured it was probably all a moot point to worry about it. Jonathan closed the book and put it on his bedside table. He popped two melatonin and downed half a glass of water before switching off his lamp and pounding his fists into the sides of his pillow. He pushed his face down into the pillow and took a deep breath. Sleep,

crept in on the edges of his vision, but he did not have any hope of it taking over. He thought about the methods he had just read about. What would it take to dream about Jude? Picture an object, the book had said. Make it something simple, like a red bouncing ball. Then put all your focus toward that object. When you are dreaming and you see the red ball, you will become aware of your sleeping state, and you will be able to take control of the dream. Jonathan turned over onto his side and pulled his pillow down onto his head. Every time he tried to picture something simple, like a red ball or a blue lamp, he just thought of Jude's face.

But not his cousin's living face. He kept thinking about what he looked like inside that awful open casket. Jonathan closed his eyes. He tried to erase all the imagery out of his mind. He tried to put his focus on the exploding fireworks behind his eyelids. Eventually, that dizzy, vertigo feeling washed over him, and he fell into that state of almost sleep he had become so familiar with. When Jonathan opened his eyes, he could not move.

His first thought was that he had died somehow, but that didn't make sense to him. He could still hear the blood roaring in his ears. In fact, that was all he could hear, accompanied by a high-pitched ringing and the sound of his own wet, thumping heart. He tried to take a deep breath, but it got caught in his chest. He tried to twist onto his side, but his arms and legs might as well have been made of lead. Jonathan!

A familiar voice called out to him. Jonathan, are you here? Terror lit up his insides like a match to a stream of gasoline. choked on his own fear and tried to wriggle free of the paralysis again, but he didn't budge. He was rooted to the bed. His heart started to bound faster until he felt like it was going to explode, like it was a bomb waiting to go off behind the ribs. Jonathan? The voice was coming closer. He recognized it now. It was Jude's voice, but it sounded off, like he was talking with his mouthful. Jonathan wanted to call out to his cousin,

but his tongue was frozen in his head. Every sound he tried to make just came out as a desperate gag. He moaned miserably and tried to turn his head. But the way he was stuck, his eyes were fixed right on the bedroom door. Jonathan, are you there? I can hear you breathing. The voice got even closer. Are you in your room? The doorknob rattled and turned.

Jonathan wanted to vomit, and all he could do was pray that his stomach acid stayed down. He did not want to die choking on his own gall, but that felt like a very real possibility. The door to his bedroom opened, and a hand came around the side. It grasped the white wood and pushed the door the rest of the way. The hand was mangled and covered in blood. One of the fingers was bent all the way back, and three others were missing most of their nails. The figure that shuffled through the doorway only barely looked like Jude. It did not even look like the version of his cousin that had been sleeping in the open casket.

It was the version of Jude that they had pulled off the road. One shoulder was pushed close to his ear, while the other arm dangled at his side as if there were no bones left in it at all. His back was broken, and he wobbled when he walked, like he was set to snap in half if he so much as stumbled. His neck rolled around on his shoulders, and his face was smashed in on the left side. One brown eyeball rested against his cheek, dangling from a grisly red tendril and leaking fluid down his chin.

Jonathan! Jude's teeth clacked as he spoke. The reason for his distorted speech was the fact that he was missing most of the jawbone, and his teeth and wriggling tongue were just ramming against loose, slacking skin. Jonathan wanted to scream. He wanted Jude to go away. The terror was an icy claw in his chest, and he could no longer breathe. and he could no longer breathe at all, not even through his nose.

Even though he could hear the air rushing through his lungs, he felt lightheaded, and like all his blood was pooling in his face. He was going to pass out right there on the bed. But he was dreaming, wasn't he? This is a dream. This is all a dream. He looked for something. He looked for a red ball or a blue lamp. But all he saw was Jude,

lurching toward him on broken legs that cracked and wobbled with that. every step. Jude was getting closer, and Jonathan had no idea what he would do as soon as he reached his destination. He tried to wake himself up. He kept trying to scream. He kept trying to grip the sheets underneath his body and twist himself free. He would settle for falling off the bed and landing face-first on the floor if it just meant he could jolt himself out of this nightmare. It was like being awake for surgery, only worse, so much worse. His dead cousin stopped at the side of his bed and started to lean over. Jonathan saw Jude's face eclipse his vision, hanging skin all sagging forward like it was going to come sliding off his skull. Jude stared down at Jonathan

with his one good eye and made an awful gargling sound like there was glass stuck in his throat. Jonathan finally managed to sit up. He rose so quickly that he rolled off the side of his bed and landed right on the floor. His nose made contact with the ground and the pain was enough to wake him up rest of the way. He gasped and vomited, nauseous from his fear. Jude was no longer in the room with him. Everything was quiet. But the bedroom door was still open, and there were long trails through the carpet like someone had been walking, or dragging their feet over toward the bed. It was just a dream, Jonathan tried to reassure himself.

It was just a dream. He swallowed down some of the bitter bile still left in his mouth and curled up on his side. There was hot blood streaming down his mouth and his chin, but he did not care. He was not going to move until morning. He would stay right there and staunch the bleeding with his own shirt if he had to. But he was absolutely not going back to sleep. SCP 2081 consists of multiple identical copies of an 82-page hardbacked book titled Making Your Dreams Your Reality, Lucidity for Beginners. purportedly authored by an unknown expert in circadian neuroscience under a pseudonym. The book, a guide to lucid dreaming, contains instructions ranging from basic techniques

to discussions on prophecies and alternate worlds, featuring inconsistent tones and mixed British and American spellings, suggesting possible multiple authors. Subjects exposed to SCP 2081 reported vivid auditory and visual phenomena during sleep, which were classified as walking hallucinations rather than genuine lucid dreaming. These experiences included temporary paralysis, except for eye movement and intense terror, lasting from seconds to minutes each night. Subjects could recall spoken content with remarkable clarity for extended periods, with no memory degradation over time. The connection between these hallucinations and real-world events remains unclear, and analysis is ongoing.