The SCP Experience - Markhaven Will Save Us All | SCP-5478

Episode Date: October 31, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-5478: Markhaven Will Save Us All  This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5478, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z 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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It's faint. Maybe it's just my imagination. There's also the smell of wood varnish, freshly vacuumed carpet, and stale cologne. I can hear the organ music coming from up above as I finish unlocking the door to the basement. Extracting my lockpicks, I glance over my shoulder,

and up the wooden staircase before opening the door and stepping through. The churchgoers sing one of the hymns they see. every Sunday. I know the words by heart. They're at the chorus now. Mark Haven will save us all. God bless St. Ronnie. Bless St. Ronnie. Mark Haven will save us all. It's almost Pavlovian, my urge to sing. I grit my teeth and look around in the hallway. There are several doors lining the wood-paneled hall, all of them closed. Moving to the first door, I wrap my hand around the knob and twist to find that it's unlocked. A glance inside tells me it's a simple storage room, boxes of Bibles and hymn books, stacked folding chairs.

I back out of the room and freeze as a door down the hall opens. Someone's coming. I duck back into the room and shut the door as quietly as I can. The muffled voices of two men talking grow closer as my heart thuds away, working double time in my chest. They're past the door, so I open it a crack just to get a glimpse. It's two Markhaven Defense Force officers. They wear uniforms similar to those American soldiers wore during World War II, each complete with a rubber gas mask and a hose that snakes down to a satchel,

where they carry the mask filtration device. I've never seen a Markhaven defense officer without a gas. mask on. We don't know their identities. These two carry only sidearms, whereas most patrol officers carry large rifles that look like they came straight out of a science fiction movie. I don't know what those weapons do. I've never seen them in action. The two officers moved through the door to the stairwell. I close the door to the storage room and wait several seconds, listening to the muffled sound of receding footsteps. When I'm sure they're gone, I stepped back into the hallway.

This time, there's no doubt about it. I smell the metallic tinge of blood in the air. Skipping over two doors, I moved to the one the officers came out of. It's locked. I pull out my wallet and open the secret compartment in it, pulling out the slender metal lockpicks. Then I crouch and get to work. It takes me nearly three minutes to get the door open,

during which I hear a continual dripping sound from the room. A bad feeling seats itself in my stomach as I open the door. Oh my God, I say, looking at the mangled remains of two humans, a man and a woman. The man hangs from the ceiling by shackles around his wrists. He's been flayed, his skin hanging off in strips. The dripping sound is coming from him. Blood drips out of his ragged, toothless mouth. The woman is strapped to a table.

Her chest cavity held open by a metal instrument. They're both dead. And they're the very people I've been looking for. I back out of the room, throat thick and mouth, salivating like I'm about to vomit. I'm nearly to the stairs when I remember the locked door. I moved back down to the torture room and reach around to lock the door from the inside, pulling it shut and testing it. Then I head back to the stairs, moving up to the ground floor cautiously.

I head through one more door, and I'm back in the public area. the church near the bathrooms. Stepping into the men's room, I nearly collide with one of my neighbors, Chad Dayton. Whoa there, buddy, Chad says. You all right? You look a little worse for wear. Like me, he wears a seer-sucker suit with a tie and dress shoes. Like me, his hair is kept neatly trimmed and parted on the right side. His white teeth gleam as he looks at me, smiling.

I manage a weak smile. A little stomach problem, I say, moving past him into the restroom. I'll pray for you, he says. God bless St. Ronnie, bless St. Ronnie, I say, shutting a stall door behind me. Once I get myself together, I head back out to the middle of the church, just as the service is ending. I see my fake wife looking around for me, worried. Her blonde curls bounce, and she holds a pastel-colored purse in two white gloves. loved hands. Her bright yellow dress does little to differentiate her from all the other women in the church.

They all wear similar outfits. Are you okay, dear? She says as I approach, playing the part perfectly. I smile weakly. Just my stomach. I'll be fine. Oh, you poor dear, says a nearby woman, Janet Jacobs. Feel better, Jimbo. Tim Jacobs says, we've got that barbecue tomorrow night. Don't forget. I wouldn't miss it, I tell him. We all file out of the church and mill around for a bit, chatting with our neighbors who are mostly white. There's one black family and two Hispanic ones, making up a tiny percentage of the 2,500 people living here. The clock tower atop St. Ronald's church looms above us, the tallest structure in the small town of Markhaven. Finally, after the appropriate amount of pleasantries, we leave. We walk. We walk.

walk arm in arm away from the town center and toward our house. The homes all have picket fences and immaculate yards. Flower beds lend splashes of brilliant color to the uniform greenery of the shrubs and lawns. What did you find? My fake wife, Agent Young, asks. I have to swallow hard before I answer. They're dead. They were tortured.

Young sucks in a ragged breath. Don't show any emotion, I tell her. They're always watching. Do you think we're in danger? No, I say. They weren't told we were coming in, remember? Just in case something like this did happen. It's true.

Young and I were sent in months ago when the two agents already embedded in the town asked for help. They thought something big was about to go down, and they needed more eyes on the place. But then a week ago, they went missing. Just disappeared. Now we know why. You weren't seen, right? Young asks.

No, I wasn't seen. How do you think they were compromised? I don't know, I say. Maybe they were caught snooping around, or asking too many questions. What we need to consider is what they said before they died. Surely the people running this place know about the foundation now. We've got to send a report, Young says as we turn down the walkway to our house. I agree with her.

I'm about to say more when the front door of our house opens, revealing a masked security officer. Both Young and I stopped short. They did see me, I think. This is it. We're dead. Afternoon, the officer says, raising a hand. Just finishing up a routine check. You folks can go ahead in now.

Thank you, officer, Young says. I can't help myself. We've only been here for a couple of months, I say. But I wasn't aware of any routine checks. Is this normal officer? The man in the gas mask steps toward me. The afternoon sun reflects off the hard plastic eye lenses, preventing me from seeing his eyes.

What's normal, Mr. Mitchell, is folks not asking questions of those people who are sworn to protect them. You're right, I say, lowering my gaze. I apologize. Won't happen again. See that it doesn't. The officer, replies. You know who asks a lot of questions? Communists, that's who. And we won't house Reds in Markhaven. You better believe that. Stomp them out like rats, Young says. That's what I say.

The officer chuckles. You got a good little woman there, Mr. Mitchell. A good little woman. She'll make a fine mother. I force myself to smile and nod as the officer moves past us. Once we're in the house with the door closed, we head to the master. her bathroom and turn on the shower so we can talk. We must assume there are bugs in our house now. Something is definitely going down, Young says. We need to find out what? First we need instructions, I say. The council may want to take drastic action now that two of our own are dead. I'll send in the report, but we've got to act normal. So why don't you go start working on dinner and I'll go out to the garage and draft my report? After nearly half an hour,

the sound of gunfire tapers off and then stops. Agent Young and I sit in the house, waiting, wondering what the hell is happening. It's been more than a day since I found the two undercover agents dead and several hours since I received a message from the foundation. The device I used to communicate with the foundation looks like a regular calculator. By pressing a specific sequence of buttons, I get it to open up to access the simple messaging device inside. The last message I got read, Stand by, Nexus Control Team Gamma 2 en route. We stare at the television built into a brick wall in the living room.

A portrait of Ronald Reagan is positioned above it. Ever since the gunfire started, there's been a please stand-by technical difficulty screen on the TV. I expect to get a message from the foundation any minute, telling us they've secured the town. The technical difficulty screen on the television suddenly blinks off. There's nothing but blackness for several seconds. seconds. Then a familiar face comes on. It's Saul Miller, host of the Mark Haven show Saul inspiring. Saul smiles into the camera. His thick head of dark hair, perfectly quaffed as he sits at his news desk in his gray suit and black tie. All television and radio broadcasts are

anomalous here in Mark Haven. They make people suggestible, allowing them to believe even the most blatant lies. Luckily, Young and I have been inoculated against it. some good news for all you mark-haveners out there, Saul says. We've just experienced our first true test, and we've passed with flying colors. Those gunshots, you heard, were our boys in blue fighting off agents of the communist regime that has taken control of the United States government. And I'm happy to say that they won't be a problem any longer. Canned applause comes from the television. Saul waits, being like a kid on Christmas. The applause suddenly cuts off. We've done it by.

My God, Saul continues. And we couldn't have done it without your support. Young and I look at each other, sharing a moment of confusion. Is this really happening? Young asks. Did they just kill an entire task force? I get up from the couch and part the curtains at the living room window. The street is quiet.

I see no people. Everyone's inside, watching Saul give the news. But I'm afraid our work isn't done yet. Saul says from the television. I'm afraid we have one more problem to attend to right here in Mark Haven. I move away from the window and pick up the calculator from the coffee table. There's a new message. It just came in. Saul keeps talking, but I tune it out as I read the message.

Task force decimated. President and VP assassinated. Speaker of the House and Markhaven native Robert Green, new president of USA. Get out now. Surely there's been a mistake. Surely the president and vice president aren't dead. They're both moderate Republicans, for God's sake. I guess they weren't Republican enough for Mark Haven.

Young is standing up beside me, her fingers digging into my arm. Darren, she says, using my real name. Darren, did you hear that? Something in her voice pulls my attention away from the message. I look up and see Saul staring at me from the screen. That's right, he says. Jim and Amy Mitchell are interlovers. It is your duty to stop them, to crush them like the communist rats they are.

They're taking over, I say. How could this happen? How could we miss this? Did you not hear what he just said? Young screams in my face. They're going to kill us! There's a knock on the front door. Oh God, they're here!

Young cries, moving stiffly toward the back of the house. I step back to the window and park the curtains. Dozens of people stand on our yard and in the street. The women and children can. carry baseball bats and wrenches and tire irons. The men have guns. But I can't see any of their faces. They're all wearing Ronald Reagan masks.

And remember, folks, Saul says from the television, As you go about the Lord's Word, keep St. Ronnie's words in mind. If you can't make them see the light, make them feel the heat. At once, the crowd outside rushes forward. I turned to run, following Young toward the backyard, but I know it's already too.

late. It's been too late for a long time. Young reaches the back door, yanking it open without first looking out past the curtains. A hail of gunfire rips through her and into me. I fall to the floor and drag myself away from the door, wondering why my legs suddenly aren't working. Reality hasn't yet set in. The gunfire stops, and it's quickly replaced by another sound. Music, a somber yet joyful tune. The song gets louder as people file into the house, staring down to me from behind their Reagan masks. And as they gather around me, standing in the blood that's leaving my body, they reach the chorus.

I know the words by heart. Mark Haven will save us all. God bless St. Ronnie. Bless St. Ronnie. Mark Haven will save us all. SCP 5478 is the gated commune of Mark Haven, an isolated and fenced-off community in central Indiana. It has an estimated population of 2,500 people.

The interior of SCP 5478 predominantly consists of identical housing units around a fountain in the town center, with several shops and offices surrounding. From the fountain is a short path to St. Ronald's Church, the largest structure within SCP 5478. Architectural styles within the town are drawn from colonial and 1950s suburbia, making extensive use of white picket fences, pastel colors, stucco, and wraparound porches. SCP 5478 is kept abnormally clean and sterile by a group of janitorial workers transferred from the community's prison complex.

An invisible force extends upwards around the fence, repelling all living organic entities from touching or damaging the fence. Looking into SCP 5478 from an outside aerial view makes all inhabitants within completely imperceptible. This is believed to be an extension of the fence's anomalous properties. SCP 5478-1, collectively known as the Markhaven Defense Force, but often called the Boys in Blue, are the law enforcement agency of SCP 5478.

Random inspections and building searches are regarded as an everyday part of life in order to rid the community of suspected communists and undesirable community members. Uniquely powerful television broadcasts, henceforth, SCP-578-3, can be detected from Markhaven on a monthly basis. SCP-5478-3 broadcasts take the form of the talk show, Saul Inspiring, hosted by Markhaven personality Saul Miller, The show covers the history of Mark Haven, Capitalism, Democracy, and the United States, with a heavy bias towards ultra-conservative policies and, in some cases, blatant misinformation.

SEP 5478-3 contains several psychotropic memes which induce a state of suggestibility and viewers, though these can be removed with simple memetic filtering.