The SCP Experience - The Abandoned Farmhouse Straight From Hell | SCP-1983

Episode Date: February 19, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-1983: The Abandoned Farmhouse Straight From Hell This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1983 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

I felt like Jonah, in the belly of a large metal whale, as the windowless transport truck rumbled along the highway. But unlike Jonah, I had company. There were seven other people in the truck, five men and two women. As the only one without expensive gear and weapons, I still felt like the odd man out. And the banter between members of the Zealot's Mobile Task Force only reinforced the notion. The man seated across for me of East India. in descent and sporting a Tillick symbol on his forehead, laughed at something his neighbor said, and then turned to study me with his dark eyes. What did you do to end up in the orange jumpsuit?

He asked. I looked at him and thought about my answer for a moment. I violated one of the ten commandments. Which one? He asked. I ignored his question. What does that symbol on your forehead mean? I asked, even though I knew full well what it meant. The man smiled. It's a way to be closer to Vishnu, much like that cross you wear around your neck. He pointed to the golden necklace I wore. I brought my hand up and twisted the item between thumb and forefinger.

Yeah, plus it protects him against evil spirits. A white man named Merrill said in a joking tone. I'd gleaned his name from conversation during the ride. Evil spirits isn't the way I would put it. The Indian American man said, But he's kind of right. What's your name? I asked. Corr.

He said, reaching a handout. Mobley. I said. Father Mobley, Merrill said. Isn't that right? Not anymore, I said. Not for a long time. Father?

Core asked. That's a first. How does a priest come to be a D-Class in the SCP Foundation? You must have done something pretty bad to end up here. I continued spinning the cross hanging off my necklace. Corr waited for an answer that wasn't coming. Suddenly realizing that all other conversations had stopped, I grew uneasy. The truck made a turn, bumping onto what felt like a dirt road.

You're not really going to tell? Core asked. Nothing to tell, I said. Ah, bullshit, Merrill said. If you won't tell them, I will. I got a look at your file. If it were up to me, I would give you a million dollars in a handshake and send you on your way, Father. I glared at the man, but he took no notice.

The suspense is killing me. Another one of the zealots said as the truck came to a stop. Okay, I'll tell you, Merrill said. Then he stopped and put a finger to the earpiece in his left ear. Enough screwing around, he said after a moment. We're here. Everyone groaned as they piled out of the truck. I was the last to get out.

following Corps. It was dark out, and we were parked about 100 yards away from a small and run-down one-story farmhouse. There was a flurry of activity all around. Foundation officials were busy setting up a perimeter. Strange instruments were being unloaded and calibrated by scientists.

Huge lights on tripods stood in a circle around the farmhouse, blasting the structure with white light. I peered around, following the zealots to a meeting area where Commander Neville stood, shouting for everyone to gather up. There were eight total zealots, not counting the commander. Seven had been in the back with me while one drove the truck. Commander Neville sat up front and tried to get as much information as he could while we'd been traveling.

I was under no illusion as to why I was here. I knew exactly what D-class personnel were used for in these situations. Hell, I'd volunteered for the job. Ever since I had violated that most sacred of commandments, a war had been raging in my mind. On the other hand, I knew that there was never an excuse to do what I'd done. On the other hand, I knew I would do it again if I were placed in the same situation. I would do it again a hundred thousand times, because it had seemed so right at the time. I'm not saying it felt good.

Not at all. It felt terrible. But it was the right thing. to do. I had been certain of that at the time, and I was certain of it now. But I was tired of that battle. I was tired of wondering how I could hold such conflicting beliefs in my head at the same time. I wanted to go home and be judged by God. I wanted to be sentenced to eternity and heaven or damnation. I knew which one I was hoping for, but I didn't think I would get my wish. Still, I just wanted the conflict I'd been carrying around to be over.

Maybe tonight's the night, I thought. I'm sure you holier than now bastards are wondering why I had you load your weapons with silver bullets. Commander Neville shouted, as we all formed up in a circle around him. Because we're hunting werewolf, sir, Merrill said. Use your head, Sergeant. Neville said, Would they need the most elite and spiritual fighting force in the SCP Foundation, just to find some pussy-ass wear?

Werewolves? Hell no, came the shouted answer from the zealots. That's right. We're here because we have God on our side, no matter what name he or she goes by. Now, the local sheriff who discovered this anomaly said that prayer and silver bullets do the trick with the freaky black bastards that come out of that house behind me. I don't have to tell you twice that when you pray, you better mean it. Because if you don't, those bullets won't mean jack squat in a pile of dirty drawers. You got me?

Yes, sir. The zealots shouted. Good. Now I need four volunteers. Who wants to go in first? I raised my hand, but so did all the zealets. Neville didn't even look at me as he picked his four. Merrill was among them, and he slapped my back.

Sorry, Padre, maybe next time, he said, grinning. From what I'd heard, many task forces used D-class people as guinea pigs before they sent any of their own people into a potentially dangerous situation. But it wasn't hard to see that these men and women were too proud for such a thing. The four chosen zealots started checking their gear over and discussing things with the commander. Maybe tonight's the night, I thought, looking up at the spilled light of the cosmos overhead. With all the activity upon our arrival, I had managed to ignore the disquieting feeling I had since setting foot on the property. But now, as I walked toward the front of the house with the zealots, that ominous feeling grew.

It felt as if I was being watched from everywhere at once, and whoever was doing the watching had anything but good intentions. The zealots seemed to feel this too, because they all fell quiet as the group split up. Myself and the four remaining zealots stood near one of the lightstands with the commander, while the other four approached the farmhouse. The one-story structure was gray with age, and the windows were covered in grime so thick you couldn't see inside. Merrill and the three others split into two pairs and went either way around the house.

Ten minutes later, the four of them appeared from around the side and approached the rest of us. Looks like a normal farmhouse, sir, Merrill said. But for the fact that there's no way to get to the entryway from inside, There's no room containing that front door, not that we could find. Neville nodded his craggy head. That confirms what the forward team said.

I guess there's only one way to open the door, and it's from the outside. You guys still up for it? Hell yeah! The Chosen Four shouted. Fucking A, Neville said, whenever you're ready. Any foundation employee without a gun retreated away from the house, while anyone with a sidearm moved forward. getting ready in case Holy Hell was unleashed when they opened the door.

I was the only one without a weapon standing among the armed, watching intently. The Chosen Four approached and grouped together outside the front door. They communicated with words I couldn't hear, and with gestures I couldn't decipher. Then Merrill stepped forward and shoved the door open, moving out of the way so the other three would have a clear shot. The door opened to reveal a rectangle of blackness so completely, complete and depthless that it was dizzying to peer into. It was like a hole in the universe, the absence of everything.

But nothing came out of that blackness, so the chosen four went in. They each went through, disappearing as if swallowed by a pool of pure black as they stepped over the threshold. Sergeant, can you hear me? Commander Neville said. Do you read me? Shit, we lost radio contact. Everyone waited, watching them. the black rectangle. The door, since it opened inward, had disappeared into that blackness as soon as Merrill had thrown it open, and it remained open. Minutes passed. No sound came from the

house. People stationed around the perimeter reported no movement through the side or back windows. Neville tried repeatedly to re-establish radio contact, but nothing was working. Time ticked on. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Okay, that's it, Neville said. You, Mowbly, come here. I nodded and came over. You're going in. We're going to attach a line to you so we can yank you back out again and get your report.

Got me? I nodded. With all due respect, Commander, I would rather go in myself, Kor said. The other three zealots piped up, saying they wanted to go. These are our men. Let us go get them. And suppose you don't come back out either? Neville asked. Core shrugged.

So be it. You all feel the same way? Neville asked. Everyone nodded. Fine. But I'm still sending the D in with you. And you're all wearing lines by God. Cors smiled.

Yes, sir. Lazzang sur-gely, Putsense-Moyerned on 15 minutes. We're like to dojo. Prere to play. Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo. The casino on-line

that proposes the most recent machines toos and the games of Casino in direct. Profite to 50 tours on Big Bas Bonanza, without the exigance of mis, and with payments instantane.

Hey, I've gained! Woohoo! Sonture the pleasure, play, Ojo! 18-8 and plus, 1, 1 depots only, exclude in Ontario. 50 tours

on the machine-assuvenza. Depos minimum of $10. Vealier to play to be responsible. The conditions apply. I'll go first, I said, moving up toward the black rectangle.

No way. Kora said, shooting an arm out. I'm going first. We all wore harnesses with strong ropes fixed to them at the back. The ropes were attached to machines that would wind them in with the press of a button.

Without so much as a moment's hesitation, Corr stepped through the door. He was followed by O'Brien, Jones, and then Matheson. I felt a strange sense of comfort staring into that doorway. I was scared. That was only normal. But the rectangle made me think that maybe there was nothing after death. Maybe it was just black. That would mean that I wouldn't have to speak.

eternity in hell. But it would also mean that the God I'd devoted my life to was just a fallacy made up by men thousands of years ago. That would be a kind of hell in itself. I stepped through and into a farmhouse living room. The four zealots were there, pointing their underbarrel flashlights around. The place looked normal. There were some rotting furniture, a couple of lamps, and an ancient television. Glancing behind me, I saw that the black rectangle wasn't there at the door. I could see out, but it wasn't normal out there.

There was no sign of all the foundation employees. There was only a strange, wavy landscape that seemed to go on forever. The ropes, however, seemed to end right at the threshold, as if they were magically floating in the air. Then they all went momentarily taught before falling into the living room. Well, shit, Kores said, grabbing his few feet of rope in one hand.

There goes that plan. All the zealots were looking back toward me, toward the door. I glanced out their faces, seeing no discernible fear or concern. A humanoid shadow appeared behind Matheson, who was near a doorway that led into what looked like a dining room. Behind you! I shouted, pointing. Before Matheson could turn around, the shadow creature stepped up and shoved a clawed hand. through her back, yanking it out a moment later with a beating heart held between its sharp,

jet-black fingers. Matheson fell to the floor, while O'Brien fired his weapon at the retreating creature. Motherfucker! Jones yelled, firing as well. They didn't hit the thing. It was gone just as quickly as it had come. Corr ran over and pulled Matheson's body away from the doorway. He felt for a pulse as the other two stopped firing. She's dead, he said. Look at this, O'Brien said. shining his light at the wall over the couch. Two words had been scrawled there

and what looked like long-dried blood, lights out. The hell does that mean? Jones asked. As if to answer his question, another of those shadow creatures emerged from the next room, seeming to solidify as it came into the light

from Jones's flashlight. Jones fired out it, and the thing disappeared into a puff of yellowish dust that smelled of sulfur. Were you praying? Core asked. Hell, yes, I was, Joan said. See how it got more, solid in the light?

O'Brien asked. Let's turn off our flashlights and try our nods. Good idea, Cours said. They all shut off their flashlights and pulled their night optic devices down from their helmets. Once they had them on, they peered around. What the hell is this? O'Brien said, stepping over to the front wall of the house near the door.

There was a black hole about the diameter of a bowling ball there. He crouched in front of it and reached his fingers toward it. O'Brien, Cor warned. But the other man had already stuck the tip of his gloved index finger into the large hole. He grunted, as his entire arm was yanked in, slamming his head and body into the wall. He screamed. Something's got me! We all ran over and grabbed hold of him, yanking on his opposite arm, his harness, and his belt.

We couldn't even get him to budge. Whatever was pulling him into the hole was incredibly strong. O'Brien screamed in pain as he was pulled farther in. I heard his ribs cracking against the wall. His neck snapped and folded sideways as he was pulled farther into the hole. Blood exploded from his torso. His bones snapped and skin split. Then he was gone.

The only thing left was his rifle on the floor and his blood all over the place. I looked down at my orange jumpsuit to see his hemoglobin staining the thick fabric. This is too much, John said, stepping toward the door. I can't do this. I'm going back. He moved through the still open front door and into that strange, wavy landscape

that stretched on into infinity. Jones, God damn it! Core called. Get back here! But Jones was running away from us. His footsteps sent turbulent waves out, like slow motion ripples on a pond's surface. Then he began to slow,

and something started happening to his body. At first, I thought it was just the, the wavy nature of that world, whatever it was. But I soon realized that wasn't it. No, Jones was melting. As Core and I watched, his body turned to what looked like hot wax, and then tiny white skulls popped up through his skin as he melted away. The skulls blew up like bubbles and then popped,

eventually coalescing with the rest of Jones' body as a wavy puddle on what amounted to the floor. When there was nothing left to see, I reached out and grabbed the doorknob, and I shut the door. Cor and I looked at each other. We're not getting out of here alive, I said. I know, Corr said. Although we spoke in a way that made me think he still had hope. I stepped over and picked up O'Brien's rifle.

Let's see if we can do some good before we move on to the next life. Core nodded and swallowed. You can take Matheson's night optics device. I shook my head. Somehow, I don't think it was. will be of any help. But keep yours on just in case. That way we have both bases covered. We were in agreement, and we set off to explore the farmhouse. It was much more than just a farmhouse. We were currently in a corridor that looked like the employee's area of a mall.

We were surrounded by concrete walls and black metal doors. Since leaving the living room and dining room area, we'd gone through several other rooms that seemed like they'd been tacked on as an afterthought. There was a child's bedroom from the 1970s, a storage room with paint and industrial cleaning supplies, and a kitchen that would have been at home in a fancy mountain getaway. As we made our way through these rooms, we found the bodies of all four zealots who had gone in before us. Three of them seemed unharmed, so their hearts had surely been ripped out. The last one, Merrill, had taken his own life by shooting himself in the heart. Two of his fingers had been cut open and were coated in blood, so we guessed he'd been the one to write lights out on the living

room wall. Corps figured we were in some sort of alternate dimension, or that there was some kind of transport function at work that took us to these various rooms around the world. Whenever we encountered a window or a door that led outside, it always opened onto that strange, wavy landscape that had taken Jones. We didn't dare venture out there. At each room we came to, Khor shot out any lights that happened to be on, plunging the rooms into darkness. This seemed to keep the creatures at bay, although they appeared on half a dozen occasions, usually in the rooms we could see into, but hadn't yet entered because of the light. So long as we stayed in the darkness, they never attacked.

Kour had taken Matheson's spare magazines, so we still had a good amount of ammo left as we approached the brightest room yet. It was at the end of the Mall corridor, and the light blazed through two vertical windows in a set of double doors. We paused as Kor took aim and shot out the last fluorescent tube light before the double doors. Then we moved forward, trying to stay out of the light from the windows while still looking through to see what was on the other side. What in the hell is that? Core asked as he looked through the left window while I looked through the right.

The large room beyond was roughly circular and had double doors surrounding it on all sides. A ton of lamps, candles, and flashlights had been set around the place, bringing every nook and cranny into stark relief. In the middle of the room was a small mountain of pulsating hearts. Human hearts. I had to swallow my disgust as I looked at the glistening organs. They had all been ripped open, but they beat nonetheless. A shadow creature moved into the room from the set of doors across the way. Both core and I flinched, but we kept watching.

The creature had a heart and one ink. claw, which it tossed onto the pile. Suddenly, two dozen shadow creatures appeared and stood around the pile of hearts. The heart that had just been added was still beating, but it bulged and flexed as though something was trying to get out of it. The tough muscle ripped, and another one of those raven-black creatures crawled from it, birthed from inside the heart. Once it was out, it seemed to stretch and look around at its companions. Then it went off through a set of doors, no doubt to search for another heart. Soon, the other black creatures moved off,

leaving the pile of hearts unprotected. The bastards are multiplying, Cor said. I said nothing, and raised my free hand to the golden cross at my neck and felt the symbol. It buzzed between my fingers, like it was conducting electricity. There's a lot of light in there,

and I don't think those things have gone far, core said. I don't see how we can shoot all the lights out before they attack us, much less shoot all those creatures. I shook my head. There's no way shooting will work. So there's only one thing to do. What?

Remember that storage closet we went through? I asked. Yeah. There was acetone in there. Kor looked back into the room at one of the many candles there. Then he looked back at me and smiled grimly. When we were back at the set of double doors again, I held two cans of acetone in my hands.

Corps held both rifles, one in each hand, stocks clamped in his arm bits. An empty can of acetone laid nearby. I had used it to soak both of us in the chemical. Ready to do this? I asked. Hell no, he said. So, let's do it. I nodded. Wait, Corr said.

Just tell me one thing before we go in there. What? If you were really a priest, how'd you end up in prison? Sighing, I looked at Kor's deeply brown eyes. I happened upon one of my fellow priests with a small child. Kor's eyes went wide. And when I saw him with that little boy, I lost it completely. As soon as I got the child out of the room, I beat the man to death.

I beat him until he wasn't recognizable as a man anymore. And then I beat him some more. When I was done, his outsides matched his insides. Corps blew a breath out. And they gave you life for that? I nodded. Why? I refused to apologize for what I'd done.

I told the judge I would do it again the same way. He said that our society cannot allow vigilante justice. And he was right. What I did was wrong. But it was right at the same time. Do you understand? Yeah, Core said sadly. I understand that.

I figured you might. The smell of acetone was getting to me. Let's do this. Let's fucking go. Corps shouted, moving forward, kicking the doors open. Their creatures came from every set of doors on all sides of the large room as we entered. Dozens of them, hundreds, as many as the number of hearts in the middle of the room. Shouting, Corps fired both weapons, killing creatures with prayer and silver bullets.

I ran directly for the pile of hearts and upended both the acetone cans, pouring the highly flammable liquid on the still beating organs. It splashed all over my hands and down my forearms. I didn't care. I was already soaked in the stuff. That was the most important part of the plan, so they couldn't take our hearts. The black creatures were closing in, focusing on me as they came. I felt bullets zip past me while core fired, keeping the attackers away as long as he could.

But it wasn't enough. There were too many of them. I tossed both cans down before they were half empty, and then sprinted to the ones. for the nearest candle. A creature stepped in front of the candle and reached into my chest. I felt it seized my heart, just a moment before a bullet crashed through its body,

and it disappeared in a puff of sulfur dust. Breathing heavily and half amazed that my heart was still working, I reached down and stuck my fingers into the candle flame. The acetone on my arm lit immediately, the flames whooshing up my arm and crawling all over my acetone-soaked body. I turned and ran back toward the pile of hearts.

I'm out. Core screamed a moment after the gunfire stopped. See you on the other side! I shouted, already feeling the flames of eternal damnation scorching my skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Core sprinting toward the pile of hearts. Dozens of the creatures closed in behind him, reaching out for his chest. I was covered in flames now, but the cross at my neck felt cool on my burning skin. Cor and I reached the pile of hearts at the same time.

We both jumped, hitting the pile. The acetone I had poured, lit with an almost explosive ferocity. Soon, I couldn't breathe. The pain was becoming too great. But before I passed out, I heard a chorus of horrific screams. At first, I thought there were the screams of the damned waiting for me in hell. Then I realized that the shadow creatures were doing the screaming. As I died, I managed to form a smile at a job well done.

SCP 1983-1 is a one-story farmhouse. Wyoming. It was abandoned in 1968 after a series of ritual murders allegedly performed by a satanic cult. The front door of the farmhouse, when opened, appears to contain a spatial anomaly. Neither matter nor light has been observed to exit the doorway, save for instances of SCP 1983-2. SCP 1983-2 are bipedal creatures, approximately 5 feet 9 inches tall. They are vaguely humanoid and entirely black in color. They are highly aggressive and will engage any human on site. When an instance of SCP 1983-2 comes into contact with a human,

they extend an upper limb into the human's chest cavity, without any apparent damage to skin or tissues. Through unknown means, they then extract the heart, killing the human. Silver munitions fired while offering prayer is the only known method of killing these anomalies. The precise form of the prayer or religion of the supplicant does not appear to matter, so long as the prayer is sincere. Once killed, the bodies of SCP 1983-2 appear to disintegrate, leaving a small layer of sulfur.