The SCP Experience - The Anomalous Brick and the Langford Mansion | SCP-1042

Episode Date: March 7, 2022

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-1042: The Anomalous Brick and the Langford Mansion This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1042, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Check out the Author'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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Embarked and relax. Ciroat, bookine, oh, that also. And profite. Via Raille, the voice that we love. I pull up to the house at the same time as the storm. The thunder and lightning are the perfect accessories to the mansion. It must be a couple hundred years old,

with paint peeling away like a rotting corpse, revealing parched dead wood. It's three floors tall. The litany of windows are a multitude of alien eyes staring at me. The front door is open. But instead of inviting, it makes me think of an open maw, like the house is trying and failing to look innocent to trick its next meal into wandering in. I step out of my car to the sound of thunder and the first

splashes of rain. By the time I sling my backpack over my shoulder, it's a torrential downpour. Running up the walkway, I nearly slip on the steps, but catch myself just in time. From the dark side of the porch, comes a chuckle tinged with the heavy scent of marijuana. Whoa, easy there, partner. That first step is a doozy. A flick of light in the shadows settles on the pitiful remains of a joint. The owner rises from one of the rocking chairs

and steps into the lingering remains of daylight. He's taller than I am. His blonde hair is messed up in a way that I can't tell is supposed to be stylish or accidental. He's older than me, close to third. 30. Muscles bulge from the arms of his Hawaiian shirt, which is unbuttoned at the top, revealing a hemp necklace resting against his hairy chest. He extends a hand. You must be Sam's boy, right? Yeah, I shake his hand and manage not to wince against his vice grip.

Ben. Right, the history major. She talks a lot about you. He sucks the last drags of the joint until the embers come down to his forefinger and thumb before tossing it aside. The name's Derek. Let's get you settled. Derek leads the way in, and I hesitate before crossing the threshold. The inside of the house is a stark contrast to its unsettling outward appearance. Fresh carpet and wallpaper line the floor and walls of the hallway. It looks like an open house trying to court potential buyers, but the owners have found a more lucrative trade for their home.

They've been giving ghost tours. Samantha has been a tour guide for three years now, longer than we've been dating. With a semester ending, and the bar I usually work at finally going under, she did me a favor by getting me a job for the summer. So, a future history professor in the making. Derek flicks on a light as he leads me deeper into the house. Guess you know more about Langford Manor than me, huh? Well, it's always been something of a legend in town.

Robert Langford, the mansion's original owner, was accused of killing one of the maids in his employment. He was acquitted of all charges due to a lack of evidence. But his wife and children moved out. And three years later, he killed himself in the basement and an apparent suicide. Give the man a cigar, or better yet, a blunt. Derek claps loudly at his own wit. Yeah, and people have been seeing him and others around the house ever since.

You're not afraid of a few ghosts, are you, Benny Boy? I frown at him. No more than I'm scared of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Derek turns on me. All hints of humor gone from his expression. He stands in the hall, blocking my way past him. Finally, a mischievous smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. A non-believer, huh?

Yeah, so was I, until I started working here. But hey, ghosts ain't so bad. This place scares off most people, so standards for employees are low. They let you smoke grass and drink in your off hours, and let you crash in the rooms. And not to mention all the bodacious college babes that drift in and out for work. Like that's Sam of yours. Who-wee! What a knockout! I doubt Derek and I are going to be friends.

It seems like it will be hard enough just to tolerate him. If he sees the offense on my face, he doesn't care. Cackling again, he leads me to another door and opens it with a loud creak. He bows and flourishes with his arm, gesturing for me to step inside. Welcome to Langford Manor, Benny Boy. Hope you survive the experience. I take a few steps down the stairs, then pause. I thought Derek had been leading me to my room.

The area beyond the steps is dark, though, and filled with a musky smell of a basement. I turn around. Derek's looking at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. He slams the door shut, and then a lock clicks into place. I turn the knob. Ha-ha, the joke's over, Derek. Let me out. The doorknob jiggles, but refuses to budge. So I pound on the door with my fist.

Hey, open up, asshole. Frantic sobs freeze me in place. It's coming from below me and sounds like a woman or a child. Half convinced that it's another part of Derek's idea of a joke, I make my way down the stairs. I flick on a light and discover the boy. He's sitting alone, curled up in himself, rocking back and forth on the floor.

Hey! I walk over to him and set down my backpack. You okay, little man? What's wrong? The boy keeps his eyes closed tight. and doesn't respond to me. His clothes aren't the typical shorts and t-shirt you would expect to find on a kid his age. His shirt is a fancy white button-up,

paired with dark trousers and penny loafers. I reach a hand slowly next to his ears and snap my fingers a couple of times. Still no reaction. Deaf may be. There you are, young master, William. I jump in the air and spin around. My heart, jackhammers in my chest

as I look toward the stairs. A young woman steps into view. She's in her early 20s, with a shapely hourglass figure, and her red hair wound tight in a bun. Like the kid, her wardrobe looks to be at least a century of style. Her dress is all black, with a white apron tied across the front. She doesn't even look in my direction, but the boy, William, looks up and rubs his eyes. The woman puts her hands on her hips. than to sneak off on your own? You gave your poor mother a true fright. Miss Rachel.

The boy stammers and chokes on a sob. I saw him again. The black monk. Rachel sighs deeply. Your sister has been telling you ghost stories again. They're not good for you. She walks over and takes him by the hand. Come on.

Let's get you cleaned up before your father finds you. I watch as he puts his small hand in hers before she leads him upstairs. I thought to be the maid, I thought to myself. Frowning, I step in behind them. Had the owners hired people to do reenactments as part of the tour? Sam hadn't said anything about that. They must be really playing the part if they won't even look at me. I follow after them, but they're gone when I get to the foot of the stairs.

I didn't even hear the door open. An unseen weight settles on the back of my neck, and my body goes cold. I turn around and come face to face with a dark void. Yelling, I stumble back and trip onto the stairs. My body jerks in pain as my back digs into a sharp corner. A man is standing in front of me. He's wearing old Jesuit robes with a hood pulled loose over his head

so that I can't see his face. I stare and force myself to breathe. Lightning flashes across the window, blinding me for a moment, and then the man is gone. I sit there for several minutes, trying to catch my breath before I finally stand on my feet. Did I imagine all that? Rachel, William, and the hooded figure? Walking through the basement gives me evidence to support that maybe I did.

Before, the room had looked like a tidy basement, not clean, but organized and neat, with shelves filled with pickled meats and other preservatives. Now, the air is thick with dust and cobwebs, and every shelf is empty. Lightning flashes and fills my vision once more. I rub my eyes, and when I open them, the room has changed back to the well-maintained condition as before. Angry voices echo down the stairs. Rachel, the maid, appears again just steps in front of me. She flails her arms, and I jerk away from her on reflex.

She wasn't aiming for me as I just happened to be in the way of her wrath. Her skin is flushed to nearly the same color as her hair. Behind her comes a mountain of a man with thick brown hair and a matching mustache. What are you thinking, woman? The man's voice is little more than a whisper, but filled with anger. She's going to suspect something. And maybe she should. Rachel yells.

All those promises you made me, Richard. I thought you said you were waiting for the right moment to leave her. Were those just sweet words to get up my skirt? He closes the distance and unceremonially slaps her across the cheek with a loud crack. The noise echoes with the approaching thunder. Mind your tongue, Rachel. I built this manner with my own hands. Whatever else you are to me, you should remember who the master of the house is.

Tears rolled down her eyes, which makes him huff and annoyance. What the devil has gotten into you, woman? Yes. She whispers and cradles her hand around her stomach. The devil indeed. The realization of her words hits Robert and me at the same time. Wait, Robert? Holy shit.

Robert Lankford? He wipes his hand and paces back and forth for a moment before shaking his head. You have to leave, Rachel, tonight. The scandal this would cause. I won't leave. She shrieks, louder than the crackling thunder. I won't let you sweep me under the rug, not me or a child. Rachel, he steps forward and takes both her hands and his, before bowing down and kissing them both.

When he rises, his tone is gentle. His eyes still glisten with anger. You don't understand how vindictive my wife is. I want you to back a bag and wait for me. I'll speak with my solicitor and have him start the divorce proceeding immediately. She blinks the tears away and smiles, then dashes over to the small bed in the corner.

Reaching under the bed, she drags out a suitcase and flops it on the bed. While she fusses with her clothes, Robert walks over to a toolbox and picks up a hammer. Rachel, look out! My shouts go unheard by either of them. Robert creeps closer to her. her with the hammer raised.

Rachel spins around, and the hammer collides loudly against her forehead. Stumbling over her feet, she stares in a daze as blood flows like a river across her face. Before she can scream, Robert grabs her by the throat and pins her to the bed. I rush over and try to pull him off, but my hands grip nothing but air. Despite that, everything else about the scene unfolding feels visceral and real. The sounds of the hammer swooshing through the air, the crack of Rachel's skull, and the splattering of blood and brain matter against the wall. Robert breathes heavily after he finishes the grim work.

I back up against the far side of the room, even though I know he can't see me. Langford drops the hammer onto Rachel's lifeless body, then wraps her up in the sheets from the bed. Then he throws her over his shoulder with a grunt and walks up the stairs like he's carrying nothing more than a soiled rug. I shiver and fall to the ground. The stairs groaning against Robert's weight. Then the thunder drowns out all noise, and the room returns to the way it should be. I've had enough, launching myself off from the floor. I sprint toward the stairs, but my feet trip over something. My teeth jar as my chin crashes to the ground, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

The lightning flashes again, and I close my eyes, preparing myself for whatever scene of terror might unfold next. Instead, all I hear is laughter. Familiar laughter. Sam? I sit up from the ground. The room looks the same now, except Sam is pinned to the wall by a bare-chested Derek. He leans and whispers something in her ear, and the giggling starts again before he cuts her off with a kiss. I bolt forward, but my hands find nothing to latch onto once again.

Another memory I realize with a flash of anger. I turn away, but that doesn't block out the sounds of giggling turning into moans. God, you're such an asshole. Sam's voice comes from upstairs as the lights flip on. Ben, are you down here? The vision has faded, but I turn toward the familiar voice and the sound of two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs. Sam appears first, and then Derek.

He grins brightly at me and laughs. There, you see? He puts an arm around Sam's shoulder. No worse for where, right, Benny Boy? Just a little hazing for the... I yell in charge at him. Derek is still smiling. Even when my fist collides across his chin,

he stumbles back into the stairwell, and the ancient wood cracks as he crashes into it, turning the bottom steps into a pile of splinters. What the hell, Ben? Sam's mouth is open in shock. I know he's an asshole, but what the fuck is wrong? with you? What the fuck is wrong with me? How long have you been cheating on me with this

Lobowski reject? Her shock turns into complete confusion. What? Don't lie to me. I saw you, Sam. I saw you two fucking right up against that wall. She turns to the wall and blinks and shakes her head. Jesus Christ, Ben. We hooked up once when I started working here, three years ago, before we even fucking met. My anger is devoured by her revelation. At first, I want to deny it. But then I look at Sam's hair and remember what I saw. Her hair in the vision had been shorter than it is now, and it didn't have the blonde highlights that she put in this year.

Oh, shit! I halt body sags with shame and guilt. Shit, I'm sorry. It's this room. It and the storm are messing with me. Hey, Derek, I'm sorry, man. That was way out of line. I walked toward Derek and offer my hand,

but he doesn't take it. Resting a hand on his shoulder, I shake him. But he's as unresponsive. I cringe and jump back. The cracking I heard hadn't been just wood. Derek's neck is bent at the wrong angle, and he's not breathing. Oh my God, Ben! She raises a hand to her mouth, and then starts digging in her purse.

Don't worry, it was an accident. The police will understand. It was all just a terrible accident. I step back from the body and shake my head. Would they understand? Unlikely. Especially when Sam tells them why I hit him, they'll see me as a jealous boyfriend and nothing more.

Even if I'm lucky, it'll be manslaughter. I see my future vanish in front of my eyes, only to be replaced with a jail cell. Lightning flashes and the hooded figure returns. He raises a hand, pointing at what I had tripped over. Alone, discarded brick. Sam fiddles with her phone, Her back turned toward me, the storm interfering with her signal.

She hasn't called the police yet. I bend over and pick up the brick, feeling the weight of it in my hand as I creep up behind Sam and raise it over my head. SCP-1042 is a standard brick used in foundation construction, typical of homes built in the Victorian era. Closer inspection shows an unusual latticework structure on a molecular level. When introduced to low-level electromagnetic fields or struck with a ferrous object, three-dimensional visual and auditory projections of past events appear.

These projections are frequently accompanied by the entity-designated SCP-42-1, the Black Monk.