The SCP Experience - The Body Snatcher | SCP-3897

Episode Date: June 13, 2025

A lone MTF operative ascends a skyborne mass of fused corpses and writhing tendrils—armed with only a gas mask, two pistols, and a death wish—in a desperate bid to destroy SCP-3897 before it disappears again into the clouds. This story was derived from ⁠⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3897 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. ⁠⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/⁠⁠⁠ Author: Matt Doggett * * * 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

Lazang sur-gillet, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes. Oh, you'd say that's the Dojo! Pre-a-Jew! Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo! The casino in-line

that proposes the most recent machine-a-sou and the games to Casino, in direct, on Big Bas, Bonanza, without exigance, and with the payments instantane. Hey!

I've gained! Woo-hoo! Scenture the Pleasure! Play-O-Jo! 18-N-L-LIN'LIN' 10-2-LIN'KKKUKBAS-B-B-BINZZZ. DePo Minimimmonimmonin'A. DePeeee to pay

are responsible. The conditions apply. Anything? I ask, stifling a yawn. Don't you have something else you could be doing? Ashley asks from where she's hunched over her computer in the corner of the barn. Maybe sitting quietly outside? Or just anything that doesn't involve talking to me?

I've been pacing behind her in the musty structure since night fell. Now, I stop pacing and tiptoe up behind Ashley. I place my mouth next to her ear and yell. Anything? She jumps out of her chair and takes an open palm swing at me, but I dodge back easily, despite all the gear weighing me down. I laugh at her flustered look. You're such an ass, she says, but she's fighting a smile.

Better get back to looking at your computer. I point at the computer screen, which features four separate feeds from four cameras set up around the one-story farmhouse 20 yards away. We wouldn't want to miss anything. Ashley sits back down, shaking her dark-haired head. I hope this thing comes soon so I won't have to deal with you anymore. I hope it comes soon too, but I have my doubts. Maybe this guy isn't the perfect bait we think he is.

Oh, he's the perfect bait all right. Not only has he been diagnosed as bipolar, but he's also going through a nasty divorce. He was recently hospitalized for a suicide attempt. He lost his job two months ago, and he has essentially no money in his bank account. I've been pouring over the previous victims, and they all have this stuff in common, so it will show up sooner or later. Yeah, well, the sooner or later part is what bothers me,

because if I have to spend another five nights waiting in this goddamn barn, I might try to kill myself, too. Ashley straightens and looks over her shoulder at me. Not funny. I raise my hands in surrender. She turns back to the computer. I adjust the device strapped to my chest for the 10th time, making sure it's secure and I haven't turned it on accidentally yet. Then I shift the small backpack that is attached to me. There is one very important item in the backpack. One I'll use to kill if all goes well. But underneath the small backpack, I'm wearing a much larger one, which contains my parachute.

I'm itching to use them both whenever this freaking thing shows up, if it shows up. I also have a gas mask hanging for my utility belt, which I will need to stay alive on my mission. I have two pistols, one on each hip, along with climbing rope and two ice axes. I don't have a rifle, which is weird because I'm so used to carrying one wherever I go. Not today. The two pistols should suffice for this mission, hopefully. As I resume pacing, I find that I don't much mind being the only field operative here. I've only ever worked with a team before, the other members of MTF Rolling Thunder,

so I figured a solo mission might bother me, but it doesn't. I'm excited to do this alone. There's some fear, too, but mostly excitement. Of course, it helps knowing that the rest of my task force will be airborne soon after the mission starts, flying to provide whatever kind of backup they can. Given what I know about this entity, I'm not so sure the backup. will be of much use. Ashley's hypothesis is that the entity can sense when a large number of foundation employees are around. From what I've read of the other attempts to capture or kill this

thing, I have to agree with her. The entity has an annoying habit of keeping its distance from anything related to the foundation. There's some kind of intelligence at work here, obviously. I just hope it can't sense the two of us. If so, this is going to be another long night. I pace, my boots flattening bits of old hay covering the dirt floor. Ashley remains hunched over her computer, watching. Minutes pass, then an hour. Finally, I grow tired of pacing and grab the extra seat next to Ashley's desk. I positioned it slightly behind and to her side, knowing that she doesn't like to feel crowded.

As soon as I ease down into the seat, Ashley straightens. It's here. Not funny, I say, settling into the chair. I'm serious, Blakman. Go, now! As I stand up again, I glance at the computer screen and see a wide shot of the farmhouse, and the massive, bumpy tendril that approaches from overhead. Shit! I say, grabbing the gas mask from my belt and jamming it on.

Once it's secure with the straps tightened, I turn and run toward the barn door. Be careful! Ashley calls. I push through the pedestrian door and out into the springtime night. The smell of farmland that permeated the air has now been replaced by the musk of rubber in my mask. I'm thankful for this, having read the accounts of other mobile task force members who've encountered the creature before. It smells like a mass grave, one operative said. But that's not the only thing this mask will protect against.

As I turn the corner toward the farmhouse and bring the creature in a little bit of the house. of view. I stumble and nearly fall. I've only ever seen the thing in videos or pictures that, I now realize, don't come close to doing it justice. I can't even see the whole creature from where I am because its body floats high in the sky. I can only make out its general shape because its massive body blots out the stars. The huge tentacles are a different story. The farmhouse lights illuminate the six or seven strange irregular tentacles. The largest of which is over 200 feet long, and about as big around as a redwood tree trunk at its widest. These appendages aren't like those you'd find on an octopus.

They feature kinks and bends down their length, making them look more like the legs of a dead spider than those of an eight-legged sea creature. One of these massive, dark-colored appendages reaches toward a farmhouse window as I sprint toward it. I'm hoping to get to the thing before it abducts the man in the farmhouse. The man we've used as bait. The tip of the tendril breaks through the window, the sound of shattering glass cutting through the calm night air like a warning claxon. I'm still ten yards away.

I'm nowhere near my fastest with all this equipment weighing me down. I reach up and press the button on the device strapped to my chest. I can feel it vibrating as it powers on. Then I grab one of the ice axes from my belt, unclipping it quickly and gripping it tightly in my right hand as I run. A man screams from inside the farmhouse bedroom, but I'm close now. I can see what the tendril is made out of. The sight of this tendril close up is a whole different thing than looking at pictures or reading reports.

It's made of fused together human corpses, along with the smattering of dead insects, fish, and various other earth-dwelling animals. As the tentacle retreats from the smashed first-floor window, I throw myself at it, whipping the ice axe down, piercing a dead woman's rotten leg. with the blade. The creature seems to feel this, or maybe it feels the mobile scranton reality anchor strapped to my chest. Either way, it doesn't like it. The tendril pulls fully out of the farmhouse as the creature flies up into the sky. Clinging to the tentacle, I glanced down and see the man in the farmhouse,

Jeffrey Anderson, lying on the ground outside his bedroom window. The creature dropped him, just like I hoped. Score one for Blakeman. But my sense of satisfaction is short-lived as I watch the ground race away while the creature flies up into the sky, propelled by some unseen physics-defying force. I'm clinging to this disgusting rotten tendril as tightly as I can, but it's not tight enough. As I reach down from my other ice axe, the tentacle moves, whipping out as if trying to throw me off. I put my hand back down, shoving my fingers into a dead man's mouth that's open in a silent scream. It makes a decent handhold, but I can feel his tongue and teeth through my gloves, and I have to resist the urge to

yank my hand out. The tentacle flails, and I hold on for dear life. I have my parachute, but I'm too low to use it. If I'm flung off right now, the best outcome I can hope for is a couple of shattered legs. Thankfully, the creature keeps ascending into the night sky, making me feel a little better as the farmhouse gets smaller and smaller. It seems that the Grant and Reality Anchor is working by keeping the creature from transporting, as it has done every other time the foundation tried to capture or kill it. After a few long minutes, the tendril finally stops flailing, allowing me to relax a little. I peer up toward the dark body of the creature high overhead, dreading the climb. I can only hope that the GPS device

on my person has alerted the rest of my team to my location. The foundation is known for a long time that this creature interferes with radio waves, which is why I don't have an earpiece in right now. But hopefully the complex modulated radio waves of GPS are different enough to get through the creature's sphere of influence. Whether I have backup coming or not, I have to get up to the body. So I retrieve my other ice axe and start the climb.

I plunge my axe blades into body parts from various dead humans and animals as I make my way up toward the body. Here is a maggot-infested bluefinite. tuna. Here is a putrescent teenage boy dressed in baggy jeans and a Jurassic Park t-shirt. Here is a freshly dead kangaroo. Here is a fused-together collection of cockroaches. I'm halfway up the tendril when something new happens. I'm trying to ignore the sight of these animals and people that I'm using as little more than hand and footholds, but a sudden

hiss directs my vision down toward the surface of the tendril. Several faces, mostly human, but a couple of chimpanzees point outward from the surface just below me. Their mouths are wide open and their eye sockets are empty. The hissing is coming from these orifices. A yellowish gas spuse out from these mouths and sockets, quickly enveloping me. I suddenly realize that the creature is no longer moving. It's staying in one spot, just above a group of clouds. The gas lingers around me for several moments before an errant breeze takes it away, only to be replaced by. by more gas. Instinctively, I reach up and nudge my gas mask, making sure it's on tight. Then I resume my climb, hoping that the gas can't somehow absorb into my skin.

As soon as I'm past these gas-emitting orifices, the creature starts to move again, going even higher. I can feel the temperature drop as we ascend, but the physical work of climbing helps warm me. Plus, I have a trick up my sleeve, literally, for when it gets too cold. The creature is throwing its defenses at me, and so far I have prevailed. Score two for Blakeman. Finally, after much climbing, I'm close enough to see the creature's body clearly. It is little more than a thick, oval disc from which the legs sprout. I guess it's about 100 feet in diameter, and maybe 50 feet from belly to back.

Like the tendrils, the body is made out of a massive collection of fused together terrestrial beings, mostly humans. The center of that mass is my target. It's where I'm going to plant the explosives. I crawl off the tendril onto the top of the creature. It has no eyes or mouth, so there's no front or back. Standing up uneasily, I peer around to get my bearings. A glance over the side tells me that we're way above the cloud cover now, and it's downright frigid.

After clipping one of the ice axes to my belt, I reach up with my free hand and find the button on the inside of my right form. arm. I press it, and a moment later, the special body suit I'm wearing under my clothes starts to heat up. As I'm reveling in my newfound warmth, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I see the end of one of the creature's tentacles whipping toward me. I drop to the surface a split second before the appendage passes over me, narrowly avoiding a bone-shattering blow. Afraid another one will try something similar, I crawl frantically toward the center of the creature's massive body, hoping it will be too far for the tentacles to reach. I whip my head

in all directions as I crawl, searching for similar threats. But a sudden chorus of crying causes me to freeze in mid-crawl. The sound is that of six or more wailing infants, and it's coming from directly under me. My neck seems to creak like an old hinge as I look down between my hands at a sight that causes my gorge to rise and my skin to go cold despite the heated body suit. Seven babies are clustered underneath me on the surface of the creature's body. Their heads and arms stick out of a strange, gelatin-like surface, allowing them to cry and wave their tiny fists. They still have their umbilical cords attached,

but they're all knotted up in the center, joined together underneath the surface of that gel-like substance. This wasn't in the reports. This wasn't, in any of the photos or videos. These babies are alive. They're alive! I jammed my left hand into the gel. to the gel and start to rip it out, aiming to uncover these poor infants so I can. So I can what?

I think suddenly. Parachute with them to the ground? They will freeze to death, surely. How are they even still alive? It makes no sense. They're not alive, another voice says. It's a trick, a distraction. You better, before my inner voice can finish the thought. Cold hands suddenly accost me, grabbing my gas mask and ripping it off. In almost the same instant, the baby stopped crying. Instead of whales escaping their mouths, clouds of yellow gas come streaming out. I hold my breath and turn to deal with what I see as the corpse of a man dressed like a cowboy from the 19th century. As I'm getting to my feet, he kicks me in the face with one heavy cowboy boot.

My nose shatters, my lips shred against my teeth. I grunt as I fall backward amid the cloud of yellow gas, but somehow I managed to keep holding my breath. The cowboy, still holding my gas mask in one. hand, comes in for another attack. I drop the ice axe for my right hand and pull out a pistol, firing two bullets at him before he can kick me again. One bullet hits him in the chest, and the other makes a rotten mess out of his lower jaw. The force of the blows sends him stumbling back. As he falls, he flings my gas mask behind him, toward the edge of the creature.

Knowing I can't complete my mission without it, I lurched to my feet and race after the mask as it tumbles toward the edge. the edge. I throw myself at it, dropping my pistol, but catching the mask just before it goes over the edge and down toward the earth far below. But my momentum is too great, and I roll over the side, grabbing some long-dead human's rib cage to keep from falling. Dangling over the side for my left hand, I pulled the gas mask on with my other, and then use both arms to pull me up. I don't know where my pistol went, but I'm pretty sure it's gone. Thankfully, I have a spare of my left hip. the fact that the mask is filling with blood for my nose, I concentrate on getting back up and completing the mission. The creature has snatched thousands of people over the years. It needs to stop now.

As I climb up onto the surface, I see the cowboy lurching toward me, along with six other corpses. The cowboy and a woman with an exploded stomach are closest, and I don't have much time before they get to me. So I scramble up and stand, grabbing my other pistol. My attention is fixed. on this immediate threat, which is why I don't see the tentacle whipping toward me until it's too late. I sense it in half turn, but it's not enough. The thing hits me, and I go flying toward the approaching corpses. The pain is immense and breathtaking.

I know immediately that I've broken several bones. I lose my pistol as I land, and I come to rest in a pain-ridden heat. My left leg twisted awkwardly under me, and my left collarbone sticking out of my skin. The corpses surround me, and before I can... rally, one of them rips my gas mask off and flings it over the side. This time, it's really gone. I managed to pull a breath in before more of that yellow gas comes pouring out of mouths and sockets in the surface around me. As I try to move my left arm, sickening pain shoots through my broken collarbone. But my right arm is uninjured, and so is my right leg. The corpses attack

me, kicking and punching and trying to keep me down, so I run out of breath and have to inhale the toxic fume surrounding me. But I'm not done. I kick at one of them with my right foot, and the blow has enough force to snap the corpse's rotten leg. It falls to the surface. I take a blow to the face and one to the chest. Then I take one to my shattered left leg. I can't help it. I cry out in pain, releasing more of my precious breath. I know I'm unable to keep this up for much longer. My lungs burn, and each blow I absorb takes more of my energy and oxygen away. Finally, I managed to reach around and grab my one remaining ice-sacks from where it's clipped to my belt. Yanking it free, I swing it wildly around me,

severing an arm and a leg. Loach him to my right knee, I swing it at the cowboy's head, ripping through his neck and causing his skull to fall back, dangling from a threat of spine. My vision is going black at the edges, but I keep swinging until all of the corpses are either down momentarily or too injured to be much of a threat anymore. As quickly as I can, I crawl away from the source of the gas and take a quick breath, hoping it's clean enough that I won't die immediately. It takes me another minute to crawl toward the middle of the creature's body. All around me, more corpses are birthing from the creature. I have to make this quick. I take my pack and reach inside, grabbing the brick-sized explosive. I toss the empty pack aside before setting

the timer on the bomb to 30 seconds. I can't risk doing it any longer because one of the corpses might grab it and toss it off. They're all getting clear. closer, so I have to time this perfectly if I want to get out of here alive. I look around for a good place to put the bomb. Then I see a shark's mouth face up on the surface. I couldn't ask for a better place. It's a dead great white, and its mouth, lined with large, sharp teeth is wide open. Crawling over to it, I think that if I can get the bomb down into its gullet,

then the corpses will have a hard time getting it back out. I start the timer, beginning the countdown in my head as I jam my right hand into the the shark's open mouth up to my shoulder. I plant the bomb as deep as I can get it. But as I'm pulling my arm out, the mouth suddenly slammed shut on my wrist, the giant teeth, slicing through flesh and severing tendons. The pain is monumental.

Yet, despite the pain, the timer in my head continues its countdown, reaching 20 seconds. The corpses close in and start hitting me. I kick out, knocking two of them down with the hit. With my left hand, I wheeled the eye sacks, lopping hands and feet off despite the horrendous pain in my collarbone. But it's not enough.

One of them kicks me in the face, and I fall to the side. Screaming as part of my wrist separates from my hand. The countdown continues. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. A dead man in fatigues kicks me in the ribs, and I feel the bones break. Grating my teeth, I turn my attention away from the corpses into my right hand,

stuck in the dead shark's mouth. My wrist bleeds profusely, and I can just say, see the ends of my forearm bones. There's a thick strip of muscle and flesh holding my arm to my hand, grunting with the effort. I yank my arm away as hard as I can, ripping it free, leaving my hand clamped in the shark's teeth. I fall back and suffer another kick to the head, but the countdown continues. Nine, eight, seven. I lurched to my one good leg. I hop toward the nearest edge, each movement sending jolts of stomach-turning pain through my body. Four, three, two, Two. One.

I'm not close to the edge yet, but I throw myself toward it anyway. The bomb goes off behind me, a wave crashing into my back and throwing me much like a tentacle did earlier. Something crashes into the back of my head. There's a brief black flash of pain and then nothing. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting. Your story could be next. If you've got the drive, they'll help you find your path to the Olympics. Let's see what you've got.

Sign up for free at rbc training ground.ca. Agony brings me back. The rushing wind whips the blood from my face, jolts my shattered leg, and jostles the gruesome injury where my right hand once was. Together, these things wake me up. And I realize that I'm falling.

The night shrouded earth below is getting closer. Fast. The lights of a nearby city give me some indication of how close I am to the ground. The headlights snaking along a highway below tell me that the point. point of no return is fast approaching.

With my left hand, I reach up and pull the rip cord. I feel the shift, and then my parachute is unfurling, catching the air. I cry out in pain as the straps jostle my injuries, but there's something like relief in that pained cry. As I approach the ground, I hear the sound of an approaching helicopter. With much effort, I turn my bloody and pain-riddled head to see the most wonderful sight of my life. It's two helicopters, the Rolling Thunder Mobile Task Force.

They're coming to get me. I touched down in a nearby field, doing even more damage to my shattered leg. But it's okay, because there's a medic in the helicopter that's landing 30 yards away. As my fellow team members approach, I ask them the only thing that matters.

Did it work? Their smiles tell me it did. Mission accomplished. Score for Blakeman. SCP 3897 is an aggregate of fused human corpses, with an estimated mass of 550,000 pounds. Via an unknown mechanism, the entity is capable of levitation

and directed aerial locomotion at observed speeds of up to 35 miles per hour. 3897 possesses a number of limb-like structures, the largest of which is approximately 230 feet in length. It will infrequently descend from its average altitude and utilize these appendages to capture humans, integrating them into its mass. The entity occasionally ejects objects from its central mass.

To date, these have at separate times included various deceased fish, assorted-multed insect exoskeletons numbering in the thousands, whole and partial human corpses, clusters of live human fetuses interlinked via their umbilical cords, and several hundred gallons of algae suspended in whale oil. While SCP 3897 does not react in any, any noticeable way to samples being taken from it or to other forms of invasive testing, it will de-manifest if it is threatened via the application of force.

The entity will rapidly emit an opaque cloud of gas from an array of orifices on its surface. This is principally composed of various toxic compounds, atomized human blood, carbon dioxide, and water vapor. It will then vanish, reappearing in another region of the upper troposphere elsewhere on Earth.