The SCP Experience - The Corpse Collectors | SCP-792

Episode Date: January 26, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-792: The Corpse Collectors Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-792, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Saving those children is how we all go home. From binge all episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Let's uncover this one. Dr. Beecham said, as he knelt by the partially buried corpse, I stood back from the doctor, while the other security officer on the detail, John Rogers, stood across for me. Rogers gave me a look that I didn't quite understand. The corpse was that of an elderly white male.

His head, torso, and arms were out of the ground. But from the waist down, he was still buried in the dark, and rich-smelling dirt. Dr. Beecham stood up, a grave look on his face. God help us, he whispered. I barely caught it, so low was his voice. Everything okay, doctor? I asked. What? he said, seeming to snap out of it.

Yes, it's fine. Just let's get this one loaded up and back to the lab. He looked at his watch. We've still got some daylight. We can get this done before nightfall. Right, Schaefer? Yes, sir. I think that's doable, I said. Rogers and I walked back over to the electric cart we used to get around the 960-acre plot of fenced off woodland.

It had a rear area where we could place the body. It also had the tools we needed in a long, thin compartment. Rogers grabbed the small shovel while I grabbed the trowel and the brush. Dr. Beecham walked off and spoke into his recorder. going over the aspects of the body we were about to unearth. You know Dr. Beecham tried to get these experiments shut down? Rogers asked me as we knelt next to the body. No, I said, why?

One of the ones they came out of the pond asked him to stop, Rogers said. Told him we were messing with their duty when we took bodies out of here. He didn't exactly threaten the dock, but he might as well have, the way I hear it. So why didn't they shut this down? I asked. Curious about the SCP had been assigned to for only six months. I'd never been around to see the ones that came out of the pond. Only the bodies that showed up randomly out of the ground. The brass wouldn't let him.

They refused his request. That seems smart, I said, throwing on the sarcasm. Rogers nodded. Maybe if we get this one back by the time they arrive, it'll be okay. I said. Maybe. But they could come any time now. They show up as early as September 2nd.

I shook my head, amazed at the ignorance bureaucracy breeds. We worked to get the body out, uncovering the legs that weren't fully formed yet. They didn't have skin on them. Instead, they were just a complex muscular system made out of thin and thick roots. We had to be careful as we unearthed these strange legs, making sure not to damage the root muscles. If we had waited for the whole body to emerge from the ground, it would have been completely indistinguishable from a normal human corpse, at least from the outside. I'd never been in the lab to see what they looked like when the dock cut them open. That wasn't part of my job. For all I knew,

Once they were fully formed, their insides turned from those weird roots to human flesh and bone. I'd been working for the foundation long enough to know that such things were possible. When we had the legs uncovered, I looked around for Dr. Beecham. I saw him off amid the woods, inspecting the head of a new body emerging under an ash tree. Hey, doctor, I called. We're ready. You want to get some pictures? Dr. Beecham turned to me, sliding his glasses up his nose with one knuckle. He nodded and stood up, taking two steps toward us before freezing.

I could see his eyes go wide behind the lenses. Following his gaze, I turned around, looking toward the pond some 40 yards behind us. There were three figures in full white hazmat suits emerging from the water. I reached over and hit Rogers, pointing toward the pond. when I had his attention. Uh, what should we do? I said. Oh man, Rogers said, standing up.

We need to go. We're not supposed to be in here when they come out. He turned toward the dock. Come on, Beecham! He called. We need to get gone. Dr. Beecham, now moving toward us, shook his head. Load the body up.

What? Roger said. You're kidding, right? That's against protocol. I make protocol, Mr. Rogers, Beecham said, If I tell you that it's okay, then it's okay. I watched him as he spoke,

and the fear on his face was apparent. I had a feeling he didn't like this any more than we did. Rogers grumbled as he got the spinal board off the back of the cart and set it next to the unearthed body. He took the shoulders and I took the legs, lifting the corpse onto the spinal board, and then the whole thing onto the back of the cart. I looked back at the pond to see that there were now more than a dozen hazmat-clad figures moving out of the pond.

The lead three were closing in on us at a steady pace, not rushing, but not walking slowly either. The one in front put its hand up as if to say hello. Dr. Beecham hopped into the back bench seat of the cart. Let's go, he said. Rogers got behind the wheel, and I got into the front passenger seat. The sole entrance to the place was located back behind us, on the other side of the pond. So Rogers took the cart in a wide arc, cutting around the pond to get us out of there. The three lead figures stopped and watched us, following our progress with their reflective helmets.

The one in front put its hand down slowly. Not being able to see their faces made the whole thing creepier than I'd expected. But I was thankful that none of them seemed capable of moving. very fast. We drove along one of the dirt tracks through the woods, coming around a bend, obscured by trees. Having just lost sight of the creepy figures, I turned back around in my seat, just as we came around the bend. A flash of movement caused me to jerk my head back as a stick passed in front of my face. I heard the sound of it hitting Rogers. He exhaled sharply, and then we were tipping over, spilling out to the ground as the little car turned on its side.

I came to rest on my back with something heavy on my lower legs. We hadn't been going very fast, maybe 35 miles per hour, and the ground was fairly soft. Taking quick stock, I didn't think I had any severe injuries. I sat up to see what was on my legs, crying out as I saw Roger staring up in me from where his upper body lay on my legs. The stick jutting out of his bloody chest and his sightless eyes told me he was dead. I scrambled, kicking my legs out from under him. Taking a moment to collect myself, I looked to my left and located Dr. Beecham, who was getting off his belly and onto his hands and knees, dazed.

Nearby was the bodyweed unearthed. The cart sat on its side in the road. Savagely powerful hands grabbed me underneath the arms. Before I knew what was happening, I was thrown into the air, slamming back first into a large tree about twenty-finding. feet off the ground. Instinctively, I grabbed behind me for branches to keep them falling. I found one with each of my hands, but something else was helping to hold me up as well. I looked down, feeling nothing but dull shock as I saw the broken branch sticking out from under my collarbone, close to my right shoulder. My head swiveled down to the figure in the hazmat suit, now looking up at me near Rogers' body. The thing had killed Rogers with a stick, and then

It had thrown me up into this tree like a child's doll. I watched as the figure walked toward Dr. Beecham, who scrambled up to his feet and put his hands up in a defensive gesture. I'm sorry, Beecham cried. I'll put him back. I'll put him back. The figure said nothing. It simply walked up to Beecham, who turned and tried to run, but was apparently unable because of a leg injury sustained in the crash.

It picked Beecham up and leveled. the man over its head face up. Then it brought the doctor down on its knee. The sound of Beecham's back breaking as he was folded in half backward was like nothing I'd ever heard. Over him, birds flew from the trees as the sound reverberated through the woods. Throwing Beecham's broken body aside, the hazmat figure stepped over to the half-formed corpse and picked it up, slinging it over its shoulder. It then headed, through the woods, back toward the pond.

I was high enough up in my tree that I could see the pond off in the distance. Although my view was partially blocked by trees, I could still see that there were several dozen hazmat-clad figures there. They spread out through the woods as I watched, unable to do anything else. The shock and adrenaline wore off, and the pain in my chest grew in intensity.

Every breath I took was an exercise and excruciating pain. But I watched the figures as they went about their work. They went and found the corpses that had been emerging from the ground over the past several weeks. Those that were whole, they carried back to the pond area. Some they took into the pond. Others, they threw into a nearby bonfire that some of the figures had been busy making while others were hunting corpses. I could see no difference between the two groups.

Some of the corpses that went into the fire were young. Others were old. Same with the ones that went into the pond. There was no pattern that I could see. The ones in the pond disappeared under the surface. The ones in the fire disappeared more slowly, but they went nonetheless. I watched this process repeat itself for many hours.

The sun went down, and still I heard them walking through the woods. gathering bodies. Still, I saw them walk into the illumination from the bonfire to decide where the bodies would go. Sometime during the night, I passed out. Movement woke me up, and with the consciousness came the realization of immense pain. I cried out and struggled before I realized I was being carried. The light of morning was just emerging, and the air was cold. I was cold. The pain in my chest felt like it was spreading throughout my body. My vision cleared, and I looked at the ground passing below, and the hazmat-suited legs of the person, or thing, carrying me over their shoulder.

Put him down! I heard a familiar voice shout from somewhere behind me. Let him go, and we won't hurt you. The figure stumped walking, and then tossed me off its shoulder onto the ground. I cried out in pain, but relief flowed over me. as I saw where I was, the gated entrance. The hazmat-clad figure leaned down toward me, but I could still see nothing past the reflective faceplate of the helmet.

A man's voice came through to my ears, muffled, but clear enough. Don't interrupt our work again, he said in a neutral tone. The figure straightened up, turned around, and walked away. The gate guards let him get a safe distance away, before opening the gate, and pulling me out of there. It's nice to see you guys, I said. Miller, the guard whose voice I recognized, smiled a sad smile at me.

Sorry, we had orders not to come in after you guys. It's a good thing you didn't, I said, for Miller's benefit. I put it all together there, outside the gate. The brass had wanted to see what happened when we messed with the hazmat suited figures in SCP 792. Well, now they knew. And it had only cost them a researcher and a damn good security officer. I was lucky to leave with my life.

But, after all, someone had to live to tell the tale. SCP 792 is a wooded area measuring four square kilometers. It contains, at any given time, between 37 and 4,500 human corpses, hereby designated SCP 792-1. Instances of SCP 792-1 vary greatly in race, age, and gender, with slight trends towards Caucasian and Hispanic descent and heightened age. All specimens are nude. Instances emerge from the ground at apparently random intervals at a rate of roughly 10 per day,

in a process that takes between 9 and 14 days. Fully emerged instances of SCP 792-1 show no unusual properties. Once a year, between the dates of September 2nd and October 31st, 90 to 130 humanoid figures, hereby referred to as SCP 792-2, will appear in and climb out of a pond in the center of the area. Instances of SCP 792-2 are clothed in white, level A, hazmat suits with tinted visors, which prevent the face from being visible.

After exiting the pond, these figures will retrieve fully formed corpses and place them in the pond or in a large bonfire constructed by these humanoids. This process takes two days to complete. The purpose of this is currently unknown. and the powerence medium for 15 minutes. We're like

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