The SCP Experience - The Death Mask | SCP-035

Episode Date: November 3, 2021

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-035: The Death Mask. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-035, 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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The reglements of the concourse sapplic. Ricardo and I had been on duty for just over two hours when he turned to me. Did you say something? He asked, looking confused. No. I said, taking the opportunity to walk in place for a minute, bending and flexing my legs to keep them limber. It's something you have to do when you stand in one place for hours at a time.

Oh, Ricardo said. I swear. He trailed off, looking blankly at the institutional gray wall in front of us. What did you think I said? I asked him. I don't know. Peters. Nothing. Forget it. You sure? If you're hearing things, you should go talk to Dr. Wagner, or the other one. What's her name? The new one? Dr. McCalla.

Ricardo said shaking his head. No. I think I was just zoning out. half asleep on my feet, you know? I nodded. I knew exactly what he was talking about. We had the most dull, mind-numbingly boring shift in the entire SCP foundation, guarding a porcelain mask that looked like it belonged

in the discount bin at a pop-up Halloween store. Ricardo and I stood on either side of a code-locked door, leading into a room with walls of layered steel, lead, and iron. There was a small window in the door, and that was the only way you could look into the room to see the mask sitting in the middle of the space, stuck in a glass case like you'd expect to see in a museum. Opposite the doorway that we flanked was just a blank wall. To my left, the wall dead ended.

To my right, passed the door to SCP 35 and past Ricardo was another code-locked door. Only a limited number of authorized personnel were allowed through that door. myself and Ricardo included, obviously. An even fewer number of people were allowed into SCP-35's room. Ricardo and I weren't even allowed in there, unless there was a serious emergency. It was a lot of hoopla for a mask. At least, that's what I thought at the time. Now, I don't think they did enough to guard that evil thing.

Just for the heck of it, I turned from Ricardo, who clearly wanted to drop the whole conversation about hearing things and looked through the window. at the mask. It just sat there in its little case, looking like the comedy mask from those old-time plays. Its vacant eye holes seemed to stare at me with false joy. The mouth twisted up in a mocking sneer. I raised my middle finger to the window. Don't ask me why. I guess I was just bored, and tapped Ricardo on the shoulder with my other hand, hoping I'd get a rise out of him. Ricardo turned and looked at me. His face twisted up in surprise, and he slapped my offending hand down from the small window.

What are you doing? He whispered, as if the mask could hear us. Whoa, man, relax, I said, stepping back from him. It's just a mask. I looked back through the window, as if to assure myself that it was just a mask. And my breath caught in my throat when my eyes fell on the item. It had turned from the smiling mask of comedy, to the pained mask of tragedy, its eyes and mouth making a grimace.

Ricardo leaned over and looked in at the mask. Yeah, right, he said. Just a mask. Regular masks don't do that. Plus, if it were just a mask, why were there need to be two armed guards posted out front at all times? Sorry, I said, resuming my position and placing my back to the door once again. Just trying to lighten the mood. Got to pass the time somehow. I tried not to let fear creep into my voice, but I didn't do a very good job.

The mask had freaked me out, but I didn't want to admit it. I cleared my throat and put a hand on my holstered Glock 19. I always felt a little better when I did that. We fell silent again, and an hour or so passed before either of us said another word. Yes, okay. Ricardo said out of nowhere. What? I said, turning to him.

Yes, what? He gave me a look like I was crazy. What are you talking about? He said. You just said, yes, okay. I heard it as clear as day. Who are you talking to? I didn't say anything, Peters.

Ricardo said. Now you're hearing things. Whatever. I mumbled. Then pulled up my radio and spoke into it. Hey, Lazard. You got a minute to come spell me? The radio crackled, and then I heard Lazard's voice come through.

Sure thing. I said. Lazard was what we called a roamer. He would spell guards in the facility who needed to hit the bathroom or get some coffee. I'd known him for a couple of years. He was a good guy. Much livelier than Ricardo, that was for sure. Lazard showed up to spell me a few minutes later.

I left, telling him I was going to hit the bathroom and get a drink. Ricardo watched me go, but didn't say anything. He didn't even greet Lazard when he showed up. The truth was, I didn't need to hit the head. I didn't even want to drink. I headed straight for Dr. Wagner's office, which was nearby. He was in charge of SCP 35, after all. The previous psychiatrist in charge of the mask, Dr. Fields, had recently killed himself.

So Dr. Wagner, who'd been assisting, got a promotion. At the time, I didn't associate the doc's suicide with the mask. Now I'm sure it was no coincidence. I knocked on the door, which was already open a crack, and stepped in when I heard Wagner's greeting. Hey, Doc, I said, stepping into the small office. Wagner, a slight and pale man, sat behind his desk in the cozy room. He leaned back from his computer keyboard when I came in.

What is it, Peters? Everything okay? Well, yes and no, I said. I'm fine. It's Ricardo. He's been acting funny today. Plus, I saw SCP-35 change, from the smile to the frown. You think they're related? It? SCP-35 has been known to change like that on occasion.

It's nothing to worry about, but I want to hear more about Ricardo. You say he's been acting funny. Can you elaborate? I thought for a moment before answering. Yeah. I think he's talking to himself. Earlier, he asked me if I said something when I hadn't. Then ten minutes ago he said, yes, okay, out of nowhere.

Then he denied saying anything. Could be a simple misunderstanding. Wagner said. But I'll go ahead and schedule a psych eval for tomorrow. You just had your weekly eval two days ago. Is that right? Yeah, Monday. Good.

Okay. Let me know if... An alarm blared to life, cutting off Dr. Wagner. He immediately looked at his computer screen and hit a couple of keys on the keyboard. His eyes went wide when he saw what was on the screen. I couldn't see what it was from where I stood in the office. Go! He screamed at me.

Get back in there! Stop him! My training kicked in. and I turned and ran out of his office, the claxon alarm pulsing in the hallway. I pulled my Glock 19 pistol out of my holster as I went and had my keycard ready for the exterior door when I got there. I swiped the card and entered the code quickly and stepped into the containment cell's entryway.

Lazard was on the floor, a pool of blood spreading around him. Ricardo was nowhere to be seen. I advanced quickly, noting the splash of blood and brains on the wall behind where Lazard's body had fallen. He'd been shot in the head. Good God, I said, noticing that the door to SCP-35's containment cell was wide open. I could see Ricardo standing inside near the glass case. He had the mask in one hand and his foundation issue pistol on the other, a Glock 19, just like mine.

As I stood there, stunned, he lifted the mask to his face. No, Rico! I shouted at him. He stopped, his eyes rolling crazily in their sockets to look at me. He turned the mask in his hand to face me. and I could see that the mask was smiling again. Only when the mask was pointed in my direction, did Ricardo turn his head to look at me.

He had a vacant smile on his face, a smile identical to the one on the porcelain mask. Ricardo! I shouted over the sound of the alarm. Just put the mask! Ricardo fired his gun. The bullet just missing me and sending flecks of concrete pelting against my back as I jumped out of the firing line.

I moved, getting closer to the door, ready to fire on Ricardo if it came to that. I ducked my head around the open doorway to get a view of what was happening, and I saw Ricardo placing the mask on his face. I watched as the porcelain seemed diffused to his skin as soon as it touched it. If Ricardo was in pain, he made no indication of it. He turned his head, and I found those empty, smiling eyes staring straight at me. Through me, it felt like.

Poor Peters! Ricardo's voice came through the mouthhole of the mask, but it was different somehow, higher, with a tinge of an accent that I couldn't quite place. You're stronger than you look. He continued. Then again, I've always had trouble getting to the dumb ones. Now you have two options. Help me or get out of my way. Or, of course, you can die.

Don't do this, Ricardo. Ricardo's not here anymore, and he won't be coming back. He took a shot at me, and I ducked back as the bullet ricocheted off the metal doorway. I took two steps back from the doorway and then dropped onto one knee. I was kneeling in Lazard's blood. I held my pistol up in my right hand, bracing it with my left. I aimed for a spot just outside the doorway, where I figured Ricardo's chest would be when he walked out of the room. A moment later, he did. I opened fire, hitting him

center mass five times before he fell down in the doorway. I stayed where I was, trying to process the fact that I just shot my partner five times in the chest. I killed him, I killed him, but it had to be done. My breathing was ragged, and the alarm still blaring was nothing but white noise to my addled brain. So when Ricardo sat up, it took me a long moment to process it. I just wasn't all there. I stared at the bloody bullet holes in his chest as he got to his feet. It was only when I noticed that the mask was grimacing that I snapped out of it. I fired one shot directly at the mask, but the bullet bounced right off and went careening around the room.

Somehow, I knew that the only way to stop this was to get the mask off him. Luckily, Ricardo had dropped his gun when I'd first shot him, so I didn't have to worry about shooting back at me. I fired several more rounds into him, but he just kept coming, even though it would have been impossible for a human body that damaged to move. I holstered my pistol when Ricardo was still a few steps away. I got up off my knee and charged him, tackling him just like I'd been taught back when I played high school football. He bucked and thrashed at me, but I was much bigger than Ricardo, so it didn't take a whole lot for me to pin his arms down. I went to work on the mask, zoned in on it. My only goal was to get that damn thick.

off his face no matter what it took. And I did. I ripped the mask off Ricardo, taking the skin off his face with it. As soon as the mask left his face, Ricardo stopped fighting, stopped moving. He was just as dead as Lazard. But as soon as I had that mask in my hands,

something funny happened. The world around me kind of dissolved, and I could hear the sweetest voices telling me to put the mask on. I could see that everything would be okay once I put it on. All my dreams would come true. dreams would come true, and I wouldn't have another care in the world. And it seemed so real in those moments, as I brought the mask toward my face, the closer it got, the more real the illusion was.

The more certain I was that everything would be right with the world once that mask touched my skin. I vaguely remember hearing the shouting of the security team in the room, telling me to put the mask down. But compared to the visions and the voices from the mask, they might as well have been on a different planet. I raised the mask toward my face, not even aware that Ricardo's facial skin was dripping blood all over my hand and arm, not aware that the security team was getting closer. Just before the mask touched the skin of my face, my hand blew apart as a bullet smashed into it. The mask clattered to the ground along with several of my fingers, and the spell was broken.

I scrambled away from the mask, paying little mind to the immense pain in my hand. I propped myself against a wall as the security team slammed down a protective case. over SCP 35. I held up my hand and noticed that the only surviving digits were my thumb and pinky. I took off my belt and wrapped it around my wrist to help stop the bleeding as I waited for the medics to show up. Now, as I sit in my containment cell, waiting for the next round of tests and interviews with psychologists and doctors, I know I got off easy.

A few measly fingers for the rest of my life? That's a trade I'll make any day. I even thank the man who shot me. His name's Tillman, and he's a fine security officer and a good man. But sometimes, usually when I'm just about to fall asleep, I can hear the mask calling to me, pleading with me, promising me things, if I'll just go back and put it on. And if I'm being honest, it's getting harder and harder to resist.

SCP-35 appears to be a white porcelain comedy mask, Although, at times, it will change to tragedy. In these events, all existing visual records, such as photographs, video footage, even illustrations of SCP-35, automatically change to reflect its new appearance. Subjects within 5 to 6 feet of SCP-35 experience a strong urge to put it on. When SCP-35 is placed on the face of an individual, an alternate brainwave pattern from SCP-35,

overlaps that of the original host, effectively snuffing it out and causing brain death to the subject. Subjects then claim to be the consciousness contained within SCP 35. SCP 35 has demonstrated the ability to remain in cognitive control of a body experiencing severe structural damage, even if the subject's body literally decays to the point where motion is not mechanically possible. SCP 35 has proven to be highly sadistic, prompting some to commit suicide and transforming others into near-mindless servants with linguistic persuasion alone. Lasagne sur-surelid, puissance-molyne for 15 minutes. We're saying that's their dojo. Live the pleasure with Leo Jo!

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