The SCP Experience - The Disappearance Tree | SCP-899

Episode Date: March 16, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-899: The Disappearance Tree This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-899, 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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B'Bass Bonanza. Depos minimum of $10 $10 dollars. Veillerschme in a way responsible. The conditions apply. They never found my son's body. That was the first indication that something strange was going on. Sure, they found his t-shirt,

bloody and torn up, as if ravaged by a wild animal. They found his left shoe, also splashed with blood. But that was all. They asked us, my wife, Tabitha and I, to accept his death based on two articles of bloody clothing. Maybe someone else. Some other parent could have accepted this, but not me. I wanted to see his body. Now, three months later, I still want to see it.

Even if it has been eaten by some animal, I won't be able to rest until I see my little Brandon's body. Without that knowledge, I can't keep the questions from invading my mind. What if he wasn't really killed? What if he was kidnapped? And he's still alive somewhere, being abused and tortured? I need to know what really happened. And the only way to do that is to find his body. Who knows? Maybe he's still alive.

Maybe. No. A seven-year-old could not survive alone in the woods. And kids who are abducted don't live long. I can't allow myself to hope that he's still out there somewhere, waiting. It's the reason Tabitha isn't with me now. She has retreated into herself, overcome with grief. In her mind, Brandon is dead, so it doesn't matter if we recover his body or not.

She doesn't think there's any need to go looking. Not that she's ever said that out loud. But I can't let it end like this. I can't. Even though I know logically that he's dead, I need to have the assurance. I need there to be no question. And I need to lay him to rest properly. So I'm currently driving back into Rocky Mountain National Park.

I've just passed the little town of Estes Park, so I don't have much longer to drive until my turnoff. And I can't stop thinking about the three little cabins I saw soon after we realized Brandon was missing. Three little forest surface cabins, all in a small area. Why would there be three? And why would they all be staffed, with two park rangers each? It makes no sense. I know enough about the park and forest service to know that six rangers in one low-traffic area, is odd. It's more than odd. It's unheard of. Why that little stretch of forest? And why were they

so insistent from the very beginning that a bear had gotten Brandon? They didn't seem willing to entertain the possibility that he was still alive somewhere. It was as if they didn't want me roaming around, asking questions. Or maybe I'm being paranoid. Grief does strange things to people. I know that. I know that lack of sleep and an unquenchable desire to find the truth have propelled me from my right mind. But still, there was something off about those rangers. These thoughts tumble around in my head as I drive the rest of the way to the trailhead and park. It's getting chilly outside, now that it's approaching the end of September. Brandon went missing during our family camping trip in late June. It seems like it was just yesterday. I grab my backpack out of the trunk, pulling on a light jacket against the modest chill.

The early afternoon sunlight filters through branches and pine needles, the thin and crisp air smelling of lush forest. It's a smell I used to love. Now it tightens my chest, like a vise clamped around my neck. I look at the subdued shadows pulling around the pine trees, and in them I see malice and danger. though they're nowhere near dense enough to obscure the ground, they hold no secrets to my eyes, but to my mind, they're made of nightmares. Lastly, I clip my holster to my hip and slip my Glock

20 inside it. There's one round in the chamber and 15 more in the clip. And while the Glock doesn't have the stopping power of a big revolver, it's easier to shoot and holds more ammo. If I come across a bear, I'm confident the gun will do the job. And if I come across a human that I believe had something to do with whatever happened to my son, well, the Glock will do just fine. This is one reason I'm not carrying a rifle. I just don't buy that my son was snagged by a bear. I think a human is more likely.

And I want something quick and easy to shoot. I lock up my trunk and head up the trail toward where Brandon went missing. It's not far, maybe a mile. I pass a couple of day hikers on the tree. trail, going the other way. I looked them over hard, searching my memory for any recollection of them from three months ago. There were four other hikers and campers that got involved, while Tabitha and I were frantically running around, calling Brandon's name. They'd volunteered to help. But I'm confident I don't recognize the people I pass on the trail. I make it to the spot where one of the

rangers found Brandon's shirt. I'd take my pack off and make a few ways. widening circles, looking for any clues I might have missed before. I don't spend much time on it. After all, if it was an abduction, and if the Rangers were somehow involved, they likely would have cleaned up after themselves. They know this area better than I can ever hope to. After 45 minutes of this, I leave my pack and head for the trio of ranger cabins. There is a fence towards the back of the cabins constructed of fallen trees. When Brandon first went missing. I wanted to jump the fence and look in the woods beyond the cabins, but the rangers wouldn't let me. They assured me they already looked, and that nothing was back there.

They also said something about dangerous sinkholes in the area, the result of an old mine from the 19th century. It's the only place I haven't been able to look at myself, but that changes today. I approached the fence running in between two of the cabins, determined to make it over, before they can stop me. Two rangers storm out of one of the cabins. It's as if they've been waiting for me. Mr. Cadell, one of the two rangers, Art, says as he hurries over to intercept me. I ignore him and keep on moving.

Mr. Cadell, you can't go back there. We've been over this. The other ranger, Jessup, calls out. When it's clear I'm not going to stop, both men run toward me. I let them get close, slowing as I approach the fifth. fence so they can catch up instead of just hurtling over it. Art reaches me first, putting his hand on my left shoulder. He does it gently, but I take the opportunity nonetheless. I whip my left arm up, sweeping it around his and locking it in the crook of my elbow. His hand pressed against

my low back as I hold his arm straight. At the same time, I pull my Glock out of its holster and pointed at his head. Stop, I say to Jessup, who puts his hands up. Both men are carrying. but I don't care. Not at this point. I need answers. Art puts his free hand up as I turn him around so my back is to the fence. Now I have both men in my range of vision. What's really back there? I say. Don't tell me any bullshit about sinkholes. There's no record of a mine in this area. Just calm down, Mr. Kedal. Jessop says. There may not be a record of any mines up here, but I assure you there was one. And collapses have made that area incredibly dangerous. is to walk around in.

Bull shit, you're lying to me. And I'm starting to think that it has something to do with my son's disappearance. We didn't have anything to do with that, Hart says. I look at him. He seems calm. His voice is steady, and I can tell that he's not shaking. That's not normal. Regular people, when they have a gun in their face, get scared.

And while Park Rangers are technically law enforcement officials, they don't go through the kind of training required to deal with this kind of thing. We're going back there, I say. Either you come with me, or I shoot each of you and go myself. The two rangers look at each other. Jessup nods. Okay, Hart says. But once you see that there's nothing but woods and sinkholes,

will you believe we had nothing to do with your son's disappearance? It'll be a start. Fine, Hart says. Jessup climbs over the fence first, then Hart and I go together. my left hand clutching the back of his shirt, and my right holding the gun to the back of his head. As we get over, I hear a noise from the third cabin. I swing heart that way, ducking behind him. I see another ranger.

This one's name I never got, kneeling on the other side of the fence, pointing a rifle at me. Tell him to put the rifle down and come with us, I say to Jessup, keeping heart between me and the business end of the rifle. We're going to show Mr. Cadell here that there's nothing else. out here. Jessup calls. Put the rifle down and join us. The third ranger does as he's told, climbing over the fence, leaving his rifle behind. Where are the other three? I ask. They're out making rounds. We take shifts, Hart says. See any vehicles at the cabins? I don't see any vehicles, and it makes sense, so I let it go. I make the other two walk ahead of me while I hang on to Hart, gun pressed to the base of his skull.

We walk for ten minutes, and I see nothing but trees, rocks, and bushes. No structures, no tied up children, nothing of any interest. But I also don't see any sinkholes. The only thing that seems out of place is a tree we come upon. The area around the tree has been cleared out in a circle about 30 feet across. It's like a firebreak, but for just one tree. The Rangers skirt the circle. walking past like there's nothing strange about it.

Wait, I say. Stop, what is this? Why is this tree special? Jessup turns around, the look on his face hiding something. It's not, he says. It's just a tree. We think some kids came and did this. We don't know why.

Then why are you walking around it? Why do you seem scared now, all of a sudden? Mr. Cadell, look, Jessop says, There's nothing back here. Answer the questions. I yell. This tree is dangerous, Hart says. Branches fall around it sometimes.

What? I say. That's the best you can come up with? Branches fall around it sometimes. I shove Hart over the edge of the clearing. The other two rangers shouted me to stop. As soon as Hart steps into the circle of dirt, several dark humanoid figures appear from around the tree.

They rush toward him, Moving faster than they have any right to be, knocking him down immediately. They're shadowing, spectral figures about the size and shape of children. The first wave of three or four of these figures tackles hard to the ground. The next wave of four or five figures to emerge from around the tree have stones and sticks in their hands, with which they pummel heart, who screams, writhing on the ground. This all happens in the span of five seconds,

and my brain has to struggle to process what it's seeing. While many of these shadow children seem to be made of varying shades of darkness, a couple of them have visible features, and one, in particular, as features I recognize. It's Brandon. His face and head sit atop a shadow body, but it's him. He sneers as he smashes a rock into Hart's face, but I barely notice this action. Brandon! I say, falling to my knees at the edge of the clearing. Brandon, it's your dad!

He pays no mind. It's as if I'm not even here. Brandon, come here, son. I bleed. A shot rings out, and one of the shadow children flies away from heart. I look up to see Jessup and the other park ranger advancing toward me. Guns drawn, pointed at the strange figures. Brandon raises his rock to hit art again,

but the third ranger fires his pistol, knocking Brandon to the ground. No! I scream, raising my Glock and firing at the ranger, putting two bullets into his chest. Jessup cries out and turns his gun toward me. We both fire at each other at the same time. My bullet hits his throat, blowing up the back of his neck and surely severing his spine.

His bullet hits me in the lower left abdomen, passing cleanly through me, but leaving a hole the size of a fist in my back. I end up lying on my back, turning my head to the left to look in at Brandon where he lies, his strange dark body, shimmering beneath his sweet face. His mop of blonde hair has little sticks and pine needles in it,

and his face has smudges of dirt on it. His green eyes are open and seem to be looking through me. Brandon? I say. He doesn't move. You stupid, son of a bitch. The Third Ranger says weakly from where he fell. He's up on his elbow, and a trickle of dark blood pours down his chin. His eyes are glazed, the blood staining his clothes around the holes in his chest. Our job is to keep people out of here.

Your kid wandered in here and got himself killed. We didn't have... He coughs, spitting up more blood. We didn't have anything to do with it. If this is anyone's fault, it's yours for not keeping an eye on your kid. I turned my head from him, looking back at my son's face. Brandon? I say, turning onto my stomach and pulling myself toward him.

Brandon, it's your dad. I crossed the threshold around the tree. my upper body now inside the circle. Brandon looks up at me. So do the other shadow children, but I don't care about them. I just focus on Brandon, who stands up and steps over Hart's body.

My boy, I say crying. Come here, my boy. He steps up to me with his companions. Yes, come here. Come give your dad a hug. Brandon looks down at me. He raises the blood-stained rock in his hand and slams it down on my head.

The other children follow suit. My boy, I say with pride, one last time. SCP 899 is a psychic and telekinetic phenomenon that most commonly manifests as groups of hostile phantom children. It is contained in a rough patch of forest and Rocky Mountain National Park. The SCP 899 phenomenon has not been able to travel more than five meters beyond a standing, living tree. Thus, the area has been isolated by creating a continuous firebreak around the affected region. Three park service cabins are staffed by foundation agents on the borders of the site for the purpose

of preventing hikers and travelers from attempting to enter the area. Children who enter SCP 899 cannot be recovered, and containment must be maintained by removing those who have knowledge of the child's last whereabouts or by planting false evidence of death by natural causes elsewhere in the region. Travelers in the area have reported being pursued and harassed by small, shadowy figures that curse and throw rocks in an attempt to drive them out of the immediate area. The figures tend to be featureless, and it is usually difficult to determine if they possess any gender or even individual voices and behaviors.

However, recent interactions have grown more violent, resulting in viciousnesses. attacks where previously the phantom children would only attempt to drive people from the area. Pre-adolescent children who come into contact with the entities will physically disappear, after which some or all of the entities may take on parts of the lost child's appearance. No attempt to communicate or find the whereabouts of a child lost in this way has yet been successful.