The SCP Experience - The Heads Don't Sleep Either | SCP-5022

Episode Date: July 15, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-5022. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5022 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Jake Bible * * * 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. Prere to play? Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo.

The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-a-sou and the games of Casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours on Big Bas Bonanza, without the

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excluents in Ontario. 50 tours on the machine-a-Bass Bonanza. Depos Minimimimum of 10 dollars. Veil to pay In a way responsible, the conditions apply. For as long as I can remember, sleep and I have been on the outs.

Even as a kid, I was awake most of the night. Just lying there in my bed, staring up at the plastic glow and the dark stars on my ceiling. I'd count them over and over until I finally fell asleep. I'm 38 now, and I don't have stars anymore. I have urges instead. Dangerous urge. urges I have come to control. Not that the control makes sleep any easier. I check my phone.

335. I get up, throw on my sweats and a t-shirt, and head to the kitchen. Might as well have some tea. Nothing strong. A nice floral green tea. I save coffee for the mornings. Once it is brood, I step onto the back deck and watch the wind blow the trees back and forth as a storm heads this way. The moon is hidden by the clouds, but I know the view I have. Ten miles across Lake Normandy, the old family vacation spot. A place my dad purchased just before he passed away. When my mom passed 20 years later, and only five years ago, it became mine. It's not much, A three-bedroom brick ranch house with three acres. My former girlfriend wanted me to sell it, take the money and invest it,

or maybe buy a house in the city, or at least close to the city. The place is a good hours drive from the suburbs, let alone the city. I dumped her the next day. In the lake. It's what I do. It's who I am. There were questions, of course. The boyfriend is always the first suspect.

But I've been coming to this lake most of my life and then moved here permanently. Everyone knows me. Everyone likes me. Shit. I get beers with Max Hilliard, one of the sheriff's deputies. So the question stopped. Plus, I'll be honest. Shit gets weird out on this lake.

Locals are used to it. I sip my tea. I feel the wind on my face. An early summer storm coming my way. Comforting, but not comforting enough to lull me to sleep. I don't get that kind of comfort. Not with what I've done, with what I continue to do. My thoughts of hunting and blood are what used to keep me awake at night, but those thoughts have been interrupted by something that seems to be a new regular thing now. It's that new regular thing I hear as I sip my tea. children giggling, but not a normal giggling.

More like a bunch of kids are being held underwater, but are having the time of their little lives. I sip and move through the shadows of my deck, out onto my side yard, and lean against the corner of my house as I observe the house next door. Ever since the new vacation renters moved in, that's all I've heard during my late-night chill sessions on the back deck. I may have three acres of land,

but they are a narrow three acres, one wide, three long, stretching from the road down to the lake with my house at the top of the acreage, which means that the house next door is barely even a quarter acre from my house, especially with their lot being cone-shaped and their house sitting at the point of the cone with the wide part down at the lake. The lots here conformed to the lake shore, not some developer's grid. Giggling. kids giggling and splashing. Except, there's no one down at the lake, and I know what I'm hearing. Giggling and splashing coming from the renter's place.

The first night I got up and heard the giggling, I walked down to the water, thinking their kids had gone for a late night swim. I didn't see any adults around, so I thought I'd make sure they were all right. I'm a monster, but not heartless. But the closer I got to the water, the further away the noise got. It wasn't until I walked back up to my place that I realized the noise was coming from the renter's garage. The kids were playing in there. And what was the deal with the splashing?

It was loud, like a tank of water was sloshing around. It made me think of the duck tank at carnivals. I've been to a lot of carnivals. Great hunting grounds. So much chaos to hide in. So easy to charm a young woman away from her friends. So my thoughts go to a dunk tank as I hear the giggling and sloshing. Such is life when you live on a lake full time.

Eventually, you will see and hear weird shit. A lot of weird shit. Tonight is no different. The kids are awake, splashing and laughing as usual. Maybe a little louder than the past few nights. They're really having a ball in that garage. The parents must be deep sleep. or just don't care.

They may be awake too, watching TikTok on their phones while they wait for the kids to tire themselves out. Just exactly how many kids do they have? Because it sounds like a couple dozen in that garage. A couple dozen kids laughing underwater, which can't be, of course. No way to fit that many kids in a two-car garage. And the underwater thing must be my subconscious playing games. It likes to do that. to do that. Kids can't laugh underwater. That's how kids drown. That's how any human drowns.

I'd know. I've drowned a few in this very lake. Now, here's the really weird thing. I don't remember them arriving with kids. I didn't see a single kid when they drove up in their truck with the trailer pulled behind it. It wasn't a camping trailer, but a storage trailer. The husband turned that trailer and truck around, put it in my car, reverse and backed it right into the garage like a pro it was impressive the trailer has been in the garage ever since which gives me a crazy thought that maybe the kids were in the trailer maybe it's their traveling playroom or something weird shit I hear a shout in a quiet thud then silence oh shit one of the kids is

definitely hurt I may be half an acre away but I heard that thud The kid will be lucky not to have a broken arm, or worse. Well, that's what parents are for. It's their job to figure it out, not mine. An hour passes before the laughter starts up again. This time, it's a little quieter, a little subdued. They must have gotten a talking to. I didn't hear an adult or anything,

but adults don't need to raise their voices to get points across. My dad never did. He got his point across just fine without words. Trust me. Another hour goes by, and I can see a thin line of pink slicing the horizon across the lake. I should go inside and get some sleep. Other than the thud, the night has been peaceful,

and I think I might have an hour or two of sleep in me. Worth a try. I hop off my 10 o'clock meeting with one of my clients and head to the kitchen. I didn't catch as much sleep as I would have liked, so I make a bee line straight for the coffee machine and brew a second pot. While I wait for the coffee to brew, I stare out of the kitchen bay window and smile at the sunlight,

rippling across the water. This is why I live here for moments like this one. The beauty is almost too much sometimes. It fills me and makes me want to share it, to show someone this beauty, to really let them experience the lake as they should. Maybe I will go hunting tonight. It's been a couple of months.

The coffee maker beeps. I pour yet another cup, add sugar, add cream, and walk out onto the back deck. I breathe in the fresh air and the aroma of the strong coffee at the same time. Bliss. There's a rattle and bang from next door, and I instinctively slide back into the shadows of the overhang above my sliding glass doors. One of the renters, the husband. He's holding a trash bag and carrying it carefully down to the lake.

I hope he isn't thinking of throwing that into the water. No dumping allowed. Throwing trash in the lake is a big no-no. You never throw anything inorganic into the lake. It won't decompose properly. I'd know. And from the look of it, whatever he's carrying is about the size of a head, which is way too big of a chunk to toss in the lake.

You have to break things down into smaller components. I'd know. I ease out of the shadows so I can get a better look at him. He can't see me. He's too focused on the trash bag, so focused that he looks like he's talking to it. Just rattling off some monologue as he strides across the grass and straight for the sandy beach that the property has instead of a dock.

My property has a dock. A nice one I had built after I inherited the house. I'd always wanted a dock as a kid, but my dad had said the Army Corps of Engineers had to issue the permit, and there were only so many to go around, and they were too expensive and blah, blah, blah. My father was a liar. It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't expensive either. And the Corps were easy to deal with. The clerk I talked to thought it was funny when I said my dad told me there were a limited number of permits.

Sounds like your dad just didn't want to build a dock, the clerk had said. Pretty much, I replied, after paying my fee and filling out all the paperwork. The dock was built two months later. The renter husband is prattling on, telling his life story to the bag when there's a shout from the back door of the rental. The renter's wife is running down the yard with her own garbage bag, calling for her husband to wait. He turns to her, and that's when he sees me.

I could try to slip back into the shadows, but that would look a million times more creepy than me just standing on my back deck with a cup of coffee. So I give them a wave. The husband doesn't move. His eyes are locked on me. The wife turned slowly, sees me. Then slowly moves her bag behind her back as she gives me a small wave. Then they stand there and stare at me.

I wave again. Nice morning, right? I call out. Neither of them say anything. No dumping aloud, by the way. I say and give them a big smile. I have a great smile. It can do one of two things.

Send people fleeing or draw people in. As one, they move quickly and hurry back to the house, both still with their trash bags. They're lost from my sight in seconds. Well, they've got my interest now. Too bad for them. I'm not a snoop. I'm not.

I live out here because I don't want to deal with suburban noisiness or the in-your-face city attitude. I live out here for peace, quiet, and the right to be left alone. I also work from home and have a job to do, which is why I get annoyed when the doorbell rings. Then rings again and again. Okay. I yell from my office.

I save what I was working on and head to the front door. Hi! The runner-husband says when I open the door. I'm Logan. He holds out his hand. I almost don't shake it. There's a desperateness to the gesture. Like if we shake hands, then he can relax because we're now in this together.

I have no idea what this is, but that's my impression. I'm in sales for a living and hunting for a hobby, so I'm pretty good at reading people. The reason I do shake his hand is because I have no real reason not to. Despite my assessment of the man, I'd be a dick if I didn't. Neil, I say, and give his hand a solid, squeeze and a single pump. Then I let go and smile. What can I do for you, Logan? Oh, well, you know, he says in fidgets. He glances quickly over at the rental house and back at me. Thought I'd come by and introduce myself since we are living next door. For how long, I say.

It comes out a little more bluntly than I would have liked. My patience for renters isn't exactly high. His whole body sways back an inch. Sorry, I say. I'm a permanent local, so the revolving door of vacation renters is a little dizzying at times. Do you write? Logan asks and laughs weekly. Your phrasing suggests you are a writer of some sort. Sales consulting, I say. Then I repeat. What can I do for you, Logan? Are you busy right now? He asks. He's wringing his hands. It's very deliberate.

I can't tell if it's an act or not. What I can tell is that the guy, needs to start using hand lotion, that's for sure. I work from home, I say to him, hoping he gets the hint. Could I come in and talk to you for a minute? He asks, not getting the hint. It won't be long, I promise. I don't know the guy, so his promise doesn't mean much. But I'm trying not to be a dick, and I'm a little curious, so... Sure, come on in, I say and step aside. I set the mug of coffee down on the kitchen table. Logan picks it up and drinks it like water. I'm on the fourth pot of coffee of the day,

so I'm sipping from cup number 16. My doctor can't believe I don't have hypertension. My wife and I bought the house, he says after he's done pounding the coffee. His eyes are watering, and he breathes in through his mouth, obviously trying to cool the coffee inferno happening in there. The pot was fresh.

Congrats! I say, even though I don't mean it in the slightest. Always good to have a second home. Are you just here for the summer before you go back? I don't know where back is, and I don't care. But I'm hoping he gives me a timeline. Yes, renters are annoying and create chaos, but they leave. They always leave.

Having a permanent neighbor is not what I'm looking for. He shakes his head. No, no, it's not a second house, he says. We're going to be moving here for good. He continues. As soon as my wife and I can get back to the city and pick up the rest of our things. Oh, you're from the city. I say and sip my coffee.

I watch him closely. His eyes are all over the place. I bet you'll miss it. It can get pretty boring out here. What? He asks. I know that look. I know it too well.

The guy hasn't been sleeping. He's barely tracking what I'm saying. What did you want to talk to me about? I ask. Getting the train back on the tracks, I have work to do. Um, well, my wife and I will be gone for the next four days, he says. And I didn't want you to worry. The look on my face must not be as subtle as I think it is, because he laughs and shakes his head.

Not that we know each other, he says, and grabs up the rest of his coffee and downs it in one gulp. But, well, I'm a scientist. A researcher, actually. and I'll be working from home from now on. My wife, too. Double crap. Sounds interesting, I say, not interested in the slightest. What you saw this morning.

He begins, but I cut him off. Don't throw trash in the lake, I say, smiling like we're co-conspirators. If you're going to be living here, that's a good rule to know. He nods over and over, but doesn't say anything. I wait. He keeps nodding. Yeah, the guy definitely. isn't sleeping. I sigh and take pity on him. It'd be some bad karma if I didn't. Of all people,

I know what that feels like. Listen, Logan, I say, I don't have kids, but I have friends who do. I don't really have friends who do, but I figure saying that might help. And kids are hard. They stay up all night and can wear you down. I totally understand. Parenting has to be one of the hardest. He's up on his feet and glaring down at me. What have you seen? He barks. Why were you at my house? This is getting very interesting. Chill out.

I snap at him. I haven't been at your house. I just heard kids is all. We don't have kids, he says. My wife and I are researchers. We have a special project we are working on that requires auditory stimuli. Those are recordings you hear. That's all. Recordings for our project.

Okay. I say and shrug. I remain calm. That's what you do when your new neighbor acts. new neighbor acts erratically. You remain calm and hope he leaves, which he does. This was a mistake, he says. Sorry to have bothered you. He turns and rushes to the front door. I hear it open and slam closed before I can even stand up from my seat. So I don't. I sit there and wonder, what the fuck just happened? They leave around four in the afternoon. I see them

pull away in the truck after getting up to fetch more coffee from the kitchen. The truck is a loud diesel, so it's hard to miss. I pour my coffee and head to the front room just as they drive past my house. They'll be gone for a few days, which will be nice. No neighbors for a bit. Should be peaceful. I need to really consider hunting. Now is a good time.

Except, it might be a good time to have a little peek inside that garage. Nah, nope. I shove the thought away. That's how you get caught. You make stupid mistakes and push your luck. They're neighbors, that's all. Be friendly from afar. Don't get involved.

But, I finish up my work for the day, which was mostly meetings over Slack and Zoom. After grilling some lake trout I'd caught over the weekend, I relax on my deck with a tumbler of whiskey as the sun goes down behind my house. The light is incredible on the water. I think about what I might do tonight. I really should go hunting. It's been building up in me for a while. If I don't take care of the urge, then it'll get to the point where I'll make a mistake.

Can't have mistakes. Speaking of, the laughter from next door starts up. It's earlier than usual. Or maybe I've only noticed it in the middle of the night. The laughing gets louder and louder. Same with the splashing. What the hell kind of recording is that? What could the husband and wife be researching that needs a soundtrack like kids'

playing in a water tank. The sun finally sets and I head back inside. I really hope that noise isn't going to be permanent. I'm not a fan of neighbors to start with, but noisy neighbors, that's not going to work for me. I grab a popsicle from the freezer and plop on the couch to watch a movie. I startle awake and realize I have melted popsicle all down the front of my shirt. I'd be happy about the surprise nap, except I'm feeling anxious like I woke up from a nightmare. I don't remember a nightmare. So what woke me up? Then I hear it.

A far-off thud. Then another thud. And another. I scramble off the couch and carefully walk to the kitchen, where I strip off my t-shirt and toss it in the sink. Then I grab some paper towels, dampen them, and head out onto the back deck. I can easily hear more thuds as I wipe stickiness from my chest with the paper towels.

I set the paper towels down and walked to the edge of my deck. I strained to listen. Thud, thud, thud. Laughter. Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud. There is no way that's a freaking recording. The night grass is damp with dew, and I check my phone. 3.15.

I crossed the small strip of grass separating the two houses, and head straight for the window set into the side of the garage. We're going to see what's happening. Yes, we are. Of course, the window is blacked out by a trash bag taped over it. That's one of my tricks. Interesting. I see the side door and shake my head.

No way it's unlocked. Too easy. But it is. I turn the knob and slowly push the door open. It's dark, and my hand hunts for the light switch on the wall as I slide inside the garage and carefully close the door behind me. The light illuminates the space, and I have no idea what I'm looking at. There's the trailer on one side of the garage, but that's the most normal part of the scene.

What I'm really staring at is the large tank of water set between shelves and shelves of smaller tanks of water. Inside the large tank are heads. Inside the small tanks are heads. Kids' heads! They all turn to look at me and smile, except for the ones on the ground. They sit there, dead and lifeless on the concrete. Yeah, just what kind of scientists are these freaks? I move closer to the heads on the ground, and the heads in the smaller tanks start to get agitated.

Their smiles leave, and they begin thrashing about in the water, sloshing some up over the edges of their tanks. Calm the fuck down, I snap at them. Surprisingly, they do. I crouch by the heads on the concrete and study them. I don't touch the heads on the concrete and study them. them. No way do I want my DNA on severed kids' heads. That's a rookie move. The heads aren't decayed. No water damage either. Huh, I mutter as I stand up. The kids are smiling again. A couple

of them press their faces up against the glass. How are they moving? Their heads. Maybe that's what the new neighbors are studying. You know, how severed kids' heads can move and laugh and smile while just being held in water tanks. I didn't go to college, but I'm fairly certain that isn't a discipline offered on many campuses. I approach the large tank. While the water in the smaller tanks is crystal clear, the water in the larger tank is greenish and murky.

I have to stand on my tiptoes and reach my arm up over the rim to dip my fingers in the water. It's a big tank. I pull my hand back and smell the water and smile. Lake water! I look back at the kids' heads on the floor. They have puddles of water around them. I look back to the large tank.

Then I look at the kids in the small tanks. Were they in there? I ask. And I hook a thumb at the large tank. The kids' smiles grow wider. Should I plop them back in? I ask. They all nod.

Okay. This is kind of cool. I shrug, lift the kids' heads by their damp hair, and toss them into the little. the large tank. Instantly they come alive. Their eyes open and they race around the tank, circling each other. Then bam! They ram foreheads. They both bounce back from each other, nothing but smiles. They do that over and over again. The kids behind me start to get agitated again. I look from them to the large tank and back. You guys want to turn? I ask. So many

smiles. It takes me a little while to figure out the swimming pattern. But when I do, I'm able to pluck the two heads from the large tank out, place them in the two empty small tanks on one of the shelves, grab out two new heads from different tanks on the shelf, and drop those heads into the large tank. Phew, kids are a lot of work. I let these two play for a few minutes before switching them out. By the time they've all had a turn,

there's pink light coming in from around the trash bag taped to the window. Dawn already? Okay, kids, that's it for tonight, I say, and grab out the last two heads from the large tank. With everyone in their respective spots, I walk to the garage door, switch off the light, and say, Sleep well, you little freaks. Maybe I'll come back again tonight.

Weird shit, all right. The next night, I have a baseball in one hand and the doorknob in the other. They are all staring at me as I walk inside, switch on the light, and close the door behind me. Some are smiling. Some look curious. A few of them are staring down at four heads on the floor. But my eyes don't stay on the small tanks or the heads on the concrete.

No, my eyes are on the heads in the large tank. Five or six of them. It's hard to tell because they are racing around the tank so fast I can't get an accurate... Uh, head count. I become transfixed. I tucked the baseball into my back pocket. This isn't just play. There's purpose in the actions.

I know it. I can feel it. I check the small tanks and everyone is watching the colliding heads. This goes on for over an hour before the pattern changes. The heads in the large tank suddenly launch themselves upward. They breach the water and fling themselves out of the large tank and onto the floor. The heads land and rest on the concrete next to the other ones. Five of them.

They're easy to count once they stop moving. Eyes closed, looking like they are asleep. The heads rest there as if they hadn't been racing around a water tank playing extreme tag. It takes me a few minutes to gather up all the heads and put them into their correct tanks. And it does matter which tank they go in, I find out. Put the wrong kid's head in the wrong tank, and they go ape shit. Hey! I snap when one of the heads almost knocks the tank off the shelf.

I yank it out of the water and frown at it. It's not like the tanks are labeled with your names. They aren't. Barcodes, yes, name tags, no. I finally get them all sorted, and I'm about to call it a night when several of the heads decide to jump ship, literally. They fling themselves against their small tanks over and over

until I'm worried they'll either shatter the glass or they'll knock themselves right off their shelves. Then they stop, giggle directly at me, and as if they are one entity, they ram the lids of their tanks until one by one each of them falls off. I don't see how anything good can come of this. But the kids are all smiling,

and I can feel the anticipation like they want to show me something. So I stay. Okay, okay, let me see it, I say, and spread my hands apart, palms up. Do whatever you are going to do. I watch as one by one, the heads launch up out of their tanks and fly through the air, straight for the large tank. Three make it, four don't.

The ones that make it are now. The ones that make it are now racing around the large tank, slamming their heads into each other over and over. The ones on the ground do nothing. But I noticed the pattern. It took me a bit, but I see it. They are all facing toward the lake. A new thought hits me, and I'm surprised it didn't occur to me before. I leave out the side door and make my way to my kitchen.

I'm going to need coffee. A lot of coffee. It takes me all night, but I man. to do it. The kids are so happy and playful that I'm almost sorry when the pink line arrives on the horizon once more. I say good night to the kids and walk from the shore to my house. I get inside, shower, and slide beneath my sheets. What I should do is take some drugs and put myself into a coma. The kids have worn me out. Me being me means I'm not just going to drift off to sleep. So, I get up, go back to the bathroom, swallow a handful of the food. Swallow a handful of

pills, gulp some water, and crawl back into bed. I'll sleep all day, then go visit the kids tonight. It's probably the last night before the neighbors get home anyway. Then what? That question is what I'm asking myself when the drugs kick in and the lights go out. When I wake up, someone is standing over me. I go for my side table to get the knife I keep in the drawer, but my arm is grasped, and I'm still a little druggie, so I can't really fight too much. You went in the garage, Logan says, one hand pinning my arm, his other pressed to my chest, holding me in my bed. Why? My mouth is fuzzy and dry, but I wouldn't have answered him, even if I was wide awake and chipper. I told you we were leaving, and there was nothing to worry about,

he continues. I came over here and told you. I'm not sure how I missed it. I should have spotted it the other day. He's just not sleep deprived. He's fucking nuts. And I'd know. Did you think we wouldn't have surveillance? He asks. Nope, I didn't. Wow. Talk about a rookie mistake.

The heads took up so much of my attention that I totally forgot to sweep the garage for cameras and mics. Damn those kids. I grin. What's so funny? Logan yells. Do you realize what you have done? Do you?

Then he's pushed aside, and his wife is suddenly in my view. Hi, I say. We haven't met. She responds by stabbing a syringe into my neck. Rude, my head is killing me when I wake up on my dock. Sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs, the sun already set. We are sorry, I hear from my right side.

We tried to find somewhere a little more secluded, somewhere that no one could observe us. But those properties just don't exist, not lakefront, and not in our price range. I swivel my head slowly and see Logan sits. sitting next to me. I catch movement from my other side and pivot my head in that direction. The wife is standing there, really pissed off. She's holding a machete in her hands. Well, shit. We only have a couple of minutes before he can feel everything again, Logan says. I struggle to stand up, but my body is jelly and refuses to respond. I slump in the chair.

Logan starts talking about saving the heads and acclimating them slowly to the lake water. and how I screwed that up, and some of them will die now, and a whole bunch of other blah, blah, blah. My attention isn't on him, though. It's on the wife and her machete. I don't feel it as they drag me over the edge of the dock. I don't feel it as they lay me down with my head hanging over the edge of the dock.

All I can see is water. Except that's not true. In seconds, I see six small faces staring up at me, smiling. They laugh and burble as they bob and float at the water. bob and float at the surface of the lake. This will be better for everyone, Logan says from behind me. You've been affected anyway. He'll start to change, too.

He laughs. You can look after them now. Our job is done. I don't even feel the blade of the machete as it hits the back of my neck. Two of the kids race up to me and bopped me on the nose with their own. I can't help but laugh. They take off down into the deep, into the dark, and I follow after them. They want me to take them on the tour, even though I've taken them on the tour so many times.

Okay, okay, I say, my words are just burbles and bubbles, but I know they can understand me. I swim my head about a quarter mile away from my dock and down to a pile of bones. This was my 14th kill, I say. Lucinda. She was a fighter. The kids laugh and swim around me as I tell my tales, moving from one catch to the next. Then we come to a skull that is my pride and joy. The kids stopped laughing and stare at me, waiting for my tail to begin. If I wasn't who I was, I think I would have married her.

I say as I smiled down at the skull. But she didn't like the lake. The kids get agitated, but I know it's a show. We've been through this story a hundred times already. But you know how kids like hearing the same story over and over. A shadow passes over us going way too fast. Vacation renters not following the speed limits. That pisses me off.

Who feels like fucking with the tourists? I ask. The kids laugh and cheer and race off after the speeding boat. There's going to be some piss-soaked swim trunks real soon. I watched the kids' heads swim off to have their fun. I never thought a guy like me would have kids. Weird shit does happen at the lake, I guess. SCP 5022 is the collective designation for the disembodied heads.

of 29 children of varying gender and ethnicity, all of which demonstrate the ability to reanimate when submerged in water. When active, SCP 5022 will move around the available area, despite the lack of any visible means of propulsion, inspecting any foreign objects in a curious manner. When more than one SCP 5022 specimen is active within the same area, they will interact by crashing into each other at high speeds. The reason for this behavior is unknown.

Although all SCP 5022 specimens remain silent when under direct observation, surveillance footage shows that when research personnel are not present, all specimens will giggle and laugh loudly, despite their lack of vocal organs. When removed from water, an SCP 5022 specimen will become inert and cease all signs of life until returned.