The SCP Experience - The Hole Dwellers | SCP-688

Episode Date: September 15, 2023

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-688: The Hole Dwellers This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-688 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z 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 #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's something else here now. Something new. From exclusively on Paramount Plus. It's the series Stephen King calls Scarious Hell. Everything here is impossible, but it's also real. Sci-fi Vision calls it the best show streaming right now. We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules. Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch.

Saving those children is how we all go home. From binge all episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Jerking awake, I peer around in the half light, noticing others slowly moving and nearly naked bodies around me. The damp concrete floor is cold, and for a moment, I think I'm outside. The place certainly is drafty enough to be outdoors, but as I turn and look behind me, I can see a large metal wall stretching up to a similar ceiling high overhead. The alarm sound is coming from a couple of large speakers, positioned some 15 feet above

The heavy-duty metal doors set in that wall. What the hell is this happy horse shit? A guy says from nearby, getting to his knees. Like me, he's wearing only blue and white-striped boxer shorts. Looking around, I see a total of five other guys, all wearing the same style of boxer shorts. When I went to bed last night, I was wearing tidy whiteies. A sudden flush of anger stiffens my muscles at the obvious violation.

Gritting my teeth, I get to my feet. and look around for someone to blame. But I don't recognize any of the five other men. I recognize the haggard looks on their faces. I recognize the hard looks in their eyes. And I recognize the lustreless skin and flabby guts. But I don't know any of these men, not personally. We all study each other's faces warily

before looking at the vast space ahead of us. It's strange, like an indoor swamp or something. The light in the place is dim. but I can still see the stretch of water between us and the far side of the cavernous building. There are plants growing out of the water here and there, like a proper swamp. There's algae on the shimmery surface. Small bubbles occasionally float up from the murky depths. Looking toward my feet, I noticed the neat rows of half-dollar-sized holes in the concrete floor.

The whole floor is covered with the holes, but I can't see anything in them, thanks to the poor lighting in the place. As I move closer to the edge of the concrete pad, the alarm suddenly stops. Then a light snaps on in a near corner, illuminating a rack with clothes hanging from it and shoes lined up underneath. Do any of you sons of bitches know what's happening here? A guy with a ruddy face and sausage fingers asks. I shake my head.

Another guy shrugs. A third guy spits on the ground. A fourth guy rushes toward the clothes. He's bald and thick-limbed. The rest of us follow after him, exercising slightly more caution. The thick-limbed guy looks at the clothes hanging up on the rack, inspecting them. They're all identical pairs of sweats, cheaply made and plain gray. The spitter moves forward and goes to grab a pair of sweats.

But the thick-limbed guy shoves him to the ground. Wait your fucking turn, asshole. The guy tells him. The only black guy in the group stops next to me and looks over. This doesn't seem right, does it? I think I might be dead. This is hell, I tell him. Shit, that'd be something.

If hell exists, so does heaven. And I have a hard time believing that. I shrug and look over at the thick-limbed guy who's pulling on sweatpants. No one else moves forward, seeing the treatment the spitter got. They wanted us in clothes. Why wouldn't they just dress us?

The black guy asks. I mean, why go to all the trouble to undress us and change our underwear, but not dress us? It's a good point. Say. What's your name? Jaron. The guy says.

Blake. I say, we don't shake hands. So were you in? A savage scream cuts off my question. And I look back toward the clothes rack to see the thick-limbed guy pulling his foot out of one of the shoes provided. But there's just one problem.

Half of it is gone. Replaced by a bloody nub. He sits down hard, gripping the foot between his hands. What the fuck? The guy shouts, foot, spurting blood. The rest of us back up several steps. Help me, you sons of bitches!

The injured guy shouts. No one moves to help him. The alarm starts again, but this time it's accompanied by something else. Big, bright red numbers appear on a screen between the two speakers over the door. It's counting down from ten. Uh-oh. Jaron says. Yeah, not good.

The injured guy is still screaming. shouting on the floor, holding his foot. The rest of us look around, trying to figure out what will happen when the numbers reach zero. The floor, I say, pointing at the holes. It's something to do with the floor. Before Jaron can answer, the countdown reaches zero. There's a metallic thunk and the floor vibrates as a row of spikes

shoots from the holes on the floor nearest the wall. Oh shit! Jaron says. A moment later, the next row thunks into place. They're coming up in succession toward the water. Whoever is controlling this hellhole wants us in the water. The injured guy turns around and looks. Bullshit!

He says as the third row shoots up, they seem to be getting faster. Jaron and I back up to the edge of the concrete pad, where there's a short drop-off into the murky water. Must be something in there, he says, looking at the liquid. Something bad, I say. Then I look up and peer at the other side of the huge room. There's a similar setup over there, some 80 yards. away. There's a door and a light on, and maybe, just maybe, there's safety, if we can reach it.

The rows of spikes have gotten faster. Now everyone has lined up at the edge of the pad. Even the injured guy has limped over. Everyone's kind of freaking out, and with good reason. There are only eight rows left. Screw it, I say, sitting down on the edge and putting my foot right into the water. It's cold. I stick it down and find a slick surface not two feet down. It's irregular, but it feels almost man-made, like metal coated with some kind of spongy padding. Feeling around, I find a hole in the surface about the diameter of a baseball. Thinking of a spike shooting up from the hole, I jerk my foot back from the hole. What's under there? Jaron asks. It's not deep, I say, standing uneasily with both feet in the water.

But watch for the holes. I got a feeling you don't want to put a foot over one of them. There are only seconds left. Jaron sits down and sticks his feet in, standing up just as the second to last row of spikes shoots up, followed quickly by the very last row. Looking down the line, I see that everyone has gotten into the water,

even the injured guy who is still cursing. As I'm watching, the guy slips and falls face first into the water, putting his hands out to catch himself. The water splashes up his arms to his armpits. Then, he suddenly jerked under like someone just yanked on his right arm. He thrashes around just under the surface as the rest of his watch, standing uneasily in the cold water. Then, after a few long moments of this, he manages to pull himself back up.

Only his right arm is missing at the elbow. Blood pours out of the ragged wound. The man looks at the arm and screams once before passing out and splashing back into the water. Jaron and I look at each other, then down at the water. His face says it all. Oh shit.

We both start moving through the knee-deep water, arms out for balance on the uneven surface. The three other guys start doing the same, but one of them, the spitter, decides he's going to run to the other side. It's a bad idea. Biennue at board of Via Rai, embarked and profite.

Embarqued and celebrate. Heigolet, publicé, savouré, admire, and profite. Vi-a-rail, the voice we love. He trips almost immediately, splashing into the water. And when he comes back up, he's missing several fingers from both his hands. As I'm looking over toward him, my right foot slips on some algae, and the two smallest toes slip into one of the holes, just barely dipping down over the edge as I tried to keep my balance.

I immediately feel something latch onto the toes, like several razor blades coming at them from all directions. The force inside the hole, whatever it is, is almost strong enough to pull my entire foot in. But I managed to yank my foot back. I feel a sickening rip, and my foot comes away without the two toes. Teetering on my left leg only, I nearly fall into the water. But Jaron grips my arm and steadies me.

Grunting against the pain, I look at him. You definitely do not want to put anything in one of those holes? Yeah, no shit. He says, as we start to move ahead, the spitter who now has mangled hands lurches toward another guy in the ragged row. Help me! He screams as he splashes through the water.

Stay away! The other guy yells. Stay back! But the mangled hands guy doesn't listen. He stumbles forward and crashes into the guy. They both go down in the water, and within moments, they're both screaming and flashing. What's your name?

Jaron shouts at the only. only other guy left standing. He tears his attention away from the other two guys and says his name is Henry. Slow and steady, Henry, Jaron says. Just take it slow and steady, and don't step in any holes. Henry nods, and we all continue on. We're about halfway across the strange indoor pond when something large rises slowly out of the water ahead of us. At first, I think it's some giant creature, but I quickly realize it's a big log, or something made to look like a big log. It has holes all around it, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out it's an obstacle we're going to have to overcome. After all, it reaches from one side of the pond to the other.

There's no way around it. We'll have to go over it. Once again, Jaron and I share a look. The thing is about as big around as an average redwood tree. I couldn't wrap my arms around even half of it. And it just sits on the surface of the water, almost like it's floating. But it's not floating. Barring some miracle, the only way to climb over it would be to use the holes as hand and footholds. But that's not a good idea. Not at all. The three of us stop in arm's length from the log. I look back over my shoulder to see three bodies bobbing in the water. There's screams no longer echoing off the metal walls. There's something in the holes. Henry says.

In some of them anyway. Moving carefully closer, I peer through the dim light and see that he's right. In one of the holes, I can see what looks like a ring of hooked teeth. Like some creature has its mouth over the hole. Just waiting for something to come through so it can clamp down. My missing toes throb, and I try not to think about the pain. Let me see, Sharon says, moving over toward Henry. See?

Henry says, pointing toward one of the holes. They look like teeth or something. Huh, they sure do. Jaron says. Then he steps behind Henry and shoves the man forward. Henry puts his hands out to stop himself, but one of his hands slips into a hole. He's quickly yanked against the log by the arm,

screaming as the thing inside chomps down on him. Come on! Jaron yells, shoving Henry flat against the log. He grabs the other man's arm and shoves it in another hole. Then he starts clench. climbing up Henry's back and onto his shoulders. My mouth drops open, but I don't need to be told twice. I move over and climb up the screaming and convulsing man,

careful not to stick any limbs and any holes when I get to the top. Then, having seen Jaron do the same moments before, I grab onto Henry's head and grip it as I lower myself down the other side of the log. We move through the rest of the pond without incident. Henry has long since stopped screaming as we climb out of the water onto the other country, concrete pad, this one without any holes in it. We're both lying propped on our elbows, breathing heavily. I have my injured foot elevated on my other knee. You could have done that to me, I say. Sure, he says, but I didn't. Why not? Jaron shrugs. You remind me on my last

Selly. Good guy. We looked out for each other. I suddenly remember what I was about to ask him earlier. So you were serving time before you woke up here? Yep, weren't you? I nod. Life sentence. All those other guys had the inmate look about them too, he says. I nod again. Suddenly, the doors opened behind us. We both sit up, looking at the two men in lab coats that come through the doors. A couple of guys wearing uniforms and toting guns come through behind them and post up by the doors. Gentlemen. The older lab coat guy says. Congratulations on living through SCP 688. Welcome to the foundation.

I think you'll both make excellent D-Class volunteers. I applaud your ingenuity. Jaron and I look at each other once again. What did I tell you? I say, this is hell. SCP 688 is an inanimate living entity that shares many gross morphological similarities with the chestnut Lamprey.

However, it differs in several key respects. SCP 688 has no external sensory organs, gills, or cloacal openings. It is also much larger and varies considerably more in size. Unlike the chestnut lamprey, SCP 688 is an ambush predator rather than a parasite. It will inhabit a nesting site that conceals its body from light and then anchor its mouth to an external opening. While in the nesting site, SCP 688 does not move and will consume all biological matter that enters the opening. These nesting sites can be naturally occurring or man-made,

as long as there is limited light exposure and some minimal biological matter entering on a periodic basis. To date, SCP 688 nests have been discovered in animal burrows, fissures in rock formations, hollow logs, drainage pipes, gutter-down spouts, garbage disposals, and in shoes and other articles of clothing. Once any biological matter enters SCP 688's mouth, inward curving teeth will seize it and pull it into its digestive tract with extreme and violent force.

Matter seized has proved impossible to retrieve. SCP 688 will continue pulling until it forces the entire prey organism through the nest opening or until the prey organism's body suffers mechanical separation from the part being consumed. for 15 minutes. We're like it's their dojo. Prere to play.

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