The SCP Experience - The Houses That Eat | SCP-1684

Episode Date: May 25, 2022

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-1684: The Houses That Eat 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-1684, 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

I slammed my fist into his face again, only this time harder, knocking him out of the chair and onto the hard concrete floor. Where are they? I yelled at him. Where the hell are they? John Christo spat blood onto the floor, and then looked up at me, defiance on his face. Do you know what happened to your predecessor? I asked. After we caught him, do you have any idea what's in store for you? Christo smiled, revealing a row of bloody teeth, several of which were bent at odd angles thanks to my punch. Only if I fail, he said. You will. I'll see to it that you will.

Good luck, Christo said. I thought about hitting him again, but it wouldn't do any good. Well, it would make me feel better. But that wasn't reason enough. So I left him on the floor and walked out of the small, cold interview room. Landry and Ross greeted me with somber faces in the hallway. I knew by the look on Landry's face that my requests had been denied, but I asked him anyway. What did they say? Are they granting use of an SCP on him? Landry shook his head. You know that's not how we work.

You knew that when you made the requests. Bullshit! I said. You know how many stories I've heard about agents using SCPs to subdue or kill other SCPs? Stories are one thing, Landry said. Recorded instances are another. It's against foundation policy for a case like this.

We don't even know he's the one behind the disappearances. Are you kidding me? I said. Of course he is. Did you even hear what he said to me in there? We have no evidence. Since when are we bound by the laws that govern other organizations? I said.

But the fire had left my voice. I was wasting energy. Sorry, Foster, Landry said. It's not going to happen. Well, if we can't make him tell us, then we'll have to go to plan B, I said. Will you at least let me do that? Ross spoke for the first time since I left the interview room saying, Are you sure that's a good idea?

It's the only way, I said. The longer we wait, the more people die. You don't even know if they're still alive, Landry said. You could just be killing yourself. It's an educated guess, I said. The foundation has dealt with this before, so yeah, it's a risk, but it's one I'm willing to take. Landry stared at me for a long moment.

The look on his face wasn't giving me any hope. I'd been working under him for long enough to know. No, he said. I'm sorry, but it's too much of a risk. I had to work hard to keep my fists from clenching. My jaw, I could do nothing about. The muscles there bunched, my teeth pressing against each other. I took a breath.

There are over 300 people missing, I said in a low ground. And if I'm right, they're still alive. Most of them anyway. Just like the first time the foundation tackled this back in 1999. If they had gotten to them sooner, they could have saved so many lives. I let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing. Over 300 people, Landry.

If I'm wrong, I die, one person. But it gets you closer to the truth. If I'm right, we get to save them. And then we have the evidence we need to put that asshole. Christo in a dark hole for the rest of his life. Christ, Foster, Landry said. Fine. You have my approval. Thank you. Ross, let's go.

I said, reaching out and grabbing him to go before Landry changed his mind. Setting it up was easy. We knew the disappearances had been happening with houses sold by Mill and Martin Realty. So all we had to do was buy a house from them and then set me up in it. Unlike many other realty companies, Mill and Marker & Marrtle. Martin owned all the houses they sold. As far as we could tell, they bought houses under the guise of fixing them up and then sold them for cheap. They could do this because they sold the houses over and over again, sometimes once every two months, depending on how quickly the owners

went missing. Mill and Martin served the Austin, Texas area, where houses had been skyrocketing in value for nearly a decade. It was almost as bad as California, with small ramshackle houses selling for upwards of $300,000. Luckily, the foundation had money. The house we bought was a small two-bedroom bungalow on the trendy east side, sandwiched between other similar houses. Somehow, the people who bought and lived in these Mill and Martin houses disappeared. Then, through anomalous means, the house was sold back to Mill and Martin, the relevant paperwork changing automatically. It was a scam that was making someone rich. We weren't sure if it was the CEO, John Cristo, or someone else. We had guys chasing the finances, but they hadn't fully untangled that particular

digital web yet. And in a market like Austin, where real estate was in high demand, the company was making a killing. I moved in soon after purchasing, arriving with a moving truck full of furniture that had been sitting in one of the many foundation-owned storage facilities. I wanted everything to look normal, like I was just a regular late 20s professional moving to Austin to work in the burgeoning tech sector. This meant that we had to be careful about installing cameras. Luckily, it wasn't hard for the Foundation tech guys to gain access to the typical home security cameras I installed, like any security conscious homeowner would. They also had access to my laptop and desktop cameras, as well as my phone camera. That way, they could at least

see some of what went on in the house. I knew that most of the disappearance has happened within 30 days, so I settled into a routine, waiting to be taken, hoping that I could remember who I was when I got there, if I got there. The disappeared people rescued by the foundation back in 1999 had been in some kind of trance, so I hoped that my knowledge of the SCP would neutralize the trance and allow me to do my job. Exactly 15 days after I moved, moved into the house. I was walking out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. I stepped into the living room and stopped, realizing something was wrong. The furniture was all there, all placed exactly where it should be, so that wasn't it. Something in the back of my mind, a seductive

voice that was at once foreign and familiar, told me that all was well. And for a second, I believed it. I took another couple of steps into the living room to sit down and read. A kind of warm happiness came over me, a feeling of pride that comes from owning a home in a neighborhood that you love. I looked out the window at my neighbors across the street. They were in their front yard, sitting in the sun, guns resting on their laps. I smiled at them and raised my hand in greeting. Then I turned back and grabbed my book. Guns, a voice in my head said,

Why do they have guns? This was a voice I knew well, one that had been with. with me since I could remember. I paused, that warm feeling growing stronger, as if trying to drown out my doubts. I closed my eyes and shook my head, repeating the question, why do they have guns? Over and over again in my mind.

I clenched my jaw trying to focus. All the while, that warm bliss wanted to surround me. My cup of coffee was in my right hand, and my book in my left. I opened my eyes and dumped the close. coffee on my leg, the sharp pain of the hot liquid, bringing me fully back to myself. I stood up, dropping both the book and the empty cup. There were no walls around me, no windows. The furniture was here, but I was no longer in the house. I looked across at my neighbors who were still

sitting in front of their house, only there was no house. There was just a collection of furniture arranged as it would have been had there been a home there. There was no yard, no sidewalk, no street, just a wide expanse of concrete between me and them. Looking up, I saw bright lights that approximated sunlight, but they were fixed to a ceiling high above. We were in some kind of sprawling warehouse, just like the people rescued years earlier had been. A look to my left revealed another non-house next door,

with people sitting on the couch watching television. There were three kids, a man, and a woman. A glance to my right revealed another collection of furniture and another family. These people were sitting down, eating a meal. Stepping out of the living room, through the area where a wall would have been, I walked to where the street would have been in a normal neighborhood. There were people and furniture stretching down to the end of the huge warehouse. It was the same in the other direction.

As far as I could see, there were people living in imaginary homes. And while I could see one wall of the warehouse clearly, the other three were too far away. There's way more than 300 people here, I thought. I ran back to my bedroom furniture and grabbed my gun out of the dresser and my cell phone from the bedside table. I looked into the phone and said, track me. I didn't know if they could still access the camera feed, but if they could,

they were probably already on their way. As I walked across to the neighbor's house, the one's eating, I tucked my gun in my back waistband. As soon as I stepped into their dining room, all four of them screamed. Where did you come from? The father, a portly man with thinning hair, said. I realized that. To them, I just appeared in their dining room out of nowhere. Look around, I said.

This isn't your house. There are no walls, no windows. I need to get you out of here. The two young kids, a boy and a girl, looked up at me in terror. Their frightened mother looked between me and her husband. Get out of my house, the man said, standing up from the table. Get out now! He reached down beside the table, grabbing a shotgun that I hadn't seen prompt there.

He had it on me before I could react. Okay, I said, putting my hands up. I'm sorry. I'm your new neighbor. Your door was open. I'm sorry. Get out. Okay, okay, I'm going.

As I backed away from the table, I caught a glimpse of what they were eating. In the middle of the table sat a baked and carved up human leg. Much of the thigh had been eaten already, and someone had taken a slice out of the calf. I moved out toward where the front door would be and left the house. Once I was out where the street would be, I turned around and saw the man staring, although his shotgun was no longer trained on me.

The nearest warehouse wall was about 100 yards away, so I ran that way, hoping to find a door so I could leave and contact the foundation. As I passed by the non-houses, people inside of them stared at me, all of them holding weapons of some kind. Some of the non-houses were empty, and I figured these were the unlucky people who were being eaten so the others could survive. Maybe that's why they all had guns. Survival of the fittest. Be polite, but carry a big stick, kind of thing. It was all part of the SCP.

The closer I got to the wall, the more agitated these people seemed to get. They started walking out toward me. Their face is full of hateful intent. I came to the wall and found a door, but it was locked. locked. Meanwhile, people were gathering behind me, asking me what the hell I was doing, telling me to stop. I ignored them, trying to think what to do. It was a metal door with a large lock for which I needed a key that I didn't have. Sensing someone step up next to me, I turned from the door to see the barrel of a pump-action shotgun in my face, an older woman with stringy blonde hair

holding it. Just what the hell do you think you're doing? She asked. You don't open the gates. You never opened the gates. You're trying to let the thugs and hoodlums in? No, ma'am, I said. Looking from her to the angry crowd around, she was close to me, which was her big mistake. I whipped my right hand up, slapping the barrel out of the way just before she fired.

The blast going over my left shoulder and hitting someone behind me. My eardrum exploded with pain as I yanked the shotgun away from the woman. I worked the slide to put another shell in the chamber and then swept the gun around the crone. gun barrels pointed back at me, trigger fingers tightening. I don't want to hurt you, I said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man stiffen. I stepped left and swung the shotgun right, firing at him as he shot his rifle at me. The shotgun blasted a hole in his chest while his shot just missed me. Without missing a beat, I had another shell in the chamber and was sweeping the shotgun around the crowd again. How many will it take? I said. I'm just trying to leave, God damn it. That's all.

Most of the people looked scared, hesitant. I knew this was my chance. I swung the shotgun to the door and pulled the trigger, blasting the lock apart. When the people behind me opened fire, I was already moving, kicking the door open and jukeing through, putting the wall between me and them. Turning around, I put the shotgun on the open doorway, ready to fire if anyone came through. But no one did. The area I was in was small, leading only to a staircase that went up into the dark.

Toward the surface, I figured. I made it several steps before my left leg stopped working. I looked down and saw that a bullet had taken a chunk out of the outside of my thigh. Shit, I said, sitting down hard on the middle steps. I pulled out my phone and navigated to the special foundation app, using it to call Ross. We found you, he said as soon as we connected. We're coming. Not far now. It's underground, I said.

The people are armed and dangerous. We need a non-lethal team to subdue them. Already en route. Good. I can't wait to stick that Christo prick in a deep dark hole, I said. Uh. Ross said. What?

What is it? Well, it looks like whatever is behind this thing, wanted to tie up loose ends. Christo's head exploded out of nowhere about five minutes ago. Ross said. Landry just told me over the radio. Five minutes. That's about the time. I started messing with this place. I told him.

Shit. How the hell are we going to find whatever is behind this SCP? I don't know, Ross said. But at least we're going to save those people. Maybe one of them can tell us something. Anyway, we're almost there. I'll see you soon. Okay, I said. Oh, and Ross? Yeah.

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50 tours-grat sues on the machine-a-soumik-Bas Bonanza. Depos minimum of $10. Decoveeigh-Begoson 1884. SCP-1884 is a phenomenon first affecting homes sold by Earth Home Realty Corporation. Other realty companies are currently under investigation for anomalous disappearances thought to be directly involved with SCP 1684 and the now defunct Earth Home Realty Corporation. Once a civilian successfully purchases a home affected by SCP 1684,

anomalous properties will manifest within 30 days. At this point, the subject, along with their personal possessions and furniture, will spontaneously vanish from the home. Monitoring systems observing this process reveal that it is instantaneous. The home will then revert to its pre-sale condition. At this point, the home will be returned to sale on the open market. Legal paperwork automatically adjusts in concurrence with the disappearance. Homes affected by SCP-1684 are sold at low rates to provide a constant influx of subjects,

which are transported to hidden locations by unknown means. The subjects that have thus far been found by. the foundation have been under a trance, thinking that they're living in their new home, but increasingly paranoid about outsiders invading their neighborhood. Each subject seems to be provided with weapons after the disappearance. The reason for this is unclear.