The SCP Experience - The Impossible Beast | SCP-3624

Episode Date: August 18, 2023

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-3624: The Impossible Beast This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3624 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ This podcast is sponsored by BetterHelp. Go to betterhelp.com/scp today to get 10% off your first month! 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

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The conditions We'll apply. Dieter, God damn it, Oleg says. If you leave me here, I'll be forced to make a complaint. Up ahead on the night shrouded road is a van. It's a good hundred yards ahead, which is exactly what I want. My lights are off, and the road we're on doesn't have many streetlights. We're deep in the woods now, and I have no idea where the people in the van are headed.

But I do know that they're members of the grave diggers. I can feel it in my bum leg. Or maybe it's just the position I have in it. as I drive that's causing the shooting pain in my leg. Nah, I'll go with a former. They're members of the Gravediggers cult, all right. And if I catch them before they perform their twisted ritual, maybe I won't be fired for leaving Oleg behind back at the pig farm.

Sorry, partner, I say. I got a bad feeling about this one. I'm sure it's the Grave Diggers. I'll let you know the coordinates when they stop. That way a task force can swoop you up on the way. Deeter, we're in the middle of goddamn nowhere. It'll take hours for any task force to get out here. Then I'll watch them for hours, I say.

I'll keep things under wraps. I'm a trained foundation agent after all. I can hear Oleg groan. He doesn't bother to hide his feelings anymore. None of my coworkers do. I know I'm the laughing stock of Site 43. But after tonight, everything will change. When I thwart the cult's plans to bring a destructive abomination into this world,

I'll no longer be the half-crippled agent. agent who gets the crappy assignments. I'll no longer be the guy whose partners all hate because they don't get to do the cool stuff. I'll be a dang hero. Dieter, turn the car around and come get me right now. I reach up and hit the ear piece twice, silencing the connection. I'll turn it back on when I have something to report. It feels good to be so rebellious. It's not like me at all, which is a good thing. Then I resumed thinking about being a dang hero. smiling as I peer out the windshield. It's just pure luck that we happen to stumble upon the very pig farm that the gravediggers were targeting on the very night they decided to steal a pig for their

ritual. And that means they're close. They must have all the animals they need. Things are going to get crazy. But first, apparently, there's more driving to be done. My left leg starts throbbing after more than an hour of driving. Pretty soon, I think I'm going to have to pull over. Just so I can stand up and stretch the leg out, it's killing me. But I resist the urge. And when the van's brake lights flare red, I'm confident they're turning off. We're getting close. When I turn onto the dirt road cutting through the forest, I can no longer see the van.

But that's okay. There's probably only so many places this road goes. I drive cautiously, keeping my lights off and grabbing a pair of night vision goggles from the glove compartment so I can see. The road finally terminates at a small clearing up ahead. I can see an old run-down building up there, a church made of stone with a wooden roof. The van is parked next to it, along with several other vehicles. Backing my car up, I maneuver the cruiser into a gap between trees, getting it as far back from the dirt road as possible.

Then I get out and limp to the truck, pulling on my bulletproof vest. I secure the Velcro tabs at my sides, check my sidearm, and then shut the trunk quietly before heading off through the woods, limping on my bad leg. When I'm about 15 yards from the cruiser, the right side Velcro tab comes up, loosening the vest. I absently re-fasson it, keeping my attention on the church, which I can see clearly through the night vision goggles I still wear.

A couple of guys come out the old church doors, the hinges squealing. They wear black coveralls and boots. At the back of the van, they open the doors, reach in, and bring out a cage with the pig inside. The other animals must already be in the church. When they brought the animal into the old building, the church doors close. I wait to see if anyone else will come out.

When nothing happens, I limp to the edge of the clearing. As I'm about to step out, the Velcro tab comes loose again. Damn old vest, I mutter, reaching with my left hand to fasten it again. Then I remember something important. In all the excitement, I forgot to tell you, I tell Oleg and my boss where I am. Moving behind a tree, I tap my earbud twice again, expecting to hear Oleg screaming at me.

But there's nothing, only silence. Oleg? I whisper. You piece of shit. Did you turn off your earpiece? Command is going to have your nuts and a blunder when this is over. You... I'm sending you my coordinates, I say as calmly as possible.

I doubt he hears me because he's still yelling. But I pull out my foundation issue communication device and send my coordinates to Oleg and my boss, requesting a task force. Suddenly, Oleg's voice cuts out. It's replaced by Sergeant Powell's voice. Dieter, what the hell do you think you're doing? I have a moment of panic at the tone of his voice. Then I muster my courage and say,

My job, sir. There's silence over the line for a long moment. Then Powell speaks again. His voice softer but still stern. You are to observe and report. Do you understand me? Do not engage. But what if they're about to complete the...

Observe and report Dieter. That's an order. Yes, sir, I say through gritted teeth. We're sending a task force now. Expect to hear from them within the hour. Darn it to heck, I say under my breath. What was that? I said darn happy to help, sir.

That's what I thought, Bell says. Peering at the church through narrowed eyes, I realize I'm clenching my fists. They all think I'm useless. They think I'm... The Velcro strap comes loose. again. I reach up and rip the damn vest off, tossing it behind me. I get the oldest equipment, the meanest partners, and the crappiest assignments. I'm sick of it. I limp out of the woods

and directly toward the church, silently daring someone to come out, hoping they would so I can pull my pistol and shoot them in the head. I could picture Powell's head there, or Olegs, or any number of my co-workers. The jerks, the bastards, the sons of bitches. Without thinking much about, I get to the side of the church and start climbing. The old stone walls make it easy, especially since the mortar has been worn down by the elements over the years, creating plenty of room for hand and footholds.

Back from the woods, I saw that the sloping roof had several holes in it. There was no way I was getting inside the church without being noticed. But I can get on the roof and look down to see what they're doing. When I get to the old wooden roof, I slow down, some of the anger bleeding away. I have to be careful I don't fall through the roof.

I also have to be careful I don't make a bunch of noise and alert the cult members inside to my presence. Moving tentatively, I head toward a large hole near the back of the roof. I test each step on the sloping roof, trying to keep to the edge where I can step mostly on the stone wall. Finally, I get to the hole and ease my body down so I'm lying chest down on the roof. My left leg is screaming at me, but I ignore it. Still, I know I won't be able to be able to be.

able to hold this position for long. I ease my head toward the edge of the hole, looking down into the old church. Oh, shoot, I think, as I see how far along they are in the ritual. They've already slaughtered all the animals. They must have already had all the parts sewn together, but those that belong to the pig, which they're only now attaching. The abomination is in the middle of the space, surrounded by men and women in black coveralls, the grave diggers. There It looks to be more than 20 of them. The abomination itself is a Frankenstein's monster of animal parts. It has the head of a brown bear sewn onto the body of a large dog.

The tail is clearly a housecats, and the front legs look as though they belonged to a mountain lion. One woman works to attach the two back legs, which had recently been attached to the poor pig whose body lies in a pool of blood in the corner. Around the abomination on the stone floor is a circle of designs drawn, and what looks like blood. The goal is to create super-powerful abominations that are hostile to all human life. All human life, but the gravediggers, that is.

If all goes to plan, the beast will rampage through the cities, killing all those it comes across. Meanwhile, the gravediggers will create more and more of these beasts. Pretty soon, the world will belong to them and their slavish abominations. The woman finishes up sewing the legs on and steps out of the circle, then all the people start chanting. A couple of members produce knives and start to cut themselves. One of them slices off a finger and throws it in the circle. The digit bounces off the abomination and the beast's forelegs twitch. Panicking, I retract my head from the hole and whisper

into my earpiece. The ritual has started, I say. It won't be long now. I have to stop them. Observe and report, Deeter. If you disobey, I will have you brought before the council. Damn it, I say, reaching my head back up to look down at the ritual. The chanting continues, and there are more severed fingers from several cult members' hands in the circle. The beast twitches more violently, lifting its bears' head up as the eyes flutter and the jaws undulate. Staring fixedly down at the scene, I shift my body distractedly to try and ease the pain of my left leg. But by doing so, I accidentally put my left foot into a small hole, knocking a piece of rotted wood down into the church.

The wood clatters to the floor. All heads turn toward the sound. Then they shift up, two dozen pairs of eyes fixing on me. Shit, I say, pushing myself up so I can get to the edge of the roof and climb back down. One of the cult members pulls a gun out of his pocket, even as the others go back to their chanting, finishing the ritual as fast as they can. The man aims the gun at me, it fires. The bullet blasts, the rotting roof.

I feel something thump into my chest. Now standing on the edge of the roof, I look down to see blood sprout from a bullet-sized hole on the right side of my chest. There's a moment of disbelief, as I recall angrily tossing the bulletproof vest into the woods. Then my head goes wobbly, and I lose my footing. I try to walk, but my left foot finds nothing but air.

I slam into the edge of the roof and then tumble off, landing with an agonizing crunch on the ground. As I stare up at the night sky, pain bolting through my whole body, I realize I'm about to die. The sound of squealing hinges comes to my ears. The church doors opening. They're coming for me, coming to finish the job. I managed to lift my head to look as the beast rounds the side of the church.

Bears' eyes fixing darkly on me. Instinctively, I reach up and press my left hand onto the bullet wound. The blood is warm. and wet. I watch as the creature lumberes up to me. Back behind it, the cult members gather at a safe distance, watching as the beast comes to claim its very first victim. My head swims, my vision blurs. The beast comes up beside me, roaring and showing its teeth. I still have my gun, but it won't do any good. I leave it in its holster. Even if I managed to shoot the beast, I doubt it would die. And if it did, the cult members would simply kill me themselves. No, better to go out with a little dignity.

Without knowing exactly why, I reach my bloody left hand up to pet the beast. It's not your fault, I say, touching its furry head. I don't blame you. The curled lips drop down, obscuring the sharp teeth. As I take my hand away, the beast sniffs the blood, then licks some of it off my hand. The viciousness I saw in its eyes earlier is now gone, replaced by something else. It's okay, I say, no longer able to keep my head up. I'm ready. But the beast doesn't attack me. It just stands over me, looking at my face.

After a moment, I hear the cult member's murmuring. Finally, one of them says, Just finish him off, Todd. My pleasure, Todd says. Footsteps approach. Suddenly, the beast roars and whips away from me, lunging for the man with the gun. The beast's jaws clamp onto his head before he has a chance to react.

Todd's skull collapses with a sickening crunch. Kill it! Someone shouts. The other cultists are screaming, running, trying to get away. But the beast is fast. Using what little strength I have left, I lift my head and watch the carnage. The beast rips the cultists limb from limb.

It crushes their bones with the beast. It crushes their bones with the left. its jaws and gouges their eyes out with its mountain lion claws. It breaks into cars and drags people out as they try to drive away. It's fast, faster than any animal, and far more powerful than the sum of its parts. When it is done, the churchyard is scattered with dead bodies and severed limbs. It comes back over and sits beside me. Somehow, it has become my protector. Maybe when I touched it with the blood, maybe when I spoke softly to it. Maybe it was a combination of these things.

However it happened, I'm eternally grateful. And as the minutes pass, I realize that I might not actually be dying. I'm hurt bad, but I may survive. Soon, there's a flurry of activity in the area, the task force. Oleg comes running toward me, is pistol drawn. He stops a good distance away, looking warily at the beast. I wouldn't come any closer if I were you.

I called him. If anyone who's armed comes near me, my new friend here may rip them apart like he did all these others. Oleg studies the beast for a moment. The beast growls at him. What happened? What does it look like?

I say, smiling. I saved the freaking day. I'm a dang hero. And as I look up at my new friend, I know things will never be the same again. SCP 3624 is a thomaturgic ritual consisting of a number of rights and gestures. It utilizes a number of requisites, most important being multiple animal body parts and silver knives. The ritual involves sewing these body parts together in a shape superficially resembling an animal.

Once the ritual is complete, the animal will become animate and begin displaying life functions, becoming an instance of SCP 3624-1. This happens regardless of how compatible the body parts are with each other and will take place even in biologically implausible cases. Organs of SCP 3624-1 instances are fully functioning and normal processes take place. So far, all SCP-3624-1 instances have formed a bond, finding an owner. They form a strong relationship with their owner and will go to great, lengths to protect them. The anomaly seemed to prefer individuals isolated from the society,

often targeting old or handicapped individuals. So far, no entity has ever harmed its bonded subject, and the relationship has even brought positive effects for the subjects, including improvements in mental health.