The SCP Experience - The Lonely Porcelain Doll | SCP-2116

Episode Date: May 3, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-2116: The Lonely Porcelain Doll This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2116 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Cyrus S. * * * 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

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Not for any reason. There was no bad blood between them. But ever since Esther had moved into her little one-story ranch-style home across town, she had not been out very much. She had everything she needed in her little gated community. For her part, Abigail was very busy. She had not even seen the house. Pulling up into the driveway was a strange experience.

Abigail parked her car underneath the painted white steel carport and got out, opening the back passenger door to grab a white box. The box was heavy, and pieces of rose pink tissue paper that had been caught under the lid were sticking out from the sides. She hoisted it up a bit higher and rested the edge on her hip, a piece offering maybe, or just a daughter's gift to her mother. She walked up the brick steps that led to the kitchen door and knocked. There was a pause, and then her mother's face appeared in front of the window.

For half a second, Abigail was taken aback. Her mother looked so much older than she remembered. Was that the cost of leaving her alone for an entire year? Esther's hair was still the same artificial box-died brown and as thin as cotton candy. She still wore the same shade of azalea red lipstick, smeared across her thin lips, and her gooey gray eyes peered out from behind thick-rimmed glasses. But there were so many more lines on her face. It was like something had latched onto her jowls and dragged all the skin downward. Esther took a long look at Abigail, as if she did not recognize her,

and then stepped back. She pulled the door open in the same motion. Abigail stepped inside and looked around. It was hard to look her mother in the eye. It was much easier to take in the kitchen. It was clean and neat, just like her whole childhood had been. Hey, Mom, Abigail said. She bent down slightly to pull her mother into a hug. Esther muttered something like a greeting and scooched forward, wrapping her thin arms around Abigail's torso and patting her on the back. I wasn't expecting you for another hour, Esther said. She backed up a little and straightened as much as she could. Her shoulders were still hunched forward, making her already diminutive frame look even smaller.

I know, Abigail said. But I thought I would come early because I have to... She was going to say run. But one look at her mother's face made her change her mind. Well, it's just been a while since I've seen you. She smiled sheepishly. I brought you a present. That's very sweet of you.

Esther shuffled her penny loafers across the kitchen tile and towards the cabinets. Do you want me to make you some coffee? No, I'm fine, really. Abigail walked over towards the kitchen table and set the box down. She had almost forgotten about it in the shock of seeing her mother's face. But now that she was aware of it again, it was getting heavier by the second. Come see what I brought you. Esther set her coffee cup down and started walking towards the table.

So impatient, she said. She noticed the box and her eyes lit up. She adjusted her Coke bottle glasses and reached out to grip the lid. Abigail smiled and stepped back, content to watch her mother open the package for herself. The tissue paper crinkled as Esther pulled the lid back, and the kitchen light glinted off the top of the shiny white box as she set it aside. Inside the box, framed and soft pink and white tissue paper, was a doll. It was an old doll, and it desperately needed to be cleaned.

There was dirt and grime in every crevice of its porcelain face. One of its soft brown eyes had been cracked right at the brow. It wore a simple red cotton dress, and its brown spiral curls were a matted mess against its head. Its shoes were cotton, too, and sewed. dirty that the yarn laces had come apart and fallen out. Despite the doll's condition, Esther grinned. She pulled the doll to her chest and started stroking its matted hair. Oh, she's beautiful, Esther cooed.

Where did you find her? At the old thrift shop in the mall, Abigail said. She couldn't help, but smile in return. I thought she could use a little TLC, and I knew just the person for that. Oh, yes, Esther said. Her knobby fingers explored every inch of the doll. She tugged on its dress, examined its shoes, and stroked her fingers along its round puffy cheeks.

I am going to crochet you a brand new dress, she said to the doll. And your hair is a mess, but I think we can fix that. A little detergent, a little comb. And we will need to do something about all this dirt. She shook her head. But we don't want to take the paint off. We will have to be extra careful.

How old do you think she is, Abby? I don't know, Abigail admitted. I think there is a maker's stamp on the back of her neck. I'm sure there is, Esther said. We will find it later. She brought the doll to her lips and placed a kiss against its forehead. Her lipstick left behind a red smear like a gash. Esther placed the doll back down in its tissue paper

and patted her daughter on the arm. Let's go sit down, she said. I want you to tell me what you have been up to since you weren't here for Christmas. The guilt was starting. Abigail figured she would have to endure it because it was what she deserved. She looked over at the doll one last time

before following her mom out of the kitchen. Her heart skipped a beat. She could have sworn she said, saw those soft brown eyes move. Gale did all of the lawns in the gated community. He had been mowing them for 30 years and knew all the residents by name. He had seen plenty of them come and go, bless their sweet old hearts. But now he was getting up there in years himself, and his thoughts were turning towards retirement. He wondered which little ranch-style home he would end up in, and who his neighbors would be. He had a few he kept his eye on, and he was already making the

arrangements. He had his work cut out for him today, though. There was no time to stop and smell the roses, literally or metaphorically. He had been out for three weeks with a torn Achilles tendon, and all the lawns were turning into overgrown forests. The hedges were in desperate need of trimming, and the bushes were in dire need of clipping. He was glad that he just had the blades of his lawnmower sharpened. The third house on his list belonged to Esther Kane. He had met Esther a few times, and he liked her well enough. She was a little quiet, a little odd, but very friendly for an old woman. When he pulled up into the driveway, he had to look twice to make sure he had the right address

written down. He knew his route, like the back of his hand, but he did not recognize the house in front of him. There was not a single home in that community that was not a ranch-style brick house. It had been that way for 30 years, and as far as he knew, there had been no permits filed to have any work done. Yet, the house in front of him was two stories, with an attic level peeking out above the shingles. It was made of wood that had been painted dusty pink. It looked old. Esther had a brick and stone porch with a single rocking chair, but this porch was wide. It looked like it was trying to wrap around the house, and there was a swing hanging from a pair of chains.

But the driveway looked the same. And there was an older than God Burgundy Cadillac under the carport that belonged to Esther for sure. There was no point in standing there gaping, he figured. He might as well get out and check. Gail got out of his truck and walked up to the front door to ring the bell. The moment his feet landed on the welcome mat, uneasiness settled in his stomach. It was kind of like standing on a ferry when the water was calm.

You didn't necessarily feel it moving, but it made you queasy all the same. The front door opened and Esther's face appeared behind the glass screen in front of it. At least, he thought it was Esther at first. She had the same Coke bottle glasses and she was wearing one of her brown leaf print dresses with a stiff white collar. But she looked much younger than Esther. This woman had to be in her 40s or 30s. 30s, if that. She smiled when she saw Gail, as bright a smile as he had ever seen coming from the old woman. Her hair was thicker now, and tumbled in doll-like spirals around her

shoulders. He had never been much for remembering things, but he could have sworn her eyes were gray. Maybe that was just age, or the glasses, but now they looked more hazel than anything, almost brown. Damn? Gail muttered, grabbing the tip of his ball, cap and tugging it down. Came to um, do your lawn. He looked around. Had a bit of work done on the place? A little, she beamed.

She did not sound much younger. Her voice was still old and creaky, the way it eeked through her teeth. Do you like it? I do, he said. He did not want to offend her. His confusion was fading into acceptance, but the knot in his stomach did not ease up. I think it is the perfect home for a little girl. Esther said.

An odd statement to be sure, but he was not about to question it. Do you want some coffee before you get started, Gail? He shook his head quickly. No, ma'am, he said. Thank you, ma'am. I better get to work. Lots to do today. I just wanted to be sure that I had the right house. You do, Esther reassured him. And I hope your tendon has healed up nicely.

Right as rain, ma'am, right as rain. Gail took a step back. The wooden boards creaked underneath his heel, and he wobbled. He reached out to catch himself on the porch railing. I'll let you know when I'm all finished. Please do, she said. She was still talking to him through the screen door. Maybe everything he saw was just a trick of the light.

Gail took another step back, without thinking, and the wooden board cracked underneath his foot. He stumbled and twisted a little. around, trying to catch himself as he fell. His knee wrenched, and he cried out. The bulk of his weight pulled him backwards, and he crashed against the steps. His hand landed wrong and skidded. A large splinter broke off, and embedded itself in his hand. The step jammed against his neck, and he heard a loud crack. But the pain did not linger long before numbness started to take over. Oh dear, he heard Esther say above his head. The screen door creaked as it came open.

A little TLC is all you need. I think we can fix you right up, don't you agree? Who else was she talking to? He wanted to ask, but his tongue wouldn't move. Only a slightly garbled sound came out of his throat before blackness eclipsed his vision. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting.

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Abigail Kane had not heard from her mother in over six months. From what he understood, that was not unusual for Miss Abigail. But it was not his job to pry into family matters. All he had to do was ring the doorbell, confirmed that the old woman was alive, and then he could check that off his list. The house was not what he expected at all. Every other house on the block was a single-family home, one level, flat roof, maybe some variation between carports, garages, fences, and the like.

But nothing grand, nothing over the top. This house was massive. It looked like it had been ripped out of a catalog showcasing old Victorian homes. It looked like it was at least double the size of the plot it was sitting on, but it was almost as if the land had grown with it. and it was bright pink, with a full wraparound porch and a peach tree nestled cozily in the front. A monument to the past, maybe the last of its kind, even though it looked brand new. Spencer swallowed and walked up to the front door.

He rang the doorbell and took off his hat to hold it against his chest. It felt wrong somehow, walking into a house like this, looking as disheveled as he did. And he knew that older people were particular. The front door opened, and at first, he did not see anyone. It took his eyes a moment to direct themselves downward towards a small, 11-year-old girl who was standing with her white loafers against the weather strip. She smiled up at him, her brown eyes magnified by thick Coke bottle lenses. Her brown curls were pulled up into pigtails, and she was wearing a sweet red cotton dress.

She looked like Shirley Temple. Good morning, she said. When she spoke, she had a voice like an old woman. It creaked like unoiled hinges and sent a cold shiver down his spine. Is there something I can do for you, detective? She spoke like an old woman. Or was that just her voice? Spencer had an 11-year-old daughter at home,

and her vocabulary was not quite to the extent that she could sound like a woman almost 60 years her senior. I... He cleared his throat. I just got a call to do a wellness job. check on Mrs. Esther Kane. Is she home? The little girl's grin widened. Well, of course I am home, dummy, she said. I am standing right in front of you, aren't I? Spencer stared. For half a moment, he could not move. My daughter made the call, didn't she? The little girl sighed. She opened the door a bit wider and beckoned Detective Spencer inside.

She doesn't visit all that often and then gets her dander up when I don't return her calls. Well, come in. Do you want some coffee? Spencer still did not know what to say. He stepped across the threshold and was immediately hit by another wave of cold air. He did not know what he expected from the outside. But now that he was in the belly of the beast, so to speak, he realized he had assumed that the whole place would look a bit more like his own mother's house. Pea green carpet, wooden walls, some bronze ducks above the fireplace,

and the Lord's Prayer hanging next to a framed, embroidered rooster in the kitchen. None of those hallmarks of graceful country aging were present here. The inside was as pink as the outside, with white lace curtains hanging over the windows, pink stuffed pillows thrown over pink Victorian-style couches, and pink wallpaper lining the hallway that emptied into a sitting room. It looked like a child's dollhouse, and everything smelled old. It was like opening a trunk full of old clothes,

with the smell of mothballs and lingering perfume and dried lavender hitting you all at once. Every time he opened his mouth to breathe, he wanted to gag. The little girl sat herself down on a pink and white settee and pulled around a tiny silver rolling tea cart. She started humming and kicking her feet as she poured the tea. Detective Spencer still had not gotten past the sitting room doorway. We were just about to have a little.

a tea party, the little girl said. Spencer noticed that there were four cups in front of her. Dolly, Gail, and me, and now you are here, she smiled. It is nice to have so many friends. Now I don't feel so lonely. As soon as she said the name Gail, the stench of rot, hit Spencer's nose. He clamped his hand down around his mouth and stepped forward, his stomach dropping at the idea of what could be waiting just beyond his peripheral vision. Nothing he had seen in all his years on the force had prepared him for the sight of a grown man's corpse in grass-stained denim overalls sitting in a chair that was far too small for him. The body was slumped over with its neck turned almost all the way around,

with one leg pointing out in the opposite direction, and a shard of bone sticking out from the knee. The body had a pink bonnet tied underneath its chin, and a pink iced sugar cookie stuffed into his stiff fingers. Seated next to it, in a similarly tiny white chair, was a doll who looked just like the girl in front of him, brown curls, red dress, and all. The doll was filthy.

Its curls were matted and there was dirt smeared on its porcelain face. The 11-year-old girl laughed in a horrible way and poured coffee from a scalding hot pot into a little china cup with flowers on the side. Come on, detective. The little girl said. When she smiled, her teeth were gray and decayed. Sit down and drink your tea. We will be two boys and two girls now, so Gail won't be lonely anymore.

SCP 2116 is a child's doll, manufactured sometime in the mid-19th century. SCP 2116 is dressed in a simple red cotton dress with cloth shoes and garments, consistent with 19th century garb. The head is constructed of standard bisque porcelain and painted to resemble an adult female. SCP 2116 is otherwise unremarkable in appearance other than the accumulation of a substantial amount of dirt and grime on the surface. If SCP 2116 is further than 10 meters from the current SCP 2116-1 for longer than five minutes, its anomalous property will manifest as an alteration to reality within a one-meter radius centered on SCP 2116 itself. The environment, decor, ambient, temperature, and furnishings become altered to be more attractive

to a prepubescent human female. Tables will be set with a pink tea set with a teapot filled with a sweet red liquid. Various sweet treats will manifest, and the table cover will become a lace tablecloth of a style popular during the mid-19th century. For every armor that SCP 2116 is not in the possession of SCP 2116, The region of altered reality expands by one meter. Testing has shown that items removed from this region of altered reality, retain their altered properties and food items created are non-toxic and will decay at the same rate as normal items of the same type. SCP 2116 was first discovered when Foundation agents, embedded in the redacted, State Patrol detected a call to investigate a house with a dead body.

Foundation agents responded to the call and discovered the home of redacted changed entirely. The entire house, which had been a ranch-style dwelling built in the early 1960s, had been changed to a Victorian-style two-story dwelling with a steeply pitched roof, wide front porch and a turret-style gable on the front corner. All internal furnishings had been altered and featured sofas, paintings, and other items consistent with mid-19th century home. In an upstairs bedroom, agents found the body of redacted, an 80-year-old female. An autopsy revealed nothing unusual. The victim had apparently expired due to a sudden

massive myocardial infarction. Interviews with neighbors revealed that the occupant of the house had been an 11-year-old child. Statements indicate that the neighbors did not find anything unusual about a child living alone in the house. Research into possible memetkae. into possible memetic effects from SCP 2116 are still pending. Neighbors state that for as long as they had known the victim, she would never allow SCP 2116 to be out of her grasp. Class B amnestics were administered to neighbors and city records were altered to show that the house had always been a two-story Victorian.