The SCP Experience - The Man Who Wasn't | SCP-1467

Episode Date: August 30, 2024

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-1467 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1467 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Andrew E. * * * 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

Welcome to aboard of Viarai. Embarked and profite. Embarked and relaxes. Cirotay. Bookiné. Oh, that also. And profite. Viarai, the voice that we love that we love.

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Recordings aren't as effective as saying my name to a live person, but it helps a little. I'm hoping that by telling my story, by sharing it with people, I can affirm my own existence, affix it in place firmly enough that I don't fade from memory. Ironically, it was only after I began fading that I realized I had been sleepwalking through my life, acting more like a passive observer of it than an active participant in it.

I barely acknowledged what my wife and kids did for me, and they returned the favor. At work, I put in as little effort as possible to perform adequately, but not better. Much of my time in public was spent making myself small, so I was spent making myself small, so I was I'd take up as little space as possible in the world, standing up wordlessly for people on the train, communicating my order at my favorite coffee shop in as few words as possible, basically ignoring and being ignored in turn.

How long had my disappearance been creeping up on me? It was slowly getting worse and worse without me even realizing it because of how little impact I made on the world. It started with small things. My boss wrote me up for missing a day of work, even though I'd been there the whole time. I mean, I know my job as a construction worker didn't exactly make the sunrise in the morning. But people should have noticed if I was there the whole day, right? That's what I told myself at the time, writing it off as an odd, but not too abnormal incident.

Then people started cutting me in line when I went for my morning coffee. They would breeze right past me to take the next spot, like I wasn't even standing. there. I'd tap them on the shoulder, and they turned to me, confused. I was actually in line, I'd say. They were uniformly apologetic and would retreat to the spot behind me, but I remember thinking it was strange. I'm a tall man, and not all that skinny either, kind of hard to miss when you're standing in a single-file line. Those incidents were weird, but it took me a long time to draw a line connecting them together. They were just a weird series of stories for my buddies,

who joked that I'd suddenly become a ninja in my middle age. I didn't notice there was a problem until my wife and kids forgot me. I came home from work one day, tired as hell as usual. There was the clink and clatter of my wife Charlie cooking in the kitchen. She worked as a substitute teacher and got home early. earlier than me even on the days we both worked. I dropped my tool belt onto the ground just past the entryway of our house. I kicked off my shoes and hung my coat up on the hooks I'd installed onto the wall when

we'd first moved in. While my kids, Marcus and Tessa, didn't sprint to the front door to greet me anymore like they did when they were four, the two of them usually at least wandered downstairs to say hello when I came home from work. was no sign of them. But maybe they were at their friend's house. I walked into the kitchen. Charlie didn't look up from the bowl she was mixing ingredients into. Hey baby. She didn't turn around. I rolled my eyes. Whenever I made her mad, my wife always went straight for the silent treatment. Usually, I at least have a clue what I've done. Not this time. Whatever it is, I'm sorry.

No response. I stepped over to her and touched her arm. She jumped and spun around to face me. Her face scrunched up in bewilderment. Who? She said. No. Cal?

You're home? She said my name all drawn out. Not like she was surprised to see me, but as if she was struggling to remember her own husband's name. Cal, short for Calvin Mosley. You may have forgotten. Most people do. I've learned that saying my nickname isn't as effective as saying my full legal name. I feel like I haven't seen you for weeks, she said.

Ouch. I may have been tied up at work this last month, but I'd been home as much as possible. You saw me this morning, I said. Did you miss me that much? She smiled, but didn't laugh. She just looked at me with narrowed eyes, like she was having trouble seeing me. Dinner will be ready soon. We're having stakes. Why don't you go say hi to the kids? I think they've missed you. Okay, I said, weirded out at her strangely distant demeanor. I knocked on Tessa's door. Come in, Mom, she called. I opened it and said,

It's Dad, honey. I'm back from work and wanted to say hi and that dinner's almost ready. She blinked a few times before an absent smile. settled on her face. It was that kind of polite, distant smile that you put on for relatives you're not too familiar with, and friends of friends, not your father who raised you and loved you. Oh, Dad, you're back, she said. That was your trip. I tilted my head and smirked a little, thinking she was playing some kind of pretend with me. Of course, I hadn't been on any trip, unless you counted my commute. Oh, yeah. I'll... How long was I gone? I asked, trying to play along. I don't know. Maybe a few months?

She really didn't sound like she was playing. Did my little girl really believe I'd been gone for months when I'd seen her only yesterday? Tessa, I wasn't on a trip. I saw you last night, remember? We read a chapter of one of your Harry Potter books, and then I kissed you goodnight, and you said, ew, gross, dad. She thought for a minute, then said, Yeah, I guess so. Unsettled by that, I went to Marcus' room. His memory was a little better than Tessa's. He thought I'd only been gone for a week.

What the heck was going on? I sniffed the air, thinking maybe there was a gas leak or something, but I could only smell Charlie's cooking. Kids, dinner's ready, she called. Tessa and Marcus scampered out of the rooms and down the stairs. I followed suit, stopping short when I came up to the dinner table and saw that they were missing a table setting. Though the kids and Charlie each had a napkin, drinking glass, plate, and silverware, my usual seat was bare. The plate with steaks also only had three pieces, and the amount of mashed potatoes and green beans seemed less than usual, too.

Honey, did you forget someone? Who? She asked, already sitting down. There's only three table settings, I said. That's because there's only three of us. She laughed and pointed to herself, then Marcus, then at Tessa while counting. See? One, two, three.

Four, I said, pointing at myself. Charlie, a woman I'd known for 20 years, just stared blankly at me. Baby, what's going on? You've been acting like you don't even recognize. recognize me. It's your husband, Cal. If I've done something to upset you, I'm sorry, but please talk to me. She blinked at the sound of my name and shook her head. She then glanced from the plates of food to my unset table setting, and then back to me. She frowned. Her forehead doing that cute crinkle between her eyebrows it always did when she was trying to figure something out.

Normally I found it endearing, but now it was alarming. You're right. There's four of us. I don't know what I was thinking. I don't think I made anything for you, Cal. I'm sorry. My head must have been so far up in the clouds, it wasn't getting any oxygen. There we go. That's my funny, slightly silly, silly girl back again. That's okay, I said. I'll just grab some snacks. I made myself a plate and sat down. The kids perked up as well and started to be a little. treated me less like a distant relative and more like their father, eager to share the triumphs of their days with me. All in all, it was a perfectly lovely family dinner, though a seed of worry

remained rooted in my stomach. Later that night, after the kids had gone to bed and I was lying down next to my wife, I turned to her. Maybe I should take some time off, I said. Charlie turned to face me. Really? Why? None of you seem to recognize me today. It unsettled me. It was like seeing a vision of the future where I wasn't there, and you all moved on and forgot about me. Charlie took her hand and stroked my face. Come on, honey, that could never happen. I don't know how me and the kids could ever go on without you. It breaks my heart to hear you talk like that. I took took her hand and gave her a gentle kiss on the wrist. I know. Still, it made me think that maybe I've been working too much lately.

I mean, why am I working if it's not for you guys? I don't want to miss out on your lives, just so I can work more. I've got a bit of vacation time. Maybe I'll use it. She smiled softly at me, and we both drifted off to sleep. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting. Your story could be next. If you've got the drive, they'll help you find your path to the Olympics. Let's see what you've got.

Sign up for free at rbc trainingground.ca. It's never too early to plan your summer story in Europe with WestJet, from rolling countryside to cobblestone streets. Begin your next chapter. Book your seat at westjet.com or call your travel agent. WestJet, where your story takes off. Calling off work the next day was a hassle. Not because they didn't want to give me the time off,

but because I couldn't convince our site manager, Sheila, that I was an employee at the company. I'd known the woman for five years. I'd been the only one of our co-workers to go to her stupid poetry reading. Cal? Calvin Mosley. I won't suddenly know who you are just because you... I've worked here for five years.

I know every single person who works here. and you aren't one of them. I wanted to scream. Look, can you just look me up in the system? If I'm not there, I'll hang up and not bother you again. There was a pause, followed by an exasperated sigh. How do you spell your last name? M-O-S-E-L-Y.

Thanks, Sheila. I heard the clack of keyboard strokes, then a gasp. Remember filling out this form. Do you want Mr. Mosley? I need to take some time off. I know it's short notice, but can I take some of my vacation days? Ten business days? A few more clacks came through over the phone.

There, you're all set, Mr. Mosley. Thanks for letting us know. So I'll see you when you come back. Right. Thanks. A guy steps out of work and he's instantly forgotten. Is that how little impact I made on the world? Could I be so easily glossed over? Whatever.

It was my family that really mattered. With my presence in the house more firmly established, no one seemed to forget me at first. They would sometimes look past me, though seeming a little dazed. When that happened, I would reach out and bring them back to me. I'd kiss Charlie on the cheek, or Pat Tessa, on the head. That would snap them out of their days. People still cut in front of me in lines,

and at the grocery store other shoppers constantly bump their carts into mine, although looking surprised that someone was there. With the time I had, I tried calling some friends, but they all acted as if they hadn't seen me for years, if they even remembered me at all. Isolated and forgotten, I started to spend even more time at home. Maybe that was a mistake, bowing out of my work and social lives, narrowing the scope of my existence. Maybe letting go of those worlds only accelerated whatever's happening to me. I probably should have fought harder. It's too late now, I suppose.

My name is Calvin Mosley. My name is Calvin Mosley. You haven't forgotten, have you? I wouldn't blame you if you did. Even my wife forgot. Eventually. I remember the last time she said my name. Good night, Cal.

I love you. She said it in bed, and then she drifted off to sleep. I woke up the next morning to her screaming. Honey, what is it? What's wrong? My voice sounded wrong. It was tinny and distant in my ears, as if I were hearing it underwater. Who the fuck are you? Her voice was clear as day. It's me, Cal, your husband. The sound came out all muffled, though a little clearer than the first time I'd spoken,

especially after I said my name. She acted like she couldn't hear me and sprinted out of the room. Tessa, come with me, now. I could hear her thumping and stomping as Charlie gathered the kids. In total shock, it took me a minute to gather myself and go after her. The second I left the bedroom and entered the hallway, the kids caught sight of me and started screaming and crying. Go outside! She told them as she stood between me and the stairs.

Her eyes darted here and there in my direction, as if she couldn't tell exactly where I was standing. You stay right there. Don't come in any gloating. She pulled up something from her side. It was the gun we'd bought ages ago. Back when we first moved in with each other in a bad part of town, we'd always kept it in a lockbox in the hall closet.

I'd long forgotten the combination. I guess Charlie never had. I'm sorry, I said, holding my hands up. She shook her head furiously, waving the gun erratically. Shut up! Shut up! I can't understand what you're saying. Leave me and my kids alone. Though the barrel of the gun was unsteady, I didn't want to take any chances that would lead me to getting shot.

Even if no one recognized me, I was sure I could still bleed. Couldn't I? After a few tense moments, Charlie sprinted down the stairs and out the door, where I could still hear the kids crying and calling for their mother. Neither of them cried for me. It took everything I had not to follow them. Once they were gone, I stumbled, dizzily to the bathroom and flicked on the light. The man staring back at me in the mirror wasn't me.

It was some other person. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, but the stranger was still standing there. He mirrored my every movement. Even subtle eyebrow waggles and a sudden smile. Logically, I knew that the person in the mirror had to be me, but I couldn't quite convince myself of it. A creeping sensation tingled at the back of my neck. It was like even my reflection.

had forgotten me. I'm me. I'm Cal. Calvin Mosley. In an instant, I was me. Me again. Nothing about me had changed. Same brown eyes, same black hair, same scar on my eyebrow from when a college buddy

had dared me to do a handstand when I'd been drunk off my ass. I'd face-planted hard and had been lucky to get away with just a small scar. I was fading from the world. I didn't know why or how. But the fact of my existence had become untethered. The dizziness hit me hard and fast.

The walls of the bathroom felt like they were closing in on me. I stumbled over to the toilet and vomited, laying there sweating and spitting out the foul taste from my mouth for a half an hour. When I stood up and looked in the mirror, I could barely recognize myself. It was like trying to recall a faded memory. Whatever was happening, it was getting worse. Calvin Mosley! Calvin Mosley!

I became me again. I tried calling my wife, but she didn't pick up. I wonder what she saw when she looked at the incoming call. Did it say my name? Or did it just show up as an unknown number? I stayed in the bathroom for as long as I could. Just saying my name, talking to myself, making sure I didn't fade away, but sleep called.

I went to bed and set an alarm for every 30 minutes, so I could go to the bathroom and chant my name into the mirror. It was the worst night's sleep of my life, but it was better than fading into nothingness. Over the next several weeks, I worked out a system. I figured out that recordings of my voice were the next best thing after me actually speaking. I could play a recording and get a damn night's sleep.

Writing works okay, but not as well. Charlie never came back. She didn't even send anyone for her thing. I wonder if she even remembers that she lived here, if anyone does. The whole world has probably forgotten about me by this point. I've messed up a few times, gotten too complacent, gone to bed without playing the recording. I've woken up as a ghost, no form, no voice, almost, no presence. The last time it happened, I had barely enough physical force in me to switch on the recording and bring myself back.

And my tricks, well, they aren't working as well as they used to. The interval in me not recognizing myself is getting shorter. I've been fading away, even as I've been recording this. I might lose my voice before I finish. That's why I'm saying this, why I've been speaking my name to you, in the vain hope that you'll remember and say it too. It might be the only way for me to survive. By the time you hear this message,

I'll probably have already faded away, but if you hear this, hear my voice, and get the feeling, just a little, niggling feeling that you might not be alone, then please, say my name from the abyss, save me from erasure. Say my name. You haven't forgotten, have you? Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-moleaned, for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Prere to play. Vive the pleasure with Leo Joe. The casino in line that proposes the more recent machine-as-a-sue and the

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The conditions apply. See, 17-167-year-old male of African-American descent unless constantly reaffirming its existence SCP 1467 slowly fades out of reality. The effect manifests in a gradual decrease in the ability to perceive SCP 1467 by any known means until it eventually vanishes. This has been known to affect objects and personnel in SCP 1467's immediate vicinity. The foundation has been unable to determine the extent of this to a satisfactory degree, but current experimental data suggests it is localized to SCP 1467.

The subject claims to be a construction worker. It further claims its anomalous properties arose in a gradual fashion after the death of its wife and children in a car accident. During this time it developed several coping mechanisms to keep its slowly degrading condition under a modicum of control. such as repeating its name, checking its pulse, keeping itself talking to others, drawing and writing descriptions of itself on its body and surrounding surfaces, and keeping recordings of its voice going while sleeping, all developed over time. Currently, the foundation have found

no records of subjects, stated wife, children, house, car, or extended family ever having existed. There have been no car accidents in the claimed area at the given date. No graves could be found. address has never been in use, and all relevant social security numbers remain unassigned due to what appears to be a computer error. The only evidence of SCP 1467's existence consists of a few co-workers remembering it, but accounts vary widely. As an example, a construction worker, described as a close friend, was unable to recall the subject's skin color with certainty. As a result of the mental stress the subject is under, it has developed. developed a severe case of bipolar depression in addition to chronic sleep deprivation.

Its anomalous condition continues to deteriorate. We'll say, in the phone, all the people can be a guy of the finance. Not to have a gross monger in art, to play to golf, or to be a pro of the crypto. Not even, you have always done

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