The SCP Experience - The Red Brook Mine Massacre | SCP-8987 [Part 2]

Episode Date: October 6, 2025

In the shadow of Dutch Mountain, a lone Foundation agent enters a cursed Appalachian mine where frozen men, impossible creatures, and a living crystal tree conspire to turn a rebellion for survival into a nightmare of blood and terror. This story was derived from ⁠⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8987⁠ 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 * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

We hadn't been in the mine for an hour when the canary we'd brought down with us started acting strangely. Normally, when a canary encountered carbon monoxide, it would start fluttering somewhat drunkenly before staggering and collapsing. But this was different. Sitting in its cage, the small yellow bird expanded its wings slowly and held them out to its sides while still on its perch. I and many of the others were down near the farthest reaches of the mine, where the explosives had been set off the day before. Since that explosion hadn't uncovered much more of the coal seam, they had been ordered to try again in a different direction.

We were clearing out debris from the first explosion while a team was around the bend, drilling the shot holes for the explosives. A guy named McKay, the powderman with a satchel of dynamite at one hip, tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the cage. Several of the others had stopped working and were watching the bird as well. Shouldn't we leave? I asked, staring at the bird, which dipped its body down, wings still outstretched. Probably, but will they let us walk out of the mine, but will they shoot us?

McKay asked. It was a good point. All the armed men who escorted us down to the mine were hanging around outside, making sure no one snuck off. I remembered the broken cages I'd seen the day before, how they had had. had holes in them like the canaries they held had busted out. What happens next? I asked. Last two times, they got all agitated and shot out of their cages like bullets, McKay said. Then they crashed into the wall, killing themselves. And what happened after that?

Someone died soon after. Another man said. Each time, like it's a warning. Even when we were on our way out, Parker fell behind. No one noticed until we got outside. When we came back to search for him, we found him. What? What happened?

Well, it looked like someone had bashed his head into the wall, the man said. Or he'd done it himself, McKay amended. I swallowed. Smashed his own head into the wall? No one answered. Everyone stared at the bird. Darden had found a small piece of petrified wood and showed it to me as soon as we came down. See, just petrified wood, he'd said.

It was colorful, orange and pink and turquoise. I had seen petrified wood like it before, but something told me it was far from normal. I had pocketed the piece, and now, as I stared at the bird, I had a notion that I should put it back where it belonged, in the mine. I probably would have taken it out of my pocket and tossed it to the ground if the bird hadn't begun its transformation right then. Its body started to twitch and bulge as it stood there with its wings out. Lumps swelled, pushing its bright yellow feathers out to show the pale, flesh underneath. It made not a sound as this happened, and in 30 seconds it had doubled in size. Only now it was badly deformed, as if some kind of fast-growing cancer was expanding

before our eyes. Do this happen last time? I asked. McKay shook his head. The cage was sitting on the ground to one side of the tunnel, and everyone started slowly backing away from it as a dozen or so stick-like protrusions pierced through the bird's flesh and expanded out to touch the bars of its cage. Several men shouted and started for the elevator. I took two steps back, but I couldn't look away from the bird. It was now triple its previous size, and I no longer thought of the protrusions as stick-like. They looked like hairless spider legs, if they had belonged to the biggest spider on earth. As the legs reached out to touch two metal bars, the bird's black eyes popped, and a pair of savage-looking fangs protruded several inches from the sockets.

A moment later, all of the things, dozen legs, pried the two bars apart and scurried free from the cage. Everyone scrambled away, including me, darting around a mine cart, half-filled with the rocks we'd been clearing. But I couldn't stop myself from glancing back as I ran toward the elevator. Yellow feathers streamed off the creature as it skittered along the floor, wings still held out at its sides as if they were afterthoughts. But as it made a beeline toward the nearest minor, it showed that the wings still worked. The creature jumped at the man, and the wings flapped several times, helping propel it through the air. It landed on the man's upper back, ducking its head quickly toward his neck before jump flapping off again, headed for another minor fleeing toward the dead end

that was the mind's terminus. I and several other men, including McKay, slowed, and then stopped when it was clear the bird creature was heading the other direction. It disappeared from view, chasing after those fleeing toward the dead end, which wasn't but ten yards or so down. Holman, you okay? McKay called to the man the bird had first landed on. The guy, Holman, was facing away from us.

He had one arm cocked up, and, gingerly touching the back of his neck, where the bird's head had darted down during the split second it was on his back. I was too far away, and the light was too poor to see if there were any marks there. I suspected there were. Holman didn't answer, but he dropped his hand from his back. It hung limply at his side. A familiar voice shouted behind me. I turned to see a group of men who'd been working farther up in the tunnel.

John was leading the pack, shouting to ask what was going on, and if everyone was okay. We didn't have to say a word to him as he approached. He followed our gaze and saw Holman standing in the tunnel, facing away from us, hands at his sides. As we all stood there, a group of about 20 men looking at Holman, I realized the mine had fallen silent. There were no more shouts from those deeper in the tunnel. The backs of my knees suddenly felt sweaty,

and my fingers started twitching faintly. I had been hauling large rocks to the mine cart, so my pickaxe was leaning against the line. wall near Holman. Holman, you okay, buddy? John asked. The man reached up and turned his headlamp off. Then he brought his arms out to his sides, much like the bird had done with its wings.

Ohman, talk to me, John said. Then he turned and whispered. What happened? In McKay's ear. Before McKay could answer, Holman darted away, deeper into the shaft. We lost him from view around the slight bend in the tunnel. We should leave, McKay said. we need to leave. What the hell happened? John asked. The canary, I said. It grew a bunch of legs and

attacked Holman. While John tried to process this information, wet crunching sounds echoed from the darkness around the bend. At first, these awful noises came one or two at a time. But over the course of a few seconds, they ramped up to a dissonant chorus that provoked a physical response at the base of my skull. A response that made me want to jam something sharp into my ear, so I wouldn't have to hear any more. Then, all at once, the noise is stopped. And only an ineffably loathsome silence issued from the darkness around the bend. Without a word, McKay turned to run, his boots crunching on the tunnel floor,

leather dynamite satchel bouncing off his left hip. Although I knew the sticks wouldn't blow without a fuse or a blasting cap, I had a moment of fear seeing that satchel bounce around so violently as he ran. Several other men followed McKay, and as each man left, they took their light with them, slowly causing the darkness to expand toward those of us remaining. Something appeared at the very farthest edge of this expanding darkness, right where the tunnel curved. It's a stick, I thought, just a stick.

But it wasn't, and I knew it wasn't. It was a leg, like one of the dozen that had sprouted from the canary's body, but this one was much bigger. Another leg joined the first, and then another. A man's face peaked around the bend, so distorted and grotesque, it flipped a switch deep inside me. Before I realized what was happening, I was fleeing, shoving men out of the way in my bone-deep panic. Still, that face stuck in my mind. Those eyes opened so wide on nothing but empty sockets, dripping dark streams of blood. That mouth, jaw stretched to its limit in a soundless scream, but the worst part was what protruded from each of his ears.

They were shiny black fangs, curving around to meet in front of his face like pincers on an insect. I glanced back, seeing those sharpened fangs clacking together as the man scurried around the bend, coming into full view. He didn't use his human limbs to move. Instead, the dozen or more spider legs protruding from him propelled him along. His body parallel to the ground. but his head tilted unnaturally up as if to peer ahead from his empty eye sockets. The few remaining miners now fled,

and in the instant before I faced forward again, I saw three more of the creatures that had once been men scurry around the bend. They'd crawled on the walls and ceiling, moving fast, too fast. The elevator was coming down, some brilliant soul having the foresight to send it back down for us. I was first on the platform, but most of the others weren't far behind. I turned my hand on the control panel and urged the stragglers on. Come on!

I shouted, peering back down the tunnel. My light picked out John and another unknown man. The other man was limping badly, and John was trying to help him along. Not far behind them. In the back splash from the light on their helmets, where the creatures gaining fast. It's too late! A man named Cahill said.

Press the button! I ignored him, my finger on the up button as I stared at John and the other man. Press it! Cahill said, shoving me out of the way. He hit the button, and the elevator started up. I recovered quickly and punched Cahill in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. Then I hit the down button, but the elevator kept moving up. I pressed it twice more before realizing it wasn't going to work.

I dropped to my knees at the railless edge of the platform and reached out toward John. Come on! Although there had been a natural cavern here before the mine, the ceiling wasn't more than 12 feet from the ground, and the elevator would pass it soon. John threw himself onto the rising platform and quickly spun around to help the other man. We both grabbed one of the man's arms and pulled his upper body onto the platform. Before we could yank him all the way up, one of the creatures leaped onto his legs, nearly dragging him back off. The man screamed as the pincers sank into his upper thigh.

Hurry! I shouted, glancing up at the craggy ceiling that was just a few feet away. Two others joined in the rescue attempt. The four of us tried to pull him up. But another creature grabbed him. Competing shouts filled the air as the elevator came flush with the ceiling, compressing the man's pelvis between moving platform and immovable rock. He screamed as his bones shattered in a cacophony of crunches and squelches. The machinery overhead struggled momentarily as the platform continued to rise with no regard for the man it was killing. Then the man's legs separated completely from his body, messily severed by the rock ceiling. The four of us were still pulling, as if we could still somehow help the man, and we all fell backward, dragging

his upper body with us and leaving a trail of gore behind. The man continued to scream incoherently until the elevator stopped when he finally died. Those of us on the platform looked at each other in horror until the elevator started to move again, called from below by one of the creatures. We scrambled, jumping off as the platform lowered, and we ran as fast as we could toward daylight and the sounds of shouting. Wincing against the sunlight, we came to a stop just outside the mine,

where a group of other miners were already standing. The armed guards were arranged in a loose arc in front of us, blocking our exit and pointing the rifles at us. The two groups were in a shouting match, neither one getting through to the other. I glanced over my shoulder at the dark mine entrance, knowing it would only be a matter of moments before the creatures came out.

Thinking quickly, I started into the crowd of miners, pushing some to the left and others to the right. John saw what I was doing and caught on quickly. Together, we moved the men aside to make an alley down which the gunman could see. The activity confused both groups, and the shouting stopped. Soon, everyone was looking at the mind's mouth, waiting. I turned to the gunman and said,

I hope you're decent shots, because if not, we're all dead. For the first time since they arrived, I saw doubt flicker in their eyes. Here they come! John shouted, grabbing a rock from nearby to use as a weapon. I thought that was a pretty good idea, so I did the same. A tense moment passed, and then the creatures burst from the darkness, moving so fast they were upon us, even before any of the gunmen could get shots off.

Back in the mine, I'd had no idea how many men had been at the very end of the shaft. Now I counted at least eight of the creatures. They attacked with the viciousness that caught us all off guard. Chaos reigned as some of the miners scattered to run, along with several of the gunmen. Others couldn't run because they were being attacked. The remaining gunmen started firing onto the crowd, not caring whether they hit a man or a creature. After smashing my rock into the back of one creature's head, while it was busy killing McKay, I felt a bullet zipped by my ear.

A few feet away, a miner took a bullet in the chin, disfiguring his face and causing him to stumble away, screaming. Knowing I would be killed if I stayed, I bolted out of the crowd and away from the mine, scrambling up one of the moss-covered stones that flanked the entrance, hoping I wouldn't be shot in the back. I took cover behind a boulder and tried to gather my thoughts. My biggest priority was notifying the foundation about this, but the more immediate one was to save as many lives as possible. I jerked in fright as someone else appeared, scrambling behind the boulder. It was John.

He was splattered with blood. and had a gash in his left forearm that bled freely. He took one look at me before grabbing my arm. This way! As we circled around to get behind the gunman, we each grabbed two-fist-sized rocks. A couple of the men had paused to reload, but the others were still firing.

We stopped behind a broken mine cart for a moment. John nodded. I nodded back. We rushed around, coming upon the gunman from behind. They couldn't hear us over the sound of gunshots. I slammed the rock in my right hand into the back of one guy's head, not sure if the crunch I heard was his skull cracking or the rock breaking. John did similarly nearby, but that left too.

As the second one nearest me turned to see what was happening, I threw my right-hand rock at his face. He turned, and it bounced off the side of his head. I rushed him, switching my remaining rock from my left to right. Before he could get his gun up, I collapsed his face with the stone. He hit the ground only a moment before the fourth and first. final gunman whom John had dispatched. We snatched rifles up and looked toward the mine entrance in time to see an injured creature scuttling toward us. We opened fire, emptying our

magazines into the approaching creature, finally putting it down within five yards of where we stood. Nothing else moved. Dead bodies belonging to both miners and creatures lay in heaps near the mine entrance. I looked into John's face and saw the fury there. I didn't have to ask to know what he was thinking. 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. John and I could hear the people in town going crazy from where we sat in the woods behind the company store. On our way back to town, we'd stuck to the woods on one side of the road, and we'd seen several more armed guards running toward the mind.

no doubt drawn by all the gunfire or the gunmen who ran away when the creatures emerged. Half the miners, those assigned to second shift, were still in the town, along with all the women and children. From what we could tell, all the adults were gathered in front of the company store, demanding to be told what was happening at the mine. It wasn't hard to picture the armed guard standing on the narrow porch, pointing their weapons, waiting for an excuse. It wouldn't be long before they found one. Either that or more of those creatures would show up, or something worse. One massacre was already too many. We had to work fast. The company store's back door was currently being guarded by two men with rifles. We could just see them from our spot up on the

hill, where we were hiding among the foliage. John reached into the blood-stained satchel he'd taken from McKay's body and pulled out a stick of dynamite. He dug around a little in a pouch and retrieved a fuse, which he inserted into one end of the wax paper-wrapped cylinder. Holding the stick out, he reached into one pants pocket and produced his zippo. He looked from lighter to dynamite and then back again before slowly looking up at me. I nodded and swallowed loudly. Reaching down, I grabbed the rifle John had set on the ground. Carrying the two rifles, I eased out from our hiding place and worked my way carefully toward the building. John did similarly ten yards away. I stopped behind the thick trunk of a red oak and peered out. My eyes on John as he

moved even closer. He crouched behind a thick tangle of rhododendron and then glanced up at me through the branches and foliage separating us. I nodded again. After carefully opening the Zippo's lid so it wouldn't click loudly, he produced a flame and lit the end of the fuse. My heart jumped into my throat, forcing me to hold my breath as I watched the fuse burn down, shooting sparks in every direction. It seemed so loud. I was sure the two guards could hear it. Throw it!

I screamed inside my head, picturing John holding the thing too long and blowing apart as it exploded in his hand. Throw the damn thing! John stood out of his crouch and threw the stick of dynamite at the back of the company store. While it was still in the air,

he ran toward me, no longer worried about being quiet. I shifted to the other side of the oak trunk and peered down at the two guards, just as the stick landed five feet away from them. They each grunted in fear as they bolted away from the dynamite. A moment later, it exploded. I shut my eyes and pulled my head back behind the tree,

afraid of taking shrapnel to the face. John threw himself down next to me. Instead of slowing down, time seemed to speed up during the explosion. The air was full of noise and debris. Then there was utter silence, except for the sound of debris raining down through the woods. The shouting from the front of the company store had stopped. John and I ran down the hill, each with a rifle in hand, and into the ring of damage

done by the explosion. I tried not to look at the two guards as we rushed toward the back door, which was hanging by its bottom hinge. One of the guards was still alive but badly injured. He was trying to crawl away as blood poured out of the stumps where his legs had been. The other guard was clearly dead, thrown by the explosion into a nearby tree, where a branch had impaled him. John kicked the back door. door down and rushed inside. I followed on his heels. We immediately spotted the three people we were looking for, Sysmore, Darden, and the man in the suit who'd commanded us all to get back to work. According to John, his name was Paul Francis, and he owned the mine. All three were dazed,

clearly having been in the back office when the dynamite went off. Now they were scrambling drunkenly for the front door. When Darden saw us, he went for the pistol on his hip. John ran and smashed his rifle butt into the man's head, knocking him out. Seismore was in no condition to fight back. It was a small miracle he was on his feet. The left side of his face was a bloody mess of embedded glass. He had apparently been next to the back window during the explosion. Ball Francis was in better shape,

although he was bleeding from one ear. After dispatching Darden, John rushed over to the man, catching him a few feet from the front door. He grabbed hold of his back collar and jammed his rifle barrel into the base of the base of the front door. the older man's skull. Meanwhile, I stepped to Sysmore and shoved him to the floor. He went down easily. The front door burst open, and several armed guards rushed inside, stopping when they saw that Francis was being held hostage.

Back up! John shouted, ducking behind Francis, but still keeping the rifle pressed to his skull. The guards stopped short, their weapons up and ready to fire. I moved behind a wooden pillar and aimed my rifle at them. Put the guns down! Behind the guards, The crowd peered through the open door. I recalled the tension that had been reabsorbed into the mob not even two hours earlier. Now the throng thrummed with violent energy begging to be released. The guards hesitated, looking at Francis for guidance. If I kill him, you think you're going to get paid?

John asked. None of the five guards answered. Put the rifles down! I shouted. Three of the guards started to ease their rifles down. This was all the crowd needed. They came to life, rushing inside and yanking the rifles out of the. the guards' hands and then proceeding to beat them with the weapons, with their feet and with their

fists. Paul Francis's eyes bulged as he watched this. Members of the frenzied crowd, then attacked Darden and Seismore. I didn't even try to stop them. I knew it wouldn't do any good. Several minutes later, when most of the anger had been spent, and the crowd had thinned, the only company man left standing was Francis. The others had been badly beaten. I thought Seismore might be dead. John found a toppled chair and righted it before shoving Francis into it. Mr. Francis, how generous of you to close the mine and give everyone the pay that they've earned from this job? The family members of those men who lost their lives working for you will receive full pay. It's truly inspiring that you have come to see the working man's side of this little

ordeal. We appreciate it. I'm sure there's a checkbook around here somewhere, right? Francis swallowed and shook his head. Then he thought better of it and nodded. Yes, I'll make sure everyone is made whole, but I can only do that if I'm alive. Right, John said. I guess we'll have to make sure you live then, at least long enough to ensure every family gets their share. John looked at me and nodded. I nodded back. A month after what became known as the Red Brook Mine Rebellion, a foundation researcher named Span brought me down into the mine one last time.

It had taken some convincing to get me to go into that hole in the earth again. Can't you just tell me up here in the sunlight? I had asked. It's better if you see it, Span said, his dark eyes full of humor. I promise it's perfectly safe. Nothing will happen to you. After some more back and forth, I agreed to follow him down. He was a convincing guy with a personality that exuded mirth and confidence. All the dead had long since been cleared out, but I couldn't stop staring at the place on the elevator platform where the man had been chopped in half.

I now knew his name was Sisk. There remained nothing of them on the elevator or the rock ceiling, not even a smudge of blood, but being on the elevator again brought back the horrific memory. We walked down the shaft, which was now lit by these new lights span called LEDs, which apparently used much less energy than incandescent bulbs. The lights certainly helped make the journey easier, but they also made visible the veins of the colorful, petrified wood men had been finding

before everything went to shit. I slowed to look at one of these veins in the wall, marveling at the colors visible. Reds, yellows, blues, and greens. Roots, Span said. Those are roots. Roots? I asked, reaching up to touch it.

He caught my hand before I made contact. No touching, please. And yes, roots. But not to a petrified tree, at least, not technically. Come on, we're almost there. We strode to the end of the tunnel, where we had been preparing to do more blasting when the canary turned into a spider from hell and distracted us.

The colorful roots were plentiful here, snaking through the stone on all sides. Through there, Span said, pointing at a dark hole at the end of the tunnel. It was just white enough for a small man to fit into if he crawled. I stopped at the hole and looked inside, seeing nothing but darkness. Are you ready? Span asked. I guess. What is it? He reached into one pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small remote. He pressed a button, and an array of lights came on in the hole.

I peered through, now seeing that it led to a massive cavern with a giant tree in the middle of it. But it wasn't just any tree. Sparkling crystals covered its branches, and its leaves looked like they had a delicate layer of ice coating them. Its multi-colored bark was also crystallized, making it hard to look at because of all the pinpricks of light it reflected. The tree shimmered, the way normal trees do when the wind blows their leaves. Only, there was no wind down here. Amazing, isn't it? I nodded, still staring.

But even more amazing are its defense mechanisms, anomalous defense mechanisms. I turned to span. This is what caused all that death? Span nodded. That's right. It was trying to warn the miners off. From the reports I've read, things started off small with strange injuries,

creepy sightings, stuff like that. It was only as they got closer and started breaking its roots apart that it became more defensive, started taking more drastic measures. I shook my head and looked back at the tree. That's why we're safe? Because we're not trying to hurt it?

You got it. Damn. It was all I was. could think to say. Imagine what would have happened if they had gotten to the tree and broken a branch off or started taking it apart. What would it have done then? I shuddered. I didn't want to think about that. Span and I stared at the tree for another minute or two. So what now? I asked. Now we do what we always do. Secure, contain. SEP 8987 is a petrified tree of unknown genus, whose roots and branches proliferate throughout the bedrock within and around the Red Brook Mine,

Dutch Mountain, Pennsylvania. The tree's trunk is 20 feet in diameter, with its branches reaching a height of 101 feet at their peak. These branches expand through the majority of the 137-foot diameter chamber in which the anomaly resides. The chamber itself lies at a depth of approximately 820 feet below the surface. SCP 8987 activation events are surges of localized reality failure brought on when significant vibrations within the surrounding environment trigger resonation within the anomalies crystalline leaves. The destabilization of local reality results and the manifestation of anomalous effects. These created anomalies, phenomena, or events are typically unpredictable in nature. with currently little noted pattern or consistency outside environmental influence.

Due to the cessation of the Red Brook Mine's previous operations and the instatement of containment procedures, activation events have significantly decreased as of 1967. Lazzang sur-gely, puissance-molyne for 15 minutes. We're like it's their dojo. Prere to play the pleasure with the Ujo. The casino in-line that proposes the more recent machine-asson-sou and the games of casino,

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