The SCP Experience - The Scorching Revenge | SCP-060

Episode Date: November 1, 2021

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-060: The Scorching Revenge. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-060, 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

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Publié. Savourer. Admire. And enjoy. And enjoy it. Via-A-R-A-R-A-Wa-Wan. The greenhouse is warm today. Coming into it from the biting autumn wind makes me feel a little better.

I hate the cold. I've never liked it. So living in Minnesota, is the wrong place for me, but that's okay. I won't be here for much longer. The specially constructed greenhouse is large, encompassing six mature white oak trees, the keys to my salvation. It's not just any greenhouse. It's reinforced and built to withstand extremely high temperatures. It's one of several greenhouses spread across eight acres, each designed to secure, contain, and protect these white oak trees, and for good reason, too.

These aren't just any white oak trees. Although I've never seen what happens when you burn them. I've heard all the tales, all the warnings, all the threats of what will happen if so much as a leaf finds its way out of the greenhouse and somehow touches flame. But that's the foundation for you, keeping you in the dark and feeding you shit

while making you work overtime for pay barely above minimum wage. If they would just show us a video of what happens when you burn some of SCP-60, Maybe we would take it a little more seriously. Maybe. It's not that I don't believe all the stories. I do.

In fact, I'm counting on them to be true. But still, the jokers that run the foundation ought to be publicly flogged if you ask me. I surveyed the trees, remembering where I left off yesterday, when Salazar steps up behind me, having just gone through security. What's up, Bartley? He says, pulling on his work gloves. Hey, Sal.

I say. How's it hanging? Sal wears the same kind of blue jumpsuit that I'm wearing, complete with the SCP Foundation patch just above the breast pocket. His is smaller than mine and a little more worn, but otherwise they're identical. We both have heavy blue work gloves and sturdy work boots. You're looking pretty happy today, Sal says. Getting along with the old lady again?

I smile. Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am, I say. We're seeing eye to eye for one. Sal nods. His pure white hair and weathered face making him look much wiser than he is. Marriage is hard work, Bartley. Me and Gina have had some tough times over the years, but we stuck to it. Now we're better than ever. Sure. And you're both on death's doorstep, I think. That makes things a little easier. I force a smile onto my face and nod at old Sal. Poor old Sal. Happy to come to this place. happy to be a glorified gardener, happy in general.

I'd like to be happy like Sal. And for the first time in a long time, I see that happiness on the horizon. I think of my wife, Mia, and my false smile turns real. I'm glad to see you smiling for a change, Sal says. Now let's get to work. Work consists of trimming the trees, watering them, gathering dead plant matter, pruning saplings,

and gathering it all up for the on-site composting facility. It's important that we make sure to keep the ground free of dry leaves and branches to avoid a fire hazard. And since it's autumn, there are plenty of leaves to clean up. Not that there's any way of fire can start in this place. Every day we search for lighters, matches, or anything that could conceivably create a spark. A security guard that used to work here was fired because he accidentally forgot to leave a cigarette lighter in his car one day. Just like that, fired for one mistake. That's the foundation for you.

Toward the end of our shift, Sal and I are on different sides at the greenhouse, each doing our own tasks. When I'm confident that he won't come walking over, I start looking around for cameras, but I don't make it obvious. I've been working here long enough that I already know where all of them are,

and where the precious few blind spots are. I'm cautious. I won't let one careless mistake ruin my happiness. Again, Mia comes to mind, and I smile. I drag my plastic bin up to a pile of leaves and branches I've just finished raking and bend down behind it, like I'm about to gather up the pile and put it in the bin. One of the oaks is blocking a camera on one side, and the bin is blocking another camera. I need to make this fast.

I gather a small pile of leaves up, stacking them on each other like playing cards. They still have some life in them, which is important. They're not crumbling like some of the other leaves. I roll up the stack as tight as I can and shove them into my mouth. I let saliva gather there and then force the stack down into my throat with my tongue. I swallow hard, thinking for a moment that they're going to get stuck, that I'm going to choke to death right here. And what an irony that would be.

But then they slide dryly down my throat and into my stomach. I breathe a sigh of relief and begin gathering up the pile I'm crouching over. The rest of the shift slides by quickly. I work with a growing sense of anticipation. Tonight's the night, I think. When this shifts over, I head out through security with Cell. We both chat amiably as Baxter and Sheffield, the night shift security guards check us over. They make us empty our pockets and do a thorough check for even the smallest pieces of SCP-60.

They check the treads of our boots, which were supposed to brush off before we even get to security. I try not to think about the leaves sitting heavy in my stomach, thinking that they'll see it in my eyes and tell me to throw them up. Then I'll either go to jail or be locked in a cell in some shadowy, SCP facility for the remainder of my life. But it's a silly thought. They give both Sal and I the go-ahead, and we walk out to the dirt parking lot in the cold Minnesota wind. The sun has been down for an hour, and the wind chill causes me to shiver and run for my car, waving to Sal as I go. The drive home is like a dream. That feeling of anxious anticipation swells in me, and I have to fight the urge to stop and get some champagne. Stick to the plan, I think, picturing Mia,

in my mind. Forty-five minutes later, I pull up to our house, a small one-story cabin-style structure. It sits on 50 acres of woodland. The nearest neighbor is several miles away. I've never really felt at home in the house. It was given to us by Mia's parents as a wedding present. I've always liked city living, but I loved Mia more. And so I agreed to live in the house. Somehow I thought we'd move after a few years, but our wedding was 10 years ago now, and Mia wouldn't ever hear talk of moving. Mia is asleep on the couch when I come in. It's no surprise. She's been very tired lately and often falls asleep on the couch when she gets home from work, which is usually two hours before I get home. She doesn't know that I know, I think. She stirs briefly and opens her

eyes. Hey, babe, she says in a sleepy voice. Then she turns over and goes back to sleep. I stand in the living room for a long moment, staring at her, smiling. I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower. I step over to the sink and stick a finger down my throat. On the third try, my stomach heaves and I throw up the bile-coated leaves. I wash the leaves off in the sink, and then pound them dry with some toilet paper. For extra measure, I pull out Mia's hair dryer. I plug it in, but stop before I turn it on. I step out of the bathroom and into the hallway to where I can see the couch. Mia is still asleep. I head back to the bathroom and use the blow dryer to to dry the leaves on the bathroom counter.

Once they're dry, I get on my knees in front of the bathroom cabinet. I open the doors and pull out all the cleaning supplies, half used bottles of shampoo, plastic bins full of makeup, and all the other junk that is accumulated down here over the years. In the rear right corner of the cabinet

is a small trap door that I made myself one day when I called off from work. I pressed the corner of it just right and it pops up. I remove the wood and reach into the recess below, gathering the other dried leaves and small branches that I've been smuggling out for months. I placed the small pile of leaves and twigs on the kitchen counter. Then I turn off the shower, gather the pile of kindling in my arms, and head out to the living room. Mia is still sound asleep on the couch.

My stomach does little flips. The excitement makes my handshake slightly as I place the branches and twigs in the fireplace. The couch faces away from the fireplace and toward the television, so I can't see Mia as I work, but I listen hard. for any shift of position or change in breathing. I reach up and pull a lighter down from the mantle. It takes me several tries to produce a flame from the lighter. I slowly place the flame under the base of the small pile of leaves and branches.

The flame ignites, spreading slowly over the leaves and concentrating around the branches. I stand up, making sure to place the lighter back on the mantle. Then I step over to the front door, but I don't open it. I place a hand on it and watch the flames of the small fire grow. Nothing happens. I think for an insane moment that the SCP Foundation has just made the stuff up about these oak trees. My mind reels, thinking about another way to get this job done tonight, another way to be free once and for all. Then something happens in the fireplace.

The flames leap up, accompanied by a loud, roaring crackle. They keep growing, becoming larger than is possible with such a small pile of kindling. After a few seconds, the flames are licking at the top of the fireplace, blackening. the stone there. A skeletal leg appears, stepping out of the fireplace and onto the stone slab in front of it. The leg is engulfed in flame, but I can still clearly see the bones of the feet and the shin. It's real, I think, a huge smile coming to my face. A skeletal arm comes out of the fireplace, the bony hand grabbing the mantle for leverage as the rest of the flaming skeleton steps out of the fireplace and straightens up. I can feel the heat emanating from this grinning, ghastly being,

even from where I'm standing a good 15 feet away. Mia screams. She's looking over the back of the couch at this flaming skeleton in our living room. The skeleton turns to look at her, and she jumps up from the couch running toward me at the front door. What's happening? She screams, her eyes wide and face pale. She runs right into me, and I grab her by the arms.

Behind her, the skeleton is stepping toward us. Flames lick the ceiling and blacken the walls around the fireplace. Smoke gathers at the ceiling. Move! Mia yells, trying to reach past me for the door. I shake her once, hard. She looks at me. I know, I say.

You didn't know that I knew, but I know. A terrified understanding comes into her eyes just before I shove her backward. The look on her face as she stumbles back into the skeleton is all I ever dreamed it would be. The flaming skeleton wraps its arms around her, and in less than two seconds, Mia's skin is blackening and bubbling. She screams and screams as her clothes melt into her skin, and her eyeballs pop with the immense heat. I yank open the front door and run outside as her screaming stops.

I jump in my car and start it up, willing the heater to warm up quickly. As I back down the driveway, I can hardly tear my eyes from the sight of the burning house. I get to the end of the driveway and pull out my phone, entering my wife's lover's home address into the GPS. An address I had to pay a private detective agency a good penny to find for me. I don't have any leaves or branches left for him, but that's okay. I want his death to be personal. I want to take my time with him.

SCP 60 is a grove of 17 white oak trees. The grove is spread across approximately eight acres in rural northeastern Minnesota. The grove, which contains SCP 60, is currently contained in a series of specially constructed greenhouses at satellite site 66-060. Specimens are to be pruned regularly

to keep at a manageable size. When burned, SCP-60 will produce an entity henceforth designated SCP-60 Alpha. SCP-60 Alpha appears to be an animate adult human skeleton, standing approximately 2.3 meters tall and surrounded by bright white flames. This skeleton initially burns at a temperature of approximately 1,500 degrees Celsius, and will attempt to cause as much damage as possible when active. Due to the extreme temperatures produced by 60 Alpha during the air, initial stages of manifestation, along with its physical capabilities, it is capable of causing

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