The SCP Experience - The Spirit of Christmas | SCP-784

Episode Date: December 20, 2021

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-784: The Spirit of Christmas. Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-784, 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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but I refrained from raising a hand to scratch at it while I sang. As the Christmas carol ended, I smiled around at the other Santas next to me, and they smiled back. We all smiled at the people across from us. All of them dressed to the nines in Christmas sweaters, lighted hats, curly-toed shoes with bells on them, and various other garish Christmas accessories.

We all stood just outside the gates of the small community in central Texas. The night was warm, but all of us were dressed in cold-weather clothing. My fellow Santas were all visibly sweating, but the other group, the ones across from us, closer to the open gates, seemed perfectly comfortable in their sweaters and long pants and hats and gloves, not a bead of sweat among them. They each held a string of Christmas lights down by their sides, momentarily forgotten, thanks to the eggnog a few of my fellow Santas were handing out. Bless you all, one of the community members said, raising to toast with her festive plastic

cup filled with eggnog. Bless you and a Merry Christmas to us all. All of us Santa's intoned in cheerful voices, raising our own cups of eggnog to toast. We had already been holding our cups of eggnog when the gates opened to reveal the group of festive community members and their strings of dark Christmas lights. Silent night! Someone called out from the back of the crowd. A wave of enthused agreement swept through the small crowd, ending with us Santas. arranged in such a way to block their exit.

We didn't want them venturing out into the adjoining neighborhood, but we also didn't want them to know that's what we were doing. Hence the Santa outfits and the eggnog and the singing. It was all a distraction until the sedatives and the eggnog could kick in. On some unseen cue, the entire crowd of community members started singing Silent Night. We all started up with them, singing as happily as we could. But as we came to the second verse, the Santa next to me, Agent Forrester stumbled over the line about shepherds. The singing stopped abruptly,

and all eyes landed on Forrester, who looked around nervously. A man in an ugly Christmas tree sweater stepped forward, glaring at Forrester. I knew the man as Gerald Blankenship for my time in surveillance. Do you not know the words to this song, my friend? He asked in a too friendly tone. Oh, sure I do, good friend, Forrester said. I could hear the desperation in his voice. I've had a little too much holiday nog, perhaps. Too much sugar gets me a little loopy. Gerald Blankenship smiled understandingly, before turning back to his people. Something passed between them without words, some kind of understanding, and Blankenship turned back. Well, I suppose we're all allowed one mistake here and there, just as long as you know the song.

We wouldn't want your Christmas cheer to be lacking, now would we? Ho! Ho! Ho! Forrester said in a belly laugh. Of course not. I couldn't bear to be lacking in Christmas cheer, I assure you, this is my last cup of nog for a while. It's the sugar, that's all. Blanketship nodded, then waved his hands in the air to start the song again where we'd left off. No one else messed up the lyrics, thank goodness. And by the time the song was over, the singers were growing groggy. We watched as the community members helped each other back through the gates to their homes.

Their crusade to leave the confines of the community forgot, thanks to the drugged eggnog and the singing. Once the last of the group went back in sight, and the gate was closed. We moved out of sight and tore off our Santa outfits. Christ Almighty, I said. It's hot as hell in that thing. I was pouring sweat. It was a hot August night in Texas. Forrester was stripping down to his shorts and undershirt next to me. You're telling me, Blake, try having all those psychos glaring at you. I felt like a damn waterfall when that happened. That was damn close, I said, gathering up my Santa suit,

and walking toward the nearby houses that we used. How did you forget the words to silent night? That's the first one you need to memorize. I didn't forget, Forrester said. I just got a couple of the words mixed up. That's all. You're one lucky bastard. Another agent, Lydia Decker, said from nearby. We got back into the house and breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Noel event averted. How often do those Noel events happen? Lydia Decker said. She was fairly new to the project. About once a month, most of the time, I said, hanging my Santa costume in the entryway closet. But in the winter, it increases. I heard it happened three times last December. You weren't here, then?

Decker asked. I got assigned here in January, just missed it. I pulled on my jeans and overshirt as I spoke, having retrieved them from the closet. So what happens if we fail to contain them? Forrester said, pulling on his own street clothes. What happens if they get out into the neighborhood and put up those lights they were carrying? I don't know. Nothing good, I said.

My guess is it would spread like a plague across the earth. Life as we know it would be gone, smothered under obligatory Christmas cheer. That doesn't sound all that bad, Decker said. I like Christmas. You're new, I said. You don't know what they're like. You don't know what they do to people who don't show enough cheer. Believe me, you do not want to get caught showing inadequate Christmas spirit.

It's not good. I moved into the big living room, where several computer workstations were set up, each responsible for a piece of the small community. We had cameras set up all around the property for 24-7 surveillance. I tapped one of the day shift guys on the shoulder. He stood up from the desk and stretched, cracking his back. All yours. he said, and walked to the kitchen, presumably to get something to eat.

Forrester sat at the station to my left and Lydia at the one to my right. Other agents were trading off at the five other stations around the room, settling in for their shifts. I pulled on my headset and cycled through the cameras I was responsible for. It was mostly quiet, thanks to the sedatives in the eggnog. There was five inches of snow evenly coating the entire inside of the community. It was in the 80s outside right now, but in the community, there was snow on the ground. There was always snow on the ground.

I saw a couple of people out and about, adjusting the lights and decorations on their homes, or bringing steaming dishes of food to their friends. Not everyone had tried to get out for the Noelle event. That's how it was. Some people stayed in the community and went about their business. I pulled up a file on the computer to see who was eyes on the ground inside tonight. I smiled when I saw the name. Pressing a few buttons on the computer,

I activated my headset's microphone and spoke into it. Sylvia, how are you this evening? Marcus Blake, she said. Her voice coming clearly through my headset. How have your days off pin? Do anything fun? We worked four days on and three days off. And Sylvia and I didn't have the same schedule,

so our shifts only overlapped occasionally. You know me, I said. Just hanging out with it. the wife and kids. Speaking of which, how were yours doing? My wife and kids? She said, laughing. You know what I mean. Of course. She said, still chuckling. John is doing well. Tabby and Grace are getting bigger, smarter, and harder to handle. The two girls were four and six, whereas my little boys were eight and nine. Sylvia and I had gone through the SCP Academy together and had been fast friends ever since. She had been transferred to this posting a couple of months after me. I'll bet. That's a fun

age, but I don't envy you. I'm glad I had two boys if I'm being honest. How your wife feels differently. True, true, I said. Hey, where are you? How's everything going in there tonight? I'm on Holly Street right now. It's all quiet, thanks to you and the other Santas. Another no-while event deftly handled by Father Christmas. I smiled. Hey, the program. I smiled. Hey, the Protocols are there for a reason. They work. Sure do. These people can't refuse Christmas songs in Eggnog. Hey, hold on, Blake. I have a group of carolers approaching. I hit a few keystrokes to bring up a wide view of Holly Street.

I saw Sylvia, her back to me, on the snow-covered sidewalk in front of a red and green decorated house. A group of seven carolers approached, four adults and three children. Merry Christmas! Sylvia called out to them. They returned the greeting. then stopped in front of her on the sidewalk. I watched on the screen as one of the children, a little girl of perhaps five,

approached Sylvia and held something out to her, a gift of some kind in a small box with a bow on top. For me? Sylvia said. The little girl nodded. Sylvia took it from her and began fumbling with the bow on top of the gift. She had large gloves on and accidentally knocked the small gift out of her hands. Damn, she said in barely a whisper.

I cringed and stared at the screen, feeling the blood drained from my face. The carolers gasped at her, as if she'd called out a racial slur. No, I mean, Sylvia said as the group closed in on her. Get out of there! Run! I yelled through my headset. It was too late. The little girl that had given her the gift launched herself at Sylvia, latching to her leg like a cat held over a full bathtub. The two other children snagged on Sylvia's other leg as she tried to run, causing all four of them to sprawl out in the snow.

The adults surrounded Sylvia quickly. One of them pulled out a string of lights, seemingly from nowhere, and bound Sylvia's arms and legs quickly. You're just not in the Christmas spirit, are you, my dear? A portly blonde woman with a plastic smile said. Yes, I am. Sylvia said, her voice high and tight. I love Christmas. Blessings be to all. Peace on earth and and goodwill toward men.

It was just a mistake. Just a mistake. The adults lifted her up, carrying her between them like a coffin. Sylvia, please, I said. Just hold on. We're coming to get you. We'll get you out of there.

You and I both know you can't do that. Sylvia whispered. And the kids that I love them, do that for me. No, Sylvia! I cried, knowing and not caring that all the other agents in the room were staring. Hush now.

The plump blonde woman said to Sylvia, We'll get you right as a reindeer in no time. You'll be humming the Christmas hymns all day. Just you wait. Just as they disappeared into a nearby house, a foundation agent in charge named Sid Plemons showed up from wherever he'd been in the house. What happened, Blake? It's Sylvia Fernandez, sir.

She let a curse slip when she dropped a gift. You're kidding. God Almighty, he said, shaking his head. I know you two were friends. Came up together, right? I nodded. feeling sick to my stomach. I thought of her kids, her husband. Come on, Blake, Plymouth said, pulling gently on my shoulder.

Get up. Take a few minutes. I stood up and Plemons called another agent over to take my spot at the computer. After taking some time to process what happened, I spent the night filling out paperwork and talking to agents who deal with the loss of a foundation operative. When my next shift came around, I saw Sylvia walking around with a group of carolers, dressed in a reindeer sweater, red and green pants, and a Santa hat.

Her earrings were small red spheres like ornaments on a tree. She had a vacant smile plastered on her face. I wanted to talk to her, to see if she still had the small radio in her ear, to say some magic combination of words that would bring her back. But the woman I saw wasn't Sylvia. The Sylvia I knew, the one that her husband and her husband, kids knew was gone forever. Whatever mysterious process went on inside those houses in that small neighborhood made sure of that. I had to come to terms with the fact that my friend was gone,

crushed by the spirit of Christmas. SCP 784 is a neighborhood in a town in central Texas. Currently, SCP 784 is made up of 24 houses and two apartment buildings, all of which are decorated with a length layer of Christmas lights. SCP 784 will always be covered by between 5 and 12 inches of snow, though no unseasonable weather will occur above the neighborhood. All houses within SCP 784 are occupied by a variable number of instances of SCP 784-1. These are mostly adult humans, all of whom wear sweaters typically associated with holiday gift giving. The number of people within SCP-784 has been estimated at 300.

These people express traits commonly associated with Christmas Spirit throughout the year. These traits include the singing of Christmas carols, the performance of plays commonly associated with the birth of Christ, and various eggnog-related festivities. Human subjects who do not meet SCP-784's criteria for Christmas Spirit will be assaulted, incapacitated and forcibly directed into the nearest household. They will not be seen until the following day, when they will exit the household, dressed similarly to other instances affected by SCP-784. They show no signs of their previous personality, having been fully assimilated into the community

by unknown means. Attempts to retrieve affected personnel have been met with fierce resistance on both the part of the community members and the affected individual.