The SCP Experience - The Thing Behind the Curtains | SCP-8816

Episode Date: December 2, 2024

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-8816 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8816 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett  * * * 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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The screaming started as I was reading in bed, with my wife Natalie snoring beside me. At first, I tensed, dropping my book to the floor as I sat up. It's hard not to freak out a little when you hear one of your children screaming and crying. But then I remembered what I found my two sons doing little more than two hours ago, and I stopped myself from running down the hall to comfort Charlie. I would go. Of course I would go to my upset child, but I had expected something like this to happen.

Natalie was wide awake now. She turned from her side to her back, looking up at me expectantly in the half-light of the bedside lamp. You're the horror movie guy. It was your Blu-ray they were watching. Oh, so it's my fault, I said, smiling warily and standing up. I see how it is. Turn off the light, will you?

She said, turning and pulling the covers up, so all I could see was her tiny, delicate ear in the back of her brunette head. I clicked the lamp off and was opening the bedroom door when my wife spoke again. He's not sleeping in here tonight. I felt that was a little harsh, but Charlie had been abusing our nighttime osse. hospitality in that regard. As I stepped out into the hall, I saw Charlie backing out of his room, little legs working, plumped face wet with tears, his expression one of pure terror. I immediately regretted my lackadaisical response. He still hadn't turned to face me as I rushed over and

picked him up. His gaze was fixed on something in his room. At six years old, he was still small enough for me to pick him up easily. I propped him on one arm and hugged him with my other. What's wrong, buddy? I asked, as his bawling died down. I heard the door open behind me, and I turned to see Paul poking his face out, curious about what was going on. Our eyes met, and he immediately shut the door. Uh-uh, Paul, I said, come out here. After a moment, Paul's bedroom door opened again, and the 11-year-old stepped out with a guilty look on his face. Charlie was still powering down, sounding like a wheezing lawnmower engine as he left behind whatever had scared him. But he was still staring toward his bedroom, craning his neck to look over

my shoulder as I turned to face Ball. I looked admonishingly at my oldest son. Didn't I say this would happen? Ball fidgeted with the hem of his Star Wars pajama shirt, eyes fixed on the carpet. Yeah. Right. That's why I told you no scary movies with your brother, you remember? Yeah. So, what do you say to Charlie? Sorry.

Come on, Paul, I said Neely. Look him in the eye and tell him you're sorry. Say it like you mean it. Paul looked up, but Charlie was still fixated on something in his room. What is it, buddy? Did you see something in there? Charlie nodded and sniffed. Yeah, something.

behind the curtains. Ah, the curtains, I see. Well, let's go check it out after your brother apologizes to you. How about that? I'm afraid he'll come out if I stopped looking, Charlie said. His tone one that suggested I was stupid for not knowing this. Oh, okay. How about we check it out? And then your brother can apologize. How about that? Charlie nodded. I moved to stand up without him, but he begged for me to keep holding him. I pulled him up again. and we stepped into his bedroom doorway. Natalie had installed long maroon curtains in every room in the house, and they remained closed at night.

But even when they weren't closed, they bunched up on either side of the windows, theoretically allowing room for someone to hide behind them. They were just the kind of thing that would cause an impressionable kid with a vivid imagination to think a monster or killer was behind them. Charlie's bed was situated in such a way that it blocked the hem of the curtains from view,

from the bedroom door, so I walked farther in, holding Charlie into like I could see over the bed. Sure enough, there was a pair of scuffed black dress shoes sticking out from under the hem of the curtain. They were men's shoes, maybe tens or eleven's, but they certainly weren't mine. I had never seen them before. Charlie wrapped one arm around my neck and leaned into me, releasing a frightened sound. My teeth clamped together, and I spun around in anger. Paul, do you think this is funny? Paul, who stood in the hallway, flinched at my tone. What? The shoes! I said, angry at my son for tormenting his brother in such a way. What shoes? Dad, I didn't do anything. Those shoes, I said, gesturing with my head toward the window. Come in here. Paul walked stiffly into the room,

and I turned around to look at the shoes. They were gone. My mouth came open as I stared at the spot where they'd been, confusion clouding my mind. Paul looked up at me, still bewildered. Go to bed. I set Charlie down on his bed, despite his protests, and then turned the light on.

He watched while I moved to the curtains, and then looked in the closet and under his bed. I stood up, still struggling to comprehend. what had just happened. Then I saw Charlie reading my expression. I forced a smile under my face. See, nobody in here but us too. It was just a bad dream. But you saw them too, he said. Were we having the same dream? Yeah, I guess we were, buddy. I guess so. Now it's time to get some sleep, don't you think? Can I sleep with you and mommy? I shook my head sadly. Not again. Charlie. I need you to be a big boy and sleep in here, okay? Defeated, Charlie nodded, fighting back tears.

For a moment, I thought about picking him up and bringing him to our bedroom anyway, but I knew Natalie wouldn't be happy. She never slept well with the kid in the bed. I hugged him and reassured him that there was nothing and nobody in the house that meant him harm. As I beckoned him to get under his covers, I noticed he was wearing a pair of fluffy, multi-colored socks his grandmother had given him for Christmas. I smiled, thinking he was the only kid I'd ever heard of who actually liked the socks he'd gotten. He almost never took them off, and I had bought him another similar pair so we could wash his favorites every couple of days. It was just a bad dream, I said, tucking him in. Good night, Charlie. As I stood, I glanced at the curtains.

again, seeing no shoes there. I left the room, leaving the door open so the hallway light could provide Charlie with some illumination. After searching the rest of the house and finding no unlocked doors, no unlocked windows, and no sign that an intruder had been inside the house, I headed back up to bed. I even stopped in Paul's room to check his window and used the opportunity to ask him calmly if he had put the shoes under the curtains in his brother's room. He denied it once again. I believed him. Maybe I was half asleep.

Maybe I just thought I saw those shoes under the curtains. That's what I tried to convince myself of as I got back in bed with Natalie. She asked what happened, and I gave her an abbreviated rundown. She grunted and turned over to go back to sleep. I got comfortable, but sleep didn't come. come for a long time. I kept lifting my head to look at the curtains

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I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Glancing at the curtains over the nearby window as I went. I released a laughing grunt, shaking my head at my earlier behavior. Of course I hadn't seen shoes under the curtains in Charlie's room. It was silly. I had been dozing off while reading when I heard Charlie screams, so when I got there, I still hadn't been fully awake.

It had to be something like that. To prevent the light in the bathroom from waking me up, I peed in the dark and then headed back to bed. As I moved past the window, I glanced down at the hem of the curtains to find a pair of bare feet sticking out. Ha ha! I said, very funny. Have you been lying awake this whole time,

waiting for me to get up and use the restroom so you could pull this little prank. I shifted my gaze up to where Natalie's head would be under the curtains, knowing it had to be her. The feet were too large to belong to anyone else. And I told her about Charlie's little episode, leaving out the part about me actually seeing the shoes. Now, as my eyes continued to adjust to the darkness, I noticed the curtains were flat above the feet.

There was no bulge where the rest of her body should have been. Who are you talking to? Natalie asked, speaking from the bed behind me. My whole body buzzed with fear, hair standing on end as I looked down at the feet again. They were still there. But now I noticed they couldn't belong to Natalie. They were too big. The toenails were craggy.

The knuckles and tendons were bulky and gnarled, verging on the cusp of deformed. Mitch? Natalie asked. What are you doing? I backed up toward the bed. When I spoke, my voice was little more than a harsh whisper. Turn on the light! There was a click, and Natalie's bedside lamp came on as I touched the foot of the bed with the backs of my thighs.

What's going on? I pointed at the gnarled feet, now seeing that the nails were piss yellow. The tips of the toes were blue, and the rest of the skin was fish-belly white. Do you see them? I felt Natalie shift on the bed to look at where I was pointing. A moment later, she gasped. What the hell? Whose feet are those?

I shook my head, dismay coursing through me now that I knew my wife could see them too. I don't know. Who's there? Natalie said. Come out. There's not even any room. I said.

We would be able to see their shape. Okay, so it's a prank. Maybe something Paul did. Maybe we're being recorded for TikTok or something. Yeah. I said. The feet hadn't moved at all. It was a prank.

I told myself, just a prank, which meant I had to open the curtains. I eased away from the bed, sliding my bare feet along the carpet as I approached. When I got within reaching distance of the curtains, a strange noise arose. A sound like a muffled wood chipper emanated from behind the curtains, like machinery grinding up. Something. What is that? Natalie cried. What's that noise?

I hesitated, hand halfway toward the curtain. eyes still fixed on the feet. After a moment, I extended my hand a few inches closer. The noise grew louder. And then the feet moved. The tendons underneath the pale white skin shifted as some of the toes moved, twitching in place. I darted out of the room, thinking of nothing but getting away. Natalie, who had seen the same thing, lurched off the bed and came after me.

We got into the hall and shut the door to our bedroom. The boys! We darted down the hallway. I turned into Paul's room while Natalie went into Charlie's. I flipped the light on and looked first at the bed, seeing Paul there, eyes blinking against the bright overhead light.

Then my eyes went to the curtains. No feet. What? Come on, Paul. Get up, I said, grabbing my son's arm and yanking him out of bed. What's going on? I pulled him into the hall,

coming face to face with Natalie, who looked even more terrified. than she had when we shut the door to our bedroom. Where's Charlie? She cried. My stomach convulsed. Bile rose into my throat. Were there feet?

I asked. Natalie shook her head. Where's Charlie? Still holding on to Paul's arm, I moved to the stairs. Charlie? Are you down there? There was no answer from the dark first floor. Where's Charlie?

Natalie cried again, growing hysterical. He must be downstairs, I said, nodding. He's downstairs. What about the office? She asked. She was talking about the fourth upstairs bedroom, which we used as a home office. Still nodding, I transferred Paul's arm to Natalie's hand.

Stay here. I stalked down the hall and flipped on the lights to the home office. Feet jutted out from under the curtains there. Different feet. Still belonging to an adult, but smaller and more delicate than the pair we'd seen in our room. But they were still sickly colored, like they belonged to a corpse.

Seeing no sign of Charlie, I backed away, leaving the light on. Back at the top of the stairs, I said, He must be downstairs. Let's go. What happened to Charlie? Paul asked as we headed down. I could tell from his voice he was on the verge of tears. He's downstairs, I said, holding on to the thought for all it was worth. We called out for Charlie but heard no answer.

I told Natalie and Paul to stay put in the kitchen. grabbing two knives, one for myself and one for Natalie. Paul broke down sobbing, and Natalie kept her death grip on his arm, the knife in her other hand. I flipped on the lights in the den, checking the couch for Charlie. He wasn't there. But thankfully, there were no feet under the curtains. Next, I checked the living room, which was right next to the entryway. Charlie wasn't there.

But there was a pair of bare feet under the curtains of the window nearest the front of the front door. Since there was no dividing wall between the entryway and the living room, the curtains were only a few feet from the front door. I turned around and rushed back into the kitchen. The last place to look was the dining room, which had a sliding glass door that led out to the back patio. I turned the lights on and saw that there were six pairs of feet lined up under the curtains over the sliding glass door, six different pairs of feet, all of them looking lifeless. We need to get out of here. I said, backing into the kitchen.

Not without Charlie! Natalie said. Find our son, God damn it! Find our son, Mitchell! I think he's gone. I said. No! Natalie screamed.

Ball was bawling now, and she had to yell to be heard. No! Find him! 911! I said, suddenly realizing what we should do. We need to call 911. I grabbed the portable landline phone from the kitchen and hit the night. numbers. But as I went to press send, the power to the house shut off completely. The phone

was fully charged, though, so it shouldn't have mattered. But when I looked down at the phone, it was dead. That's impossible. Find our son! Natalie screamed, tears streaming down her face. Find him! There was only one place left to look. The garage. I ran through the mudroom off the kitchen and opened the garage door. Our vehicles were parking. inside, but the light didn't work, so I couldn't see. Still, I figured the lights in our cars would work, so I opened the door to Natalie's CRV, but no light came on. The car was completely dead, too. Charlie? I called, looking through the gloom into the back seat and then doing the same with my forerunner. He wasn't there. No longer able to hold it in, I broke down sobbing as I trudged

back to the kitchen. Natalie looked at me through the darkness and said, and said, and he was not only able to hold it in. said, You hold on to him, you hold on to him no matter what. I'm going to find our son. She shoved Paul into me, and I grabbed him with my free hand. Then I watched Natalie step into the dining room. What the hell are you? She screamed at the feet. What have you done with Charlie? She charged the curtains, knife held ready in her right hand.

The wood chipper sound erupted immediately, but Natalie didn't care. She pulled the curtains aside, ready to thrust with the knife. but there was nothing there, nothing at all, just complete and utter darkness. The sound was so loud it hurt my ears, and the next thing I knew, the curtains were falling back into place over the feet. My wife was gone. The only sign of her was the knife she'd been carrying, now lying on the carpet. The feet jutting from under the curtain started moving in place. Toes wiggled, muscles shifted, tendons jutted. At the same time, the tone and pitch of the woodchipper sound changed, becoming lower and somehow wetter. Chunky liquid sprayed out from under

the curtains, splattering the six pairs of feet lined up there. Hunks of meat came with the liquid, and I soon realized with sickening certainty that it was blood and flesh. It was Natalie. As the wood chipper sound died down, the feet stopped shifting, going still again. Paul gripped my arm, screaming. Shocked into silence and disbelief, I turned around and dragged Paul toward the front door. We had to get out of this house. We had to, right now. But as we approached the front door, I remembered the feet under the curtains there,

too close to the door for comfort. A sense of relief irked its way into my mind when I saw that the feet at the curtain and were gone. Thinking we would only get one chance, I hustled toward the door with Paul in tow. When we were nearly there, only a yard away, a pair of feet appeared under the curtain, sliding down from under the hem to settle on the floor. These feet were small, a child's feet, and they were clad in familiar socks, fluffy, multicolored socks, Charlie's socks. I came up short and stared down at those little feet. Charlie?

I said. Is that you? There was no answer. But I couldn't leave the house without looking to make sure, could I? Still holding the knife, I eased forward, ignoring Paul's pleas for us to just leave.

There was no woodchipper sound. I took this as a good sign. It's him, I said. It's your brother. We can't leave him. It's not him. Paul cried. Daddy, please.

He tried to pull me away. but he was too small, too weak. I moved ever closer to the curtains, to Charlie's feet. I reached out with the knife hand and gripped the edge of the curtain, and I yanked it open. The scene that greeted me, the scene behind the curtain, was one of unspeakable horror and carnage. Charlie stood there, smiling, blood running down his chubby cheeks, eyes like endless tunnels filled with mangled bodies. It looked like Charlie, but it wasn't.

Not at all. He reached out and gripped my wrist. I dropped the knife involuntarily. I was vaguely aware of Paul screaming as we were pulled behind the curtain by not Charlie. The Natalie was there, and I was screaming. And the screams never ended. Behind the curtains, our screams went on forever.

SEP 8816 is a collective designation for a phenomenon affecting curtains and the entities accompanying its occurrence. It is primarily characterized by the appearance of a pair of feet sticking out from under the curtain, with footwear and skin tone varying from instance to instance. The absence of any folds or creases in the curtain, consistent with a human body behind the curtain, suggests that the feet are disembodied. But this has not been confirmed. SCP 8816 has been observed in curtains including, but not limited to,

sheer curtains, shower curtains, theater curtains, and door curtains. In cases where the curtain ends a distance above the floor, the feet are observed to be hanging limp. There is no known way to prevent SCP-8816 occurrences beyond the removal of all curtains from a room before the anomaly occurs.