The SCP Experience - The Wendigo Skull | SCP-323

Episode Date: January 21, 2025

A group of thieves on the run from a botched heist seeks refuge in an isolated cabin during a raging blizzard, only to discover the horrifying aftermath of a grisly murder. Among the blood-soaked horrors lies a mysterious deer skull that exerts a sinister influence on anyone who dares approach it. As paranoia and hunger consume the group, one of their own succumbs to the skull’s ancient curse, transforming into a monstrous predator. With the storm raging outside and the cabin turning into a battleground, the survivors must confront both the supernatural entity and their own fragile humanity. SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-323 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-323 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

The wind hurl snowflakes into my face. The little formations of frozen moisture feeling like tiny needles puncturing my skin. They come rushing out of the dark night and into my face, forcing me to keep my eyes down as I trudge through the snow. Each step is an exercise and exertion, because the snow is nearly two feet deep in these woods. The heavy backpack I'm carrying doesn't help. My toes are beyond the point of my.

numbness, and each step brings five simultaneous jolts of pain from each foot. I know how frostbite works, but that doesn't make it any less scary. My body temperature has dropped enough to trigger automatic processes to protect itself, like drawing blood away from my extremities to keep my vital organs functioning. My fingers are still in the numb phase, even though I'm wearing gloves, and my hands are jammed as far into my coat pockets as possible. The gloves are thin, and it probably doesn't help that my right hand is sharing space in that pocket with my pistol. Oddly enough, the pistol gives me some solace.

I can always end things with a bullet to the head. An image of my wife and baby daughter comes to mind. The last time I saw them, they were on the couch, my daughter sleeping peacefully on my wife's chest. It was early in the morning, and I didn't want to. wake them. So I left without saying goodbye. I'd like to say that I knew this job was going to be trouble from the beginning. That would be a lie. It was just another job at first, one with a big payout and a little more danger than usual, but still just a job. Now that it's gone south, I find it surprising how quickly my thoughts have turned to suicide. Maybe because I hate the cold,

and I would do almost anything to stop shivering right now. Much too early to be thinking about suicide, I tell myself. There are three others out here with me. Things aren't that dire yet. Bringing my eyes up and squinting against the blizzard, I can see Laird's back about five yards ahead. I try to step in his footprints, but his legs are longer than mine,

and the snow is coming down so hard his prints are halfway filled in by the time I reach them. Pausing, I look over my shoulder, seeing nothing but my quickly filling footprints, and the snow-covered trees flanking them. I suddenly realize I have no idea how long we've been walking. It feels like it has been three or four hours since the crash. But that can't be right. We wouldn't survive that long in this temperature.

Despite the exertion of the march, my heart has slid. which isn't a good sign. But as moments pass and I see no sign of Baskin behind me, the old ticker starts going a little faster. Why didn't I wait for him? Why didn't I check on him every few steps? I tell myself it's because Castle is bringing up the rear. But I know that's not true.

Castle wouldn't think twice about leaving Baskin behind. It would mean more money for him. Money. What a joke. It will be a moot point if we don't live long enough to spend our ill-gotten gains. With some effort, I realize my mind is wandering. Confusion and amnesia are both symptoms of hypothermia. Looking forward again, I confirm what I already know is true.

I've lost sight of Laird. I might as well be alone for 500 miles in each direction now. You okay, Lucero? The voice from behind causes me to jump. I turn and see Baskin trudging up to me, his fleshy, earnest face painfully red. Behind him, I can just make out castle in his ridiculous knee-length fur coat. Just waiting for you, I say to Baskin, as I turn to continue walking through the woods. This job went south pretty quick.

But until we slid off the road and crashed the SUV, I actually thought we were going to pull it off. Where the fuck is Laird? Castle calls. I almost turn back to tell him to be quiet, but it would be a waste of energy. Even the drug dealers we robbed aren't crazy enough to come marching through the woods in sub-zero temperatures after us. Now, if we had stuck to the road after the crash, we'd all probably be dead right now, our blood melting the snow. But since we cut through the woods on Laird's insistence, we've made it this far. Not that it will matter if we don't find shelter soon. Hey!

Castle yells. I asked a question. Where is he? Up ahead. I call back. My voice ripped away by the wind. The faintest divvets of Laird's footsteps remain in the snow. But the blizzard seems to be picking up.

I forced myself to go faster, teeth chattering and body shivering. I don't know how much longer my legs will work. I wonder if freezing to death is pleasant, like they say drowning is. I hope so, because I'm not sure I actually have the balls to eat a bullet. Look! Askin calls from behind me. I turned to look at him, but he's pointing directly past me. Following his finger, I see a dim orange glow from somewhere ahead.

Holy shit, I murmur, finally getting my third wind, nearly hopping through the snow. Soon enough, it becomes clear. It's a cabin. With electricity, if the orange glow is any indication, I catch a brief whiff of wood smoke as the wind shifts. As I close in on the structure, I see Laird crouching out of the wind beneath the window, waiting for us.

He puts a gloved finger to his purple-hued lips as we approach. Then he replaces the hand on his Omni-Hybrid semi-auto rifle. Once we're all gathered around, Laird speaks quietly. I looked through a couple of windows, but I can't see shit because the blinds are closed on all of them except this one, which is an empty kitchen. There's an SUV out front, so there must be people in there.

So what we're going to do is go in fast and hard. Surprise their shit out of them. Maybe rough one of them up a little bit if they give us any shit. We're taking hostages now, Baskin asks. This is fucked. Although he's right, I'm not about to back him up, because I know we don't have any other choice. It's either this, or freeze to death, dumb shit, Laird whispers. What would you rather do?

Let's just take the SUV and get out of here, Baskin says. So we can crash again and end up back at square one? No way. The roads won't be drivable until this blizzard dies down. So just put your goddamn masks on and don't use any names. We'll get them rounded up and secured in a room. Then we can get warm and eat something. Got it? Baskin, knowing that Laird is right, capitulates.

We all grab our plastic skull masks out of our bags and get them in place. Laird points at me and Baskin. You too. Backdoor. Castle, with me. Our watches are already synchronized, so Laird tells us to go at 1123, which is in three minutes. We separate, Baskin and I, easing up four steps onto a small back porch. The back door, which looks to lead into the kitchen, has six panes of glass in it. Plaid curtains on the other side block our view of the interior. How do you want me to do it?

Baskin asks. How do you want to do it? I can barely feel my feet, so I think I better just break a pane and unlock it. I nod, pulling my pistol out. Sounds good. Baskin gets in position, left elbow cocked, and resting against the pain nearest the deadbolt. I checked my watch. One minute.

When I give him the go-ahead, Baskin bashes his elbow through the pain, reaches inside, unlocks the door, and throws it open. I stepped through with my pistol held up, arms shaking and teeth still chattering. I can hear the front door breaking in as Castle and Laird force their way into the house. force their way into the house. The kitchen is empty, so I moved through the nearest doorway, stepping into the front living room. Laird and Castle stand across the room, near a staircase that leads to the second floor. Their gazes are fixed on the living room couch. Despite the skull masks they wear, I can tell they're both shocked. I freeze, looking at the blood all over the room, and the horror show that has sprawled on the couch. A woman dressed in a gray sweatsuit lies

awkwardly on the couch, one foot and one hand hanging off, touching the floor. Her sweats have been torn open in several places, and the fabric is soaked in drying blood. The wounds all over her, from her face down to her calves, are like those left by a large, rabid animal. She has been torn apart, but not completely. It's easy to tell that she was once a fairly young woman in good shape. The gray eyes that stare blankly at the ceiling, tell me she's dead. Judging by the drying blood, she hasn't been gone that long. What the fuck? Baskin asks from behind me. There's a thump from upstairs, and we all tense, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Move, Laird whispers, gesturing for Castle to go up the staircase.

The man in the fur coat hesitates. You go. Christ, Laird says. Fine, I'll fucking go, you coward. Laird, a slim man who even looks skinny in his thick clothing, moves up the stairs with silent, practiced steps. Castle looks at me, and his flat expression tells me he won't be providing backup. Even if Laird isn't my favorite person in the world, I don't want him to get killed up there. Better do this the right way. I rushed to the second floor and catch up with Laird as he kicks open the door to one of the upstairs bedrooms. The room is unoccupied.

but a kid's belongings are scattered over the bed and dresser, handheld video game consoles, comic books, energy drinks, and processed snacks. While I cover the hallway, which leads to two more rooms on the second floor, Laird checks the closet and clears the room. The next door we come to is a bathroom, also unoccupied. Laird kicks open the final door, revealing a master bedroom and a scene mirroring the horror down in the living room. Only stranger.

A man wearing a massive deer skull with antlers lies slumped in the far corner of the room, near the foot of the bed. He is shirtless, and his chest and neck are a mess of cuts and gashes, some of which still elicit a slow trickle of blood, not from the pumping of the man's heart, but from gravity.

A large kitchen knife lies amid a pool of blood nearby on the hardwood floor. What the fuck? What do we just stumble into?" Laird whispers. I shake my head, thinking I've never seen a deer skull that big. Then my gaze catches something, a trail of blood across the floor. The blood leads from the knife to a closet at the side of the room.

I look at Laird to see if he's seen the trail, but it's clear he hasn't. His gaze is fixed on the dead man, or, more accurately, the deer skull the dead man is wearing. Weaving my hands doesn't work, so I step over and nudge him. He jumps like he's coming out of a daze and finally looks at me. After I gesture to the blood trail in the closet, Laird gets what I'm saying. He nods, and we both move slowly over to the twin accordion doors. We each grab a handle and, counting down with one hand, we slide them open in unison. A figure lurches out at us from amid the clothes, screaming incoherently and swinging its fists.

Don't shoot! I called Alaird, lowering my weapon and grabbing the blood-covered teenage boy with one hand, swinging him quickly down onto the bed, and then pinning him there with a knee in the back. The pajama-clad kid grunts and screams for a long moment. Then all the fight goes out of him, and the noises change. It takes me a moment to realize he's crying. RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting. Your story could be next.

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We can't stay here, Baskin says. This is fucked up. I don't want to stay here. We're all gathered in the kitchen now. It's the only room in the house, aside from the boy's bedroom, that isn't covered in blood. I couldn't get a coherent word out of the kid, before Laird, dragged him into his bedroom, and tied him up with zip ties from his bag.

Then again, I don't really blame the kid. A couple of guys with guns and skull masks are suddenly attacking him after God knows what happened with his mom and dad. It surely didn't help that Castle and Baskin came up while Laird was dragging him to the other bedroom. Then it was four guys with skull masks staring at him. I probably wouldn't be coherent either. Leaving the kid there on the bed, Laird forced us all down to the kitchen, where the blizzard whistles through the broken pain in the nearby door. We talk in the kitchen.

Masks pulled up so we can see each other's faces. How many times do I have to spell it out for you? Laird says to Baskin. We don't have a fucking choice. This is different, Baskin insists. There are two dead people here. What if the killer is still here? Castle snorts.

He's serious. It's pretty fucking clear what happened. The dad killed the mom, and the kid killed the dad. So yeah, I guess you could say one of the murderers is still here. And why was he wearing that deer skull? Baskin asks. Who knows why crazy people do crazy shit? The guy clearly snapped.

Haven't you seen The Shining? Just shut the fuck up, Laird says, stopping the argument. This is not a discussion. We're staying here until we can leave in their SUV. The only thing we need to figure out is where to put the money, and who's taking first watch? I clear my throat. What if the kid called the police?

Phones don't work up here. Besides, even if he did call the police, no one will be able to get here until the blizzard stops and the roads are cleared. So just sit down, relax, get warm, and keep your gloves on the whole time we're here. Same with your beanies, so you're not leaving hair behind.

And whenever you interact with the kid, keep your mask on. Why would we need to interact with the kid? Castle asks. To feed him and let him take a piss. Stuff like that. I'm not doing that shit. No way.

You'll do what the fuck I tell you, Castle. Until we part ways, I'm still leading this crew. Castle sneers. Why do we have to do anything with the money? Can't we just keep our shares on us? We already have them in our packs for Christ's sake. No need to take them out again. Laird nods.

That's fine. Is that what everyone wants? to do. We all nod in agreement, but Baskin still looks pale, like he's about to dart out the door and into the blizzard, just to get away from the dead bodies. I don't like this either, but there's no way I'm going back out into the cold. At least it's warm in here, and there's a fireplace in the living room, with some orange coals burning amid a pile of ash. Won't take much to get it going again. There's plenty of wood next to the fireplace. I'll take first watch. Laird says.

We'll do three-hour shifts. Everyone gets some rest. Where? Castle says. You gave the kid the only bed not covered in blood. Laird drops his head and rubs his eyes. Then he takes his pack and leaves the room. A moment later, I can hear him going up the stairs.

Castle huffs, pulling a chair out from the dining room table, and dropping into it with his pack nearby and his gun on the table. Wanting to get away from Castle and thinking about a nice, warm fire, I head out to the living room. As I grab wood, I do my best not to look at the dead woman on the couch. Baskin walks hesitantly in and puts his back to the couch. What do you think Laird is doing upstairs? It takes me a moment to realize what Baskin is saying, but when I do, I straighten and look at the ceiling. You don't think, Baskin trucks. I don't know. Maybe we should make sure

I nod and set the piece of wood down. Then we make our way upstairs. At the top of the stairs, I see Laird. He's standing in the open doorway to the master bedroom, staring toward the dead man. I'm momentarily relieved he's not messing with the kid. But that relief turns to dread as Laird maintains his stare, though we're making plenty of noise coming up the creaky stairs.

Baskin and I come up behind him and stop. Laird? When he doesn't answer, Baskin and I share a confused look. Laird? Still nothing. I reach out and grab his shoulder. He jerks away from me, gasping and spinning around. What?

Are you okay? I'm fine. Jesus. I was heading for the bathroom. I hook a thumb over my shoulder. There's only one bathroom in this cabin, Laird. You passed it to get to this room. Laird pushes past us.

What are you? The fucking realtor? He slams the bathroom door, ending the conversation. I've been sitting in front of the fireplace for over an hour, dozing when I suddenly stand up. The heavy iron poker is in my right hand. I look from it to Baskin, who has curled up in the fetal position nearby,

is back to the gruesome scene on the couch. But it's that very scene that has roused me from my half slumber. Sniffing, mouth-watering, I turn and look at the woman's body. Unable to help myself, I rush over, dropping to my knees next to the couch, and jamming my face into the open wound on the woman's neck. I take a mouth full of room-temperature meat between my teeth and rip. Dendon stretch, and then snap as I pull my head away.

Then I start chewing. But only enough so that I can force the meat down my throat. Then I'm plunging back in for more. I have to feed this hunger. I've never felt such a pit in my stomach, such an emptiness. What are you doing? Baskin cries. I ignore him. I just keep on biting, ripping, chewing, and swallowing.

Lacerro, stop! Baskin grabs me and pulls me away from the dead woman. Without thinking, I whip the fireplace poker up, connecting with his head. As I lurched to my feet, Baskin stumbles back and hits the wall, eyes the size of saucers, as blood pours from the gash in his forehead. The smell of blood is too much to handle. I rush him and crack his skull open with the poker. He falls to the floor, his eyes going completely white as he starts twitching.

Before he goes still, I've torn his stomach open with the poker, and I'm chomping on his flesh. I can't eat enough. It's never enough. Never. Ugh! I come awake with a start, seeing Baskin standing over me, uninjured. You okay? I look around, seeing that I've fallen asleep in front of the fireplace. The poker is where I left it, hanging with the other tools next to the hearth.

The fire is not quite dead. A couple of logs are still burning slowly. I stretch my stiff back as I sit up, sneaking a glance at the woman, seeing that she is just as she was when we got here. No more bites have been taken out of her. It was all a dream. What's up? There's some bad... banging from upstairs, Baskin says. It just stopped as I woke you up. I get to my feet.

Where are the others? Castle is asleep in the kitchen. Laird was still upstairs last I checked. Before Baskin gets the last word out, a bang comes from upstairs. It's directly over us, so I know it's coming from the master bedroom. Another bang sounds, and another. Let's go, I say, swiping my pistol up from the floor. and rushing up the stairs.

Baskin follows closely. This time, the master bedroom door is closed. The banging continues, so I rush over and stop next to the room to knock on the door. Laird? There's no answer. The banging continues, each impact vibrating the walls. The knob is locked, so I give Baskin the nod. He positions himself and then uses his weight and power to kick the door open.

We both rush in to see Laird side on to us, trying to yank the deer skull over his head. The problem is, his head is a little too wide, and it doesn't want to fit. He's managed to get it on up to his ears, cutting himself up pretty good in the process. Holding the antlers with both hands, he slams his head and the skull against the wall, trying to force the thing on. Laird! I shout. What the fuck are you doing? He doesn't answer me. and slams into the wall again.

This time, it works. The skull slides on, but it rips his left ear almost entirely off in the process. The ear dangles from the lobe, but Laird doesn't seem to notice. He turns toward us, and since the deer skull is missing its bottom jaw, I can see his mouth just underneath the jutting snout.

He's smiling. You okay? Baskin asks from right behind me. Laird lunges at us, head down, leading with the antlers. Reflexes kick in and I jump aside, but Baskin is too big to move that fast. One set of antlers jabs into his chest and stomach.

He's driven back, which shouldn't be possible, because Laird is much smaller than him. He hits the wall, and the antlers sink through his shirt and into his abdomen. He shouts in pain. Jamming my gun into my pocket, I move behind Laird and get an arm around his neck.

With Baskin pushing and running, me pulling, we managed to get layered off of him. Our feet get tangled, spilling Laird and eye to the floor, but I still keep my grip on him. Baskin is bleeding pretty good, but he looks down at me and says, what can I do? His bag, I say, pointing with my chin toward the bed. The zip ties. Castle appears in the doorway, looking half asleep. What's all the racket? He says, before the scene shocks him awake. What the hell are you guys doing? He's a lot. He's He attacked us, I shouted. Help us get him tied up!

Castle's eyes roam around the room, looking for the lie. But apparently believing us, he soon jumps in to help. After a few minutes, we finally have Laird tied up. But he still struggles on the floor, trying to get free, even if the only noises he makes are grunts and gasps. The three of us stand a safe distance away, watching Laird struggle. The antlers bump into the wall, scraping it down. now and then. I turned to Baskin and ask him if he's okay. He's clutching his wounds with both

hands as he shakes his head. I don't think so. Castle has a hundred questions that I can't answer. As I escort Baskin downstairs to the kitchen, where I saw a first aid kit, I tell him what I know. Laird jammed that skull on his head, and then he attacked us. With Baskin at the table and the first aid kit open at my elbow, I remember something. Castle, Can you get that kid and bring him down here? I don't want him up there with Laird in case he gets free. Fuck the kid, man. What are we going to do about Laird?

Just go get the kid! I shout. And put something over his face so he doesn't see his mom. Jesus, fine! Castle leaves the kitchen, allowing me to focus on Baskin's wounds. They don't look good. They're bleeding a lot, and they're pretty big. I have no idea how deep the antlers went.

I don't feel good, Lucero. I think he hits something important. You'll be all right. We just need to patch you up and get you to a hospital as soon as this blizzard stops. It's not that bad. I can't meet Baskin's gaze as I lie to him. But he seems to know things aren't good.

Ah, I don't think so, he says in a quiet voice. I think I'm about to die. Shaking my head, I patch him up as best I can with the supplies at hand. As I'm finishing, Castle appears with the bound-up kid slung over one shoulder. He pulls a chair out from the opposite side of the table and dumps the kid into it. He must be 13 or 14. Even though he's not gagged, he doesn't say anything.

He just looks at us with the wide, frightened eyes of a child in a horrible situation. Castle sits next to him and the only other chair and puts his head in his hands. What a fucking mess. I realize Baskin hasn't spoken for a long while, so I swallow hard and look up at him. His eyes are glazed. From his slumped position in the chair, he stares at the kid. What's your name?

The kid hesitates before answering. Toby. Baskin coughs a wet cough, then smiles at Toby, his teeth bloody. Nice to meet you, Toby. I'm Baskin. Sorry about your parents. What happened? Toby looks away.

The skull, he says. It did something to my dad. Ah, bullshit, Castle says. I turn and glare at him. He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath. What do you mean? Baskin asks. How did it do something to him?

I found it out in the woods, in a cave. I brought it back to show him before the bird. blizzard started. But then he got really weird, and he wouldn't stop looking at it. It scared mom and me. Baskin coughs again, wincing at the pain. What happened then? My dad put the skull on. Then he killed my mom. Tears well in the kid's eyes. His chin quivers. He was eating her, but then he stopped and came after me. So I, I stabbed him because he was going to be to kill me too. Baskin reaches one large handover and rests it on the kid's shoulder.

It's okay, buddy. You did the right thing. Nothing to be sorry about. A loud clatter comes from upstairs. I look up at Castle. If you're so sure the kid's story is bullshit, you go up and check on him. Castle opens his mouth to argue, but he stops and rolls his eyes. Fine, I got it. I'll check on him.

See if you can see if you can. get him to talk to you, I say, but be careful. Yeah, yeah. As I turn back to Baskin, I see his hand slide off the kid's shoulder and flop at his side. His head lolls, and he slumps deeper into the chair, eyes closed. The kid is sobbing as I get up and check the big man's pulse. He's gone. I shake my head, grinding my teeth together. Castle screams upstairs, and there's a gunshot. Then a series of thumps. I look up at the ceiling, suddenly scared to death to go up there. But when I look at the kid, I know I have to.

But first, I get up and find a knife. I cut the zip ties around the kid's wrists and ankles, just in case something happens to me and he has to run. Where are your warm clothes? I ask him. He's in pajamas. He would freeze to death outside. Toby looks up and points a finger at the ceiling.

Shit. Okay, just stay here. With my gun in hand, I move through the living room to the foot of the stairs. As I look up, I see Laird standing at the top of the staircase. Only it's not Laird, not anymore. He's been transformed. He's still wearing the skull, and a chunk of bloody meat sticks out of it. He chews on the meat, making an awful squelching sound.

His shirt is gone, revealing taut, great. black skin stretched over bony ribs. Laird has always been skinny, but this is far beyond that. It's like he has lost 30 pounds in the last 10 minutes. Laird's arms seem to have lengthened, stretched out, so they hang down past his knees. His hands are black, long fingers ending in pointy claws. The impossibility of it gets stuck in my head, and I waste precious moments wondering whether I'm seeing things correctly. Maybe we never found this cabin, I think. Maybe I'm sitting out in the snow, freezing to death.

And this is some DMT-fueled hallucination. Even as I second-guess myself, Laird is hunkering down on his elongated legs, getting ready to pounce. It's only when he throws himself down the stairs that I snap out of it. I whip my gun up and fire, but I'm already moving out of the way, and my aim is off. Laird clears the entire staircase, landing on all four. a few feet away from me as I backpedal. He quickly shifts and launches himself at me again. I fire twice, clipping him once before he crashes into me.

His claws rip open my forearm, causing me to drop the gun. We crash into the wall next to the fireplace. Laird raises my bloody arm to his mouth and bites. Screaming, I try to push him away, but he's immensely strong. As he rips a chunk of flesh for my arm with his teeth, I look into the kitchen at Toby, who stands there on the the threshold, staring at me. Run!

I scream. Run! After a moment's hesitation, Toby runs, yanking the backdoor open and sprinting outside into the raging blizzard. Still chewing the meat from my arm, Laird grips the side of my head with one spider-like hand and slams my temple against the mantle above the fireplace. It feels like my skull has caved in, but I somehow managed to retain consciousness, even as my legs give way.

Laird lets me drop And I come to rest with my upper body On the stone hearth Heat from the dying fire on my back As I lie on my side Dazed Laird drops down next to me And yanks my damaged right arm up

Sinking his teeth into the flesh again Screaming, I try to sit up But Laird grabs my face with his other hand And pins it to the hearth And he starts to squeeze His claws dig into my skin I can't help but scream into his palm from the pain. There's a crunch and a jolt of agony as my left cheekbone collapses.

I flail with my left hand, searching for anything that could help me. It knocks against something, and I feel the heat of the fire and the back of my hand sizzling as it makes contact with the flaming log in the fireplace. Reflexively, I jerk my hand away, but then I think better of it. My skull is about to pop, and Laird rips another strip of meat from my right arm. I flip my hand and grab the log, feeling my skin melt and sear. I whipped the log out, hitting Laird in the side of his neck as hard as I can. Embers explode from the log.

Laird screeches and lets go of me, jumping away. I get to my knees quickly, still holding the log. Laird has collected himself, and he's facing me, preparing to attack again. As he rushes forward, I hurled the log at his face and then throw myself toward my gun, which lies on the floor several feet away. The log only distracts Laird for so long. He lurches for me, but I get the gun up, gripping it in both hands because my right barely works. I fire when he is a step away, the bullet blasting through the deer skull and into his head.

But he keeps coming, reaching out from my head with his black long-fingered hands. I fire again, this time putting a bullet into his narrow chest. He grips my head and squeezes. I fire again and again, emptying the rest of the magazine into him. His hands go limp and fall away. He collapses, and I drop the useless gun, quickly scooting away from him. The deer skull seems to stare at me. Even though Laird doesn't move, I know the skull is still alive.

Getting to my feet, I grabbed the fireplace poker from the tool set beside the fireplace and go to work on the skull. I smash it to pieces, only stopping when a horrible realization hits me. I told the kid to run. He's out there in the blizzard in sock feet and pajamas. Dropping the poker, I race outside and stop on the back porch, scanning for his footprints in the snow. They're gone, filled in by the raging blizzard.

Toby! I scream. Toby, come back! It's okay! It's no use. The wind whips my voice away. Bleeding, burned, and barely able to stand, I have no choice. I venture out into the blizzard,

shouting for Toby every few seconds. steps as I peer around for him. Pretty soon, I've lost sight of the cabin. Still, I continue to stumble through the woods, shouting for the kid, thinking about my wife and daughter. Part of me says I should turn around, go back, and save myself. But another part knows that I could never face my family again if I gave up on the kid. It's my fault he's out here. I can't have his death on my conscience. I may be a career criminal, but I've never killed anyone. Not until tonight anyway. The wind sights through me, freezing me to my core. Blood drips from my right arm into the snow, despite me holding it to my chest to try and slow the bleeding. My energy is flagging. I stop calling

his name as each step becomes a Herkulean effort. My extremities are going numb, and I grow confused. I'm no longer sure I can find my way back to the cabin. But I keep walking until my legs stop working. I collapsed to my knees in the snow. There's nothing more I can do. I'm so tired. I just want to sleep for a little while. My eyelids grow heavy. As I topple over onto my side in the snow, I tell myself that it's okay. It's a peaceful way to go. There's a voice in my ear, and someone is standing over me, telling me to get up. Blinking, I look up at Toby. Come on!

He says, tugging at my sleeve. With Toby's help, I get to my feet. He leads us back to the cabin. Part of me thinks it's a lie, a death rattle hallucination. But by the time we reach the back door of the cabin, I'm aware enough to realize it's real. We step through the back door and into the kitchen, but we don't. Don't take another step. Our eyes are fixed on the kitchen table.

There, among the first aid supplies, is the huge deer skull. It is completely intact, which should be impossible. It stares with its empty eye sockets at me. A sweet, seductive whisper sounds in my head, telling me to put the skull on. An insatiable hunger expands in my stomach, just like in the dream I had. I try to resist, but I'm not sure. I have the energy. Toby looks up at me as if he knows. I meet his gaze, shake my head once, and then step toward the skull. SCP-323 is the skull of an unidentified deer species with a pair

of antlers. The skull itself is much larger than the biggest of any known species. The rear of the skull features an ovoid gap, large enough to fit a narrow adult human head. The skull exerts an influential effect in a radius extending roughly 45 feet from itself. So long as the skull is within line of sight, individuals within this radius will begin experiencing cannibalistic thoughts and urges, violent outbursts, and impaired judgment after approximately one hour of continuous exposure. Roughly 74% of individuals who reach this point will attempt to place their heads through the gap present in the back of SCP-323. Within 10 minutes of putting the skull on, the individual will undergo drastic physical

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