The SCP Experience - The Witch of Words | SCP-5351

Episode Date: July 11, 2025

In the Russian wilderness, a covert Foundation agent must recover a lost village and unknowingly unleash a deadly linguistic entity—only to rediscover his identity and purpose when a shattered molar unlocks the key to containment. This story was derived from ⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5351 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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$10. DePo minusonon $10. the strange ornaments hanging from the low branches of fur and pine trees are the first clue that I'm getting close. After trudging through the woods and barren landscapes of the Russian wilderness for several days, these trinkets excite me. I was hoping this job would only take a couple of days, but I've already gone beyond that. I want to get this little job over so I can return to civilization and see a dentist. something's up with one of my back-left molars, and I've been tonguing it this whole trip. It doesn't hurt much, and it's not loose, but it feels different somehow.

I just can't place how, but I can't stop messing with it either. I stopped to inspect the ornaments hanging from the branches, thankful for the break. Although my pack isn't as heavy as it was when I set off on this little mission, thanks to the food I've consumed, it feels like it has gotten heavier each day. I remind myself to stop tonguing the molar as I unclip the various backpack straps. It's not just the physical sensation that something is wrong with the tooth. There's also a nagging feeling at the back of my mind that there's something about the molar I need to remember. Forget the tooth, I tell myself, swinging the backpack off.

After plopping the pack down against a fallen tree and pulling my sweat-stained shirt away from my skin, I take a good look at the trinkets. They're made of branches and carved bits of wood, lashed together with crude twine to make figures that have no immediate significance to me. Taking out my satellite phone, I use the voice recorder app to describe them as best I can, before I take pictures and then send the findings back to Robeson. He's my current boss, for this job anyway. I whip my head up at the sound and peer into the woods. It's late afternoon now, and the woods are shrouded with deepening shadows. I see nothing, but that wasn't a small branch snapping.

Whatever did that has some weight to it. Maybe a deer, or a bear. The guy who hired me for this job, Robeson, told me to be wary of people out here. He said they're backwards hill people who may react poorly to my presence. And he also said to watch out for bears. Of course, I know all about bears. I've been trekking through forests like this one for nearly all of my adult life. It was why he picked me for the job in the first place.

Find the village. If it is there, send me the coordinates and then head back here. Robeson said weeks ago. Don't approach. If you can manage it, don't be seen at all. Another branch snaps out there in the darkening woods. This one closer, but also more to my left. Still, I see nothing. No animal, no person. Suddenly, I'm really hoping it's a bear out there,

and not some weird, deformed person like something from the hills have eyes. Glancing at my pack, I see the red and black canister of bear spray sticking out one of the side pockets. That stuff would work on a bear or a human, that's for sure. I skid her over and yank it out of the pocket, pulled the safety, and then put my thumb on the trigger, ready to fire. Turning in a wide arc, I scanned the woods for any sign of the weighty being who made the noises. Still nothing.

After a few minutes of regular forest sounds, I let my guard down. Sometimes even a small animal rustling through the woods sounds much larger than it actually is. At least, that's what I tell myself, as I pull my pack back on, absently tonguing the weird feeling molar. As I resume my march along the barely there trail, I keep the bear spray in my right hand, just in case.

As the shadows grow hairier and the trees seemed a bunch closer together to blot out any remaining sunlight, I decide it's time to find a campsite. I keep walking, scanning for a relatively clear area large enough to pitch my tent in. A pale human face sits in deep shadows under the needle-heavy branches of a pine tree off in the distance to my left. My gaze sweeps across it, and it takes me a moment to realize what I've just seen. I whip my head back, stopping where I am on the trail.

There's no doubt it's a man's face, sallow and long, with sunken eyes and a thin line for a mouth. It fades into the deeper shadows under the trees as I watch. Soon, it is completely gone. I stand gap-mouthed for a long moment. wondering what I should do. Clearly there's a village nearby. That's the only reasonable explanation for the man's presence. But Robeson warned me not to be seen. He said, If you can help it. What does that mean? Should I continue? Should I just give him the coordinates

to where I am now and tell him the village is somewhere close? Will I get paid the rest of my fee if I do that? I'm still staring at the shadows where the man's face was when the noise starts. It's springs up first to my right, and I have no doubt it is made by a human. It's a wordless yell, long and low. It's made by a single mouth first, but then more join in. One starts up directly ahead, then another directly behind. I spin around, searching for any sign of those making the noises, but I see nothing out of the ordinary, just trees and bushes. Dozens more voices join the strange monosyllabic cry until there's no doubt I'm completely surrounded. The noise buffets me, the terror solidifying in my limbs, making them too heavy to be useful.

I lift the bear spray, but my arm shakes, and I don't have the energy to hold it up for more than a few moments. The yelling gets louder as the circle around me closes. Soon, I can see figures in the woods moving forward. Pale men and women materialize out of the shadows like wraiths. Their mouths are wide oes of darkness, and their eyes are similar. They close in, some of them carrying clubs, while others carry lengths of crude, homemade rope. I drop the canister of bear spray. As soon as it hits the ground by my feet, they stop yelling, their mouths snapping shut. Somehow, the silence is more terrifying than the yelling.

Their eyes bore into me as they step forward, moving toward me slowly but not hesitantly. There are two dozen of them at least. The men and women alike have shaved heads and wear lashed together shapeless rags. Their hands are knobby and dirty, their skin seldom touched by the sun. I'm tempted to reach for my satellite phone, but I'm afraid any movement would be taken badly. The clubs they carry, fastened out of thick branches, look menacing. As they close the circle like a noose, I dropped to my knees, the extra weight of my pack making the move painful as little rocks pierce through my pants and into my knees.

Then their hands are upon me, ripping my pack away, clutching fistfuls of my hair, tearing at my clothes. With my eyes shut, I don't fight back, waiting for the blow to the head that will knock me out or kill me. But the blow never comes. Instead, once they tear anything of use away from me, they bind me with their coarse lengths of rope and lift me between them, carrying me face down, hard hands clutching my arms and legs as they bring me to their village. From my downward facing position, I see little of the village, just the bases of wooden buildings lining a narrow path. Kerosene lanterns provide dim illumination here and there. Then we're entering one of these crudely constructed buildings,

and I'm surprised to find a flight of stone steps leading down into a basement. Before I can look around to gain my bearings in the dark room, those carrying me drop me to the hard-packed dirt floor. My ribcage takes the brunt of my fall, knocking my breath from me. Some reflex allows me to keep my head up, preventing a broken nose, and instead only earning me a bruised chin as I hit the floor. The sound of footsteps walking up the stone steps makes me realize that none of the villagers have spoken at all. From the time they stopped yelling out in the woods, they didn't make a sound. It's never too early to plan your summer story in Europe with WestJet, from rolling countryside to cobblestone streets. Begin your next chapter.

Book your seat at westjet.com or call your travel agent. WestJet, where your story takes off. You okay? The words startle me as they come while I'm sucking in a sweet breath. The villagers closed the basement door only moments ago. suffocating what little light there was. Now the basement is completely dark, and it seems I'm not down here alone. It's a woman's voice, and it's soon joined by a man's. Let's not just stand here. Let's help him up. They're both speaking Russian, which I understand.

Can we touch you? The woman asks. I hear the man scoff from somewhere in the nearby darkness. Yes, I gasp. Please. I'm still on my stomach, making it easy for each of them to grip an upper arm and pull me up so I'm standing on my knees. Now that I have a better view of my surroundings, I can see that there is some light coming through three narrow, barred windows near the ceiling. That, coupled with my eyes adjusting, allows me to see my two companions. They're both around the same age, putting them in their early 20s. The man has a thick head and a blunt jaw. His long brown hair is tied into a man bun. The jaw muscles under his cheeks work incessantly. as he grinds his teeth.

The woman looks fragile, not just in structure and stature, but in expression too. Her resolutely hopeful look seems to stay on her face by sheer force of will. And if the barely contained terror swimming deep in her blue-green eyes

is any indication, her will is close to breaking. Both of them wear expensive but filthy hiking clothes. It's not hard to guess what happened to them. They wandered into the wrong forest and were captured. much like me. Given the familiarity with which the man addressed her, I'm guessing they've known

each other for a long time. As they work on freeing my limbs, I ask, how long have you been here? A day and a half, the man says. What are your names? They introduce themselves. The woman is Inessa, and the man is Yarek. I'm Merrill, I tell them. They free my hands first and shortly after my legs. I stand uneasily, stumbling once. Yarek steadies me with one hand. Thank you. The first thing I do is move to the nearest barred window, tonguing my molar and not caring at all. But there's still that vexing notion that I've forgotten something about that tooth, something important. Pushing these ridiculous thoughts away, I focus on trying to get out of this basement. I have to stand on my tiptoes to see through the narrow window. A slid,

The sliver of the main avenue outside is visible between the bars. But I see that they're not actual bars, not metal ones anyway, they're branches. Grabbing one, I try to yank it out, but it doesn't even budge. The construction is solid, the hard-packed earth hard as concrete. The ceiling is made of wood, but it's not as crude as I first thought. Still, there must be a way out. We've checked every inch, Yarek says. I turned to see him standing with his arms around Inessa in the middle of the room.

My eyes catch on the stairs. What about the door? Locked and guarded. All the time? I've gone up there a dozen times. Before I even make it to the door, they start doing that creepy yelling thing and a bunch of them come running. But you're welcome to try it.

Something about Yarek's tone makes me want to try it just to spite him. But I find that I'm too terrified to approach the stairs. I think about my satellite phone, wondering if there's some way for Robeson to track it. If so, maybe he'll send some people to see why I haven't checked in yet. But who knows how long that will take? And the limited light, I search around the room for anything I can use, some sort of tool maybe, to chip away at the hard earth into which the bars have been sunk. My eyes catch on the rope.

That was only minutes before securing my limbs. I grab a length of it and move back over to one of the windows. If I can get it tight around two of the bars and then twist it hard enough to apply pressure, I could break the wooden bars. I'm tying the rope around when a commotion comes from outside. Off to my left, feet clad in primitive sandals appear. About ten pairs. They move down the footpath between buildings toward me.

Hastily, I untie the rope and pull it down, hoping they haven't seen it. A moment later, the feet pass in front of the window and angle toward our structure. Next, the floor above creaks slightly as the group comes into the building. The basement door opens and the crowd comes down. Leading the way is a girl of about 12 or 13 with long brown hair. Two people, a man and a woman, walk directly behind her, each with one hand on her shoulder. Behind them, half a dozen more people come down. They carry clubs and bits of rope.

As the group comes into the basement, Anessa and Yarek, move back until they're against the wall. I do the same, keeping the bunched up rope in my hands and hidden behind my back. A couple of kerosene lanterns are placed on the floor on either side of the girl, illuminating the space. The girl faces us. Gaunt features fixed with purpose. Like the others, she wears a formless, colorless robe,

although it looks much newer and cleaner than those the adults wear. The two people directly behind her each keep one hand on the girl's shoulders as they're. they shift, coming around so they are facing each other on either side of the girl. They each have something in their free hand, but I can't tell what the items are because they're blocked from my view. Still facing us, the girl begins to talk in a heavily accented and strange dialect of Russian that takes some energy for me to understand. The maiden of the woods, you have gifted us with words, you have taught us the power of

spoken language. have kept us safe from those who wish to destroy our way of life. We thank you for this. We thank you for this. We thank you for this and everything. The girl pauses, bringing her hands together behind her back and tilts her face toward the ceiling, closing her eyes. The maiden of the woods, here is one for your wrath.

Here is a trespasser, a stealer of birds. Do with him as you please. The girl tilts her head back down, but she keeps her hands behind her back. She opens her mouth and presents her tongue, sticking it out as far as she can. The pair with her hands on her shoulders shift, finally taking their hands from her. One of them, the woman, brings a pair of wooden tongs out from behind her leg. She grips the tip of the girl's tongue with the tongs. The man has a pair of ancient shears in his hand.

The metal blades shiny where they have clearly been sharpened. He brings the shears. up and positions them on either side of the girl's tongue. What the hell are you doing? I shout, taking a step toward the trio. One of the other villagers rushes at me and cracks me with his heavy wooden club right above my left eye. A blinding darkness flares in my head, and I lose connection with my body for a split second, only coming back to myself as I sit down hard on the floor. The man who struck me moves to stand behind me. His body odor infiltrates my nose and

brings me close to gagging. He rips the rope out of my hands, jams his knees into my back on either side of my spine, and uses the length of his club under my chin to lift my head, forcing me to look at the strange ceremony. Once again, the pair puts their hands on the girl's shoulders, but this time it's to keep her from squirming. At least, that's how it seems from the way their forearm muscles flex in the flickering light. The woman pulls the girl's tongue with the tongs, stretching it out as far as it will go. The man clamps down with the shears. The twin blades slice with a thick, wet sound

through the girl's tongue to meet in the middle amid an outrushing of blood. The girl jerks back on reflex, slamming her mouth shut, but it's already done. Most of her tongue comes away in the woman's tongs. The rest of the villagers gather around the girl. Their mouths fall open,

and they chant a chorus of strange cries, not dissimilar to the ones I heard before my capture. in the woods. But this one is different, celebratory in its tone. Although it's clear the girl is in great pain, she finally opens her mouth, spits nearly a pint of blood onto the floor, and then joins the others in making the noise. Even the man holding his club under my chin produces the sound. Now, in the light from the kerosene lanterns, I can see into many of the villagers open mouths. The stubby, long since healed gray nubs that wriggle within, like demented, Did cave creatures tell me why I didn't hear a word from them earlier?

All their tongues have been lopped off. It has only been a few minutes, but I feel more exhausted than a few days of nonstop hiking. The girl left not long ago, but all the others are still here. They're no longer yelling. Now, they just stand around, waiting for something. Maybe there's going to be another tongue-cutting ceremony. I hope not. Anessa and Yarek hold each other about eight feet to my left.

Yarrick rubs the woman's back while she sobs into his shoulder. The guy who hit me in the head still has hold of me, making sure I don't try anything. Not that I would at this point. I'm so tired. But not too tired to stop tonguing the molar. It's driving me mad. I'm in mortal danger in some dank basement with tongue-lopping psychos, and I can't stop thinking about this goddamn tooth. The girl reappears, coming back down the stone steps.

But now she's holding something pressed against her chest. Something flat and thin, a wooden plank about the size of a hardcover book. The crowd parts for her as she walks reverently toward us. The villagers make a point of not looking at the piece of wood. They turn their heads to look anywhere other than there. The girl stops in front of Yarek and Inessa. She looks into Yarek's eyes and then extends the piece of wood toward him. As she does, I see that there's Cyrillic writing on one side, words.

Fuck off, Yarek says. Half a dozen villagers race forward. Anessa screams, and Yarek tries to resist as these pale people separate them by force. Yarrick gets a club between the legs for his trouble. He falls to his knees, groaning, while the others knock Anessa's legs out from under her. She hits the floor hard on her back. Two of them hold her down, while the other one stands beside her, raising his club in an unmistakable threat. The girl once again offers the piece of wood to do.

Yorik, he's no idiot. Even with how much pain he must be in, he knows what they're saying. Take it, or we'll beat her up. He takes the piece of wood and looks at it, still on his knees. After a moment, he says, I'm not reading this shit. Vanessa screams again as the club smashes down into her chest with a thump. Okay, okay, I'll read it. He recites a series of words in Russian that I hardly recognize. There are words I do know, common words. But they are sandwiched between what seems like names and bastardized forms of verbs and adjectives. The crowd gathered in the basement go still as he finishes reciting the words carved into the wood.

Even Anessa doesn't make a peep as everyone waits for something to happen. I thought they might kill Yareg after he was done as part of the primitive tongue removal ceremony. But none of the villagers moved toward him. In fact, I see the girl and a couple of the other ones nearest him take a step back. A moment later, I realize why. A figure appears behind Yarek, blinking into existence in the span of a heartbeat. It's a woman, that much I can see. Her black hair sticks everywhere, whole sections of it in dreadlocks from lack of care.

She's even paler than the villagers, if such a thing is possible. The rags she wears are tattered and holy, revealing flashes of the emaciated and sun-starved body underneath. Yarrick seems to censor there behind him. Maybe he can smell her. His eyes widen and a grimace forms on his face. But before he can turn around, she attacks him. Her sharp nails ripped through the skin on either side of his face.

She snarls, an animalistic sound that makes something elemental click deep inside me, releasing a flood of ancient fear and revulsion. And, along with those potent emotions, a memory surfaces. A memory that I've been trying to unearth this whole. time about my back left molar, and now, with this gush of memory, I know it's not just any tooth. It's a false one. Yarrick screams as the woman continues her attack, ripping his face to shreds with her sharp, black nails.

She ruptures one eye before tearing the corner of his mouth open all the way up to his ear. The skin flaps wide, making Yarik look like he is grinning crazily with one side of his mouth. I tongue the molar, knowing that it's false and that I need to bite down on it, but not knowing why. I can't remember that much. All that surfaces is a memory of Robeson explaining to me about the molar. You'll know when it's time, he said, before sticking a syringe in my arm and drugging me with something. Anessa screams and Yarek's blood-gargled yells create the morbid soundtrack to my prodding, but the molar won't come loose. It's stuck in there tight. The woman rides Yarek down so he's on his stomach. She digs under his hair line at his forehead with four fingers and then

rips his scalp off in a spray of blood. I can do something about this. I can stop this. I just need to break that molar free. Thinking quickly, I reach up, grip the club that's across my throat, and yank down on it while turning my head to the left, opening my mouth. I bite onto the man's left forearm as hard as I can. My teeth pierce his skin like it's thick plastic,

and then blood seeps into my mouth. Shouting, the man wrenches the club away. I open my mouth and let him go, turning on my knees as he gets ready to hit me with the length of wood. I present the side of my head to him like a gift, hoping he'll accept it. He does. The club hits me in the side of my jaw. The impact whips my head around and sends me falling to the floor,

but I can already tell it worked. Unfortunately, he also loosened several of my other teeth. No time to worry about that now. I tongue the false tooth out and work it to the other side of my mouth, where I use my still intact teeth to crunch down on it. A strong medicinal taste fills my mouth, competing with the metallic tang of blood. A moment later, a rush of memories hits me like a club to the face.

It's like a thousand epiphanies all at once. The ultimate aha moment. I now know the reason for the tooth, and what unlocked the memory, the memory that surfaced along with my potent fear and revulsion. I also know that I can defeat the asshole kneeling on my back. But most importantly, I know I can stop the anomalous woman attacking Yarek, tearing ribbons of flesh out of his back. Shifting my head as best I can while this asshole is shoving it down, I managed to get it so my mouth is mostly unimpeded.

She is the witch of words. Words summon her, and words can trap her. The phrase is there in my mind, large and glowing like a neon sign in the night. I now remember how long it took to memorize perfectly, nailing the inflection on each nonsensical word. Of course, a thousand years of practice is nothing compared to one second of the real thing. A plan rarely survives contact with the enemy, so here goes nothing. I say the phrase loudly but with control, not yelling, taking care to say it correctly, just the way I practiced. As soon as the last word leaves my lips, the witch of words flops off of Yarek's back and begins writhing on the floor as she emits a pained screech. Her legs suddenly straighten out as if yanked by some of her legs.

as if yanked by some unseen force. Then her lower legs suddenly fold the wrong way at the knees with the horrific sound of the joints shredding and breaking. Next, the same thing happens to her arms. They snap and twist and curl toward her body like the legs of a dead spider. But when she finally stops moving, I realize she resembles something else I recently saw. She looks like one of those strange talismans

hanging from the trees out in the woods. Her shrieking continues, but the words will hold her until Robeson and the mobile task force get here. When I broke the false tooth, it turned on a tiny transmitter that sent a single signal to the MTF, who I now know is waiting nearby. Using the tracking device in my phone to guide them, they'll head this way. But I'm not out of the woods yet. The villagers stare, their gazes, shifting from the shrieking, distorted witch to me and back again.

The man holding me down starts shouting wordlessly in anger. Using a technique I learned in foundation training camp, I shift one way and then the other to make him lose his equilibrium and then buck him off easily. Before he can recover, I'm on him, breaking one arm as I yank the club away. The other villagers rush me. I spin to meet them, smiling like a madman. Some of them think twice about attacking, and that's all I need. Weielding the club like I came out of the womb with it, I crack skulls, break jaws, and bust knees. By the time the few remaining villagers rush up the stairs, I've worked up a good sweat.

Groaning, crying, and whimpering villagers littered the basement floor. Anessa tends to Yarek, who may or may not live. I feel a twinge have regretted that, if I could have helped him earlier. But that's exactly the point of the drug cocktail they gave me for this mission. That's the point of the false tooth that contained another drug to bring my hidden memories back to the fore. Because if I had been myself when this whole thing started, there was no way I was, I would have let things get so far. I surely would have stopped it before they forced Yarek to read the words.

I wouldn't have been able to help myself, and the witch of words never would have come. That's the whole point of this mission, capture the witch. But it wasn't just that. With the foundation, it's never just one thing. They're always experimenting, always trying to figure out better ways to deal with anomalies. And I've just proved a use case for these particular drugs used in this way. Sometimes, foundation agents have to go up against telepathic anomalies, one that can get into your head and root around to see your intentions or your past.

But if you have a way to forget those things temporarily, if you can forget we work for the foundation until we take the antidote, then it might just save some lives. That's how it was explained to me. And although we have it on good authority that the witch of words isn't telepathic, it's still a step forward. Next time, the foundation will test it with the same. psychic Euclid class anomaly. Now that I remember all this, I stand by my decision. I'm glad I

volunteered. If things had gone sideways, maybe I would be thinking differently. But now, as I hear shouts from outside, I realize that the MTF team is here. We have captured the witch, mission accomplished. No more hikers will go missing in these woods, at least not because of the witch and her little cult. Isn't that what matters most? I tell myself it is. But as I look at the state of Yarek, a little doubt creeps in. He's in bad shape. Thankfully, I'm saved by further reflection as my colleagues rush down the stairs and into the basement. Robeson is among them. Now I know he's not just some guy who hired me to find a village. He's my commander. He slaps me on the back as he looks around. It worked. God damn, it worked.

SCP 5351 is a humanoid entity superficially resembling a young woman of Slavic descent. Despite its human appearance, the entity has demonstrated a number of anomalous capabilities. Most prominently, the ability to appear in the immediate vicinity of individuals who either repeat exact statements made by the entity or access media which does the same. After appearing, the entity will proceed to kill the individual who reproduced their words. It has demonstrated the capacity to exert physical strength significantly beyond human limits. often mauling humans to death with its bare hands over the course of several seconds. As such, no statements made by SCP 5351 are to be transcribed, whether made during interviews

or otherwise. Personnel are not to quote the entity, repeat any phrases or non-standard terminology used by the entity, or record statements made by the entity in any context or medium. Any event in which the entity's words are reproduced by an external source in this way is to be be considered an immediate containment breach.