The SCP Experience - The Womb Farm | SCP-2363

Episode Date: April 1, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-2363: The Womb Farm This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2363 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Cyrus Spears * * * 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 #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Carol's keys dangled from the tips of her fingers as she swung them back and forth. She had already pulled them out of the ignition, but she had yet to step out of her car. There was still time to change her mind. The farmhouse in front of her looked exactly the same as the Google satellite view she had screenshot it just 12 hours earlier. It was a 10-hour drive to Wyoming from where she had been staying in Oklahoma. Worth it all, in her opinion, if she could regain some clarity,

maybe even reach some closure. Her therapist said that it would be good for her. The farmhouse was all wood and the same color as the dry brown grass that filled its yard. It looked tired. Several slats on the side were slacking. They had come loose from their nails and pulled away from the side of the house and were sinking downward. They were only one strong gust away from being ripped off entirely. For the moment, everything was still. Even the radio dial was turned all the way down. The LED numbers of the local radio station were lit up on her screen, but no sound came out of her speakers. She just couldn't stand it. There was too much noise

in her head already. She had hoped that the site of the building would be enough to bring back all the memories without going in. Then maybe she could drive away without ever having to step out of her car. It looked like that wasn't going to happen. But this was where the police had found her. She was sure of it. These were the coordinates on the police report. She had a copy of that file, too. She had begged and pleaded with her best friend, who worked in forensics, to get her the records even though they had been sealed. He risked his job for her. Now the least she could do was face what she had come here to see. Carol's car beeped as she pushed her door open and stepped out into the dirt. Hot, dry, Wyoming air,

hit her in the face, and she coughed. She shoved her keys into her pocket and shut the door behind her with her heel. The heat made her want to rip off her jacket, but the thought of exposing the white bandages around her forearms gave her pause. That is stupid, she thought to herself. There is no one here to see. She played with the zipper in the center of her chest, flicking it up and down before forcing herself to move on.

Stalling, she shook her head. Up close, the house was even worse than it looked. It felt enormous. like it was something she could easily get lost in the minute she stepped through the door. The front porch was entirely in disrepair. The untreated wood was splintered and broken in so many places, and it was run into the ground, covered in weeds. She could barely see the steps leading up to the dingy white door

with the torn screen hanging ajar. She hated how familiar it felt, and yet she couldn't understand why. It was the same feeling like returning to your chest. childhood home for the summer, except her stomach was full of dread. Carol walked up the front steps carefully and tried the door handle. It took some effort to turn, but it wasn't locked. The door sprang open and invited her into the dark, dusty depths of the old farmhouse. It wasn't any cooler inside, despite the whirring ceiling fan she caught

sight of in her peripherals. Heavy spirals of dust spun through the air. creating little tornadoes of white particles that made her nose itch. Carol dragged her whole hand back and forth underneath her nostrils, trying to fight back the urge to sneeze. The further she went, the more she recognized it. It didn't form any pictures in her mind. It didn't bring up any memories, good or bad. It was just a feeling in her gut.

She placed her hand against the wood-paneled wall and dragged her fingers along, skating over rusted picture hooks and dusty shelves. The house itself seemed to wheeze. With every step she took, it squeezed out another breath. It was like walking into the belly of a waiting beast. She was just a tiny creature, thrashing inside and waiting to be digested. Carol scratched her arms through her jacket. The white bandages were wrapped so tightly around them.

She hated it. She wanted to rip the bandages off, and it was so hot, so very hot. There was a heavy thud above her head, like something crashing into the floor of the next level. Carol smothered a scream with her hand, clamping her fingers down over her lips to try and keep them pressed together. She froze in the middle of the hallway, waiting, but the thud did not come again. The house was old, so it was possible that something had just collapsed. Maybe a shelf came loose and fell off the wall. There was no telling.

She didn't trust the staircase enough to go to the second level, even though her gut rumbled with a feeling like she should. Carol's hand trembled as she pulled it away from her mouth and kept walking. The smell of mold and mouse droppings became more overwhelming, the closer she got to the kitchen. How she knew that the kitchen was coming up, she wasn't sure. But she had a feeling that she could map the entire floor plan out blindfolded. Maybe she had studied it all a little too hard before her trip. It was entirely possible,

after all, for false memories to plant themselves in a person's brain, especially with how obsessed she had been researching this farm, and how many hours she had put into planning the trip while she was still in the hospital. She never told the nurses or doctors what she was doing. Something told her not to. She knew they would take away her phone if she said anything. the phone that had been given to her by her best friend. She wished that she could remember his name. Carol ducked through an entryway and found herself in the dining room. There was a round wooden table and chairs enough for two.

The table itself was covered in grease and slime. No one had been here in a long time. No one would probably eat at that table ever again. Between the smell and the old food, she expected to be stepping over rats left and right. Yet, there were no signs of life in this house. The biggest stir she felt came from the walls, which seemed to expand and contract ever so slightly.

It was breathing and swallowing. The house was a beast. The halls were its gullet. That was a stupid way to think, of course. The walls were not actually moving. It had to be that the mold was making her dizzy. Another heavy thump came above her head. This time, Carol did not scream.

She froze beside the table with her hand resting against the back of a chair. She looked up at the ceiling as it shuddered and rained dust down onto her face. She sneezed and scratched her arms again, growling with frustration. Her arms felt like they were on fire. They itched so much that they hurt. Sweat, trickled down the back of her neck, and it felt like boiling water being poured down her spine. She grabbed her jacket and ripped it off, unable to take it anymore.

More thuds. Like thunder. Like a herd of elephants. Like footsteps. They came racing down the staircase, and Carol's heart plummeted into her stomach. There was someone else in the house. She needed to hide. But there was nowhere to go.

The entrance to the kitchen wasn't blocked by anything large. But there were so many boxes and broken bottles on the sticky, ruined linoleum, that it was impossible to work. walk through. She heard chittering inside, as if rats were congregating, and she shut her to think about what else could be in there. Underneath the table was a horror show, too. There were boxes and bags and mountains of moldy disgusting food. Everything was covered in black slime, but she had no choice. Carol pitched herself down to the floor and crawled. There were so many squishy, wet, sticky things in her path that had made her stomach churn.

She wanted to vomit, but she held it in. She kept crawling until she was underneath the table, and she pulled one of the chairs over to obscure herself from view a little further. She could still see out around the ragged tablecloth that was half hanging off the side. Dirty, mud-crested boots that looked like they were falling apart entered her vision. When you were little, you had braced, You've been braced in the course of recreat,

always in trying to negotiate, to exchange these cards of hockey, the bonhom, the bracelets, even of the collation. You know that each thing has a

value, well, before having to have been, the things have really changed. Negoti T-D you can't

to renew with your instinct of negotiation. With, without operation gratuit, no amount of minimum and

no free mensuel. You're made for negotiate, and the appellee to t-D is made to you need to

They're going to be now. Look, Air Canada does a sold a global. Super, an offer for

the assort, station thermal, volcano. You've seen the price for the Japan? M,

and sushi. Wow, the sold are good for Mayork also. We could be to go to the

beach and do you do you know a long march on the on the sea sea

sea um, I'd adder the canololie. Ah, there's a money

limited to RCanada com or to your agent of your agent of voyage. The conditions

apply. Carol bit her bottom lip and held her breath, doing her best to be as silent and still as possible. The boots were half covered by the legs of dirty overalls. A meaty hand came down to scratch near the seat.

The hand was dry and caked in mud or blood. She was not sure. The nails were ragged and torn, and the hand itself was brutally misshapen with fingers like country sausages that were almost too crooked to function. The sound that came out of the person standing in front of her was pitiful, like a baby. Mama!

The boots shuffled through the shit on the floor. Carol scratched at her arms nervously, pushing her fingernails underneath the edges of her bandages. The man stopped right in front of the table and Carol froze. The man turned around and leaned over the table. And there was a pause before the whole table shook. And heavy blows like boulders came raining down. He was pounding on the table, and the whole thing was shaking so hard that Carol thought it was going to come down on her head. She almost bit her tongue in half to keep from squealing, and she pulled her legs up to her chest.

She bent her head down and pushed her hands over her ears, trying to stay as still as possible. More screaming. He stomped his boots, and whatever food had been on the table went flying in every direction. He was a grown man throwing a temper tantrum, and Carol's heart was racing. She was going to die here. She was going to die here! Fuck! She pushed the expletive out under her breath.

With her hands still covering her ears, she looked around for anything that she could use to defend herself. There was a knife nearby on the floor, crusted over in gunk that might have once been icing from a cake. Carol held her breath and gathered up her courage. She lowered herself down onto her stomach and crawled across the filthy floor just enough to grab the paper plate The knife was stuck to.

She pulled it underneath the table and then ripped the paper plate off. The table stopped shaking suddenly, and then the voice came again. Mama! Carol gripped the handle of the knife. She saw those crusty, meaty hands gripped the edges of the table like he was going to flip the whole thing over. A frightened cry tore its way out of her throat as Carol drove the knife forward and struck the man in the knee. The man howled and staggered back, blood spreading across the leg of his denim overalls. Carol kept her grip on the knife and pulled it out.

She wrapped her fist around the handle as she crawled out from under the table. She screamed and grabbed the man by the booted ankle, pulling so that he leaned on his hurt leg and then stumbled. He came crashing to the ground, landing on his back like a beetle. Carol crawled over him, fear and rage overtaking her. She held on to the knife with both hands and brought it down into his chest. His meat made the same sound as a summer watermelon being sliced open. open. Carol gripped the knife until the skin on her knuckle split, and she kept slamming

the blade into his chest over and over again, even after he stopped moving. Finally, the knife's handle shattered in her hands, and the blade stuck between his ribs. Carol rolled off the body and fell to the dining room floor. Tears rolled down her face, not with regret, but with all the fear she had been holding down since the man walked into the room. She finally caught a look at his face. He was older than she suspected and bald. His eyes, staring straight up at the roof, were completely white with cataracts, and his grizzled face looked like it had not been shaved in days. His lips were completely missing, not like they had been cut off or anything, but like they had never been there to begin with. His crooked brown teeth were completely exposed,

which probably explained the way he sounded when he talked. Carol swallowed her vomit. and tried to stand up. She had to get out of this house. She knew that. But even the thought of leaving made her arms itch. She couldn't take the feeling anymore. The feeling of bugs crawling underneath her skin and trying to gnaw their way out.

She sat back down and ripped the bandages off. The thin cotton snapped without an issue, and she threw the wads into a pile on the dead man's face. The wounds on her arms had barely started to heal, and she knew that they were supposed to itch. but the warm farmhouse air felt good. Besides, in this place, she was the only one who could see them. They were viciously ugly, modeled black and blue with some green healing spots.

There were deep teeth marks and hunks of missing flesh from where she had, according to the doctors, tried to rip out her own veins. There were some spots where she had almost succeeded. It had happened, they said, as soon as they pulled her out of the house. That was what had spurred this whole thing. The first memory she had was of waking up in the hospital. She did not remember the house, but she needed to know what had happened here. She needed to know why she had tried to kill herself by ripping her own veins out with her teeth.

Carol placed her hands against the dead man's body and tried to stand. Her legs shook, but she managed. She straightened her back and turned to face the entryway she had first walked through. The hallway was on the other side, and then there was the front door, and finally her car. She could do this. She took a step forward, but a shot of pain sent her falling back to the ground. It was as if someone had plunged a knife into her uterus. The pain came again, and Carol screamed.

She rolled over under her back and pressed both hands down against her stomach. The flesh rippled underneath her hands, and she felt it began to tighten and swell. Another jolt of pain and her stomach continued to balloon. It was rising so rapidly that she felt like it had to be a hallucination of some kind. But the agony was too real to be in her head. Her shirt rolled up and exposed her growing stomach. The surface rippled, and she saw the skin move like there was a fist pressing against the surface from the inside. Carol ground her teeth so tightly that she tasted blood.

Her skin was so tight that she felt like she was going to burst, and she tried to roll over. And now she was stuck on her back. Water gushed between her legs, soaking her pants. Another jolt had her spreading her legs so wide that her soft pants ripped right down the front. All the pain was pushing downward now. She saw the bulging movement go down the line of her stomach towards her thighs. Carol screamed until her throat was raw. She rocked from side to side, trying to stand up, trying to roll over.

She was trying to do anything. Whatever was inside of her was on its way out. contractions squeezed her uterus. Whatever it was, she wanted it out. She screamed as she pushed, fighting against her own body, while her knees jerked and her legs spasmed. It came sliding out of her like soft, gooey jelly. It plopped onto the floor with a wet sound, and Carol looked up. Her face was soaked in sweat, and her hair was plastered to her neck. She tried to glimpse at what was between her legs. It looked just like a mass of flesh, with pulsing veins across the top. It didn't look like anything else really. She tried to sit up, despite being

in so much pain that it was like trying to move with a broken back. The glob between her legs jiggled, and she rose. The glob shifted again and started to change. It took shape right between her legs, looking almost humanoid, erst, like it was trying to change into a baby. But the face it developed was grotesque. It had no lips, and too many teeth for a new boy. Its eyes were already bitter and dark, and there were wrinkles over its bald head. Carol tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her voice was too hoarse. It was just a quiet, raspy sound.

The tumor kept growing, developing arms and legs that waved in the air. It tilted its globulous chin down and looked right at her, and the first words that came out of its misshapen mouth were, Mama! Lazzang sur-joled, then sansanguelly, It's a medium for 15 minutes. We're like it's the hour dojo. Prere to play.

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The conditions We can't apply. SCP 2363 refers to an area of roughly one square kilometer in south central Wyoming. A small, dilapidated farmhouse stands at the approximate center of SCP 2363. Personnel who have spent extended periods of time within SCP 2363 report extreme fatigue. SCP 2363-A is a humanoid entity that lives in the farmhouse and claims to be the owner of SCP 2363. SCP 2363-A is anatomically an elderly human male,

with an apparent growth defect resulting in the absence of lips, leaving its teeth and gums exposed. SCP 2363-A's eyes are severely counteracted, rendering it blind, although this appears to have a negligible effect on SCP 2363's ability to perceive its environment. If SCP 2363-A is removed, from SCP 2363 and is unable to return, it will immediately and continuously attempt to kill itself until it succeeds, resorting to biting out its own veins or repeatedly bashing its skull against a wall if necessary.

SCP 2363-A has on several occasions attempted to kill foundation personnel with its hands and teeth, but as of yet has not been successful. SCP 2363-B designates the 11 women, originally found within SCP 2363 when it was discovered in 1967. Each instance of SCP 2363-B was matched to a recent missing persons report from Wyoming, Colorado, or Utah. SCP 2363-B instances were extremely sedate and wandered SCP 2363 without direction. They also did not require food or water while within SCP 2363. 10 months after the discovery of SCP 2363, each of the 10 surviving instances of

SCP 2363-B was removed from the area and quickly recovered from their sedation. All SCP-2363-B instances were unable to recall their time within SCP 2363 or how they arrived there. Removed instances have been found to be unable to conceive, despite the absence of any apparent problems with their reproductive systems. Each instance was administered Class D amnestics and was delivered to the authorities in several nearby towns. These instances should be monitored for further anomalous phenomena. If SCP 2363-A dies for any reason,

one instance of SCP 2363-B will rapidly grow heavily pregnant and give birth to a tumorous mass, which will quickly grow into an adult SCB. 2363-A. This birthing process appears to be very painful to SCP 2363-B, but is not usually fatal.