The SCP Experience - The Zalmunna Event | SCP-5172

Episode Date: September 19, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-5172: The Zalmunna Event This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5172, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z 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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we love that am. You're not what I ordered, I said. I wanted a brunette. The blonde woman dressed

in a skin-tight purple dress shrugs. I'm what you got, she says. Unless you want to wait another hour to another girl to get free. I look her over. She's attractive enough, even if she's not brunette.

She has cool blue eyes, a button nose, and full upturned lips. But she maintains eye contact. I don't like that. You know how much money I spent with your service? And you people can't even get a simple thing like hair color right? I shake my head as I step aside to let her into the hotel room. I can't wait another hour or two. I need to get some sleep. She smirks as she struts past me, her purple high heels pressing into the thick carpet. I check out her backside as she heads into the room. She'll do. I want you to take a shower, I tell her. Then we'll get down to it. She dumps her handbag onto the desk next to the TV, turns, and puts her hand on her cocked hip.

You don't think I shower before every date? Come on, baby. If you're such a regular customer, you should know that. feet flares in my chest. I step up to her and speak through clenched teeth. Don't call me, baby. And if you don't do what I ask, I'll throw your ass out without so much as a dollar. Now take a fucking shower. I'm paying you by the hour, aren't I? Tough girl can no longer hold my gaze. I smile and feel myself stirring. That's the way I like them. Submissive. She moves to the bathroom, shoulders slump, and head hanging. Then she stops and half turns. Can I at least get a drink when I'm done?

What makes you think I have any booze? She looks me in the eye. It's a look that says, come on, I'm not stupid. She probably smells it on me. Fine, I say. You can have a drink when you're done, but only if you scrub real good. With ice, she asks. I can't drink whiskey straight without ice. Fine, I repeat. She turns and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. As soon as I hear the water running, I grab the ice bucket and head outside, making sure I have my wallet and keycard on me. The ice machine is in an alcove near the elevators. I use the scoop provided and fill the bucket up.

As I turn to step out of the alcove, I get the sense that someone's watching me. The sensation is so powerful. It's like a bucket of cold water in my face. I freeze, looking to my right down the hall. Nothing but a normal four-star hotel corridor. Quiet, understated, familiar. But when I looked left, there's a blur of movement in my peripheral vision. Something moved at the far end of the hall, near the window.

Like a person's head ducking back into a doorway. My heart beats an insistent tattoo against my rib cage. Can it be the cops? Is this a sting just to catch a businessman and a hooker? Possible, but not probable. I'm nobody. They wouldn't expend so much manpower for a victimless crime. I stepped back into the ice machine alcove so my body isn't visible.

Then I lean forward and peer down the hall. Nothing. There's a sound to my right, causing me to whip my head that way. A dark figure seems to melt into a doorway on the other side of the elevators. You want to fuck with me? I call. Come on! Stepping out into the hall, I hurried to the right, toward the doorway and the figure.

There's no one there, just a closed door. The faint sound of a television comes from within. Maybe it was someone going into their room? I suddenly feel strange, like I can't keep my thoughts straight. My legs feel rubbery. I looked down at the ice bucket held in the crook of my left arm, trying to remember what I was doing. I mumble.

Motherfuckers! As I head back to my room. There's a call girl there. I remember. A brunette one. Or was she blonde? It takes me a couple of tries to get my key card into the slot. I push it in and then yank it back out.

The lights flash red. Come on! I say, trying again. Still red. On the third try, the door opens up. A man in his mid-20 stands there, glaring at me. What the hell do you want? He asks.

What are you doing in my room? I snap. This ain't your room, bro. Sober up and find your own fucking room before I call the cops. He shuts the door in my face. I look at the room number. It says 3.14. A minute ago, it said 3.16.

It's swear to it. I stumble over to the correct door. After a few moments, I get the key card in. The lights go green, I open the door. The bathroom door is open, the lights off. As I move past the dark bathroom, I see the blonde woman sitting on the bed in lacy black lingerie, watching television.

She smirks at me. What took you so long? You know I get paid for the time I'm here, right? What are you talking about? I slur. I just went and got some ice. Did you even take a shower? You were gone for nearly an hour.

I've been out of the shower for over half an hour. I shake my head. Bullshit! But the clock says she's right. I try to shake it off, pulling the bottle of whiskey out for my suitcase. After I fix a drink for each of us, we get down to business. Things get a little rough. She fights back, telling me to stop.

But I know she likes it. Deep down, they all like the rough stuff. Besides, she gets off easy. I'm too tired to put my heart in. to it. She'll walk away with a few bruises, so what? Pain builds character. When I'm done, I roll off and tell her to get out. She curses at me and starts to get dressed. My eyelids are so heavy. I need to stay awake until she leaves. I don't want her stealing any of my shit, but I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open. I brought myself up on two pillows,

half sitting and half lying. Still, fatigue tries its best to drag me down into sleep. The thought that I've been drugged occurs, but I don't see how it's possible. I made the drinks. I haven't consumed anything else since she's been here. I'm vaguely aware of her talking to me, saying she's taking what she's owed out of my wallet, and she's gone, and I let sleep take me. Am I awake? The room is dark. The hooker must have turned the lights off when she left. I don't remember her doing it. I don't even remember her leaving.

I'm prompt up on two pillows. To my right, a few feet from the bed is the window and the air conditioner unit underneath it. The unit says it's set to 70 degrees, but it's much colder in here. I try to get up, but I can't move. Why can't I move? To my left, beyond the foot of the bed,

is the stubby hallway to the bathroom and the hotel room door beyond. Something's there. I can hear it, scratching around in the darkness. My eyes move, but the rest of my body seems frozen. I can feel everything. I can feel the goosebumps on my skin from the cold. I didn't get under the blankets before falling asleep. I'm lying on top of the bed spread in my underwear.

A vague gray shape emerges from the dark hallway. My heartbeat ratchets up. My eyes widen. I can see a head, a humanoid head. I can just see it above the corner of the bed. It's looking at me. There's no hair on the head, no holes for the nose and a thin slit for a mouth. It looks as if it's wearing some kind of gray mask. The thing moves toward the bed, revealing more of itself. It propels itself easily forward on all fours, almost like a chimp. It bounds up onto the bed. I try to scream, to move, to do anything but lie here like a corpse. Nothing works. Both its arms are abnormally long. They end in hands similar to a human's. It's about the size of a pubescent human child, but its skin is gray. It's naked, with small male sex organs.

Without so much as a moment's hesitation, it moves on top of me and sits on my chest. It's not heavy, maybe 50 or 60 pounds. But the sheer terror its presence inspires makes breathing difficult. Its eyes are black. I can't look into them. I want to scream. My vision shakes with fear and dread. The creature opens its mouth, revealing a thin gray tube that stretches out toward my face.

I shut my eyes, but I soon feel a slight pressure in my left eye. Opening only my right eye, I stare up at the creature. The tube that came out of its mouth is inside my left eye. Soon, the tube retracts, and I can open my left eye again. There is no pain, no apparent damage. The creature sits still for a moment, staring down at me with those desolate eyes. I look into them and see only nothingness, only a barren void, like looking into a time before consciousness, before anything.

I avert my eyes again, a scream building in my throat that I can't release. Something moves beyond the creature from the hallway. It's the hooker. She steps to the foot of the bed in her tight purple dress, holding up a phone. Is she recording this? I can see her face. She's smirking. The creature pays her no mind.

I follow her with my eyes as she rounds the bed, coming closer, looking at the phone screen. What's wrong, baby? She says in a mocking voice. You need some help. I nod with my eyes, pleading. silently with her. 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. The creature reaches both hands up to its chest, digging its knobby gray fingers into its skin. It opens a kind of panel in its chest, revealing only darkness inside. There's no blood, no discomfort on its face.

It reaches into itself with one hand, searching for something. I knew it was you, the hooker says. Trixie wasn't sure, but I knew it. I've been with you before. You don't remember, do you? My eyes go between the creature and the hooker. You were more violent last time you were here. What was that?

Three or four years ago. I had to go to the hospital last time. You broke my finger. I wanted to go to the police, but Trixie said I couldn't. She convinced me not. to. But soon after that, I learned about her friend here. She gestures at the creature with her chin. I can't see him without the camera, she says. I don't know why, just the way it is, I guess. But let's just say that this little guy has helped me out a few times. Helped me get rid of

assholes like you who like to hurt girls. As the hooker talks, the creature's hand emerges from inside its chest with a pair of strange instruments. One of them looks like to hurt girls. One of them looks like a serrated square ice cream scoop. The other resembles a surgical scalpel. Holding one instrument in each hand, the creature hesitates briefly, its eyes running up and down my chest and shoulders. As the hooker finishes speaking, the creature brings the scalpel down and slices into my chest with it. The pain is overwhelming, but I still can't move or scream. Using the scoop, it takes a chunk of my flesh and dumps it into its chest cavity. Then it reaches down for more. The hooker laughs. How does that feel, you piece of shit? I can do nothing but watch as the

creature continues to cut me apart, one chunk at a time. I don't bleed much, but the pain doesn't stop. In fact, it gets worse and worse. Tears streamed down my cheeks. As the creature works, The hooker explains it to me, tells me I triggered whatever this is when I went to get ice. She laughs as she tells me hotels don't have ice machines. Not really. Even though most to everyone who has ever stayed in a hotel has seen one, the ice machines are part of this creature's trap.

It's triggered when you put the ice in your bucket. Whether you use the ice or not doesn't matter. The creature gets faster, soon moving in a blur as it continues taking me apart, putting each part in its chest. It cuts through everything with ease, bone, muscle, tendon. But it expertly cuts around my nerves, leaving them intact. The pain makes me insane, and I can only think of the pain I've inflicted on others.

I recall every instance of violence as the creature works. I want to tell the hooker I'm sorry, but I can't. And it's too late anyway. By the time the creature moves to my head, slicing through my cheeks, teeth and jaw. I can only pray for death. But it doesn't come. Not for a long time. Not until both the hooker and the creature leave. Not until an eternity passes. A reality of sheer pain and terror. It's nothing more than I deserve. SCP 5172 is a phenomenon that affects guests at North American hotels.

affected individuals will perceive a machine that serves the sole function of dispensing ice. These ice machines, while otherwise non-anomalous, are typically located in the hallway of the guest's floor, in close proximity to an elevator lobby or a storage closet. Ice machines are not common amenities in North American hotels. In fact, they do not appear in any contemporary hotels outside of those affected by SCP 5172. Nevertheless, a false memory of having perceived an ice machine is estimated to affect roughly 80% of the North American population. Individuals who perceive and then use these ice machines will initiate a Zalmunna event. This is likely to cause an instance of SCP 5172-1 to materialize, and it is very likely to result in the individual's injury or death.

SCP 5172-1 collects all of the organic material of the target except for the major elements of the central nervous system, the spinal cord, peripheral nerves, the retinas, the eyes, and the brain. In the case of a completed Zalmunna event, these elements will be the only ones that are not removed as SCP 5172-1 scoops around them. Targets will continue to display signs of consciousness for longer than should be possible, even in the case of a completed Zalmana event. Should a harvesting process be interrupted after the target loses a vital organ, the target will live for one to two hours.