The SCP Experience - Too Late to Die Young | SCP-078

Episode Date: April 9, 2025

A lonely, blood-soaked man with a warped sense of cleanliness is driven by a mysterious purple light to “help” the world—one dismembered corpse at a time—until his final act of self-purification leaves nothing behind but red-stained water and the faint scent of rot. This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-078 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: James Tully * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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The reglements of the concourse sapplic. Calvin was a good boy. His mother had always told him so. Now, Calvin slid the edge of a dulling kitchen-aid chef's knife across the elbow of the man that lay dead in a soap-scummed plastic bathtub. Calvin was a big man. The kids in high school called him Lenny for months. After the class read of mice and men,

Calvin liked the ending. He had squeezed a rabbit to death after his teacher had finished reading it to him. He sometimes liked to remember the shiver that warmed his body as the rabbit's eyes slowly popped from their sockets. But he wasn't thinking of that now. He stabbed the knife into the pit of the dead man's elbow and fished around beneath the skin.

He let out a low sound from the pit of his throat, A frustrated sound, as the knife ground away at bone and stirred its way through ripping flesh. The guttural noise grew louder as he tore at the arm. He'd done this so many times, and he still couldn't find the joint. Why couldn't he get it right? Why was he so stupid? The sound was loud now, a monotonous groan that raised like the revving of an engine. The knife slipped from the dead man's arm and buried itself handled deep in blood-sum.

soaked ribs. Calvin released the knife and, still groaning terribly, brought his bloody hands to his face. He rocked gently as he stared at the dead man. The foul sound of his droning throat filled the filthy bathroom. This motherfucker, this dead motherfucker, he reached a meaty paw out and grabbed the dead man by his face. His huge fingers wrapped tightly like a desperate spider. His groan turned to a scream as as he bashed the lifeless man's skull against the beige tiles of the shower wall. Just like the rest of them, Calvin thought, as he smashed the skull against the tiles. The tiles broke into jagged fragments. Some fell into the tub, while others stuck into the dead man's crumbling skull.

Calvin squeezed tighter, and his lips split into a grin as he felt his fingers sink into a soup of brain, blood, bone, and tile. was not an idiot. He was a good boy. There was nothing left of the dead man's skull when Calvin finally stopped. He breathed deeply as he wiped the gore on the breast of his white t-shirt. The red chunks of flesh contrasted with the yellow sweat stains that seeped from his armpits. Calvin looked down at the destroyed remains of the dead man's skull and saw two eyes looking back at him from the stump of ruined flesh. He plucked them from the soup. one in each hand, and looked at them in his palms.

He closed his hands, and a calm creeped into him as he felt the lukewarm orbs nestled in his grip. He exhaled as he tightened his fingers, and the calm spread through him with excruciating pleasure as he felt the dead eyes slowly compress, and then burst. Liquid drift through his fingers as he rolled the hard lenses of the demolished eyes in his still-clenched hands. He opened his fingers and tilted his hand slowly, letting the glass-scene spheres roll slowly down his blood-drenched palms. They clicked as they hit the plastic tub between the dead man's legs. They left translucent tracks in the thick blood as they rolled to the drain like toy marbles. He wiped his hands across his bare thighs, and the muck blended with the filth of his soiled gray briefs.

He was calm now, and he slowly pulled the nose. knife from the dead man's ribs. His mouth opened as he watched the blade slide out of flesh, and he could feel warmth flooding his body under that filthy underwear. He shuddered as the knife's point emerged from the dead man's body, and the ecstatic convulsions shook blood from the trembling blade. His breath was steady, and he returned to the grim work at the joint of the elbow. Now, the blade cut through the flesh and rested nicely between the bones of the bow. the arm. Calvin felt bad for calling the dead man a motherfucker as he gently cut through the tendons that held the forearm to the upper arm. The man had been nice to Calvin. He'd met him at the laundromat.

The man had given Calvin change, and Calvin had smiled and thanked him. Not many people would do that for Calvin. The forearm came free, and Calvin placed it on the bathroom floor. He moved the knife down to the man's knee. They had talked about Chinese food while their laundry tumbled. Calvin really liked Chinese food, especially Dragon Walk down on Palm Avenue. The helpful man had never tried it, and Calvin told him about the dumplings as their clothes finished drying.

Calvin placed half the dead man's leg on the floor next to the arm. Turned out, the nice man needed a lift, and Calvin was happy to oblige. He had pushed the fast food wrappers onto the floor of his rust-to-all-old. station wagon, and the man smiled as he adjusted his feet between the trash. It was a pleasant night as the two drove. The scent of their fresh laundry in the back seat almost masked the smell of the cigarette butts that poked from the ashtray like the quills of a decaying porcupine.

Calvin put the knife down and picked up a rusty saw that laid resting like a savage bridge across the brown water of the open toilet bowl. He knew he was going to kill the kind man at about the same time he was recommending the Kung-Pao chicken lunch special. The saw bit into the flesh of the dead man's thigh with a satisfying rip, and Calvin smiled as he saw the skin, muscle, and fat split like a purple zipper. Calvin tapped the water at the bank of the river that flowed through the forest behind his trailer. The full moon was bright in the night sky,

and its light reflected off the slugher. slow-moving water. Cricots chirped loudly as they called to each other through the thick air. Mickey! He called in a harsh whisper. Mickey, here, boy! He slapped the brown water steadily. The crickets stopped their chatter, and a V-shaped peeled through the water towards Calvin. That a boy, he said. He pulled a shin from one of the five-gallon buckets he had carried to the riverside. Calvin shook the log of flesh, and the foot that hung from the shin flopped like a wounded fish. The V and the water continued on its steady path, moving steadily through the dark water until it disappeared in front of Calvin. Come on now, big guy, he said to the still water.

The water exploded, and a scaled head the size of a lunch tray lurched into the moonlight. The alligator gripped the dangling foot in its white teeth and felt back to the muddy bank with a wet thud. Calvin stepped back and watched as the alligator snapped its jaws open and shut, pulverizing the foot as it guided the meat into the back of its throat. The sound of crunching bones echoed into the trees behind Calvin. Good boy, Calvin said to the ancient lizard. Calvin loved alligators.

When he was a kid, he had seen one crush its jaws onto the face of a white-tailed deer. It had rolled and rolled, and Calvin laughed and laughed as the deer's head was twisted from its neck. After that, he loved to snap the necks of the neighborhood cats and bring them to the river to feed the growing reptile. Mickey, the alligator bellowed, and the water along his massive back bounced like oiled popcorn. Don't worry, Mickey, I got you more. Calvin said as he reached back into the buckets at his feet. and the power and 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo.

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Calvin sat in his car in the parking lot of the Circle K gas

station and swatted away from the bucket of finger licking chicken

that he balanced in his lap. It had been weeks since he fed the nice man from the laundromat to Mickey. He dug his hand into the pile of chicken until he found a particular greasy morsel. He peeled the skin off and sucked the flapping sheet into his mouth. He chewed heavily and the gelatinous skin squished noisily between his teeth. He remembered the feeling of the saw ripping into the dead laundromat man

and knew it was time to find another. Someone nice and clean. Calvin liked clean people. He liked to make them dirty. He drowned a nurse in a three-inch puddle of mud once. He whistled while her flailing legs splashed dark water onto her crisp scrubs. That's what they called those things, scrubs. He laughed and shook his head as he bit into the skinned chicken thigh.

He hadn't scrubbed a bit of that filth from the nurse. Calvin licked his fingers and dove his hand back into the wet bucket of chicken. Calvin stumbled out of the tipsy crab. His head was light, and his lips still tasted sickly sweet from the four pinocaladas he had sucked down. The tipsy crab made them strong, and he liked how the bartenders smiled at him. The summer night was hot and sweat-beated on Calvin's forehead

as he roamed into the alley behind the bar. He propped a hand against the wall and leaned heavily on it as he unzipped his fly and let it rip. Piss bounced off the stained brick and soaked his pant legs. He zipped his fly and rubbed sweat from his face with his clammy palm. He swayed on his feet and squinted his eyes, concentrating hard to steady himself. As he found his legs again, he noticed a faint purple glow

seeping into the night from behind one of the tipsy crabs old green dumpsters. His feet crunched through broken glass and loose gravel as he walked toward the light. The glow was bright as he rounded the back of the dumpster, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as they adjusted to the harsh purple light. Calvin lowered his hand, a neon sign laid discarded, propped against the side of the dumpster. It glowed a steady purple and, in bold block letters, read,

Too late to die young. Calvin stared at it, and the purple light reflected off his glazed eyes. He swayed gently in the nighttime breeze as he squinted at the sign. What the hell does that mean? He mumbled. The light felt heavy on his eyes. He could feel his pupils dilating and his forehead tightening. It felt like the ice cream headaches he would get when he slammed a collata too fast.

He didn't like that. His teeth creaked as he clenched his jaw. He smashed the sign under his booted foot. The glow snapped to nothing, and the purple neon light gave way to the sun. the harsh orange of street lamps. The fan of the tipsy crabs air conditioner hummed steadily in the alley as it fought against the oppressive heat. The sound of motorcycle engines drowned out the struggling fans as people left the bar. The exhaust from the screaming bikes did little to mask the scent of alleyway piss and vomit. He pulled a crumbled pack of camels from his back pocket and bit

at it until his teeth gripped the butt of one of the stale cigarettes. He pulled an old white bick from another pocket and flicked at the igniter. The flint sparked, and his face lit with each failed attempt at producing a flame. He shook the lighter. Come on, you piece of shit! Finally, the lighter ignited. He stood in the signs shattered glass as he puffed cheap smoke into the human night air. Too late to die young, he said to himself between drags. Well, no shit. He dropped the cigarette butt and aimed a boot at it. He stomped and twisted his toes to snuff the ember, but his foot had missed its mark. Glass crunched under his foot as he ground his boot next to the still-glowing camel.

Calvin stumbled from the alley and didn't notice the faint glow of purple growing behind the dumpster as he tried to fit his keys into the car's lock. He leaned over his wheel as he drove home. He closed one eye to make sure he only saw one road. Calvin sought on the edge of his stained bare mattress and rubbed his temples. He could still taste coconut on his lips, and his tongue felt like a cigarette filter. He snorted deeply and spit a green wad of phlegm onto the carpet. He rubbed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes,

and his vision turned to purple behind his eyelids. He pulled on the old jeans that lay crumpled on the floor at his feet. They still had the belt through the loops from yesterday, and however many days before. He had slept in his soiled shirt and didn't bother to change it. He slipped his bare feet into old, black sneakers, lit a cigarette, and went to his car. He put his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray and lit another as he drove down the long dirt road and onto the main street. He drove slowly when he made it to town. He knew where he was going. He remembered the manicured nails of the bartender last night.

She handed him his drink over the bar, and the purple nails shimmed. under the dim lights. He remembered how clean they were. Melting asphalt tore as he pulled his car up to a strip mall nail salon. Calvin got out and walked to the shop. He sucked the humid air into his lungs as he walked. His wheezing gasps, becoming more strained with each step. Sweat had already soaked his shirt when he made it to the salon. He pressed his face against the window, and his breath spread fog onto the glass around his gaping mouth, his as he stared inside.

The salon was immaculate. Everything was neat. It was clean. Women worked in tidy rows. Their faces were covered by masks and each was poking at the hands of a customer. The customers were smiling as they chatted with the women that fondled

their clean hands. No one noticed him gawking wide mouth at the window. He peeled his head from the window and looked at the large posters that plastered the storefront. They showed manicured hands and smiling faces with stark white teeth. He noticed a faint glow coming from one of the posters, a purple glow. He bent to look at the words.

We do any type of service, the words said. They listed the usual, French manicure, pedicure, color, but the final words caught Calvin's eyes. And we want to be dirty. It's too clean here. Please, we've had enough. The words glowed with faint purple light. Calvin blinked and rubbed his eyes. He looked again.

The words were still there. He knew it. He always knew it. See? He was right. He was helping. He was glad he had helped the kind laundromat man. And he knew he would help a lucky person from that salon.

RBC Training Ground has discovered potential in over 20,000 Canadian athletes and counting. Your story could be next. If you've got the drive, they'll help you find. your path to the Olympics. Let's see what you've got. Sign up for free at rbc training ground.ca. Calvin held a hand above the water and called for Mickey. I've got a real treat for you here, boy. He shook the hand and ruby nails reflected in the moonlight. Mickey jumped from the riverbank and snatched the manicured hand from Calvin's grasp. Calvin smiled wide as he fed the cosmetologist to Mickey. His heart was light and the smell of rotting leaves melting into the riverbank

was vivid. He'd always known he wasn't doing anything wrong. But when he had chopped this woman up, he felt a new purpose. He loved to help. He was a good boy. Mickey finished eating, and Calvin stacked the buckets. He carried them back to his trailer and dropped them by the door. He sat on his couch and sank into the springs of the old brown mattress. He fished a remote out of the pile of candy wrappers that covered the pulp wood coffee table and clicked the TV on. And that's the news. Now your weather with Clark Smith. Calvin pulled a half-eaten chocolate bar from the pile of discarded candy. He bit down on the dry log as the TV drowned. Thank you, Bob. Well, it's going to be another scorcher this week. The weatherman went on,

pointing to cartoon images of the sun with 90-degree temperatures listed across the green map. Calvin wasn't paying much attention. He was concentrating on shoveling the candy bar into his mouth. So don't forget your sunscreen. And Calvin... Calvin looked up from his candy mission. He was paying attention now. The TV had begun to grow purple, but he hardly noticed that.

They said his name. On TV! He smiled, and the purple glow lit up his chocolate-stained teeth. Maybe you are a little too clean, huh, big guy? The weatherman continued. Calvin was giggling now. Chocolate spit flew from his mouth as he pointed at the TV. They're talking about me!

He said into the stale air. I sure am, buddy. Now don't you think you deserve a little self-love? Calvin stopped laughing and his brow tightened. This guy really was talking to him. He swallowed the last chunk of chocolate and wiped his mouth on his hairy forearm. What? What are you talking about? Calvin said to the TV.

Ah, come on now, you know, you've been such a good boy helping all those people. Don't you deserve something, too? Don't you think you're looking a little too clean these days, pal? Calvin held up his arms and twisted them for inspection in the purple glow. He hadn't noticed, but he was feeling a bit clean. He picked out a clear spot of skin between smeared chocolate, where he had wiped his face. He remembered the way his mama had scrubbed him when he'd come in from outside. Oh, look at the state of you, she would say as she dug into him with the scouring brush.

The brush hurt. It ripped him open, and the bleach stung when she poured it across the open wounds. You are such a good boy, Calvin, she would say as he cried. She'd cover his broken flesh with calamine lotion before she tucked him into bed. It felt good as she smeared the pink slop over his trembling body. He remembered the way it dried into clumps that looked like white mud. Nice, dirty mud. He would stop shaking when he looked at the messy patches smeared across his skin. He would fall asleep and dream that he was an alligator swimming in a dark, dank swamp.

Calvin looked down at his bare legs. They were lit up by the glow of the TV and looked soft in the light. They looked clean. That's right. You can take that all off. Just like you love to do. Do it yourself, man. You deserve it. the weatherman said. The purple glow faded from the TV.

And that's the weather. Back to you, Bob. Calvin rubbed his hands down the front of his shirt. He sniffed the air and could smell the faint scent of lavender. Disgusting. He remembered that smell from the laundromat. He had washed old clothes, but never wore them. He just liked watching the water change from soapy white to spoiled brown. And yeah, why not help himself? He could feel each spot of clear skin now. He could feel the white cotton of his shirt, rubbing against his skin between the bile-colored stains. He ripped the shirt off. Yes, why not? He deserved it after all he'd done. There was nothing wrong with helping himself. He threw the shirt onto the floor and walked to his

bathroom. He could feel the sweat in his shoes soaking his toes. He kicked his shoes off as he walked. He could still smell lavender. It must be coming from his pants. He'd only worn them for three months. He unclipped his belt and slipped out of the pants as he walked. He stumbled into the bathroom as he kicked them off his sweaty bare feet. He climbed into the bath and sat down. He was comforted by the smell wafting up from his briefs as he settled down into the plastic tub. Calvin pulled the leg of the pants that he had discarded and crawled his fingers along the stained denim, fishing them to the edge of the tub. He pulled the worn black leather belt from its loops. and wrapped the cow skin around his bare thigh.

He pulled it tight. He'd seen it in the movies. He let go, and the loop loosened, and the belt fell to his knee. He pulled it up again and tightened it once more. This time he turned it around itself repeatedly. He let go and gave it a bit, but stayed put. The bare bulb dangling from the ceiling began to glow purple and bright.

But Calvin didn't notice, or care. He reached for the saw that laid bare and still bloodied on the floor and pulled it into the tub. He looked down at the blade and saw that the rusted serrations were thick with dried flesh. He placed the saw blade on his thigh just below the fastened belt, and when the cold metal touched his clean skin, his heart raced. He felt calm. He was happy. He deserved this. But his heart beat fast and hard in his thick chest. He dragged the blade across his leg, and the pain flashed through him like fire. His eyes widened and his lips turned up in a smile.

Yes, it was good. He felt it. He thought of all the people he gave this to before, and he smiled wider. He was a good boy for helping them. He dragged the saw back and watched with satisfaction as the familiar zipper opened. On his own flesh now. He laughed and sawed and sawed and laughed. A sound like ripping full.

Root and stretching leather bounced off the mold-covered walls of the bathroom as the saw dug deeper and deeper into his thigh. He felt to give and heard his leg fall to the bottom of the tub with a bloody splash and heavy thud. The purple light was harsh now. It radiated as he leaned back in the tub and felt the blood filling around him. His makeshift tourniquet had loosened more as he had sawed and now his blood drained steadily. He reached his hand down and felt the ragged flaps of flesh, and jagged shards of bone that stuck out from the wound. Tears filled his eyes as he pulled his hand away and rubbed the thick red blood across his chest.

The tears fell heavily down his face and onto his wide, yellow-toothed smile. He stared down at the blood smeared across his body and felt his heart slow as he watched the red patches dry slowly. Relief, dirt, mud. He dipped his hand into the growing puddle of blood in the bottom of the tub and cupped handfuls of crimson liquid. He poured the palmfuls of blood over his head, and the blood dripped down his face and mixed with his tears.

He could taste copper and salt through his wet teeth as he sobbed and smiled. How wonderful! He could smell the scent of rotting leaves as he closed his eyes. He could feel muddy water flowing around him as he swam through darkness. Calvin was still crying joyful tears when the blood drained completely, and his vision faded to oblivion. His last thought was for Mickey. Who would feed poor Mickey?

SCP 78 is a pink neon sign that reads, Too late to die young, and exhibits anomalous effects when viewed for more than 10 seconds while powered on. Initially calming, the sign causes viewers to perceive fabricated, guilt-aswaging sentences in their own handwritten notes.

Over the course of a week, these messages grow darker, eventually justifying immoral actions and prompting obsessive rationalization of every decision. This leads to debilitating neurosis and, within two weeks, death from starvation due to an inability to make simple choices like how to eat. Re-exposure worsens this effect, causing subjects to see guilt-inducing messages and often leading to suicide.