The SCP Experience - Under the Skin | SCP-867

Episode Date: September 21, 2022

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-867: Under the Skin This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-867, 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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Oh, that also. And profite. Via Rae. The voice that we love that we're doing. Jeremiah's voice is high. His freckled cheeks are flushed red. His brown eyes alive with fear. I lift the knife, taking aim.

Coog. Please don't! Jeremiah shouts. I pause. Then I've held over the fragile skin. Life is fleeting. I've known this. I've come to terms with this.

But, fragile as it is, it's not something to take lightly. Life is something to fight for. And sometimes, fighting for life means you have to do things you wouldn't normally consider doing. Jeremiah doesn't seem to understand that. He wears his fear on his sleeve like a black band, mourning the inevitable end of his existence every day. Instead of celebrating the fact of his existence, he doesn't see what's happening to us,

but I do. I see it clearly, as clearly as I've ever seen anything before. Look around you, I say to Jeremiah. There's no help for us here. My words are swallowed by the endless woods they'd coat the mountains of Colorado. I have to do this. There has to be a better way.

Jeremiah pleads. Come on, Coog! I shake my head and plunge the knife in. My phone rings at 7.30 in the morning. I'm already up, finishing a workout in my home gym. I grab the phone, seeing that it's Mandy, my brother's wife.

Hey, Mandy, I say. Coogan? Mandy says, voice tinged with words. I'm sorry. Tim hasn't come back yet. Okay, I say. When was the last time you talked to him?

When he left for the trip? And when did he say he was going to come back? I know the answers to these questions, but it's best to make sure we have the same information. I know my little brother well. I highly doubt he would ever be dishonest with his wife. But I also know that you can never really know anyone. He said he would be back last night, she says. She says.

I nod. It's the same as what Tim told me. But I'm not worried. Not yet. Sometimes these little jaunts in the Colorado mountains go long. Sometimes shit happens and you have to deal with it. And Tim is good at dealing with shit. A week-long trip is on the shorter end of what we usually do.

We stayed out in the woods for a month before, just me and him. A week is nothing. His survival skills are almost as good as mine. Plus, he's out with two other capable hikers. I'm sure they'll be fine. How many times has he done this before? I ask her. That's the thing, she says. He's been out like this before, but I was worried about this trip.

Did you know he went out to the place where those hikers have been disappearing? I bought him one of those personal GPS trackers that use satellites, you know, so I could track his progress. I made him promise to use it, and he did. She pauses, as if reluctant to go on. Maybe she thinks that voicing it will make it real. I have to prompt her, saying, And? She sniffles.

And it stopped moving two days ago. Two days ago? I asked. And you didn't think anything about that? I immediately regret saying it. She knows Tim is capable, just as I do. It would be easy to think that someone. something was wrong with the device.

I know. She says, crying. I thought something went wrong with the software, like it froze or something. Stop transmitting the signal. But now that he hasn't come home, I feel like something's very wrong. Okay, okay, I say. Is it possible to send me the link so I can view the last location? Let me see.

She says. There are several moments of silence. Yes. She says, finally. I just emailed it to you. Good. Just leave this to me. I'll contact search and rescue and I'll go in myself, okay?

We'll find him. After a few more comforting words, I hang up with Mandy and call Jeremiah. He's one of Tim's best friends. He was originally supposed to go on the trip, but something came up at the last minute. I give him the rundown, and he says he'll meet me at the trailhead. It takes me less than an hour to get all my gear ready to go. Then I hit the road, driving out of Breckenridge at 837.

Mandy mentioned the disappearance of several hikers in the same area where Tim and his two friends headed. That was part of the attraction, actually. Search and rescue crews had already been through the area, but Tim thought it wouldn't hurt for him and his friends, Charlene and Lewis, to lay eyes on the place. Still, it worries me. When hikers go missing, you assume they got lost or injured. and that's usually the case. But there are also instances of serial killers operating in national parks,

preying on single hikers. Sometimes even pairs come under attack. I've never heard of a killer attacking a group of three, but you never know. Given the skill level of my brother and his friends, a serial killer seems the more likely option. As I drive, I put on a newscast about the recent disappearances. There have been 12 in the last six. six months, which is incredibly high, especially considering that no bodies have been found,

just gear, scattered around the woods. Usually when hikers go missing, they find the bodies. Not in this area, not in the White River National Forest, not in the last six months. When I get to the trailhead, I see that I've beat Jeremiah. I get out of my truck and check out Tim's forerunner, still parked there. They carpooled, and nothing looks off about the car. It's locked up tight, the normal stuff inside. After checking out the vehicle, I look around, taking in the woods encompassing the dirt parking area. It's late spring, and the trees are in full splendor. But mostly, there are evergreens in this area.

Different kinds of pine and spruce trees, lending the air of fresh smell that always puts me at ease. A slight breeze ruffles branches. Birds chirp. Squirrels chatter. Behind me, the crackle of small rocks under tires tells me a vehicle is approaching. I turned. It's Jeremiah in his Chevy truck. I can already tell he's high-strung before he even gets out of the car.

He's got that look, letting the worry and the fear eat at him. I'm worried about my brother, but I put it at the back of my mind. It doesn't help anything to dwell. Ready? I say as he gets out of his truck and heads to the back to open the to-noe cover. He nods. We gear up and head out on the trail. I have a Sig P-220 and a holster at my right hip

and a Remington 700 rifle slung over my shoulder. I have my pack on, enough food and provisions for a week inside. I also have my trusty Kabar knife on my left hip. Jeremiah only has a rifle. A Noseler 21. The first day of travel is uneventful. We see a couple of other hikers, but they tell us they haven't seen anyone fitting the description of Tim's group.

I have a pretty good feel for people, and the hikers don't have the guilty look to them. One of them, an older guy with a long beard, tells us about a deer he saw, says there was something growing out of it, plants. The information does nothing for me. I just told this guy my brother's missing. and he talks about a dead deer.

We keep moving. As the sun goes down, we camp near a stream. Then we're up and moving as the sun comes up the next day. I printed out a map based on the GPS coordinates Mandy sent me. We should hit the coordinates in only a few hours. If we can't find any sign of them by the time the sun goes down today, we'll hike out tomorrow and I'll contact, search, and rescue. As we get closer to the GPS coordinates, I start to run.

recognized the area. Tim and I came out here two or three years ago. We did some exploring and found a couple of great areas for camping while off the beaten trail. So as we close in on the last known coordinates, I insist that we start taking detours. We stick together just in case something happens. Working from memory, I lead the way off the main trail, heading up a game trail that looks promising. I'm looking for their gear, any sign of them. We have to push through some branches and watch our footing, but we eventually come to a small clearing. No tents, no backpacks, nothing. We're about to turn back when something catches my eye.

What is it? Jeremiah asks. Look at those trees, I say, pointing across the clearing. They look like blue spruce trees, but they have a reddish tint to them. You ever seen a tree like that? Huh, Jeremiah says. You're right. I didn't even notice. Maybe it's a new disease or something, turning them red like that.

Blue spruce trees are popular Christmas trees because of their color. But these would look more at home on Halloween, with their strange coloration. Maybe, I say. But they look healthy enough. Jeremiah shrugs. We both turn around and make our way back to the trail. We walk another quarter mile or so before taking another detour up a seldom used trail. Once again, I lead the way.

As we come over a small ridge, I see the bright blue of a tent beyond another of those strange reddish spruce trees. I push past the spruce tree, feeling the sharp prick of its needles on my exposed right arm. There's a small campsite set up in the clearing. Two tents are there, one of which I recognize as Tim's. I also see his backpack, along with two others, leaning against tree trunks. There's no sign of anyone. I dump my pack next to a tree.

Jeremiah follows suit. Tim, you in there? I asked, crouching next to his tent. No answer. Charlene? Lewis? Still nothing. Jeremiah stands behind me, looking worried. I'm opening this up.

I call, just in case he's in the tent. As I reach out to unzip the tent flap, I see small red bumps on my right arm. They barely register. I'm not in pain, and my focus is on finding my brother. I unzip the tent flap and peer inside the blue tent. My breath catches, as I see Tim lying there. But it's not the Tim I know.

Behind me, Jeremiah wretches. All of Tim's visible skin has been split open. There are small reddish-green plants sprouting out of him. His mouth is open. What looks like a small spruce branch is emerging from it. His eyes have ruptured and plants are growing out of them. While Jeremiah continues retching, I move to the other tent. This one red and gray, and look inside.

Charlene is there, dead. Plants protrude out of her skin, her eyes, and even from underneath her blonde hair. It takes me a little longer to find Lewis. Apparently disoriented, he wandered off and collapsed in the woods. The plants sprouting from his body seemed to be growing more quickly. Probably because they're getting more sunlight. I run back to the campsite. Jeremiah is straightening, looking at me with unsteady eyes.

Did you brush up against the tree? I ask him, pointing at the reddish spruce. I don't know, he says. I must have, why? brushing over to my backpack, I unstrap it so I can access the main pocket. My first aid kit is there. It doesn't take me long to find the tweezers. When I do, I take them over to the spruce. Being particularly careful, I grip one of the reddish needles from the tree. Some people call them leaves. I've always called them needles. They're certainly sharp, even on regular blue spruce trees.

But the needles on this one differ from those on normal trees. It's only noticeable now that I'm looking closely. Each needle has a small bulge at the base, where it joins the branch. I pull the needle off the tree and step away. Jeremiah asks me what's going on, but I ignore him. Still holding it with a tweeze. I inspect it. There's a small hole at the top of the needle, almost as if it's hollow inside. Using my free hand, I grip the bulge at the base of the needle. It compresses and something shoots out of the hole at the top. Luckily, I had the hole pointing away from me. Not that it matters. I've already been injected. The bulge at the bottom contains some kind of natural propellant that shoots the seed out when the thing is jostled. I drop the needle and put the

tweezers in my pocket. Let's move. Move? Jeremiah says. What are you talking about? What the fuck is going on? What happened to them? They're dead, I say, hefting my backpack up. And we will be soon if we don't do something. But we need to get back to the trail first. Without waiting for him, I move, shoving through dense foliage to avoid touching the red spruce. Follow me exactly. I called to him. After a moment, I hear him coming. I wait until he gets closer to tell him what's happening. When we brushed up against that tree, it shot seeds into our skin. We need to get them out before they do whatever they did to my brother and the other two.

Into our skin? Jeremiah calls. His voice cracking. I've never heard of any plant that does that. How do you know? Because I just saw it, Jeremiah. That's how I know. We come to the trail, and I throw my pack down again. I ready the first aid kit. There's going to be a lot of blood. I get to my knees on the trail and pull out my cabar knife. I can see the slightly irritated patch of my right arm where I brushed against the tree.

There are more than a dozen little bumps there, more than a dozen little seeds under the skin. What the hell are you doing? Jeremiah's voice is high. His freckled cheeks are flushed red. His brown eyes alive with fear. I lift the knife, taking aim. Coog! Please don't!

Jeremiah shouts. I pause. The knife held over the fragile skin. Life is fleeting. I've known this. I've come to terms with this. But, fragile as it is, it's not something to take lightly. Life is something to fight for.

And sometimes, fighting for life means you have to do things you wouldn't ever consider doing. Jeremiah doesn't seem to understand that. He wears his fear on his sleeve like a black band. Mourning the inevitable end of his existence every day. instead of celebrating the fact of his existence. He doesn't see what's happening to us, but I do. I see it, clearly, as clearly as I've ever seen anything before. Look around you, I say to Jeremiah.

There's no help for us here. My words are swallowed by the endless woods that coat the mountains of Colorado. I must do this. There has to be a better way! Jeremiah pleads. Come on, Coog! I shake my head and plunge. the knife in. I cry out, digging down into my skin, slicing around the red bumps on my arm. I pause

briefly, blood streaming down my arm. There's a broken piece of wood nearby, about two inches in diameter, six inches long. I swipe it up and stick it in my mouth for something to bite down on. Then I get back to work. Carving under my skin in a sawing motion is the hardest thing I've ever done. But when the large chunk of flesh falls from my arm, I slump over. breathing hard. The branch drops out of my mouth, followed by a string of drool. Bandages, I say, gesturing at the first aid kid. Jeremiah grabs it up and kneels next to me. He helps me clean the gaping wound and bandage it as best we can. I use an alcohol wipe to clean the knife, then I flip it around and present

it to him. He looks from the knife to me and back again. Cut them out, I say. It's your only chance. Jeremiah swallows heart before answering. I can't. I look at his arm. The patch of irritation is plain to see on his pasty skin. I can do it for you, I say. No, no, I'll take my chances.

Besides, someone has to help you out. You're a grown man, I tell him. Don't say I didn't warn you. Don't say I didn't try to help. I'm not doing it, he says. I shrug and then put the knife away. I'm lightheaded as I get to my feet. feet. Pulling the pack on without jostling the wound takes some doing, but I get it done. I mark

the trail by tying a red bandana on a tree branch, so I can tell the authorities about it. I don't know if I'll make it out. I might lose too much blood, but at least I have a chance. I can't say the same for Jeremiah. I don't know how long the process takes, but I'm guessing he'll be dead within a couple of days, like my brother, like Charlene and Lewis. If they made it this far back, they probably came across one of the trees deeper in the mountains. I hope I'm wrong about Jeremiah, but I don't think I am. We come to a rise in the trail where a good swath of forest is visible. I didn't pay the view any mind when we came over it earlier.

I was more concerned with finding my brother. But now, I stop and take it in. It takes my breath away, but not because of its beauty. because I can see the tops of strange reddish blue spruce trees sticking up here and there among the other trees. There are hundreds of them, as far as the eye can see. SCP 867 is a species of coniferous tree visually similar to Pisio pungins or blue spruce,

except for its distinctive red coloration and a complete lack of seed cones at any stage in its life. SCP-867's leaves are hollow structures similar to hypodermic needles, containing a single long, thin seed and a tiny gas pocket at the base of the leaf. When an animal brushes against the leaves, the gas pocket expels and injects the seed into the skin of the animal using a mechanism similar to that of an auto-injector. The tiny size of the seed, which is coated with a liquid with anesthetic and coagulant properties, renders the injection nearly undetectable.

These seeds can lay dormant in the skin of an animal for anywhere from a few hours to two weeks, after which the seeds begin to grow, extending tendrils throughout the host animal's circulatory system. The growth causes excruciating pain within the host animal, can last for up to 24 hours, and invariably ends with the host's death. Following host death, the new SCP-867 specimen will burst from the host's animal,

body and grow to full maturity within 30 days, consuming the host's body in the process.