The SCP Experience - Whatever You Ask, Mr. Deeds Will Do It | SCP-662

Episode Date: October 12, 2026

When Dylan accidentally rings a tarnished bell, a mysterious butler appears, ready to make his life easier with a smile and a polite “Yes, sir.” But the more Dylan relies on his new servant, the less he questions what happens after Mr. Deeds leaves the room. Listen without ads and get instant access to exclusive bonus stories with a 7-day FREE TRIAL of⁠⁠ ⁠SCP Premium⁠⁠⁠ — Cancel anytime. No commitment. 👉🏼 ⁠patreon.com/TheSCPExperience⁠ This story is derived from ⁠The SCP Foundation Database⁠ and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0.⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ ⁠⁠⁠ Author:  Hayley Vandermaarl * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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like providing food, shelter, and crisis prevention. Donate today at United WayGT.org. Something clunked in the back of Dylan's closet and let out a soft chime, but he barely heard it. He continued scrounging through clothing, boxes filled with old books and shoes, and tennis rackets that he never used. Where are they? He growled, tossing a bunch of extension cords over his shoulder. May I be of assistance, sir? Dylan jumped and hit his head on his shelf, scattering Pokemon cards across the room.

He turned to find a short, middle-aged man in an old-fashioned butler's uniform standing in the doorway of his bedroom. Who the hell are you? I am Mr. Deed, sir. The man spoke with a posh, British accent, and no hint of panic or confusion. How did you get in here? He frowned. I don't know, sir. Okay.

What do you want? To be of assistance, sir. Dylan snorted. Okay. Well, can you find my lucky socks, then? Absolutely, sir. Dylan watched the man crawl into his closet, disappear among the shirts and jackets,

and reappear a moment later with a bright blue bundle in his hand. Here you are, Mr. Foster. Dylan reluctantly took the socks, never taking his eyes off the stranger. How do you know my name? I couldn't tell you, sir. Can't or won't? I really don't know, sir.

Right. The two stood in awkward silence for a moment. Dylan continued staring at the man while the stranger looked curiously around the room, his eyes landing on the Pokemon cards at his feet. Would you like me to clean this up, sir? Um, sure. The man who called himself Mr. Deeds, bent over and began piling the cards together with practiced efficiency. Is this some kind of joke?

Dylan blurted. A joke, sir? Yeah. You know, like a prank or something? Because if it is, it's not really funny. It's kind of weird, actually. I do not believe I am a joke, sir. That's not what I...

Dylan sighed and plopped onto the bed. The blue socks still in his hand. Where are you from? I don't recall, sir. Quit calling me, sir. It's getting annoying. As you wish, Mr. Foster. Dylan fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Don't call me that either. My name is Dylan. Dylan. The man repeated, as if the name tasted strange on his tongue. Why are you here? Mr. Deeds opened his mouth, but Dylan raised a hand before he could speak. Don't tell me you're here to help me. Give me a real answer. How did you come to be here and why?

The bell, sir. I mean, Dylan. Dylan narrowed his eyes. What bell? Would you like me to get it for you? Yeah, do that. To Dylan's astonishment, the man disappeared into his closet again. When he returned, a small, tarnished bell rested in his outstretched palm. Are you trying to tell me that? Like, summoned you?

Yes, Dylan. Dylan blinked, willing the strange butler to disappear. When that didn't work, he pinched his arm, but he was still there. How do I make you go away? You simply tell me to. Okay, go away. Mr. Deeds nodded, bowed, and walked down the hall. Dylan waited a few seconds before walking after him, but the hallway was empty.

He rushed down the stairs, but the door was firmly shut, with no sign of having been recently opened. His roommate, Jake, was sitting a few feet away from the front door, watching a soccer game. Hey, did you see a guy dressed like a butler walk out of here? Dylan asked him. Jake slowly turned around, his eyebrows raised. Are you feeling okay, man? Dylan shook his head. I honestly don't know.

Hey, aren't you going to be late for your date? Oh, shit. Quinn's going to kill me. Dylan rushed back upstairs to finish getting ready and put on his lucky socks. He searched his room for the strange butler, but, finding nothing, decided that he must have hallucinated or something. Quinn was frowning when he showed up at the door. What took you so long? Her dark brown hair fell in loose waves down her back.

and she wore a skin-tight red dress that hugged her in all the right places. Dylan gulped. I... He imagined telling her about the butler, but thought better of it. I couldn't find my socks. Quinn rolled her eyes. If you'd been any later, I would have called Andrew instead. Who's Andrew? She looked away, but Dylan caught the faint smirk on her face.

Jealousy rose like a fire within him. Who is he? He's nobody. Don't worry about it. Let's just go. She grabbed his hand and sent him that dazzling smile that made him fall for her in the first place. It's just you and me tonight.

Dylan hesitated, but she stepped closer and pressed her body against his, standing on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear. We'll come back for dessert. She pulled back with a wink and set off down the drive. Dylan followed. All thoughts of Andrew and the strange butler forgotten. When he stumbled into his bedroom,

later that night, he didn't notice the bell sitting on his nightstand. And when he fumbled for his alarm the next morning, he didn't see it fall to the floor. But he couldn't help but notice the man standing over him when he finally opened his eyes. Shit, you scared me. My deepest apology, sir. Dylan groaned as his pulse began to settle. What did I say about the sir thing? Sorry, Dylan, is there anything I can do for you? He slumped against the pillows and placed his hand in front of his eyes to block out the cruel sunlight. Can you make my hangover go away? Certainly. Dylan's eyes flew open as Mr. Deeds stepped out of the room. A moment later, he returned and placed a cool glass in Dylan's hands. The liquid inside was brownish yellow and had a funky smell that

almost made him vomit on the spot. What is this? A cure. Maybe if his head wasn't pounding, if the room wasn't spinning. If his mouth didn't feel like a desert, he would have refused But Dylan was desperate. His common sense went out the window, and he figured he was probably dreaming anyway, so he chugged the strange mixture until there wasn't a drop left. It tasted as bad as it looked, and he fought to keep it down. Better. Dylan opened his mouth to curse the strange man in his cruel prank,

but stopped before the words came out. He was better. His head was clear, and his body felt completely restored. In fact, he felt better than he did most morning. Are you a wizard? He blurted. Mr. Deeds chuckled. I am a mere butler, sir.

A magical butler. At that, he shrugged. Perhaps so. I cannot say. Are you like a genie? Do I only get three wishes? No, I am not a genie. So you can do anything I ask?

No limitations? Dylan was sitting up now. His excitement barely contained. I'm afraid there are limitations. What are they? Mr. Deeds frowned again and looked almost pained. I'm not really sure. Can you make me invincible? No, I can't do that. Why not? I don't know. Dylan narrowed his eyes. Fine. Can you get me a mazorati?

No, I'm afraid I can't do that either. Fine. Can you make me breakfast at least? Mr. Deed smiled, and his dark brown eyes lit up. I can do that, sir. What would you like? Bacon and eggs and French toast and waffles, and sausage and ham too, and pancakes. Is that all? For now, and would you like me to bring it here? Why not? Dylan sank into his pillows as Mr. Deeds went out the door. It was a strange dream he was having, but he never wanted it to end. And it didn't. Dylan got a full breakfast that morning, a spotless house, and a new outfit delivered in seconds. Mr. Deeds even managed to talk to Dylan's usually unfriendly neighbor into giving him a ride to class. By the time he returned home, he wasn't even surprised to see

the bell in his room. He rang it immediately. What can I do for you, Mr. Foster? Dylan was already lying on his bed when Deeds walked in. He inclined his head towards the chair in the corner, which was covered with dirty laundry. You'd like me to do your laundry? Dylan sighed. No, I mean, maybe later. Right now, I just... I need someone to talk to. Ah, you need my ears. Yeah, I guess.

I just... Jake's not home. And I don't really know who else to talk to about this, and... Say no more, sir. Mr. Deeds politely removed the laundry from the wooden chair and sat down. What's on your mind? It's Quinn. Your girlfriend?

Kind of. The butler-coctus had... but said nothing. So Dylan continued. I saw her outside the library today with another guy. I'm sorry, sir. It's not just that. We aren't technically exclusive. She can talk to whoever she wants, but she was kissing him, and she didn't stop when she saw me. You know what she did? What did she do? Deeds was on the edge of his seat with his head in his hands. She smiled. It's like she enjoyed seeing me like that. There was this devious twinkle in her eye, and then she grabbed the guy's face and went right back to it.

Did she really, sir? Yeah. Dylan sat up and began pacing the room, suddenly too agitated to sit. She knows how I feel about her. Why would she do that? I don't know, sir. Silence descended, as Dylan replayed the scene over and over in his mind. Deeds finally broke it.

Do you want to stay with her, sir? What? No, of course not. Not now. Do you not love her, sir? I thought I did. I thought she loved me too, but now that's not what love looks like, is it, Deeds? I'm afraid I don't know, sir.

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Thousands of ways, like providing food, shelter, and crisis prevention. Donate today at United WayGT.org. Dillon's rage subsided for a moment as he looked at the strange butler, a wave of pity rolling over him. Deeds looked away. I should have known better. Jake even tried to warn me. I knew she was probably seeing other guys, and I thought I was okay with it.

But for her to just flaunt it like that, that's a side to her that I've never seen. I didn't know she could be like that. You didn't, sir? No, she's always been a bit mischievous, and yeah, she's flirty, but she can also be sweet and caring and not like that. That Quinn? I don't know that Quinn. I don't want to know her if that's who she truly is. Good for you, sir.

Dylan nodded, but he couldn't help thinking about his favorite moments with her. The first time they met, when she dropped her books and he picked them up, and their eyes met like in a romance movie. The first time they went out, when he saw other. guys looking at them, and he couldn't believe that he was the one with the beautiful girl across from him. Those cozy evenings when they would sit and watch TV and talk, he told her about his parents, and she talked about her sister, the one who was jealous of her. But Quinn loved her so much anyway. She meant so much to him. But did he ever mean anything to her? Was she telling other guys the same things she told him? What was he to her? A way to pass

the time? He thought again of her arms around that guy. her smile as she noticed him. Ah, I just want to... Dylan clenched his hands into a fist, but didn't finish the sentence. But Deeds wasn't about to let it go. What would you like to do, sir? I want to make her pay, make her hurt. I could just about kill her.

Would you like me to, sir? Dylan scoffed and turned back to the wall. Go ahead. With what, sir? Whatever you like, I don't care. I just never want to see her again. Understood, sir. When he turned around again, Mr. Deeds was standing in the doorway.

It is done, sir. Great job, Deeds. Dylan gave him a pat on the shoulder. Then he sank into bed again. Thanks for playing along. I needed that. I'd think some alone time now, though. Of course, sir.

Mr. Deeds disappeared again, and Dylan burrowed under the covers like he did as a child and thought about Quinn. He was almost asleep when his bedroom door burst open, and Jake rushed in. Have you heard? Dylan popped his tear-stained head out from under the covers. Heard what? About Quinn? Her and that guy?

Yeah, I saw them together. No, her. Oh my God, you don't know. Jake took a deep breath and settled on the edge of Dylan's bed. His usual humor was gone. His eyes were serious and sad. Dylan, Quinn's dead. What?

Is this some kind of joke? Jake gulped and looked away. That's when Dylan knew it was real. Jake had always been good at lying. It was the truth he had a hard time with. She was murdered this afternoon. Jake absently picked up the bell as if needing to hold something in his hands. Dylan looked at it and froze.

It had to be a coincidence. There was no way. Mr. Deeds couldn't kill someone. He couldn't even get an expensive car. It just wasn't possible. Jake, I need a minute. Jake bolted upright, nearly dropping the bell. Yeah, of course.

Whatever you need. I'm here for you, man. Dylan simply nodded and grabbed the bell from his hands. He continued staring at it after his bedroom door quietly shut. He hadn't quite felt like himself since all this weirdness started. He went along with it, treating the whole thing like some harmless game. But now, he rang the bell. Hello, Dylan. What can I... Did you kill her?

His voice sounded strangely calm, considering the storm brewing inside him. Who? Quinn, did you get you? kill Quinn. Dylan held his breath. Of course, sir. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. Mr. Deeds was looking at him as if he were the crazy one. Why? Why would you do that? You asked me to? What? I didn't mean it. I thought it was just a bit. You were just trying to make me feel better. I'm sorry, sir. I simply do what you ask. Dylan glanced between the man and the bell, his mind still refusing to comprehend the situation.

How? I cut her throat, sir. With what? Mr. Deeds reached into his pocket and pulled out a stained handkerchief. He slowly unraveled it to reveal a bloody steak knife. With this, sir. Dylan sank to the floor. No, no, no, no, no.

Is there anything I can do, sir? Bring her back. Tears formed in his eyes, as he thought of her just last night. Her dark brown eyes warm and mischievous as she edged closer to him. She couldn't be gone. She couldn't. You have to bring her back. I'm afraid I can't do that, sir. You have to. I'm asking you too. Don't you do what I ask?

Only if I can, sir. I'm afraid I'm unable to bring people back from the dead. So, she's just gone? I'm afraid so. Dylan clenched his fists and glared at the strange man in his bedroom. Mr. Deeds was as calm as ever, his uniform pristine and his hands clean. But Dylan could see the blood. It was all over him. This monster who dared to enter his domain and trick him into wishing for something he never wanted.

This bastard who pretended to be his servant, even his friend, only to turn around and ruin his life. Give me the knife! The butler held out his hand, presenting the bloody weapon. Dylan grabbed it and rushed to his feet. Stand still! Whatever you like, sir. His answer only served to enrage Dylan even more.

He screamed as he plunged the knife. as he plunged the knife into the monster's chest again and again and again. Mr. Deeds never tried to defend himself. He simply stood there until his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor. Blood spilled from his mouth, but he never said a word. When Dylan looked into his eyes, he saw nothing but subservience. When the light finally left them, Dylan stopped. He dropped the knife.

He slid to the floor and he cried. He cried until he fell asleep, right there in the pool of the wall. of blood. When the police arrived, they found Dylan alone in his bedroom. He was muttering something about death and holding up his hands to the light. So much blood, he said, but his hands were clean. There was no trace of a body or any hint of the butler. All they found was a knife with Dylan's fingerprints. In the end, that was all the physical evidence they could gather. Eyewitnesses revealed that Dylan had been upset with Quinn earlier that day. But no one knew how we broke into her house. When asked about the crime,

Dylan claimed that he had stabbed again and again and again, but Quinn's throat had been slit with one clean line. The knife belonged to neither Dylan nor Quinn, and detectives never determined where it came from. Dylan was sent to a psych ward, where he babbled about a bell and a butler to anyone who would listen. Most didn't. Forensics cleaned out Dylan's room, combing it for evidence. They rifled through his collection of Pokemon cards and absently tossed them in a box. They didn't look too closely at his stinky shoes,

stuffing them in a plastic bag to save them just in case. They wrapped up the carpet, but didn't expect to find anything on it. By the time they were done, they had taken everything that looked remotely useful. Everything except a tarnished bell that had rolled beneath the nightstand, patiently waiting to be found again.

SCP-662 is a small silver-hand bell, measuring four centimeters tall and two centimeters in circumference. The bell is missing its ringer. Inside, an inscription has been etched into the silver reading. Forever Mine, SJW. Although the bell can be damaged, its relatively safe nature has made destruction unnecessary. Because it is made from extremely pure silver, SCP 662 requires regular polishing to prevent tarnishing. When the bell is shaken as though being wrung, a soft chime can be heard, even though the sound does not originate from the bell itself.

Shortly afterward, a short, well-dressed Caucasian butler, who identifies himself as British, will appear from the nearest location outside the user's line of sight, usually from around a corner. The man calls himself Mr. Deeds. He addresses whoever rang the bell by their appropriate title and last name before asking what they desire. How Mr. Deeds knows this information remains unknown, and he claims not to know the answer himself. Further details can be found in interview log 662-l1. Mr. Deeds is capable of fulfilling most reasonable requests, though there are limits to what he can provide.

He cannot produce highly complex items such as sports cars, luxury homes, or private jets. However, if allowed to leave the user's line of sight before returning, he can produce smaller items ranging from a ham sandwich or a glass of iced tea to more valuable objects such as caviar or even a brick of gold. A list of notable items Mr. Deeds has produced for previous users can be found in addendum 662-A1. Mr. Deeds will also perform menial tasks, such as washing vehicles, preparing food, and cleaning bathrooms. If Mr. Deeds considers a request unreasonable or impossible, he will politely say so and offer an alternative one possible.

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