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This story is inspired by SCP-096 created by Dr Dan, and takes place in the SCP Foundation universe. The cover image was created by dekades8 on DeviantArt and edited by me. Yeah, hey, I don’t know where this will go. If this goes through anywhere, then I guess I got lucky. one. Last. TIME. If you’re reading this, don’t go looking for what I saw. I mean that. Don't look at its face, and this means no photo will be attached.

I’m closing up for the night when I get the call: Aunt Cynthia’s been in a car accident, a bad one.  Her back’s broken.  Uncle Dan’s disabled too, so he’s reluctantly asking everyone in the family to come out and help if they can. I can. The next day I cash in my vacation time, load up my head-turning 2009 Chevy Impala, and hit the road on a cross-country trip from New Hampshire to Uncle Dan’s place out near Vegas.  I don’t like flying.

Outlaws sucked. It was just another shithole bar in Columbus, Georgia. One of many I might add. Not that I was an expert given I wasn’t much for the party scene. This college student struggled to meet friends, much less find girls who wanted to talk to me. I had no wingman after all. No one to go out with.

Chatrove / Topic: Confessions Posted by Anonymous 2003-07-16 23:14 [Archived] I'll call her Amelia. Not her real name, of course, but the vibe matches. She and I were always cut from the same invisible cloth (anxious, awkward, forgettable). If we didn’t sit together in lectures, we simply evaporated into the crowd. When New Year’s came, we made a pact: we’d change. Not in some dramatic way, just enough to stop melting into the scenery. We wanted to be more outgoing, more open, easier to like.

Behind the unsteady glow of a flickering candle, Gideon, a man of pallid skin and restless eyes, sat slumped in his painting chamber. He would spend his days withering away here as he grappled with the monstrous quiet of an unraveling mind. He was known to be a brilliant portraitist, capturing the essence of his subjects with confident, precise strokes. In his hands, even the smallest nuance became a revelation, bringing to light the hidden beauties within every visage.

I’ve been an avid hiker for well over 10 years now and an outdoorsy person for my whole life. Nature has always been a place that makes me feel free. My parents always encouraged me to explore and get my hands and feet dirty outside when I was growing up. Me and my brother were always known as the barefoot kids that walked around our neighborhood and through the woods that surrounded it. As an adult, I still enjoy the feeling of walking through nature (all be it with shoes now). I’ve hiked many…

I remember when I first woke up here just a couple of weeks ago. It’s probably not like any place you’ve ever seen. Not that it matters anymore, now that I'm stuck here. You see, for the past few weeks, I've been stuck in some sort of hell. Because I have found myself trapped. Trapped in a never-ending expanse of cardboard. I don't know if I'm alone here or not; I'm mostly writing this so my mind has something to do. Hell, I don't know if I’ll even get out of here, wherever this place is.

I was driving home from work late one night, tired and ready to let my head slam down onto my soft pillow. It had been a very long day. Sales were slow, and I had just finished a meeting with my employees to figure out how we could improve them. I'm the owner of a Tech Start-up. We design customized automated machinery for various construction and Manufacturing industries.

Another bullshit Friday night. That was all it was. I was back home from the college dorms at Georgia Southwestern State University and back home in Albany, Georgia for the summer. The June heat was torture. My thirst further increased by the heat and the constant loneliness. At nineteen, I had no money, no girlfriend, no friends for comfort to go clubbing with, and needless to say, I didn’t have a fake I.D. to buy booze for these most lonely nights.

I remember being 15 years old and me and my family along with two other families who were friends to us, we all went on holiday together. It was amazing and I had lots of people my age to play with and we were all in spain. I remember my mother bought a load of ice cream and she said who ever can hold their breath the longest can have the biggest ice cream and we all held our breath and then all of a sudden I heard something fast coming and everything went black. I remember opening my eyes and…

I stand in a dark room. It is very large and I can barely see the black outlines of the walls. Around me are golden cages which hang from the ceiling by long chains. Peering into them, I see the most peculiar objects; much like the strange ornate cages, gold glints through many of the bars. There are crowns, golden bars, sceptres with emeralds and other gems embedded in their hilts, golden necklaces and lockets amongst other things. One has bronze weighing scales. Other cages have bones in…

“Peter, can you even see anything up there?” Harry, the oldest yet least mature forest Ranger, said over the two-way. High on my perch in Tower 3, I had a full three hundred sixty degree view of A_____ National Forest that stretched out to the horizon. This was a dumb joke he liked to ask every time I drew the short straw for this position. “Yes, vision is clear. No smoke. No fires. No adverse weather conditions.”

The human race breathed a sigh of relief when we finally colonized Mars. Years of overpopulation and resource shortages left our first planet stressed. Mars was seen as a pressure valve. A new planet for us to build up and eventually ruin. But we all knew it wasn’t a permanent solution. With the way our population grows, it would only give us a finite amount of time before we were in the same boat as before. We needed more planets. Planets that are farther away and host a greater abundance of…

I remember the day because nothing about it felt wrong at first, and that’s what makes it stay with me. The normal days are the ones that rot the deepest when something inside them isn’t right. My name is William Marston, and I teach children how to put their thoughts on paper, how to shape fear into something harmless, something you can hold at arm’s length and say, “this is only a drawing.” I believed that. I needed to believe that. So when I told them that morning to draw a monster—anything…

18th January 2016 You: "Yeah men, I´m sure I´m here, in front of my apartment building." Charles: "But I still can´t see you Ray." You: [You sent a photo] "See Charles? I´m right here." Charles: [Charles sent a photo] "Look Ray, I´m on same spot..." You: "What... the actually... fuck...?" Charles: "Hey bro... I have an idea... Can we go to the Penn station?" You: "Ehmm... Okey, but only if we stay texting." Charles: "Of course. Im little scared too." You: "I did... never mind."

Subject: I think I found my living room on a Deep Web website, but the rug is the wrong color. Entry 1: Posted 3 hours ago. I’m shaking while I type this. I always been a digital explorer... another idiot who browses the Deep Web just to see the weird things people host. Mostly it’s just broken links or forums for people obsessed with 90s stuff. But tonight I found a site called The Staging.

There’s no way I could be alone in this. My family wanted to send me to the psych ward when I told them. And I am not delusional enough to believe that if evil existed in this universe or any other, it would only have eyes for me. So I'm throwing this out into the ether of the internet. If you have ever found yourself on the outskirts of the bends of Oklahoma and happened upon a similar place. Please, I’m begging you, share your story as well. I need to know I’m not crazy.

This account was not meant to be kept with the others. It was filed incorrectly at first, tucked between some water damage report and a handwritten inventory of seasonal decorations. No one noticed because no one ever looks too closely at Christmas. We prefer it softened, rounded at the edges, safe to touch.  There are entire kinds of damage that go unrecorded when they happen in December. It is a season built on reassurance, and reassurance has a way of smoothing over things that should have…

I’ll start this off by letting all of you know, I’m not a good person. Neither are the people I work for. We should all be in prison or even worse. This isn’t a life I found myself in; this was the life I sought out. And a part of me knows we deserve everything that's come for us. Growing up, my mom and I lived in a shithole apartment on the south side. Everyone called it the Pits.

“And of course, my wonderful and wunderbar blast furnaces are the heart of my Foundry’s operations,” Raubritter boasted proudly as he led the young and aloof Petra down across the factory floor towards the upstairs offices.