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rating: +104+–x Item #: SCP-6915 Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: Well, they won't tell me where we are, security and all, but I figure if you need to read this, you probably know where you are. Anyway, the main thing you're not supposed to do is talk about me. The fellas have come up with some special sign language he doesn't know, but words themselves are right out. Make my ears burn! Writing ain't a good idea, either, so y'all should've had some training before coming.
You say something, well… I'm sorry, friend. You gotta seal the room, full quarantine, anyone else there better suck it up. Call for help, sit it out. Probably won't do no good, but hey! Rather try and relax, meditate on my life and get ready to see the stars than shit my brain out panicking.
I live in the Keter wing, whatever that means. Don't ask for much, but they treat me right enough. Dr. Valerie Whitaker's boss of containing and studying (I don't mind!), you know her. Tall, dark, gorgeous low husk of a British accent? Or is that not appropriate? I do hope not. She's supervising me here, making sure I don't forget anything, but… well, I'm allowed to have some fun, right?
Description: Jeremiah O'Shea, delighted to make your acquaintance. They call me SCP-6915. Well, as you've probably guessed, they don't usually call me anything, aha, but there you go. I'm just a regular guy. Born and bred in the blessed ol' state of Missouri, a small town there. Did up cars, got turned down by every lady took my fancy, never missed a sermon. Average fella, really.
There's a thing in my head. Didn't ask for it, you see, but there you go. He eats my brain.
My, that was dramatic, wasn't it? Val's glaring real hard at me right now, but she ain't gonna take my bed off me for this, right? I'm allowed to have some fun. Anyway, he's • some sort of maggot. The geniuses don't really know why I ain't "non-responsive," there's that much gone. I reckon he's keeping me going. I don't think he's that bad a fella.
He's why you can't talk about me, though. You see, he gets into your head. That ain't metaphor. Starts off as just a single, tiny little maggot. Harmless. But that's the thing about ideas, now, isn't it? They don't stay little and harmless. They grow, fester, breed.
And he's the same. Ain't long before those fellas get restless. They wriggle about in there, eat, eat, eat, multiply until they're spilling out of your nostrils. And every time they do, there's a little bit more of him in my head, and a little bit less of me.
Best I can tell, you're just fucked after that. Val tells me they can get him out if they catch him early enough, they can scoop all them little guys out, but sounds to me like they're just trying to avoid panic and hysteria. Keep you quiet.
Val's giving me the look again. Sorry, I'll go back and delete it later. Don't want to lose my flow, you see.
Why me? Well, it started at the church, you see. The thing people don't realise is that they're so… full. Loves and fears and hopes and dreams, spreading and fattening until they burst through your skull, red melodies trickling from your eye sockets. All that soul.
And sometimes you gotta make room for more.
Val's got the funniest look on her face! I wonder if she's still got her soul. Sometimes, I think that's all she has left.
My church was… small. Homemade. The thing the pastor never told me, you see, is that after you've created that empty space, you gotta fill it back up. Otherwise you're just left hollow. And that lets something else crawl inside.
I honestly don't know what happens when I'm gone and he remains. I don't think he's that bad a guy. He's been alone and cold for so long, he just wants his privacy respected. Heck, maybe he'd make better use of this worn ol' body than I did. I think we'll find out eventually.
And that's it! We're done! Well, I'm mighty grateful to Val for the opportunity to talk to y'all. Hope this helps, see you around, stay safe!
One more thing.
You know, I knew a guy. Tommy. Y'all probably did too, he worked in Euclid. Small, blond fella. Always smiling, full of jokes. Lovely fella. Lovely.
Said something to someone as I was having a scan. Don't even know what it was, poor guy just wasn't thinking. Next thing I know, it's just us. Alarms blaring, red light, him keeled over. Tommy was crying, rocking on the floor. Mumbling something, maybe a prayer. Fella definitely needed it.
Now, I ain't of that persuasion, you see, but I see a poor lost soul, I can't turn my back.
So, I sat beside him, took his hands in mine and listened. I strained, strained so hard, gave it everything I had, but I couldn't hear it.
I wonder if he could hear it. He must have. In his head, that sludgy sound. Wet on wet, hungry chewing, incessant, unstoppable. I wonder if there was enough of him left by the time it was loud enough for him to realise. To hear it. Saddens my heart.
Oh, sorry, that was probably a bit much, eh?
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