1
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, approximately ten seconds. During this time, rain can be heard striking a number of windows nearby.
My name is Doctor Lowell Henry Piedmont. I am a research scientist for the Foundation, specialty in esoteric containment of anomalous objects, events and locations. I have gone missing. There are three others with me. Alicia Connors is an archivist assistant currently assigned to SCP-914. Jerald Hanndock is a research assistant, also assigned to SCP-914. Matthew Terger is a security agent with whom I have worked with to a considerable degree of satisfaction.
The output of the SCP-316 replica produced by 914… we were exposed to the light of this new item. We are now someplace I suspect to be the United Kingdom, though we haven't been able to confirm this. We have taken shelter in a greenhouse on Terger's suggestion — it is elevated, and will give us a good view of any more incoming hostiles. We have already been attacked.
We attempted to make camp in the great room of the adjacent, abandoned manor house, but gunfire awoke us during the second watch. Terger saw something disturbingly long melt a panel of a window. It attempted to reach Connors while she slept. He almost lost sight of it. He managed to shoot it, clipped the anterior of its body length and sent it running back through the warped hole in the window. We relocated immediately.
This is the first of my records. I will be documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night one. One round expended. Seventy-one remain.
Rain continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
2
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, approximately ten seconds. The sounds of running and sloshing water are prominent nearby, as are a calm, low male voice and a higher pitched female voice, apparently in some distress.
We took a chance and returned to the manor house after daylight was sufficient to light the interior of the house. Terger was on point, I covered the others from behind. We didn't find more insects. The house has outlets but no power- it has no modern accoutrements whatsoever, in fact, and is in truth quite sparsely furnished for such an estate. There are places where paintings must have hung, however, and furniture was moved. It was probably stripped and abandoned. Still, we remain in some proximity to our time of origin, though we have clearly been geographically displaced.
We were unable to find any maps or other useful things here besides canned foods. Unfamiliar brand names. Could be regional food, could be evidence that we are further from home than I'd like to admit. Have to keep an open mind.
We had a debate about going into the basement. I was outvoted three to one in favor of breaking the locks and investigating. We were reasonably certain that nothing like we saw last night would be down there. We were right.
I know that it sounds absurd, but I have the nagging feeling that the thing that took a bite out of Terger's shoulder with the mouth on its elbow used to be human. We didn't stay long enough to find out. Hanndock had found a keyring in the kitchen after we broke about half the locks with a hammer from the gardening shed. After the creature decided Terger wasn't tasty enough (I shot it, center mass), we relocked the remaining locks; we'll have to hope they're enough. The skin absorbed a lot of the impact, and we don't have the ammunition to kill the thing. We bound the wound; Terger seems as though he'll recover in a few days. A little longer to mend his ego.
This house is dangerous, but we don't have anyplace else to go. We'll walk a few hours tomorrow, and turn around if we can't get a vantage point to see another destination.
This is the second of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night one. One round expended. Seventy remain.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
3
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, approximately ten seconds. The sound of a large fire, perhaps, is audible.
I was certain I remembered something about that creature. It matches a file a colleague had me read a few months ago, regarding a bottle of whiskey that turned drinkers into literal monsters. The insect may have been a… anomaly as well for all I know. But I know exactly what killed Alicia. I have no idea how three unrelated… objects… ended up in the same place.
We saw a small town on our expedition, from the top of a hill. It was on the other side of a river, but that was surmountable. We crossed the river and followed it into town. Nobody was there. Too many houses for the cars here. Still here, I should say. There were some pretty deep-set oil stains in front of a few homes, but no vehicles to make them.
It must have been a while since the… I can't say what they are. I don't know who will find this. I'm calling it the beach. The beach killed or drove off everyone who lived in this city. If you find this note, don't get close to the lake. The sands are alive and they will devour you before you realize your feet are in pieces. They took her apart, had her on stumps before she realized she was getting shorter.
That's an exaggeration, but it was horrible to watch. When she tried to run, what was left of her feet splintered and she fell. She didn't scream long. We found a car with keys inside not too far from the lake; I spotted the keychain gleaming while we were running. I think we could have gotten away without the car, but it helped.
There's a roadmap; glove compartment. It's not in a language any of us speak, though it was dogeared on a specific page. The road layout fits the town, and the river; we're going to get some gas and find the next nearest town.
The clouds haven't lifted since we got here. Not for a minute. I hope that's just how things are here- the last thing we need is anomalous weather.
This is the third of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night three. One magazine and sidearm lost. Fifty eight rounds remain. Got food from a grocery store. Looking for a gun shop next.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
4
The recording starts, but there is a pause- perhaps three seconds- before Piedmont speaks. The only background sound is two uncoordinated sets of breathing.
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you… stop listening.
Time passes, approximately ten seconds. A third set of breathing joins the noise, much closer to the source of the recording.
Terger had to subdue Hanndock after we found the mirror. I don't know how it could have broken containment. There was only one, and we had it. The insect, the creature, the beach… could be explained. There's only one mirror. It can't be here, or else we're not where I thought we were. I'll talk to Terger alone from now on when discussing my theories. Hanndock isn't stable enough to take it.
We encountered the mirror on a stand in the pawn shop we broke into. We made it to the next town, but it's as empty as the first. We've found a few bodies, but they're all accidental. Nothing particularly alarming. The mirror, though, has us all on edge. Had. We put it face down behind the counter. But not before it told us what was happening.
We can't trust what it said. It'd have said anything to keep us from leaving. Terger almost stayed, but he followed my lead, thank god. Hanndock just… didn't understand. He must have never read the file. It screamed so loudly. I hope nothing's here to hear it.
It can't be here, but it is. We aren't home. We're someplace else. We'll find a way back. This many objects in one place? There has to be more.
I hope we don't find the wrong ones.
This is the fourth of the records documenting our attempts to return. The first since Connors' death.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night four. One revolver, one rifle, one shotgun found, all loaded. No ammo besides. Seventy four rounds remain.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
5
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, about ten seconds. The sound of calm conversation is in the background, two male voices. There is also the faint sound of rustling metal.
We aren't in Peru. They shouldn't be here. As far as anomalies go, though, grasshoppers aren't all that horrible. The accidents- we found dozens more before we made it to the store- make sense now. I'm glad we picked a grocery store to make camp; we'll be able to wait them out. Terger was the only one to see them, and he's restrained- not that it was hard to talk him into handcuffing himself to the door of the storeroom freezer after what he saw. Hanndock and I have been keeping him fed and taking him to the restroom when he needs to go, keeping our backs towards the windowed storefront. We took away his gun for the time being, obviously.
At least he told us what he was seeing before we looked. We'll be alright.
Another anomaly. We need to figure out what's going on before we run into something seriously dangerous again. There's too many objects to prepare for them all.
This is the fifth of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night five. Seventy four rounds remain. We'll be here a while.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
6
If the words "esoteric containment" don't mean anything to you, stop listening.
Time passes, about ten seconds. Two sets of breathing, one matching that of a sleeping human, are audible in the background.
We lucked out. Again. Hanndock might have had some trouble with it if he'd been the first exposed, but it caught Terger at the tail end of the locust exposure. He didn't bat an eye. It's been disconcerting to have around, but we've been adjusting. Terger's proven resistant to its form of "attack," and it's taken to mimicking him. It bothers Hanndock most. The surprise gets to me, but I don't have any trouble with its secondary disturbances, at least. I think it might be amusing itself- forgive me the pun, but I'm glad of the irony that it lacks a "black" sense of humor. Who knows- maybe it will prove helpful in the end.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. This is still the fifth night. Sixth of our records. Seventy three rounds after initial reactions.
Hanndock deserved the cuff to the head. I'm going to get Terger a beer.
The sleeping breathing continues; the other chuckles under his breath, presumably Terger. Piedmont joins in; recording terminates after approximately one more second.
7
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, approximately ten seconds. The sound of a motor is audible in the background.
We almost went into that house. The mother's slip-up, though- Hanndock's the one that caught the significance. Terger assumed she'd miscounted; I thought she'd included the statue (it didn't leave with us- must have transferred to someone in the house). Hanndock, though, he'd been on edge since the statue started following us. Borderline paranoia, but it paid off.
I thought I was keeping an eye out. If we'd gone into that house… ten percent chance to escape infection. The distances on the map would have meant nothing after that. I owe Hanndock an apology. He's not suited for permanent field work, but he's a quick thinker and well-read.
Terger identified a city with a sector in the industrial district nearby. He trained there, he says. The cloud cover is finally breaking up a little, but it's far from a clear sky. Nice to see the stars, now and then.
Five days to-
Can't say. I mentioned there's a sector there. But five days and maybe we'll get some answers.
This is the seventh of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night six. Seventy four rounds still remain.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
8
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, about ten seconds. Assorted sounds consitent with the cleaning of a civilian-grade hunting rifle are audible in the background.
If we return, I will write a personal letter of thanks to the founder of the Foundation. I don't care that they won't get it. These things are-
There is a brief pause, then a short burst of nervous laughter.
These things are "redacted." You can choose your expletive of choice; whatever idiot savant type green created that godforsaken cloudfish needs to get a visit from Alto Clef. I don't know whether to be thankful that the first time Terger looked up was through the sunroof of our jeep or curse the decision to take on extra gear and store some on the roof. I hope the damned thing chokes on the shotgun. Everything else is replaceable, but we're probably going to be stuck with the sidearms and the eight shots in the rifle at least until we make the city, and after that bloody cloud…
Four days. This is the eighth of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night seven. Shotgun lost. Seventy two rounds remain.
Brief, humorless grunt of laughter.
Plenty of food, though.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
9
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, about ten seconds. The soft sound of the surf is audible, not quite close to the microphone. It sounds like it's crashing against rocks, as opposed to onto sand.
We can put a rough date on the incursion. That's what I'm calling them now, the arrival of the anomalies. I've been studying the map we found, and we seem to be in the Atlantic Archipelago. That's the U. K., if you're unfamiliar with the term. I thought the driving time was unrealistic, but Terger was right- while we could drive from where we started near…
Damn it all to hell, I can't even speak openly. We're going to a city on the other end of the country, and we can't drive straight there because we have to keep stopping and hunting for gas stations that still have gas to siphon off. So we have to keep detouring through this godawful abandoned world-
At least they tried to abandon it. We found out where most of the people ended up. The ones the anomalies inland didn't get. We stopped at a coastal city, the highway took us there. Roads aren't too crowded, thankfully. But the cliffs, and beaches and…
There are boats everywhere. Smashed against cliffs; the few that made it ashore safely were abandoned to the surf. Thank god it's late winter- not mating season, or we'd probably have been dead just being close enough to see those beaches. Drowning, though… better than Connors got.
My theory is it all happened at once. Anomalies arrived, probably decimated the population. Panic ensued, mass exodus failed; they must have ran out of boats eventually. And considering the nature of some of the more volatile anomalies, it can't have taken long to reduce the standing population to six, seven percent. The smart ones. We won't see them. They'll be too smart to approach us or attack us. They've probably got a good idea of when it's safe to move around, and a car in a silent world is a pretty loud announcement of our approach.
… Three days.
This is the ninth of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night eight. Seventy two rounds remain.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
10
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, about ten seconds. Two sets of quiet breathing consistent with those heard in previous recordings are audible in the background, as is a repetitive tapping, like that of a foot.
We are no longer travelling after dark. When we find a place to secure for the night, it must be cleared by nightfall or we're just sleeping in the car.
You never forget the smell of that thing. Terger remembered it from a week-long stint he served on Keter duty for hesitating to terminate a D-Class his first month on the job. It stinks like… well, like gas and oil and death and rot. Imagine a corpse drenched in vaseline. Sort of like that. He wouldn't let us take another step until we knew where the anomaly was. It'd just pooled in a hollow. We could have walked straight through it on our way to the store across from where we were staying. It wasn't mimicking anything, though- I suppose in a place of relatively frequent food, it must have been easier to be a dark puddle than hope someone paranoid would traipse into a dangerous goop to save someone else.
It's getting harder to balance safety with the urge to get to the site. We all want to get home. Hanndock isn't allowed to drive, which means splitting up daylight between myself and Terger. The other sleeps in the car. We all need to be awake when we scout a campsite.
This is the tenth of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night nine. Seventy two rounds still remain.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
11
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, about ten seconds. Hard breathing is audible, two-fold, with a third set of breaths slow and calm. One of the panting voices swears under their breath at infrequent intervals.
Hanndock's got a hairtrigger and he probably just saved Terger's life. If I remember the file right, we could have all died easily. It could have sat in that corner and at some point, bam. Someone dies, it bloats and goes for seconds. But Hanndock was out of sight when it started moving and was startled enough when he entered the room to just gun it down.
Who the fuck makes something like-
Under his breath, Piedmont speaks. … there is no fear. Fear is the mindkiller, and with the mind gone, we're all dead. Anomaly's gone, room cleared, Terger's recovering from the aboulia.
He returns to normal speaking volume. This is the eleventh of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night ten. Sixty rounds remain. Hanndock gets to clear the next gun shop we find to replace his ammo- thing must have been dead after the sixth shot and he just kept firing.
Can't really blame him, that thing was ugly.
Get there tomorrow. Then we'll see what's going on.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
12
If the words…
Quiet panting is audible in the background, and sounds consistent with loading rounds into a magazine audible at what seems to be some slight distance from the microphone.
… "esoteric containment"… mean nothing to you… fuck off.
Nearly a minute of silence elapses; the magazine ceases to be loaded and can be heard being placed into a gun. A few moments later, it is ejected, the bullets removed and loading begins again. This repeats throughout the entire recording. At no point are any more or less than seven rounds inserted into the magazine.
… can't even fucking say what we saw or we're term'd if we ever make it back. Hanndock's dead. I shouldn't have sent him into that fucking gun shop alone.
The facility is intact. Even powered in some areas. We're too tired to look tonight. I don't know how far we ran. We won't be able to get back to the car. If what we need isn't down here…
This is the twelfth of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night eleven… fifteen rounds, two sidearms remain.
Time passes, thirty seconds or so.
I used to fucking love peppermint. Damn it all to hell.
13
If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop listening.
Time passes, about ten seconds. The exhaustion and frustration in Piedmont's voice present in the last recording have faded. He sounds professional, and there are two sets of footsteps audible in the background.
The site may be intact, but containment certainly isn't. We've seen evidence of anomalies that weren't even stored at this site. I should have said that last time. We holed up in one of the observation rooms for a pretty dangerous anomaly. It was fortified, physical door locks, and nothing around to cause a problem. We slept in shifts. We aren't safe; we can hear movement, and other things, from distant parts of the site, but we've had training for situations like this. Back in the site, that all comes back quick.
The first room Terger thought we could use wasn't much of a room anymore. There's a bathroom a level above, and I guess the Foundation didn't discover that particular anomaly prior to all this. The roof was blasted out, part of the floor was slagged down into the containment chamber below- not all accounted for, though. Guess it's not surprising, considering the temperatures involved. Vapor doesn't leave a lot behind.
What's left in the containment chamber below might have been what ended things. It matches the containment procedures, and despite the overwhelming scent of char, I can still smell the fucking mint. Whoever was in here when the room above hit a few thousand kelvin sure as hell would have constituted a dead body.
This is the thirteenth of the records documenting our attempts to return.
Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day twelve. Fifteen rounds still remain. We're heading for the archives to see what was kept here.
Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before recording ends.
