SCP-3939 photographed prior to containment.

Item #: SCP-3939

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3939 is currently kept at Site-39 in pre-containment holding cell C (39-PC01-C). When not in testing it is to be kept in a standard containment locker of appropriate size.

SCP-3939 is to be removed from pre-containment as soon as possible.

Description: SCP-3939 is a gramophone, or record player, of unknown date of origin but consistent with design and manufacturing trends of the 1930s. It has an octagonal wooden base constructed of polished mahogany and is imprinted with the logo of HMV at the time. Atop this base is a turntable which is connected to the gramophone mechanism and a large brass horn. All components are in good condition.

SCP-3939 currently has a black vinyl record on the turntable, which is turning at a standard rate despite no visible source of power.

Further examination is pending.

The gramophone makes a very drawn-out crackling sound, lasting something like ten seconds. You very clearly hear the sounds of English — the tone, the pacing, the sentence structure; the sharpness of 's' and the muffle of 'th'. You just can't quite make out what it's saying.

"That's speech." you tell it. "I can't tell what you're saying, but you're definitely saying something."

There's another crackle. This time, you are absolutely certain that it ends with the word 'quickly'.

"Quickly? Quickly what? What are you?" you ask. "I'm sure you can speak. Can you speak?"

It's the same noise as before, but it's less static and more metallic. There's words buried in there — less deeply than they were before. "I can speak."

You clap your hands together. "I fucking knew it. What did you mean by 'quickly'?" For a moment, you forget that you're talking to an anomalous object instead of some other colleague.

You're getting good at distinguishing voice from noise now. "She suffocates the air. I can only speak to you. Your air is the clearest. You are the focal point."

"She? You mean Sally? She's not even here, I — I don't understand."

"No. It's too early. Talk to me again tomorrow. I will tell you everything I know."

"No, I want to talk to you now. What do you mean?"

There's no response.

You keep trying to get it to answer, your voice rising a little with each failed attempt, but it's a waste of time. As you're trying to get it to talk again, the door to the cell slides open.

"████, what are you doing?"

You've no other choice but to head back to your office and finish off the article. You'll have to do what it says and speak to it again tomorrow.

"It spoke, Sally! It was talking to me. Started off as noise but it was definitely talking."

"For real? It doesn't just speak."

"It's anomalous, Sally, it does what it wants."

"Sure. But look at you, you're exhausted. How about you go get some sleep and tell me whether or not it speaks tomorrow morning when you're more… sane?"

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