rating: +771+x

Item #: SCP-3300

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Containment of SCP-3300 is focused on observation and ensuring it does not spread from the affected area. A mobile observation post has been set up five kilometers outside the town of Clear Water, Montana for this purpose. Attempts at manned exploration of SCP-3300 events are currently suspended.

When the SCP-3300 event begins, the observation team will fall back to a point ten kilometers from the town border and continue observation. Any unusual activity is to be noted. Any attempts made by outsiders to enter or exit the area will be halted. Non-lethal force is authorized for this purpose.

Instances of SCP-3300-1 attempting to leave Clear Water will be detained and interviewed under the pretense of a police search. Following this they will be allowed to continue their travel under Foundation observation.

All personnel involved in the containment of SCP-3300 are prescribed a weekly dose of Class-Y mnestics.

Description: SCP-3300 is an annual event in which the populace of Clear Water, Montana (henceforth SCP-3300-1) disappears and is replaced by a new set of citizens. The SCP-3300 event typically occurs in the mid-portion of June and lasts six to eighteen days. The first 48 hours of each event are marked by a light, continuous rain over the entire city. The rain is stationary and appears regardless of the weather in the surrounding area.

This portion of the event ends when the rain transitions to a severe thunderstorm lasting for the remaining duration of SCP-3300. The interior of an SCP-3300 event past this point has never been observed. Any attempt by the Foundation to explore the event has ended in either a total loss of personnel/equipment, or a failure to even enter the phenomena. Several times personnel entering SCP-3300 have emerged instantaneously on the other side.

When the SCP-3300 event ends, all previous SCP-3300-1 instances will have been replaced by new iterations with completely new appearances, personalities, and memories. Beyond remarking on the unusually severe nature of the storm, new instances show no recollection of the event.

Instances of SCP-3300-1 behave identically to baseline human beings. However, no record of any instance prior to their appearance from a SCP-3300 event exists. Instances will occasionally share names, professions, certain memories, and broad personality traits with those from previous iterations of SCP-3300. However, no SCP-3300-1 instance has been observed repeating from previous events. SCP-3300-1 instances are unaware of their anomalous nature and the circumstances surrounding their existence. Physical and post-mortem examinations reveal no differences from baseline humans. Instances of SCP-3300-1 outside of the town when SCP-3300 occurs will disappear several days after the event begins. All attempts to observe this disappearance have failed.

SCP-3300 is accompanied by a moderate cognitohazardous effect. Outside citizens learning about the existence of the town of Clear Water or its citizens will give little thought to them unless the subject is brought to their direct attention. This effect affects focus rather than memory— those affected do not forget that Clear Water exists, but rather show difficulty paying attention to it. Outside citizens familiar with disappeared instances of SCP-3300 will not comment on their absence unless reminded, and even then show little concern.

The history of SCP-3300 is unknown. Records of its existence go back to the beginning of the Foundation. Despite this, almost no progress has been made in attempts to research the phenomena.

Addendum: The following journal was recovered in the aftermath of the SCP-3300 event ending on 30th June, 1995 and represents one of the few descriptions of what occurs during the phenomena. The writer of the document has been identified as SCP-3300/1995/4307 AKA “Margaret Lane”. The events described in the journal are unverified. Attempts to automatically observe the interior of an SCP-3300 event are still underway.

Hey, if Kurt Cobain kept a journal, it can’t be that bad of an idea, right? Help express my artistic side or something. Finally get all the writing I’ve wanted to done. I don’t know. Mom said it might be a good way for me to “focus” things, which means she just wants an easy way to snoop and make sure I’m staying clean. Joke’s on her though if she ever thinks she’s gonna be able to find this. Still, I guess it could be nice to have something to look back on. Hopefully to remind myself that things get better.

There’s a dream I’ve been having, which is weird because I don’t usually remember my dreams but I’ve had this one like three times in the past week. In it, I'm not myself. I'm in a small hut, standing above the bed where my daughter lies. Her skin is red, blotchy, hot. I'm praying that the disease won't take her, praying that she will recover or that this is some other sickness. It's no use, I know. The corpse of my husband won't let me forget.

Another of the healthy, a boy who thinks himself a man, calls us together. The few that remain. I gaze around the room and see the same expressions on their faces that I feel in my heart. All except the boy's. He grins as we enter and gestures to the bowl of water in front of him.

"I have found it," he says. "The key to our salvation."

And then it ends. Weird, right? No idea what to make of it. Anyway, I’m heading to Sam’s so this’ll be it for the day.

Grey clouds on the horizon. We need the rain.

I can’t remember what the sun looks like. Ha. Joking. But it’s been drizzling for three days and it doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up soon. Phones are patchy as hell too. Radio says we can expect the weather to continue for at least a week.

David tried to come earlier today and I told him fuck right back off to the ditch he crawled out of. That I didn’t care how good the shit he'd gotten his hands on was. He did his whole kicked puppy dog routine but eventually left before mom noticed, thank God.

The rain’s kind of relaxing, actually. It’s got a rhythm to it. I could get used to this.

I don’t think it's ever stormed this hard in my life. It’s 2 in the afternoon but looking outside you’d swear it was midnight. My throat is starting to get sore from shouting over the noise. No idea what the hell happened. One minute it was drizzling, the next someone flipped a switch to dump the entire Pacific Ocean onto our heads. Internet and phone are completely down. The few seconds of clear radio we can get is just a barrage of tornado and flood warnings. Nothing to do but hole up inside and see how many games of Monopoly we can play until mom kills me or I kill myself.

I swear some of the people in this town must be absolutely insane because sometimes when lightning flashes I can see them walking around outside. Some of them just standing there.

I’m writing this from the back of Jared’s van and we’re going like 80 miles an hour down the highway and Isabel’s crying next to me and I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I think I’m going to die. I’m going to keep writing though. My hand shakes less when I write.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour ago that this happened. We were all at my place. Sam, Jared, Mike, and Isabel had all come over. I hadn’t expected them but Jared insisted he wasn’t going to let something tiny like a biblical flood stop us from exploring the bottom levels of the dread lich Arzganoth’s domain. Stupid. Stupid.

So we rolled up and started playing like everything was normal. Sam DMing with the stupid little monster accents she does. Isabel and Mike arguing over every scrap of treasure and possible trap we came across. Jared struggling just to keep us all from killing each other. Mom in the other room, pretending she wasn’t listening in.

It was Isabel who first noticed the banging on the door. Like someone trying to break it down. At first we weren’t sure what to do, I mean anyone banging that hard on your door so late is going to be suspicious even if there's not a fucking hurricane outside, right? So we just sort of sat there staring at each other until Jared got up and grabbed a poker from the fire place and went to check the peephole.

I wonder what his first thought was. Surprise? Confusion? Did he just accept it, like I did, too stunned by the weirdness to question when he opened the door and saw a family on our porch. A mom, dad, two kids. I’d never seen any of them before. For a second we all just stared at each other and then the dad shoved past Jared and said, “Why are you in my house?”

Mom had come out of her room when she first heard knocking. When the guy said that she flipped out instantly. “What do you mean your house, asshole? This is my house! What the hell are you doing just barging in here? I swear to God, you’ve got ten seconds before I get the cops over here!” God. I remember being annoyed. Embarrassed. Wishing she wouldn't flip out over everything.

The dad's expression didn't change. He stepped forward again, and Jared tried to hold him back. When he did, the dad just… flung him. Snagged Jared by the collar and tossed him through the living room into the kitchen. Jared smacked into a counter and went limp. And the dad said again, in the exact tone, “Why are you in my house?”

That was when mom charged him with a golf club. He barely had time to react before she swung it into his chest. For a second she looked pleased with herself. I’m sure she was already forming the story to tell all her friends about how she fought off the home invader. When she tried to pull the golf club back, and she couldn't, the expression disappeared. The guy didn’t look a little bit hurt. Not even fazed. The club was stuck in his chest, and the skin around it was rippling, like when you throw a stone into a pond. Water dripped out from where the metal entered skin.

Mom stared. Then she screamed. Fell back, scrambling at the floor to get away. The man looked down at the club with the same expression you might look at a dead cockroach. He grasped it right below where it speared into him, yanked it from his chest. Held it as he walked towards mom.

She stopped moving the first time he hit her in the head. She just fell. Like a rock. And he hit her again. And again. And again and the whole time he was saying “My house, my house,” in the same fucking tone, the only fucking way he knew how to speak and the kids were standing in the door just watching and the wife was holding them close and I swear to god she was smiling. Sam stood up, like she was going to charge the guy but Mike wrapped himself around her and said don’t, that we had to run so we did, Mike and Sam grabbed Jared even though he wasn’t moving and I grabbed the journal without even thinking about it and I don’t really remember anything after that except Sam driving and crying and Mike screaming and all I could think about was the way mom's body looked as she fell. The light disappearing from her eyes before her body hit the floor.

We drove right to the police station. Me and Mike decided to go inside while Sam and Isabel watched Jared. The lights were on but the station was locked with no one inside. We walked around, looked through every window. Nothing. When we got back to the car Jared still wasn’t awake and his breathing was all fucked up, so we discussed it and decided to take him to the hospital in Landhart. It’s only a two-hour drive. We should be there soon. It'll be okay.

We’ve been driving for six hours now. We're almost out of gas. Jared still isn’t awake. And we haven’t made it to Landhart yet. We’ve doubled back twice. Looked for road signs, building lights, anything to tell us where the fuck we are. But there's nothing. No signs. No cities. Not even a gas station. We haven’t passed another car since we left my house. The rain’s falling just as hard out here. Mike says we need to turn around, try to get back to town before we get stranded. Isabel says that’s crazy, we need to keep looking for the hospital and we don’t have enough to make it back anyway. Sam says she’s going to keep driving. That’s all we can do at this point.

Jared’s dead. And we’re out of gas. The car died maybe an hour ago. Jared maybe half an hour after that. No idea where we are. We decided to double back, see if we had passed the hospital again, but there was nothing. Isabel and Mike are going at it, each convinced this is the other’s fault. Sam’s ignoring them. She’s sitting by Jared, holding his hand. She hasn’t looked away from him since he stopped breathing. Hasn’t said ten words since we left town.

I must have fallen asleep because I had another dream. I knew instantly it was a continuation from before. It was too clear, too substantial to be anything else. And even though I knew it was a dream I couldn’t do anything but watch.

I stand ankle-deep in a vast, clear river. I am holding the corpse of my daughter. I’m not sure how I recognize her, as taken by the sickness as she is. Her hair has fallen out. Her skin is entirely covered in black scabs that hid even her eyes. Flecks of cracked skin fall away as my arms rub against her body. But for some reason as I look at her I don’t feel sorrow. I feel hope.

I kneel and place her body into the water. It drifts on the surface. Then the water engulfs her, makes her a part of it. She becomes the current that takes her and I know it will sweep her to the sea where she can finally be at peace.

But the work isn’t done. I turn, wade back to shore where the blackened body of my husband waits. As I do I became cognizant of the others. The survivors. Each has with them the bodies of their children, families, friends. Eighteen survivors. Hundreds of bodies. One by one we take them to the river, until only we remain.

I woke up to the sound of Jared evaporating. It took me a moment to realize what was going on. The others were all scrambling around the body and I couldn’t get a good look. All I could see was the steam filling the car. When I pushed my way through I saw his body was boiling. That’s the best way to describe it. Bubbles writhing and popping across the surface of his skin. Drops of water leaping off him and burning where they touched us. The shape of him almost completely gone, aside from a vaguely human-looking lump within his clothing and some ridges that might have been facial features. Sam tried to touch the water to… I dunno stop it? Save him? Catch him? But the heat of the steam pushed her back. All we could do was watch as Jared fizzled away. Until the only thing left of him was vapor and soaked clothing.

We decided to leave. Or, Mike and Sam decided to leave, and Isabel and I realized we didn’t have any choice but to follow. I mean, what difference did it make? Stay or go, the outcome would be the same. But I figured trying to find something out there might be better than staying in the car until we all starved to death. We grabbed the flashlight from the glove box and headed out.

We couldn’t have walked more than a mile before we reached the town. I almost bumped into Mike when he stopped walking after shining the light onto the “Welcome to Clear Water” sign. He didn’t say anything. What could he say? We turned around, starting walking the other way. Not sure how far. Two miles? Three? We didn’t pass the car but it didn’t matter. We ended up back at the sign. The city.

Sam turned, walked off the highway and into the farmland surrounding it. We followed. We knew it wouldn’t work but we followed anyway. On the other side of the field, we found ourselves back on the highway, in front of the sign.

Mike insisted he wasn’t going back in. No fucking way. He’d rather take the risk out in the rain than spend another second with whatever was in that city. We pointed out that whatever was in the city was pretty clearly outside of it too, and at least the city had food. He wouldn’t listen. So we started walking and three minutes later he caught up. Didn’t say a word.

The lights in the town were all on but there were no people. No cars. A few times I thought I saw movement, but it was always just a branch or piece of trash picked up by the wind. We were on alert the whole time but nothing happened

We decided to hole up in Dirk’s Sporting because it had guns and was right next to the grocery store. Sam and Mike went and grabbed food while Isabel and I (meaning, just I) took stock of the store. When the others came back we started working out shifts to sleep in. Two awake at the same time. I volunteered for the first shift even though I felt like I wanted to collapse. I just couldn’t stand to dream again.

Mike shot himself. And we’re a lot more fucked than I first thought. For a while, I was still holding onto the idea of survival. That there was some sort of exit to whatever fucked up situation we’d found ourselves in. There isn’t. I don’t think there ever was. This is the only ending I could have hoped for.

But if I keep thinking about that I’m going to go fucking insane so. Mike. He’s dead. We were on shift together when he got up and said he’d be back in a minute. Figured he was just going to the bathroom, until I heard the gunshot.

I got there about twenty seconds before Sam and Isabel. His body was slumped against a wall, shotgun barrel stuck in his mouth. There was no blood, and I thought he’d missed or accidentally discharged it until I saw the hole in the back of his skull. Then I realized there was something splattered on the wall behind him, but it wasn’t blood. It was water.

Isabel screamed when she saw the body. I heard her gasping and ignored her. Sam knelt next to me, close enough that I could feel her trembling. For a moment, the only noise was her ragged breathing and Isabel's whimpers. Then Sam reached out and ran her fingers along the rim of Mike’s skull. She drew them back, stared. A small noise rose from the back of her throat. Her fingertips were coated in water.

Before I could react she thrust more fingers into the wound. Water ran down her hands as she dug through what should have been his brain. Water sloshed in the chalice of his skull. When we lowered his body to rest on the floor it was water that pooled on the wood.

Sam leaped up, ran to the counter. Snatched a knife from its sheath and held it to her arm. We stared at each other. I didn’t want her to do it. Didn’t want to see what would happen.

She sliced open her arm and water spilled from the wound.

We stared at the injury, too distracted to notice Isabel calling to us. It wasn’t until she ran over and yanked on my sleeve that I remembered she existed.

“Outside,” was all she said.

Hundreds of people had gathered outside the window. Unmoving silhouettes staring through the darkness, filling the street. When lightning flashed, I saw the faces of strangers, soaked by the rain.

They’ve been there for two hours now. Haven’t moved an inch. They’re outside every window, every exit. I don’t know how long they’re willing to wait but I’m damn sure it’s longer than we have.

Maybe Mike had the right idea.

Sam left and we didn’t bother to stop her. She muttered something before she stood and marched out of the door. I remember thinking, as I watched her leave, that I should do something. I should reach out or call to her or block her exit. But the thought wouldn’t make it past my brain, like there was a wall between my nerves my body. So I just stared as she stepped into the rain.

The silhouettes shifted as soon as she was outside. They opened up to let her through and she vanished into them. Into the dark.

“I don’t want to go back.” That’s what she said before she left.

In my dream I am the storm, and I am screaming. The wind whips at me like razors raking through my body. The frozen rain bites at my skin. Except I don't have a body, I don't have skin. The wind is a part of me. The rain is from me. Every second I rip myself apart and reform, rip and reshape, until I am scattered over miles of storm. Trapped in the roil. Around me, I hear the screams of my village. I feel their presence against mine, just as much a part of the storm as I. We fight, struggle, but the storm cannot be broken. It hurtles over the land, dragging us in its wake. And then I am falling, rushing to meet the ground. For a moment the Earth embraces me. I remember what it felt like to feel the dirt beneath my feet and the sun on my skin and the crisp air in my lungs. Until the storm steals me again, and I am pulled back into the screams of my comrades. I woke up and Isabel was gone. Just a puddle of water on the floor. I think the rain is speaking to me. I can hear it ever since I woke up. I don’t know what it’s saying but the whispers in my ear are getting louder. When I cover my ears it’s still there. If I scream it rises over the screaming. I’m trying to write just to focus on anything else but the FUCKING voice is still there and I know what it wants me to do. It wants me to join it. I’m its child and it misses me. It can’t bear to be apart. What can I do? What can I do? The strangers are still outside, watching me, waiting for my choice. Because they know what my choice will be, don’t they? There’s only one way this can end. I can wait and starve or shoot myself or slice my wrists or walk out into the rain but it’s all going to end the same way. The water is eternal. The water will remain no matter how polluted it becomes. At the end we all become rain.

I don’t want to go back.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License