rating: +61+x

Item #: SCP-4691

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Suburban areas are to be screened for reports of SCP-4691 as often as resources allow. All information related to a confirmed SCP-4691 event should be suppressed via proportionate amnestic administration. Grade 3 ballistics will be utilized against ongoing instances of SCP-46911.

Description: SCP-4691 is a rare phenomenon that has only been observed to manifest in locations that meet three criteria:

  1. The location is within a suburban setting.
  2. All entrances (doors, windows, etc.) to the location are closed or blocked.
  3. Only one resident occupies the location.

SCP-4691 causes all of the entrances at a given residence to become impossible to open and highly resilient to damage. Electronic communication of any kind is also disabled.

An SCP-4691 event ends if an entrance is broken open. This often requires excessive force, estimated to be a minimum of 40,000 Newtons2. It is unknown if the anomaly ends naturally over time.

In all known instances, the resident attracts the attention of citizens on the outside. This leads to the alerting of authorities, who often manage to breach the premises in less than 24 hours. 8% of these cases describe hearing the voice of an unidentified individual, though evidence of this has not been found. This leaves the possibility that numerous instances have yet to be discovered, though it is unlikely that they would continue for an extended period without being discovered.

Document 4691-1: The following is a written account from a victim of SCP-4691. As of October 1, 2019, this instance of SCP-4691 is the longest known case.

Evening of September 12, 2019

It's rotten luck that I haven't gotten this program working in three days. I might have to rewrite the entire thing, because if this holds me up any longer I'm not getting paid. But hey, this is what I get for not learning enough about enumerators. Someone on Stack Overflow would know. Not that I can ask, because the internet's down. Again. Damn internet. Stuck with this horrible speed for years and now it's just not responding at all.

I should just read. I should just leave the computer for a while and read one of the many books lying around this room. But I'm frustrated, and the rain's got me on edge. How can I focus enough to read like this? Fucking shit. Someday I'll

September 12, 2019, Almost Midnight

This might be the worst time to try to write in here, but nothing's happened for several hours and I need to think straight.

I heard footsteps downstairs, which was alarming since I live alone. Then I heard the sound of clutter being moved around, and I figured they could have been a burglar. I grabbed my phone and tried to call the police, but there was no service. I held my breath to stay quiet. If they thought I wasn't home, they might just take what they wanted and sneak away.

But then I heard them shout something upstairs: "Time to eat!" Their voice sounded like an older woman, I think. Natural. If it was an imitation, it was a damn good one. On the other hand, I couldn't imagine a kindly old woman invading like this.

Things were quiet for some time after that. No voice, no rummaging, no footsteps. I decided to risk leaving my room. I tip-toed out, listening carefully for a reaction. When I got close to the steps I leaned around the corner and took a peak.

Nobody was there; but the light was on, when I was sure I'd left it off. More importantly: On the table sat a plate full of food. From the scent I could already tell what it was: Seashore fettuccine.

I crept down the stairs. They creaked, so I thought for sure whoever was down there would hear me coming; but there was no reaction. I searched the kitchen, the bathroom, the basement, everywhere around the house. But there was nobody around. Not even a door or window left open.

I assumed I wasn't in danger, so I figured I was supposed to let someone know what had happened. I tried the landline, but that was dead. I considered walking to the nearest police station, but it's a long way away from here. What if I knocked on a neighbors door? Their phones and internet had to be out too. It was late as well, so they probably wouldn't have been awake to see someone else leave. Was it worth disturbing them for this? Nothing had happened aside from the meal on the table. I threw it away regardless: I didn't trust it.

I've been sitting in my room, thinking about what to do I guess. On one hand, whoever had been in my house had committed a crime. On the other, was this really worth getting worked up over?

I'm tired. The stress this has caused me is ridiculous, not to mention distracting. The journal therapy helps, though.

I'll try to call the police again tomorrow.

Morning of September 13, 2019

I was awoken by that voice. Just as welcoming as before, to the point where I wasn't immediately alarmed when I opened my eyes.

I ran downstairs at top speed this time. Still didn't catch them, and the house was empty yet again. All that was left was a plate of eggs on toast.

Phones still wouldn't work. Neither did the doors to my surprise. It must have been the rain: The water would have swollen the wood.

I eventually prodded one of the sunny-side-up eggs. Warm, soft. Tempting, but I still chucked it.

I know nothing terrible has happened yet, but I'm feeling uneasy. Who had been in here? Why make me two meals? How did they get in if I couldn't even get out? Were they gone?

Only one way to be sure.

Afternoon of September 13, 2019

I waited up the stairs behind the corner. If they had more food they'd appear eventually. I wasn't sure if I'd attack them or what, but I could at least follow them, figure out how they were getting in and out.

According to my phone it was 12:00pm on the dot. I was particularly ready at that time; it was logically when someone would serve lunch.

It was right at that moment that a power surge must have happened. The light in the dining room rapidly grew brighter, so fast that it caught me off guard and hurt my eyes. I shut them tight and hid back around the corner. "Time to eat!" they said again. I turned back to catch them, the spots on my retinas obscuring my vision.

Eventually the spots faded. Still no one. Just a fresh BLT on the table. I was certain I hadn't heard footsteps walking away, so I had no idea where they had gone. I was starting to wonder if they'd been there in the first place.

I touched the BLT; the bread was lightly toasted, and I could smell the bacon. I know they didn't get this from my kitchen; I didn't have any bacon in the house. Or any eggs or fettuccine now that I bring it up. What I usually make for lunch is cheese sandwiches. Plain cheese sandwiches.

I took a nibble of the bacon. Just a little. Then I threw the rest away. Even if it's poisoned it shouldn't be enough to kill me; only make me sick. I'll find out in a few more hours, I guess.

Evening of September 13, 2019

I didn't get sick.

I waited around the corner again. Similar result, complete with another surge. I covered my eyes this time, and held firmly onto the railing. When I heard "Time to eat" I immediately pulled my hand away. I thought I saw a flash of someone. Not in the dining room, but through the doorway to the living room. Someone leaning back in the recliner. I couldn't get a good look at their face, but for the moment they were there it was as if they'd been in that recliner forever. Immobile, almost helpless. It could've been a trick of the mind, but at this point could it really?

The table this time had a plate of pizza-spaghetti lasagna. I remember something like that. I think my mother had made it once or twice. A recipe she'd found online. Sure sounded like something that could be found online.

I had to admit that I was starving. I hadn't eaten all day. Usually I'd get some kind of take out or delivery, but the connection was still dead and the doors were still stuck. I looked in the fridge. I'd been putting off going to the store, so my only options were still a cheese sandwich. Even from there I could smell the lasagna, and couldn't stop myself from imagining the spice of the tomato sauce, and the umami of the cheese and pepperoni.

I broke. Each bite I chewed slowly, at first to be sure there wasn't anything foreign in it. Soon I was chewing slowly to savor everything. I found myself relaxing, breathing in a way hadn't in a while. Like a child who had nothing to worry about.

When I finished, by pure instinct I brought the plate to the kitchen to wash. I discovered that the other dishes were already clean. I'd thrown away the food, sure, but I hadn't cared enough to scrub them at the time. As such, I left the plate in my hand in the sink, curious to see what would happen.

It was as I was going upstairs I realized I'd missed the deadline for my gig. Guess I'm not getting paid. Oh well. It's not like I could've uploaded it to the cloud anyway. Nothing I could do. Why even spend so much time worrying about someone who's face I've never even seen?

Morning of September 14, 2019

I'm awake earlier than usual at the moment. I'm pretty sure I had a nightmare, but I can't fully remember it. I think there was a dragon. A dragon in a massive hall like Union Station. I tried to get away by running up a tall spiral staircase. At the top there was nothing but a small restroom, perfectly clean. I ran back down, and the dragon was still there. I ran back up. Bathroom again. That's all I can think of. Running up and down and up and down and

The voice again. May as well eat breakfast.

September 14, 2019, Almost Noon

As long as there weren't any dishes to do I closely examined the doors and windows today. I suppose they don't appear any more swollen than usual, but it couldn't take that much moisture to do this, could it? The front door itself was always a bit stiff, being slightly too large for the frame. I could just wait it out. Eventually it would open.

A neighbor approached the door while just when I was about to leave it be. They said that I hadn't been out in a while, and asked if I was fine. I thought for a moment and shrugged. They pressed, and I explained I'd been busy with numerous clients. They eventually left, seeing how we didn't have anything else to talk about.

Maybe they could've helped with the doors, but it wasn't like I needed to get out soon. Why should I ruin their day just because the door's a little stuck? It's not like there was an emergency. I'm fine. I'm sure I'm

The light's just turned on behind me. Guess it's time for lunch.

Evening of September 15, 2019

I've been thinking a lot. Deciding what I'll do next. But what is there to do next? Who says there has to be a next? I've asked myself these questions over and over. They want an answer, but to be honest, I don't. I don't think I have one, and I don't want to force myself to think of one. Who says I've been thinking at all? This journal certainly doesn't; looking back at what I've written it's just the same thing happening over and over. The same thought process. That's something I've realized. I haven't been thinking. I've just been sitting here, pretending. No calculations or evaluations have been going through my head. Just questions I keep forgetting to answer, decisions that I've already decided. I wonder if I'm the only one who thinks like this? I wonder who else

Dinner is ready. I'll put this down for now, and write in here when something new happens.

On September 30th, 2019, the parents of Ian Lostetter, the author of the above documents, tried calling his home. When they received no response, they called emergency services, who arrived before agents following Proposal 4691-1 could stop them.

After authorities managed to remove the door from its hinges, Lostetter was found in his room, staring at a closed book. Lostetter resisted being moved from his residence, though he was quickly overpowered. At the local hospital, Lostetter was observed to be suffering from acute starvation. Medical examiners discovered he had been consuming a viscious mixture of mucus and dust in amounts far exceeding the average produced by the human body per year.

Embedded Foundation agents were alerted to the present instance of SCP-4691, and Lostetter was taken into Foundation custody. Lostetter's parents were given Class A amnestics and were told their son would have to undergo extensive physical and psychological therapy. No new information has been discovered from him at this time.

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