Subject: Doctor Jacquelyn Vanth
Date of Onset: 23/09/21
Summary: Dr Vanth was diagnosed with SCP-5482 exactly one year after the anomaly's emergence. At the time, she was the lead researcher of SCP-5482, having volunteered for the position since the initial classification of the phenomenon. Once she became aware of her status as an instance of SCP-5482-1, she deferred her responsibilities to a subordinate and chose to use herself to study the progression of the disease.
Document: Transcript of “230921652.mp4”, voice recording by Dr Vanth
Sixty hours. That’s the average period between the onset of symptoms and death. You won’t find it on the file, though, because it’s not an indicator of how long someone will survive. We pulled out all the stops for Adam and he barely lasted three days. Others have lived for four, even five without any intervention. It has nothing to do with how well-protected you are. Death takes you when it feels like it.
I don’t know why but 5482 feels expected. Like I was waiting for it. I guess I was, in a way. The turnover rate for MTFs is ridiculous. We’ve all heard the horror stories, of agents getting lost in the woods and never being heard from again, or of MTFs being picked off one by one as they attempt to navigate a house of horrors. So for my team and I to have lived so long? It was more than a little incredible.
I’d always just assumed that I’d die on the job, trapped in another world or tortured ‘till the end of my days by a sadistic locus. My departure from Lambda-77 was an anticlimax, ergo 5482 seems like something which has been a long time coming.
Last night I had an odd dream. I woke up in my parents’ house. It was raining outside but the lights were on. The night was warm. I heard odd noises from far away and so I stood on my toes and glanced out the window. I saw the lake curl toward the horizon, black and depthless. It whispered to me and asked me to come outside. I did, while the rain pelted my back. It wasn’t cold; it felt more like being breathed on. Not even in a creepy way, it was more like intimate, as if someone was holding me close and exhaling into my hair. I stepped up to the edge of the water and knelt down. I just listened to it, humming with my mother’s voice.
When I was young I used to run along the lake’s edges and look for odd rocks or sticks. I’d bring breadcrumbs to feed to the birds and a polaroid to take pictures of bugs and the odd rabbit. My mum would tell me to stay away from the shore, but there was one time that I saw a fox perched on a branch near the bank of the pond. It didn’t move as I crept toward it, just gave me an odd sort of look. I got close enough to touch it and so I reached out and… slipped.
The lake rose up to meet me. I tried to swim upward but the pressure just kept building above me and pushing me down. I couldn’t fight it off; I was only a child. I didn’t feel any fear though, or any pain. There was a burning sensation in my lungs but it was distant and easy to ignore. The weight of the water felt protective, almost. I closed my eyes and let bits of algae wrap around my arms. Something living swirled underneath me. I sensed it by the way in which the water moved around its body as it beat its fins. We both flinched as soon as we saw each other. It disappeared into the depths and I almost swam after it out of sheer curiosity.
I passed out. Next thing I knew, my mother was humming while she held my head in her lap. She was singing this beautiful lullaby.
For years afterwards, I kept fantasising about diving into the lake again. I wandered further than I ever had into the woods, not scared in the least of getting lost. I wanted to experience that sensation again, of being submerged in something wholly unfamiliar. It’s why I signed up to be a member of Lambda-77 in the first place. It took me years for me to learn my lesson and grow out of that stupid obsession.
5482 targets people who’ve seen strange places: realities of blood and bone, universes living through the aftermath of catastrophe, inexplicable places of all kinds. Does it come from them, somehow? And if it can sing, does it think? It's predatory, that much I can assume, but what does it want from me?
Fuck it, whatever. I hope it chokes on my bones.
Document: Transcript of “240921802.mp4”, voice recording by Dr Vanth
Last night I dreamt of an endless forest. It was foggy and there was a path of trampled ferns before me. There was a time when I would’ve gladly gone down that road to chase new sights and novelties. Instead I sat down and waited until I woke up. I used to be so in love with that feeling of discovery, of stepping through a portal or over a border only to cross over from the normal world into something fantastic and otherly. My seniors would call me incautious, my peers would say that my curiosity would be the death of me, of all of us. They turned out to be right. I don’t remember anything about how Devana died, just that it could’ve been avoided. We weren't careful. I wasn't watching out for him.
I know you probably went to the grave hating me for it, Skye, but I had to leave after we lost him. It was too painful to stick around. Exploration started to daunt me, and foreign suns seemed not as bright.
(Laughs) Listen to me, talking to the dead. I suppose I’ll be with them soon. The water’s gotten louder, and different bodies have acquired their own cadences. The ocean is an open-mouthed tone while the rain is a murmur. This morning I was washing my hands and the water tore away some of my skin when I pulled my fingers out of the stream. My hair is damp and it can’t be dried. The effects are worsening. I don’t know how I’ll die. Regardless, I’m losing my connection to reality. It's odd, being aware of how I’m slipping away. I sang along with the rain earlier.
Most of the other 5482-1s developed an intense fear of water. Adam’s the crown example of course, having mutilated himself just to stop listening to its singing. I’m not sure if I feel that same terror. It reminds me of something, instead. It’s picking at old scabs, unearthing memories too decayed to recall but just firm enough to evoke the feeling I used to associate with them.
I remember… rustling leaves, weight on my back, a brisk wind, the days I spent far from home just taking in the nature all around me. The woods around my house, I can barely recall what they were like. Now I want to go back and find out all over again. Mark out all the clearings, photograph all the flowers, watch sunlight spill through the canopy, and twinkle in the dirt…
… remember to check everything that I say for cognitohazards.
Document: Transcript of “250921937.mp4”, voice recording by Dr Vanth
It rained yesterday while I was commuting. I put down my umbrella and let the raindrops slide over my cheeks. They drew blood. I felt my skin and fat peeling away, the humours of my eye gliding down my neck. It didn’t hurt even a little. It was like falling asleep.
After Devana’s death, I convinced myself that my curiosity was a liability. I conformed, I learned to fear the unknown. I wish I hadn't done that; I wish I'd seen more of the world. Maybe it would have been wonderful, or perhaps my life would have been cut short… but it wouldn’t have mattered. As long as I could've witnessed one more sunrise, smelled one more flower, heard another song. I can't go on like this, buried in normalcy.
I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. 5482 isn't ravenous, it's grieving. It misses me so much, wishes I would return to it. It’s me, before I was stained by loss and cautionary tales. I was convinced by my loss to believe that the other had to hate me. That was never true.
Am I still scared? Of course, but I am more afraid of being alone in the light than hated in the dark. I'm afraid of the world having limits.
I think-, no, I feel like this is right. Wherever I end up will be terrible, vast, unknowable… and beautiful.
[Several minutes of the sound of rainfall. Vanth laughs softly.]
I missed you too.
