rating: +16+x
Item#: SCP-5571
Containment Class:
Secondary Class:
Disruption Class:
Risk Class:


Photograph taken at what is believed to be the epicenter of SCP-5571.

Special Containment Procedures: Foundation front "Sailing and Canoeing, Privately," has purchased the land surrounding SCP-5571's area of effect, and maintains its cover story as a private sailing club. Any vessels straying into waters bounded by SCP-5571 are to be directed out, and not allowed anchorage on its shore. Departures from the shore are not to be undertaken.

Description: SCP-5571 is a portion of beach, located on the border of Lake Michigan, approximately 7 kilometers northeast of Marinette, Wisconsin. SCP-5571's exact area of anomalous effect has proved difficult to precisely define, but is believed to span about 120-170 meters of the shore, and to extend about 250 meters outward.

Weather conditions as viewed from within SCP-5571 range from overcast to thundering rain, regardless of external weather conditions. Weather conditions within SCP-5571 do not, however, notably impede or affect aquatic transport or typical locomotion within its area of effect, regardless of severity. Personnel have reported weathering hurricane and tornado-like conditions within SCP-5571, completely without shelter.

Any boat, ship, raft, canoe, submarine, or similar mode of transportation departing from the shore will be found to disappear when reaching SCP-5571's outer boundaries, typically within about 20 minutes. Attempts to maintain live communication with outgoing vessels or to otherwise observe this phenomenon have failed.

Addendum 5571-1: Recovered Note

The following is the only known extant documentary evidence relating to SCP-5571, prior to its containment by the Foundation. It was discovered partly buried in the sand and written in faded ink, but appeared not to have suffered any damage from its exposure to the elements.


When I was a young man, my father came to me and told me that I needed to go on a journey. He told me that I had been kept safe from the world for far too long. He told me that all that could make a man a man was to be found out of the village, among the unsmiling, unwelcoming trees and brambles of the deep woods. He said there was wisdom there, wisdom to grow, to know, to relate. Meaning to find in the rustling leaves, and the creaking and howling of the beasts. He said there would be friends there, if only I had the courage to seek them out.

Even then, I could tell he was full of shit.

But I went anyway.

For a while, it had seemed to go well, like everything else he and mother had ever laid out for me. It wasn't uncomfortable in the ways that I had feared. The trees shaded me, the animals made way before me, and all the fruits of our people's knowledge and carnage were laid within my reach. I had an opportunity few people alive today, and that even fewer people through all of history had, ever had. No one knew my name there, but still they knew who I was. An anonymous sort of prestige.

I might have stayed there forever, unthinking, but one morning, before dawn, I walked down to the great water to fish. In the forest, we had never eaten of flesh, but we still had older hungers to sate. Tastes for blood and marrow.

I sat there a long while, waiting for the sun to appear. Soon after, a bite came at the lure, but it was no fish. It was a snake such as I had never seen; black and bronze, far greater in length than the common breeds, and utterly lacking in limbs. It seemed only able to writhe and twist in the water and in the sand, but it did not want for speed or grace.

I tried to take the thing and hurl it back into the waters, but he seized me and held fast. "No," he whispered. "Go back into the cold, shall I never do." I told him he must go, for such an aberration had never been seen in the deep wilds. But he would not listen, or relent. I tried to take my knife and kill him, but he proved too sly, and knocked it out of my reach. I tried to overturn my boat and sink us both, but he would not let me move.

He was no more able to turn me to the shore, so we sat, wound together, for the better part of the day. The snake asked me many questions, but I refused to answer, taking him for a deceiver. Later, the sky began to split and thunder. Now, then, I thought, the boat would capsize, and send us down to the lakebed. But when the winds and rain came, they seemed to shun the boat.

As the storm threw us in every direction, he chuckled. "See now. Not water, not sky, not the hands or works of men can cast me down. Come, paddle ashore, and I shall make my wisdom yours. I can take you to other lands, lands where a man rises on his own wit and not the chatterings of squirrels." My will weakened by the chill, I replied, "I am party to more wisdom than you can know, serpent. The dwellers have brought me into their own circle."

"Oh, yes?" The serpent cackled. "The rootdwellers, the nameriddlers? Those whose dominion has grown not a fathom in a thousand thousand seasons? Those who share with you the powers of root and branch they mastered when the mountains were new, but keep from you the true potential of your inner flesh? Those who robbed you of your greatest loves?"

I asked the serpent what he knew about my life and my loves. He fell silent, then said, "You came here to catch a fish, and caught me. I say, those in the wood sent to your father for a fish, and he sent them a snake."

Here the story catches up with events in truth. I paddled to shore, patched up the boat, and gathered some provisions. In the morning, the serpent and I shall set sail.

I leave this letter unsigned so no one else, particularly my father, can tell that I wrote it. It's safer that way. Let them think I blasphemed and died in the woods. The important thing is, you know, and you won't make the same mistake I did.

I can only hope the mistake I'm making now is a wiser one.

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