SCP-7995, resting.
Item #: SCP-7995
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: All information regarding SCP-7995 collected from testing must be recorded in Document 7995-A.1 Under no circumstances are any personnel to enter SCP-7995. Sick or immunocompromised personnel are not permitted within one hundred metres of SCP-7995.
Description: SCP-7995 is an empty structure in the Lake District, Cumbria, UK. Despite externally resembling a typical civilian dwelling, living inside SCP-7995 would be impossible. Its actual prior function is unknown.
SCP-7995 is a focal point for varying anomalous activity, with few apparent consistent themes. Tentative attempts at establishing a connecting narrative have been undertaken, and recorded in Document 7995-A.
Addendum 7: Sample recovered diary entries from [DATA LOST].
Been meaning to write in here more often. Supposed to be good for you. So, here I go.
Need milk
Theresa is so hot it's not fair
what am I supposed to do
For the World is Hollow, and I Have Touched the Sky. God grant me the confidence to think a piece of work that mediocre warrants a title that pretentious.
The ships I haunted never sailed; they just drifted through stagnant seas. How fitting. [DATA LOST]
Addendum 9: Interview logs
Interviewed: Ronald Jensen, Rachel Swann, Elijah Katonga
Interviewer: Researcher Julian Farnsworth
Foreword: The three interviewees were civilians discovered in the vicinity of SCP-7995 at initial discovery. All were asked the same questions separately; thus, responses have been grouped together for convenience's sake.
<BEGIN LOG>
Farnsworth: Why were you present at the building when we arrived?
Jensen: It's my job. I'm a security guard there.
Swann: I work security. It's not particularly weird.
Katonga: I was the nightwatchman.
Farnsworth: It doesn't strike me as the sort of place I'd have wanted to work in. What sort of work happened there?
Jensen: Honestly couldn't tell you. I applied because the pay's decent and I don't have to leave Ontario, actually knowing what I'm guarding isn't much of a priority.
Swann: Above my pay grade.
Katonga: Sort of hoping you could tell me, actually. I was on my own there most of the time, still couldn't pluck up the courage to snoop.
Farnsworth: Can you tell me anything about the people who worked there?
Jensen: Bit standoffish, no names, never really stop for a chat.
Farnsworth: You didn't learn a single person's name?
Jensen: What? No, I mean they don't have names.
Swann: No-one works there.
Farnsworth: No-one… You're going to have to clarify that, Mrs. Swann.
Swann: What is there to clarify? No-one works there, no-one's ever worked there, I knew that when they hired me.
Farnsworth: When who hired you?!
Swann: Fuck me, you're a bit dense, aren't you?
Katonga: I remember a [DATA LOST], he made me a coffee when he was leaving one time. Usually they were more interested in getting home than chatting to me. Couldn't tell you what they were doing, sorry.
Farnsworth: Describe your day from when you arrived to when we took you in.
Jensen: Well. I got in. Relieved Rach as I got there, clocked on, got behind the desk.
Swann: I did my job, like I'm supposed to. My shift started at ten, so I arrived at quarter to. Had a chat with Ronnie before he went. We talked about Carlisle's chances at promotion, would you like to know where I thought we'd finish in the table, too?
Katonga: I don't know. It was cold.
Jensen: It was pretty quiet, so I started messing on my phone. Spilt my coffee, like an idiot. [he laughs, slightly]
Swann: Would you like to know the details of exactly how many times I sneezed on the job? Would that fascinate you?
Katonga: It was so cold.
Jensen: There were no tissues inside.
Swann: There were no tissues inside.
Katonga: There were no tissues inside.
Jensen: Nothing else really happened, to be honest, until you got there.
Swann: Then the SAS broke down the door. But you were there for that bit.
Katonga: There were - there's nothing to say. Not really.
Farnsworth:2 Thank you for your cooperation, Mx. Katonga, I'll try to let you go soon. I am curious, though, you said you work nights?
Katonga: Worke- uh, yeah.
Farnsworth: Good, good. In that case, I must admit I'm rather confused as to what you were doing there at when the agents arrived, at… [he checks his notes, shuffling papers] Half one in the afternoon.
There is a long pause.
Katonga: I had to be there. But I shouldn't have been there.
Farnsworth: Do you feel any urges to go ba-
Katonga: No!
Ze slams zir hands on the table. Farnsworth jumps.
Katonga: No, no, you don't understand, I have to be both, but no, that's too much. Too much. Quit while you're ahead. Or just quit.
Katonga begins laughing hysterically. Farnsworth edges his chair backwards.
Ze abruptly stops, slumping in zir seat.
Katonga: Nearly there, anyway. Don't think I've done too badly.
Farnsworth: M- [he clears his throat] Mx. Katonga, it w-would really help your case if you could be clearer regarding -
Katonga's gaze fixes on Farnsworth.
Katonga: What's your first name, Mr. Farnsworth?
Farnsworth: …entirely irrelevant? What?
Katonga: Still doesn't sit quite right? Well, I'm sorry to dredge anything up, Mr. Farnsworth, but I wish you could use it to drown me out.
Thing is, Mr. Farnsworth, is that I want you to imagine you are your name. Imagine it's everything, one little world that sums you up as a person, encapsulates your loves, hates, gives you an identity that through rain or sleet or gloom of night you can cling to that gives you an anchor in the storm just a small small noise that is you.
Ze gasps for breath, holding onto the table, rocking gently.
Katonga: Now tell someone your name. It doesn't matter who, just do it. Give them all of that. Only you can't. It won't leave. It clings to your tongue, its spines pierce your cheeks and throat, its tentacles reach down your oesophagus and yank it back down. It slams your jaw shut, so hard your teeth shatter, you gag as it squirms its way back down and you know it's right. It's right, Mr. Farnsworth. But I'm right, but that doesn't even matter.
Ze shivers, rubbing zir arms, and whimpers.
Katonga: This isn't going anywhere, Mr. Farnsworth. It's so cold.
<END LOG>
Notes: All three were released shortly after these interviews. Each were individually administered a dose of Class C amnestics. This was later followed up with a dose of Class B amnestics, two doses of Class A amnestics, four doses of Class C amnestics, and a solution two parts Class A amnestic and two parts Class C amnestic. Eventually, they all signed non-disclosure agreements, requiring steady payment from the Foundation in return.
Addendum 15: Exploration log.
Personnel: D-94771 (field), Dr. Valerie Whitaker (base)
Foreword: Initial exploration of SCP-7995.
<BEGIN LOG>
D-94771 looks up at the sky, shielding her eyes.
D-94771: Lovely day for it. Always wanted to go to Melbourne, hoped it'd be under better circumstances. The file was pretty vague, anything I should know going in here?
Whitaker: Unfortunately, we don't really have any more information to give you.
D-94771: Oh, good. Gotten me for a brand new one, then, that's distressingly exciting.
Whitaker: We've actually been investigating this for a while.
D-94771: Oh. So… I'm the first one to explore it, then.
Whitaker: No.
D-94771 throws her hands up.
D-94771: Well, grand. What can you tell me?
Whitaker: Nothing.
D-94771: Great. I can already tell you and me are gonna get on famously.
Whitaker: You and I.
D-94771: [she sighs, looking to the sky] Great. Great.
Whitaker: Shall we begin?
D-94771: Why not?
She steps up to the door.
Whitaker: What does it look like, to you?
D-94771: A, uh, shed? I dunno.
Whitaker: What do you expect to see inside?
D-94771: Uh, shed… -y… things? Fuck if I know. [she half-laughs] Plus the spooky monster trying to eat me.
Whitaker: That too. Alright, you can go in.
D-94771: Lucky me.
She enters. Inside is [DATA EXPUNGED]
D-94771: Not a shed, then. Okay. There's a reception desk, a cloakroom to the right. No-one coming to take my coat, though.
She walks behind the [DATA EXeption desk, and begins looking through.
Whitaker: You're not wearing a coat.
D-94771: Yeah, well, thought that counts. Desk's full of random shit, I don't think it's anything useful.
Whitaker: Alright. Carry on, then.
She leaves the lobby, and takes the lift to the first basement. A shadow flickers at the edge of her torchlight as the doors open to an empty laboratory, but no details can be ascertained.
D-94771: Bloody hell, what a mess. Okay, er, looks pretty sciency, but… nope, computers aren't working.
Whitaker: Anything useful about?
D-94771: Uh… there's a diary, okay. Why are there always diaries?
D-94771 adjusts her torch so she can read, and begins flipping through.
Whitaker: You know that could be dangerous, right?
D-94771: Bet it's not. [she is quiet for a moment] "The ships I haunted never sailed; they just drifted through stagnant seas." What a prick.
Whitaker: Move on, please, Olivia.
D-94771: Yeah, just, hang fire a mo. [she continues reading] Huh. So apparently -
There is a deafening screaming, and all contact is lost.
<END LOG>
Closing statement: Base spent much of the next three hours discussing how to proceed. Extracting D-94771 using another D-class or an MTF was proposed, and rejected. Instead, it has been agreed that all testing with SCP-7995 will cease, and suddenly I see! This is what I wanna be, suddenly I see! Why th-
Whitaker: Olivia? Is that you?
D-94771: Dr. Whitaker! [she struggles off the couch she is lying on] You there?
Whitaker: Does the black moon howl?
D-94771: What the fuck does that mean?
Whitaker: It is you, good. What happened, are you alright?
D-94771: Yeah! Uh, when we got cut off, I found somewhere safe-looking and hunkered down. Picked the kitchen.
Whitaker: And the singing?
D-94771: Bored. Shall we get on?
D-94771 leaves the attic, making her way back to the lift. She goes down to the first floor.
Whitaker: How are you feeling, by the way?
D-94771: Honestly?
Whitaker: Of course.
D-94771: I don't like this place. It feels cold.
Whitaker: The environment? Or -
D-94771: Not physical. Not sure how to describe it, it's like… being at a party where no-one likes you. Although that's most parties I've been to.
The doors open to a dusty, dimly-lit corridor. D-94771 cautiously begins to make her way down it.
Whitaker: Can you elaborate?
D-94771 sneezes, and rummages around her pockets.
D-94771: Ah… Not really. It's weird, I dunno. I'm D-class, we say stuff. What, I have to understand it, too?
Whitaker: You must have some idea.
D-94771: Damn it, could've sworn I had tissues in here…
Whitaker: Olivia…
D-94771: [she stops, and sighs] Look, you know what happened here?
Whitaker: No? Wh-
D-94771: I do. But it doesn't matter.
Whitaker: Oh? And why is that?
D-94771: [she shrugs] Just one of a gazillion other identikit things you don't understand. What's the point?
She continues walking in silence.
D-94771: It's funny, I don't even know what D-class means.
Whitaker: It means you're a prisoner we abducted because no-one would miss you and no-one would mind us doing horrible things to you.
D-94771: …you don't mince your words, do you?
Whitaker: No. You deserve better than that.
D-94771: Do I? What did I do?
Whitaker: Er… [sound of shuffling papers] Armed robbery. Your mother couldn't pay the rent, apparently.
D-94771: Oh. That doesn't sound like me. At least I don't think it does.
Whitaker: Yes, well. It had to be something serious enough to land you here, you see, but at the same time you couldn't hurt anyone. Had to be something understandable, possibly even sympathetic.
D-94771: I don't understand.
Whitaker: No. You're rather not supposed to, I'm sad to say.
D-94771: …doesn't my mum miss me?
Whitaker: I don't know. I'm not sure you're supposed to think that hard. Anyway, the more sensitive suggestion is cloning, but I'm not really sure that's a great deal less ethically dubious-
D-94771: No, hang on, shut up a second.
She has reached a bulky metal door, gunmetal-grey.
D-94771: Keys are in the lock. Thank fuck for a bit of convenience.
Whitaker: When you're ready, then.
D-94771: [she hesitates] Ready for - what?! No, no way, I ain't goin' anywhere fucking near there!
Whitaker: Alright, if you feel so strongly about it. You can start making your way back, then.
D-94771: You're not down here, doc! You can feed yourself to whatever monster's fucking in there! Not me!
Whitaker: Whatever you feel comfortable with.
D-94771: Okay. Not the biggest door I've come up against.
D-94771 tries the door. It is sealed shut.
D-94771: Not even locked. Amateurs.
D-94771 turns and runs, out of SCP-7995. Testing complete.
D-94771: No ominous creak! Where's my ominous creak?
D-94771 shuts the door. Inside is human remains
is [DATA LOST]
is the missing puzzle piece
is seventeen empty boxes of tissues
is an incomprehensible horror beyond human understanding, pulped from a half-formed nightmare and described in awkward, tortured metaphor
is just some peace and quiet
come on
…
Inside is nothing.
D-94771: Boring. Can I come back now?
<END LOG>
Addendum 19: Document 7995-A.
Error: document does not exist.
Addendum 20: Memorandum from Director Thomas Walker, Site 9.
My secretary directed me to this article, and I'm glad she did. Now, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like whoever wrote this document to come to my office for nine tomorrow, where they will either receive a paper copy of this article, written as though the writer had a brain, or their P45. I want to make it clear, this shambles of a scientific piece is unacceptable. If I can't tell what it even does, you have failed at your job. I hope this is clear.
And one more thing: for pity's sake, get those redactions sorted. You're not spies; if the information isn't going to melt my brain, it's for me and RAISA to decide what makes it in. Not you. Expunging it from the database completely is beyond a joke.
- Director Walker
Addendum 21: Memorandum from Director Thomas Walker, Site 9.
Thank you. This is what a proper document should look like.
Don't let it happen again.
- Director Walker
