Special Containment Procedures
SCP-864 has been placed in a standard containment chamber located in Site-77's Euclid wing. Contact with SCP-864 must be made exclusively through the on-site remote-controlled mechanical arm. Testing on humans or animals requires an approval from SCP-864's Containment Specialist.
The creator of SCP-864, one Võlutaar Ilara (POI-864) is to remain in Foundation custody until further notice.
No personnel are to enter the containment chamber during testing.
Description
SCP-864, manifesting an appendage.
SCP-864 is an artifact of Nälkän origins, visually indistinguishable from a mundane washbasin.
SCP-864's anomalous properties differ depending on whether articles of clothing or a human/animal are placed within its active range.1
If the items placed next to SCP-864 are clothes,2 SCP-864 will manifest an appendage3 and use it to pull the clothes into itself. Afterwards, it enters a five minute dormancy period. Once said period ends, SCP-864 will eject the clothing items fully cleaned, dried, and folded, no matter the severity of the initial staining.
If an animal or human enters its active range, it will be pulled into the basin with the same velocity as if it were clothing. The appendage is capable of squeezing subjects into itself regardless of their size. This process will almost always result in a pool of viscera forming around SCP-864 due to the small diameter of the opening. Following the dormancy period, only the clothing items will get ejected out of SCP-864, with the organism being subsumed.4
Living organisms are only able to safely interact with SCP-864 during its dormancy period.
On rare occasions, a feminine entity manifests inside SCP-864 in addition to the appendages. Whenever that happens, the accompanying laundry cycle ends up being significantly longer than the expected 5 minutes, ranging from 1 to 3 days.
While clothes washed by SCP-864 otherwise possess no anomalous properties, clothes washed by the feminine entity impart a slight sense of melancholy and longing upon the wearer. This effect is very weak, with it disappearing following a non-anomalous laundry cycle.
Drone explorations revealed that the interior of SCP-864 has the appearance of a long tunnel, stretching out for a length of 2 km. Its walls are comprised of a flesh-like material; the appendages are able to protract freely out of it.
Addendum 864.1: Discovery
SCP-864 was recovered from a forest in the Apennines on 04.06.2007, following reports made to the local law enforcement regarding "a bucket that eats people."5 One hiker perished immediately upon contact with the item. Two others perished when they attempted to retrieve the first victim's belongings.
The recovery effort suffered a single casualty when a Foundation agent approached SCP-864 near the conclusion of its dormancy period. The anomaly was subsequently secured and transported to the nearest Foundation containment facility without further incidents.
The surviving hikers were administered Class-A amnestics and issued a cover story about the death of their peers.
Addendum 864.2: Encounter with POI-864
On 02.06.2009, a then-unidentified individual approached a Site-77 outpost, requesting to see SCP-864. The individual introduced herself as Võlutaar6 Ilara (POI-864), creator of SCP-864, a prominent member of a Proto-Sarkic community in the Appenines. The Foundation elected to allow her into the outpost following a round of questioning.
Below are relevant excerpts from the testimony of POI-864, included in the document to serve as additional context and insight into the creation of SCP-864.
Testimony #1
Clothes are tedious for a Nälkän. Not all of us wear them, but those who do will always eventually find them sticky with blood and sweat, caked in viscera, bile and sinew. Be it from our everyday rituals or a Grand Feast… Even just the flesh minions the Karcist constructed for us: when they near the end of their lifetime, they usually start dripping with rot. It may be a beautiful cycle of life and death for us, but not so much for our clothes.
One can command the flesh to come off, but the flesh leaves stains. Stains and stench…
Once it hits your senses, it never lets you go.
And then, the realization of your own dirtiness compels you to wash your clothes.
It is the monotony and the futility of washing that wears one down. The process is long and tiresome: you need to find the right soap to get the stains out, wash it once, twice, thrice, hot water and cold water, and then it is not even completely clean. The stains, the smell, they're still there.
Even with the long washing process, it takes nothing to dirty yourself. As if nothing happened…
And then you have to wash again.
Testimony #2
My dear neighbor perished from an illness our elders were not able to cure, so I asked to have her remains. I wanted her spirit to persist, I wanted to keep her with us. We used to dance together and do rituals together… When she and I got ourselves elbow deep in blood and muck, we would go to the river together to clean ourselves. We always asked to get assigned to washing duty together — it is done in groups of two or three, you see — and then we would cradle each other as our hands rested. I would share my bed with her and she would share hers with me.
I could not make peace with her death back then… Part of me still refuses to accept she's gone.
It may be easy to create a flesh being to issue commands to, but those are all temporary creatures. Like the Karcist's minions: existing for a couple of hours, or days, and then they perish, or get subsumed. Plus, that comes from the flesh unnamed. To render what remained of Etta into straw for puppets of menial labor would have been a disservice to her memory. No. I refused to make her legacy ephemeral. Her afterimage was to be steeped with purpose, drawing deep from what she used to be in life, what she used to be to those who knew her best. And no one knew her better than I.
Rituals like these require the whole body of the deceased, even if not every sinew would be transformed. That which remained, I consumed. Waste not, want not. After all, consumption is just as much a part of the rite as chanting and painting sigils. A part of the heart, a part of the brain. Drinking her drained blood while leaning over a basin: not a drop went to waste. Her marrow was tender, her bones came apart under my teeth as if they were naught but a clump of dried mud.
And my labor was not fruitless. The ritual worked. A washbasin, carrying Etta's spirit, came to life! What was once a tedious and thankless chore now turned into something so effortless, something that now could have been done in no more than five minutes.
And through it, Etta's legacy would have lived on. She loved our village. She regarded me dearly. I know she would have loved nothing more than to continue helping us, working with us even in her death.
Testimony #3
It took some time for our village to get used to her new form. But only some time. They were fast convinced once I collected all the blood-soaked flesh-stained clothes from all our homes, and placed them on the ground right in front of her. Can you imagine how I felt when I saw her tentacles reach out for the first time? Can you imagine how proud I was when she, with her dozens of limbs, pulled all the clothes in at once? Or when she returned them all, not even half an hour having passed, clean and spotless as if they were freshly woven? She was Etta, she was our wonderful helper, and my heart was singing like the first time we fell asleep together at the campfire.
Even so, I made a grave mistake… I never fully understood what I was dealing with. Flesh is beautiful. It is ever-growing and ever-changing. Sometimes you can keep it reined in, sometimes the direction of its flow will slip completely out of your hands. Nothing can truly be perfect in its unpredictable beauty. What happened to Etta was the latter.
Something that did not cross my mind at the time at all was that "being happy to help" and "being used to clean" were two completely different things. The washbasin may not have been her anymore, but her spirit lingered around. She was still as Nälkän as any of us.
I had no way to speak to her, but I have a strong suspicion I know what made her burst. Just like how all of our village became weary of laundry duty, so did she, over time. At first, we left only large laundry runs for her. We understood the basin carried Etta's spirit, so we treated her gently, with reverence. Appearances are deceiving, though. The more we looked at the basin, the more we passed it by on the town square, the more we forgot whose soul resided in it. It took not even a month for us to start viewing her as just a useful tool, and we began throwing laundry at her whenever we felt convenient. Large swaths of stained clothing? Somebody's child having played in the mud for too long? It went to her, all the same.
We were cleaner than we ever remembered ourselves, but she? She carried more anger, more pent-up frustration than any of us, or our ancestors, or our ancestor's ancestors ever did.
We lost sight of who she was. I lost sight of who she was. Until it broke her.
I still remember the first time she attacked us, clear as day… Our neighbor passed her by, tossing his half-stained shirt at her as if it was nothing. That must have been her final straw. Her limbs did not only grab his shirt. They grabbed him, too. He didn't even have the time to transform himself into a more malleable shape.
The same limbs reached out afterwards and cleaned up the blood and guts he left behind. And then out came all his clothes. Clean, stainless… Without the wearer.
We all were barely able to sleep that night.
The guilt was mine to bear and it was my responsibility to make things right. So I did what I thought was good at the time: I went out in the dead of the night and threw Etta as far as I could. I now realize it was irresponsible of me. Irresponsible and cowardly. Instead of confronting her, instead of facing my mistake head-on, I simply cast her away. I threw her as far as I could. It did not concern me at the time where she landed.
…
How many have perished before you took her into your custody?
Please, allow me to make things right. Allow me to see Etta. I need to make amends with her. I want to try to put her soul to rest.
I should have treated her better.
Addendum 864.3: Additional Development
Following deliberation and a period of voluntary detainment, POI-864 was permitted to enter SCP-864's containment chamber on 10.06.2009. Two guards trained in fleshcrafting suppression techniques were stationed at the entrance in the event of a potential breach attempt.
Interview Log 864-1
Foreword: POI-864 consented for the insertion of a non-invasive ocular implant into her eyes, which allowed for direct and instantaneous transmission of everything within her field of vision.
[POI-864 enters the testing chamber and approaches SCP-864. The latter stands inert.]
POI-864: Hey… Do you remember me?
[Her voice and her expression alike soften.]
POI-864: To think that I would ask this of you. [Shakes her head with a small exhale.] Through all that you've done for us, all the cleaning, from mountains of bloody fabric to inconsequential stains on the sleeves of careless peers. I forgot who you were. I forgot you were still Etta, you were still a Nälkän at heart. We should not have used you for ceaseless laundry. You desire a break from it all, just like me and everyone else.
POI-864: So here…
[POI-864 is about to touch SCP-864, but the object suddenly flips over. A fleshy mass begins pooling out of it, slowly solidifying into the vague shape of a feminine entity.]
SCP-864 (?): Il… ara…
POI-864: Etta…? Etta!
[The voice of the entity is weak and barely coherent. It reaches out with a dripping appendage, trying to grab POI-864's hand. The latter rushes forward to return the gesture.]
POI-864: Etta, I am here! Wait for me…
[As she takes its hand, they both demanifest from the containment chamber. Following their demanifestation, the feed momentarily goes offline.]
[When the camera comes back online, POI-864 is already inside SCP-864. Its interior has changed significantly. Instead of the flesh tunnel, the camera shows a vast and empty red-tinted landscape, with a body of water at the far side. A silhouette sits in front of the body of water, finer details imperceptible at this distance.]
[Upon arrival, POI-864 is unconscious. It takes several minutes for her to wake up. Upon awakening, she opens her eyes to look around and immediately covers them with the back of her hand. Her eyes have not yet adjusted to the rays of the flesh-sun beating down from above.]
[She slowly gets onto her feet and stumbles forward. Gasps and groans can be heard as she makes her way towards the body of water. The closer she gets, the more she lowers herself and by the time she arrives to the lakeside, her legs give in and she crawls to the shore on her knees.]
[POI-864 leans forward and plants her face into her palms. For an extended period of time, only the sound of the blood-waves hitting the shore, the loud breathing, and the quiet sobs of POI-864 are heard. When she turns her head to the side, she notices the feminine entity from within SCP-864 sitting next to her, in a similar kneeling position.]
POI-864: Etta…?
[The entity smiles warmly and tilts its head to the side. It takes the hands of POI-864 and places them against its chest.]
POI-864: Etta, are you… are you smiling?
[No response from the entity. POI-864 reluctantly caresses its chest.]
POI-864: I do not understand. This place is so… peaceful. You are so peaceful. [Her voice cracks.] I expected you to… to be angry at me. To be lashing out, and-
[The entity mimics the motion of laughing and waves its hand in the air. It then pulls POI-864 closer by cradling her cheek in its palm. The former leans into the touch and droplets of tears slowly begin streaking down onto the entity's skin.]
[Nothing happens for an extended period of time.]
[POI-864 is the first to break the silence. She takes the entity's palms into her own and looks at her, eyes wet from tears.]
POI-864: [Whispering.] Now what…?
[Brief silence. The entity slowly lifts its hand and gestures at POI-864's clothes, then at the lake.]
POI-864: [Understanding what is being asked of her, she nods.] For old time's sake, huh…? I missed washing with you, too.
[She starts disrobing: first her boots, then her stockings, then her skirts and shirt. When she reaches her undergarments, the entity is already holding her shirt.]
POI-864: [Lifts one of her hands, gesturing for the entity to pause.] I did not disrobe completely yet. There is one more thing on me to wash.
[In a smooth motion, she punches through her own chest cavity, grabbing her heart in the process. The action knocks her breath out of herself, but she remains intact otherwise. With a deep exhale, she pulls her heart out and hands it to the entity.]
[It takes the organ, briefly examining it, then nods.]
[The two begin washing POI-864's clothes in the blood-lake. While stilted and uncertain at first, they both quickly get into the pace of washing, alternating between the clothes. It does not take a lot of time until both of them are splashing water onto each other with playful giggles.]
[POI-864 laughs loudly and with full chest, with her laughs occasionally broken by happy sobs. With each cycle between the two of them, the clothes get cleaner and cleaner. So does the heart of POI-864.]
[Several hours pass. All the clothes lay on the shore, spotless and wrung out. The entity rinses the heart of POI-864 one last time, then hands it to her.]
[POI-864 examines her heart and sees a tender, delicate, light-pink mass of flesh in her palms. She places it back into her chest cavity and as soon as she does, her chest knots itself back around her.]
[They embrace each other and collapse back, laying on the shore exhausted as the water laps at their feet.]
POI-864: I missed this so much… I missed washing with you. I missed you.
[Inching closer towards each other, they gingerly caress each other as the tips of their noses touch.]
POI-864: I never had the opportunity to tell you this while we were alive, but… I love you. I love you so much. Always have, and always will.
[The entity smiles back at her. While they were washing together, its shape solidified more and more, with a full-fledged young woman now laying opposite to POI-864. It blinks away a blood-tear slowly creeping out of the corner of its eye, and nods.]
[They pull each other closer into themselves, and they kiss. A gentle moment of tenderness, years of love, joy, despair, mourning, rage flowing into one. The way their limbs are entangled, it is hard to tell where Ilara ends and where Etta begins. The boundaries between their bodies blur further, and the two distinct figures begin flowing into one.]
[The water level slowly rises. It creeps higher and higher, until it threatens to envelop the couple. They — the flesh mass that used to be the two of them — no longer react.]
[Silence on the recording.]
Afterword: Approximately two hours following this event, SCP-864 flipped over. It expelled POI-864's clothes and her ocular implant in the process. Following this, SCP-864 ceased any further activity.
The camera and the guards stationed at the door confirmed that the bottom of SCP-864 closed off.