Once in a while there's a person I don't know in my dreams.
Item #: SCP-682
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: As a recurrent phenomenon, containment of SCP-682 is not entirely possible. As SCP-682 can only be acknowledged by the subject and specialized digitized recording devices, containment should be focused on ensuring individual's silence. Employment of media suppression to prevent further spread is authorized and encouraged. Transcriptions, recordings, and images of SCP-682 should not be viewed as to avoid continued digital leakage. This document should not be viewed.
Description: SCP-682 is a repeatedly manifesting worldwide phenomenon affecting under 1% of the global population. SCP-682 displays inconsistent properties with a variety of commonly shared traits. Instances are regardless identifiable and definable.
SCP-682 is a progressive psychodigital presence. It primarily exists in metaphysical space, although it may equally exist in the real world. It is detectable. Particularly regressed instances may be undetectable.
Instances have been recorded. Recordings are not viewed.
[Collected video footage]
There is a gust of air. The steady hum of an air conditioner is interrupted by a chair screeching across hardwood.
SBJ24: You ever get that feeling like—well, you know.
There are two people equidistant across the space. They're sitting. A shoe taps repeatedly on the floor.
(unknown):
SBJ24: That feeling when someone's around, maybe. Watching? Outside?
It's quiet. A blackened hand reaches through the bush outside and scratches against brick. It's charred. The fingernails are gnarled and yellowing.
(unknown):
SBJ24: That's kind of what it's like, I guess. Maybe. Not really.
Nails scrape quietly across the frosted glass window in slow drags. The face is obscured by long black tangles of frizzled hair. Empty shapes pass between the light and he looks up and looks down again.
SBJ24: But it's. Well. I don't know. It's—I guess one day you blink and…
(unknown):
Its wrinkled fingertips tap gently against the glass. They drag down and squelch and slowly press.
SBJ24: It's at the edge, sort of. In the light—the dark part. Sitting?
SBJ24: Like… you know when you—when there's a sheet of plastic wrap? and you kind of push…push into it? With your finger. And it bends and bends and bends and then all at once it breaks through?
(unknown):
There is a hand inside. It's stretching and compressing gangly branches of fingers as it pulls its palm onto the beige plaster interior. It's pushing.
SBJ24: Maybe kind of hurts? I—then it's sort of just there. On your couch. Eating your food. Watching your tv. It's not…It's. When I'm—when it's sitting across from you at the table. Can't really stop looking at it.
(unknown):
It drags across the floor in steady sharp movements. There's subdued scuttling as fingernails scratch lines into the wood. He glances down. Charred skin flakes off and builds up on the floor. He glances down.
SBJ24: And then before—I guess then it's kind of just everywhere. After a bit. Wearing your clothes. Brushing your hair. Sleeping in your bed. Cleaning your teeth.
A hand touches his foot and he looks down. He reaches out to grab a magazine on the desk and thumbs through the pages. He glances down again. It pulls its hand up the chair, twisting fingers through the soft foam. He watches as it compresses.
[err]