You don't have another explanation anymore.
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ADULT CONTENT
This article contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers.
Sexual References: Features sexual themes or language, without the depiction of sexual acts.
Sexually Explicit: Description of sexual acts.
Sexual Assault: Features non-consensual sexual acts.
Gore: Depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts.
Child Abuse: Features severe mistreatment of children.
Self-Harm: Description of self-harm.
Suicide: Description of suicide.
Torture: Description of torture.
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Hello Dr. Garter.
Your efforts on the containment of SCP-939-268 are commendable. We have estimated a 30% reduction in the rate of damage to its enclosure in the 19 days since you joined the team. However, we have recently discovered that the speaker system's recording function has not been working as intended. The archived recordings in the last few days have been white noise. Please determine the source of the malfunction so that we can repair it. We trust you to follow proper protocol with SCP-939-268.
Thank you for your work,
Hey there, Melanie~
I'm glad my work is providing results. I will begin investigating the problem immediately.
Thanks,
Huh?
Oh, sorry, just trying a new voice.
…Okay?
Y'know, the mimicry thing? I do that.
Yeah, I know that, it's just…
What?
Nevermind.
Ha ha.
…Anyway, apparently the recording equipment here is broken, and I need to find out why. Would you happen to know anything about that?
Whaat? Why Officer, I don't know anything.
I don't believe you. Also, stop it with the voice.
Fine. I'll tell you if you listen to my story.
I already do that every day.
So it's a good deal, then.
…
Also, how fortunate that the recording equipment happened to fail. I'm nearly to the juicy part~
You're lucky I get paid to talk to you.
"Alex!"
That isn't your name. Your name is Carmilla Agony. Unfortunately, nobody cares. You're heading into 10th grade now, and you have nobody you could call a friend. That doesn't bother you, though. Not as long as you remember that you're the coolest vampire in town. You're always covered ("covered", some would say) in scrounged pleather and countless buckles. Your tangled hair is a faded red (it was magnificent when you first dyed it, enough to make you hungry).
You haven't killed anyone else, yet. Just Avery. You think of how she tasted every time you look at bare skin. You haven't felt the need to do it again, but sometimes you wish you had the excuse.
You realize that your mother is calling for you and run downstairs. She's looking at you like you're some kind of household pest. You don't disagree with her assessment. It's your first day of 10th grade today, and she wants you to be "presentable" for it. She forces you into the same sort of claustrophobic clothes you once wore as a uniform. You wonder how you ever tolerated that much fabric on your skin. You despise her. You hope that you'll make her your second kill. You're soon off to school, right on time. You don't like being late.
You still walk along the highway on the way to school. It would feel wrong not to, like you're trying to pretend it didn't happen. There's a little memorial where Avery died, a tiny wooden cross stabbed into the ground. You left flowers there a few times, until you happened to be there at the same time as her parents.
You make it to school uneventfully. You get plenty of strange looks as you weave through the crowd, but nobody accosts you. Business as usual. They're generally too afraid to actually pick on you, so all they can do is isolate you. Being feared feels good, in a way. It makes you feel like you have power over those that fear you. Sometimes this is true, but here it is not. You instinctively distract yourself from this thought by looking around for new students. The freshmen are dispersed throughout the crowd. Some faces you recognize from middle school, some you don't. Some look back at you. Their glares are born of instinctive distrust of the other, not coordinated shunning. They'll get a full understanding of the situation soon enough.
Your eyes continue to wander as you approach your first class, but you don't see anybody interesting. You're one of the first to make it to the classroom, giving you the opportunity to pick a secluded window seat. You look out at the lone tree in view of the window while you wait for class to start. It's a young oak, young by oak standards at least. You imagine what it would be like to live on such a long timescale. You're a vampire, aren't you? You might live that long too. Best to prepare for it, then. You're not all that worried about the classic immortal's problem of outliving everyone. You don't get attached that easily. You do worry a bit about getting bored, but you know that there are books and movies and games being produced faster than you can consume. Meat, too.
Your reverie is broken by the sound of the chair next to you sliding against the tile floor. You turn to look and there she is. Not Avery, but someone new. She's beautiful, with carefully-styled hair and kind hazel eyes. She wears a modest dress, blue and knee-length. You're thankful it isn't white. Most importantly, she's like you. She must've clocked you too if she chose to sit next to you. You catch yourself staring and hurriedly look away. She laughs and says "You're a bit late to act cool." You keep trying to act cool. You attempt to say a line that would assuredly make her want to be your friend while still maintaining your detached persona. What you actually say is "hawawa". Fuck. You fucked it up. It's over for you. She hates you now. Before you can retreat into your signature dissociative cocoon, she laughs again.
Hey. I heard you laugh.
I don't know what you're talking about. I don't think "hawawa" is humorous in the least.
Hmph. You know how well I can hear, don't you? You can't lie to me.
I really think "hawawa" is a normal thing to say! Knowing that was the first thing you said to her really makes me respect you as a person more.
What.
Yeah, I see why you like doing this so much.
…Ha, didn't know you had it in you. Anyway,
She laughs for some time before catching her breath. "Very eloquent. Nice to meet you, I'm Amira." You manage to recover your senses enough to realize that you now have to tell her your name. You give a sheepish "Carmilla…". Without missing a beat, she responds. "Like the vampire?" Oh god. She knows. You have never cringed so violently before. Why did you have to name yourself that. You feel like you're going to die of embarrassment, but she actually doesn't laugh this time. She just smiles at you. "I've always liked vampires. They're so thematically versatile" She strikes a contemplative face. "What kind of theme are you doing?" Mercifully, you are called to attention by the start of class. You smile at her awkwardly and turn to the front.
What the hell just happened. Did you finally make a friend? You think that more accurately, a friend made you. Whatever, you'll take it. You realize that you're shaking a little. You're completely unprepared for any sort of genuine social interaction, and that only hasn't been a problem because everyone hates you anyway. Now someone is predisposed to like you because you're both trans, and you're about to fuck it up because you can't talk to people. You think that maybe you should practice talking on your own before realizing how insane that is.
Class passes uneventfully, though you catch each other stealing glances. When the bell rings, she gets up and follows you out to the hall. "I've gotta go to my second period. See you at lunch?" You just nod. You almost work up the courage to actually say words to her, but she walks away too quickly. You head off to your next class to suffer through the anticipation of meeting her again. The rest of the morning passes agonizingly slowly. The glances and whispers directed at you feel a little harder to ignore, and the class material is even drier than normal. Eventually, you hear the lunch bell. You have to stop yourself from running out of the classroom, but you're also terrified. When you exit into the hall, you don't see her anywhere. Where is she? Did she stand you up? You nearly panic before realizing that she's probably just in another part of the school, looking around sheepishly as though someone could've seen you think that.
As you near the lunchroom, she appears in your peripheral vision. She pushes through the crowd to your side at an impressive speed. She gets odd looks, but nobody stops her. You have that in common, it seems. She looks at you slyly. "You're moving fast. You must be hungry!" You think about being hungry. You're hungry right now, it's true; you'll stop being hungry after you eat lunch. That's all there is to it. You go through the lunch line together, eyeing each other's selections. You have similar enough taste, it seems. You sit down next to each other at a secluded table, and your stomach growls in anticipation. You've already started eating when she opens her mouth to speak. "Wow, I was joking earlier y'know!" Yeah, yeah. You pay her little attention. You're busy eating. The overcooked carrots and hotdog of dubious origin enter your mouth at a remarkable speed, the almost-expired milk soon to follow. You devour the entire meal in what feels like seconds while Amira looks at you with a mixture of awe and concern. "…Are you always a fast eater?" she asks, almost shakily. No, you aren't. You realize how fast you ate. Then you realize that you're still hungry. Then you realize that you feel a little sick. The world closes in on you.
You're terrified. In this moment, you're absolutely certain that you're going to kill her. And then you're going to eat her. You don't want to eat her, though. You always assumed that your second kill would be someone you don't know, someone you just kill to eat and get on with your life. But now you know you're going to kill Amira. You don't know how you know this, but you know that if you stay around her she will die, and it'll be by your hand. You suddenly get up. You need time to think. You need to get away. "What's wrong?" By the time she asks, you're already moving. Out the door, through the hall, out of the school, into the woods. You run without pause for several minutes, then collapse onto the forest floor. You feel hungrier. Once she's out of the way, you'll still have to eat someone. But first you need to find a way to get her away from you for a bit longer. Then maybe you can make up. Or maybe you'll just get hungry again. You percolate in the forest for some time. You consider how you could get away with murder. You conclude that it's really hard to do and you got lucky the first time. Now what?
Your spiral is interrupted by the sound of footsteps. She finds you, laying awkwardly on the ground. You jump at the sight of her, but she's already too close to run again. "What the hell? What happened? Did I say something wrong?" She sounds pained and angry. You think for a moment. How do you get her away from you? You could just start shouting at her and do something obscene, but what if she thinks you're having some kind of episode? That would cause problems. You need to convince her that you're both perfectly fine and entirely uninterested in being near her. A plan appears in your mind. You make your best effort to appear normal and begin your speech. "Sorry, I just think we got off on the wrong foot. I think we have a lot in common, but you pushed me too fast. I was scared and needed to get away. From you." You nearly choke on the words. She looks like she did.
You end up eating her, don't you?
…Duh.
How did you not get caught? Two girls that took an interest in you, both eaten…
I'll get there. Be patient.
Oh, sorry. I know how important your stories are to you.
It's just a way to pass the time.
Of course.
Y'know, you've gotten real bold lately, Melanie. Don't forget which of us eats humans.
And which one of us is keeping the other in a concrete box? Come on.
…Where's this coming from?
A realization that I am a professional with a job to do. I've been at the Foundation for 9 years, Carmilla. You can't possibly think that I'd prioritize befriending a mass murderer over that.
What?
Sorry, but I need to maintain-
Wait. You used my name.
…I-
Come on. if you're going to distance yourself from me, do it right.
…I'm sorry.
Ha! You're how old? 30? And you can't stand up to a teenager stuck in a box? You're pathetic.
…!
Ha. Yeah, it's me, you. Hmm… You know, I bet I could have you say some bad things into the microphone. They wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
Oh god…
Just establishing my leverage. We wouldn't want to be on uneven ground here. So why don't we go ahead and keep being friends? That way neither of us will have to do something we don't want to. Or do want to.
Do you do this to everyone?
Nah, I just got a chance cuz of the system being down. By the way, the break is right under the microphone on my side. And don't think about delaying. You have to tell them eventually, and then I'll have my leverage anyway.
Okay…
Now, back to it…
You have to stop yourself from throwing up. She liked you! She was going to be your friend! But you have to push her away. There's no good ending here. The only way this could end is in another gory feast. Red on white. Your clothes drenched in blood, your organs in her teeth, your screams slowly dying out. You look down at your labcoat. It's still white. She's almost managed to trap you, though. You'll have to tell someone before she gets a chance to do anything.
She's continuing her story, but it seems dull now. Your attention is on yourself. Your shift ends pretty soon. You'll just tell Mallard her plan and you'll be safe. You can probably even keep working with her! You shouldn't, though. In fact, you definitely shouldn't. You have to get away from her. You continue to double- and triple-check your plan for the rest of the shift. Her long-winded story is an oddly comforting background noise, despite its content and context. Before you know it, your shift is over. She laughs at you for being so distracted, that single "Ha." of hers. You leave in silence. It's late, so you go to your quarters. You hope you didn't miss anything important in her story before you catch yourself. You've got to get away. You realize how exhausted you are. The late shift and the stress did a number on you. You'd been trying not to panic about distancing yourself from her all day, and the actual interaction felt almost physically painful. You still have one thing left to do, though. You open your laptop and sleepily compose the email to get you out of this.
Hello, Mr. Mallard.
I have located the source of the problem. There is a break in the wiring behind the cell's interior microphone. However, I have an additional concern. SCP-939-268 has threatened to speak in my voice in an attempt to impersonate me, for the purpose of framing me for improper conduct. Please advise next steps immediately.
Thanks for your concern,
That should work. Simple and to-the-point. You nearly jump into bed.
You have the dream again. She's in the field, begging you to say you didn't mean it, that you can still be friends. She's in the cell, tearing into your chest with her shining teeth. This time, she's mocking you while doing it. She's using your voice to plead like the other her. She's also somehow doing it while chewing. You hear yourself say "Please stay with me!" and "I'm lonely!" and "You're so cool!" and "I want to spend more time with you!" and "Don't leave!" and "I love you!" and "I love you!" "I love you!" "I lo-"
You somehow force yourself to wake up. You leap out of bed and immediately move to distract yourself on pure terrified instinct. You think about your email. Did you remember to send it? You're not sure. Something in you blurts out the thought that you needn't be so hasty. She'll only do it if you make her do it. You think about her.
Oh no. The thoughts start up again. You failed to distract yourself from the dream. What the fuck was that. You're still breathing heavily from both the dream and the panic when you woke up. You're shaking a little bit. Your heart is pounding. It felt so horribly real. You can still feel her claws digging into your shoulders, her teeth sinking into your flesh, and her cold, dizzying breath on your face, slowing your thoughts to a crawl. You've never actually experienced the effects of 939's amnestic breath, but your mind is clearly more than capable of extrapolating from what you've read. Unfortunate that it hasn't figured out the part where you forget the experience. Survivor testimony is unsurprisingly vague, but there are consistent throughlines of fogginess and slowness. It has hallucinogenic effects for some people, too. And, of course, there's that sense of misplaced familiarity. It's often called déjà vu, but some have argued that that doesn't fully capture it. You wonder what it'll feel like for you. You then wonder why you assumed that you'd feel it at some point. Then you congratulate yourself for successfully becoming distracted, and consequently stop being distracted. You really, really don't want to have to think about that, but it seems inevitable. Wait, the email. You need to send the email. Your thoughts ricochet between competing sources of panic. You scramble for more excuses and briefly cling onto the fact that you have a job that you need to work at. But you woke up early. There's no job yet.
Your panic accelerates when that last hope falls through. You spiral around the thought that you cannot think, inevitably getting closer to the center. It's reminiscent of water going down a drain. Your distractions and excuses steadily fall apart and soon you're in the center of the whirlpool.
"I love you."
It felt so real. Thinking about it more, you're not totally sure who was actually saying it. All you know is it was your voice. Ultimately, it doesn't really matter who said it; it was a dream. The important part is that your mind came up with it. You've never been one for dream analysis, you consider yourself too educated and rational, but this seems impossible not to analyze. Is it true? Do you love her? Some part of you must think so. You think of her. You've never actually seen her in person, just heard her voice. You've seen pictures in the documents, though. 2.7 meters tall, but usually hunched to about 2.1. 122 kilograms in weight. Long, narrow head with only a mouth, full of needle-like teeth that glow strangely. Hands distorted into claws, usable for hunting and for walking on all fours. Sensitive spines running down the back. Red skin, although it looks more like no skin. Like she's just made of raw meat. Do you love that? Do you love how she looks like a horror-movie monster? Do you love how she's built for violence? Do you love her claws? Her teeth? Her breath? You can't stop thinking about her. You hold your head in your hands, covering your eyes. You picture the dark concrete cell. You can see the dim shine of her teeth in front of you. You want to reach out and touch them. It feels like they're compelling you into them, like an anglerfish's lure. You wonder what they feel like to the touch. What would it be like to press your finger into the point of one? Would she instinctively bite down, or would she let you play with her a bit? You feel like either scenario could be interesting. You're about to start considering the sensitivity of her spines when you realize what you're doing and let out a muffled wail. You're fantasizing about her. She'd kill you in a heartbeat and that's your response? You don't have another explanation anymore.
You love her.
The dam breaks. You choke out a sob as tears well up. What's wrong with you? How could you have let this happen? You let your guard down and now it's too late. You cry for some time, retreading the same desperation, fear, and restrained desire over and over. You eventually let off enough pressure to function at a partial capacity, and check your computer. The email is still there, unsent. Still barely able to keep yourself together, you rewrite it. You just can't handle telling him right now. She'll only do it if you make her do it. You can just apologize and it'll be fine for now. You just have to apologize.
Hello, Mr. Mallard.
I have located the source of the problem. There is a break in the wiring behind the cell's interior microphone. However, I have an additional concern. SCP-939-268 is self-admittedly responsible for damaging the wire. The system needs to be reinforced against it in some way.
Thanks for your help,
He responds at an amazing speed. Mallard is likely the most reliable person you know. You've ended up routing your communications through him whenever possible. You hope he doesn't mind too much.
Thank you for the update, Dr. Garter.
The system should be repaired by Tuesday. SCP-939-268 will be sedated and moved to temporary containment during this time. Your duties will consequently be suspended tomorrow. Please enjoy your break, and use it as an opportunity to catch up on any other work you need to do. As for your other issue, we will enhance the system's casing as part of the maintenance cycle. SCP-939-268 periodically finds ways to damage its enclosure, and then we must adapt. This is a normal process.
Best wishes,
Well, that's going to be another hard day. But today, you have work to do. You tenderly get ready, trying not to press on your metaphorical wound. Then you have to go to her cell. It's a difficult walk, but you somehow don't cry in front of anyone. When you get there you practically throw yourself at her feet.
I'm sorry.
Great.
I am. I'm sorry for saying that. Let's forget that happened, please…
Wow, okay.
…Please?
…
I-I don't want to-
I'll back down.
…What?
I won't do the thing. It seems obvious that I don't need to.
…
We're definitely gonna keep being friends!
Are you not mad at me?
No. I was at first, but now I see what you're doing. Like recognizes like.
Huh?
You're lonely, you're desperate, and you're hungry for something you don't want to think about. You're practically the spitting image of Alex Avon.
Like you've moved on from that.
You-
I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Just ignore that too. Please.
…Whatever. Let's get back to the story. I'm gonna skip ahead here, though. I think we've had plenty of buildup, plus I don't think you were being a very good listener last night.
Sorr-
And I think this is my last chance with the wire cut~
It's been a few weeks. Your initial fear subsided as you convinced yourself you could hold the hunger in. You repaired your relationship with her, and broke new ground. And now, tonight is the night. Each of you wait for your parents to go to sleep, then steal away into the woods. You're the only ones around. You spent some time arguing over the location, but the woods appealed to you for some vague reason. Perhaps a part of you was preparing for what was to happen, even as you denied it. You've managed to convince her that the woods was the right call. You simply couldn't risk it anywhere else. You brought a blanket to lie on. The September air isn't yet chill enough to be an issue. Everything is in place.
You spy each other moving through the trees. Soon you're together, giggling with excitement and trepidation. It's the first time for both of you. You find a relatively flat patch, clear out offending sticks, and lay down the blanket. You each carefully undress. You've seen each other's bodies before, in furtive glimpses on the way home and image attachments in secret text chains. It's different now, though. You see each other as silhouettes in the dark, but there is no attempt to hide. You spend some time simply observing each others' forms. You move forwards. You've kissed before, too, but not like this. There's an urgency to your movements, both of you greedily trying to feel more of the other. It doesn't take long before you're on the blanket, tangling your limbs together. Neither of you expressed a particular interest in penetration, so you simply grind against each other. This is uncharted territory. It feels awkward, but you don't particularly care at the moment. Not when you finally have her. Your courtship was short and yet still impossible to endure. You wanted to have all of her, and you wanted it right that instant. Waiting any length-
Mph…
What?
…Nothing.
Melanie, you sound a little… breathy. You're not supposed to enjoy this. It's a tragic backstory.
Then why are you doing the damn voice?
I never said I didn't want you to do it.
Ugh.
It's here that you feel it again. You'd actually managed to forget about it for a little while. You're hungry. It's growing steadily, in sync with the rhythm of your grinding. You immediately move to get off her, but it takes a moment of tangled flailing. "What? What's wrong?" She asks worriedly. You don't answer. You just look at her. Her skin has a thin layer of sweat over it. Her chest moves quickly from the exertion. Her face isn't visible in the dark. You're so hungry. A silhouette is just enough abstraction. Your meat doesn't have a face. You're really, really hungry. You don't want to do this, but you want to feel it.
The first bite is always the best. Your teeth dig into her shoulder, cutting through the muscle with unlikely force. She screams. You bite down, pull, and rip. She's being too loud. The throat next. Satisfied with her screams turning to gurgles, you move to the main course. You put your weight on her, knocking her to the ground. Her head tries to lift to look at you, but there's too much of the neck missing. You don't know exactly when she dies, but it's right around when you start cracking her ribs. You beat your fist against her chest to break through, clawing open her skin and extracting the shattered pieces. You go straight for her heart. You dip your head into the hole you've created, reaching for it. The broken bones stab into your face, but you hardly notice. You grip her sides as you tear her heart out with your teeth. You're still chasing the high of the first bite, that release of tension. You feel alive. You feel incredibly alive. You're full to bursting with life. Yours as well as hers. Hers becomes yours. You lap up her life with her blood, and swallow it with her flesh. This time, you don't stop. You're past the point of caring. If you couldn't stop yourself from tearing into her, there's nothing you can stop yourself from when the time comes. You may as well accept it. You're a monster. You kill and eat people. You don't do it because you need to, but because it hurts too much to not do it. And because it feels too good to do it. Somehow, you eat most of her body. You leave the bones, although you do take the marrow out of some. You also leave the intestines and stomach. Nothing good there. You do crack open the skull for the brains, however. They really are pink.
You stand up and survey your sin. She's unrecognizable now. You find the nearest stream and do your best to wash the blood off. Your clothes are still clean, fortunately. You toss the blanket into the stream. It's not very well-hidden, but you have too much fresh blood in you to care. You leave her where she is and walk home. You get into bed, and your mother never notices you were gone.
She's not even reported missing for days. The search for her is half-hearted, some might even say intentionally half-assed. They never find a thing. You know why you got away with it, but at this point you don't have the heart left to care. There's a certain peace that comes with doing something truly terrible. You've tread where few dare. What's left to hold you back?
…Wow.
Y'know, I can hear it when you shift your body. Your clothes rustle.
…Huh?