My Little SCP Foundation: Horror is Magic

The only signs of life were the flies, cockroaches, and spiders. The flies were buzzing around the dead body I occasionally saw on the side of the long corridors, particularly interested in the yellow, bloody bone jutting out of the victims' neck. The stench was overwhelming, undoubtedly SCP-173's doing. The cockroaches were less eager to make their presence known, scurrying about whenever I walked pass them. The spiders hanged nonchalantly on the walls and ceiling, their webs littering the facility from top to bottom.

The SCP Foundation was a maze. A dark, lonely, gray maze. I had no sense of direction; the only things I saw were the two long corridor walls, stretching on down, down, down. Just when I thought I was making progress, something happened and I figured out I was just walking in circles. Frustration and anger was contaminating my brain, almost to the verge of giving up.

And then I remembered the reason why I wasn't giving up. The picture. I had it. It was safe. For the hundredth time, I reached down and patted my pocket, just to be sure it was still there. It was, and I sighed out of relief. I took it out, and shined my flashlight (which I obtained by the guard's locker room; sadly, there was no camcorder around.) on it. My lips curled into a smile, and I was instantly filled with a nostalgic feeling. The picture showed a scene of me, my son (Connor), and my wife. All in happier days.

It was taken by a kind stranger on the seat in front of us, on a bus. We had just came out of the station, and Connor was licking an ice cream cone, which was strawberry flavored. He had a look of curiosity and wonder as he goofily looked at the pink cream. It must have been his first time trying strawberry. Me and Sarah were sitting around him. I was whispering something into her ear. I couldn't remember what I had said, but it must have been a joke. She was in mid-laugh, and her hand was around my back. We were all happy.

The nostalgia slowly drained out, replaced by a feeling of grief.

My son is living a damned life. No father or mother. After Sarah died, I tried to fix his wounded heart. Look where that got me.

A lump started to form in my throat.

He deserves better. He deserves better than a lousy, stubborn father like me. He deserves a father who can make him happy without being arrested! I was such an idiot. How did he live with me all those-

My self-pitiesh thoughts were cut short as the sudden sound of a door opening abruptly sliced the silence of the hall. I reacted quickly, turning around and shining my flashlight down the somber hall. I carefully tucked the precious photo back into its respectable place in my pocket.

Nothing moved, and nothing made another sound. Until I blinked.

SCP-173 was instantly feet away from me. I flinched, the big, bulging green eyes staring at my own. Its hands were bloody, and it had bullet holes all over it.

Must have been pretty busy.

However, instead of being terrified, a smile slowly surfaced on my face. I had been preparing for this moment. As I was walking through the maze-like facility, I devised a plan in my mind in case I ever ran into my concrete friend again.

I started to walk backwards, my eyes never leaving its hideous, lifeless green orbs. The more I walked backwards, the more SCP-173 started to disappear into the darkness of the never ending corridors walls, until he finally was no longer visible. A couple seconds passed, and I still kept at it. Backing up, never taking my eyes off the spot where SCP-173 is sure to be hiding. That was the plan. The chamber was deathly silent, the only sound my foot steps hitting on the hard, tile floor.

My eyes started to water. I knew that I was long enough away from the concrete statue I could blink without him coming too close, but I kept on walking backwards, just in case. When my eyes started to burn, I picked up the pace and jogged further into the unknown.

When I couldn't hold it any longer, I let myself blink. Hard, and quick. When I opened my eyes, SCP-173 was standing there, but not close enough to get a hold of me. As I kept jogging, he disappeared from view again. I started to run backwards, when my back bumped against a hard, steel wall. Without delay, I quickly turned the doorknob, still looking into the dark abyss. After a couple seconds of fumbling with the all-of-a-sudden-very-complicated door handle, I finally got it to turn. I slipped into the other side, closed the door, and let out a sigh of relief.

I let my hand travel down to my pocket. I needed the reassurance and comfort that photo gave to me. My fingers reached into the shallow prison-pants pocket,

and found nothing there.

My heart skipped a beat. Or maybe two. I digged deeper in my pocket, searching the small place desperately. Nothing. I tried my other pocket. Still nothing.

Oh, shit.

My heartbeat quickened to impossibly rapid speeds, and I began to sweat. Panting, I looked out of the thin vertical window of the door I was leaning against. I saw nothing. However, when I whipped out my flashlight, I saw the prized photograph on the ground, about thirty feet away. I sighed with relief.

Then I blinked.

SCP-173 was instantly over the photo. His hard concrete foot stabbed into the weak, thin paper. The statue's bulging eyes were staring at me now, and I was pretty sure green was my least favorite color now.

I am going to get that photo. Right now.

I figured that SCP-173 dragged itself across the floor, evident by the infamous sound that I heard whenever he was near. I looked down at his left foot, the photograph almost torn by the concrete limb. I had to act fast, otherwise he'll move again and rip the weak paper beyond repair. But that meant I couldn't blink until I reached the photo.

I don't care.

I slammed the door open, and bolted towards SCP-173. The cold and dusty wind that whipped past me as I went stung my eyes, but I didn't care. After about three seconds of running my heart out, I stopped right in front of the statue. I bent down, never taking my eyes off the tannish concrete skin, and slipped the almost-torn paper from his leg. It all happened so fast, and so easy.

And then my eyes stung.

A lot.

More than I had ever imagined they could. I needed to get out of there, fast. The door was too far away to get to while running backwards without blinking. I couldn't go there.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a big, black door. The sign in front of it read "Level 3 Personnel Only." The beginning was blacked out from the shadows. Without thinking, I jogged towards the door, my eyes watering even more.

I opened the heavy door, dashed through the open gateway, and closed it. I then slammed my eyes shut, tears slowly surfacing. My eyes felt like they were dipped in a puddle of acid. I kept my eyes closed as long as they needed to be. I could feel the acid-feeling slowly drain away,

Then the glass on the door shattered. I quickly opened my eyes, but I wasn't early enough for SCP-173 to not wrap its arms around my neck. The bulging green eyes was inches, no. Centimeters from my face.

I screamed, then pushed my way out of its grasp. My neck was stinging, from the coldness of the statue's touch, and the agonizing pain that was taking place where it had touched the tender skin. I stared up at SCP-173, and discovered it had somehow broke the window on the door. It was now peering down at me, green eyes full of hatred and contempt.

I scrambled backwards, the close encounter pumping a late adrenaline into my veins.

"Get the hell away from me!" I yelled, as I threw a wild punch in its wake.

Before I knew it, I heard a sickening crunch, and excruciating pain shot through my wrist. I yelped, and pulled my hand back, eyes squinting at the abomination in front of me. I brought my hand up into my view for closer inspection. I never moved my gaze from the statue.

Turns out I punched the steel door, and maybe even a little of the broken glass. I didn't know what was broken, but it was certainly something in my wrist. My right hand throbbed with pain, and it felt like a childhood bruise, only intensified. I started to pant, the overwhelming frustration, pain, and wanting for revenge gripping my mind.

"Someday," I promised to myself out loud, "I'm going to kick your ass."

Then I blinked. I heard an explosion of metal and steel, and the door flew from its frame, revealing SCP-173, standing right there, its bulging eyes unmoving. It stood right, smack dab in the center of the only exit.

And it looked like it wanted revenge, also.

I scrambled into the corner of the room, holding my stinging wrist with my left hand. I turned my head side to side, searching for an escape, without taking my eyes off the concrete menace. After a couple seconds of doing this, I found a big, silver machine in the back of the room. It looked like a rectangle, and stood about seven feet tall, and twelve feet across. There were two doors, one on each side of the long machine. I figured the scientists used it for teleportation experiments. Sure, it sounded crazy, but I had seen them run experiments before. One Class-D Personnel would enter one door, and come out the other, after the press of the button. I figured I could probably get in there, blink to make the statue move, teleport to the other door, then run out while it was still wondering where I went.

I smiled. It wasn't likely that it'll work, but it was worth a shot. With a quick pat on my pocket to ensure the safety of my beloved photo, I jogged towards the first door, my stinging right wrist now in extraordinary pain. I stepped into the porta-potty-like interior, then closed the door. It was dark, and dusty.

And that was as far as I planned.

I facepalmed at my own stupidity.

What the hell was I thinking? Someone has to push the button on the other side! How do I forget these things, honestly?

My thoughts were cut short as I started vibrating. I wobbled forward and back, and almost lost my balance. The machine around me hummed to life. Did somebody press the button?

As if answering my question, SCP-173 appeared right in front of me the moment I blinked. My cockiness of that fact that he couldn't get me was replaced with dread as I put the pieces together.

SCP-173 pressed it. It could open doors, so why not do something as simple as pressing a button?

This was bad.

Whatever it was, if SCP-173 wanted it to be done, it was bad.

I stared into the green eyes, horrified. My mouth made shapes and an occasional grunt or whimper came out, but no words were formed. I was too shocked to even speak. Too shocked and too angry. The machine shook myself even more, vibrating and humming.

After about five seconds of this, I finally got enough wits to articulate a word.

"You..." I started, but didn't finish. My vision went black.

I felt myself being thrown, tossed, and turned abruptly and sharply. The sudden stretches and flattening of my body sent agonizing pain throughout my entire being, especially my burning wrist. The frustration of my vision suddenly going black on me was big now, considering I couldn't even see what was going on. I heard sounds; they were human sounds, but they were all flung together and was unintelligible. The craziness kept going. And going. And going. I felt like I was going to throw up, but I couldn't. It was like I couldn't do anything about it.

I wasn't in control anymore.

Then, everything ceased. The tossing, the turning, the flinging, and the voices all stopped at the same time. Silence.

A single, feminine voice cut through the peacefulness.

It said: "What are you?"

Then I blacked out.