Wonder Amongst Corpses - SCP Foundation

I recall I wept for the first couple minutes (or hours). Wondered if this was death and father was right. No heaven or hell or purgatory, just emptiness. What's the point? What does the endless struggle lead to? Quiet oblivion? No… No… I am a little ways off track. Better rewind the time. Prior to the fruits of my youth.

My earliest memory, or as early I can recall, is traveling with my old man and brother (or sister). Ma died a few years back along with the rest our history. I think. Although, maybe she abandoned us, or maybe she quietly tagged along? I lived longer than expected. The human mind was not meant for such longevity like my own. It’s gotten to the point where the line between memories and dreams blurs beyond recovery. I’m pretty sure there are a good amount of details long since faded. Nevertheless, certain pieces of my upbringing shall abandon me.

No matter how hard I try.

We marched onwards for weeks, if not months, nonstop to start anew. Going to a place of legend. Place where one both earns an honest days pay and lives a life of luxury. All over the country, rumors say such a paradise is there. Rumor say their crafts are absolute perfection. The bewildering claims were more solid: the evangelist distributed actual products from the place. Hell, even their dirt-cheap ham tasted like fireworks. No one was foolish enough to overlook the chance to work at such a business. It was for folk like ourselves to make the travel. From the lazy-slacker who desired a lofty life style. To the actual hard-workers who craved the challenge. Personally prefer to believe we were the latter.

Remembrance of the reason behind our movement were quite vague. Pa too prideful to tell why. Every time we asked, he only ever looked the other way, sometimes his fists would tighten. Instead he’d move the conversation to a verse from the Bible. During the nights I often hear him angrily mutter random phrases in his sleep about ma. The phrases Pa utter continued to echo in my mind to this very day.

“Wasn’t me who spilled false red. Damn the witch I killed in bed.”

Me and my bother (or sister) figure it be wiser to keep Father sleep mutters a secret. Ultimately that was a lifetime ago. My brother (or sister) rarely pester more than once a day. Usually about trivial matters no one else care for. A single unsettling glare was enough to end any curiosity on his (or her) part. I was the more rebellious and chaotic sibling. I'd talk the night away over personal questions and inappropriate affairs. It took a good spanking or two to dampen me

My mind was quite one-sided over whatever questions came to me. No one could blame me, I mean most days were just traveling an empty desert and reading the good book. My mind wanders from time to time. Sometime I thought I saw something bizarre like a metallic snake to drunken lady of greenery. Then again, maybe I did. I cannot recount my age at the time, but I was shorter than the horses legs. We will say four for simplicity sake. Regardless a child needs variety stay awake. It was a period when pestering all that matters, for pestering was the bread and butter of my daily life. With the Bible being a good cup of joe during the latter half.

The closest the three of us ever got were during service. I still recall some those lesson like: “Call upon me on the day of trouble; I shall rescue you, and you will honor Me.” Father made sure to use a thundering voice whenever he reference a verse. Father would educate us on a couple pages from the book. It was the only time I ever saw father smile. He claimed it was because he was teaching us about the lord.

My brother (or sister) often whispered a different story to me. How it was the only time Pa got be smart. Then be followed by belittling father intelligent. claiming father knew nothing about birds or the sea or sand or even farming. He (or she) often claim mother would have done it right. I never figured out what that meant.

Or maybe I figure thing out, only to purposely forget. Highly likely. Considering what happened to us. I prefer to remember them in the best light.

Eventually the three of us arrived at our predestinate mortal heaven. The outer structures were breathtaking, simply breathtaking. Even after all these centuries and travels I have yet to find an equal. I dare not mock such architectural master-piece with a parody of a description. Words alone, regardless how scholarly are not capable of illustrating the mystical sights I glazed upon. There was a unforgettable and unreliable music be heard the closer we got. Easily succeeded the talents of both Mozart and Beethoven. I swear, my lips form the largest smile as we walk through the entrance. Every ounce of childhood wonder embraces the beautiful intoxicating aura. It flourished in the atmosphere like a bouquet of spring flowers.

Entrance was impossible large. As we got close I wonder if those doors reached the clouds? Or perchance was the hole size of a mountain? I only saw and would ever see the entrance once in my entire life. For a brief moment we considered it heaven.

Alas reality unveiled itself.

It was actually a Venus Fly Trap masked as Bluebonnets. We realize the truth too late. Regardless, the very second our feet step inside, was the second our souls were forsaken. Once inside the delusion forever shattered. That fact reinforced by several tall men, all of whom beat us with heavy iron and strong wood. Aimed at the torso and legs. They actively avoided of the head and arms. Not from a thread of mercy, their sadistic laughter clarified how minor their humanity was, but because they still required operable meat.

After the sudden thrashing, we take our place in a average work line. Their skin stained color red, eyes were yellow as the sand outside, broken hands continued claw away even when nothing was before them. The picture was quite clear. We were now another concomitant part in a soulless machine, conceal inside a world of thick rust and of dry blood and of boiling oil. The factory provided us the bare minimum. Comforts were few and far between. They fed us a single rat per day, and didn't bother to deliver it cooked or killed. We were all forced to sleep together in a single pile, which was an impossibility given the loud noise and cramped conditions. Offered one restroom break per day, we only ever wore a single attire.

Children weren’t spared from this cruelty. Minus a single class, where me and other young could be educated on our task. My education was learning how create things. I don’t remember the class very well. The science was either too complex or too unorthodox. Somehow I subconsciously connected the dots. Soon enough, I am able to use magic without care. Don’t know how I do, I just do, like instinct or a reflex. failed to pick up the techniques was left to rot.

The beaters were by far the worse part. They love their wipes, and their bats, and blades. Hitting us whenever the opportunity came. However they love torment a guy like me the most. Many workers were born, raised, and would perish here. I was different, I came from the outside world, I knew what I was being denied. They knew it too. They love telling what I was missing out on. Eating delicious burger before my eyes as they stomped on my stomach. Their favorite part was getting other slaves to attack me. It didn’t take much to provoke them, other slaves were downright livid over my presence, I’m unsure as to why though. If I had to guess, it is because I seemed stupid to them, being an outsider who blindly tossed aside his freedom over a lousy rumor. I had the life they craved and were denied from birth, yet ended up here by choice.

Ironically their disdain became my survival.

Usually when a worker suffers an injury, they were left to fend for themselves. I, however, was given actual medical attention, something withheld from the beaters. Out of pity or sadistic pressure, the doctor informed me of the reason behind the special treatment. Apparently Anderson noticed how productive his slaves operated following my inflictions. The jovial mentality resulting my pain, or “atonement” as they phrase as, what renewed their spirits. Anderson was quick to exploit an easy profit. I soon received exclusive benefits. Rats were cooked, I was allowed to sleep alone, as well as continuous physical treatment. Of course the rest of the factory slaves would learn about these perks by Anderson himself. He used whispers to depict me as smug and egotistical over them. Word travel fast from ear to ear like wild fire.

The suffocating livid air choked the lungs. Reached my own brother (or sister) who was engulfed by the factory wraith. That one became an effective beater, who loved to hit wherever he (or she) could. That one relished the sound of crackling bones and unfathomable screams. There was nothing left of my sibling. Just a monster wearing his (or her) skin.

It was father who truly destroyed me. Me and my brother (or sister) stop aging. No, more accurately our aging slowed to an unnoticeable level. I looked thirteen when I was sixty? Brother (or sister) looked twenty when he (or she) was sixty-five? Father, though? Was ninety and looked ninety, and far worse for wear. I was allowed a brief moment say goodbye. Can’t recall much, but the last bit the encounter shall forever haunt me.

“Father! Father!” I cried.

“I am sorry… So sorry.” He remarks.

“Don’t… Don’t say that dad. This is not your fault, okay? You did not know this would happen.”

“No… No… I am sorry for telling you fairy tales. For deluding you… With nonsense. I… I should have known… It's all gibberish.”

“What?”

“The book… Is a lie. God is a lie. Do not mistake… My words… God not dead, for… He never alive to began with…”

“…” I pause at those words. They shook me to the core. The last statement dampened what spark of a soul was left in those eyes. “Dad? D… Don’t…”

“Why not? How could… a god allow this? This nightmare, this pain… This evil? There is no god… I filled your head with nonsense… Forgive me…”

Father’s eyes closed one final time. The coldness in that final stare burned into my mind, I see it whenever I close my eyes. With that, the final piece of my soul faded away. I was no longer capable of finding a spark of life within me. No matter how hard I tried, I wouldn’t smile again. Whatever glimpse of happiness left then engulfed by the darkness. Leaving merely a shell of a man. Beatings grew worse and worse by the day. Wiping, the taunts, and hatred increase rapidly without end.

You may be wondering by now how I escaped?

What elaborate plan was forge to save me?

To be frank, your guess is as good as mine. For we go back to the start this tale, where I awakened in the dark. I had nothing, but the remaining cloth still clung to my skin. I could barely move more than a twitch at a time. I was forced to utilize the other senses to comprehend the environment. My ears were as good as my eyes. The surroundings reek of a scent of rotten meat. My entire body rubbed up against something thick and moist. Suddenly I realize the truth, surrounding me were corpses, faceless slaves tossed aside like myself.

I am clueless as to the whys and hows I got there. All I knew is that it took a a ton of effort to wiggle forward, and that was all there was to do. The longer I wiggled, the harder it got, eventually the effort require became too much. Part of me was semi-thankful for all the experience of torment Anderson had given me. It helped thicken my skin and increase my durability. Otherwise the lack of oxygen and tight shape would’ve been a death sentence.

The other part of me is still absolutely livid. Perchance this ending suited me, and I was just wasting time struggling in vain. In the end I thought I was destined to perish amongst the deceased. I couldn’t think of a single reason why I was better than the faceless corpses around me. Not like anyone actually cared about me. I had nothing to cling to and nowhere to go. Everyone I cherished was already gone, in more ways than one. So why continue?

For the longest time I lay still and waiting for the peace.

That sweet, peaceful oblivion.

Suddenly when the mind surrendered to the nihilism, but that’s when I heard it. “Call upon me on the day of trouble…” I recalled those words of encouragement. The very words my pa told me long, long ago. The words of my savior whispers to me. I had long since forsaken him however he did not forsaken me. “Call upon me on the day of trouble…” The phrase repeatedly sang to me.

Telling me, no demanding me forward. To grasp the last once of strength to finally regain control of my life. Naturally I wiggled and dug and clawed forth. The only alternative was to embrace madness, and I had been doing that long enough.

Arms reached onward with minimum meat or muscle. Used what little spirit remained within me to peel the decayed fresh. The rotted bones snap upon my grip. Blood leaked into my mouth for every movement. At a certain point my fingernails started to rip-off. Whole body driven purely on adrenaline. There is no light, air has gone thinner, and the body grows heavier. I crawled for what felt like centuries upon centuries.

Nevertheless, the idea of death refuses to stick anymore. Maybe a part of me desired to live after all. Or maybe deep down I desired to perish on my own terms? Regardless, I was determined to never allow others to shape my fate ever again..

Finally, after god knows how long, my fingertips felt sand. Not meat, but sand, warm desert sand. They scratch the crust until they pierce through the ground. I allow my hand to grasp the empty air for a while, idea of the outdoor a distance memory so I hadn’t a clue what to expect. Yet I knew I needed seize it. Right arm reached out to touch my left hand. Once both palms touch one another, I pull them down with whatever force is still within me. Rushed to the surface like a rocket causing the ground to explode.

It was midday, the sun shines down on me, providing a warmth I haven't felt in years. The soft breeze stroked my chin. Meanwhile my lungs took in every bit of the fresh air. My eyes poured a rainstorm and arm continuously attempted to hug the cold gush of wind. I did it… After so many years, I… I was saved. It then the entirety of the verse stated. “Call upon me on the day of trouble; I shall rescue you, and you will honor Me.”

Took a minute till the dust settled and the honeymoon success wore-off. I recognized the situation, I was right back to square one, only worse off. I managed to escape The Factory, but now what? I had nothing, not even a name. My family is all gone. There is no home to return to. My sole possession was the filthy wore-out attire barely clinging to me. I had no semblance of joy or happiness inside. I asked both myself and the lord: “What now?”

There was a soft noise of rolling broken wood behind me. Eyes glance to the source, it looked like a traveling sign demolished in a heavy storm. Half of it busted, other half missing. The pieces I could recognize was the tip of a red arrow pointing north, with a single word: “Marshall”.

I nodded and understood. With that I had a name and a direction. With that I took a step forward.

…

“Okay, that's enough for tonight.” A pale man in a black attire got up from his wooden Chair. He possessed a deep rough southern accent. He stood-up and reached towards the light-switch to call it a night. “Now get some sleep, Abigale.”

“What?” Abigale asked in confusion. She was a bizarre little girl in every sense of the term. Tall as a pillow, had blue skin, her freckles were stars that dimly glowed, downward curry metallic hair, pitch-black eyes with soft neon pupils, two sharp points on both ears, and cherry nose and cheeks. Her voice was like a warm summer, full of jovial energy with a southern accent. “What happened next? What happened next? What happened next?”

Abigale Wondertainment

By John Asknes

“I walked. Duh.”

“No, no, ah’ mean where to? It can’t just end like that! You tell me you endure all that, and end the story there? Are you kidding me?”

“What happens next is another story, for another time. Right now we have a lot to do tomorrow. Lots of toys for good boys and sweet girls. We need to get plenty of shut-eye.”

“Man! Ah’ really wanna know.”

“Tell you what. If you help me make the quarter tomorrow, I will tell you how I became Dr. Marshall Wondertainment.”

“It’s a done deal, pa!”

Marshall stood by the door frame when hearing those words. The words from the adopted blue child he considered his own. He desired to reward her with a smile or express return some affection back, but instead could only muster a small nod with a straight face.

heh

He left quickly afterward. He didn't want to face sweet Abigale's frown. The toymaker would be ashamed by the transaction, if he had any emotion that is. In the end, despite all the years and hardship the wounds never healed. No, they grew deeper and deeper and deeper.

heh heh heh ah aH AH

The hollow man sat down beside an empty table. He began to feel the shackles of life grip him again. “You do not own me.” He whimpered.

AH AH AH AH AH AH AH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Dr Marshall Wondertainment

By John Asknes