teacher and laughing jeers snapped off as the door swung shut 
behind him. Feet pounding down the empty, wide halls. The grey 
tile, the dented lockers, it all seemed mocking in its normalcy, a 
panting whine escaping his lips as he scrambled to the bathroom. 
There was noise somewhere down the hall, shouts of command, but 
all he could hear was blood slamming in his ears as he all but fell 
inside, tearing open a stall door and collapsing on the toilet lid, 
gasping. He was vaguely aware of a voice very much like his own, 
but too high and laced with weeping, muttering “nononono” like 
some nonsense charm. He looked down at the fist in his lap, 
shivering like some spooked animal. The fingers rolled open, slowly, 
as if pried open by an unseen force. Voices outside, questioning, 
confused yet commanding. It meant nothing, not now, as his palm 
finally came into view. 


The skin of his palm split bloodlessly, bulging at the sides, as a 
poisonously green, watery eye rolled forward to stare with broken 
pupil at him from the prison of his flesh. As his screams elicited a 
matching reply from outside his stall, the oozing pupil dilated with 
pleasure. 


Smoker 


Will couldn’t explain his own nervousness as he stepped out the 
back door, across his simple lawn. His children had come to him 
many times, perturbed by the animals they encountered in the 
woods behind the house. He would follow, stepping away from his 
easel, and explain. “That deer isn’t dying, that’s just part of how his 
horns grow back in. This frog is fine, the tail means she’s in between 
being a tadpole and a frog.” 


Each explanation had satisfied them, and he had been able to return 
to work, letting them play in the yard where he could keep an eye on 
them. But he’d never heard a note of terror like this in their voices. 
Worry, yes, curiosity, yes. But Yvette shook so hard he couldn't 
keep his arms around her, and barely spoke in a whisper as tears 
streamed down her cheek. Gregor had felt cold to the touch, fingers 
clenched into little fists. 


Will had gone out to see this “Devil bird” that had terrified them, 
feeling a little foolish for being afraid in the daylight. Overcast 
daylight, to be sure, but daylight none the less. Just a bird. He could 
see the tree they had said it was perching on from here, a tall giant 
with a leafless crown. Despite his heavy jacket, he shuddered, not 
from the chill, oddly quiet air. Something was unsettling him. His feet 
crunched in the frost covered grass as he rounded the tree. There it 
was, a little sparrow sitting on a branch. Nothing to fear. 


The bird turned its head, cocking it at him as he studied it. The 
children had seen plenty of sparrows, and he didn’t see why this one 
had startled them so. He took a step closer, to get a better look. The 
bird croaked at him, not the tweeting note he expected, but a harsh 
organic sound. It shuddered, the feathers of its breast puffing as it 
choked and shifted from foot to foot. He reached towards it, and the 
head snapped up, beak opening to release plumes of smoke. 


Will swore, jerking back as it twitched madly on the branch, the 
smoke condensing, settling down around it in thick strands. Its dark 


eye seemed to fog over from within, covered in grey and red. He felt 
his gorge rising as the bird's beak began to rip, mandibles opening 
impossibly wide to reveal something deep and dark. Inside he could 
see glittering eyes, and the first of eight legs starting to poke out of 
the newly torn hole in the world... 


direction, the video equipment falling to the ground and recording in 
a skyward direction. The last moments of footage from DI1's video 
unit display a humanoid figure moving through the air followed by 
the sound of an impact in the same direction. Within three seconds 
of this event an unknown creature steps upon the recording video 
equipment and destroys it. 


Perimeter Control remained on high alert for a full 24 hours at all 
locations without any incident following this event. 


Proceed to next document, SCP-610-L3 


The Asylum 


My friends and | used to do a lot of geocaching after our senior year 
in high school. For those who don’t know what geocaching is, it’s 
essentially a worldwide scavenger hunt. People will select sites and 
conceal a “geo-cache” somewhere unobtrusive, then post GPS 
coordinates on geocaching websites where other searchers can 
download the cords and locate the cache. Usually, people who have 
found the object (often it’s a chest or something hollow) will leave a 
note or small personal memento for future searchers to find and 
appreciate. 


There are several types of geocaches, and most of them are 
thematic in nature (i.e. scenic destinations, romantic sites, hard-to- 
reach areas, etc.) This story begins when my friends and | decided 
to try a series of purportedly haunted locales within about an hour’s 
drive of our hometown. It began innocently enough—most of the 
sites had “spooky” backstories that were, of course, entirely 
fabricated. So we had a great time scaring the piss out of each other 
and generally creeping ourselves out. 


We'd begun searching after the sun had set to enhance the creep 
factor, but by around midnight, most of our large group had dwindled 
off and gone their separate ways. When we reached our last coord, 
there was just myself, Rebecca, Kevin, and Evan left, and we were 
determined to knock it off our list. 


Rebecca was our guide for the night, in charge of putting in the 
coordinates and reading us the backstory behind each site. So, 
while | drove, she began reading about the last one out loud to the 
rest of us. Now, I’m paraphrasing here, but it was something along 
the lines of: 


“Henckel Asylum: constructed in the early 1900's, the James 
Henckel Asylum was built to house a burgeoning population of the 
criminally insane. Men who had committed vile crimes (rape, 
murder, torture) without signs of remorse were deemed mentally 


unstable and sent to this facility for further study and rehabilitation. 
Once committed, very few criminals were ever released back into 
society, and those that were usually had been given frontal 
lobotomies (a popular experimental procedure at the time) or 
electroshock therapy, both of which rendered the patient nearly 
braindead, capable of performing only rudimentary tasks. 


Stories: Contemporary visitors to the Asylum report hearing banging 
noises, cell doors opening and closing, and hearing cackling 
laughter that is abruptly cut short.” 


It was pretty standard fare compared to the rest of the sites we’d 
visited that night, and we naturally had a good time psyching each 
other out for the next fifteen minutes while | drove us to the Asylum. 
We'd all heard about it (it was in our local area after all) and we 
knew it had been condemned and abandoned since as long as any 
of us could remember, so we figured it'd be a great place to run 
around and be reckless teenagers without risk of getting yelled at by 
the cops. 


When we finally arrived, it looked like something straight out of one 
of those cheesy B-movies they show on SyFy. Chain link fence with 
barbed wire around the perimeter, two guard towers flanking the 
main gate (which was, of course, chained and locked shut with a big 
NO TRESPASSING sign hanging from it). The asylum itself was 
decrepit, looking like it hadn’t been touched for decades—which was 
surprising, since we grew up in a pretty nice area, where the 
municipal lawmakers tried to keep everything looking spiffy for the 
tourists. 


Needless to say, we promptly ignored the sign on the front gate and 
hauled ourselves over, cameras and GPS in hand, and walked 
towards the asylum. Now, given our attitude towards the previous 
sites, you've probably gathered that I’m somewhat of a skeptic. | 
believe that there are paranormal things that can’t be explained (yet) 
but I’m not exactly summoning demons in front of a bathroom mirror. 
So when we opened the main door to the asylum (conveniently 
unlocked), | dismissed the cold burst of wind as just stale pent-up air 
rushing out after being trapped inside for so long. My friends’ 
bravado, however, quickly disappeared and they began shuffling 
their feet nervously at the entrance, hesitant to cross that invisible 


threshold. 


| took point, chivvying them along with prodding taunts and 
eventually everyone was inside. It wasn’t as bad as | thought it'd be. 
Things were relatively clean, and the entire building looked like it 
had been gutted. The paint was peeling, tiles popping up here and 
there, and the metal trim near the baseboards of the wall was in 
desperate need of some Rust-B-Gone, but aside from that, the place 
was entirely empty. No crazy-ass chairs with leather straps, no 
gurneys lying haphazardly around, just an old reception desk and 
two hallways leading off to the different wings. 


We explored for a few minutes, freaking ourselves out whenever we 
heard an old pipe rattle or rat squeak, but otherwise, it was relatively 
uneventful. Our fears safely suppressed by the presence of each 
other, we began to get more adventurous, opening doors and 
peeking inside. The rooms were all empty, of course. Whatever 
company had been contracted to clear the place out did a pretty 
decent job of removing any creepy décor. 


Bravado returning by the minute, Evan and Kevin dropped back 
without Rebecca or me noticing. They began running around, 
making noises to try and scare us (I’m not gonna lie, it worked until | 
realized they were gone and probably the cause of all the racket), 
then returned laughing and breathless to a decidedly paler Rebecca. 
She seemed to be a lot more put off by the whole place than the rest 
of us, or at least she didn’t hide it as well. She quietly suggested we 
leave. 


Not to be outdone by the other guys of the group, | told her she was 
more than welcome to wait in the car if she wanted, but | was gonna 
stick around for a few more minutes. Exasperated, but defeated, she 
finally caved and followed us where the GPS was leading—the 
second floor. 


This is where | started to feel genuinely scared. Before, | was just 
kinda creeped out, but there was something about that whole floor 
that literally gave me shivers, despite it being a warm summer night. 
We started opening doors like before, but we were all a lot more 
sober about it. | guess | wasn’t the only one who was feeling weird. 
Finally, about midway through the hall, we opened the door to a 


room, and there, lying in the middle of the floor, was an honest-to- 
god straightjacket. I’m not bullshitting you, every other room was 
devoid of objects, but there it was. A fucking straightjacket, in the 
middle of the floor of some random-ass room in a condemned 
mental asylum. We all kinda looked at each other with raised 
eyebrows, as if to say “Uh... guys? You seeing what I’m seeing?” 


And of course, trying to be a macho man to show off for Rebecca, 
piped up with the most ridiculous idea | could think of at the time. 


“Dude, I’m gonna put it on.” 


Years of horror flicks and creepypasta should have trained me to 
NOT put on the creepy straightjacket, in the creepy hall, in the 
creepy asylum. But teenage dumbfuckery won over, and once the 
words were out, | couldn’t just wuss out. 


Nobody said anything, they just kinda looked at me expectantly, 
waiting to see if I’d follow through with my boast. Determined not to 
be called a pussy for the remainder of the night, | walked forward 
into the room and bent down to pick up the moth-ridden restraining 
device. As | got closer though, | noticed it wasn’t moth-ridden at all, 
but was actually in pretty decent condition (that is, compared to the 
rest of the place, which as I’ve mentioned, was a shambles). | mean, 
it had a few stains here and there, but it didn’t really smell and it 
seemed intact enough to put on. 


As soon as | picked it up, though, | got this overwhelming sense of 
dread. You know, that drop in the pit of your stomach right as you go 
over the lip of a roller coaster? That feeling, in the bottom of your gut 
that says “I’m gonna die, | just know it.” 


Yeah, well | got that. Really strong. And totally ignored it. My desire 
not to die was outweighed, as it often is in teenagers, by my need to 
look cool for my friends. So | slipped my hands in the sleeves, one 
at a time, until it hung loosely from my shoulders. 


Now, if you’ve ever seen a Straightjacket, you know that you can’t tie 
it up yourself. The whole point is to essentially cross your arms 
across your chest and tie the sleeves behind your back to prevent 
whoever’s inside from moving their arms (presumably, to stop them 


from hurting themselves or others). So as | stood there in the middle 
of the room, | called out to Rebecca, “Hey Becca, help me tie this 
thing off.” 


She looked (if you’ll excuse the pun) pale as a ghost, but she 
managed to squeak out, “I don’t... | don’t think this is a good idea...” 
But again, after some prodding and encouraging, | convinced her to 
begin tying the sleeves behind my back. Evan and Kevin just stood 
in the doorway, expressions a mix of admiration and incredulity. At 
that point in time, | felt like a badass. 


For about three seconds. 


As soon as Rebecca finished up the last lace, the door to the cell 
slammed shut, right in Kevin and Evan's faces. | never felt a breeze, 
and when | asked them later, both of them fervently denied closing it 
themselves. Skeptic that | am, | still chalk it up to us leaving the front 
door open and changing air pressures and all that. But it scared the 
piss out of us nonetheless. 


Then | felt a pressure on my chest, like someone was sitting on it (or 
as if someone was pulling the sleeves tighter behind me) and it 
began to get harder to breathe. | couldn’t even summon enough air 
to whisper, much less call out for help. My vision narrowed to tiny 
specks, and | swear | heard someone laughing shrilly as | neared 
unconsciousness. The pressure increased with a sudden tug, and 
my world went black. 


When | woke up, my vision was foggy. Or at least, | thought it was, 
until | realized it wasn’t just foggy. It was dark. Like staring through a 
lens that’s been collecting soot. | blinked a few times, and the 
darkness waivered, but didn’t dissipate. Now, I’ve passed out and 
blacked out before, but whenever | woke up, it was nothing like that. 
Either my vision gradually cleared up, or it was blurry, but never in 
my life have | been able to recreate the shadowy haze | saw in the 
asylum that night. Then, from the murky depths, two small pinpoints 
of light appeared a few inches in front of my face, glaring a lurid red 
—and a dim echo of the laughter | heard before surrounded me. As 
soon as they appeared, however, they were replaced by two brilliant 
shafts of incandescence—Evan and Kevin, shining flashlights down 
on my face. 


The last thing | remember hearing before | lost consciousness was 
Rebecca’s scream and the door banging open, which probably 
explains why those two were standing over me with flashlights in 
hand. | gradually became aware of a dull murmur that | recognized 
as Rebecca asking me, “Please wake up, please please please 
wake up,” as she shook me. She just kept saying it over and over 
again, kept sobbing and shaking me. 


When my vision cleared enough, | glanced over and saw that her 
eyes were completely red, like she’d been crying for a while. Trying 
to muster some shred of manliness, | found myself speaking in a 
surprisingly calm voice, given how | was actually feeling. | remember 
distinctly what | said, word for word. 


“Get those fucking flashlights out of my face, you douchebags.” 


Expecting a laugh or at least some reciprocal insults, | was kinda 
shocked when they just looked at each other quizzically, seemingly 
surprised.