Jawn 11
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2/4245 LEVEL 2/4245
CLASSIFIED
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Item #: SCP-4245
Euclid

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A trail within SCP-4245.


Special Containment Procedures: A 55-kilometer exclusion area has been organized around SCP-4245's area of effect and is to be monitored at all times. Non-foundation personnel attempting to enter SCP-4245's area of effect are to be detained immediately. Class-A amnestics are to be provided to those who encounter SCP-4245-1, this includes Foundation staff.


Description: SCP-4245 is a 50-kilometer section of Redwood National Park in Northern California which is currently occupied by three spectral humanoid entities. The entities, henceforth collectively designated SCP-4245-1, will actively seek out humans who enter into their zone of effect between the hours of 5 to 8 pm. SCP-4245-1 resemble middle-aged, male humans wearing clothing similar to those of 19th-century gold-miners.1

When a human enters SCP-4245, SCP-4245-1 will attempt to lead their targets to a secluded cabin in the center of their area of effect. Subsequent interviews on prior targets have shown them to be traumatized, incoherent, and/or hostile while recalling their experiences.


Addendum One — Discovery


SCP-4245 was discovered after a husband called the police after his wife, Margerie Addams, exited the forest in a state of shock. The police conducted an investigation early the next day but did not discover anything conclusive. The same night, Addams experienced a paranoid breakdown after her husband asked what she wanted for dinner, and was quickly hospitalized in a local psychiatric ward.

Law enforcement then became targets of SCP-4245-1 during their second investigation. The Foundation intervened upon the recovery of the affected officers, who were all found in a similar state to Addams.

Subsequent interviews with affected law enforcement officers determined the approximate area of SCP-4245-1's effect. Amnestics were provided to all affected parties; their conditions improved and check-ups are to be conducted monthly. The Foundation marked a perimeter around SCP-4245 and Project Lead Dr. Quincin ordered a D-Class expedition into the anomaly.


Addendum Two — Primary Investigation


D-606173 was given a standard body camera, Foundation woodland survival bag, and a GPS tracker. He was ordered to enter into SCP-4245 at 6:02 PM, below is a transcript of his investigation.

«BEGIN LOG»

(D-606173's body camera flickers on, showing a previously undocumented trail with thick foliage and redwoods lining against it. Notably, the sound of wind and animals is not present, D-606173 does not seem to notice. The D-Class is instructed to continue down the path and complies. 10 minutes pass; a crossroads is discovered.)

Dr. Quincin: Go left, please.

D-606173: Mhm.

(A mound of fresh soil is seen on the pathway.)

Dr. Quincin: That looks off, go ahead and dig there.

(D-606173 shovels at the earth. As the D-Class continues deeper, the soil seems to gradiate from brown into a light gray as more dirt is pulled out. After digging two meters, D-606173 sits.)

D-606173: (Heavily breathing) Look, there's nothing in here. Am I done?

Dr. Quincin: Two-minute break to catch your breath, then dig a few more feet.

D-606173: Fine. What am I looking for exactly?

Dr. Quincin: There were reports of something in this forest, but the people we tried talking to had nothing to say other than marking out this area and a cabin. I'm thinking there could be something temporal…maybe ontokinetic imprinting, or the like. (Pause.)

D-606173: I don't get all the science jargon you're tossing at me.

Dr. Quincin: Regardless of what it is, it was enough to cause those people to break down. Let's just focus on finding that cabin?

D-606173: Gotcha. I think I'll be fine, I've probably seen worse.

(The digging continues. The shovel makes contact with a metallic object in the soil, D-606173 kneels down and wipes at the dirt, revealing a large pickaxe. The handle is lodged in the soil, but with a forceful tug is able to be freed. The formerly buried section of the handle is coated in a dripping red liquid. He throws it.)

D-606173: God. (Wipes his hand on his shirt) The damn thing's covered in blood. Where the hell do you have me?

Dr. Quincin: We're trying to figure that out with you. You have wipes on your bag.

D-606173: Thank you. (He opens his bag and pulls out the wipes. A scraping sound is heard.) Hello? (D-606173 turns, finding that the pickaxe is missing.)

Dr. Quincin: It's gone?

D-606173: Pickaxe is gone. I don't - this is creeping me the hell out. I…I feels like I'm being watched

Dr. Quincin: We're almost done. There should be a cabin at the end of this trail. As soon as you make it there we'll pick you up.

(D-606173 walks over to the hole, finding the pickaxe once again lodged in the soil.)

Dr. Quincin: Did you throw it back in there?

D-606173: "What? No…why the hell would I do that? Even if I did it wouldn't land like that.

Dr. Quincin: Please pick it up again.

D-606173: Whatever you say.

(He kneels at the edge of the hole and reaches into it. D-606173 grabs the pickaxe and begins to pull on it; it remained wedged in the earth. D-606173 shifts, then reaches into the hole with his free hand, grasping onto the item before forcefully tugging. The tool clamps into the earth, pulling him into the hole.)

D-606173: Shit! (He moans, and rubs his now bleeding palms against his pants.)

Dr. Quincin: Are you okay?

D-606173: Yeah, yeah. Just a bit scraped up, that's all. Think i can climb out of here.

(D-606173 jumps and hangs onto a ridge. He scrapes the soles of his shoes against the walls, climbing back up to the path. The pickaxe is lodged in the soil next to him.)

Dr. Quincin: What? That makes so sense.

D-606173: Is this enough now?

Dr. Quincin: Not yet. The pickaxe is probably more trouble than it's worth. Send us the coordinates of it real quick so we can get it later.

D-606173: Mhm.

Dr. Quincin: Thank you. Continue forward.

(D-606173 begins to walk again. He passes around a curved section of the trail. Wind suddenly begins rushing at high speeds, shaking the trees, and almost knocking D-606173 over. A loud, sudden crack is heard behind the D-Class, revealed to be the pickaxe flying at him at an extremely high speed. It misses and is lodged in the tree bark. D-606173 stands still.)

Dr. Quincin: (Suprised) Where'd that come from?

D-606173: (Whispering) You don't see him? In the trees?

Dr. Quincin: Footage isn't clear enough. Describe it.

D-606173: Big man, maybe 6 feet tall. Helmet, and some sort of…face mask, I guess. He's just staring at me.

Dr. Quincin: Wait, he's coming into view. Continue through, we don't know what he wants, now should we.

D-606173: It's waiting for me to move.

(The sounds of cracking branches and leaves begins to increase in volume. In the footage, a vaguely blue humanoid form is increasing through the forest.)

Dr. Quincin: D-606173!

D-606173: I— I (He slowly begins to run away from the entity, sprinting through a winding section on the path. The pickaxe flies towards the D-Class, once again barely missing.)

Dr. Quincin: (The cabin comes into view.) That's it.

(D-606173 turns, finding that the spectral entity is only a few meters away from him. He yells, continuing to pick up speed. A root catches his right foot, causing him to fall forward into a tree. He lands hard on the path, causing his body camera to power off.)

«END LOG»


«BEGIN LOG»

D-606173: (Groggily.) What? What's going on?

SCP-4245-1A: Lordy, you're awake! Finally! You sure took a tumble out there.

SCP-4245-1B: Yeah, how ya feeling?

D-606173: Hey hey! (He throws his pillow) Get away from me! (He falls off the bed and begins to shake.)

SCP-4245-1A: I'm really sorry for gettin' you all hurt out there.

D-606173: Wh— What?

Dr. Quincin: D-606173, do you copy? You're awake?

D-606173: (Pause.) I don't know.

Dr. Quincin: Are you injured? And is your body camera operational?

D-606173: I'm bandaged up, but nothing feels off. And it should be.

SCP-4245-1A: Hey. (It points the transceiver.) Who's the fella in your ear? He's been hollerin' up a storm in there.

D-606173: No one. (He powers on the body camera, revealing three spectral entities surrounding him. D-606173 beings mumbling incoherently to himself.)

SCP-4245-1B: If you're feeling up to it, Cecil over there cooked up some rabbit stew and tater tots. (D-606173 slowly stands, treads over to the table, takes his seat.)

Dr. Quincin: Please ask them if they were the cause of the anomalous activity in the forest.

(D-606173 does not respond to this command and remains silent in an apparent state of shock for the remainder of his time in the cabin.)

SCP-4245-1C: Kevin! Did you use all the ketchup for earlier?

SCP-4245-1A: Yeah. You said I could!

SCP-4245-1C: I said some you dope. What about my pickaxe? You could have at least been courteous enough to bring it back

SCP-4245-1B: Ignore 'em. (Arguing continues.) So pal, what be your name?

(Silence.)

SCP-4245-1A: Not too much of a talker, I guess.

SCP-4245-1C: (Dispersing plates.) Most aren't.

SCP-4245-1B: Remember the constables a bit ago, or that woman? They kept quiet too.

SCP-4245-1A: Not sure why. Woman screamed a few times though. Guess she's really not a fan of deer meat, ey?

SCP-4245-1C: (Serving D-606173.) Lad's got some number on him, right here. What's that mean?

(Silence.)

SCP-4245-1C: 6 0 6 1 7 3. You won't mind if we call you Sixty, then?

(Silence.)

SCP-4245-1C: I'll take that as a yes. So, tell me Sixty, where ya from?

(Silence.)

(Dr. Quincin continued his attempts to get D-606173 to speak. His commands were loud enough to get the attention of -1B who removed the transceiver and placed it in its ear.)

SCP-4245-1B: What's this wacky contraption?

Dr. Quincin: Hello? Who am I speaking to?

SCP-4245-1B: Hey there, the name's Jameson.

Dr. Quincin: Hello. My name is Dr. Quincin, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?

SCP-4245-1B: Oooh wee, I'm speaking to an in-telly-gant. Go ahead, friend.

Dr. Quincin: Could you explain what happened in the forest?

SCP-4245-1B: We spooked this here feller so he'd join us for dinner. Didn't mean to make him fall, though.

Dr. Quincin: That's all that was for?

SCP-4245-1B: Well, we all been here for a bit, what is it? 150 years?

SCP-4245-1A: A bit more.

SCP-4245-1B: Yessiree, and it gets lonely not meeting any new folk. So we try to have some dinner guests every few days.

Dr. Quincin: 150 years? You're all miners, correct?

SCP-4245-1B: Mhm, me and my pals came straight from Mississippi to the wonderful Cally-fornia after the war.

Dr. Quincin: Mind if I ask your full names?

SCP-4245-1B: I'm Jameson Laggherty, the big lad over there2 is Kevin Franklin, the cook3 is Cecil Morrison.

[Census records from the time found Mississippi born human males corresponding to the names given by the entities. Eulogies for all three were also found.]

Dr. Quincin: Why did you three decide to move to California?

SCP-4245-1B: We was looking for something new, and on our way, we heard of the gold lots the science men found in Cally-fornia. We found a job and began theivering the gold a bit at a time. Ol' boss man wasn't sharin' no profit.

Dr. Quincin: How did you three end up dying?

SCP-4245-1B: Darn mine collapsed on our heads. The earth started to rumble and boom, all quick-like.4 Me and my pals found ourselves trapped in this forest and couldn't' leave for God-knows-why. We came across this cabin and made it our little ol' settlement.

Dr. Quincin: Do you have any idea how you ended up confined to this forest?

SCP-4245-1B: No clue, friend. Any clue how we ended up here?

SCP-4245-1A: I still think it was the bossman.

SCP-4245-1C: Here we go again with your conspiracies. He never catched us.

SCP-4245-1A: We don' know that. Maybe he was one of 'em sorcerers and trapped us here. Remember he always was able to find the gold?

SCP-4245-1B: Well, I will say that the greedy scoundrel could never handle losin' even a penny

Dr. Quincin: Do you remember where you worked, or for who?

SCP-4245-1B: We moved around a lot, but we worked with Mr. Gerry Marshall. He was always at the gold lots first. Heck, he was the one who managed to find that 160-pound gold nugget. The lad was either the luckiest buck ever or had somethin' helping him out.

Dr. Quincin: Did Marshall mention or do anything else of note?

SCP-4245-1B: Not really, he sold his mines a few days before we died in Plumas and mentioned movin' back to Alabama or Georgia with most of his employees.

SCP-4245-1C: (With a mouthful of food.) Either way, he' long gone. We stuck here whether we like it or not.

SCP-4245-1B: Anyways doc, back to our predicament. After a bit of time, it got a bit boring stayin' in our part, jus' the three of us, so once in a blue moon, we reach out to some newcomers to share a meal with us

Dr. Quincin: And you do this by scaring them into your cabin?

SCP-4245-1B: Scare? Kevin! Does Sixty look scared over there?

SCP-4245-1A: Nope.

(D-606173 has not moved during the entire conversation.)

SCP-4245-1B: We just spook 'em a bit to get 'em over here. Then they enjoy a scrumptious supper and go on their merry way.

Dr. Quincin: I — you know what, never mind. Now, if you'd be so kind as to release "sixty"?

SCP-4245-1B: Whatever you say Dr. No Fun. Sixty get going. And here's your thingy back. (It hands the transceiver to D-606173 and walks him to the door.) Just walk that-a-ways and you'll make your ways outta here. Sorry you couldn't stay longer pal. (It slaps the D-Class on his back.) Come again some time.

(Silence.)

(D-606173 walks in the direction -1B pointed at and is recovered at the entrance point of SCP-4245.)

«END LOG»

A Foundation excavation of several decommissioned Plumas County mines uncovered a collapsed shaft containing partial skeletal remains corresponding to three male humans. A carving inscribed on a portion of the stones that collapsed on the individuals was discovered, reading "I told you I'd get those thieving bastards."

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