Morning Never Comes: An SCP Inspired Tale

Item #: SCP-1363

Classification: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: An instance of SCP-1363 is to be contained in the center of a chamber with dimensions 30 m x 30 m x 30m. An incinerator is to be placed in one corner of the room. Prior to entry to the room, all traditional writing surfaces (papers, whiteboards, etc.) must be removed. Once a month, a single piece of paper is to be "fed" to SCP-1363 by placing it within 20 meters of SCP-1363 and left for an hour, followed by immediate incineration. All personnel interacting with SCP-1363 are to be given a Class-C amnesiac immediately after interaction, followed by a week of thorough psychological analysis.

Description: SCP-1363 is a free verse poem titled "Morning Never Comes," written by ███████ ████████ and is composed of one stanza with twenty-six (26) lines. SCP-1363's exact date of composition is unknown. The earliest discovered instance of SCP-1363 is on a parchment estimated to have been created during the early 16th century, though older, undiscovered instances of SCP-1363 are likely.

Instances of SCP-1363 have the ability to spread to other materials exclusively purposed for writing within 20 meters of it, usually creating another instance within 30 minutes to an hour of being in its proximity. SCP-1363's spreading ability seems to be bounded only by its 20 meter range and not by any physical barriers between it and the new surface. It has been observed creating new instances despite being separated from the new material by solid iron walls, glass, and even a vacuum. New instances created by display identical spreading properties, essentially spreading like a virus. Instances have commonly been observed on notebooks, book margins, chalkboards, whiteboards, papyrus, and stone tablets.

SCP-1363 instances also exhibit a "hunger-like" quality when unable to spread to other writing materials for more than two months. SCP-1363's hunger seem to increase the materials that SCP-1363 can embed itself on. While hungry, instances have been observed on leaves, concrete walls, and even [DATA EXPUNGED], but materials are always within 20 meters of the original instance. The papers and other materials that hold instances of SCP-1363 are not anomalous and can be destroyed normally.

When an unedited version of SCP-1363 is read in its entirety, readers begin to feel a lingering sense of fear and paranoia, but only when consciously thinking about SCP-1363 or any fragments of the original poem, including its title. With every subsequent recollection of SCP-1363, victims experience more intense feelings of fear. Common effects of SCP-1363 include:

• Sudden drops in ambient temperatures.
• Goosebumps.
• General uneasiness and discomfort.
• A feeling of being constantly watched.
• Perceived rapid movement in peripheral vision.
• Anxiety attacks.
• Insomnia.
• Sudden bursts of irritability.
• Visual, auditory, and tactile hallucinations.
• Suicidal tendencies.

To date, roughly 45% of victims exposed to SCP-1363 committed suicide within a year of initial exposure, while 80% of total victims suffer from severe psychological trauma. Times between initial exposure and suicide vary from subject to subject. Shortest recorded time until suicide: 6 days. Longest recorded time: 37 years.

SCP-1363 was discovered on ████████ ██, 20██, after a local news station in █████ █████, ██ reported a mass suicide of students attending a local school, attracting Foundation attention. Mobile Task Force Zeta-6 (aka "School Boys") was sent to investigate. Ten instances of SCP-1363 was acquired for analysis, all other instances discovered were destroyed. Class-B amnesiacs were applied to the entire town and the school was demolished. See Incident 1363-01.

From the diary of ██████ █████ (Subject 22413)

September 17, 2013

School just started yesterday. God, I miss summer already. I miss hanging out with my friends, sleeping in, and most of all, the lack of homework. Only the second day and we already have an essay due, can you believe that?

Wow, Senior year already though. Time flies, doesn't it? In a few months, I'll be taking my first steps into the real world.

But, back to the present for now. █████ is back to his old tricks again, as usual. I swear, for someone that spends all of his time on the Internet, it's surprising that he has the guts to try these crazy things. You know what he snuck into school today? A peacock. I don't even know how he got the peacock, but he did. In the middle of a lecture, he opens his backpack and sets the peacock free and it goes crazy. Flaps its wings and sends all the papers in the room flying everywhere. Teacher was furious. I didn't even know peacocks had wings.

From the diary of ██████ █████ (Subject 22413)

October 20, 2013

Halloween's almost here. I've spent two weeks handmaking my costume and I have to say, it's pretty awesome. I'm dressing up as Maxwell from Scribblenauts and I believe I hit every detail right. Even the rooster hat and headphones, which I had to buy online. Cost me a pretty penny, surprisingly.

Also, expecting █████'s Halloween prank anytime soon. He does one every year, and they're always ridiculous. You thought the peacock a month ago was crazy? Please. That's dust compared to his Halloween prank. Last year, you know what he did? He stuck a single Post-It Note on a school wall the first day of October and doubled the number of Post-It Notes he stuck for every day that passed. When Halloween came, the entire school was covered in Post-It Notes. He's like a ghost, nobody ever saw him put a single Post-It on the wall. He probably did it all at night, even though they never got any footage of him on the school cameras. Maybe he disabled them? I don't know.

From the diary of ██████ █████ (Subject 22413)

October 28, 2013

Well, he did it alright. █████'s managed to write a poem on EVERYTHING WRITABLE IN THE SCHOOL. EVERY ONE. Every margin of every page in every book, every sheet of paper, every whiteboard, even every page of every STUDENT RECORD. It'd actually be pretty amazing if it weren't for the fact that it's vandalism. He got arrested, obviously, and of course he protested the entire walk to the police car. He kept saying "I didn't do it, I didn't do it," but it was obviously him. I mean, who else could pull that off?

Then again, █████ always admits when he's done a prank. He likes the attention. But this is his first time being arrested, so maybe that's why he's lying.

I read the poem too. It's pretty stupid. "Morning Never Comes," it was titled. Never heard of the author before. I didn't get it. Apparently, I'm not cultured enough to understand it because I saw a lot of students in tears after school with the poem in their hands.

From the diary of ██████ █████ (Subject 22413)

November 4, 2013

A lot of people were absent today. It is Monday though, maybe they just wanted a three-day weekend? I know I do, I'm exhausted. Still so many projects to do. Thanksgiving break, please come faster so I can sleep for more than six hours a night.

Uh... what else, what else... █████'s out of jail today. The cops didn't find any of his fingerprints on the papers, so they let him go. Good news, right?

Well, not quite. He's a mess. And I mean, a mess. I mean, I know prison's an awful, awful place, but he looks like he went through the nine circles of hell and back. He's shivering all the time, and every time someone taps him on the shoulder, he screams and freaks out. I think he's gone insane. He probably has, since he's been muttering "never comes" under his breath for hours straight.

Never comes... wait, isn't that th

Woah. I just got chills for a second there. Anyway, isn't that the title of that poem that was all over the school? I think so, I barely remember it.

Jeez, thinking back, that was a really creepy poem. Eesh, I'm getting goosebumps just remembering it. I guess it's like one of those jokes that you hear and you don't really understand, but a few days later you remember it and all of a sudden, it's the funniest thing in the world. Only it's with fear. Fridge horror, TV Tropes called it, right? Yeah.

Rrrgh, I keep looking over my shoulder now. Gotta get my mind off it, it's creeping me out. Gonna go play some video games.

From the diary of ██████ █████ (Subject 22413)

December 24, 2013

I haven't slept well in awhile. I just keep thinking about that poem and it's genuinely scaring me now. I don't even know why, it's just... horrifying. Now I just lie in bed, staring at the dark ceiling because every time I close my eyes, I have this image of a girl with a grotesque, distorted face burned into my eyes. Her eyes are stretched open, like hands are holding on to her eyelids and pulling them apart. Skin blue and pale, like a corpse or something. And her mouth... the edge of her lips cut deep into her cheeks like a Glasgow smile. And she's just smiling at me. That's the worst part. She's smiling. Eyes being torn out of her eye sockets and she's smiling, like she enjoys it.

Creeps me the hell out. So now, I just play video games to take my mind off it, but even then, I sometimes remember the poem.

I can't count the number of times I've looked behind me while writing this. Gotta take my mind off it with some music. Yes, music. That'll do.

From the diary of ██████ █████ (Subject 22413)

January 7, 2014

I can't stop thinking about it now. I'm so scared. I sleep with my lights on now and still, I'm scared. I don't leave my room at night anymore, and when I absolutely have to get something in the dark living room, I slowly crawl to the light switch, turn it on, grab the thing, and dash out of the room like a madman. I swear to god, every time I close my eyes, I can feel a finger pressing against my face. Tracing my lips and running to my cheeks, and I've screamed a lot, it's so realistic. My parents are complaining that I scream a lot and that I leave all the lights on, but they don't understand THEY JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND.

I brought a copy of the poem from school. Shoved it in their stupid face, made sure they read it word for word. Then, I looked for a reaction, and nothing. They were confused.

"What the hell is there to be confused about, don't you get it?" I screamed and mom just shrugs so I slap her. I slap her hard, across the face, leaving a mark. I called her a [DATA EXPUNGED]. I slapped her and slapped her and punched her and kicked her and called her a [DATA EXPUNGED] and she cried as I punched her over and over again, trying to make her understand the poem but she wouldn't SHE JUST WOULDN'T.

And I stopped. My mother lay before me crying, bruised and beaten, blood dripping from her face. I spat at her. And I threw the poem at her.

I'm so scared.

Does She ever sleep? I don't think She does. Because as I've tried to sleep, all I can feel is Her glare. Her glare.

The morning never comes.



From the diary of ██████ █████ (Subject 22413)
January 9, 2014

Two days ago.

In bed. Eyes pressed shut, mind wandering, I teetered on the edge of sleep and awakening.

Then I remembered the poem.

And the screams started. The bloodcurdling screams of a man in unbearable agony far, far in the distance, yet the sound still pierced through my walls and penetrated my ears. With every cry for help that escaped his gaping mouth, I grew more and more frightened.

I covered my ears with my pillows, I buried myself in layers of sheets, trying everything I could to mute out the sickening shrieks, but no matter what, I heard them. No matter how hard I covered my ears, I heard his howls of pain. I couldn't even imagine the unbearable agony he was going through to make those sounds.

Another scream, this one closer, and goosebumps ran through my skin. He was walking closer.

I closed my eyes, but all I could think about were his screams. His screams and the poem.

Another scream. Even closer still. He sounded like he was in my front yard. How come my dad hadn't woken up yet?

He screamed again. This time more muffled than before.

He was directly outside, screaming towards my door. I tried not to imagine his limp, bony body shambling towards my house. I tried not to imagine the bloody handprint he'd leave on the door after he pressed his decaying hand against it. I tried not to imagine the spit that splattered against the door as he screamed his wretched scream at it. But I couldn't. The image was clear in my mind, as if he were in my room.

I shut my eyes with enormous force, as if hoping my eyelids would sear shut and I'd never be able to see again. I stabbed my nails into my eardrums hoping to drown out his miserable wails yet they still leaked through. They leaked through.

"Let the morning come," I repeated in my head. "Dear god, let the morning come" as his shrieks poisoned the air

Then suddenly, he stopped. The sudden silence just as unnerving as the screams itself. I opened my eyes

And there, in front of me, he stood. A skeleton of a man, the rough angles and edges of his bones protruding through thin, rubbery skin dyed red from blood. Limbs contorted in unnatural angles as if he were bound by invisible ropes or controlled by a mad puppeteer. Fear could not even begin to describe what I felt. My heart raced and I was paralyzed. I was going to die.

I don't know what happened after that. Maybe I fainted. Maybe I was dreaming. But somehow, I woke up to the bright rays of sun through my window. Blood dripped from my ears.



From the diary of ██████ █████ (Subject 22413)
January 23, 2014

I can't take it anymore. Every waking moment is spent in constant fear. The smallest noises startle me. I've spent more time looking behind me than I have looking in front of me. I haven't left my house in a month. My parents have both died. The nights are sleepless and filled with screams from the Red Man. The morning never comes.

But the worst part is the poem. It's everywhere. Every piece of paper in my house has it plastered on it, constantly reminding me, preventing me from forgetting. I can't avoid it. I just can't.

I have to go. I have to go.



The diary was acquired on ████████ ██, 20██. The remainder of the diary pages contain instances of SCP-1363. Instances of SCP-1363 along the margins of pages with entries have been omitted for the sake of readability.

MTF Alpha-4 (aka "Pony Express") and MTF Eta-10 (aka "See No Evil") have been assigned to discover, contain, and cover up instances of SCP-1363. Due to the nature of Incident 1363-01, it is unknown how many instances of SCP-1363 are in existence outside of Foundation control. 





Author's Note: Felt like writing an SCP this week. Had the idea of a "memetic virus" after reading a 4chan thread on monster concepts, where a guy mentioned that the monster should only be able to harm people if they consciously think of it, kind of like the Snowmen in Doctor Who. I expanded the idea by removing the monster completely and just making the fear of the monster drive people to suicide, which I think is a much scarier concept.

Ever have those moments where you're in bed, your mind's just thinking about a thousand things at a time, then you remember this really scary movie you watched a long time ago and all of a sudden, you can't sleep? That's the feeling I tried to replicate, although I may have botched it near the end since I rushed the ending a bit. All-in-all, very, very happy about how this story turned out.

Considering actually submitting it as an SCP, since as of writing this, 1363 is a vacant slot. What do you think, is it good enough to be a real SCP?