SCP-4894

Item #: SCP-4894

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-4894 is to be carried by thick gloves, 15 MILS minimum. SCP-4894 shall remain utterly harmless as long as physical contact is avoided. To facilitate transport, SCP-4894 may be placed in a box of any material. Said box shall be contained in the office of Doctor Jacques Moreau.

Description: SCP-4894 is a book bound by a mysterious flesh of unknown origin. It seems to bulge and recede as if breathing. However, through closer examination, no thermal energy is exhumed by SCP-4894. The writing on the pages seem to be in an unknown language. However, through scrupulous research, no leads have been found. Subjects who make contact with SCP-4894 instantaneously fall unconscious, decreasing their heart rate sharply, but not fatally. This unconsciousness shall be recorded as SCP-4894-1. Those who experience SCP-4894-1 wake up shaking and will flinch at every sound or motion. Through experimentation, it seems they no longer understand their native language, nor any language. They incessantly shiver, whimper, cry, and perform several other symptoms of insanity. Victims of SCP-4894-1 are transported to ████████████ where they are cared for, but there have been no signs of a cure.

Discovery: On ██/██/19██, a civilian in Lourmarin, France was reported to be unconscious after accidentally coming in contact with SCP-4894 in what was theorized to be an amateur paranormal investigation. Agents were sent to the scene, one of them also inadvertently fell to SCP-4894’s effects. The civilian was taken in for interview and Agent ██████, Codename: "Jonathan", was hospitalized. These occurrences are recorded as Addendum 4894-A and Incident 4894-A, respectively.

Addendum 4894-A (TRANSLATED):

Interviewed: Civilian █████ ███████

Interviewer: Dr Jacques Moreau

<Begin log>

Dr. Moreau enters to sit across a paranoid Mr. ███████, who is chained into his seat.

Moreau: Bonjour je- (Hello, I-)

███████ screams violently.

Moreau is startled.

Moreau: Je vois- (I see-)

███████ continues to scream.

After attempting to console ███████ and failing. Doctor Moreau decides the interview is futile and ceases the examination.

Incident 4894-A (TRANSLATED):

Patient: Agent ███████. aka "Jonathan"

Signatory: Dominique Beaumont

Entry #1: Jonathan has not moved from the corner of the room. He will not eat, and he just vomits all the food we force feed him. We have discovered he is much calmer when alone and will willingly eat in the absence of people. He has grown used to his surroundings and has stopped screaming.

Entry #2: Jonathan has started muttering, but we cannot detect the language it is in. We have used several applications and websites to identify this language, cadence, oral posture, etcetera. We have found nothing.

Entry #3: There has been an eerie silence surrounding Jonathan as of late. In the beginning, constant screaming was the norm. Now, he appears to be performing some kind of arithmetic on the walls with his index finger. I have recorded the footage and attempted to retrace his writing, but none of our staff can recognize any of the symbols.

Entry #4: I have not gotten any sleep lately. I have stayed up day and night researching these symbols. Closest thing I can relate them to is Aramaic, but the similarities are few and far between. On another note, I have attempted to interrogate Jonathan about these symbols, but as soon as I opened his cell door, he let out a blood-curdling scream then proceeding to huddle in the farthest corner of the room. I sprinted back to the surveillance room to see if he would recover, but for the rest of the night, he sat there, shivering.

Entry #5: Jonathan has killed himself. Surveillance footage shows Jonathan tearing at his own skin, peeling entire portions of skin off, exposing bone. He put effort into stifling his screams, but I am surprised none of the guards were able to hear his suffering. To imagine the pain he was in, both physically and mentally. I never should have attempted to interrogate him. He died at about 4:35 am, 01/29/19██. Rest in peace. This is Doctor Dominique Beaumont, signing off.