That Darn Duck Got Out Again! | SCP-6868

Want to hear brand new horror stories brought to life? Live? Join me every Sunday at 7pm Eastern Time on the Doctor No Sleep Podcast YouTube channel, where I narrate fresh, never-before-heard stories in real time. Just search Doctor No Sleep Podcast on YouTube, and make sure you're subscribed with notifications on so you don't miss it. Miranda Stairs at the empty glass tank. No, she mumbles. Oh, no, no, no. Without thinking, she pulls on a pair of thick neoprene gloves. Bobby? She calls out, crouching down and looking under the table the tank sits on. Where are you, little buddy? Miranda has no idea how the toy rubber duck got its name. As far as she knows, it doesn't communicate with the staff, but someone at some point put an index card up on the tank that says, Hi, I'm Bubbly Bobby. Touch me without gloves, and you die. It's been Miranda's general policy since joining the Foundation as a research assistant, not to touch anything without a pair of thick gloves on. Even the items deemed safe for skin contact. She gets looks and is made fun of by some of the other research assistants, but they probably haven't seen what Miranda has seen. In the two short years she's been with the Foundation, she has witnessed in no particular order. A man get turned inside out in less than four seconds. It took him a lot longer than four seconds to die, and she won't be forgetting that anytime soon. Two cats morph into eggplants. She has no idea what happened to the eggplants. A chocolate fountain sprout legs and runaway screaming, No double dipping! Six Foundation agents revert to infancy, literally in size and personality, and require round the clock feedings and diaper changes for eight days straight. She's fairly certain they were adopted by nice families after that though. And a ten foot tall gingerbread man drink himself to death with whole milk. It's been an eventful two years, but it beats working fast food like she did in college. Regardless, Miranda is not in the mood for an anomaly to go missing all of a sudden. Bobby? She calls, still searching the room for the missing purple rubber ducky. The space is filled with similar glass tanks, making it look like the back room of a mom and pop pet store. Many of the tank's inhabitants watch Miranda closely, despite not having eyes. She tries to avoid their stairs. Someone hisses at her. Miranda straightens up and looks back at the room's door, which is still shut tight. The red light indicating the door is securely locked. She frowns and returns to her search. Bobby? Where are you, buddy? She calls, getting on her hands and knees and peering under a set of shelves. Come on, Bobby. Show yourself. Lady, over here. The voice hisses again. What? Who's there? Miranda asks, standing up and placing her hands to the small of her back, stretching her spine and muscles. I said over here. You deaf and blind? Realizing it's an anomaly talking to her, Miranda searches the tanks for the source of the voice. Where? Here, over here. Miranda turns to the shelves she thinks the voice is coming from. In the various tanks, there's a ball of yellow and green yarn, two thimbles sitting in a teacup, a large, size 13 men's work boot without shoelaces, and in the top tank, an empty turtle shell. Cocking her head, Miranda moves in closer to the tank with the empty turtle shell. Bingo, sweet cheeks. You found me. Startled, Miranda draws back, her hand to her mouth. Wait. You're non-verbal? She says, checking the info plate under the tank. Yeah, it says right there, non-verbal. What am I? Some idiot autistic kid? Please. Whoa, that's not a very nice thing to say. Miranda replies, making fun of autistic children and stepping over a line. Line? I don't see no damn lines here, sugar buns. Um, please don't call me sugar buns or sweet cheeks. How about hot lips? No. Love bumps? Definitely not. Pretty thing? No. Honey girl? Hell no. Sexy pants? What? No. Why would you think that would be okay? Wishful thinking. I'm an optimist. Wish for something else. Muffin? Cookie? Button? Those are all food names. No. Just no. Toots, it is, then. No way. Oh, shit. The name has been chosen. My name is Miranda. Nah, doesn't have the same ring. I'm going with Toots. Miranda starts to rub her face, then realizes she still has gloves on. She glances over at Bobby's empty tank. Ah, empty turtle shell guy. Did you see where Bobby went? Empty turtle shell guy. I've just spent all kinds of effort figuring out what your name is, Toots, and... It's Miranda. And you don't even bother to ask me mine? Instead, you call me empty turtle shell guy. You might as well be a two-year-old and call me Turtley. Miranda sighs. My apologies. Is that your name? Turtley? What? No. I wouldn't let a two-year-old name me. All right. What's your name? Wouldn't you like to know? Not really. I need to find Bobby. Miranda starts to turn back to Bobby's empty tank. Scooter. Miranda pauses. What? Scooter? My name is Scooter. Technically, it's Scooter the haunted turtle shell. I'm probably at a full name. A normal name when I was alive. But I ain't alive. So all I can remember is Scooter. Miranda really, really wants to rub her face. She wants to pull on her cheeks and let out a long, frustrated groan. But even if she took the gloves off, she knows the room is monitored. And showing frustration will just land her in a meeting with HR. And no one wants to deal with foundation HR. You're a ghost? She asks the empty turtle shell. That? I am. Pretty sure I was gunned down by Dickie Three Fingers and Philly. But that's about all I remember. You're a gangster? You know many people who were gunned down by someone named Dickie Three Fingers? Who's an accountant? Yeah, I was a goddamn gangster. A good one, too. I was an earner. Until Dickie Three Fingers killed you. You got that right, Toots. Miranda sighs again. Okay. You're a haunted turtle shell. I could ask you how you became a haunted turtle shell. But I really need to find Bobby first. If someone touches him without gloves, it's gonna be bad. Oh, you don't have to tell me, Toots. I've seen it go down before. Been hearing the tank since they brought Bobby in. That boy sure likes to escape. He does? You've seen him escape before? Sure thing, Toots. Please stop calling me that. Ah, don't be so sensitive. A pretty piece of ass like you should be thankful you're getting some quality male attention. Jesus Christ, what year were you killed? 1976. And let me tell you, Toots, I ain't still pissed I missed the bicentennial celebrations. Just two weeks away from going to Asbury Park to watch the fireworks on the boardwalk. Then that damn Dickie Three Fingers caught up with me. Yeah, that's sad. I feel for you. Can we get back to Bobby, please? Where does he usually go when he escapes? I tell you what, Toots. You get me out of this tank and take me with you, and I'll lead you right to him. Deal? No, there's no deal. Just tell me. Ah, come on. Why not? Um, because it specifically says on your info plate, do not make deals with Turtle Shell, which makes sense if you're supposed to be nonverbal. Furocracy, am I right? That's why I lived free as an entrepreneur. Gangster. Whatever. You say tomato sauce, I say tomato gravy. I'm not making a deal with you. Fine, fine. No deal then. Exactly. Miranda kneels down and restarts her search. You ain't gonna find him down there, Toots. Scooter says in a know-it-all sing-song voice, ignoring the Turtle Shell, Miranda continues her search. But it only takes her about five minutes to fully realize that Bobby is nowhere in the room. She stands up, her gloved hands on her hips. Okay, little buddy. Where can you have gotten off to? She wonders out loud. If only someone with years of experience could help you. Scooter says sarcasm thick in his ethereal voice. Before Miranda can respond, a warning clacks in blares. I wonder what that could be? Scooter says, shouting over the clacks in. Lurching for the door, Miranda pauses. Then she looks back at Scooter. You can really help me find Bobby? She shouts. I swear on my mother's grave. My nose grave too. Hell, Toots. I swear on my own grave. I mean, if I'm lying, then I'll certainly go to hell. He chuckles. Like I'm not already there, am I right? Miranda growls low on her throat, torn by what to do. Okay, you can come with, but no shenanigans. Shenanigans? What do I look like? Some Irish mook from Boston? Please, don't insult me, Toots. Shaking her head, Miranda opens the tank and lifts the Turtle Shell out. She turns it this way, she turns it that way. But it looks like a normal empty Turtle Shell. Just like one you'd find for sale on a broken card table at some flea market. Right next to a display of throwing stars and dukes of hazard, Uncle Jesse for President bumper stickers. Yeah, that feels nice, Toots. Keep boggling me all you want. Jesus, gross. Miranda says, glad she has gloves on. Okay, where to? Like I'm just gonna tell ya? Get the step in, Toots. I'll give instructions on the go. Letting out a frustrated breath, Miranda shrugs and walks to the door, keying in her code. The light turns green and she yanks open the door, stepping out into a hallway filled with chaos. Everywhere she looks, foundation personnel are down, bodies litter the hallway, none of them showing signs of life. What they do show are pink soap bubbles oozing out of their orifices, and even oozing out of the pores, making their skin look like it's grown pink boils. Yup, Bobby's been this way. Scooter says, ain't no denying that. They touched him. Miranda gasps. Why would they touch him? Because he's a cute little sparkly purple rubber ducky, that's why. Who ain't gonna pick up a rubber ducky? A goddamn monster, that's who. Making her way slowly and carefully down the hallway, Miranda kneels next to each body. She wants to check their pulse, but doesn't dare take the neoprene gloves off. But it's not hard to see that each person is very much dead. The scent of children's strawberry shampoo is strong, almost overpowering. So much for no tears action, am I right, Toots? Scooter laughs. Security to sector nine immediately. A voice booms over the site's PA system. Come on, we have to go! Miranda says, standing and hurrying toward the hallway junction that leads to sector nine. Hold your horses, Toots. That ain't for us. Scooter says, Bobby ain't in sector nine. How do you know? You brought me with because of my expertise, right? You gonna trust me or what? Yes, but you gotta trust me, Toots. Scooter sighs, and Miranda is surprised she can hear it over the still blaring clocks. Listen, Bobby may have gone that way, but he ain't there now. They'd have contained him if he was, but I know his spots. I know his favorite places. How? We talk, Toots. All of us. Whatever you call us, uh, anomalies. Yeah, we chatted up all night long when most of yous has gone home. No, that can't be. It'd be logged in the surveillance. You sure about that, Toots? Stop calling me Toots! Not gonna happen, so get over yourself. You wanna find Bobby or what? Yes, then head to your left. We're going to the personnel wing. A hundred questions and protests flood Miranda's brain, but she ignores them all and glares down at the turtle shell in her hand, then heads left like instructed. Several personnel members and security officers race past her, all moving towards sector nine. None of them even pays Miranda much attention. Some frown at the empty turtle shell in her hand, but her frown is all they spare. No one slows or stops her. By the time she gets to the personnel wing, she realizes that she hasn't seen a single bubbly corpse since the first hallway. If he's this way, then where are the bodies? Miranda asks. Back in sector nine! Scooter replies. Stop paying attention, Toots! Anger churns her guts, but she keeps it tamped down. Scooter? Yeah, Toots? Why are we here if Bobby is in sector nine? I didn't say he was in sector nine. I said all the bodies are in sector nine. Bobby must have gotten turned around. He went that way, realized he'd done screwed up. Some idiots tried to pick his cute ass up, got themselves pink bubbled, and Bobby left their dead asses behind so he could make his way to here. It ain't rocket science, Toots! It takes all of Miranda's self-control not to shatter the turtle shell against the wall. Okay, where to now? She asks, her voice flat and even. Where do you think? The showers! Right, of course, the showers. Turning right at the next junction, Miranda jogs to the personnel locker rooms. She shoves open the first door, the men's section, and rushes in, searching the rows of lockers for any sign of the Purple Ducky. Not here, she says. For once, I agree. Scooter responds. But I could have told you that when we first stepped inside, Toots! There ain't no water running! Bobby's gonna be where the water is flowing! We'll try at the women's locker room. Miranda says and hurries out into the hallway. She takes the second door on the left and rushes straight toward the shower room. Steam and the sound of several nozzles running tell her someone is in the shower. Oh, God! Miranda whispers when she steps into the white tiled space. On the shower floor are two female agents, completely naked, except for the thick coating of pink bubbles erupting from their bodies. The spray of the six shower nozzles running barely has an impact on the bubbles, washing some away briefly before they are quickly replaced. That's Agent Stafford! Miranda gasps. And that's Agent Maraschino! Maraschino? Like the damn cherry? Shit! That's an unfortunate name! Maraschino says and laughs. Says the turtle shell named Scooter. Miranda responds. Toots, Toots! The steam is thickening quickly, but not just with water. Pink bubbles float this way and that. Then Miranda realizes that some of the bubbles have shapes as they float by, pushed along on air currents generated by the constantly streaming shower heads and the robust HVAC system the Foundation site is equipped with. Is that a rabbit? Miranda asks, watching an intricate bubble sculpture drift past her. And is that an ice cream cone? Look like it, Toots! And a teddy bear. A battleship? A race car? What is happening here? Bobby! Scooter clears his invisible ghost throat. Hey, bubbly Bobby! Where ya at, kid? No reply. He's got a small voice. Go deeper into the steam. Scooter says. Are you kidding? I'm not going in there. I can't see crap. What are you worried about? The steam and bubbles can't hurt ya. You got gloves on. Just don't kiss Bobby if you find him. And you'll be good to go, Toots! Miranda growls. Fine! She steps into the steam, dodging bubble sculptures of a parrot and a miniature Empire State Building. Bobby? She calls. Yo, Bobby! Where you at? It's Scooter! Come on out and show yourself, ya little purple freak. Let's not call him a freak, okay? Ah, he likes it. Trust me, Toots! Miranda growls again and continues her dive into the steam and bubble art. Then she hears it, a humming. It's like a child's voice making up some playtime song. Just a random melody hummed over and over. Bobby? She calls. The humming falters for just a moment, then continues, but slightly quieter. Avoiding a floating bubble Titanic, Miranda walks toward the far corner of the showers. Bobby? Yo, Bobby! The humming stops. Miranda hurries to the corner. Down on the tile, waddling around in sud-sea shower water, a small, sparkly purple rubber ducky looks up at Miranda. Sorry. The ducky says in a voice so small that it's nearly impossible to hear. Didn't mean to. Ah, there you are, pal! Scooter says. The rubber ducky hops back, surprised. Scoots? Is that you up there? New down, Toots? Come on! Get down there so we can have a chat! Scooter orders. I'm getting soaked by the showers! Miranda complains. Yeah, well, you're still better off than those two brads over there now, ain't ya? Good point. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, my! Bobby says, as Miranda kneels down closer. I just wanted a quick soak. Didn't mean to hurt nobody. Nah, of course you didn't, pal! You're a good duck, everyone knows that! I try to be Scoots. I try to be. The purple toy sighs. The people always want to tick me up, and then it all goes bad. Ain't your fault, people are stupid. You're not in charge. You're a prisoner just like me. It's their responsibility to read the signs, right? Right, Toots? Huh? What? Oh, yes. It's not your responsibility to keep folks safe, Bobby. Miranda says. They should know better. Like me. She holds up her neoprene gloves. See? I put these on when I was going to clean your tank. Your file clearly states to wear gloves at all times. It does? Bobby asks, gasping in an amazed voice. Then why do they pick me up without gloves? People are stupid, pal. I just said that. Scooter replies. And let's face it, stupid or not, who can resist a cute little SOB like you, eh? I mean, come on! You're cute as a 16-year-old. That's enough, Scooter. Miranda interrupts. Don't be gross. Bobby giggles. Hey, hey, hey. You were gonna say, Tushy. I was gonna say, Sweeped In The Last. But then Captain Toots' buzz kill here interrupted me. That's gross, Scooter. Please stop being gross. Miranda groans. He can't help it. Bobby says. Exactly, pal. Just like you can't help being cute. And turning people's bodily fluids into soapy water. We is who we is. Oh, okay. We is who we is. Bobby echoes. Thanks, Scoots. No problem, pal. No problem, pal. I got your back. You know that. Yeah, I suppose so. I appreciate that, Scoots. The Klaxons end. Miranda looks up at the ceiling. That's either good or bad, she says. The sound of the locker room doors being blown off their hinges and dozens of boots racing into the shower area fill the air. I'd say it's bad, Toots. Scooter says with a chuckle. Guess they figured out that Scepter 9 was a dead end. I got turned around. Bobby says. I know, pal. I know. Scooter responds as two dozen ephemeral shapes appear in the pinkish steam. On the floor. On the floor now. Someone shouts. Um, I am. Miranda says, raising her gloved hands in the air. Don't you dare drop me, Toots. Scooter warns. I ain't as durable as I look. You're an empty turtle shell, Scooter. You don't look durable at all. Ouch. Cutting right to the heart without one, Toots. Right to the heart. A helmeted face appears from the steam, eyes glaring at Miranda as she stays on her knees, hands up. Where is it? Where is SCP-6868? The security officer bellows. His rifle aimed right at Miranda's head. Down here. Bobby says. Hello. The security officer switches his aim. We got it right here. He takes a step forward, then glances at Miranda. You move. Get clear. We've been given the order to put this one down with extreme prejudice. Extreme prejudice. Scooter says. He's a rubber ducky for Christ's sake. Regular prejudice should do the trick. I prefer no prejudice, please. Bobby says. Miranda makes the stupid decision to shuffle on her knees, slip sliding between the rifle barrel and Bobby. Hey, now. He didn't mean to hurt anyone. She says to the security officer. It's not his fault that people didn't know the handling protocol for this anomaly. Ma'am, get out of the way right now. I won't ask you again. The security officer barks. More shadows solidify. And the other security officers press through the steam, backing up their point man. Half the rifles are aimed at Miranda. Half are aimed at Bobby. I'm not getting out of the way. This anomaly, SCP-6868, is not malicious. All he wanted to do was take a shower and splash around in the water a bit. SCP-6868 has escaped containment too many times, ma'am. The officer steps forward and places the barrel of the rifle to Miranda's head. Him or you, ma'am, your choice. Yeah? You think those are the only two choices? You buffed up Renicop. Scooter shouts. Not even close, pal. You got your crew with you, making you all tough? Well, guess what? I got my own crew, dipshit. And we're about to mess you up. What are you talking about, Scooter? Miranda whispers out of the side of her mouth. You was about to find out, toots. Scooter replies. Oh, dear. Bobby says and hops back into the corner. This might get messy. Messy? Miranda exclaims. No. Whatever you guys are thinking of doing, don't. Too late, toots. Scooter says. For them, at least. Sounds like you made your choice. The security officer says, and his finger tightens on the rifle's trigger. Then there's a yelp from the officers behind him. What the hell was that? Another cries. Wait. Those ain't bundle sculptures. A third shouts. Holy shit. A fourth yells just as everything goes to hell. Green and yellow yarn shoots through the steam and wraps about one of the officer's throats, yanking him back and out of sight. Another officer screams and lurches forward. The man is clawing at his helmet's face plate while inside. Two thimbles burrow into his eyes. A teacup is busy bashing the top of the man's helmet while screaming. How many lumps you want, asshole? Huh? How many lumps? An officer flies forward, slamming hard into the shower wall. He goes completely limp and slides down into the sudsy water. Besides, 13 men's work boot clumps out of the steam, heading straight for the man. You ever heard a boot up your ass? The work boot yells. Miranda turns her head so she can't see the results of that threat. Turtle power, activate. Scooter yells. Miranda eyes the shell and waits. Damn it. That never works. Scooter says. But I can do better. The turtle shell glows bright red. Then a beam of light shoots from inside it and straight into the face of the security officer in front of Miranda. The man screams and Miranda winces, closing her eyes, waiting for the bullet to tear through her skull. When that doesn't happen, she opens her eyes and sees the security officer smiling down at her. Hey there, Toots. He says and offers her a hand. Let's get you up off this shower floor. Not that I don't mind seeing you all wet. Mm. God, you're gross. Miranda says. But she takes the offered hand and is helped to her feet. Thanks. So now that I got this rocking body with some seriously hard abs, how's about you and me get personal, Toots? Jesus, stop that. Just stop. Miranda looks about. Every security officer is down, each in various stages of either being brutalized by an anomaly or suffering the consequences of having already been brutalized by the anomalies. Blood trickles through the pink water, winding its way to the shower drain. Oh, this is not good. Miranda says. Nope, sure ain't. Scooter as the security officer says. But what you going to do, right? He cocks his rifle and smiles at Miranda. Now, how about we get out of here? I got maybe two hours before I'm ejected from this meat bag. So I plan on making the most of it. Wait, what? What are you talking about? Miranda asks. What am I talking about? Freedom, Toots. He gives her a short salute. Crew, let's ride. The yarn swoops down and plucks the thimbles and teacup up off a dead officer. All of those anomalies flip up onto Scooter's shoulders. Don't forget my shell, Yarnie. Scooter says. A green tendril of yarn plucks the empty turtle shell out of Miranda's gloved hand. Hey! She objects, then shakes her head. Why bother at that point is what she's thinking. Scooter turns and walks off, lost in the steam. The size 13 work boot clumps after him. Yo, Bobby! Scooter shouts from somewhere in the locker room. Shake a tail, feather pal. Excuse me. Bobby says and hops past Miranda. I really am sorry I caused all of this. I just wanted to splash and play. I know, Bobby. She says, watching the little purple ducky disappear into the steam. Uh, be careful, OK? She has no idea why she yells that, but it felt like the right thing to do. Then she falls back on her butt and lets the shower rain down on her. All she'd planned to do was clean some tanks today. But now she has another nightmare to add to her mental inventory. I need a new job. She mutters as she leans back against the shower wall. Maybe I can go back to Wendy's and work the drive-through again. Way less stress. Much nicer people. And the fries don't come alive and try to kill you. The klaxon starts blaring again. And slowly, Miranda gets to her feet. She's got a lot of work to do before she turns in her notice and starts asking folks if they'd like to add a frosty to their order. SCP-6868 is to be contained in a standard animate object containment unit at Site-228. All handling of SCP-6868 is to be performed while wearing gloves. SCP-6868 is not to be brought near any liquids. Description. SCP-6868 is an animate and sentient rubber duck toy, which is 9 by 9.5 by 8 centimeters large. On its bottom, a stylized W has been printed in purple. SCP-6868 is able to maneuver itself slowly with small jumps. Since recovery, SCP-6868 has refused all attempts at communication, hopping away from any personnel attempting to come near it. It has been determined that SCP-6868 has half a phobia. Its main anomalous property is triggered upon physical contact with any liquid. SCP-6868 is able to transform liquid substances into purified water and pink soap bubbles. The bubbles then form small animate replicas of various types of ships, submarines, and airplanes, which then start to fly and sail autonomously. These bubbles are noted to be edible and taste similar to strawberries. This anomalous property is capable of converting liquid to purified water at a speed of five liters per second. This process is automatic with SCP-6868 seemingly having no control over the effect. Once removed from the liquid, the conversion will immediately stop and all converted liquids show no further anomalous properties. Thanks for listening. Be sure to click that follow button with all notifications on to get notified every time a new episode is released.