The Sam Hain Halloween Spooktacular | SCP-6592 (Part 2)

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. Alrighty, my little pussjills and cysts! Welcome back to the Samhain Halloween special! This lesson is the most important of all if you want to live through Halloween and enjoy the candy you've extorted from your neighbors! That's right, sickos and slimmies! I'm going to tell you all about candy safety! Samhain stands in front of a fake living room, speaking into the camera. Behind him, on a couch, sit my son and ex-wife. Ten minutes ago, a small army of little pumpkin-headed creatures with bodies made of twisted vines appeared from the darkness and shrouded the other end of the warehouse. These three-foot-tall helpers immediately began cleaning up the dead bodies littering the nearby floor. All the humans had turned into zombies, so as Samhain's helpers dragged them off, they took turns smashing heads with a sledgehammer, tittering madly with every shattered skull. My gag has been reapplied, along with the binds around my legs, which I now know are spider webs from the giant pumpkin spider. I'm in the near corner, along with the old lady and the teenage girl. While they sit still, I'm bucking with all the energy I have left, screaming against my gag, trying to get free, because I know what comes next. You may not know this! Samhain tells the camera, but a whopping 95% of candy given out on Halloween is tampered with. It's true! The stats don't lie. Whether it's a lollipop with a pocket knife inside, or a piece of candy with a loaded bazooka ready to blow your head off, there's no way to tell, unless you buy my tape. I'll teach you to spot the AR-15's nuclear devices and anthrax hidden in your candy, all for the low, low, low, low, low price of one sacrifice. All you have to do is find an animal or human, and kill it while saying out loud, it's very important that you say it out loud, that your sacrifice is dedicated to Samhain! Sam pauses, staring at the camera as if frozen. Then, flames shoot out of his mouth and dies for a moment. It gets taller, and his rotting pumpkin head seems to heal itself, albeit moderately. Oh yeah, that's good! he exclaims. But it's not enough. We need more, more, more! Don't let your candy kill you! Sacrifice your loved ones now! In the meantime, I'll show you what happens if you don't know how to properly check your candy. Sam strides over to the couch, and picks up a jack-o'-lantern bucket from the floor. Heather and Brennan, both gagged and bound now, stare up at him. The creature digs around in the bucket, and comes out with a piece of non-descript orange candy. Holding the treat delicately between his gloved fingers, he bends down, coming face-to-face with my son. Are you ready for the last treat of your young life? My son shakes his head, trying to press himself into the couch to get away from the creature. With his other hand, Sam reaches to unclasp the gag in Brennan's mouth. I'm thrashing harder than ever now, screaming so loud into my gag I'm afraid I might pass out. Sam's eyes shift, coming together as if in consternation. He turns his head and looks at me. Did you need something, Rory? The camera whips around toward me as I nod my head vigorously. Well, why didn't you say something? Let's get him over here. His little pumpkin assistants grab my limbs and drag me onto the living room set. Ladies and gentlemen, gory Rory from the velvet coffin! With one hand, Sam unfastens my gag. Not them! I say, spewing the words. Please, not them! Take! I stop myself, unable to say the words, me instead. Yes? Sam Hain says, tilting his head theatrically as if to listen closely with a non-existent ear. Take them! I say, jerking my head toward the two other captives. Take them instead! Just not my son, please, not him! Sam straightens and taps a finger against his non-existent chin, considering... Let me get this straight. You want to sacrifice these two perfect strangers to save your wife and son? Yes, yes, please. There's not someone else you would want to offer up for this educational opportunity? He stares pointedly at me. No, I look away, unable to meet the creature's gaze. Well, okay then. You heard the man. Let's get these perfectly nice, perfectly innocent strangers over here. Sam's helpers drag Heather and Brennan away, replacing them on the couch with the old woman and the young girl. Then they heft me onto the couch as well. So I'm sitting at one end with the old lady at the other, the girl between us. They both glare at me like I'm the one doing this to them. Like it isn't Sam Hain putting us in this position. I tell myself that if the roles were reversed, they would do the same. But that doesn't mean I can meet their gaze for more than a moment. I look away as Sam Hain resumes talking. Where were we? Oh yes, an example of what can happen to you if you don't get my tape on Halloween safety. He unwraps the orange candy, which looks like a piece of taffy and brings it close to the camera. See? You can't tell there's anything wrong with it, can you? Looks like an ordinary, rot-your-teeth piece of candy, right? Wrong. It's deadly. Moving swiftly, Sam Hain comes back over to the couch, unfastens the girl's gag, and grips her mouth with his freehand, forcing it open. He pops the candy inside and then slams her mouth shut. The girl's eyes bulge in terror as she tries to open her mouth to spit the candy out. But Sam Hain clamps her teeth together. Then the girl freezes as a single tear escapes and falls. Her cheeks flush and a red drip starts from her nose. Sickening movement appears as something with many legs scrambles in her mouth. Her eyes bulge even more and a moment later, I see why. They pop out of their sockets as roach-like insects come rushing out on a wave of blood. Sam Hain lets go of her face and steps away, laughing. As soon as the girl's mouth opens, hundreds of the strange insects erupt from it. They look like a cross between a roach and a spider, but with at least ten legs and huge, sharp fangs. I shout as they crawl over me. I throw myself off the couch and roll along the floor as the insects keep coming. They envelop me from the feet up and then the legs and the abdomen. No matter how much I roll around, they keep coming. I only stop screaming when they reach my face, slamming my mouth shut to keep them out. But even then, it doesn't matter. They force themselves between my lips, up my nose. They bite me and burrow under my skin. The pain is crippling. And in the moment before they dig into my eye sockets, I peer toward the corner for one last glance at the only two people I've ever loved. But Heather and Brennan are gone. There's no trace of them. And a moment later, I can no longer see anything because the insects obliterate my eyes. When I come to, I can still feel insects crawling around in my skull. Sitting up, I try to dig them out, reaching my fingers through my eye sockets to snag them. My fingers feel strange in my eyes. My eyes also feel strange for that matter. Forgetting about the insects, most of which I've already skittered out of my mouth. I look at my hands. They're covered in leather gloves. I try to pull the gloves off, but they won't budge. My arms are shrouded in the sleeves of a burlap jacket. Straw sticks out from the cuffs. Panic gripping me. I yank one cuff up my forearm, searching for my skin, but only finding more straw. There's a hard, bum-like structure underneath the straw. But as I'm digging for it, someone steps in front of me. I look up into Sam Haines' face. Only now he looks worse than ever. His head looks like a jack-o'-lantern that has been sitting outside for the whole month of November. It's discolored and collapsing in on itself. Looking good, my man! He says, offering my hand. I scramble away from him, seeing that the two of us are wearing the same exact clothes, down to the boots. We're still in the warehouse. The living room set is still there, complete with the corpses of the little girl and the old woman. A few insects skitter over their horrifically deformed faces. Looking toward the corner, I see that Heather and Brennan are still gone. Where do they go? I ask. Oh, them? Sam says. They were never really here. They're safe at home, watching. He points to the camera, which is still on, still broadcasting. They saw what you did. I mean, sure they saw it all. Oh boy, you really put on a show. You know, deep down, your ex thought that maybe, just maybe, you guys could make it work. Well, that's what she thought, until she saw what you did. Now? Not so much. I shake my head, which feels too big and hollow. What the fuck did you do to me? I scream. Sam shakes his head and steps over to the couch, sitting down on the little girl's lap. Oh, excuse me, Missy. He says, laughing madly as he shifts over to the free seat. He looks at me. After all I've given you. This is how you repay me? Given me? I spit, getting to my feet. You haven't given me shit! Sam raises a hand and snaps two fingers. The dry noise lets a snap and more a rasp. And I'm suddenly 11 years younger and infinitely drunker. I'm in a strange woman's bedroom. We've just finished having sloppy sex. And now she's in the bathroom, vomiting. The guilt of having cheated on Heather is there, but by now I've gotten good at pushing it away. I stumble naked out onto the patio with a cigarette in my mouth and a lighter in my hand, doing all I can to stay vertical. An emptiness expands in my chest and my head, a black void threatening to take me over. For as long as I can remember, that chasm has been inside me. Despite my best efforts, it only seems to expand. When I first saw the woman at the show, I thought that if I could just have her, it would keep that pit in me from expanding. But now that I have had her, I'm as empty as ever. Sometimes I feel like I'm more void than person, like I only exist to fill that abyss. I've tossed everything I can into it, drugs, sex, alcohol. The only thing I haven't thrown into it is fame. And I know with utter certainty in my drunken state that fame will fill it for good, or at least make it manageable. The woman's apartment is on the 10th floor of a downtown high-rise. As I light my cigarette, I look out over the city, imagining that each light represents a screaming fan in a crowded stadium. I picture myself singing the songs that haven't yet grown weary to my ears. I inhale the smoke, lost in the drunken daydream. Yes, the fame will fill the void. The fame will fix it all. I'll give anything for the fame, anything. Is that so, friendo? A voice says, I turn and see a man with a jack-o'-lantern head standing next to me. In my blackout state, it seems like the most natural thing in the world. Let's make a deal, Rory. What do you say? With another raspy snap of fingers, I'm back in the present. And my body is different now. My head is hollow, but the void is still there. In fact, it's bigger than ever. See? Sam says. I gave you what you always wanted. It's not my fault you didn't really want it. It's not my fault you can't ever fill that void. That you're just about the most selfish person I've ever met. But we made a deal, Rory. And it's one you can't get out of. So I'll leave all this to you. He sweeps a hand around the dingy warehouse. Maybe you can bring Sam Hain to the modern world. I'm washed up. I only got three sacrifices tonight. Three that proves it. My time is over. I guess people don't want tapes anymore. And I can't for the life of me figure out this YouTube crap. Seems like hell to me. But I'm tired. I've been at this for too damn long. Now it's your turn. You're the perfect replacement. You prove that tonight, just like I thought you would. He grins at me. And then his head falls apart. The light inside going out as the pumpkin crumbles, shriveling as it falls to the floor in pieces. Next, his whole body collapses like the clothes are suddenly empty. I stare down at what's left of Sam for a moment before someone clears his throat nearby. I look over at the camera. There's a new eyeball monster behind it. It's leaning out, staring at me. We're live. Do something. Halloween's almost over. Looking past the monstrous camera operator, I remember the guy who managed to escape after all the soldiers were killed. The guy in the orange costume shirt. Driven by panic, I bolt out of the warehouse into the parking lot. I spot the streetlight, the cracked asphalt. But something has changed. Something is different from when I glimpsed it earlier. Hanging upside down from the streetlight is the man who escaped earlier. I assume it's him, because the costume T-shirt lies nearby on the asphalt. I can't see the man's face because his upper body has been skinned. The flesh pulled down to obscure his arms and head like a sweater in the middle of being pulled off. Half a dozen little pumpkin creatures stand around behind the streetlight. They soon jump into action. Some of them pulling on the rope slung over the top of the streetlight, hoisting the man up higher. The action seems to jolt him awake and he starts screaming. How is he still alive? I wonder. This sacrifice is dedicated to Sam Hain. The pumpkin munchkins, says, raising a knife and then jamming it into the man's fleshless belly. He drags the blade down toward the rib cage. The man's entrails spill out and onto the pumpkin creature who laughs and dances, wrapping the intestines around itself as it twirls. The other pumpkin creatures laugh, but the whole disgusting scene is taking a backseat to the feeling swelling inside me. It's like nothing I've ever experienced before. Like a big meal fills an empty stomach. This sacrifice fills the void inside me. It's like a combination of the first hit of heroin, cocaine, meth, weed and morphine combined. I stumble, feeling my wide mouth growing even wider. The flames inside, my essence flaring as I peer out beyond the parking lot. I notice that all the buildings and houses around are slightly off. Their dimensions are strange. The angles all wrong. Off in the distance, silhouetted against the purple sky, is a giant spider with long spindly legs, four stories tall. It lumbers along, towering over the gnarled barren trees. Giant bats flap through the sky, backlit by the huge orange moon. I look back over my shoulder and the warehouse. Halloween is almost over. I return my gaze to the dead man, whose blood is still draining from his body. Already, the high is wearing off, the void expanding again. I can't stand that empty feeling. Turning around, I head back to the warehouse. Time to get to work. SCP-6592 designates six television advertisements slash public service announcements aired throughout the United States from 1989 to 1991, specifically targeting suburban and rural communities. Produced by Vikander Need Technical Media, each transmission interrupted ordinary programming when broadcast. All instances concern the Halloween holiday, providing general information and warnings about dangers facing children. Yet most are nonsensical in messaging and overall tone. Each runs approximately one minute. The exact production circumstances and origin remain unknown. Viewing any instances induces intense fear in observers. Each broadcast is presented by SCP-6592-1, a humanoid dressed in clothing matching contemporary scarecrow depictions. A sackcloth cloak, gloves, and a shirt adorned with a human ribcage. The entity's head is a large pumpkin carved as a grinning jack-o'-lantern. Within the advertisements, it identifies itself as Sam Hain.