Syndicate of the Hallowed

Sleep

  Cory knows he's running out of time, General Flooper would pass away any night now. He needed to find the sleep deprived victims of SCP-966 and fast. He hadn't been able to previously do it thanks to Otis putting his nose where it doesn't belong.

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     Sleep, sleep is an important part of life but science is still not completely sure why we do it. To shut one's self into unconsciousness for half your life seems like it'd be the largest risk in nature, to be so vulnerable to a stalking predator. To be easily eaten without so much as a twitch of resistance. But General Douglas Myers knows different.

     Through his months of sleeplessness he's learned that sleep is the most important thing in his life, a thing he's taken for granted. He knows that without sleep, you're just as vulnerable to that predator as when you have it. He can hear his predator stalking, hear it scraping and tapping, see its grinning facade when he closes his eyes. He knows the monsters are waiting for the foundation's protections to fail, for just the right moment to swoop in. Deep down he knows that he can't stay safe in this box forever. He thinks his predator knows that too.

     He used to run a whole site of the best military and scientists there have to offer. Thousands of people under his beck and call. His leadership commanding manages to contain things nature cannot explain. Things no human should ever have seen. Containing fates far worse than death within the incomprehensible. But he saw them, and he conquered them. He understood his duty to humanity was to protect them, and he was willing to do whatever it took.

     Logically he knew that he took that risk when he signed to the foundation. He knew it at every mission he deployed out to, to every rank he rose. But some part of his brain was convinced he was invisible to these fates, that he in some way was the main character of his own story, meant to stay on top forever.

     Myers used to be a strong man, a hard man. Nowadays he'd stare at the blank ceiling, nearly crying at the thought of getting sleep. He knew that he wouldn't survive this for much longer, the human body needed sleep. He knew that the cure to 966 wouldn't miraculously be found so that he survives this. He knows he has to make his peace with his fate. He's even thought about volunteering to bait more 966 instances out for termination. He slides into his bed, pulling the sheets over himself and making himself comfortable. This was the closest he'd ever get the real rest again. He nearly screams at the thought, but he's too tired to even try. He reaches over and turns off the light, plunging the room into an impenetrable darkness. He closes his eyes and inhales, pretending he's getting ready to fall asleep.

     The sharp ticking of a clock intrudes his thoughts. They pound through his skull, ruining any thought of rest he could have. The sound pounds and clacks. He had requested a clock be placed in his room, but he doesn't recall anyone bringing a clock, especially one big enough to make these noises. He focuses on the clock, it sounds muffled. Is it still in the box? He focuses harder, the ticking is not quite even, not quite uniform. It's slowing, it's moving, his eyes widen. Right outside his room the noise stops. He doesn't hear the door move or anything else in his room, but the noise slowly starts back up.

    It's less muffled, it's behind him, it's coming closer, it's footsteps. Is this all in his head, is this his brain's last hurrah before death, is he already dead. The sound stops to his side, his breath hitches. He hears heavy breathing close to his ear, as if the unknown creature is inspecting him. It huffs and moves its head away, as if coming to a conclusion. He slowly turns his head to meet the breathing and sees a single glowing red circle, no, eye, peering at him. The eye tilts to the side and keeps looking at him. It comes closer and softly growls, it's eye feeling as though it's peering into his soul. The beast continues looking at him, he realizes that he's no longer afraid, he's tired. More tired than he's ever been.

     His eyes droop, his head lulls. The creature looks unsurprised, if anything, happy in its own inhuman way. He drops to the pillow, no longer having the energy to keep his eyes open, let alone move. His last moment of consciousness is the feeling of his sheets being readjusted and fixed over him. And, finally, he sleeps, entering a dreamless night for the first time in months.