SCP-595

Item #: SCP-595

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-595 is to be held in a concrete containment cell at Site 73. Guards are to be posted outside of the cell with orders not to enter the room. Guards are to check the door periodically, and if it is open for any reason, leave immediately and notify a guard on shift. The door is to be locked at all times. No personnel are permitted entry into SCP-595's containment cell unless given permission by no fewer than two custodians. If personnel wish to go head-to-head against SCP-595, it is to be monitored by three crewmen at all times. See Research Log 595 for more details.

Description: SCP-595 is a three-and-a-half (3.5) meter tall structure found in an abandoned factory in Maine. SCP-595 bears several anomalous properties, the most notable being its tendency to spontaneously combust. It does this with astonishing regularity; this phenomenon has only been witnessed on two occasions. It also has several properties relating to its fuel:

SCP-595's fuel is invariably a transect of a long, narrow room of concrete, but it tests have shown that any other type of fuel will work as well. Any attempt to make SCP-595 burn anything else will result in its combustion. A small, roughly two hundred thirty five (235) watt bulb is mounted near the middle of the structure; this bulb always turns out to be totally burned out regardless of how much its filament has been extended or depleted over the past years. Any attempt to replace this bulb will result in a pile of ash within sixty seconds.

At the center of the structure's fuel lies a human skull and left forearm. This limb appears to be decaying at an accelerated rate, but since the flesh around it is still soft and moist, it seems possible that large portions of muscle could still be present. Currently there are several missing digits on this limb, and they seem to have no indication of where they were removed from; also, they have had to be severed at some point as it is impossible for them to be reattached after injury or surgery.

The skull itself appears to have been reduced in size by at least fifty percent, though this looks intentional rather than accidental due to simple lack of wear on the facial bones and skull cap. The skull is mostly unremarkable save for one detail: within each eye socket exists what appears to be a human eyeball with no apparent connection between it and the rest of the head.

Found within SCP-595's fuel are several yellowed pieces of paper reporting various incidences involving SCP-595 over the past ten years. They are all similar; typically written in ballpoint pen and dated for when it actually took place, these reports describe how SCP-595 would erupt into flames with little warning and how whoever was stationed near it perished instantly due to heat related causes such as spontaneous combustion, carbon monoxide poisoning, or complete incineration. There are also descriptions here and there about how "it won't stop until you've seen it doing fine" or how "the skulls taste extra good with all those eyes". One report even goes so far as to say that Dr. ████████ had confirmed all reports made by witnesses who died before he could record their remarks.

Addendum: On 5/22/██, after a period of seven months, SCP-595 began to spontaneously combust once again. This time, it produced a large amount of smoke and heat, but no flames. It appeared to still be functioning as usual, but Dr. ████████ decided to closely monitor it for further anomalies. Several minutes later, he determined that the structure was beginning to collapse; after nine minutes, there was nothing left of it but fire and a pile of ash.

Dr. ████████ discovered that the contents of the fuel had completely combusted, and thus the remains of the skull and forearm had been reduced to powder. He discovered several pieces of paper within the ashes that had been partially charred, and one of them prominently displayed a message written in black ink on plain white paper.

This will have to be permanent.

The former location of this warehouse is now home to a small city called Burring Happ, Maine.