Item #: SCP-9697
Object Class: Safe Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: As of 2022/08/03, containment of SCP-9697 is divided between procedures pertinent to the physical location and the associated anomaly.
Due to the event-dependent nature of the associated anomaly, containment of SCP-9697 itself is considered total despite its public location so long as no cross country athletic program is reestablished at ███ ████ High School. Proposals to do so are monitored by undercover Site 18 personnel and dissuaded via counterproposals focused on budgetary concerns. In the event such counterproposals prove ineffective, Protocol NCLB will go into effect and create funding shortfalls until the proposed program is tabled for a period lasting at least three months.
Despite lack of anomalous activity outside officially sanctioned cross country meets, all attempts to traverse SCP-9697 are heavily monitored in the event established anomalous behavior changes and necessitates an update to containment procedures. Individuals who attempt traversal are detained for questioning.
Per Addendum-9697-B, control of the associated anomaly is assigned to three members of Site 18 staff, who monitor high school sports reporting outlets and associated social media for signs of similar activity at other secondary school athletic programs. Detection of such signs shall trigger a shutdown of the local cross country athletic program and the implementation of the above-outlined containment procedures.
Evidence of previous anomalous activity at SCP-9697 in both mass media and private effects is subject to suppression.
Description: SCP-9697 constitutes the former official 5k cross country course at ███ ████ High School in Arizona. Historic newspaper excerpts and personal testimony from former runners alike characterize the hilly stretch as especially grueling for the sport.
Testimony from former members of the ███ ████ High School Cross Country Team (the "Hawks") further indicates negative sentiment towards the course among those who ran it, including such descriptors as "really spooky," "chillingly quiet," and "the worst training route by a country mile." Personal comment sections in Foundation reports on SCP-9697 tests conducted outside meet conditions corroborate characterizations of the course's difficulty and "eerie atmosphere" alike, though none link these aspects to its anomalous nature.
When run by high school athletes during an officially sanctioned cross country meet, the confines of SCP-9697 are known to subjectively distort beyond their natural boundaries and against surrounding observable reality, trapping select runners in an extradimensional mirror copy of the course. All reported instances comprise hours' worth of experience confined to a single second of real time.
Those caught within SCP-9697's distortion universally report a pressing need to keep running. Reported and measured attempts to stop are associated with an intensification of the distortion effect.
Those caught within SCP-9697's distortion also typically report a sense of being watched, frequently accompanied by accounts of shadowy figures within the vegetation, on distant hilltops, or at the bottom of upcoming valleys. These figures are always gone by the time an individual reaches their location. In rare cases, subjects report the manifestation of hostile entities. These entities are never reported as directly viewed, but always described in definite terms as giving chase and threatening to overtake the individual's position within seconds, even across protracted periods of time.
Between 1996 and 2011, the course played host to three seasonal cross country meets a year; of these, research indicates at least one record of anomalous activity across 90%. Two incidents of anomalous activity resulted in an athlete's disappearance. The first of these in 2010 brought SCP-9697 to Foundation attention; the second in 2011 precipitated the dissolution of the cross country program and the start of Foundation containment efforts.
Analysis of historic data and Foundation testing under meet conditions reveals strong correlation between individuals afflicted by the anomaly and said individuals' placement within the race at time of anomalous onset. In all cases, those caught within the distortion are separated from other runners by either a distance of at least 30m for those in eyesight of one another, or else obscured by terrain and/or vegetation.
Addendum-9697-A: Illustrative record of the SCP-9697 anomaly.
The following is selected for highlight as most extensive and demonstrative account of firsthand experience within the SCP-9697 anomaly. For exhaustive records, consult the Site 18 Archival Department.
Access granted
2020/04/21 statement from Jill H███ regarding 2009/10/08 incident
I always hated Dark Trails.
It's what the other guys on the team called it. Nothing to do with what… what happened. I mean they knew it got weird and dark out there during meets sometimes, but no, they got it from the guys before them, who said it they got it from the guys before them. Called it that because it let us get really far out in the wilderness, like six or seven miles from the nearest house before they'd call it and turn back, and even when we ran it for summer practice, with the sun setting around eight o'clock, the sky'd be dark before we got back.
And you could get lost out there. The paths people used for hiking and off-roading were bad enough. The guys used to get bored running the same loops every week, so they'd jump onto some riverbed that intersected the footpath, or go out on some animal trail, or just go charging out into the brush without worrying about cacti or rattlers or anything. They all thought it was really creepy and confusing out there, but they'd goad each other about being wimps and putting hair on their chest until they all agreed to another go. And every time we ran it, every single time, I'd fall behind, lose the trail, have to climb some hill to find my bearings, and come back like an hour after everyone else, scared because I knew it wasn't safe out there, and scared because I knew my parents were gonna yell at me like it was my fault for trying to keep up with the team. The worst training route by a country mile.
So, you know, it wasn't all that great knowing our home course was the same basic area as my personal hell labyrinth. At least the official path kept us close by the school, didn't go onto too many crazy hard parts compared to what the area offered, had some volunteer adults posted around telling us which way to go. Even still, I heard the stories, how often racers practically limped across the finish line like they'd run through jagged glass or something, even people who were leading the pack by several minutes before coming into view half-dead. Made me wanna fake being sick those days. But, it's like… I swallowed down, ran it like everyone else, usually came in around twentieth or thirtieth got through a couple years mostly trying to not embarrass myself too bad by letting the other schools' deadweights outdo me.
And then there was the time I ran Dark Trails junior year.
I was having a bad day already. Lot on my mind about English and Chemistry, stitch in my side most of the morning, Roberto telling me I was gonna ruin our chances at State if I didn't quit telling Coach about the older guys hazing the freshmen and ruining their fun… wasn't feeling it, not even during the team pep talk before race start. Went out there anyway, told myself I should at least do my best, squared up, gun goes off, and I just… couldn't get myself moving. Pumped my legs and breathed with my core and emptied my mind, didn't matter; whole crowd of forty other runners got in front of me, and not by a little distance either. When people on the sidelines started jumping the rope and bumping into me as they rushed to make the other side of the athletic field so they could watch us come in? Lost my morale to try at all.
Would've been better if I just gave up instead of deciding to basically half-run, half-jog my way through. I was so down on myself, I didn't think anything of everything going dim as I crossed the road and entered the treeline. Thought, "Yeah, heavy cloud cover, probably a thunderstorm or something, that tracks. That's about where I am right now." Didn't see Coach or his assistant or my dad making sure we didn't stumble down the wrong path. Why would I? Dead last by so much I couldn't see or hear the slowest guy, what reason was there for them to wait after me? Besides, by that time, we'd done Dark Trails so often, I'd made a point to memorize all its twists and turns, at least the ones near the school, so I'd at least know when I was close to home coming back, and not make any mistakes on a race day.
Right. Right. There I am, trudging along, dealing with that stupid sandbed and and those low-hanging branches and that hill I swear is steeper than the one out on Sombrero, perfectly sure I'm bombing the race and thinking more about how I'm gonna deal with everyone chewing me out for bringing down our point total right before regionals. It's dark and it's quiet, and I feel like the hills are lasting a lot longer than they should, and it's not until my stitch starts bothering me again that I look around and realize I don't have the first idea where the hell I am.
Didn't stop. Lost too much time wandering around after sundown during practice runs to think stopping out on Dark Trails was a good idea. I'm already without a paddle for coming in last place by so long; what's showing up even later and admitting I got lost gonna do to make things worse? All I did was find a little bumpout off the trail, loop myself around, and start heading back the way I came… or else I would've, had the bumpout not been at the top of a hill, and I realized I couldn't see the school. That got me panicking a little. Like, sure, this happened before, but only when the guys took us way, way out, for three hours or something. Not when I'd been gone, what? Ten, fifteen minutes? Twenty max?
I didn't time myself, didn't like the watch chafing my wrist. I'm guessing how long it was.
Point is, only thing for it was to get moving. Being lost and a little scared? Apparently better motivation to open your stride and really pump your legs than organized competition. Go from jogging to running, the proper sort of running probably shoulda been doing from the start, even attacking the hills with higher knee-lifts, anything to get back to the school. Round that time, it occurs to me there aren't actually any clouds in the sky despite the darkness, and also like… you know how you can tell there's people on the sidelines, regardless whether you've tuned them out and centered your focus on the race? Was like that. Would dart my head to the side and swear I just missed someone peering through the trees, watching me pass by.
Details do blur a little around there. Probably because - and I know you'll say I'm lying, but I swear on everything I hold sacred, I swear it's true - probably because I spent a good… two hours, I want to say?… heading towards where I thought the school was, decided I made a mistake, and then spent something like four hours trying to correct in the other direction. Which is insane. Even if I don't have exact numbers, it sure felt way longer than even the worst practice days on Dark Trails, and the sky didn't change a single shade in all that time, and I didn't cramp up or run out've breath or drop from exhaustion, and all the while I'm certain I'm taking hills and curves and sandbeds I've already done a million times, and there's still people watching me, and…
Sorry. Sorry. It's… I know it's a lot. But…
I don't know how long it was total. Only thing keeping me going around the fifth time I changed direction along a fork in the path was the idea I was almost done, surely a few minutes from finding something familiar and getting to stop. In for a penny, in for a pound sort of thinking, yeah? It's what Coach always called it, at least. You chunk up what you're doing and tell yourself there's just the one more bit to do, and then keep on telling yourself that no matter how many bits there are, eventually the weight of all those chunks stops you from giving up because you don't wanna put them all to waste. Never really understood it until then…
There were people out there too, you know? I mean, I already said I could feel their eyes on me, but I caught a few glimpses too. Hard to remember any details, it was so dark out; they were there all the same, at the end of long straightaways and half-hidden around corners. And the weird thing? I never, never felt the need to perform for anyone watching during an ordinary meet. Even sorta resented people cheering my name, because I knew I was never doing half so good as they acted. Kinda… ran up to one of my friends and tried to punch 'em for shouting, "Good job!" in the middle of one race sophomore year. Only these people? or things, or whatever? No matter how long I ran, how tired I thought I should be, I'd catch sight of them, and I'd think, "You've gotta perform like never before. This matters. This is it." Like I'm gonna impress an exhaustion hallucination or something, right?
So that's all swirling around in my head. Desperation to get home, frustration at not finding the right way, aphorisms I picked up at running camp, this weird drive I never had before… carried me on for… I don't know, don't make me estimate, it's too much, and I always sucked at guessing times anyways. Say half a day if you need a number. Either way, all that at my back, it's still not enough to keep me going any longer. I've run what must be every possible inch of Dark Trails, and probably quite a few inches that weren't there before, and a new notion comes to mind. What if all this running has been the stupid thing to do? I'm lost, way more lost than ever, and I've been gone so long someone's gotta be looking for me. And they tell you to stay put when you're lost, right? Never really took the advice before, because I always found my way back, but at this point, what else is there? May as well slow down, stop, and wait for the search party or the helicopter or whatever.
So I did.
And God help me, do I regret it.
There wasn't any sound. I didn't see anything. All I remember is, the second I went below a jog, made like I meant to stop, this terrible, all-consuming certainty flooded my mind: "They're gonna get me." They. Just… they. Every terrible thing I wouldn't want behind me or touching me, suddenly there out of nowhere, and closing in fast. They were gonna get me. And I… I had to go. Not just go, go. Run for my fucking life.
And I did. I don't know how I did. Every time I tried to run like… like I wasn't gonna leave anything in the tank, like Coach always said, I blocked up and held myself back, but this time? Took off like a shot, like blind, flailing fear was enough to make me run like the guys always said I should. And if I think about it today, everything was perfect. My form, my pace, my breathing, the way I struck down on the sand and adjusted my stride on the hills and even got past my usual fear of those awful downhill rocky slopes that were like four feet wide total. I was running.
And I was terrified. It only feels like the best performance of my life in hindsight. In the moment, all I could think was: this is it, oh God no, more, more, more, come on, don't stop, not another hill, they're gonna get me on the hill, not another turn, not another crevice, I can't breathe, I can't feel my feet, they're still back there, I can't stop, I can't slow, go go go go go go go go GO! Just… flailing panic that annihilated everything, everything except these flashes, flashes of claws severing my spine or jaws crunching my neck if I lost the rhythm for a second. Premonitions, like. Or maybe paranoia. All I know is, if I'd… if I hadn't run like the perfect race, failed to keep my head steady and forward, looked back even once… I don't know. I don't know.
I think I was crying towards the end. Cause I'd been here before, in my nightmares. And this one felt like it would never end.
Anyway. I ran like that. For…
…I tripped at the end. Caught a rock the wrong way, went sailing for a few feet, saw the ground coming up, felt something sharp enter my flesh…
…and then I hit ground at the entrance to Dark Trails in full sunlight. Didn't look any different than when I'd gone in, like not a second passed. Even remember thinking the clouds were in the exact same spot.
I didn't finish the race, not properly. Couldn't bear to set another foot on Dark Trails, so I picked myself up, darted down a side path, and hid until I saw the other runners coming back for the finish. Least nobody manning the course thought I cheated, they'd all left their posts when the guy second-to-last came by, completely forgot about me. Still caught hell from the team, though. Soon as they were done chewing me out for my awful time, I let Coach and my parents know I was done with the sport. They all thought it was down to having blown it so bad. Best they did. I wasn't gonna take another step out there long as I live. Given Marcos went missing the year after, I probably made the right choice, huh?
"Probably." You know I've always felt some doubt about that? I mean, don't get me wrong, it was the single worst experience of my life, and I've had some rough days since then. Difference is, when I look back on it, think about the moment I tripped and fell back into reality, I'm haunted by this idea, this notion… if I hadn't tripped, if I'd kept moving just a minute more, even a few seconds longer… then I don't know what. There's not words for it in my head. Just… feels like I missed my shot at something.
Could be because the guys told me I'd never amount to anything after quitting the team. And Coach. And my counselor. And my parents. But even with all that aside… maybe. I don't know.
Addendum-9697-B: On 2022/06/30, a routine quarters clearout for Junior Researcher Alejandro V███████ turned up a paper typed in an unknown language. Preliminary translation (efforts still ongoing) identified the text as a letter written in tone of congratulation:
Guardians,
For athletic perseverance under prolonged strain, seclusion, and threat to limb, your child is chosen for induction into the prestigious [proper nouns yet untranslated]. Attendance mandatory. Return unlikely. This is a great honor. Live proud in knowledge Alejandro runs far and fast, in glory, forever.
Yours,
[Proper nouns yet untranslated]
Further testing has resulted in similar letters discovered within all disappeared personnel's quarters. Deeper repeat investigation into the parents of disappeared ███ ████ High School athletes unearthed similar letters previously concealed from Foundation personnel. Comparison between these letters and those received at Foundation sites reveals the addition of a postscript to the latter:
Please note: testing period almost concluded. Expansion of scouting program to other venues imminent. Tell your community.
Evaluation of implications around the nature of the SCP-9697 anomaly triggered update to object class and special containment procedures. Testing at SCP-9697 remains ongoing.