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SCP Case of the Phantom Bicycle

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10 of the Most Unbelievable SCP Foundation Stories Secure. Contain. Protect. The SCP Foundation is responsible for locating and containing individuals, entities, locations, and objects that violate natural law (referred to as SCPs). Compiled of documents and tales from the SCP Foundation archives, this playlist includes some of the most intriguing SCPs that have been discovered. These podcasts recount the stories of the scariest, most worrisome, and most unbelievable SCPs ever documented. Vurbl Paranormal: Tales of the Weird, Mysterious & Spooky
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The town of Crestfall, Idaho can't be found on any maps, but the town has had more than its fair share of disturbing occurrences, this one requiring SCP intervention. And they have great rhubarb pie.
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questions about what you're going to do after art school following our field notes from Dr Ted Kith. We are supposed to keep the names of our agents classified, but we recently got in a fight about carpooling so you can deal with the Ted Foundation. Received an anonymous tip to investigate a house in the town of Chris Paul, Idaho. Chris Paul cannot be found on any map, or it's been documented Any database through word of mouth, however, we need to understand that Chris Paul is best known for the rhubarb pie and an infamous story of a woman who was eaten by birds in the seventies. The town folks, I'm particularly proud of this. We both knows your turn to Dr Ted Dead field notes. We just follows 8 p.m. I have finally arrived in Crest Fall. The driving instructions were unclear. The anonymous tip stated, Start driving nowhere in particular and hope for the best. I was skeptical, as I was, in fact, terrible at hoping for the best. But sure enough, six hours and one crying spell later, I was writing down the nameless dirt road leading to the town square to the east is the Crest Fall graveyard, where the crumbling tombstones in the furthest corners date back to the late 16th century. To the south, there's a vast dark forest comprised of coniferous pine, slouching willows and twisted oaks. The outskirts of the town are surrounded by a series of interconnected, perfectly maintained neighborhoods. The grass is cut short, the porches are swept in, the bushes are pruned, the windows are clean. Few people are quietly pushing shopping carts up and down the uneven sidewalks. 8 21 PM I am hiding behind a shrub. Across the street is the house in question. 15 33 Grumbling Grove. The curtains are drawn, but the lights are on inside. No time like the present. After I get myself out of the shrubbery 8 32 PM A woman named answered the door with a wild look in her eyes. The woman of the house. I'm the only person of the house I live alone, Assuming I was going to be invited in, I stepped forward, but she blocked my path. She instead exited the house and led me to the garage. The pain on the garage door was flaking to reveal the metallic sheen that lay underneath what could possibly be inside. I've seen my fair share of unnerving anomalies, never ending staircases, deranged plague doctors, soul sucking vampires. My father, when he tries to cook what dreadful aberration could be awaiting me on the other side of that door, pulled the garage door open. I held my breath. It was a garage, nothing out of the ordinary. The lawn mower, a rake shovel, a collection of tools untouched. And at the dead center of the garage, a bicycle. I looked around to see if there was anything else hiding in the dark corners of the dimly lit room. Nope, just a bicycle. There was a worn navy blue beach cruiser. It's tires were mostly deflated with an upright seating posture, a single speed drive train in a straightforward steel construction with expressive styling. It stood perfectly upright despite not having a kickstand. All was quiet. Where is the anomaly? It's right there. Where there suddenly the brass bell on the bicycle's handlebars ring on its own accord. The front half of the bicycle turned to face me directly. Explain that she has a bicycle infestation, and she can't seem to get rid of this one. It has been wreaking havoc in a garage for a week now and has shown no intention of leaving. It has been ruining all of my late husband's would induct collection. Further investigation of the living bicycle is required. Ted woke up before dawn and walked down to the Crest Fall Reservoir. He smoked the final cigarette and a pack of Lucky's. He frowned. They didn't sell lucky there, waiting for everyone to wake up. He spoke with locals and compiled everything they knew about the bicycles at night packs of by schools from the streets of Chris Paul. When the town grows quiet and the sun is long sunset, they wandered on alleyways and boulevards through the town square and perfectly maintained neighborhoods with no clear destination in mind known in town, was forthcoming with the definitive answer As to their exact purpose. Some believe bicycles have acquired sentience and intend to become the new dominant species of this planet. Others are of the opinion that this is all just an elaborate prank conducted by local teens. But it seems exceptionally unlikely murders on the street indicate Ted might be able to find the answers he was looking for from someone known only as the Wild Man. 11:07 p.m. There are 14 shops in the town square of Crest Fall of the 14 6 sell products for oral consumption of the six to sell pies that meet contemporary health code standards. Of the two, I was told I could find the wild man of the Carlson and Carlson's delicious pastry shop. It is 4235 square feet, with rusty orange terracotta roofing weathered by the frequent rain of the region. I just feel like describing things in exacting detail. I sat at the corner of Carlson and Carlson's delicious pastry shop with a slice of rhubarb pie. Are you ever so alone? You can hear yourself chew. It's disturbing. Outside I pace beneath yawning, fantasizing about retirement and smoking some off brand garbage cigarette with a picture of a mandolin on the box. Mhm, I got you now, little yum yum's The noise came from around back. I rounded the corner to discover the bottom half of a man sticking out of an alleyway dumpster, and I cleared my throat. Excuse me, sir. I am Agent D 0389 I'm looking for a wild man. Do you know where I can find him? I have done nothing wrong. Nothing. I say. The man leapt from the dumpster with surprising agility. He was clutching a crumpled pie to his bare chest. I have every right to eat this pie. It is old pie. It is trash box pie and thrown away. Pie is free pie public pie. Which makes it my pie. Capiche. No one wants to share a pie with a wild man. I have to find it on my own. Are you the wild man? Does wild man get the pie? Yes. Then I am the wild man. Yes. Sorry. I pretended I wasn't. I'm investigating an anomaly. People say you're the one who can help me with my case. Whole town is an anomaly. You must be more specific. The bicycles. Can you tell me more about them? The wild man looks pensive. Shoving a handful of people