The smell of the rain

Link to article: The smell of the rain.

If you're reading this, you're either editing my article or checking out the page source. Feel free to make changes as necessary.

(none)

(none)

[[module CSS]]
If you're reading this, you're either editing my article or checking out the page source. Feel free to make changes as necessary.
[[/module]]

[[include :scp-wiki:info:start]]

**The smell of the rain**
**Author:** [[*user Onigura]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** Mentions of suicide, minor gore
----
Told in reverse chronological order, this story is my attempt at trying out several writing styles while maintaining the eerie familiarity of something that's very important to me. It's also my first tale, so I hope you like it.
[[include :scp-wiki:info:end]]

[[include :scp-wiki:component:info-cw]]

@@ @@

= **__Joel__**

Joel awakens abruptly to an alarm, covered in semi-dried sweat. His quarters are too hot at night, but so cold in the morning.

His time at the Foundation hasn't been particularly harrowing or intensive on him, but sometimes he feels they wake him up far too early. What could they possibly need a run-of-the-mill agent for at 4:30 in the morning, after all?

Whatever. It's fine. At least they pay somewhat well. On top of that, his vacation is coming up soon: he's going to see his little sister again tomorrow.

Joel lays in bed a little longer as the alarm blares in his ears. His eyes can barely stay open, as if they're glued shut. Just a bit longer, c'mon...

...

Alright, this alarm's getting annoying. Time to get out of bed.

Joel lethargically walks to the bathroom located in his quarters. He must have kicked his shirt off in his sleep. His right arm was exposed for the majority of the time he was out, so it's freezing while the rest of his body is at a regular temperature.

Joel peels his eyes open to find the light switch, only to shut them again rapidly. It's far too bright. A groan escapes as he feels around, looking for his toothbrush.

Joel brushes his teeth while trying to open his eyes. He turns the water on, rinses, and washes his face, which brings him a newfound energy. It wakes him up, so to speak.

Joel, having freshened up, slips out of his pajamas and into his uniform. He turns on the lights in his quarters, stopping the alarm. He rubs some deodorant on, sprays a single spritz of company-issued cologne on his chest, and pops in a stick of gum. He can't stand not being fresh.

He works at his hair for a bit, combing out the bedhead before he grabs his keycard and slings his rifle over his shoulder. He's an exceptionally skilled marksman, but there's nothing special about that when you deal with otherworldly threats like he's expected to.

He holsters his handgun and taser, and leaves his quarters. He's been assigned to the same anomaly for almost two weeks now. Some dude who won't wake up. Can they let this go already?

Joel makes his way to the lounge, where he can make himself a brilliant cup of coffee for him and his buddy. The coffee they serve here is the best he's ever had. He prepares a triple-shot espresso for his friend and a mocha latte (hot chocolate and black coffee, with creamer and Splenda) for himself. 

He grabs a bagel on the way out and stuffs it into his pocket as he shambles to Orison's office. 

...

As Joel approaches the door, he notices but fails to acknowledge a sign hanging on the doorknob that reads "TRANSCRIPTION IN PROGRESS - DO NOT DISTURB," a mundane error he's proven prone to.

...

Agent Rabanaque pushes the door open with his foot. 

"Mike! Got you a little something. Your favorite."

"Joel, don't you know how to read the sign on the door?"

Joel collapses, dropping the coffees he was carrying. Orison grumbles about having to clean it up.

"Oh, great. He's in for it tomorrow."

...

...

...

The sound of leaves rustling fills the air. It smells like hot dogs and burgers on the grill. It's a balmy summer night with a soft, warm breeze blowing through. Intermittent chatter can be heard in the background as Joel makes another lap around his community pool. He can see stars in the sky, accompanying a beautiful nebula. He has to share this with someone.

"Lisa! Can you see that?" Joel exclaims, pointing to the sky. 

Lisa opens her mouth to respond, but doesn't say anything. She appears awestruck by the beauty of the night sky. 

An explosion is heard in the distance. Joel and his sister turn their heads, as well as several others in the pool.

It's followed by a second, then a third. The night sky fills with newfound light in a stunning blaze. Younger children with sparklers scurry around the pool in excitement. 

It's the fourth of July again. 

A few adults can be heard cheering. It's boisterous, but instills joy in the others. A few children join in, including Joel and his sister.

They've never been more excited than now. 

Now.

This is now, right?

Of course it is. What else would it be?

Why does Joel feel so uneasy? 

Joel submerges himself underwater, holding his nose. He sticks his hand above water in an attempt to get his sister to notice and join him. He wants to know what the fireworks look like from under the surface.

There's a man at the bottom of the pool. 

Of course there is. He's always been there. Nothing to worry about. This is just how he remembers it.

His clothes aren't wet. His hair isn't wet. He seems completely dry.

He's wearing a brown trench coat, with his hands in his pockets.

His face is pretty round. His eyes, large. His eyebrows are exceptionally bushy.

He has a very prominent lower lip. 

He looks terribly uncanny to Joel.

He incites a gross feeling of unease in Joel. He couldn't possibly have been there. 

Joel notices that he can breathe underwater. That definitely didn't happen before.

Who is this man?

"Hello?"

...

No response from the man. Can he hear him under the water?

What water?

Joel isn't in the pool anymore. Was he always out?

This doesn't make any sense. Joel was never in the pool.

Joel stands in his backyard. Birds are heard chirping outside as the scent of clean soil fills the air. It's humid and brisk.

Lisa is on the trampoline in the backyard, waving at Joel.

"It's all wet! It's super bouncy right now!"

"Woah! That's so cool!"

Joel rushes over to the trampoline in excitement, his sandals flipping and flopping loudly as he stomps on the wet grass. He slips, but regains his balance as he slides over a patch of mud.

He scrambles onto the trampoline, kicking off his sandals as he jumps as high as he can. Lisa was right: the trampoline is exceptionally bouncy right now. The water must be making the net heavier, giving an extraordinarily wobbly and rubbery feeling.

Joel and Lisa laugh as they play on the trampoline. They spin and do flips and bounce significantly higher than usual.

As Joel spins, he notices a man watching from the porch. It's the same man that was under the pool. The same man that was always there.

He goes into the air once more as a rebound from his last jump.

He does not hit the trampoline again. 

...

Joel is sitting in an old-timey diner with Lisa and their babysitter. 

What is happening to him?

He thinks to himself as he takes a bite out of his apple pie. He definitely remembers the trampoline, at least a little bit. It feels like it was years ago. Was it years ago?

A bouncy tune is playing on the old-fashioned jukebox. Lisa hums along to it, apparently familiar with the song that's playing. Joel attempts to join his sister, but doesn't know the tune to hum to. He resorts to rhythmically drumming on the table with his hands, exciting Lisa. She hums louder, and Joel drums harder. Their babysitter urges them to quiet down.

The babysitter sighs and takes a sip of his coffee. Joel doesn't quite remember this occurring. Did he ever have a babysitter? 

How old is he?

Joel isn't supposed to be here. A brief moment of clarity finds him, and he knows that what's happening is not real. This is some sort of dream, some sort of hallucination.

Joel hasn't seen his sister in months. She's still in the hospital.

...

The hospital.

Joel finds himself in the hospital where his sister is located. He remembers his dreams. The pool, the trampoline, the diner. 

Is this really all he remembers his sister by? Impossible.

Joel can no longer feel himself breathing. He's suffocating in this hospital. It's painful, not nearly as pleasant as the last three dreams. What's making this happen? He can't breathe in or out. His face rapidly changes color.

Nobody walking by seems to notice. Isn't this a hospital? Can't anyone help him?

Joel feels like collapsing. He tries to, but his body won't let him. He continues walking down the corridor as it seems to expand infinitely beyond his vision. It's so long, but he knows what awaits him in his sister's room. He knows what he did.

Joel can only keep walking down this endless hallway. He can't breathe. His body won't respond to anything his brain tells it to do. He's locked here with naught but his mind.

That man watches from several of the windows that Joel walks past. His face is sickening. 

Joel keeps walking by, and that man keeps staring. He won't show himself from beyond those windows. He's a coward. Joel is filled with rage, but can't help but continue walking to his bedridden sister. 

Joel needs to awaken.

He focuses as hard as he can, attempting to close his eyes. He knows how to forcefully awaken himself from a nightmare. He used to do it all the time as a kid. What's stopping him now? Some creepy man who's too chicken to face him?

Joel shuts his eyes against his own will. His body is forcing against it, but if Joel can keep like this for just a little longer...

He can move his hand. His real hand.

He can move his leg. His real leg.

He can move his eyes...

But that man appears in front of them. His sickeningly dead face. His lifeless eyes glare into Joel's. A chill goes down Joel's spine unlike any before. His body is completely immobilized as a lifetime of fear seeps into his veins. And yet, he continues walking. 

He wants to yell. He wants to kick and scream. He wants out of this nightmare.

How is he supposed to make it out of this hospital? Away from these blinding lights, away from this cold air? Away from the unpleasant buzzing and indistinct chatter? Away from the sound of his own footsteps and the smell of rubbing alcohol?

Away from this man?

-----

= **__Orison__**

//Senior Researcher Orison sits in his office when his assistant, an agent named Gloria, walks in while holding a tablet.//

//Orison looks up from his desk, then continues writing on a document in front of him.//

"How are you, Gloria? Got something to report?"

"Yes."

"Do tell, please."

"We're getting word that there's some more sightings of your guy. You know, the one you can't seem to prove exists?"

//Orison grumbles to himself.//

"You know, we've had dream-based entities before. A series of mass reportings of the same man is good enough evidence to classify him as his own anomaly. We just don't seem to have enough information to write up containment procedures, but this is why we do research on the subject."

//Gloria sighs.//

"You're right. I just think you're putting too much effort into something that's very likely a bust."

"Gloria, if everything we did was successful, we wouldn't have any problems."

//Gloria rolls her eyes.//

"Sure. Whatever you say."

"Fill me in on the details."

"Alright. It was just a few days ago, and we're getting this description from a lot of different people. A lot of people from a town in Pennsylvania began calling the number on your flyers, claiming they saw your guy in their sleep."

"Well, send a small task force to whatever town it is for basic investigation. It'll probably show up blank again."

"Do you have any recommendations?"

"None. We don't need that many people; just get a group of maybe three or four field agents together."

"Roger."

//Gloria begins tapping on her tablet. Orison looks back down and continues writing.//

//A few minutes of silence pass.//

"Gloria, why are you still here? Is there something else you came here to tell me?"

"How did you discover this... dream guy in the first place? Did you dream of him?"

"I've only ever seen him once. It was at the same time a few hundred other people saw him in the site and surrounding area. My personal theory is that he's got a radius surrounding him that makes people see him in their sleep. He's exceptionally elusive, on top of that."

"So, what, you're saying he was near this site?"

"I'm not //saying// anything for sure. It's an analyzation based off patterns that we see involving him. He could be some kind of sorcerer... or just a superpowered creep. We've found zero logs, IDs, fingerprints, DNA, anything involving him. At least, not yet. Facial recognition is still inconclusive, so we have to go through people individually for a solid answer."

"Well... who's to say that he isn't real in the first place?"

"He is real, Gloria. This kind of thing doesn't just happen! I've dealt with far worse in my time and far less believable."

"Geez, okay. What was your dream like?"

"I don't remember many dreams, you know."

"Oh... Then-"

"But this one remains particularly vivid in my memory. It wasn't as much of a dream as it was a... Sleep paralysis may be the word. 

"I wasn't in my quarters, but rather, my childhood home. I was in a child's body, can you believe it? Hah. It felt like my body when I was far younger. The pain in my lower spine had gone, and it was quite pleasant. That is, until I heard a burning ringing in my ears. Oh, it was deafening. It felt as if my ears were being plugged with nails. 

"I couldn't move my hands to cover my ears, but I doubt that that'd have helped anyways. I could sense my state of helplessness in this room, and I pondered why I was there. My entire body was numb, and I could see //him// in the corner. That... man.

"He was horrifying to look at. I couldn't tell you why. He looked human, but my instincts were yelling at me to escape. His eyes were dead and blank. His face, absolutely lifeless. I can assure you that I have never felt more fear than in that single moment, and I can't even put a name to it. All I could comprehend was that this man, this man that was in front of me was not human. I know how insane that sounds. I've seen horrors beyond our comprehension; demons that appear to be ripped straight from the deepest layers of the earth. But this man was something else.

"He didn't seem hostile. He seemed the opposite: calm and collected. Perhaps it was something about that that terrified me so. His specious humanity shook me to my core, and I couldn't do anything about it. 

"Perhaps he smelled my fear, or sensed it. He began walking towards me in my dream, and an even stronger wave of horror washed over me once more: the strongest yet. His movement was so unnatural. It should never have happened! He was mortifying enough in the corner of my room, but seeing him move even the slightest bit confirmed to me that it was alive, and it petrified me. I felt myself forcing myself awake, and that is when this happened."

//Orison violently points to his eyes. The left is missing, and both have a heavy manner of scarring surrounding them.//

"I awoke, and ripped and clawed. I never wanted to see that again for as long as I lived, but the damage was done. The last thing I would ever see from that eye would be that man. It was then that I stopped and realized the horror of my actions. I was safe where I was, in my quarters."

//Orison shivers.//

"So I sketched him. It wasn't difficult, as his face was engraved into my mind. It was all I could think about. I needed to know that other people went through what I went through. I just needed the knowledge that I wasn't alone in my agony. I began placing flyers on the site bulletin boards, and thankfully, a few others had seen him in their sleep as well."

//Gloria taps her chin.//

"Why were you the only one to rip out your eyes? If this guy was as scary as you say he was, why didn't anyone else think that way?"

"I don't know, Gloria. When I drew him out on my paper, I realized that he wasn't nearly as scary as I thought he was. I imagine he must have done something to me during my sleep to incite such terror. His face is merely unsettling to me now. When I woke up, I wasn't myself. A cry escaped my body in terror, but it made no sound. This isn't something I would do to something that just looks odd to me now. //He// was in control there, not me.

"And now, whenever I lay down to sleep, all I can remember is my terror in that moment. I begin sweating, and a fraction of a fraction of that horror returns to my body. It's enough to keep me awake. I've since developed an uncanny aversion to sleeping."

"Ah... Sorry about that."

"Have you any more inquiries, or may I resume my work?"

"Uh, no. Sorry. Thanks for your time, Michael."

"Mmm. You're welcome."

//Orison takes a sip of his triple-shot espresso as Gloria exits.//

-----

= **__Brook__**

= **__I__**

There are no winners in war. That's a fact. I'm so sick of this shit.

I miss my sister. I want to see her again, but I can't. I was too busy killing people in this fucking war. I'm so sick. I'm so tired. But oh, I have to kill the other people because if I don't, they're going to kill me. But they're only killing us so we don't kill them. It's the same reason for both sides. Just a bunch of poor people murdering each other so the people in power can kick back and do nothing. We're just troops. 

They don't care about us. They never will. To them, we're just a statistic. Some number of fighters that may or may not get killed in action. We're all people, but they can't seem to understand that. My "enemies" are just people with as little information as me, fighting to kill when they don't even know the ulterior motive. They've got their own lives, and families to go home to. 

And I've stopped so many from doing that. From seeing their families. Their friends.

...

I can't handle this anymore. There's mothers out there, sobbing that their son never came back from war because of me. Because of my own doing. Because of my own fear.

All of these troops are just people. Scared and hopeful for this torture to end. The man on my right was struggling with a divorce for three years. The one on my left had just found the love of his life right before he was deployed.

Both of them have bullets in their heads. 

I thought I was going to die here.

I just want out of these fucking trenches. I just want to see my sister again. She was all I had in this life. My first and only best friend.

I wish she wrote me. I miss her laugh. I miss her smile. I miss who I grew up with. 

But I just had to go ahead and send her that first letter. I knew what she was struggling with. I knew why she was always drinking or smoking. But I had to be rude, didn't I? I just had to be too much of a pussy to talk to her in person, and not wait until I get fucking drafted to confront her. I could have avoided this.

This could have been entirely avoided by me.

I ruined it. I really hope it wasn't my fault. I didn't mean to send her over the edge. 

Or maybe I did. Am I that horrible?

Bullets are flying by me. I half-hope that one of them connects. Is it possible to see her?

I'm done. I hate this.

I'm leaving this hell. 

= **__II__** 

I could never just walk out. They wouldn't let me, obviously. My life is clearly valuable, right? They must "need me out there on the front lines."

Well, they can't do anything to stop me. What are they gonna do, tie my gun to my hands? I will never take another life for as long as I live. They can torture me if they want, or fine me thousands for objecting. Nobody can make me do that again.

So basically, I hotwired an ATV and stole it. They aren't really hard to find around here, and they're all designed for war, so who's to stop me from just... leaving? I want out. I want to leave.

Driving out at the highest speed possible, my fear of cars escapes me. I used to be mortified of being in vehicles of any sort, but that's just a grain of sand compared to my fear of taking someone else from seeing their family again. I've stopped dozens of brothers and sisters from coming home. I don't deserve to live.

My old house shouldn't be too far from here. Since the entire area has been effectively sacked by war, it's mostly abandoned, meaning I can revisit easily. I'm actually excited for this. The place where I grew up? Where I lived for 16 years before the divorce? 

I'm happy in this moment, for the first time in the longest time.

Geez, I'm horrible. I miss my sister.

I want to see her again.

= __**III**__

It's raining outside. 

I love the smell of the rain. It reminds me of the power outage so many years ago. I was only in elementary school when it happened, still living in that beautiful house. 

It was dark and scary. I'd never been through anything like it, but I had to act brave because Ana was even more terrified than I was.

I can catch glimpses of that time whenever it rains now. Smelling the rain is just another reminder of it.

Fuck, I miss it. I miss her.

I can feel the cool beads of rain hitting my face as I drive by. It's relaxing. My former neighborhood is just up ahead. I'm so excited. I can feel a smile creeping onto my face, which disgusts me. I shouldn't be allowed this kind of euphoria. I'm the reason I can't see my sister again. 

...

I want to go back to that time. Despite all the fear in the moment, I can still remember the smell of the rain.

= **__IV__**

There's the mexican restaurant my sister, father, and I would go to every week. They had the best chorizo burritos. It's sad seeing it so gray and abandoned. Maybe they've still got food in the back...?

Nah. That'd be ridiculous. It's probably rotting.

There's the park where I learned to ride a bike with Ana. We would go there all the time with our bikes, roller skates, and skateboards. I forget how to do all of those things. 

There's the bridge we'd always run up and down. We always asked to go swimming in the creek below, but mom never let us because "the water is dirty." That bridge was just the coolest thing to younger me; just being suspended above a body of water, but not being entirely on it was the most incredible feeling.

...

There's the school. My father's school.

...

I haven't been there in a minute.

I know what's next. I'm almost excited.

My old house, still standing strong after all this time. It's been vacant since we moved out, and was set up for demolition before the war. I haven't been here since I was 17, revisiting for fun. Ana was there with me. But now she isn't. 

And it's my fault.

= __**V**__

Someone's in my house. 

I thought it was vacant.

"Hey! Who are you?"

//The stranger raises his hands calmly, and turns to look at Brook.//

Fuck! This guy's scary as shit. What the hell?

"Hello."

Oh my goodness, what an unpleasant voice. He sounds like how biting into a towel feels. 

He looks so familiar.

"Have we met?"

"Once."

Why is he talking so cryptically?

"When? Where?" 

"Soon, here."

"That doesn't make any sense. Speak like a regular person."

//The stranger lowers his arms to his sides, and puts them in the pockets of his trench coat.//

"I see."

Huh?

"You see what? What are you seeing? Talk regularly, shit."

"Ana Bankstane."

...

What...?

How does he...?

"How do you-"

//The stranger points to a collection of papers held in Brook's left arm.//

Huh?

Those weren't there before. What are these?

My letters. I thought I delivered these. How are they here?

"How did you do that? Are you messing with me?"

//The stranger shakes his head.//

"Don't you miss her?"

"How do you know about that? Don't fuck with me, guy. I swear I'll-"

//The stranger holds up a hand.// 

"Don't you want a second chance?" 

...

"...Yes."

//The stranger points to the papers in Brook's hand once again.//

"Read them again."

...

"What's going to happen?"

//The stranger says nothing, and continues pointing.//

...

I mean...

It's worth a shot, isn't it?

It feels anticlimactic.

If there's any way I can do it, and this creepy guy knows how to...

Whether or not I live or die, I'm definitely still going to read them. If something happens, it happens.

Will I really be able to see her again?

@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@

= **__VI__**

@@ @@

It's one o'clock in the afternoon. It's grossly overcast with thick, dark clouds outside. The air is thick with humidity, and it's extraordinarily hot despite the lack of sunlight. Brook looks around, unable find the stranger. His house is in a far greater condition than just a few minutes ago.

He looks in his hand to find that he is holding a cheap flashlight. His letters are gone. He clicks it on, and wonders what is going on. 

"Am I asleep? Is this real?"

He gets no response. His parents must be out. 

"Ana? Are you here?"

He quickly speedwalks to the living room. Is it true?

His living room is empty. Maybe the basement? She would retreat down there when she was scared.

He hurries down the wooden stairs to his unfinished basement, illuminating it with his flashlight. 

"Ana?"

He gets no response. It's stuffy and hot in here, so it's unlikely that she'd be hiding in the basement right now. He runs back upstairs and checks the yard to see if she's outside or in the parking lot.

He pushes open the backdoor, only to find disappointment. His sister isn't outside. It smells like rain.

He walks back inside, checking throughout the house. It only then dawns on him that he hadn't yet checked her room. Is this really true? Or just a fading memory?

He climbs up the stairs on all fours, and runs to her room. He might be building up a sweat, but it's too humid inside the house to tell. The door to her room is shut. 

He walks over to the door, and knocks. This must be some sort of trick, some sort of-

"What?"

Brook shoves the door open.

@@ @@

On the bed sits his sister, reading a book under her flashlight. She waves to Brook as he walks in.

@@ @@

-----

[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]

The smell of the rain

Module Styles

Inline Styles

Includes

CSS Classes

Page Source