SCP - 025 "A Well-Worn Wardrobe"
Object Class - Safe
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Site-19, SCP-025 Containment Room
Dr. Evelyn Park adjusted her glasses as she reviewed the latest test request. "Next up: D-914, male, 34. 1960s raincoat, missing left pocket, several tears along the hem."
Security Officer Grant stood by the door. "You sure you want to keep running these, Doc? Last week's cleanup took three days."
Evelyn nodded grimly. "Orders are orders. Besides, we need to understand the mechanism. Ready?"
The containment door slid open. D-914 shuffled in, eyes darting between the wardrobe and the staff behind the glass.
"D-914," Evelyn's voice echoed through the intercom, "please open SCP-025 and put on the yellow raincoat you'll find inside."
He hesitated, but complied, slipping his arms through the sleeves. The coat hung lopsided, the missing pocket obvious.
"Describe how you feel," Evelyn prompted.
D-914 shrugged. "Kinda cold on the left side. Smells like old socks."
For the next hour, D-914 wandered the test chamber, occasionally tugging at the torn hem. Nothing happened.
Grant leaned in. "Maybe this one's a dud."
Evelyn shook her head. "Patience. The effect isn't always immediate."
Suddenly, D-914 tripped, catching the torn hem on a loose floor tile. He stumbled, landing hard on his left side. As he tried to stand, his hand slipped into the gap where the pocket should have been—except there was nothing to grab. His hand smacked the concrete, and he yelped.
"Subject, status?" Evelyn called.
"My wrist—think I sprained it." He cradled his left arm, wincing.
Evelyn made a note. "Injury corresponds with missing pocket. Remove the coat and return it to SCP-025."
Later, in the observation lounge, Grant eyed the wardrobe through the glass. "You ever wonder who owned these clothes? Why they're all ruined?"
Evelyn shrugged. "Maybe that's the anomaly. The wardrobe collects misfortune."
Grant smirked. "Or maybe someone cursed it. Like a witch's closet."
Evelyn smiled, then turned serious. "No one opens that wardrobe except D-Class, understood?"
He nodded. "Yeah, Doc. I like my skin intact."
The next morning, Evelyn arrived to find a scarf—brightly colored, short and tight—draped over her office chair.
She frowned. "Who left this here?"
Grant poked his head in. "Lost and found, maybe?"
Evelyn hesitated, then remembered the warning. She called Security. "Scan this for SCP-025 signatures."
The scanner beeped red. Grant whistled. "That was close."
Evelyn stared at the scarf, heart pounding. "Misfortune doesn't always come from the wardrobe. Sometimes, it finds you."
End of Log