The SCP Experience - The 12 Rusty Keys and the Door | SCP-004

Episode Date: March 11, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation EUCLID class anomaly, SCP-004: The 12 Rusty Keys and the Door This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-004 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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DePos Minimimum of 10 dollars. Veil to pay They're responsible. The conditions apply. I think you're all a bunch of pussies, honestly. Oh, shut up, Randall. Tom snaps back.

There's always one in every squad. The loudmouth asshole who thinks they're basically a general. Naturally, Randall is the newest member in our entire squad. You know, the kid who went in this door

got dismembered, I grunt lightly. They found his right hand eight kilometers away. And you're acting like the big man right now. As if this, This thing's not going to tear you to shreds, too. Randall scoffs.

Yeah, but that kid didn't have one of these. He holds up his gun. The rest of the squad gives an audible groan from his macho display. The eternal question floats through the air again. Who's this doucheback trying to impress? Everyone ignores him yet again. We're sitting in the back of a covered van, waiting to arrive at the horror that summoned us there.

The hard copy of the briefing, lays on my lap. I've been through it a couple of times, but I run through it one more time. SCP4, the 12 rusty keys and the door. A single barred door, SCP4-1, and a chain of 12 keys, SCP4-2 to SCP4-13. Unknown if all keys fit into a single lock, testing to be done. SCP 4-2 to SCP 4-13 to be collected from local authorities and squad G to perform testing. One of the discovering juveniles found dismembered. Right hand recovered. Other piece is still missing.

Extreme caution to be taken. I breathe a heavy exhale. Dismemberment. Whatever's inside the door is vicious. Randall may be showing off his big boy gun. But I'm just praying. It's enough to make this thing stumble so I can get out in time. Guns aren't always enough.

With some of these things, nothing we have is ever enough. Hey, Mick! A voice calls my attention. I look up. Tom staring directly at me. You all right? He asks me. I swallow hard and nod.

Tom's intense stare stays fixed on me. He was with me on our last mission. He's not like that. Randall. He understands. It'll be fine, Mick, Tom says firmly. Just relax. I don't know how he can be so calm right now, but I smile stiffly at him and nod. Any squad that has Tom on it is a fortunate one.

His calm demeanor helps me draw an appropriately deep breath. Then the van clatters to a stop underneath us. Oh, hell yeah. Randall grows, standing up expectantly. Everyone else starts slowly packing everything up. Tom looks at me intensely, and I nod at him again with another curt smile. After that, we exit the back of the van. Our superior walks in front of us all as we stand to attention.

Their face is covered entirely by something reminiscent of a gas mask, with the letters SCP written boldly on their back as they pace in front of us. Their voice comes out through a voice changer. Your mission today is exceedingly simple. Our supervisor barks. In front of you all is SCP 4-1. It's believed to be extremely hostile. The only information we currently have on this phenomena is that it has killed one person,

presumably more that have gone unreported. It appeared alongside these. Our superior holds a ring aloft. It's thick and studded with rust all over. From it, hangs a number of thick, green. Brimy keys. Each of those keys look brown for the amount of rust coating them. They're also thick and large, like the keys to a medieval dungeon. These keys are thought to fit into the singular lock at the front of the door. However, what lies behind that door, we do not know at this point. That is what you are here to put to the test. Our superior starts taking the keys off the ring, one by one.

I won. Due to the precedent of many SCPs we have faced before, they say. Each one of you will only be taking the lead on opening the door with one single key each, rather than selecting a leader amongst the squad. The remainder of you must act as backup. Anything that comes out of that door is presumed hostile. Therefore you must kill on site. Is that understood?

Yes, sir! We all chant. Our superior begins walking towards us, keys in hand. Randall steps forward first, extending his hand for his key. He can't stop grinning like an idiot as he takes his key. It was never agreed that we'd stepped forward to collect our keys, but after Randall does, we all form a queue. This is SCP4-2.

The superior says to Randall. Randall's smirking as he comes back, key in hand. As the rest of the squad get their keys, they're labeled in front of us, SCP 4-3, SCP 4-4-4, etc. It takes me a second to realize I'm hanging back. Tom walks past, still looking at me oddly. I'm last in line, and the supervisor presses a key into my palm. This, their buzzing voice tells me, is SCP 4-12.

A nod, memorizing my number. As I walked back into the group, I hear the supervisor speak again. We will begin testing at 1,500 sharp. Hell yeah. Randall mutters, grinning. Can't wait. You're a moron, Tom says, coming over to me. So, you got 12, did you?

Yeah, I grunt, rolling it over in my palm. I was moving it around in my hand because the metal was odd in my hand. It felt like it was so cold that my skin was puckering under it. Which one did you get? I asked. I got seven. Tom answers. Then frowns at my rolling hands. What's wrong? My key's ice cold. It's burning me. Tom just stares at me for a second in concern.

Is your key doing anything? I ask. No. He answers. Nothing. Finally, it comes. 1,500. As soon as it comes, our superior walks out and calls. It is now 1,500. SCP 4-2, step forward. Randall steps forward with the same shit-eating grin he's been wearing all day.

Everyone else gets up slowly and forms a line behind him. Insert SCP-4-2 into SCP-4-1. The superior orders. The rest of you, brace yourselves for anything which may come out. I hear a dozen safeties click off the guns. I hold mine at the ready. Finger off the trigger for now. Randall inserts the rusty key into the lock, and it turns with a massive kachun.

Randall readies his gun with a massive grin. Finally, he opens the door. Inside is... Nothing. A completely white void, so white that my eyes start burning. We all aim our guns at the entranceway, but nothing leaps out at us. I hear Randall groan lightly. Stand inside!

Our superior barks. Randall strides into the blank white room. He walks in the middle of the room, looking around, waving his gun as he goes. After a second, he just shrugs at us. It's clear! Randall calls back. Very good, soldier. Our superior calls.

Come back. Randall shrugs and starts walking back. Then he stops with a yelp. Little pinprick wounds form all over him, and blood starts flowing down his body. What the hell? Randall shrieks. Get ready. Our superior barks.

We all walk forwards, guns outwards. When we get close to the door itself, something strong as steel stops our way. Everyone's looking confused. But when I look down, it looks like a needle of glass, shimmering almost invisibly in the bright white light. I aim down at the bits of glass,

away from Randall and open fire. There's something shattering glass, and the other members of the squad realize what I'm doing and follow suit. There's more shattering. as we shoot. I hear Randall scream and gurgle in front of us all. I look up at him. Randall is standing up stiffly, head creaked backwards, arms forced out straight, hands

wide on his tiptoes, almost taken off the ground. Those pinprick wounds have grown to the size of dinner plates. What's impaling him is still invisible. Randall shudders and gurgles, then lies still. As he does, the door suddenly swings closed. It slams in front of us all. For a second, there's nothing. Nothing is said.

Just silence. SEP 4-3, step forward. Our supervisor barks. Number two. One of our squad members inserts the key and turns it. Inside is a deep dark red swirling with mist. We all hold our guns up. Our squad teammate walks in.

She looks around herself. That's when blood-red fog swoops into her uniform. It goes inside her vest, and inside her clothing. She screams, drops her gun, and thrashes around. We get ready, but there's nothing to shoot. Then her skin sloths off. Her bright crimson muscle dissolves,

and she collapses into the ground. Then the door slams in her face. SCP4-4, step forward. Key number three. Our next member unlocks the door. He walks in with a maddened confidence, whipping his gun around. Come on, come on!

He shouts, taunting the air. A hundred pairs of eyes open at him. Get out of there! Tom roars. The squad member turns and starts sprinting back towards the doorframe. We open fire over his head. A couple of eyes dropped to the floor. They belong to something I've never seen before.

A being with sharp teeth is propelled forward by tentacles. Those tentacles are little, but there are hundreds of them, and as they wrap around his legs, they yank him to the floor. He howls and turns out. his gun on the entity, but even all the ammo in the world wouldn't work. Soon, he's pulled into the blackness. The door slams. SCP 4-5, step forward. Key number four. The door opens to total blackness. The squad member takes a deep breath and smiles at us all. Pleasure serving with you, gentlemen, she says. Then she walks in and falls. I don't know where she goes. She just bles. She just

Blinks out of existence. Not even enough time to scream. The door slams again. SCP4-6, step forward. Key number five. When the door opens next, the bracing cold hits us all. It's a frozen wasteland in there. It's all white.

But I can define shadows on the ground, telling me it's snow. We all shudder and retreat backwards a little. The squad member who opened the door looks at our superior. Go in. They bark out. Oh, come on. We all know this one's going to freeze me solid. He protests. What's the point of me going in? The superior pulls a pistol and holds it at him. Our job is to explore SCP 4-1. Go in or be shot for cowardice. He hangs his head and walks in.

As soon as he steps in, the snow creeps up around his legs and angles. The ice crawls over his limbs and locks them. Soon, we have a perfect statue of a man, just as he predicted. The door slams. SCP 4-7, step forward. Key number six. Maybe that'll be mine, I say to Tom. The frozen one. My keys, still cold in my hand. Perhaps, Tom replies. But no two have been the same so far. Yours is after this one, I murmured to him.

You, okay? We all got to die sometime, Tom replies with a sad smile. The next squad member inserts the key in the lock and turns. We stop our conversation and look over to the door as it opens. The squad member walks in with no hesitation. Tom's right. We're all going to die sometime. So what's the point in lingering?

This one is also too dark to truly see. But there are overhanging vines. As he walks in, those same vines snap down and grab him. We all open fire at the plant-like creatures. They screech and release him. Get out! Get out of there! I scream. He turns and sprints.

The ground opens up below him. He drops down with a screech and a snap as he lands. When I look down, I can see him in the gouge that has opened up. The roots stab into him. Dark red blood moves through the roots. Big! My shoulder is grabbed. I'm pulled back in time for the door to slam again.

Oh, God! I laugh breathlessly. That one almost killed two of us. Tom smiles weakly. SCP 4-8, step forward. Key number seven. Tom steps forward, key in hand. Just before he inserts it, he turns and smiles at me.

Well, let's just hope that my death is sick as fuck, right? I give the weakest laugh I ever have in my life. Then my friend turns the key in the lock and steps in before we can truly observe the place. Tom's room looks like an old factory. There are wide concrete floors, crumbling brick walls, and a thick layer of dust covers the entire place. Tom walks in. He waits. In my imagination, I see the roof break in on him where something rusted shoots out from the floor and impales him.

But in reality, nothing happens. There are no sounds from the inside. The only movement is Tom. So, he turns and walks back. Again, in my mind's eye, I see something dart out and kill him. But he crosses the threshold out of the door just fine. Well! Tom chuckles breathlessly.

That was anticlimactic. He's joking, but I can see how sweaty and pale he is. Our superior nods sternly. Now, inside, all of you. We need reconnaissance. Yes, sir. We ready our weapons and walk in. All of us.

The room is impossibly large for the building the barn door is attached to. But what else is new? It seems like nothing but a big, empty room. So we hitch our guns up and start fanning out to explore the place. We discover nothing out of the ordinary. After we return from the room, a break is called so the scientists of the SEP Foundation can survey the room that, for whatever reason, didn't kill us.

We take a break. We're supposed to be eating lunch, but no one feels like eating. No one speaks to each other, except for Tom and I. So, you're actually home free, I tell Tom. You're the boy who lived. He smiles weakly at me. I could still be killed, he jokes back. Something could just leap out of there on the next one and tear us all to shreds.

I nod, but I can feel like that. my face twisting. Tom stops chuckling. He lived through his door, but we all know that chances are I won't be living through mine. The averages alone are not on my side, but there's still an extra thing that worries me. My key's still so cold. Yeah, your key wasn't right? My key was totally normal. Tom agrees grimly. I nod. Key number eight. We all stand and ready ourselves. The next squad member sighs and starts approaching the door. I want to say to him, I'm sorry, but that won't help anything.

We settle ourselves behind him, guns at the ready, positioned as we were before. He puts the key inside the lock and turns it. He opens the door and takes a deep, quivering breath. Then he steps in. He screams and bursts into flames before he's even walked three steps in. The door slams shut. At least that one was quick. SCP4-10, step forward.

Key number nine. She's quaking with fear as she approaches the door. And even with the superior's gun at her back, she looks like she's about to bolt. But we all have guns on her. She knows if she runs, she won't be getting very far. I would, though. The thought hits me suddenly and latches on like a tick.

I'm key number 12. If everyone else gets killed, then there will be next to no one left to shoot me for cowardice. Only the superior, but I'd fancy my chances fighting him more than whatever's inside that door. But then there's Tom. That's right. Tom. Would Tom shoot me for cowardice if the superior asked him to? Yes, of course he would. He's an excellent soldier, more so than he is a good friend.

Even worse than that, he'd be disgusted with me. He'd kill me, and he'd think of me as a waste of skin as he does. We're D-class agents. Most of us are convicts, and others are the lowest of society. I was granted this opportunity instead of jail. I'd say it's been worth it so far. And frankly, the deaths of these other D-class agents will mean more than the average person's death ever would.

Their sacrifice goes towards knowledge which will keep the public safe from these things. They'd never know, and should never know. I'm sure that's how Tom sees it. I suppose he's not wrong. I need to go in my door. The other agent has been persuaded and more accurately threatened into going in her own door. She places the key inside and twists it.

We ready ourselves for it. When she opens the door, there's a hue of deep purple. Smog fills the room and a grim light filters through it. The only way I can describe it is some kind of alien planet. The life here is unearthly. The agent that opened the door was gibbering like a madwoman until the second she opened the door. Then she suddenly stops all her whimpering and strides in. Soldier! Soldier! Answer me!

Our superior shouts. She doesn't. She just continues striding forwards into the door. Then the door slams in front of us all. We look over to the superior. Don't go after her. She's probably as dead as the others. We should log this one is another failure.

SCP4-11, step forward. Key number 10. The next agent turns the key in the lock, and we position ourselves behind him just like we did all the others. There are barely any of us left, though. As he walks in, his gun is hanging down by his waist. He doesn't even attempt to fight whatever's inside. I hold my breath, waiting, hoping that perhaps he'd walk right out again,

like Tom did. But then something thick and black sweeps up from below him. I hear a rip and a snap and such quick succession that I can't discern the two. And his hand comes off. He arches his back, his mouth drops open. His hand moves to clasp the missing one. Then more black limbs strike through, vertically and horizontally. The sharp edges moving through him with no resistance.

He makes no sound. His entire body is covered in red lines. The door slams before we can watch him fall apart. SCP4-12, step forward. Key number 11. As one of our last squad members steps forwards, all I can selfishly think is, I'm next. Tom was looking back and forth to me before,

but now that we're even closer to my turn, he won't meet my eye anymore. That's fine. I might not live much longer. The next agent turns the key and walks in. The room is similar to one of the other agents. It's similar to the purple hue before. Except this time, he doesn't just walk off. He freezes and looks up at the sky.

Soldier, if you can hear me, then answer. The superior barks. Soldier. He doesn't respond. But I don't think anyone expected him to. Instead, he begins laughing. He's cackling with laughter, howling with laughter, and screaming with laughter. He falls to his knees, still screeching with manic sounds and covers his head.

Before anything else can happen, the door slams shut. Another failure. Disappear your murmurs and then looks to me. SCP4-13, you're up. Key number 12. My turn. This is it. My key still burns my hand with cold as I insert it into the lock. Before I turn it, I look at Tom and offer him a sad smile. He smiles.

and nods back, then holds his gun up directly at my head. That's fair. Who knows if I might emerge as some kind of possessed monster? I turn the key. It turns with a c'clunk. I take a deep breath, then open the door to meet my fate. Inside my door is some kind of swirling blackness,

peppered with pinpricks of light. I'm walking out into the emptiness of space. No wonder there's a chill. But as I walk in, I breathe fine, though. That is, until a voice speaks inside me. Yet another. What precisely do you immaterial amoebe seek, moving into the realms beyond your own?

Do you truly expect yourselves to be capable of the understanding you search for? I hold my gun, whipping it around to the voice. But it doesn't speak to me as much as rumble through me. It's like heavy bass, shuddering in my chest cavity with every syllable the unknown entity speaks. Who are you? I try to call out, but my voice is stolen away in the vastness of space. I would deny you all what you seek, but granting you your ill-fated wishes offers more amusement to me. Before I can even question what it means, images fill my head. I see everything. I see the birth and death of stars.

the formation and creation of all life. I see DNA forming and the complete genocide of species after species much more worthy of life than my own. It all happens in front of my eyes. I see humans live, die and live again. I see the countless cycles of life, how they interlink and cycle constantly, how circular and pointless all life is,

including mine, especially mine, all humans worthy of nothing and our entertainment for the countless other beings I know of now I see everything and the more I see

the more I ache for the blissful ignorance of my former self before I was aware of the agonizing brutal meaninglessness of everything I just can't see anymore

stop it stop it please I'm begging you again the emptiness of space steals my voice but the entity gives a dark chuckle. Suddenly, I see something reminiscent of the voice's body. It's shining in all the colors of the

nebula, studded with a hundred jet black, unblinking yet all-seeing eyes. Appendages coil, and many split a grotesque form and laugh in the face of my misery. I drop my gun and cover my eyes, but I can still see it. I can't see. I can't see anymore. I can't see. I spin on my heel and start to sprint towards where the door was. The entity allows me to leave. Why would it bother to keep me behind? I can't do anything. No one can, as soon as it comes for us. Suddenly, there's something hard under my feet. Voices. Real voices, ones which come in through my ears. Mick! Hey, Mick! You made it, buddy! Just hang on! None of us will make it. I can't stop seeing it. All of it. Life. Death. Everything. That thing.

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. My curled fingers snap up to my face. Dig into the soft, wet, squishy meat of my eyeballs. If I can't see, I can't see everything. My nails bury under the moist flesh and tighten.

The pain cracks through my skull, but it's nothing. There's space between my eyeballs and my eye sockets. I push my fingers in, harder, as hard as I can, forcing my fingers into my eyes, trying to pop them out. Then, my arm is grabbed and forced down to my side. Mick! Stop! No!

I hear my voice scream. I can't see! I can't see anymore! Don't make me see it! Please! My arms are pulled behind my back and shackled by something. Someone's talking to me, but I don't care. I just scream. It does nothing to the images cascading through my mind. Reality slips from my finger. and is replaced with nothing but the circular nature of life itself. The pointlessness of it all.

I just scream. That's all I can do now. SCP4 consists of an old wooden barn door, SCP4-1, and a set of 12 rusted steel keys, SCP4-2 through SCP4-13. The door itself is the entrance to an abandoned factory. Tests show that SCP4-2 through SCP4-13, all fit into a single lock on the large barred door.

12 Class D personnel are assigned to test the effects of the door. Of the 12 test subjects each trying a different key to enter the room, only two survive. Opening the door with any key except SCP4-7 or SCP4-12 caused the test subjects to be torn apart. Of the two surviving subjects, only one, having used SCP4-7, seven returned unharmed. The other came back in a near catatonic state, able only to remove himself from the room and then collapse on the floor, and had to be restrained to prevent him from gouging out his eyes.