The SCP Experience - The Bloody Key | SCP-1016

Episode Date: May 27, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-1016: The Bloody Key This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1016 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Andrew E. * * * 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 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Fan of soccer, you could assist a moment historic. You could gain the bid for the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2006 with Visa. It's just to have a card of credit visa BMO for participate. Inscribe you at BMO.com bar-oblique concourse. The reglements of the concourse is applicable. Despite the heavy rain, I was nearly beaming as I pulled my now full sedan out of the lot of identical square structures. Each had metal coverings for doors. that differentiated them were the hastily painted numbers on each one.

They were all individual storage units, and I just made a huge killing at the monthly Sunday live auction. I wasn't about to go on a reality TV show, but I didn't mind admitting that storage hunting was a bit of a hobby for me. I went often enough that I'd noticed that whenever it rained, there were fewer opponents for the bids. Some people went home early, others never turned up at all. That worked perfectly for me.

My wife Jen usually wanted us to do something active on nice days. Walk in the park, a coffee date, maybe rollerblading, even though we both were terrible at it. On rainy days, she just wanted to watch trashy shows or do a puzzle. Neither appealed to me, so more often than not, my lazy rainy Sundays were spent at the storage lot. The downpour had been perfect. It was fierce enough to deter even some of the die-hard bidders, my friendly rivals, if you will. But not quite fierce enough to cancel the whole thing. I'd won three mostly full lockers against minimal competition.

One other bidder was an old lady, decked out in a bright yellow raincoat, who struggled to make herself heard over the wind. The other man was in a suit, holding an umbrella. Though with the rain practically falling horizontal, I'm not sure how much good the umbrella was doing. I wasn't sure I'd heard him raise his voice for a single bid. Well, it was his loss. I was still grinning as I pulled up to my driveway and into the garage.

I saw that my wife's car was also in the garage, in the slot next to mine. There was a lot to carry into the house, so I grabbed a random armful and brought it through the garage and into the little alcove Jen and I affectionately called the mudroom. It was basically a dumping point for wet and muddy clothes and shoes, a foyer, but less formal. Max, our Labrador retriever, had been barking since the moment the door had opened. He shuffled around and threw my legs, licking and sniffing whatever he could, while I kicked off my shoes.

I left the armful of stuff in the mud room, wanting to change into dry clothes for the rest of the lifting I'd have to do. You're so... Jen said by way of greeting. She was sitting at the table doing a puzzle. She had a mug next to her, and, though I couldn't tell what was inside, I noticed there was steam rising from it. I missed you too, honey, I said.

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help the smile that formed at her lips. Max trotted over to her chair and curled up beside her, yawning and closing his eyes almost immediately. He loved sleeping only slightly less than greeting me at the door. Good hall? Great hall, I said.

Almost no one was there, so I was basically bidding against myself. Jen glanced out the window into the still, intense rain and thunder. Go figure, she said. I laughed at that. Just remember, James. To take all the stuff into the basement and don't leave it lying around the house? I finished for her. I know. You don't have to tell me every time. She pursed her lips and slid me a wry look.

Okay, maybe she'd had to remind me a few times. I ran you a bath, by the way, she said, turning her attention back to the puzzle, which hadn't made much progress since I'd left. She still had nearly the whole edge complete. A bath? I asked. She was facing away from me, so I couldn't read her face. But her shoulders looked a little tense.

It looked so shitty out there that I thought you'd be freezing when you came back. You can take a shower if you want. She said, shrugging as if she didn't care. The only baths I'd taken since childhood had been with both me and Jen and one together and, let's face it, my main goal hadn't been to get clean. But, pro-marriage tip, when your wife runs you a bath, just take the damn bath.

No, a bath sounds great, thanks. Her shoulders relaxed. I patted over to her and placed a kiss in her sandy blonde hair. Gross, you're wet, she said. but her voice didn't sound like she thought it was gross. I took my bath, changed my clothes, and moved all the stuff from my car into the basement. I began trawling through my hall.

Most of it was the usual stuff. Out-of-date clothes, furniture that was showing its age, broken electronic equipment, I'm sure the original owners thought they would get fixed someday. I'd donate the clothes, sell the furniture that was salvageable, and see what the repair costs on the electronics would be. I knew a guy. There was one unusual item that caught my eye.

It was a small lockbox, no more than a foot in length, and maybe six inches wide. Lock boxes are inherently exciting. What's the point of locking something in a lockbox when it's already locked in a storage unit? People only do that if they're storing something particularly valuable. One time I discovered $500 stuffed into a locked desk drawer, likely placed there and then forgotten over it. time. I shook the box loosely. It was light and definitely didn't have money inside. Instead, it sounded like a single loose metal object. A coin, maybe. That piqued my interest. It must be a rare

coin to be worth locking away, or, well, a coin of sentimental value. Lots of people hideaway things that have personal value to them, but not to anyone else. I hadn't found the key to the box yet, but that hardly mattered. I had a hammer and a screwdriver. I just placed the screwdriver into the keyhole and slammed the handle with the hammer over and over again until the lock gave way. Inside the box was a single key.

It was a small standard silver key you might see on any keyring. Only it was rusted all to hell. Or, no, not rusted. As I looked closer, I saw that the reddish material was thicker and gooyer than rust. I grabbed a nearby hand-tile towel and wiped the key clean. The wet material came back bright red. Blood? No, that didn't make any sense. That key had been sitting in a storage locker for months. If it had been covered in

blood, there's no way it would have dried out. But the only other thing I could think of that was reddish in color would be motor oil or some kind of lubricant. But that didn't make sense either. Why would a key in an abandoned storage unit be coated in motor oil? Well, whatever. I thought, as I slipped the key onto my own key ring. I didn't want to lose it and wanted to have it on hand in case I came upon any locked objects the key might go to. Weeks passed, and I forgot I even had the key. I never found out what it went to, and by the time I'd finished sorting through,

selling, donating, and repairing the three storage lockers' worth of material, I'd forgotten I'd even placed it on my key ring. It looked more like my house key than I'd realized, almost exactly like it. in fact. So much so that I made that fatal mistake. It had been a beautiful May Sunday, bright, clear, and warm, which meant that it had been a total bust. The monthly storage unit sale had been downright crowded. I didn't feel like getting into intense multi-party bidding wars, so I turned around and drove right home. I wasn't gone for more than a half hour. I noticed Jen's car was gone when I pulled in. Odd, since she'd said she was going to just

watched some TV while I was gone. I turned the key in the lock and opened the door. I was struck by the total silence. Sure, Jen was gone, but what about Max? He always came running to greet me no matter what. Max? I called. I waited a moment.

Nothing. Forgetting about my keys in the door for the moment, I ventured past the mud room. The house was calm, quiet, and utterly destroyed. The couch was ripped. to shreds, and our TV had been shattered, maybe with the remote, which lay in pieces on the ground. Dishes, most of them broken, were scattered all over the kitchen, along with our pots, pans, and silverware. The fridge and freezer were wide open and had been violently ransacked.

Max! I called, panic rising in my throat. Jen? No answer. I took out my phone and called Jen, but it went straight to voicemail. Okay, screw this. I bolted out the door and called 911. Hello, what is the nature of your emergency? A cool female voice said once my call connected. My house has been trashed. I can't find my dog. And my wife isn't picking up my calls.

Okay, sir. We'll send a car over right away. What's your address? Right. Okay. Thanks. Okay. I babbled for a minute before actually processing and answering her question.

I'm at 932 Ash Tree Lane. We have officers in the area. They'll be there within ten minutes. Okay, ten minutes. I could make it ten minutes. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel my chest thud. What was I going to do if something truly terrible had happened? Worse than a trashed house?

What if Jen... Sir? I snapped back to reality. Yes, okay. Thank you. I said before hanging up and texting Jen, telling her to call me the second she saw my message. The police arrived and began a search of the house.

Then they called her. for backup. I barely noticed them. Instead, I was frantically calling Jen every 30 seconds. Sir? One of the officers said, interrupting my panic. He was older than me, maybe mid-40s, with thinning red hair and a stocky build. Did you find anything? I asked. His response seemed careful. Your wife isn't here, he said. That was good, right? She'd probably taken the car somewhere, though I had no idea where. I'm Officer Carlisle. Can I take your statement?

Oh, sure. James. James Turner. Okay, Mr. Turner. Can you walk me through today? From just before you called us? There was something in his words. An edge I couldn't identify.

I was... I was at a storage unit sale. Storage unit sale? Right. Not everyone was in. to treasure hunting like I was. Um, if someone doesn't pay for their storage unit, the storage company can sell them after a while, like six months, I think. They usually sell each unit wholesale to the highest bidder.

I see, the officer said, jotting down a note on a pad of paper. And you were there all day? No, I was only there for five minutes. It was crowded, so I would have had to pay a lot for the units, even if I won, so I left early. I was gone maybe half an hour. Officer Carlisle raised an eyebrow. Only a half hour. Were you alone in the house when you left? No, my wife Jen was here, and my dog, Max.

And if I speak to Mrs. Turner, she'll agree that she was here when you were? What was he getting at? Yes, she will. He raised his eyebrow again, but said nothing further. I was just about to ask what was going on when a car drove up. Jen! I yelled, immediately running to it. I nearly got clipped by the door as she swung it open.

I pulled her into my arms and hugged her tight. Thank God. Thank God. James, what's going on? What are the police doing here? Actually, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be storage hunting? I ran her through what had happened, and she looked as shocked as I probably felt.

The police officer interrupted us before I could ask where she'd been. Ma'am, are you Mrs. Turner? Yes, I'm Jen Turner. What's going on? Was your husband here with you before you left? This is very important. Yes, he was. I left after him.

The officer's brow furrowed in confusion. I see. Thank you. Why are you asking these questions? I asked. Do you think I'm lying? Officer Carlisle held his hands up placatingly. Well, the state of your house seems... It's so damaged that it didn't seem likely a person could do all that in just the half-hour

you were gone, so... Officer Carlisle explained. Especially when you factor in what happened upstairs. What happened upstairs? I asked. My heart tightened again. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this. With your dog, Max, I think you said, he's dead.

Someone, well, someone killed him. When you were little, you had braced, you on have braced, always in trying to negotiate, to exchange these cards of hockey, the bonhomes, the bracelets, even of the collation. You know that

each thing has a value, well, before having to have been things have been really changed. Negoti T-Tor

T-D you can't to renewing with your instinct of negotiation. With, without operation gratite,

no amount of minimum and no free mensue you're made for negotiate, and the appellee-tete-t

T-D is made to you help it right right now. They've done more than kill him.

They mutilated him. tortured him. Someone had done that to my boy. My poor good boy. Officers were bringing him out in pieces, trying to be respectful, but mostly they just looked sick. They brought out bed sheets and towels covered in blood. Knives and forks that had gone missing from the kitchen were found upstairs near Max's body and were bagged for evidence. Someone had done all that to my lovable Max, who I'd had for eight years before I'd even met Jen. When the officers were finally done, Jen and I were left to sit there in stunned silence. I wasn't sure how much time had passed before Jen looped her arm around my shoulders and said, Come on, let's go.

Go? Go where? Your brother's house. Ellen's house? Why? We're obviously not staying the night here. So let's just go. He can put us up. True. He only lived. to 10-minute drive away, but I was surprised Jen had suggested we go to his place. I got the sense they didn't care for one another. They didn't fight or anything, but the two of them were awkward with one another at family gatherings and seemed to avoid each other. Maybe she just knew I needed to be around family while I mourned Max. I was in no state to do anything,

so Jen offered to drive, and she also called ahead to Allen's place. I didn't know she had his number. Before we left, I noticed that the door from the garage to the mud room was still hanging open where I'd left it, key still in the lock. Only it wasn't my key. I'd put in the mysterious lockbox key I'd never bothered to take off my key ring in by mistake. I recognized it instantly because it was covered in blood. It was practically dripping. I knew then. I don't know how I knew, but I knew right from that moment, right from the second I processed that the wrong key, that bloody key, had somehow unlocked my garage door, that it was responsible for everything. It was the reason my dog was dead.

What is it? Jen asked. Nothing, I said. I had no words to explain it. We drove to Alan's house in silence. He had a small place, only one shower that the three of us had to share, but he had a spare bedroom for us. He offered us the master, but Jen turned it down. Beyond hello and a hug, I'd barely done or said anything since our arrival. Jen and I were both in the master bathroom getting ready for bed. I'd transferred my keys from my jeans pocket to the pocket of the pajama pants Alan had lent me.

For some reason, my focus drifted to the two-stick deodorant container standing next to each other on the sink. Do you think Alan's seeing someone? I asked, reaching for the purple deodorant. There was a pause. I don't know. Why? Jen said. Because? I pointed to the image of a field of flowers on the front of the purple deodorant. This is a woman's deodorant brand.

Actually, isn't this the kind you use? She barely glanced at it, then said, Is it? It was. I was sure of it. She was acting strangely. Though to be fair, it had been an exhausting day. I wish I'd brought my touch.

toothbrush, I said, putting the deodorant down. I hated the feeling of my teeth being unclean. Jen leaned over and opened the drawer under the sink. She fumbled around for a moment before emerging with a half-used bottle of mouthwash. She held it out to me, but I just stared. Oh, she was cheating on me. A damn bottle of mouthwash had finally made the pieces fit. Her unexplained absence today, her awkwardness around Alan, why she suggested we come here and why she had his number, the deodorant and mouthwash, and why her puzzles never made any progress on the days when I was out at the storage unit auctions. What is it? she asked. Nothing, I said. We set our good nights and tried to fall asleep

on my brother's cheap guest mattress. I waited for the sound of Jen's breathing to slow, soften, and then for her light snores to begin. Just to be safe, I waited until I felt Alan was sure to be asleep as well. I crept out of bed, went down the stairs, and out the door in my bare feet. Once I closed it, the door had auto-locked behind me. I took out my key ring, eyes fixed on the bloody key, still dripping wet, yet somehow not leaving a stain on my clothes or hands. I put it into the lock.

A perfect, impossible fit. The key turned and... SCP 1016 appears as a standard door key of unremarkable make. If placed on a keychain with two or more keys of a similar make, SCP 1016 will gradually alter its appearance to match over the course of several weeks. Regardless of form, the SCP may be identified by indelible bloodstains on the fob. Bloodstains contain human DNA from 27 different specimens, none of which matches any individual on file.

If left in place for more than two weeks, the surface SCP-1016 rests on will show evidence of similar bloodstains. When inserted into an unlocked mechanism, the key has no effect. When inserted into the locked mechanism of a door or similar barrier behind which are one or more mammalian life forms, the key will open the lock and have its secondary effects. When SCP-1016 is inserted into such a lock, any lock, lights in the structure dim noticeably. At such time, instruments detect no fluctuation in the power grid. The dimming phenomenon is noted with both electrical and incendiary light sources, and lasts

until the key is removed from the lock where the door is opened past the frame. Following this, an additional presence appears in the structure. Experiments involving autonomously powered video surveillance of the interior show the video monitoring devices to malfunction as power is restored, in a matter consistent with manual tampering. Batteries are removed, lenses covered, or power is turned off. Upon the user entering the structure, persons and higher animals inside the structure at the time of the unlocking act are found to be dead. Cause of death in SCP 1016's victims is universally penetrating trauma with a large,

bladed object. Victims bear wounds running along entire lengths of limbs. and in many cases appear to be partially dissected. In each instance, blood and organs from at least one victim will be arranged in what appears to be a specific pattern, although no consistent system has been found between instances. The interior of the residence will show signs of struggle, with overturned furniture, bruising on victims' intact skin,

despite no audible indication of this, even in the room just beyond the entrance. Even in situations where video surveillance would seem to indicate mere seconds passing between tampering and assault. The site contains evidence of struggles that appear to have lasted hours. The original activator of SCP-1016 never reports seeing or hearing anything definite, although upon their initial entrance of the structure, some subjects have reported having their attention inexplicably drawn to empty windows or doorways, or to hear breathing from an

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