It was an old factory in the middle of nowhere,
long-abandoned but still standing. In the past, it had been filled with workers,
but now nothing ran through it besides the occasional wildlife. One July night in 1949 though, four teenagers
decided it would be a good place to explore. The entrance to the factory was a large, old-fashioned
looking wooden door that was locked tightly shut. The teens looked around for another way in,
but couldn’t find one. What they did find though, was an old iron
lockbox. After some effort, they managed to get the
box open and found a ring of twelve old, rusted steel keys sitting inside. Would these old keys open the wooden door? Would they find something inside that would
make their night of breaking and entering worth it? If only they knew that by unlocking the door
all they would find was true horror… because they had just found SCP-004, better known
as The 12 Keys and the Door Not long after the local Sheriff received
a call from three of the panicked teens. They explained that while trying to get into
the factory, one of their friends had gone missing. The local authorities were quickly deployed,
taking the three teens into custody and beginning a full search of the factory grounds. The searching sheriff’s department officers
did eventually manage to find a clue as to what happened to the missing teen, but it
wasn’t a good sign. It was their severed hand, and even more disturbing
is that it wasn’t discovered outside the factory, no, it was found over eight kilometers
away. Soon other body parts were also found, some
as far as thirty-two kilometers away, but how could the parts of the dead teenager’s
body have been scattered so quickly and so far from each other? When the surviving teens were interrogated,
they all repeated the same wild story. The now dead teen had taken one of the keys
out of the old box they had found and used it to unlock the strange, old-fashioned wooden
door that led into the factory. They opened the door and stepped inside, and
the moment they did, they were immediately torn into pieces that suddenly vanished. These were no ordinary keys, and this was
no ordinary door. It was clear this was a job for the SCP Foundation. An SCP agent was deployed to the site to begin
investigating this anomaly. After getting the keys from local authorities,
the agent brought in a group of twelve D-class personnel to test them - one for each key. And it soon became clear that there was one
effect that was common - ten of the keys seemed to cause an effect that was completely unsurvivable. Upon trying the key in the door, the test
subject was immediately torn apart just like the unfortunate teenager. While one key caused the body parts to be
scattered in the immediate vicinity, all the others seemed to vanish into thin air. But it was the other two keys that proved
to be of even greater interest to the Foundation. Unlike with all the other tests, the D-class
using the key designated SCP-004-7 was able to enter the door and return completely unharmed. But the D-class using SCP-004-12 was a different
story. Physically, he returned unharmed - but he
seemed barely able to stagger out of the room. He collapsed, and then began trying to claw
his eyes out in panic and terror. He was quickly restrained and interrogated,
but he wasn’t coherent enough to give the Foundation any idea of what lurked behind
the door. The first D-class to enter using SCP-004-7,
the one who returned intact and sane, only said that it was a massive room inside - far
bigger than the building appeared from the outside. It was determined that the use of this key
was safe enough for further testing. The door was opened again using the same key
and the Foundation researchers propped it open so that an armed team could go in and
hopefully come out. A brief exploration of the massive room showed
some clear anomalous properties - not only was the room impossible to measure and possibly
limitless in size, it also seemed impossible to shine any light in the room beyond the
entry and the people inside were the only objects that could be felt or illuminated. Whatever this room was, it was keeping its
secrets. It was clear the site needed to be locked
down. All the initial witnesses who knew too much
were terminated… the Foundation was a little more trigger happy with terminations in the
40s, and the site was quickly locked down under the auspices of it being dangerous due
to unexploded ordinances. Fences were placed around the site so that
there would be no more teenage explorations. The records are spotty and incomplete, but
whatever happened behind those doors during the initial testing between 1949 and 1950,
the Foundation decided it had learned enough. The space-time anomalies at play inside of
SCP-004 were deemed too dangerous to explore further, and the site was sealed off with
all testing suspended. Whatever was lurking behind those doors, it
would keep its secrets - and the site seemed easy to secure and contain. But this was far from the end of SCP-004,
and fifty years later, it made its presence known again. It was another July night, many decades after
the unfortunate teenager first opened the doors to SCP-004. Only a few pieces of their body had been found,
but suddenly, the rest of the corpse appeared exactly where they had last been seen - outside
the old wooden door. Even odder was the fact that even though the
subject had died many years ago their body was still fresh, as if they had been killed
that same day. And this wouldn’t be the only sudden reappearance. Two days later, a second body missing parts
appeared in front of the door. This was quickly identified as one of the
original twelve test subjects who opened the door. Foundation scientists were once again sent
to the site to explore the space-time anomalies, and it was becoming clear that what went inside
the door didn’t stay there. It seemed like it went somewhere that didn’t
exist on the same plane as our reality. And if it could be understood, it could be
used. On March 21st, 1999 the Foundation began establishing
a site inside of SCP-004, but not for testing or research purposes. Nuclear weapons around the world were proliferating
fast, and evidence was mounting that World War 3 could happen soon. The Foundation needed a site that could survive
anything - and the mysterious room opened by the rusted keys seemed like it could be
their salvation. Supplies would go in the room and would be
preserved there indefinitely, safe from even nuclear annihilation. But getting the site set up would pose its
own challenges. Now dubbed Site 62, the facility was soon
expanded to house certain SCPs as well, in addition to a super-computer to house all
Foundation data. This would make it another invaluable backup
in the event of an end-of-the-world event that necessitated a reboot. The site was completed over the next year,
during which time they added high-tech containment units that could hold even the most dangerous
SCP specimens. Entering and exiting the facility seemed to
pose a risk to those working on it though. Time no longer behaved like it should, even
when using the one safe key. People would spend weeks in the site, then
exit claiming they had only been there a few days. It was highly unpredictable, and the Foundation
determined that it would be better to eliminate this X-factor. All personnel working at Site 62 would now
live on-site permanently, with their families being told they had died in an accident. It was August 18th, 2003 when the United States
and Canada were hit with a massive power outage, knocking out power to many of the Northeast’s
biggest population centers. While the SCP Foundation has backups on every
site, multiple generators failed, and it was 53 minutes before power could be restored. During that time, those inside the mysterious
room were plunged into total darkness. And it soon became clear they weren’t alone. In the darkened room, the personnel reported
feeling like they were surrounded by people that shouldn’t be there - and creatures
that shouldn’t exist. While they couldn’t see anything and nothing
touched them, they were adamant that something was lurking in that room, and likely had been
for a very long time. It seemed the limited sources of light may
be the only thing keeping these entities - whatever they are - at bay. When testing had resumed on SCP-004 after
the bodies had reappeared outside the door, the Foundation decided to start exploring
the effects of SCP-004-12 as well. What about this key caused such psychological
horror that subjects would try to tear out their own eyes? This key seemed to drive them insane, and
of the sixteen subjects, only four were still alive for any length of time after their return. Most remained in a catatonic state, but one
was given extensive therapy and regained the ability to communicate, which allowed him
to give the Foundation their best picture yet of what lurked inside the room. While the D-Class personnel was still severely
affected by his time in the room and suffered near-total amnesia, he did remember a few
things. He remembered deep terror, and memories being
forced into his mind that made no sense as if they were artificially implanted. And he remembered not being alone. He described a massive green being, large
enough that he couldn’t see where it began and where it ended. The Foundation didn’t know what it was either. But what they do know for certain is that
when ten of the keys are used, the door is opened to a dimension where the laws of physics
are so different that it is completely unsurvivable. Studies are ongoing as to what makes this
effect so fatal and if there is a way to survive it, but no answers have been found - and with
only three bodies of victims recovered so far, there is little evidence But one object found on-site is of additional
interest. Discovered roughly a year after the initial
anomaly, in a manager’s office on the factory grounds, SCP-004-14 seems to be a miniature
version of the anomaly. It’s a large box made out of wood, and it
is the only other object opened by the one safe key - as well as five of the other keys
that lead to death when used on the main door. And this box has unusual properties as well. It opens automatically, and much like SCP-004’s
room, it seems to be much larger on the inside than the outside. It is possible to come in and out safely. But when the box is locked again, it’s a
different story. Objects placed in the box don’t seem to
affect its weight, and when the box is closed and locked, they vanish completely. Unlike the main room, nothing that’s gone
inside and locked in has ever been recovered. This includes living beings. Few answers have been found about where they
go, and it’s possible the box could be used to dispose of specimens deemed to be too dangerous
- but with no answers about where they go and when they might come back, this may be
too risky. Because SCP-004 is fixed in place, special
containment procedures focus on making sure it stays that way. It is strictly forbidden to take any of the
other keys through the door, for fear of losing them or causing it to react in an unpredictable
way. If the site should be breached, or anything
contained in Site 62 manages escape containment, the Foundation is ready to activate the on-site
warhead. Only employees with level 1 clearance can
access the site, and only Level 4s and above can use the keys - with all knowing that any
attempt to remove the keys from the site will result in immediate termination. For now, SCP-004 remains fenced off, with
only select experiments continuing, as the Foundation tries to unravel its mysteries. But whatever lurks behind that old wooden
door, it keeps its secrets well. Now for another location that doesn’t obey
the laws of physics, check out “SCP-354 - The Red Pool”, or watch “SCP-823 - Carnival
of Horrors” for another seemingly normal location with unexpected dangers.
