The fabric of our world is littered with doorways
if you know where to look for them. Tears, portals, anomalies, all leading to places and
planes beyond human imagining and understanding, and SCP-2317, otherwise known
as A Door to Another World, certainly fits that description. Contained and
kept at all times under the watch of armed guards, SCP-2317 appears to be a simple and
unsuspecting wooden door in its frame. It hardly looks like it requires such extreme
round-the-clock security or needs a strange, secretive ritual that the Foundation performs,
presumably to keep the door closed. But, of course, sometimes the most interesting thing
about a closed doorway isn’t where it leads, it’s what it keeps out.
Even by the Foundation’s already-high standards, the requirements and regulations for
personnel who are assigned to SCP-2317 seem oddly specific. Psychological testing is
standard practice for to work for the Foundation, but an additional hurdle that anyone has to clear
before even getting to glimpse at this unassuming wooden door is having a score of at least
seventy-two on the Milgram Obedience Examination. It is also mandatory that personnel assigned
to maintaining it are both unmarried, with no children or next-of-kin, as well as an unwavering,
unquestioning loyalty to the Foundation, pure devotion to its code and objectives.
These may seem like strange requirements, after all, SCP-2317 is just a door…isn’t it?
Perhaps there’s a reason that the Foundation keeps so much of the information about SCP-2317
buried deep under layers upon layers of security, with only the Overseer Council privy to the
full details of its strange nature. Knowledge, as they say, is power - but maybe knowing too
much about whatever is behind that door can prove deadly. Still, if SCP-2317 is a Door to Another
World, an alternate dimension or parallel reality, it must be safe enough to visit. After all, the
Foundation has been sending personnel in there on a regular basis. Daily, in fact. According to the
O5 Council, this is done as part of a procedure to maintain Active Containment of…something
lurking beyond that old wooden doorframe. But what could possibly warrant such
constant maintenance and surveillance? In accordance with the Foundation’s guidelines,
all staff are required to rotate out of observing SCP-2317 after every two months and spend the
following third month in full psychological counselling before they are permitted to
return to the containment unit housing the Door to Another World. It was after one of
these month-long periods of evaluation that a Foundation guard was informed that his security
clearance had been raised to Level 3 and that he’d been selected for the duty of carrying out
220-Calabasas. He knew the name instantly; this was the title given to the daily containment
procedure that absolutely had to be carried out. The guard didn’t question these orders, after
all, he’d been selected precisely because of his loyalty to the Foundation. He did make one
request to his commanding officer, however: he wanted to know what had happened to the
last guard that had performed the procedure. “Didn’t make it out of psychological
evaluation,” the officer replied. Not letting this affect his dedication, the guard
was told to prepare for Procedure 220-Calabasas. Along with a fellow member of Foundation security
personnel, the guard was instructed to gather everything on a strange list. The first was
a pre-selected member of Class-D Personnel, specifically a convicted murderer. Class-D
refers to ‘Disposable Class’ personnel, expendable individuals recruited by the
Foundation for the sole purpose of testing SCPs. Class-Ds were usually prison inmates
repurposed for SCP testing, and the one chosen for 220-Calabasas was no exception,
serving multiple life sentences for murders, or at least that was what the guard
had been told. A Foundation personnel member instructed him to refer to the Class-D
solely as the ‘assistant’ from that point on. Next, the guard collected a live chicken, an
obsidian-edged knife, a silver aspergillum and aspersorium, to be filled with 500ccs of
Holy Water that had been blessed by a priest of the Abrahamic faith, and finally a one-kiloton
nuclear device, which, according to instructions, was to only be detonated in the unlikely
event of a catastrophic containment failure. In other words, the last resort.
After following his instructions to the letter and without question, the guard
and his colleague were briefed. The Foundation personnel member informed them that he’d be
joining and leading them in the procedure. The staff member also specified that henceforth
he be referred to as the ‘celebrant’ until the completion of 220-Calabasas. The guard was acutely
aware of how specific these instructions were, but trusted in the Foundation, knowing that
if they wanted this procedure performed a certain way, then it was in everyones’ best
interest to carry out the orders to the letter. But what the celebrant then went on to explain,
raised far more questions about SCP-2317 and the nature of Procedure 220-Calabasas. The
Class-D joining them, wasn’t actually a Class-D. The assistant, as they were now referred to,
was in reality another Foundation staff member, with a Level 4 security clearance,
specifically tailored to SCP-2317. Every member of staff entering through SCP-2317
and taking an active role in 220-Calabasas needed to be informed that this assistant was not to be
harmed or treated as a member of Disposable Class. Fighting back the nagging question of why
the Foundation would employ this subterfuge, the guard, along with his fellow security
officer, the celebrant and assistant, prepared for their departure through
the Door to Another World at solar noon, when the sun was highest over SCP-2317.
Solar noon, chickens and holy water, this all seemed like an oddly-occult
combination for the Foundation. As they entered the old wooden door, beyond lay a
barren salt plane, stretching out for kilometers in every direction. This alternate dimension,
according to the briefing, was designated SCP-2317-Prime. The guard immediately noticed
a ring of seven pillars directly ahead of the group as they entered, each of them
bearing intricately-detailed engravings unlike anything from any era of ancient history.
Procedure 220-Calabasas was carried out quickly, but carefully, the guard watching as the celebrant
and assistant were careful not to miss a step. First, the celebrant scattered Holy Water
into the center of the pillars with the aspergillum and aspersorium, looking down
at his feet and keeping a steady pace as he stepped counter-clockwise around them. The guard
watched intently as the celebrant completed his circuit around the pillars and turned to the
assistant, anointing his head with Holy Water. “Seven Seals, Seven Rings, Seven Thrones
for the Scarlet King,” he said aloud. The assistant, with the obsidian blade in
his hand, took the chicken and dispatched it in sacrifice, letting its blood mix with the
Holy Water. He then repeated the celebrant’s circuit in the opposite direction, before
stepping into the center of the stone pillars. “Blood for the Old Gods, Water for the New King,”
the assistant recited, pouring the remaining mix of blood and Holy Water over a patch of
salt in the middle of the seven pillars. Even though he knew it wasn’t his place to
question the Foundation, as the 220-Calabasas procedure took place, the guard couldn’t
help but wonder what all this was for. It seemed so…ritualistic, like something
deeply religious or even magical. He’d never bought into all that occult mumbo-jumbo,
even while working for the Foundation, but he had learned not to question anything, even
the strangest and most inexplicable of sights. Little did he know that beneath his feet,
was an ancient and unknowable horror. A beast, chained and lying in wait. Contained
in a chamber directly underneath the pillars, sat an impossibly-large creature. Humanoid
and obese, its body covered entirely in scales thicker than armour plating. Branch-like
horns protruded from its jawless head, pointing up to chains that hung from the seven pillars
above, each one hooked into the entity’s back. All but one of the chains was broken, a
final, withering shackle keeping the Devourer of Worlds in its underground prison.
Ever since 1894 BCE, when Erikeshan mystics imprisoned it, the Devourer has been
waiting patiently for its inevitable freedom. It knows, as well as the Foundation, that nothing
can be done to prevent the final chain from one day breaking. Even Procedure 220-Calabasas won’t
keep the creature contained, it’s nothing more than a smokescreen, an act, designed to create
an illusion of active containment and maintain Foundation morale until a permanent solution
can be devised to keep SCP-2317 imprisoned. Of course, if the guard had known this, it would
have also explained the need for a one-kiloton nuclear device as part of this staged ritual.
Procedure 220-Calabasas has all the components to trick everyone below the O5 Council,
emulating religious and occult rituals, the increased level of security
surrounding the procedure and its purpose, and telling staff that any failure to correctly,
and completely, perform the 220-Calabasas procedure will result in an XK-Class End of the
World Scenario. All these elements work together to conceal the truth: that one day, the Devourer
will escape and lay waste to our dimension. Knowledge is power, and maybe knowing too
much truly is deadly. Perhaps if the guard had learned any of this, he’d have understood why
his predecessor never made it out of psychological evaluation. Maybe if he had questioned the purpose
of Procedure 220-Calabasas, he'd have learned the true nature of SCP-2317, and what that doorway
kept out. But he was loyal to the Foundation, through and through. As the team finished
performing 220-Calabasas and returned though the wooden door, the guard took one last
glance over his shoulder at the vast salt plane. The entire dimension was calm, silent,
but not peaceful: it was patient. The entity had waited centuries for its time,
and now all it would take was the breaking of the seventh and final chain. One day.
The door was closed behind the guard as he, the celebrant, the assistant and his
fellow security officer stepped back through, their work done and, as far as they knew,
preventing catastrophe for another day. Only the Foundation higher-ups, the Overseer
Council, are aware of the true danger posed by SCP-2317 and its sole inhabitant. Current
predictions are that at some point within the next thirty years, the Devourer of Worlds will
be freed. Any and all attempts to repair or recreate the chains holding it in place have so
far failed. As such, the O5 Council has elected to continue providing Foundation personnel with
the ignorant hope that Procedure 220-Calabasas is an effective strategy for containment.
As we’ve said, sometimes the most interesting thing about a closed door isn’t where
it leads, it’s what it keeps out. In the case of SCP-2317, the unassuming wooden
door holds at bay an ancient creature of untold power, that will one day break free and wreak
havoc in our dimension. Nothing the Foundation does can prevent it, or keep it contained behind
the Door to Another World, and only the Overseer Council knows that any and all efforts to
do so are futile. With all that in mind, we can only hope that the doorway of SCP-2317
stays closed, at least for a little while longer. Now go check out “SCP – 3008 – Trapped In
Ikea” and “SCP – 106 – The Old Man Explained” for more peeks behind the door of our reality
into the world of the frightening and strange.
