- SCP-XXXX
Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: No more than 2 members of MTF-Pi-69 (“The Junkies”) are to stand guard at the entrance of SCP-XXXX. Members are rotated on a bi-daily basis, with enough food and water for one day being supplied after every rotation.
In the case that SCP-XXXX disappears, no less than a dozen search teams are to be sent across Germany.
In the event that SCP-XXXX cannot be located, all radio and cellular transmissions are to be monitored constantly for signs of someone entering SCP-XXXX and attempting to contact anyone.
Online forums and discussion sites are to be monitored constantly for any conversations directly or indirectly involving or mentioning SCP-XXXX.
These threads are to be immediately removed and any users that participated should be tracked and treated with amnestics.
Description: SCP-XXXX is a small, wooden shack the size of an outhouse that randomly appears in heavily wooded areas across Germany. Contact via radio and phone is possible until an unknown depth/height. Opening the door reveals a rusty metal ladder extending infinitely upwards.
Climbing up causes hallucinations and visions akin to a “crazy fever dream” as described by a D-Class subject shortly before losing contact. These visions are very immersive, abstract and fantastical. Various abstract entities will attempt to trick the climber into letting go. The climber will often forget that they are scaling a ladder, and in turn let go by accident.
SCP-XXXX is believed to be an entrance to some sort of alternate dimension from which no exit is found.
Your morning jog is interrupted by a small wooden shack.
It was never here before, was it?
Against your better judgement, you walk inside.
A rusty ladder extends upwards into a non existent ceiling.
Following your gut, you turn back.
The door is gone.
The only way out is the ladder, it seems.
So, you climb up.
You climb further up.
Farther than before, you climb up.
You’re in a forest.
You see a small shack made of rotting wood.
You open the door and step inside.
A small bedroom.
The floor is dank with moss growing on the walls.
The visible parts of the walls are covered in chipped, faded paint.
A quiet echo of once was.
You turn around to exit, but the door you came in is gone.
Before you can panic, the vision fades out and you are falling.
The rungs of the ladder are flying by at an alarming pace.
You reach out and grab a rung, the rest of your body slamming into the ladder like a ragdoll.
The pain is immense, but you’re alive.
You climb up.
You climb farther.
Farther than before, you climb up.
The rust fades, next the rungs, and finally the ladder.
You’re standing in a room.
It’s spotless.
Everything is meticulously placed.
You quickly notice there are no windows or doors.
No way to escape.
You look up at the ceiling, tracing the walls.
It goes upwards, seemingly forever.
You look at the floor and notice you are falling.
You’ve been falling for a while.
Exact copies of the room fly by.
You’re falling faster.
More rooms fly by.
You’re falling even faster.
The rooms are getting dirtier and more run down.
You’re falling faster than before.
The vision fades and you’re really falling.
You reach out once again.
You climb up.
Voices fill your head.
You climb farther.
They’re telling you to let go.
Farther than before, you continue to climb.
They’re getting louder.
It’s been days.
They’re getting even louder.
Maybe even weeks.
You can’t hear yourself think.
No, it couldn’t have been.
You stop climbing, and so do the voices.
You begin to ascend once again.
The voices are back.
You climb up.
They’re getting louder.
You climb farther.
They’re getting once again.
The ladder is fading.
These voices
They’re beginning to take shape
A square.
A triangle.
They’re talking to you.
Let go.
You desperately try to get the ladder back.
Let go.
It’s not working.
Let go.
You’ve blocked out their monotone chanting.
Then suddenly, they speak in unison.
Follow us.
You try to follow, but you can’t move.
They disappear out of sight.
Everything is white.
There is something here.
But there’s nothing.
You give up.
Finally, the white fades.
The rungs of the ladder are soaring by.
You’re falling again.
Reaching out once more, you slam into the ladder.
The voices are still here.
Let go.
You don’t think you can last much longer.
Let go.
You pull out your phone with a spare hand, but you can’t get service.
Let go.
All is lost.
Let go.
Is this hell?
Let go.
You don’t even remember how you got here.
Let go.
Your family.
Let go.
Your friends.
Let go.
Your life.
Let go.
You’ll never see them again.
Let go.
You close your eyes
and let go.
Per 
