Full Body Chills - BUNKER: The Hole

Episode Date: October 15, 2024

A story that falls down the pit of despair.Written by Jesse Pullins. Full Body Chills is brought to you by Max. This Halloween, the movies that haunt you are available on Max. Stream all month long. Subscription required. Visit max.com. Looking for more chills? Follow Full Body Chills on Instagram @fullbodychillspod. Full Body Chills is an audiochuck production.Instagram: @audiochuckTwitter: @audiochuckFacebook: /audiochuckllcTikTok: @audiochuck

This episode was produced with immersive audio. For the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones. Hello, weary wanderers, and welcome back to the land of the almost living. You're listening to Radio Rapture, and I'm your host, Mike Madness. For any newbies out there, pick up a seat and settle in because you just found the one and only station that'll sing by your side all the way through the final days.

Speaking of which, the other night I was counting my cans and spinning tunes when I rolled across the label of my favorite green beans. I'm talking about the Beach Boys, of course. And as I was taking a tour through sweet old Kokomo, I got to thinking of all those places I'll never see. The Sistine Chapel,

the pyramids, the seven wonders of the world grew in number the day everywhere went out of reach. I've been in this bunker a few years now, and the landmarks of my home are found even by the most limited imaginations. And to see nothing else... But what about you? What's the greatest sight you ever saw? The Grand Canyon? The Eiffel Tower? An open rest stop on a stomach full of fire? Come on. I know someone out there has got a good story. Give us a call. Don't be shy. I may sound like madness, but I'm not infectious. Going once? Going twice? Well, if you're feeling extra nice, our lines are always open and we're just dying to

hear your voice. Alright, well, on with the main attraction. Let's take a cruise, shall we? Let's travel together and see the sights beholding your most hidden frights.

Here, on episode 74 or 3. Seems Mike is losing more than just his marbles. Anyway, a little preamble. For this story, you may want to give relief to disbelief. You see, as I was sorting through the album of fright, picking out our show tonight, I thought, let's crank it up. Let's put some gas on this tour bus

and see what wonders or horrors we can really find. But before we take off, let's refill on my previous question. What's the greatest sight you ever saw? What was it like? How did you feel? And tell me, when your eyes held in that magnificent moment, did you ever suspect that it would be your last?

Well, hold your brochures, because our trip's taken one deadly drop. If you're ready, gather round and listen. Close. The asteroid was the size of a skyscraper. Like a spear hurtling through space, it shot at an impossible speed, giving the planet only a half hour to crunch the numbers and calculate.

Devastation. By the end of that calamitous 30 minutes, everyone had theorized the same result. There would be no saving grace, no trump card to pull. Humanity simply didn't have the time. Alarms echoed. Nations pleaded with citizens to cherish their final moments.

The world awaited an impact that would surely erase us all. But that's not what happened. Be it dumb luck or an act of God, the shard from heaven struck just inside the coast of the Great Basin Desert of Nevada, a merciful miscalculation of trajectory that resulted in a wall of sand instead of a fiery death of biblical proportions. We hugged our loved ones and rejoiced in the miracle that saved us. No one could figure out how or why. The specifics of the phenomenon seemed too great to understand. Was it the sand? Did the asteroid break apart?

Was it aliens? Was it God? The theories continued long after the dust settled. No amount of data could tell us the reason. Like the asteroid itself had chosen a softer landing. The only evidence of its destruction was the hole it left behind. After the news crews got their scoop and the government their scan, everyone went back home. We were assured the ground was safe, a mostly precarious drop, but stable nonetheless. The total destruction of humanity had lost the front page. The world moved on.

The hole, an artifact of our almost doom, turned into a meme, a landmark, an attraction. It became a national tourist spot, like Niagara Falls. People traveled from across the globe just to marvel at its impossibility. Miles wide and deeper than we could measure, the hole began to trend. It started with food trucks and carnival games. Whole t-shirts and whole food. Whole postcards for 99 cents. To some, it took on a more mythical, almost sacred tone.

The hole was a sign of our continued humanity, the icon of our second chance. In time, we just accepted the whole, rather than question it. As the months flew by, crowds continued to flock, coming together to witness the wonder, to do their part. It was all over the news. Headlines such as, free love meets alien stock. In time, investors took interest. What started as a joke cultivated into a plan to raise an entire town round the diameter of the hole. A new age point pleasant for the anomaly that was our mercy. Crews were assembled, lumber was cut, and the days of euphoria and admiration filled to the sounds of saws and hammered nails.

We built across the sand, surrounding the crust of the massive hole with general stores, condos, and holiday resorts. A-list singers wrote songs about it. Influencers lined up to share the hype. In the midst of the bustling construction, a church was erected. It didn't matter where you were in the world. Everyone loved the hole in their own unique way. Until it started consuming us. The first casualty was deemed an accident.

An elderly woman, well into her 90s and vacationing with her family. Rumor was she stumbled in by mistake. A risky photo op passed the boundaries set up to revenge such a thing. Bystanders assumed she had lost her balance and tumbled over the side, but the family swore she wasn't thinking straight and that she threw herself in. The resulting investigation deemed it a freak accident, and everyone moved on. After the second victim, people started to worry. A young man, early twenties, a frequent jogger near the hole who made it his daily regiment to run around the diameter. About halfway through his jog, he turned on his heel mid-stride and kept the same pace

until he reached the mouth of the pit. People said he only took a second to look down before falling headfirst. In an effort to prevent further casualties, accidental or otherwise, funding was allocated to install better railings around the hole. Yet some began to wonder. Was the hole dangerous? Should we try to close it? Heresy. The hole saved us.

The newly erected church protested any attempts to seal the danger, going so far as restricting the construction crew from any fortification. The community seemed torn over the prospect. Petitions were signed, both in favor and opposing, sealing the hole which the community was built around. Amid all of the protests, a third incident shook the world. The next victim was not singular, but many. Seventeen, to be exact.

Several simultaneous 911 calls reported a potential mass suicide near the church. Police arrived on scene as quickly as they could, but the purported victims were long gone. Eyewitness testimony stated that they had tied ropes to each other and gone in single file. It sounded insane, but the security cameras confirmed their claim. Grainy footage showed the reverend of the local church leading a small group,

all bound in a continuous leash towards the open maw. The first few went in willingly. After the fifth, there wasn't much of a choice. Following the incident, the government called for an executive order to block off the hole. The church of the hole was shut down, and a fleet of construction crews converged to begin what was predicted to be a smooth operation. However, when trucks arrived, they were met with opposition. Civilians inhabiting the surrounding town had blocked every road leading in. The hole is here to save us, they chanted in droves. Blank-faced men, women, and children alike stood hand in hand to thwart the would-be boundary.

Those who didn't stand against the machines were walking towards the crater. Even local law enforcement, who had been trying to break the mob, abandoned their posts and followed in line. By the time the National Guard was called, it was estimated over 40 people had willingly thrown themselves in. By next morning, that number was in the hundreds. Madness swept the whole community. An anomaly that was now broadcast on live television.

The world watched as not only citizens but members of the construction crew dropped their tools and lumbered towards the hole. Police officers lowered their shields and fell near behind. News anchors set down their mics and left the shot. Only for the view to hit the ground as the camera crew followed suit. Parents abandoned crying children. The National Guard turned death parade. The victims offered no reasoning. They said no prayers,

only willingly fed the whole. And the madness spread. The 24-hour news coverage seemed to inspire a new wave of frenzy. Some of those watching got in their car and drove to the hole, ignoring police roadblocks and swerving around traffic. All were there to offer themselves, to throw themselves in. Scientists scratched their heads at the mass hysteria, unable to discern a cause. The U.S. Army was summoned, an action that bore only similar results. Every road leading to the ever-consuming hole was filled for miles with abandoned cars, emergency vehicles, and military trucks. Those who couldn't find a direct route via GPS turned to crossing the Great Basin on foot. Those who didn't perish along the way jumped into the dark. Estimated loss was in the tens of thousands and climbing.

The President of the United States issued an executive order to evacuate and quarantine towns neighboring the hole. Sealing off Baker, Ely, Delta, Salt Lake City. By nightfall, Las Vegas. By morning, Nevada as a whole. Nothing seemed to stop this brainwashed death march. Hordes of American citizens stared blankly ahead with the singular goal of self-sacrifice. Drones were deployed in an attempt to glean anything about what could be down there, pulling us in. Yet with every attempt, the connection failed,

the feed dropped, and the drone fell, never to be retrieved. Officials began to sweat as the world grew angry. Citizens unplugged their TVs, shut off their phones in fear of the growing mind control. Newspaper presses ran hot, new rubber-banded chaos hitting front porches every eight hours. Hiding in their homes, people read of the sealing of state borders, then international ones.

Soon, Nevada went dark entirely. California, not long after. Casualties climbed to the millions with no end in sight. The Great Basin was mostly vacant now. The old town surrounding the hole was nothing but a wasteland. Empty streets buzzed with flies. The scent of death carried for miles. Finally, an emergency meeting was called at the Millennium Summit.

The general consensus, at first, was to bomb the hole and everything around it off the map, dropping megaton after megaton via remote-piloted planes to derail further mass suicide. But there were concerns. There was no guarantee such a violent approach would offer sound results, and the potential side effects couldn't be overlooked. How deep was the hole? Where did it reach? What if the bombing poisoned the Earth's soil or provoked cascading earthquakes? Even if the mass migration to the hole was stopped, casualties from the mitigation could reach into the billions. Negotiations ran on for days. Specialists in every field were flown in directly to speak before world leaders to formulate a plan to save what was left of America and mankind as a whole. While the hours ticked by and the death toll rose, officials argued until they were blue in the face, unable to find a feasible solution that wouldn't just steer us into another form of extinction. But with every failed

debate came this. To stop it, we need to understand it. After days of running in circles, a decision is made. World leaders agree on a final attempt to study the hole. Hands were shaken, funding was greenlit, and a message was delivered to the public. We are going inside. The vessel would take a month to build, off-site near the Hudson Bay, 2,000 miles away. The USS Hope. Trillions of dollars of the latest tech was funneled into the ultimate surveying machine. Completely climate-controlled and capable of withstanding unfathomable pressure, heat, and cold alike. Thirteen were selected, four to pilot, four for maintenance and repair, and five to make sense of it. Each candidate was pre-screened and thoroughly tested, both practically and psychologically.

Some were astronauts, some professors, some the leading figures in their specific field. No weapons were allowed on board, and the vessel was to be sealed from the outside to prevent any potential premature departure. As a failsafe, the craft was also equipped with a state-of-the-art AI co-pilot, which would ensure a safe extraction should the humans be compromised. The lift to lower the vessel, formerly named the Cradle, would take weeks to erect a tripod formation built remotely and directly over the anomaly with a suspension system that boasted miles upon miles of industrial cables the world watched and waited counting down the days until the projected launch. All the while, faces disappeared, stores boarded up, communities thinned. Finally, the vessel, the cradle, and the crew were ready.

The team suited up and waved goodbye, hugging their families before boarding the Holtz. Those watching the live broadcast witnessed sparks fly as the hatch was welded shut. The expedition was broadcast live. In an effort to keep the world informed, a constant video feed was provided to every news station. The vessel was transported and arrived at the cradle without incident. The crew, although rattled, seemed rather optimistic. The video footage was crystal clear, positioned all throughout the craft and outside as well. Audio comms were stable and kept everyone in contact. After an in-depth AI system calibration, the order was given to proceed with the expedition and begin lowering.

With the creak of pulleys, the USS Hope made its descent. It was predicted that the mission could take days. While the exact depth of the hole remained a mystery, it was believed to run deeper than the Mariana Trench, deeper than anywhere humanity has ever explored. Some showed enthusiasm for their shared mission. Others merely sat deep in thought.

Within several hours, the Hope surpassed ten miles and made history as the deepest man-made exploration. Ten miles later, and it was still going down. Down and down it went. Most of the mission met little excitement, but every now and then there came an occasional thump. It was the sound of something banging against the hull, as bodies fell from above. The impacts made some of the crewmates shiver and fidget, while others seemed strangely at ease. By day two, the video feed began to stutter. Slow lines would creep

into the 4K resolution, much like the effect of an old TV. Sometimes the crew's audio would distort, slowly drawing out their words into a distorted slur before skipping back to normal. Despite a thorough diagnostic, no issue could be found. According to both the crew and AI co-pilot, everything was working as it should.

Shortly thereafter, audio recorders began picking up a deep, continuous groan. It might have been another distortion, except this time the crew heard it too. Yet it was unclear if the sound they heard was just the echoing strain of the suspension cables, or something below. The USS Hope had yet to report any signs of life. In their words, there was just more darkness. Near the end of day two, the distortion became more frequent. Visual feed flickered and dropped, sometimes for several minutes. Audio played the quality of a broken record. The deeper they went, the worse it became.

About this time, the crew began displaying unease. Some merely hovered near each other for comfort, while others started to pace, sometimes laying down on the floor or leaning against the exterior wall for periods of time. When questioned by other crewmates, it was like they were pulled out of a daze. Some of them would wander off screen for hours at a time, hiding in the few blind spots the cameras couldn't reach. The AI co-pilot assured, everything was nominal. The cradle continued to lower, unspooling the endless coils. On day three, all exterior visual feed was lost. They were descending blind. Half the crew requested extraction.

The other half tried to reason or berate. The AI reported everything was nominal. The crew put it to a vote. Seven were for extraction, six voted to stay. But home base denied their request. They were told to proceed with the mission. Day four began with the loss of exterior audio and further degradation of interior video. The video feed was reduced to a series of frozen stills, each one heavily altered.

The grain of distortion had taken over, and the color had drained to a high contrast of black and white. Some of the crew laid on the floor and refused to move. Some were seen staring at the reflections in mirrors or glass. Nobody appeared to be on active duty. Worse was the interior audio. Whatever made it through was shattered. Sometimes it would be incoherent rambling, a muffled sob, a heavy, labored breathing,

all through waves of deafening static. Most of the crew members wouldn't respond, and whenever the AI was called, it responded in a continuous feed of numbers, indecipherable pages of random code. Day four ended with a final transmission. It came in the form of a tortured scream, like whoever's voice was torn apart. Televisions around the world cut to black. All video and audio transmissions officially ceased, and an emergency override was activated to begin extraction. The vessel stopped,

suddenly, and after the cables groaned and swayed in silence, it began its ascent. It took two days for the hope to return. Every attempt to contact the crew was unsuccessful. We could only watch as the cradle slowly, painfully, reeled them back up. Once it surfaced, it was delivered off-site and out-of-site from the public. The state of the hope and its crew has never been disclosed, but rumors abounded over the following days and weeks. The vessel had been damaged and all of its exterior equipment broken beyond repair. However, despite the carnage,

the hope remained sealed. They cut their way inside, revealing something only the highest of clearances know the truth of. Whatever it was, though, sent panic fever through all the top brass. Because minutes later, the bombs dropped. It's unclear who gave the first order, but across the globe, missiles were dispatched,

all aimed at the total destruction of the whole and everything around it. The madness that unfolded afterwards came in a series of sirens and shockwaves. And before anyone could try to make sense of it, there was no one left to push a button. It's been years since I've been above ground. Human life has been reduced to a benign tumor, scratching around in dark tunnels with no real goal except to keep living. I'm not even sure if there's anyone left up there. The sounds of mankind's self-destruction have been silent for some time now. Ironically, the whole proved to be nothing compared to our own self-termination.

I've come to accept this new life we have now. Deep down, I know we deserve it. Some strange form of causality paying us back for all the bad we've done. I've made amends with that. It's not claustrophobia that gets to me, or the fact I'll never see the sun again. It's not that I know we'll never rekindle what the hole took away, or that the husks of people around me are probably the last humans I'll ever see.

It's the whisper I hear in the back of my head Just when I'm about to fall asleep It calls to me A murmuring that doesn't make sense But one I understand nonetheless It wants me to go to it And wants me to feed it I can brush it off for now It wants me to go to it, and wants me to feed it.

I can brush it off for now, and most times it just feels like a bad dream. Other times, I wake up standing in front of the bulkhead. Whatever it is, it's still out there, waiting patiently. And I... I don't know how much longer I can resist. You know, I'll... I'll be honest, I forgot how that one ends. A little too close to home, if you ask me. But hey, that's a drop in the hole for all things sideways. What's one little story, huh?

Compared to the real deal, it's nothing. How do you... Listen, Mikey's gonna get real with you. When the end went down, and when I went down in here, things were crazy, right? What I mean is, to all my fans out there,

give us a call. Please. This is Mike Madness, and we're just gonna let the music pick itself. Oh, you gotta be. We'll be right back. My room is a place I hide

With all my fears inside Full Body Chills is an AudioChuck production. This episode was written by Jesse Polins and read by Christopher Swindle. Intro and outro written by David Flowers and read by Anthony Koons. So, what do you think, Chuck? Do you approve?

I approve! And I watch as the world goes by, but it's not for me as I sit and cry. Far from the light, let's share the fun. Hello? Hello, is anyone out there? Hello? I repeat, is anyone out there? Hello? I repeat, is anyone out there? Hello? Hello?