Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 2 Deep Space Horror Stories | NASA Series

Episode Date: September 13, 2021

Try Shudder FREE for 30 days! Go to Shudder.com and use promo code NOSLEEP at sign-up! 😎🔥💯 🎧 The Dr. SCP podcast: https://spoti.fi/3zCFjQc 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Advertising Inquiries: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Lazang sur-gillet, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes. Oh, you're like their dojo? Prere to play. Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo. The casino in-line

that proposes the most recent machine-a-sou and the game of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours on Big Bas Bonanza. Without exigance of means and with

the payments instantane. Hey, I've gained. Woohoo! Sentire the pleasure. Play-Ojo 18-10 and plus, 1-Depos only depots in Ontario.

50 tours on $1 million to $10 DePos $10 dollars. Veigh I'm in a are responsible. The conditions apply. Biennue

at board of Via Rai. Embarked and profite. Embarked and relax. Syrotay. Bookiné.

Oh, that also. And profite. Via Rai, the voice that we love that We love. Dr. Naisley.

Hey, guys, be sure to check out my new podcast called Dr. S.C. for more interesting stories. It's 100%

inspired by the SEP Foundation. If you'd like to check it out, just search Dr. SCP in the search bar on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. Now time for the story. Ground control, do you read me?

A voice buzzed over the radio. I leaned forward at my chair, studying the signal received from our station in geostationary orbit. As I turned my microphone back on it, I briefly admired the fact that the message was coming from over 35,000 kilometers away from a little metal box hanging in space as it slowly orbited Earth.

I hear you loud and clear, Holloway. Good to have you back. I responded with overwhelming relief filling my voice. The astronauts aboard the GSSSS had been out of contact for the better part of an hour. Whether it be due to some kind of interference or technical problems remain to be answered. But it alone had put us all on edge, considering anything in geostationary orbit has an orbital period equal to the Earth's rotation. In layman's terms, it means that the station never strayed out of reach relative to our position on Earth.

What happened out there? We lost contact for a moment, I asked. The rest of the crew and ground control sat in silence, each of the scientists listening in on our conversation. I felt relieved, but something about Holloway's voice sounded so urgent, almost scared. We found something. He began. We're not exactly sure what, but that's what cut us off. We just lost signal.

You found something? Could you be more specific? I'm uploading the missing footage as we speak. Holloway said. The GSS had remained under constant supervision since its launch in early 2012. It was a covert mission meant both to study human endurance in space and to track foreign bodies entering Earth's orbit. Within a few minutes, the missing video and a few photos had been uploaded to the server.

While the footage itself mostly showed the inside of the station, I was more interested in the pictures. I opened up the first one, displaying it on the control room's main screen. It was pointed outward from Earth into deep space, filled with a starry sky that one couldn't dream to observe from Earth itself. But in the center of the photo, lingered a black patch of nothingness, as if a part of the picture had failed to receive any sort of light exposure. Holloway, what exactly am I looking at?

I held my breath as I awaited a response. I'd never seen anything quite so empty. It felt like I was staring into a black hole, but that obviously couldn't have been the case, as it would have annihilated the station within a split second. We don't know. It just hung there approximately 25 meters away from our station as we passed. We couldn't get any readings on it.

no radiation, no movement, no force, nothing. According to our instruments, it doesn't even exist. Can you still see it? No. We passed it 47 minutes ago, just regained contact. It appears to be locked in its orbital path. It doesn't make any sense. But following this trajectory, we'll see it again in just over 23 hours. We'll send more data then.

The next day was spent analyzing the little information we'd received from the crew aboard the GSS, but with only a picture and limited reading, claiming the black spot in space didn't exist, we could do little except wait. None of us ventured home for some much-needed shut-eye. Instead, we waited at the office as a thousand different theories formed in the back of our minds. Around the same time the following day, we lost contact with the crew. By then, we already knew what was going on. While it was a worrisome phenomenon, we knew it wouldn't even last an hour.

Sure enough, as the day before, it was a temporary problem. Ground control, we have a problem, do you copy? The voice called through the radio. At first, I didn't recognize the voice. Holloway was the man in charge at the station, so to speak. But for whatever reason, someone else had taken it upon themselves to contact us. This is ground control. Who am I speaking to? I asked.

Not able to recognize the voice due to interference. It's Matthews. We pass by the hole again. It's bigger. We only missed it by a few meters. Next time we pass, we'll hit it. All right, Matthews. You have to change the station's altitude immediately.

I need to speak to Holloway. We locked him inside the sleeping quarters. He's lost it. Lost it? What happened? I asked. He kept staring outside the window as we passed the hole. Then he just went unresponsive.

By the time we figured out what was happening, he'd already sabotaged the CMGs. Can you repair it? Was all I could think to ask. I don't think so. We need to... Wait. How the hell did Holloway get out? Stop him!

The message was cut abruptly. Matthews, are you there? They practically screamed into the radio. We desperately scrambled to regain any contact. But no matter what we did, the GSS remained dark. Hours passed with the station heading for direct collision with this strange cosmic phenomenon. And even if the crew was still alive up there, we hadn't the faintest clue as to what would happen when they finally crashed. By the time another day had passed, most of us had gone upwards of 70 hours without sleep.

Some had collapsed on their desk, and every available crew member had been called in. But it wouldn't help. Exactly 27 minutes before impact, we received the last. last transmission we'd ever get from the crew aboard the station. This is what we heard. Ground Control. This is Matthews. The comms were sabotaged after Holloway escaped. We've lost him alongside Garcia. We had to kill them. They didn't leave us any choice. We spent the past day trying to shift course to no avail. I don't even know if I can get the radio up and running for long enough to send this message. In about 15 minutes, we'll lose contact as we get within reach of the hole.

Then we'll collide. I don't know what will happen once we do, but I doubt any of us will ever get to see Earth again. He paused for a moment. His breath turning erratic as it became obvious just how scared he was. Don't forget our names once we're gone. Frank Matthews, Melissa Cameron, David Rikers, Henry Jenkins. We're about to venture into an unknown world. Tell our families we're sorry we we couldn't make it home. Tell them that Kyle Holloway and Gabriel Garcia died as heroes. What happened wasn't their fault. I wish we had more time. Goodbye. With that final transmission, contact was once again lost. It had entered the dark rift in space.

We pointed our telescopes at the black hole, and we could see it grow in real time, slowly expanding across the night sky. We mourned the astronauts that would never be mentioned in any kind of news outlet. Their mission to expand the scope of mankind had been secret, so their deaths would go unnoticed by all but those who loved them. I thought it odd that such is the destiny for most of mankind,

as death finally grips us, we're all too quickly forgotten. Even the heroes, the greatest minds, and the most famous stars will eventually be washed away by time itself. To the great unknown of the universe, we're all equally expendable. Once we'd scan the sky for any trace of debris that might have originated from the station, we finally realized that it hadn't just been destroyed, but rather swallowed up by the dark rift. It didn't matter where we looked, or what kind of probes we sent out to search for the dead crew. They were erased from our part of the galaxy.

But in the wake of their demise, something more sinister, in the back of our minds. What would happen as the rift grew, and would it ever reach Earth? At first, there was little we could do except observe until a probe could be sent out, a job that on its own would take the better part of a year, even with an exceptional amount of funding.

Of course, getting money was an easier task when a planet ending catastrophe would annihilate us within the decade. Six months we spent observing the rift as it grew exponentially in size. What had started out as a pothole-sized rift had grown as long, large as a house. We recalculated, estimating that within five years, it would expand large enough to consume Earth. One night I was packing my things when I got an alert for my computer. I walked back to my computer, dropping my things as I realized what had just been detected. It was GSSS

emerging from the rift and moving towards us. The signal was weak, but unmistakably belonged to the station. I grabbed the radio and attempted to make contact. This is ground control. Does anyone copy? I called out and excitement, knowing full well that had the crew survived the initial disappearance, they would have long since starved to death. Is there anyone there? I repeated to no response. With that, an emergency was declared, calling all available personnel to work. According to the signal we received from the CPDs, there was no sign of life aboard

the station. We initiated a station-wide, forced download of all footage, data, and everything we could get our hands on, before the station hit our atmosphere and burned up. People were running around screaming orders at each other, as petabytes of corrupted data downloaded itself onto our hard drives. We were frantically trying to find a way to redirect the station so that it would burn up completely in the atmosphere and not rain down as debris on innocent people.

It was a futile task, and we still hadn't calculated its exact trajectory. But despite our best efforts, the station had gone dark. Even with the limited contact we had, any ability to maneuver once there had been disabled, either by outside forces or by internal sabotage. All we could do was watch as it disintegrated over the west coast of Mexico, landing 13 miles offshore into the ocean. While it was not an event easily visible by the public,

no one knew the nature of the incoming debris, even had they seen it. We scrambled to send out a crew to pick up what little salvageable junk we could find, hoping to at least find traces of the dead astronauts. And while the salvage team was on the task, we set out to repair the downloaded footage. In terms of observation, the GSS stood unmatched. Every inch of the station was monitored 24 hours a day. With a limited exception of the lavatories, we had eye on the astronauts all the time.

The data was quickly downloaded, which meant we had everything up until the moment they were swallowed by the hole. The first few hours of footage remained intact, so the office gathered around to observe it, none daring to speak a word as we got our first look into what could only be a completely new world. A picture came to view, taking place during the last moment of our conversation. Can you repair it? I heard myself ask over the radio. Matthews was standing there. His face glued to the various panels used to control the CMGs.

I don't think so. We'll need to. Wait. How the hell did Holloway get out? Stop him. Holloway had managed to break out and had torn the comms apart. Based on the limited view we could get of him on the footage, Holloway looked emotionless, empty.

Stay the fuck back! Garcia yelled as he held. up a wrench. Floating around in zero gravity made fighting a different kind of challenge, but a proper swing could still significantly injure anyone unfortunate enough to be a recipient. Garcia and Matthews grabbed him to Holloway and brought him back into the sleeping quarters, where they tied him up. All the while, he never spoke a single word. He just kept staring at the windows. What happened to you? Matthews asked with no response. We got to fix the comms, Garcia chimed in. Cameron and Rikers were already hard at work trying to

to repair the CMGs, while Jenkins was attempting to piece together what remained of the communication station. The gyroscopes are more important. If that hole keeps growing, we'll hit it during our next orbit, Matthews said. Stay with Commander Holloway. I'll check on the others. Matthews exited the sleeping quarters while Garcia sat by Holloway. Come on, you have to talk to us.

Why did you sabotage the station? Holloway still refused to respond. He just kept staring out the window. Did you see something in the hole? Garcia asked. That time, Holloway turned his direction back at Garcia, finally acknowledging that he'd heard the question. He appeared to be whispering something,

but it couldn't be heard over the audio channels. What was that? He asked as he bent closer. Holloway then whispered something inaudible to Garcia, who instantly stood back up in shock. The concern, the fear that had been visible on his face only moments before, had been washed away and replaced by a bizarre sense of apathy. He bent down to untie Holloway without speaking a word.

The two of them both looked hollowed out, just uniformly working together. Garcia, what did you do? Jenkins asked as he saw the two of them enter the main section. In response, Garcia just grabbed one of the tools Jenkins was using and hit him over the head. The blood poured out from the wound, suspended in the weightless environment and small red balls. Seeing what was about to happen, Matthews, Rikers, and Cameron, all pushed themselves towards the two psychotic crew members and did their best to disarm them. Their struggle drove them across the ship as Jenkins' blood

started hitting the wall. Most of the sensitive electronics were secure, but where the blood managed to enter, a few unimportant systems were destroyed. Garcia was by far the largest of the group, and even in zero gravity, that proved an advantage. But at some point in the fight, Cameron managed to get a kick in,

pushing Garcia into the airlock. Then they pushed Holloway with him and locked in. What the fuck do we do now? Rikers asked. Cameron was busy attending to the wounded, unconscious Jenkins. His wound was bleeding profusely, but Cameron quickly applied

makeshift bandage to prevent his blood from covering the walls of the station. Come on, stay with me, she yelled. Once he was deemed stable, Cameron joined the rest of her crew in trying to repair the control movement gyroscope. While the comms were important, the main priority was getting the station away from the void's orbit before collision. The crew spent the next 20 or so hours trying to repair the hopelessly damaged CMGs, but it was a futile task. None of them had known the system as well as Holloway, and with him locked away, there was nothing they could around the 20th hour, a clunk could be heard coming from inside the airlock. Holloway and Garcia had somehow managed to break a hole in the wall, giving them direct access

to the airlock's door mechanics. Despite their psychotic state, they were well aware of the station's systems. Holloway, stop it. Matthews called over the station speaker system. If you damaged the airlock, we're all going to die. But the two men didn't care. They were so far gone from their former selves that not even the immediate threat of death seemed to worry them.

We have to eject them, Riker said. Kill them? Cameron chimed in. We can't. Despite her opposition to the idea, her voice was meek. She was smart enough to know that there wasn't another choice. Either they die or we all die. At this point, it's not a question of morality, but simple math.

Both Cameron and Matthews looked at him in despair. Jenkins wasn't even conscious and able to give input. They just nodded. All of them knowing exactly what had to be done. Holloway, Garcia, you either stop that shit or we eject you into space. You're going to die if you don't stop it. Cameron said over the speakers, but her message was ignored. It's time. Let's just get it over with. As the next in command, I'll pull the trigger, Matthew said.

Everything had already been prepared. All that remained was to input the command that would override the system and kill the crewmen. May God, forgive me for this, he mumbled to himself as he hit enter. The inner airlock sealed itself while the outer prepared to open. Within a minute, the doors opened, and the two men were forcefully pulled into the vacuum of space. There were many misconceptions when it comes to death by the vacuum of space. Contrary to common belief, one does not immediately freeze, nor does your body explode from the sudden change in pressure. Truth be told, death in space is one of the least dignified ways of leaving life.

The air would be sucked out from your lungs with a great likelihood of rupturing them in the process as the saliva on your tongue boils. Whatever still left in your intestines would be equally removed. Within 15 seconds, you'd lose consciousness due to hypoxia. I took solace in that fact, as I looked over the footage, that at least the poor astronauts weren't a way to experience their horrible deaths. The crew stayed silent for a few minutes after the ejection. None of them were brave enough to break the silence until Matthews finally realized he was now in charge of the station. The GMCs are done. We need to try to get a message out before the void swallows us.

He said with a defeated voice, albeit with a hint of purpose. They only had a few hours until impact. and who knew exactly how large the hole had grown during the past 24 hours. Cameron, how are we doing? Matthews asked after a couple of hours work. It's not looking good, but I think we might be able to get a simple message through. But we've got to be fast. We're going to lose communications in less than an hour.

She said back. You want the honor? You're in charge now, after all. So while Cameron and Rikers went to check on Jenkins, Matthews went on to send the last living message we'd ever received from the crew. Ground control. This is Matthews. After we'd listened to the message for the second time, the black void had disappeared outside the window.

The crew had gathered, hugging each other as they approached within mere meters of it. This is it! Rackers let out a panicked whisper. Oh, God! With that, every ray of light, artificial or not, vanished from the station. A minute of yells and expletives followed as the crew scrambled to turn the lights back on. But based on everything they said, the systems hadn't gone down. The light was simply being consumed by the void.

In many ways, the place acted like a black hole with a light. affecting physical mass in any destructive way. How are we still alive? Rikers called out. I don't know. Why aren't the lights working? Is the station dead? Cameron asked. It's not just the station. Look outside.

Matthew said with a horrified voice. Outside the window there was nothing but infinite darkness, rid of any light. There was a strange tinge of blue, just barely touching the surface of the station. But where it had come from, no one could say. The weird elimination created eerie outlines inside, allowing the crew to just about move around without hitting the walls. Then the fog of darkness started to fade,

and the lights inside the station slowly came back to life, as if the unseen force had just been removed. Once they'd secured the inside of the station, they all gathered at the windows and just fell into deafening silence. I couldn't blame them, because the world that existed outside in the empty vacuum of space was unlike anything known to mankind. If I hadn't seen the footage myself,

I never would have believed it, As the footage played, our offices received a call from the team running the salvage operation. They could confirm that the wreckage definitely belonged to the GSSS, but there were no traces of the astronauts anywhere in the mess. They had not returned with the station. Not knowing what to say, it just redirected my attention towards the still-playing footage. Wherever the astronauts had ended up, none of us knew. But one thing was certain.

The astronauts were no longer within our realm of reality. Hey guys, I want to take a minute to thank AMC Shudder for sponsoring this episode. If you enjoy listening to my podcast, then you will really appreciate the phenomenal horror movies and TV shows that Shudder offers, especially with Halloween right around the corner. For my own experience, Shudder truly is the Netflix of horror. The best part is that they're always releasing new content, such as the rental gone wrong thriller, Superhost, that was just released on September 2nd, along with another ghostly show. titled Martyrs Lane that just released on September 9th. You can start watching now by easily downloading the shutter app on all your favorite devices, such as your iPhone, iPad, or Android.

Just go to the App Store or Google Play Store to download it for free. It's an extremely easy-to-use streaming service that features the best selection of horror, thriller, and supernatural movies, from Hollywood favorites and cult classics to original series and critically acclaimed new genre films you will not find anywhere else, streaming uncut and commercial free. Get started streaming the best horror, thriller, and supernatural content today. You won't want to miss the new season of Creep Show, premiering on September 23rd.

To try Shudder completely free for 30 days, just go to shutter.com and use promo code, No Sleep, during sign-up. You will instantly gain access to all the amazing movies and TV shows Shutter has to offer. After the 30 days are over, it's only $5.99 per month or $56.99 annually. This is a limited time offer, so don't wait. Go to shutter.com today to sign up for free. That's shud-d-de-r.com. And be sure to use promo code No Sleep at Sign Up.

Now time for the next story. There are currently six people in space, all officially listed as crew members aboard the ISS. They are Christina Koch, Nick Haig, Alexei Ovchenin, Alexander Schwarzov, Andrew Morgan, Luca Parmatano, which is why we were so shocked when we received a transmission out of nowhere, one that didn't come from the ISS.

Of course, it could have come from any of the 4,987 satellites orbiting at various distances around our planet. It could have just bounced off one of them and returned to Earth, making it appear as an alien signal. But it didn't. The transmission came from a satellite in geostationary orbit as a semi-live feed with minimal delay. What we heard was the voice of a little girl.

calling out for help in panic. We scrambled around the office at NASA, desperately trying to determine if it was a mistake or some sort of prank, but it, without a doubt, originated from the satellite. Hello? The girl called out, on the brink of crying. None of us said a word.

We simply stared in awe. Each of us hoping someone else would take initiative and respond to the frightened little girl. I'm scared, please help me. She continued, now sobbing. After what felt like an eternity, I finally grabbed the microphone, unable to bear the increasing tension. Hello, my name is Robert Jones.

Who am I speaking to? My name is Amy. Where are you? Why can't I see you? I took a deep breath, half expecting my coworkers to burst out laughing. Their faces were enough proof that they weren't in on the possible joke. We're talking over a radio, Amy. That's why you can't see me. How did you find this channel? It's cold. Can you let me out?

She asked, ignoring my question. I want to go home. I swallowed hard. She sounded so frightened, so confused, yet my gut told me something was wrong. Amy, can you tell me where you are? While I waited for a response, one of my coworkers got in contact with a colleague over at Roscosmos, confirming that they also received this signal. They were frantically trying to get us all to confess to the prank.

We shot back with our own accusations, but as they sent us a live feed of their conversation with the girl, we were all baffled to hear that she was speaking in Russian. I don't know where I am. It's dark, and I can't see anything. At that point, the event had attracted a lot of attention around the office. When the head administration found out, we were quickly shut down, and the more senior staff members took over. I paced around the office, not able to shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

Thousands of questions whirled around inside my head, none of which I could reasonably explain using logic. Ra, do you have a minute? My boss asked as he stepped out from the comms area. He sighed. She asked to speak with you personally. We can't get a single, coherent word out of her. I know it's a bit uncomfortable, but we need to figure out what the hell is going on here. I didn't even hesitate.

I basically charged past my boss, barged into the room, and only slowed down as I stood in front of the microphone. I grabbed a headset and turned it on, not entirely ready to face what was on the other side. Amy? I asked. Robert, is that you? I nodded for a second, forgetting she couldn't see me. Yes, I'm here. Amy, listen. I need to know how you.

got to where you are right now. What happened to you? I don't know. My mommy took me to see a doctor. They put me in a machine. The, they said they needed to take pictures of my brain because my head always hurts. She cried. Did the doctor tell you what the machine was? Did he call it an MRI? Uh-huh. I think that's what the doctor said. I looked around the room. My superiors, as dumbfounded as myself, some in heated discussions with the higher-ups. The news was spreading through the company like wildfire, yet no one admitted to knowing what was happening. Amy, can you move around? My boss gestured from my attention. Figure out who she is, he whispered. No, I can't feel my arms or legs, she said. I lost focus for a moment, as my boss scribbled down something on a piece of paper

and held it up in front of me, a list of questions he wanted me to ask. I hesitated, not because of the questions, but because I didn't feel comfortable knowing the answers. How old are you, Amy? I'm nine. And what's your last name? Keeper. My name is Amy Keeper. The others were coordinating with the Russians at Roscosmos. They were getting the same answers as us, except spoken in Russian. So I asked the only question I could think of. Amy, are you talking to anyone else right now?

She didn't respond. So I asked again. Silence. Then another question popped up in my mind. Why me? Amy, why do you want to speak to me? She stopped sulking for a moment. Because I don't want you to die.

I looked at my colleagues. They seemed equally shocked at her statement, confirming what I just heard. What do you mean? She continued crying, sobbing about wanting to go home. A minute went by without any response, and we lost contact. Our colleague from Russia was furious,

spouting platitudes that threatening with death, even as a prank, was going too far. Apparently, they'd gotten a similar message from Amy. After a quick search, we found a single Amy keeper the same age. She had a recent hospital visit that matched the person we just spoken to. She had passed away from a brain tumor, glioblastoma, six months ago. Her entire treatment history originated from a private hospital,

one that has since ceased its operations and closed. We managed to find the satellite, and the little information about it that exists. Apparently, it had been launched in the spring of this year, but while the name was listed, we found no information about who launched it. It was named Art Effects 040919. Last night, I got a call for my coworker. He just received news that one of our Russian counterparts, the radio operator speaking to Amy,

had been found dead in his apartment. No autopsy report was released, but suicide was suspected. He'd been warned, just like myself. But the most disturbing thing isn't that she predicted my death. What really terrifies me is that whoever or whatever Amy is, we communicated directly with her from our offices at NASA. Her voice came from a non-habitable satellite, meaning the message didn't come from Earth. Thank you all for tuning in.

I will now be posting new episodes every weekday at 1 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. Be sure to follow the podcast to get notified when new episodes are released.