Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 3 Sci-Fi Horror Stories

Episode Date: May 12, 2021

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Talk to nicely. Before we get into this next story, I want to thank Rebecca, Brittany, Carla, and Nathan for joining my Patreon this past week. Your support means so much to me, so thank you. For all you who'd like to gain access to my bonus episodes as well, head on over to my Patreon page at patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. Thanks again and now time for the story.

42 years ago, we sent Voyager 1 into space to look for extraterrestrial life. Today we found it. 42 years, six months and three days ago, on the 5th of September, 1977, a space probe was launched from Earth and sent on an endless journey through space. The probe, which was affectionately named Voyager 1, contains a multitude of information regarding humanity, including our language, our art, and in a more metaphorical way, our souls. Today, the little machine is 22 billion kilometers away from Earth, the furthest reach of our species. though not a manned vessel, it's still a part of us. Despite its distance, we're still keeping contact with it, and during its journey spanning almost half a century, it has given us an insight into the mysteries of the universe we thought we could only dream about. My own father spent

most of his life on the project, and I have since followed in his footsteps. I dreamed about taking over his work, even as a 12-year-old kid, and eventually these dreams would land me at NASA's doorstep. Little did I know that only a few years into my work, the one question that has plagued us since the dawn of mankind would be answered, forever changing the course of human history. Are we alone? On the 7th of December 2019, I arrived at the office after having been called in at 4 in the morning. I immediately noticed the panic that it erupted overnight. With my co-workers scurrying around the office, confused, horrified, but seemingly excited about a picture sent from Voyager 1. The monitors that usually displayed little more than numbers and boring graphs

now all showed the same singular image, that of a blue planet. I approached one of the screens and studied the photograph. In many ways, the planet resembles Earth with vast blue oceans and split land masses, but none of the continents were recognizable to me, and the clouds hovering above or red, with a vague, yellow tint. Hey, Dan, what's this? I asked my neighboring coworker. At first he barely noticed my presence, too engrossed in his own work as he stared at the screen with a mixture of terror and anticipation. Hey, what's the picture? I repeated. It came from Voyager 1, he said, barely a whisper. It was a ludicrous statement. The last image sent from Voyager 1 had been received in 1990, the famous pale blue dot, an image we'd posted on the wall of our

office for inspiration. Since that fateful day, our engineers turned the camera off to save the probe's memory, assuring we could still receive more valuable data in the future. Don't be stupid, that's impossible, I said. They turned the camera off decades ago. Something, something turned it back on, he said with a shaky voice. His choice of words confused me. Instead of indicating that a person had done it, he said something. What do you mean? How was that even possible? I don't know. But the signal that turned it on came from the planet in the picture. It overrode the system, effectively hijacking the probe. I looked back at the picture, noting its bright surface, an impossible image without a nearby star to light it up.

But according to all available data, Voyager 1 should have been several light years away. from the nearest star. The signal came from within the orte cloud. Dan mumbled. Excuse me? I know. It's 300 years ahead of schedule. We rechecked it five times. It doesn't make any sense. Before I could ask any further questions, my supervisor called me into the main office. There, he showed me the transmission we'd received from Voyager 1. Apparently, it wasn't just the picture, but a sequence of numbers and codes hidden within the radio signal. Do you know what it means? I asked after listening to the mess of sounds about ten times.

Well, that's why we called you win. We were hoping your father left behind any ideas about his work before he passed away. My dad was a magnificent man, brilliant in his own way, but obsessed with finding the possibility of extraterrestrial life. Throughout the past century, Earth has picked up a multitude of different radio signals. most of them just an after effect from collapsing stars and random background radiation. However, among the mess of noise,

several coherent messages have been filtered out from the Symphony of the Universe. The only problem was that we had no means with which to translate them. My father never could. He could only determine their origin, which fit perfectly with the current location of Voyager 1. Then it dawned on me that the last message, coming from Voyager 1, wasn't just another random signal sent from a thus far unknown planet,

but a mathematical key that could be used to translate everything we'd received so far. My theory was that the species that had hijacked the probe had used it to understand our language, instructions of sorts. We spent the next few days deciphering the message, desperately looking for the key. It took a lot of sleepless nights and countless amounts of caffeine, but eventually we found the answer. Without hesitation, we applied the decoder to all previous messages originating from the same region.

The first one arrived in 1968. Though what we had was essentially an alien dictionary, the language they used contained so many foreign concepts, ideas we still don't understand. But what follows is the basics of what we've deciphered so far. December 7, 1968. Is there anyone out there? March 15th, 2003. Help, help. October 23rd, 2010.

We are here. September 19th, 2011. We did our best. Sorry. Though the direct messages didn't make much sense on their own, the planet had emitted a continuous signal that seemed to contain a very comprehensive history of their world. As far as we could tell, their species first surfaced 10 million years ago,

and has reached a level of technology that is so far beyond our own that we can't even begin to unresolved. understand it. They make no mention of war, but they talked about a defense grade around their system, one that had been ineffective against a threat mentioned on several accounts. The most approximate translation of this threat has been termed the Ludex. Since the last distress signal in 2011, their planet has fallen silent. It was a heartbreaking discovery to finally find intelligent life other than our own, only to have it extinguished immediately. The more horrifying fact, however, was that their demise wasn't one of their own making. No. Their end had come at the hands

of a far superior species, one able to travel through space only to wage war and destruction. Yet, despite their end, a final message was sent through Voyager 1, one that wasn't calling for help, or giving us a detailed history or ideas on how to reach them. Instead, they left us with a final warning, a simple message and a translation key. All they said was, Next. It's dark outside. Lily said nervously as she tugged in my shirt. Without looking at her, I just scoffed.

It's the middle of February. Of course, it's dark in the morning. No, that's not what I mean. Just look, she said, pulling my arm. I looked up from my mouthbook and took a peek at the window. It was pitch black, as if the world had simply been erased. Not even a single silhouette greeted us from outside. What the fuck?

I muttered a bit too loud, garnering the attention of our teacher. Daniel, what did you just say? Mr. Crawford asked sternly. Outside, it's dark. I stuttered. Mr. Crawford took a look at the window. After a few seconds, his angry face turned to one of total apathy. It's beautiful, he said without the faintest hint of emotion in his voice.

Beautiful. What are you? Lily tried to interject. That's enough. You're going to the principal's office, Mr. Crawford ordered. For what? Don't you see the world is literally gone? I shouted.

You too. Principal's office now. He responded, still emotionless. Since the other students kept quiet, we didn't argue any further. Confused and afraid, we made our way to the office. The hallways were dark and quiet. Only a few students were wandering through them, none speaking a single word. A place that was once full of chatter and gossip had turned to a graveyard. One of my friends walked by without even greeting me. Hey Fred, do you know what's going on? He turned to look at me. face appeared rid of emotion, just like Mr. Crawford. I looked outside. It was beautiful. Then he turned around and left. What the hell is happening? Lily asked with a shaky voice. I don't know.

Maybe the principal can help us, I suggested. We knocked on his door and waited to be called in. He told Lily to enter first, and I had to remain outside. While I sat there, another student popped around the corner. It was Marcus, a quiet, athletic senior. Don't go in there. He was It already got him. What? What do you mean? I asked. The dark.

It changes people. It already got the principal and most of the teachers. Fuck. Lily just went in there. I said as I got up from my seat, ready to barge inside the office. Forget it. She's done for her. You got to come with me.

He said, no, I'm not leaving her. I tried to argue before he grabbed me. But, being far larger than myself, he pulled me away with little effort. As he dragged me out of sight, the door to the principal's office opened and to Lily walked out. The principal called my name, but quickly dug back inside his office once he realized I was gone. Lily! I called out as she walked down the hall, but she didn't respond. Just let her go, Marcus said. I ignored him and ran after Lily. She didn't even seem to recognize me. Instead, she just walked towards the exit. By then, several students had gathered in the hallway,

simply staring out the window into the emptiness that lay beyond. Lily, what are you doing? She turned to me for just a second. I'm leaving. With that, she opened the door and walked into the void outside. No sooner had her body touched the darkness before she started falling apart. Her skin dried out and disintegrated, leaving her flesh and organs exposed. She let out a silent sigh and fell apart on the floor. All that remained was a mangled, unrecognizable mess that had once been my best friend. In shock, I stared at her remains, my attention slowly drifting to the void beyond. grabbed me from behind and pulled me away from the door. Don't fucking look outside. He said as he slapped me out at the shock. She's, she's dead, and you'll be too unless you listen to me. You stare out there for more than a few seconds. It'll get you too. We need to find somewhere safe to hold up until help arrives. The cafeteria, it's empty this time of day, I suggested, still in shock. Without hesitating, we tried to make our way there. As we turned the corner, we found Mr. Crawford, standing in the hallway. As he noticed us passing by, he grabbed Marcus's shoulder and pushed him towards

one of the windows. Just look outside. It's so beautiful, he said with a monotonous tone. Let me go, Marcus yelled. I tried to pull him free, but it was too late. He quickly lost all emotion in his voice and joined the others. In the blink of an eye, his consciousness had vanished. In panic, I ran for the cafeteria. Once there, I made a makeshift barricade and collapsed to the floor in despair. I sat there helplessly, mourning the loss of my friends and classmates. All the while, students and teachers kept knocking on the doors, begging me to look outside. Just look through the window. It's so beautiful. Without a phone to call for help, I can't say how much time has passed. For all I know,

it has been months since the world vanished. Food is all but run out, or spoiled, beyond edibility. These will be my final words, written in a notebook somewhere left behind. It's time to look outside. finally, I'll see the beauty of the void. Goodbye. On hold. I could barely contain my excitement. After a month of unemployed anxiety and scrambling for rent money, I'd made it to the last round of interviews,

and they told me I was very likely to be given the job offer. The final round apparently involved logging into their secure system remotely, and for that, they mailed me a biometric wristlet. When the day came, I ran that package up to my room and pulled the wristlet out. It was heavy. and made of some technology I hardly understood, but it came with a little instruction booklet. Clicking it closed, I logged onto their website, then pressed, accept, on the biometric two-factor authentication that popped up on my device. After a moment, I heard ringing. It was also a phone.

Okay, this was cool. The secretary answered after two rings. I'm calling for the interview, I said awkwardly loudly to my wrist. Right, I didn't have to to yell. She either didn't notice or didn't care. I frowned. Her tone was kind. Then she returned to her professional voice. Hold, please. I sat back in my chair. As the calm elevator music began to play from my wrist, my heart was pounding, and to my surprise, I could actually see a little pulse indicator in green in the bottom left of the device. I tapped my fingers on the desk, then I sighed a few times. My pulse elevated drastically when the music cut out, but not No, it was just starting over.

Okay, ten minutes on hold. Not the biggest hurdle to finally having a job and getting to be a valid member of society once more. I glanced at the clock, 20 minutes. A full half hour. At 40 minutes on hold, I was no longer nervous. I was, instead, annoyed. I said out loud, how long is this going to take?

The music continued, but a male voice that sounded around my age, replied. Uh, hello? I sat up stock straight. Sorry, have you been waiting for me? No, he replied. A woman chimed in. Me too. A younger male voice asked.

Wait, are we all on hold together? It seems we are, said the first man. Curious. Highly confused, I asked. Have you all been on hold for over an hour or two? The woman answered. Two for me. The others reported similar times, and we made guarded small talk,

but then ultimately fell silent. We were competitors, after all. At about the second hour mark, I began to notice myself sweating. Is anyone else's device putting out a lot of heat? Strangely, the younger male voice on the line sounded a little deeper, added the other man, who oddly now sounded slightly older than me now. The woman suggested, I didn't know what to make of it. I decided to get up to get some ice or a towel to put between my skin and the wristlet,

but I felt rather weak. I tried to stretch my sore joints, and they could. creaked. Looking in the mirror on my wall, I saw that my face had become slightly sunken, and I watched in horror as a white streak ran up through a lock of my hair. To the others, I asked desperately, are these things aging us? The older man said flatly. The woman said bitterly. The younger male voice, now definitely sounding frayed, added, I will never be able to forget the internal debate I had in that moment. I actually considered staying on the line and trying to be the last one left. The world had hammered into me that having a prestigious job was everything, and that without it,

I was nothing. But what would be the point if I let it drain my life away? Once the decision was made, I moved swiftly. The wristlet wouldn't come off, so I began smashing it against my desk. Ultimately, bleeding. I ran for a set of tools a friend had lent me, and I hit it repeatedly with a hammer. At long last, it fell off, sizzling the floor as it spilled heat and plastic onto my carpet. even as the device died, I could still hear them arguing with each other about who would last the longest and be the one to get hired. I managed to get to the doctor the next week, and she couldn't explain it. I'd aged roughly 15 years since my last visit, but I was relieved because I knew it could have been worse. I'd scoured news feeds and found mention of decayed corpses found sitting in

their homes in random towns across the world. There had never been any job. I would have spent my life waiting, waiting for a system that didn't care about me at all, while I got older and slowly burned alive. Not even that turned me against them, though. I just wanted to be left alone. I only decided to speak out and tell this story once I saw the CEO of that company on television. For a man of 90, he was looking quite spry and young. Lasagne sur-gillet, puissance-molyne for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Ready to play? Joe, the casino in line

who proposes the most recent machine-as money to do money to do do you know of money to do you without the business

and with the payment instantane. Hey, I'm going to get. Woo-hoo! Sonture the pleasure. Play-O-Joh. 18 years, 1,000 depots only

Excluent in Ontario. 50 tours gratis on the machine to sub-bac-bac-bass-bon-A. Depos minimum of $10. Beye to play a way responsible. The conditions apply. Hey, everyone.

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