Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Operation Edenfall

Episode Date: November 2, 2022

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3juM1og 🎉 Ad-free bonus stories + exclusive uncensored animations: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: Born Beach Check out more of his work here: https://linktr.ee/jgmartin Check out Born Beach’s new book "Crooked Antlers" for more bone chilling stories. It is now available on Amazon here: http://getbook.at/crookedantlers 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

Welcome to aboard of Viarai. Embarked and profite. Embarked and celebrate. Rigolet. Publié. Savoré. Admire. Admirate. And profite. Viaray, the voice that we love. Hey, guys. I want to give a quick shout out to Panthero, Anthony and Lauren for becoming Doctor No Sleep patrons. You three now have full access to my ad-free podcast episodes and bonus episodes. If you'd like to receive access as well, Go on over to my Patreon page at patreon.com slash DR No Sleep to sign up.

That's patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. Now time for the story. The sale was classified as top secret. Whatever we were doing out there, they didn't want anybody to know. Not the Russians, not the Chinese, not the public, and certainly not the crew. We'd been kept in the dark, fed the lie that we were heading out on a routine. patrol. Up and down the coast, they said, back in no time. That was before the storm. Before the sea turned into a maelstrom and the night swallowed the sun. It was before the captain slid his throat,

and before the crew tossed themselves overboard, desperate to escape the nightmare we'd fished out of the sea. My name is Walter Mills. I suppose I should probably use an alias, something to prevent the people above from finding me. But the truth is, I don't care. I've spent my entire life caring. My entire life running from the shadows that sit above our government, from the puppet masters that pull the strings of the world. But I'm out of time.

And I mean that literally. I've got one foot in the grave. Doc says it's terminal. That means I don't have to worry about the wrong people finding me or the consequences of what I'm about to say. I can let you know, and then I can go. The sail began like any other. Our warship was tied up alongside.

The crew formed up in lines running from the jetty to the lower decks, storing it full of food and supplies. It began uniform, ordinary. Then they arrived. The secret ones. Nobody seemed to know who they were. But when they came, they wore masks of, crimson, like balaclavas without holes for the eyes or mouth. They shoved past our line on the

brow and told the quartermaster they needed to speak with the captain, and speak they did. I watched them from the edge of my vision, all six of them surrounding the captain, mumbling in words too quiet to properly make out. The conversation lasted 20 minutes, and by the end the captain was frowning. He made a call ashore, presumably to the Commodore. He seemed nervous, afraid. When the call finished, he said something dismissively to the secret ones and vanished below decks. We all wondered what was going on. For those of you that have served, you know that there's two things that keep a crew entertained.

Pirated movies and rumors. And after that exchange, the rumors flew. Some said the secret ones were special forces, so clandestine that nobody was permitted to see their faces. Others said they were intelligence operators. People with access to such sensitive intel that knowing their faces could prove a national security risk. Briggs, a stoker in the engine room, joked that they were Illuminati, lizards from Mars. I didn't know what they were. To be honest, I didn't really care. I just wanted to get the sale over with so I could get home to see my wife, Abby, and our newborn, Alice. For me, this was just a job.

A stepping stone to a better life. And when we set sail, I still believed that. Then the ship dropped anchor, and the crew was mustered into the hangar. The captain stood at the front with three of the secret ones on either side of him. They stood silent, gazing out at us behind their crimson masks. The captain cleared his throat and said this was difficult for him to do. But prior to our departure, he received word that our mission had changed. that it was no longer routine, no longer what we expected.

He passed a bottle of pills around. Each of us was instructed to take a pill from the bottle, to keep it safe, to keep it on our person at all times in case of emergency, but never to eat it otherwise. What is it, sir? Briggs asked in the back. Cyanide, the captain replied. Laughter rippled across the crew.

Seriously. Somebody else called. This for malaria? Are we deploying? The captain sighed, looking sidelong of the secret ones who remained silent, impassive. It's cyanide, and if you know what's good for you, you'll make sure you don't lose it. With that, he stormed off, secret ones in tow. That night, Briggs died.

He tried the capsule, swore up and down that the whole thing was a dumb joke, that there was no fucking way that they'd give us cyanide capsules when they didn't even trust us to clean. toilets unsupervised. His last words, It probably tastes like smarties. Briggs died quick. He died quick in a seizing, sputtering mess of shit and piss. But once his organs gave out, it only took a matter of seconds. Carrying his corpse through the ship took minutes. Minutes that felt like ours. Once we'd made it to the med bay, the doc tried resuscitating him, tried pumping his stomach, But he knew as well as we all did that it was a waste of time.

He was gone, long gone. After that, we all assumed we turned straight around and head home. Then we'd drop off Briggs's body, pay our respects, and take a couple of days to grieve before resuming the mission. But the captain informed us the show would go on. We wouldn't be turning around. We wouldn't be dropping off Briggs's corpse, because this mission was classified as a no-fail. And not only that, but this ship would be going into lockdown, shutting off all communications, River City. That meant no way to call home, no way for home to call us. We were isolated and alone.

And then the captain had the nerve to tell us that things were going to get worse. That Briggs's death, tragic as it might have been, was likely to be the tip of our iceberg. The crew was furious, confused. Most of all, though, we were heartbroken. Many of us threw our cyanide capsules out, hating the memory they represented. Three days passed after Briggs's death. Three days of mourning, three days of steaming through the Pacific, while its crew slowly came undone, whispering theories about what we were doing out there, about what the captain meant by things getting worse.

It's China, I overheard in the flats. They've got a secret weapon, and we're going to dismantle it. I saw a YouTube video on this. If they catch us, though, they're going to torture the fuck out of us. So that's why they gave us the cyanide. Fuck that. You sound totally nuts. It's Russia, dummy.

Gotta be. They're going nuclear, and we got word now, so we're out to sink their subs. What do you mean why? Then they can't second strike us after we glass them. It ain't genocide if we got no choice. I didn't know what to think. I'd never experience. anything like this. And so I just woke up, did my watches, and went back to bed. Rinse, repeat.

I tried not to talk about what was going on because every time I did, Briggs inevitably came up, and the memory hurt like a knife to the gut. He and I had gone through Basic together, sailed up and down the Pacific Northwest, and made a game of finding old coins in every port. So I just kept my head down, did my work. I was doing that work when the captain's warning came true, when things got worse. It was a night watch, and I'd been steering the ship on the bridge. One moment we were sailing through smooth waters in a bright, cloudless night, and the next moment it all disappeared.

Darkness stole the evening like a light switch set to off. I recall the watch officer moving onto the bridge wings and staring up at the sky, trying to determine if the moon had slipped behind a cloud. When he came back, he looked confused, shaken. It was odd to me because we had radars, so it wasn't like we were navigating blind. He called the captain and reported that the moon was missing. Gone. Stay the course, the captain commanded. But sir!

Click. The next morning the sun never rose. The sky remained as black and haunting as the night before. Around this time, the secret ones began acting more bizarre. Whereas before, they more or less stayed put in their cabins, they now wandered the ship aimlessly. They'd mumbled nonsense under their breaths as you passed them in the flats, run their hands over surfaces everywhere they went.

Every so often, you'd catch a couple of them heading to the upper decks with a small ham radio and a portable antenna. They'd set it up and sit there for hours. Mostly they didn't speak into the microphone. They just listened to the static buzz of the speaker. Every so often, though, you'd hear them screech into the mic. Once I saw one crying into it, just weeping quietly, hands clutching the sides of their head. The crew's discussions became more erratic.

Talk of Russian or Chinese superweapons mostly vanished. And now the going theory was that we were making contact with aliens, that we'd located a downed spacecraft and were attempting to commute. communicate with it. That's why the sky's gone all fucky. It's alien cloaking technology designed to keep their craft hidden. If we get it first, then we'll be able to travel to different planets and shit. The guys in red work for Elon Musk, SpaceX. What do you mean, how do I know? I asked one. No way. I told you the Russians were going to nuke us and now they did. Why do you think it's so fucking dark, man? Nuclear winter. All the ash and sootted out the sun, dummy. Neither theory was close to the truth. Nobody on board had any idea just how bad things were, or how bad they were going to get. If we had, then we'd have staged a mutiny right then and there and turned the ship around, gone back the way we came,

but we didn't. We sailed into the night. The following week passed in confusion and despair. The crew became more irritable. People who were usually chipper were suddenly snapping at one another. fighting over the littlest things. Errant comments became verbal meltdowns in the space of seconds. Cold coffee led to fistfights.

Missing toilet paper left a sailor with a black eye and a bloody nose. But those were manageable problems. Not so far out of the ordinary that we weren't equipped to understand them, to deal with them. What happened in the gym between Myers and Yendell, though? That was something none of us were equipped to deal with. Yendell was spotting Myers on the bench press. I don't know what was said.

I wasn't there. All of my information is secondhand, but according to witnesses, an argument started when Yendell accused Myers of sabotaging their marriage. Words flew. Myers went to rack his bar, but Yendell kicked the bar down. 200 pounds. It nearly decapitated him. It'd been better if it had.

Myers were still alive when the dock arrived. His neck had been severed badly, hanging by strips of flesh, but his eyes were still moving. His throat was still choking. Yendell sat bawling in the corner, screaming that she didn't mean to, that she never wanted to hurt him but couldn't stop herself. She screamed as they dragged her away, as they locked her up. Myers didn't live much longer. The dock put him out of his misery the fastest way he could think of by finishing the job. The rest of the crew got to work, cleaning up the blood.

As for Yendel, she died an hour later. Turns out, she never threw out her cyanide capsule, and she finally got her chance to use it. At the time, I felt awful for them. Awful for Myers to suffer the way he did, and awful for Yendel because I knew exactly what she meant, that she never meant to hurt anybody. But some dark myasma had infected the ship. had seeped into our hearts and minds, and it had made us angry, desperate. That night I thought of her, of what she must have looked like after she'd swallowed her cyanide capsule,

of how easy it could have been to escape this nightmare if I'd never flushed mine. Then my thoughts turned to my wife, my daughter. Guilt filled my stomach like a pit of vipers, snapping at me for even thinking of leaving them behind. I drifted off. My dreams were messy things, hopeless, twisted. I dreamt of Briggs's spirit wandering the ship, unable to find peace so far from home, trapped in a steel cage like a rat. When I awoke, my mind felt like mush.

I stumbled through the flats like a zombie, each step more plotting and heavy than the last. My ears rang. My vision blurred. I half wondered whether I'd been drugged, or if there was a carbon monoxide leak in mess, but then something got my eye, the secret one's cabin. Their door was cracked open, barely. It was never open. I peeked in, spotting one of them sitting at a desk with their back to me. The lights were out. A low sound played in the room. Something resembling music, but decidedly off-tune and agonizing, like a violin's strings being stripped and sanded. I used it to cover my footsteps as I

slipped inside, eyeing the secret one as it sat, rigid in its seat. It wasn't wearing its mask, at least, not properly. It had lifted it up to its eyes, except it had none, no eyes, no nose, and only a tiny round hole that passed for a mouth. Heart pounding, I gazed at this thing in the thin light from the flats, suddenly understanding why they were running their hands over everything on the ship. They were navigating, scouting. It lifted a finger to its face, tracing alongside a series of scattered wounds, some still bleeding. With a whimper, its nail plunged into its cheek. A pool of blood formed around it. The secret one moaned. Slowly, it peeled off a small strip of flesh, then another. It placed them down on the desk,

humming in tune with the distorted music, and the flesh began to rive. It began to twist the reshape. The secret one felt it with its hands, nodded to itself. Then it pulled a file dossier from the desk, opened it up and felt for a form before scribbling something onto it and replacing it in the drawer. The cabin door creaked open. Another secret one stood in the doorway, gazing at me through its crimson mask. It cocked its head, took a step forward. My body rippled with goosebumps, wondering if this one still had its features, its eyes. It mumbled something incoherent, and the first turned in its seat. My skull pounded.

Whatever headache I'd woken up with had worsened. And now the pain was almost blinding. I stifled a groan as the first secret one rose from its chair. It approached me, and I took a quiet step backward as it reached into the locker I'd been standing in front of, removing a ham radio and a machete. My heart hit my rib cage once. Twice. I wanted to faint. Then both of them left the cabin, leaving me alone, alone with the dossier. I gave it 30 seconds before I took another breath. Then I moved to the desk drawer, took the documents from the folder, and thumbed through them.

They were written like a fever dream, symbols, numbers. Nothing about them seemed to make much sense. And it occurred to me that they were probably encrypted by some kind of code. Cursing, I stuffed them into my pocket for later analysis. I hurried to the bridge, already late for my shift. My thoughts raced as I relieved the helmsman, hastily giving my turnover report to Sandou, the watch officer. I sat down in the chair, took the wheel, and pondered what I'd just seen. Where the secret one some kind of cultists, was Briggs right?

Were we sailing with the goddamn Illuminati? I never got an opportunity to think it through. At that moment, the captain stumbled onto the bridge looking like death itself. I'd heard rumors he looked unwell. But this was the first time I'd seen him out of his cabin in weeks. His face was emaciated. His cheeks were so sunken that the bones looked liable to pierce his skin. And I idly wondered if he'd eaten a full meal since we'd set sail.

Evening, sir, Sandu said. The captain mumbled something unintelligible, brushing past her and sitting down in his chair. chair. He buckled his seatbelt. Everything all right? Sandu asked. The captain looked at her, but he didn't seem to see her. His fingers gripped both sides of his armrests, and his lips began to move. Goodbye, he said. I'm sorry? Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. The captain sat in his chair, repeating the word over and over again as tears leaked from his eyes. Better get the duck, Sandu muttered. picked up the phone, but before she could get the number dialed, an orange glow appeared beneath the bridge windows. Something flickering.

Ma'am! Ramirez reported from lookout. Those secret types just lit a bonfire on the fucking gum deck. What? Sendu rushed to the window, looking down in shock and rage. Then she moved to the bridge wing, calling down to the secret ones to put the fire out. A moment later, she screamed. Ramirez, looking out the bridge windows, suddenly turned and vomited onto the deck. What's going on? I asked, shooting up for my seat. It's Yendel!

Ramirez said, wiping his mouth. It's Yendl and Briggs. They're chopping up their damn corpses. Sandu stormed back inside, shouting at the captain. Sir, permission to mobilize an ERT and put those assholes in confinement? Goodbye. Goodbye. Sandu cursed.

She picked up the phone and dialed the executive officer, informing them that the captain had lost. and that the secret ones were cutting up corpses, burning bodies. They needed to get people out there to shut it down now. People with weapons because the secret ones had machetes. The XO said they were on it, but it was too little too late. Somehow I already knew the secrets had already finished what they came to do. From deep in the night, the wind howled, screamed.

A wave struck us broadside, a big one. It twisted the warship like a rubber duck in the river. bath, knocking Ramirez sideways and tumbling Sandu across the deck. I managed to steady myself against the helm console. Jesus Christ, Sandu breathed. Everybody all right? I buckled my seatbelt. What the hell was that? Rogue wave, Sandus bat. Been three weeks of perfect weather, and then that comes out of nowhere. This sail is cursed. She grabbed the phone and began a ship-wide announcement for a rapid survey. But she never finished the message.

Another wave struck us. Then another. Sandu's head slammed against the center console with a sickening crack, and she fell to the deck motionless. I braced against the helm, my seatbelt, squeezing painfully into my waist. Nearby, I heard Ramirez shrieking, praying. The captain continued to utter his refrain.

Goodbye, goodbye. Lightning flashed. For the first time, time in weeks, I glimpsed at the sky. Dark clouds spun around us as though caught up in a whirlwind, and in them swam faces, shadows. They gazed down at us, anguished. I saw Yendell, Briggs. I heard them scream and howl as though calling for somebody in a language that could only be described as blasphemous. Ramirez's body arched and twisted. He hollered as though something were picking him apart from the inside out. I wanted to jump up and help him. But I needed to keep him. But I needed to

keep control of the ship. Abandoning the helm in a storm like this would mean certain death. Not like this, Ramirez moaned. Tears streamed from his eyes as he gazed up at the haunting faces of the dead swirling in the sky above. I can't! His hands gripped the guardrails, running along the bridge, and he pulled himself slowly against the violently rocking ship, inch by inch. I gazed on helplessly as I saw him reach the hatch leading to the outside bridgewings. and I knew exactly what he intended on doing. After all, Ramirez and I had flushed our cyanide capsules together. Don't!

I called, but I couldn't think of anything else to add. Why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't I join him? He paused, looked at me. Then he pulled open the hatch which filled the bridge with the deafening base of the storm, and threw himself into the sea. I sat there, dying in slow motion. The waves, already vicious, worsened.

The swells now threatened to swallow the ship, reaching the height of skyscrapers as their walls of water crashed around us. The vessel's frame groaned. It sounded as though the whole thing was moments away from splitting apart. And then another wave hit us. My neck snapped sideways as my seatbelt tore into my waist. Suddenly down was up and up was down. We tumbled in the rage of the sea, frigid water shattering gabriegibrated.

windows smothering the captain and I in wet darkness. In retrospect, I don't know why I held my breath. After all that had happened, drowning would have been easy, preferable, but I did. I think I held it for Abby and Alice, gurgling as I desperately attempted to get my bearings until the water began to drain. All the water in the bridge poured out of the shattered windows, along with Sandus' lifeless body. I hung upside down for my seat, gasping for breath. Ahead of me, the captain did the same, appearing to have finally been shocked and in lucidity once more. He was no longer muttering goodbye.

Now he was gazing straight ahead. And something was gazing back at him. Something titanic. It stared at him through the broken window. Its eyes like three orbs of swirling obsidian, the captain reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife. It was meant to cut lines, to cut ropes. I wondered if he meant to fight that thing,

to stage one final defense for him and his crew. But instead, he pressed it to his throat. He jammed it into one side, and with a gurgling groan, ripped it across with both hands. His neck exploded in a shower of blood. The creature, seemingly satisfied, looked to me. Lasagne sur-joled,

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to me and I looked back deep into those eyes of swirling darkness and in

them I saw the abyss I saw the It was as if something had bottled all the pain of humanity into a single point, compressed it down into something resembling a collapsing star, and then let it ignite. A new Big Bang, an entire universe built of our despair. I writhed and twisted in my seat.

It felt like somebody had poured napalm into my skull, and I realized that thing was inside of me, that it was tasting my thoughts, my memories. I clenched my fists and set my jaw. jaw, and I screamed, but nothing lessened the agony. The cyanide. Why the fuck had I thrown out the cyanide? It would have been so easy, so easy. That was why. Abby and my little Alice, who would grow up without her father. I couldn't punch my ticket, not if it meant leaving them behind. My thoughts rebounded against the monster, the love I had for my wife and daughter struggling against all of its emptiness, struggling, but winning. The napalm in my skull dissipated. The screams echoing from

my mouth faded to gasping breaths. A voice reached me from somewhere distant and endless. It told me to never return, to hold dear to what I have. Then, from beyond the shattered window, the monster's eyes closed, and so did mine. I awoke floating on a piece of debris, somewhere off the coast of Guam. The waves gently sloshed against my feet. There was no sign of my ship, my crew, or the monster we'd discovered in the middle of the sea. It was quiet, peaceful. Gulls squawked overhead, and a bell drew my attention.

Some distance away was a small fishing vessel. It looked to have diverted course and was sailing in my direction. Its crew members' tiny dots, shouting on the deck. They saved my life. But so did the monster in the sea. The monster I came to know as Eden. The documents I'd taken from the secret ones were badly damaged and waterlogged, but they weren't unreadable.

Translating them took time, but I managed. I had help from several individuals who I won't mention here for obvious reasons, but what we discovered was haunting, terrifying. We learned that the theory of evolution is missing components, that it's not telling the full story. It tells us life originated from the primordial soup. It says that we began as basic organisms crawling out of the sea. But what it doesn't tell us is that those organisms weren't miracles.

They were births. A billion years ago, something came to our planet from the distant cosmos. A creature of unfathomable power, it settled deep in the ocean and began to create all manner of life forms. learning as it went. Eventually, these iterations led to the creation of humanity. In an effort to help its own loneliness, it did something it had never before attempted. It shared fragments of its own mind, its own consciousness with the human race in an effort to accelerate our evolution. It backfired. That link to its mind proved unbreakable.

Even as it attempted to instill virtues within humanity, to inspire us toward love, Compassion and peace, we rebelled. Our basic instincts won out. We fell again and again into cycles of violence and war, rape and murder. We poisoned Eden with our own corruption, but it persisted. I knew that to break its link to us would mean the end of humanity as we know it, that whatever empathy we have would vanish. Like a mother, it couldn't let go.

It believed we could get better, if not now, then eventually. But it's been too long. The wound has festered. It's gone untreated, and Eden is paying the price. She's dying, withering away. All our hatred and greed. Our thirst for destruction has reached a critical mass inside of her, and it's beginning to collapse, filling her with madness.

The mother that birthed us is gone. A monster has taken its place. The secret ones know all of this. According to their documents, they believe that she intends to find finally caught her eyes her wound, to put an end to humanity before we can put an end to her. The intention of the sail was to strike first. The terrifying thing is, they didn't seem to know what would happen when she died. Would she merely sink to the bottom of the ocean, rotting away

across decades? Would all that madness leak out of her, infecting the world in a miasma of insanity? There were plenty of variables they seemed unable to account for, but there was one certainty that they were absolutely sure of, that we would lose our connection to her. We would lose our love, our empathy, our souls. And to them, survival was worth that. I don't think so. I don't think so because my empathy is the only reason I'm writing this today. My love for my daughter saved me that night.

When Eden looked into my eyes, even so filled with human corruption as she was, part of her saw my need to see my family again, to care for them. I believe that's why she let me go. She saw that though much of humanity had fallen to selfishness and greed, there were still those among us who carried her torch. There were still those with love in our hearts.

And it's because of that, I believe there was still love in hers. But that was many years ago now and times have changed. Humanity has grown more twisted, more corrupt than ever. All around me I see love, drying up, empathy smoldering in the embers of selfishness and unrest, and I cannot help but wonder if the secret ones succeeded in their mission. I can't help but wonder if Eden is finally dead.