Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - We Found an Abandoned Oil Rig on the Dark Side of the Moon | Part 1

Episode Date: January 19, 2026

Listen to all 3 parts today with a 7-DAY FREE TRIAL of ⁠⁠⁠Dr. NoSleep Premium⁠⁠⁠. You can cancel anytime. No commitment. Just go to ⁠⁠⁠patreon.com/drnosleep⁠⁠⁠ to sign up. On the dark side of the Moon—where no signals reach Earth and no one is supposed to be listening—we discovered an oil rig standing silent against the lunar dust. Its lights were dead, its drills frozen mid-bore, and its logs hinted at a crew that vanished without explanation. As we explored deeper into the structure, it became clear the rig wasn’t abandoned because it failed… it was abandoned because something down there didn’t want to be found. Fuel your nightmares with ⁠NoSleep Coffee⁠ — fresh, same-day roasted beans shipped right to your door. Use code NOSLEEP20 for 20% off your first order: ⁠https://nosleepcoffee.com⁠ Huge thanks to BetterHelp for sponsoring the show: Sign up now and get 10% off at⁠ betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Author: Jake Bible Check out Jake's latest collection of stories, They All Bleed: Ten NoSleep Stories, Volume Two: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G96H432Y * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This podcast contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised. #creepypasta #horrorstories #drnosleep #scarystories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The full abandoned oil rig story trilogy is live on Patreon right now. Start your seven-day free trial of Dr. No Sleep Premium and listen to all three parts instantly. No delays, no waiting. Cancel any time, no commitment. Just go to patreon.com slash DR No Sleep to sign up. The link is also in the description below. That's patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. The roller comes to a slow stop as I ease my boot off the accelerator and glance at the

pistol set in the center console. It's secured in its bracket, locked until either Carlson or eye presses our thumb to the biometric scanner on the grip. The thing is far from legal, yet even its illicit nature doesn't stop safety measures. Not when you're on the moon, and have the thinnest of atmospheres between you and the vacuum of space. Carlson grumbles from the passenger seat. Tomper, relax. Stopped staring at the gun, man. We won't need that? He smirks at me, then turns his attention to the windshield and the near-perfect shadow line that delineates the light side of the moon from the dark side. I follow his gaze and study the barren landscape as it slides into shadow. You never know what we might need out here.

I take another look at the pistol. You heard the chatter. Absalom Corp landed two days ago. That's not a coincidence. Yeah, I doubt that means anything. I heard it from one of the The foreman on the base is loading docks that Absalom is here for some meeting about Mars, not because of the rumors that the UN is opening the dark side for exploration, which is code for exploitation. Do you really believe what a foreman says? All it takes is a little cash-changing hands, and that foreman will tell you exactly what Absalom wants everyone to hear. There's no way they're on the moon just for a meeting about Mars. They could have done that from Earth. No, they're here for the dark side, Carlson.

Everyone knows it. Man, you are one paranoid bastard. Am I wrong? He stares out the windshield thinking. I let him. Carlson and I have been partners in chaos or crime, depending on your viewpoint, since foster care. I know his moods and methods.

He's no rocket scientist, but that's fine because on the moon, we got plenty of them. No? What he's got is even better. Instinct. I've learned to ignore it at my own peril. Carlson finally looks away from the landscape and over at me. No, you're not wrong, it feels off.

Way off. Exactly. I nodded the gun. And that's why bringing this pistol is not the worst idea I've ever had. I don't know about that. He laughs and shakes his head. Then he nods at the windshield. If we want to keep our asses intact, we should get moving.

Garner is again. expecting an update by 0,900. Our time are Earths. Earths. Folks down there don't give a shit about our time. They just look up into the sky at night and see dollar signs. Or cheese. Some people see cheese.

That's whacked, man. Why did anyone think the moon was made of cheese? Who frickin' knows what people think? I pause a moment and study the shadow line. It's only a few yards away, and yet it's like a whole other world. I stare at the darkness, and to me, it feels like the darkness stares back. A shiver runs up and down my spine, despite wearing an exosuit and having the heat cranked up in the roller. No, seriously, Topper, we should get a move on.

Right, sorry. I put the roller back in gear and press the accelerator slowly. You accelerate too quickly on the moon, and you're liable to launch yourself into space. Normally, closer to Moonbase Columbia, that isn't a problem. There are safety redundancies upon safety redundancies in place to make sure no one ends up flying off into the nothing. But out here, only meters away from a restricted zone, there's no one here to save us.

No, no one even knows we're here. If I launch us off this rock accidentally, then that's all she wrote. We'd float into open space. Our lives cut down to the amount of oxygen in the roller's life support tanks. The roller bumps up and down a little, but overall it's a smooth ride. We're still on one of the established paths that criss-crossed the moon's surface. They can't really be called roads, since there's nothing formal about them. They're just roots everyone repeatedly uses, except for this one.

This route leads directly to the dark side of the moon, A place that has been off-limits ever since the UN treaty was signed. Too little is known. Too much is at stake. Rumors, stories, whispered hearsay. Three expedition teams were lost before the fourth finally returned. And no one on that team would say shit about what they found. At least, not publicly. So off-limits it's been, until now.

Or soon from now, that is. It ain't open yet. Which means we're about to break close to 100 maritime laws the second we cross the line. As we roll closer to that shadow line, I sneak a glance at Carlson. What? Nothing. Bullshit, Topper, what's on your mind? I think about my next words, forming them carefully.

Partners or not, I wouldn't exactly call us good people. Do I trust Carlson with my life? Yeah, I have to. Do I trust Carlson not to throw me under my own? under the bus to save his own ass, you bet. We've been through some stuff together. We're both survivors, and that means we have to do what we have to. But our world is a dangerous one, so caution is always the smart approach. Topper? Spit it out. Why does Garner care about the dark side? Carlson shrugs. Because he does. Garner doesn't have to give us reasons. He gives

us orders. We carry out those orders. You weren't curious? Curious? Of course, man. But if the second most powerful crime boss on Earth wants to set up shop on the side of the moon that can't be monitored or observed from Earth, well, he don't need pen and paper to connect those dots, hopper. No, I get the strategic value, I do. I just don't see why he's going to the expense. He could buy a small country on Earth and be as clandestine as he wants. It's not like governments run things anymore. He's bigger than they are. And corporations like Absalom are bigger than Garner. If the boss thinks making a move for Darkside territory is the right freaking strategy, then I trust him to be right. Don't you? Carlson laughs before I can answer. Oh, wait, right.

You don't trust anyone, do you, you? You paranoid, bastard. Shut up with that crap. I'm not paranoid. I'm cautious. I roll my eyes. And it's not like you haven't heard the stories. The out the dark side? Spooky stuff over this way, man. Carlson's about to respond, but we hit the shadow line and both go silent. The rollers halogens automatically turn on and illuminate the same gray dust and rock that we just left behind. It's never easier, is it? Going from light to complete dark in the snap of your fingers creeps me out every time. He shakes his head. This feels different, though. How so? I don't know. Maybe Because this time we're going all the way in, not just testing NBC's shadow line surveillance.

Maybe. Yeah, it's the real deal this time. So keep an eye on the scanners. The last thing we need is for Moonbase Columbia security to sneak up on our ass. Until the dark side officially opens up to everyone, this is still a crime worth a decade in lockup if we get caught. I got it, I got it. Relax. I'll relax when we're back in our bunks at NBC. Until then, high alert.

High alert? From NBC security? Shit, Topper. I'm not worried about what NBC security will do to us if we're caught. I'm worried about what Garner will do to us if he finds out we got caught. It's bad enough that he's threatening families now. I snap my head to the side and grimace at Carlson. The roller jerks a bit, and I quickly adjust, getting us back to straight and smooth.

What does that mean? What? I thought you heard. Heard what? He's threatening families now? Carlson sighs. Garner is so gung-ho on stake in a claim on the dark side that he has his goons watching the families of everyone who works for him on the moon.

He expects loyalty and results, but mostly results. If he doesn't get any, well, then his goons start kicking indoors. How did you not hear about this? There's a pretty obvious reason. We don't have families, man. That's not true. He turns and bats his eyes at me, while holding his hands under his chin in some faux, cute pose. You are my family, Topper. I'd do anything for you.

Shut up. I shake my head and frown. Then slam my hand on the steering wheel. Fucking Garner. He's a bad dude, I know. But threatening families is stepping over the line. What an asshole. What? You think you could do better? Than Garner? Hell yeah. We both could. I don't want to be in charge. but I'll stick by your side when you orchestrate the coup. Good luck. He gives me an extremely sarcastic thumbs up. Who knows, man? Maybe one day I will be in charge.

Garner started somewhere, and so can I. I'll alert the press. Then he gives an awe-shuck's gesture and points at the perpetual darkness. Oops, never mind. No calms this side of the moon. Shut up. We're joking like we always do. But there's an unease in the roller.

I don't know if Carlson can feel it, but with his instincts, I don't know how he can't. A deep pit of anxiety begins to swirl in my guts, and I have to bite down on my tongue to keep myself from screaming. Not in fear, but in rage. What kind of monster uses a person's family as a bargaining chip? I know Garner is one step up from pond scum, but even for him this feels like too far. So, yeah, since it came up, I could have. do a better job at running things than Garner. Guys like him need to just go the hell away.

Fear and violence aren't the only ways to run an organization. Topper! I snap out of my thoughts and yank the wheel to the right, just skimming the edge of a large crater. Where's your head at, man? Just thinking. He stares at me, then laughs. You really think you can run shit? He waves a hand at the intense darkness.

Maybe get your head in the game first, or you're going to drive us into a canyon, a crater. or ravine or whatever, none of which I want to die in. I'm good. Relax. He laughs hard, and I can't help but crack a smile. Good advice. Maybe take it yourself, man. You are wound tighter than the seal on a transport shuttle commode,

and I'm tired of trying to unwind you. You? Unwind me? I'm serious, topper. You're going to stroke out. I don't respond. No point. Carlson will just keep countering anything. I say. And I don't get a chance anyway, as the scanner lights up. Boogie, three clicks out.

I stopped the roller and power down everything except for life support and the scanners. Let's hope they aren't paying too close attention. Carlson doesn't say a word. He's too busy studying the scanners. I begin to ask him a question, but he holds up a hand, so I stay quiet. We sit for several minutes. Then Carlson sighs and eases back into his seat. They're gone. Who was it? Could you tell? Did they have a transponder? He doesn't answer, which doesn't help my already anxious stomach.

Carlson, did you see who it was? He groans. Yes, it was Absalom. Ha! I point a gloved finger at him. Told you! Yes, you did. But that's not the shitty part.

The shitty part is they had their transponder on. I frown. Then it hit. me. Oh crap. They have official permission to be here. I start the roller back up and nod out at the dark expanse. Then we better move ass.

Carlson nods as I slam my foot on the accelerator, throwing all caution to the wind. No time to go slow and be careful anymore. We're in a damn race. Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling and suddenly you find exactly what you've been looking for. You add it to your cart. Maybe browse a little more.

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S. We drive for another 20 minutes before we come around a low hill and see a long incline ahead of us. Hold up. This isn't right. Carlson checks the scanners, bringing up the hollow of the topographic map of the dark side. Why are we climbing? Because the ground is getting higher. Ah, ha, funny. Carlson swipes his hand and pulls the hollow out of the scanner screen, giving it a 180 spin. No, seriously. Look at the topo. I take a quick glance. but don't see anything weird. As Carlson continues to stare at me, I slow the roller to a full stop and study what he's pointing at. Then I see it.

This should be a depression, not a rise. I look around the landscape. Not that I can see much out there. We've barely been driving. How are we so far off course? Carlson points at the coordinates at the bottom of the topo. We aren't. Look, navigation says we're exactly where we're supposed to be.

The coordinates match. Well, obviously something is off. Either navigation has us in the wrong spot, or the topo is incorrect. Obviously. Do we have time to run a diagnostic? No. Let me rephrase that. Can we risk driving further if either our navigation or our scanners are malfunctioning? I sure as hell don't want to get lost on the dark side. He takes a deep breath and narrows his eyes as he studies the topo. I grab my water and let him think. If that instinct of his is telling him, something, then I'll just let it. I sip my water and wait. Thinking this, we'll be fine. Keep going. He swipes the hollow back into the screen.

What's the worst that can happen? It's not like we can really get lost, right? All we need to do is drive straight, and eventually we'll be back in the light. That's the beauty of being on a sphere. Eventually, you end up right back where you started. In theory, I tap the dash. Specifically, the cell readings. No light means no solar, Carlson. We don't have enough choose to cross half the moon. Our orders are to survey what we can and find out if there's anything worth claiming for Garner, not take the scenic route back to MBC.

Yeah, scenic. He looks out at the darkness, then grumbles as he returns his attention to the scanners, flipping through the readings while also glancing at the navigation console. a moment, he shakes his head in frustration. I don't get it. Everything appears to be working. I say we run diagnostics. No time.

We keep going. While I trust Carlson's instincts in the field, when it comes to navigating the politics of a massive crime organization, I wouldn't trust Carlson farther than I could throw him in heavy G atmosphere. But if Garner comes for me, Carlson would throw himself in front of that bullet and vice versa. So when he says we should keep going, I know he means it. His ass is on the line just as much as mine. Fine.

We keep driving. I get the roller moving once more, and up we go. It feels like it takes forever for us to climb the rise. But when we get to the top, all sense of time and place gets turned on its head. The two of us stare out of the windshield as the roller's halogens illuminate an impossible sight. And it truly is an impossible sight. You see that, right? I nod and try to speak, but the words get stuck in my throat.

I grab my water and take a sip, then take a deep breath. If you are talking about the structure about three clicks out, then yeah, I see it. Good. I thought maybe I was hallucinating. We could be. Both of us? He shakes his head, then stops and continues staring. We sit silently for a good few seconds. What is it? I snored out a frightened laugh.

The hell if I know. But if we want to find out, we need to get closer. It's his turn to snort out a frightened laugh. You want to get closer to that? He jams a finger at the windshield. I'm all for high risk, high reward. But whatever that is, it shouldn't be there, Topper. Nothing should be there.

There are zero man-made structures on the dark side. Everyone knows that. It's been a long-held fact. So, when I look at, look at that thing. I see only high risk with no reward. I nod, and we sit for a few more seconds. There's only one problem with your argument. It's not an argument. It's me saying hell no. He points again. That's trouble. My eyes say so, my brain says so, and my guts say so. We either go back or go around or you assume it's man-made. Carlson slowly looks over at me,

His eyes wide. Alien? You think it's alien? I'm not saying it is. It looks human-made, but we should get closer to see. If it is alien, well, then we just struck gold. And if it's man-made, well,

we might get ourselves a nice little finder's fee from NBC security. Garner would kill us if we didn't take this to him first. And tell them what? We don't even know what it is. Carlson keeps studying me, and I let him. Listen, when we left NBC an hour ago, I had no idea what we were looking for, or what we would find. Honestly, Carlson, this felt like a snipe hunt. A what?

Snipe hunt, looking for something that doesn't exist. It's my turn to point out the windshield. I stab my finger over and over at the structure. But that? That is tangible. That is worth the trip. That is something we can explore and report back on. I pause and can't help but smile.

Or not? Or not? Let's have a look. Then we can figure out what we're going to tell Garner. Carlson takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. We both do. Well? I know that tone, Topper.

You're looking to start something. Me? Never. Yeah, okay, whatever you say. His laughing stops. If Garner finds out we saw this and didn't investigate, He'll slice our nuts off. At the very least,

I don't wait for more discussion. I throw the roller into gear and drive us down the other side of the rise. Or try to. Hold on. Stop! He studies the scanners, his eyes wide. There's a drop-off right in front of us. Nearly impossible to see because it's like the ground

is curling over on itself. He swipes and tosses the image at me. I study it for a few seconds. Looks like we're on the crest of a wave. Carlson takes the hollow back and spins it, taking in all angles. Crab, you're right. That's weird. I point at the impossible structure before us. No, that's weird. Find us a route down to it.

Carlson does, and we have to drive to the side for a click or so before I can ease the roller down the other side of the rise or wave or whatever. Once down, I aimed the roller directly at the unbelievable structure. As we get closer, more details emerge. And I realize that the structure isn't as far away as I thought. It's just that it's massive, probably several stories high, and about half as wide as NBC. What the hell is it? But it looks familiar, Carlson leans forward.

Like something from school? School? That looks nothing like any school we went to. No, not the school itself, numnuts. It's like something we learned in school. Ugh, it's driving me crazy. There's a name for this thing. I let him work it out while I keep on driving.

The way is treacherous, even with the strength of the halogens lighting up the landscape. Tiny craters from meteoroid impacts dot the ground, and I have to slowly steer around one while also making sure I don't drive us into another. What should have been a straightforward route quickly becomes a meandering zigzag of lefts and rights, stops and starts. It's like it doesn't want us to get to it. My first reaction is to laugh, but I swallow the chuckle, stuffing it down deep. He isn't exactly wrong. For every crater I dodge, a half-dozen more appear.

Soon, we're basically driving sideways more than we are straight on. When we're halfway to the structure, I stop the roller and set the brakes. Carlson doesn't protest or ask what I'm doing. He sees it too. The ground is too treacherous. We'd lose the roller in a crater or ravine or sinkhole before we got another 20 meters. On foot it is. He reaches back behind us, grabbing my helmet first and hands it to me, and grabs his.

With practiced ease, we slide our helmets on, twist them until they click into place, then begin our exosuit diagnostics checklist. He turns around again and grabs each of us a Teflon carrier bag. He plops one in my lap and keeps one for himself. Then we both look down at the gun sitting in its bracket in the center console. Carlson looks away from the pistol, glances out at the structure, and over at me. He smacks his helmet in frustration from a funny look, which I doubt he can see with my helmet on.

I grabbed the pistol's grip and a loud beep echoes in the roller. I slip off my glove, then grab at it again. A chime echoes instead of a beep, and the pistol comes free of its bracket. I stuff it into a zippered pocket on the outside of my kit bag, then I place my palm on the center console, and a small compartment reveals itself. I grab out two extra magazines and place them in the pocket with the pistol,

zipping it up after. Putting my glove back on, I double-check the seal, then stand up into a crouch and step over the center console into the roller's back compartment. Carlson follows without comment, and we are both crouched against the rear hatch. I slap a large red button, which purges the air from the roller and opens the hatch. Tapping at a small control panel on my wrist, the rear halogens light up, showing us nothing but thick moon dust and rocky craters for as far as we can see.

Exiting the roller, I wait for Carlson to follow. Then pop a small box open and press the red button within, closing the rear hatch behind us. We each switch on our helmet lights, then turn in a full circle, taking in our surroundings and orienting ourselves to being outside the roller and on the moon's surface proper. Then we slap shoulders and start walking around to the front of the roller. I say that without being 100% sure. He could be right. It does seem bigger now that we're walking towards it, instead of driving back and forth to avoid

craters. As we get closer, the structure looms before us. Nothing but sharp angles and long lines. There's a central building to the structure, but it's almost completely lost behind walkways and steel girders. There's no way to tell yet from this distance, but the structure feels old, ancient old, not just a decade or so old.

Carlson points. Then he does a little jump and grabs my arm, spinning me to face him. He spins me back around to face the structure. Deep sea oil rig or whatever. It's not like we're going to turn. around at this point. It was an impossible structure before, and it's still an impossible structure. We just now know what kind of impossible structure it is, Carlson fiddles with his

wrist controls. I gave him a thumbs up, then fiddle with my own wrist controls, turning my fore and aft cameras on. Carlson starts talking under his breath, obviously attempting some sort of narration to go with this video. I just keep walking, making sure I'm looking, straight at the rig, capturing its size and scope as we get closer and closer. We both stop at the same time, small gasps echoing back and forth over the comms. I almost pull out the gun, although it won't do much good with my gloves on. Still, I wish I was carrying some sort of weapon at the ready. Nothing good can come from whatever we just saw.

I pause, the nod. Carlson shakes his helmet. Whoever that was, wasn't wearing an exosuit. At least, that's what it looked like. It's dark as hell, and with only my helmet, halogens pointed at the structure. I couldn't quite be sure. So maybe they were wearing a light suit. One meant for quick excursions, not the heavy-duty exosuits Carlson and I are wearing.

That's what I tell myself at least. Neither of us gets moving right away. We stand there and watch the rig for more movement. But after a few minutes, Carlson smacks my arm, and we start off again. Nothing else appears as we approach the rig. It stands there. A relic from the past of a planet it isn't even sitting on anymore. Not that I know if it ever was.

But it had to be. Oil rigs are from Earth, not the moon. Although I suppose this one is an argument against my assumption. Then we reach the first pile. A skinny steel ladder is bolted to the pile. I follow it up the structure with my eyes, tilting my helmet back until it won't tilt anymore. The topmost part is lost from my view,

although I doubt I'd see it anyway, even with my halogens. It's a long way up there. Carlson echoes my thoughts. Even with almost zero Gs, Carlson starts climbing first. Once he gets up a few feet, I grab the closest rung and pull myself up until my boots can find purchase. Then hand over hand, boot over boot, I climb. I look that way and see the words,

Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Carlson doesn't say anything as we keep climbing. What? Carlson chuckles. It bumps into the bottom of one of his boots. I backed down a rung and look up. Carlson doesn't say anything.

Then a body dressed in jeans, work boots, a thick flannel and some sort of safety vest goes drifting past me. It's missing both legs and one arm. The head is a shrivel, dried out husk with a single strand of hair, still clinging to its eyeless skull. Carlson is moving again, and I hurry up after him through the hatch, glad to be off the ladder and on something solid.

We're on a walkway with a steel mesh floor and a railing that is rusted and broken every few feet. Carlson points to the end of the walkway. We're halfway across when I realize I can hear our boots, clanging on the metal. Between the extremely low atmosphere and my exosuit helmet, I shouldn't hear anything. I stop walking, and the sound goes away. I start walking again, and it returns. I look up for my boots and see he's stopped,

and is waiting for me by the stairs. How'd he get so far ahead? I walk a few steps, the clanging of my boots, as clear as a bell in my ears. He backs up without looking behind him. Then I realize I can still hear boots clanging, except I'm not moving, and the footsteps are staggered and uneven.

I turn and look behind me and almost scream as I see three people shuffling in my direction. Not one of them is wearing an exosuit, just the same jeans, boots, and safety vests, as the body blocking the hatch, except they each have a different colored flannel under their vests. But the lack of exosuits isn't what makes me want to scream. It's the fact that they are nothing more than walking corpses. Dried skin is pulled tight over their skulls, with patches of bone showing through. Their teeth are shattered, broken nubs. One is missing a left arm.

Another is missing a right arm. The one in the lead, the one closest to me, at least has both his arms. But they are stretched out in front of it, bony fingers formed into claws. Chopper! I realize that Carlson has been yelling at me for a while now. I shake off my shock and turn tail to run to the stairs. But Carlson isn't there anymore. Then I hear him shouting over the comms.

I hurried to the bottom of the stairs and look up. Nothing. I race up the steps and on to another walkway. I spin in a fast circle, hunting for any sign of my partner. Static fills the comms. More static. The static grows so loud that I have to kill the comms or go deaf. I look left, see only more walkway.

I look right, and there's another set of stairs. As fast as my suit will allow me to, I sprint toward the stairs. I glance down. and you just make out through the steel mesh the three dead people still shambling their way across the lower walkway When I look back up two men are waiting for me right at the bottom of the stairs and they don't look any healthier than the others I skid to a stop and hold up my hands I don't know what the hell is a partner back two people are or what you are up to But that's your business not mine just give me back Carlson and we won't bother you anymore The two what? Corpses zombies? I don't even know what to call them

But they both step aside and make way for me to climb the stairs. Screw you, I'm in Carlson down to me, and then we'll leave. No harm, no foul. They stay right where they are, each on one side of the stairs, waiting. I worked the comm's control on my wrist, cycling through every conceivable channel he could be on. Carlson! All I get is static, until a whispering, like a voice talking from a room away, filters up through the noise until it is front and center in my ears. A scream so loud and so terrifying fills the comms, forcing me to my knees.

My hands slap against my helmet, and I have to will myself not to yank it off and get away from the terrible sound. Instead, I punch at my wrist controls over and over until the calms shut off, and blessed silence fills my helmet once again. Slowly, painfully, I get back to my feet. The dead-looking men are still standing there. patiently waiting for me to walk past them and ascend the stairs. I say this to no one as I take a tentative step forward, then another and another,

until I'm walking to the stairs, past the animated corpses, and up the steps to the next landing. Before me is a large building set in the center of the structure. It's big, at least three stories, with sections jutting out this way and that and what looks like a haphazard manner. but must have something to do with the rig-specific engineering, but that's what I hope.

Otherwise, this place was built by a crazy person, which isn't a stretch, considering. A door in the side of the building opens, swinging outward until it smacks into the wall and almost bounces closed. Then it swings back open and stays put, the intention quite clear. Carlson better be in there.

Cautiously and ready for this ordeal to be over, so I can go back to MBC and face. whatever consequences Garner has in store. I hurry to the doorway and look inside. An empty corridor. Well, not exactly empty. The floor is littered with bones, and from what I can see, they aren't all human. Don't get me wrong, plenty are. But plenty are also birds and fish and other creatures I can't identify. I hear a sound from behind me and spin around to see eight people standing there, watching me with their empty eye sockets. They all point to is one. Yeah, I'm going. I spin back around to face the corridor. I have to move slowly and

carefully in order to not crush the bones. When I'm all the way inside the corridor, the door slams behind me, causing me to jump. My foot lands on a tiny skull, and it pops under my boot. From deep within the rig, a keening whale erupts, rolling along the corridors and internal stairwells until it reaches me. I can almost feel it, like a soft desert wind gusting through a tight ravine. I switched the comms back on to see if Carlson is trying to reach me, no answer, and the whale doesn't repeat itself. I turn them back off, just in case there's more ear-shattering static and keep going. When I get to the end of the corridor, I look left, then right. Neither way has a floor covered in bones, although to the left, the walls are strained with

something dark and to the right the ceiling is dripping a thick viscous fluid I go left the whispers and the comms return which shouldn't be possible since I have them turned off out of habit I glanced down at my wrist controls the damn comms are back on what the hell making sure my helmet is facing straight ahead so I can ignore the dark stains coating the walls a chill fills me even though my exosuit is set at a toasty 68 degrees even as the words come out out of my mouth. I know it's not Carlson. I've heard every version of that man's voice, from puberty and up, and it has never sounded like this. Movement catches my eye, and I whip my

helmet to the right. One of the stains is moving. I pick up my pace and hurry toward the end of the corridor. When I reach it, I look left and see my way blocked by a collapsed ceiling. To the right is a single door. I guess the choice has been made for me. A handheld scanner would be useful right about now, but I didn't think to bring one. There might be one back in the roller, except that ship has sailed. Ironically, the second the ship has sailed thought enters my mind, I catch a whiff of seawater. I look at the readings on my wrist controls and see that my life support is at nominal levels and working fine. I have several more hours of oxygen left. With any luck, I'll find Carlson and will be long gone out of here before air even becomes an issue. Walking to the door,

the whispers and the calms get louder and louder. The door swings open before me. The voice stops. I ain't my halogens at the doorway, but all I see is darkness. Even when I turn them to full power, the room beyond is still inky black. Taking one step I pause. Nothing happens. Another step in pause. still nothing. A third, a fourth, a fifth. And I'm walking through the doorway, standing in a pitch-black room, spinning in a circle, looking for Carlson, looking for something. The door slams closed, and the darkness becomes complete. My halogens flicker and turn off. I'm smacking at my wrist controls, but even the small display is black. The room is the embodiment of a complete and total lack of light. I wave my gloves in front of my helmet, but I see absolutely nothing. Carlson!

Infant is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. The casual voice comes from behind me. When I spin around, the room is illuminated by a dozen, a hundred, a thousand candles, and I am staring at a man seated in a high-backed chair, a pile of rags at his feet. The pile of rags stirs, and I suddenly recognize Carlson's shaved head and trimmed beard. Carlson! I take a step forward, and dozens of hands grab me, holding me in place. The stench of death permeates through the exterior of my exosuit, and I start to gag. The man in the chair stands up. He's wearing loose-fitting jeans and no shirt. His skin is fish-belly pale, and his eyes are so sunken that I can barely tell that they are open. On his skin are a hundred different scribbles and sigils and signs.

They look to be carved directly into his flesh, and not carefully. The lines are jagged and torn, many seep with pus, while others are bright red scabs or dark brown wounds. He's not wearing an exos suit, yet seems to be breathing just fine. And unlike the things holding me in place, he doesn't appear dead. Of course, in a hellscape like this, dead. dead may be relative. Who are you? What are you? He holds up a finger, and my questions fall away.

Then he points down at the rags that are my partner. Stand, Carlson. Carlson stands, and I get a good look at him. His clothes are shredded, and where I can see skin, there's nothing but bruises. The skin under and around those bruises isn't as pale as the man standing by the chair, but it's pretty damn pale. He is truly a horrible sight to behold. But the worst part is his eyes.

They are clouded over as if a film has covered them. Milky White, hiding everything except for the barest outlines of his irises. Would you like to say something, Carlson? Carlson straightens his back and nods. Then his mouth opens and he bellows. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare! He runs at me and grabs my suit by the shoulders, giving me a hard shake.

Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. That's it. I can't take anymore. I shove Carlson away, break myself free of the grabbing hands, turn, and punch my way through the animated corpse

as blocking my way until I reach the door. I yank it open and run as fast as my suit will allow. I turn left. I turn right. I turn right again. I'm completely lost and about to panic when I see a hatch before me. It's porthole illuminated by a weak light.

Weak or not, I'll take it. I'm breathing hard by the time I get to the hatch and shove it open. Then I'm stumbling outside onto a walkway, and I'm about to turn and slam the hatch closed. But stop short and just stare out at the view before me. It's an ocean. For as far as I can see, there is nothing but ocean. Waves as tall as buildings lift and crash down, creating a cacophony that shakes me in my boots. Above the waves are stars.

So many stars that they reflect light brightly off the crashing waves on the endless ocean. I stumble over to the railing and look down. More ocean. Heavy waves crash against the piles, sending white spray flying into the air, almost to the walkway I stand upon. The words echo inside my helmet as I collapsed to the walkway, my hands still gripping the railing.

I stare at the ocean, terrified, confused, frozen in place. What is this madness? Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe, subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.