Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - We Never Should've Landed on the Dark Side of the Moon

Episode Date: September 30, 2026

When a routine investigation turns into a fight for survival, the crew realizes they are not alone. This story follows their descent into a nightmare as they uncover a massive, impossible structure lurking in the lunar shadows. Perfect for listeners who enjoy moon horror stories that blend scientific discovery with absolute dread, this narration examines what happens when humanity goes too far into the unknown. Still drinking stale, store-bought coffee? Head to⁠ ⁠⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠⁠⁠ and pick up a bag of fresh roasted-to-order coffee delivered straight to your door! Use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! NoSleep Coffee – The freshest coffee money can buy. Guaranteed. Huge thanks to our sponsors: BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at ⁠betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Shopify: You don’t need anyone’s approval to make a living. Build your own business with a free trial at shopify.com/dns Author:  Matt Doggett * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode 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.  #scarystories #horrorstories #drnosleep #doctornosleep #creepypasta #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The moon is supposed to be empty. But when a team of astronauts is sent to investigate a strange signal on the lunar surface, they discover something that shouldn't be possible, something that defies every explanation they can come up with. And the closer they get to understanding it, the more dangerous the mission becomes. But before we get into it, if you enjoy scary stories like this, be sure to like and subscribe so you never miss any of our weekly uploads. Lights mounted to the front of our rover illuminate the great lens,

as Lunar Lander pilot Strasson drives the four-wheeled vehicle. We're following narrow twin-wheel tracks on the moon's dusty surface, tracks left by an automated exploratory vehicle, or AEV. Our rover has no doors, no top. It almost looks like a sedan with oversized wheels stripped down to its most basic components. I sit next to Strasson in the front. Flight engineer Tessima sits directly behind me in the third. third seat. The space where you would find a fourth seat in a normal vehicle is occupied by the

rover's computer systems and motor. An antenna juts from the blocky components in constant communication with Houston through a series of relay satellites resulting in a three-second delay. You're going to let me drive this thing on the way back? Tessima asks over our local comms channel, a smile in his voice. I'm sure Valdera would love that, Strausson says in his great lakes accent. Valdera is our mission commander, who is currently orbiting the moon in the crew capsule. He doesn't have to know the cats are away, et cetera, et cetera. I can hear you, Valdera says. The relay satellites communicate much more quickly with the capsule than with Earth. Of course, we all know that, and we all chuckle.

I just want to drive it a few yards, commander. Please? Yeah, me too. I say. You stay out of this, Micah. Tessima jokes. Besides, I asked first. Don't make me turn this extremely expensive moon buggy around. Strassen growls. So help me, God. I'll do it. We're all silent for a long moment before I say. Are we there yet?

Again, we all laugh. This time, it's more than a chuckle. I can even hear Valdera laughing. Okay, here we go. Strasson says, serious again. We round the raised rim of an enormous craven. and bring our mission objective into view. Only something is wrong with the scene before us.

What the hell? Strassen mutters. Sitting side by side on a stretch of relatively flat ground are two identical automated exploration vehicles. The thing is, there should only be one. After some back and forth with Houston, we're cleared to inspect the automated exploration vehicles. Unlike the rover, these vehicles aren't designed for people.

They have small metal wheels, three on each side. On top, not an inch is wasted. The metal, box-like body features two solar panels facing straight up, looking almost like wings. The box itself is full of sensors, cameras, transmission equipment, and advanced computer systems to run everything. The reason we've been called over to the far side of the moon is a 30-second chunk of time in which no data was transmitted back to Earth. When the system came back online, there was heavy interference with the signal, making it impossible to see what the cameras were looking at. It took the technicians back in the States, several hours to figure out that the problem

was twin signals, identical in every way, beaming back at the same time. They thought this was an equipment malfunction, so the techs powered the transmitter down. That's when the signal came through, clear as day, or night, in this case, given the AEV's location. The forward-facing camera showed an AEV, only that couldn't be right. The only camera capable of showing the vehicle itself was a fish-eye lens mounted on a pole above it, giving a full view from the top down. When they switched to that feed, they saw that there were indeed two of them.

It just so happened that we had been on the moon for hours by that point, finishing the assembly of habitat modules designed to support moon missions for weeks at a time. But this mystery quickly took precedence. Of course, none of us knew this background until we rounded the crater and saw the twin AEVs. Up until we laid eyes on them, the guys back at Houston had been holding out hope that the anomaly was actually some sort of strange malfunction. No luck. I would be mad at the secrecy if not for the intrigue of it all.

Still, I can't help but think of my wife Sandra and our one-year-old son, Trevor. And, as has been the case ever since Trevor's birth, I feel a profound fear that I'll never get to hold my son again. But with practiced ease, I mentally step back from the frightening thoughts. Terror can do no good here, so I push it aside and focus on the problem at hand. The only logical explanation I can think of is one involving China or Russia planting an identical vehicle here in some strange Cold War-style move to show us how impressive they are, but that's a big stretch. Besides, no other country has launched a moon mission, manned or otherwise,

since the AEV arrived three months ago. No country on Earth can hide such a thing, not in this day and age. Although I didn't engineer the AEV, I'm intimately familiar with it, because it's my job to fix and maintain every piece of equipment on this floating, hunk of rock. Since there's no way to tell which is the original, at least none that I can see at a glance, I pick one and start studying every inch of it, looking for any difference that might give us an idea of how this happened. Meanwhile, Strassen and Tessima hop away, following the tracks to see if they can find anything. It's clear where the double tracks start. About 15 yards away, there's a roughly circular patch of undisturbed ground. On the other side,

a single pair of tracks. On the near side, two pairs. It's almost as if someone deliberately cleared that area to remove evidence, but to do that without leaving footprints to and from the area would require some sort of propulsion pack, which is not out of the realm of possibilities. Focusing, I tune out my fellow astronauts' conversation as they search for anything out of the ordinary. I haven't yet touched either vehicle, using my eyes until I'm forced to use my hands. We can't can't yet discount the possibility that this is a bomb or some other weapon. As I stand up for my crouch, careful not to launch myself off the ground in the low gravity, I hear Strasson's voice in my earpiece. It's tight with fear.

Tessima, Tessima, Micah, get over here. Turning that way, I only see Strasson. Tessima is gone. Flexing my ankles and bouncing off my toes. I hop over. What's happening? Commander Valdera asks. I've lost Tessima's camera feed. It's like quicksand.

The ground just swallowed him up. Straussen sees me coming and puts a hand out to stop me. Our helmet lights illuminate the circle of undisturbed ground. And there? I ask. It was like something pulled him under. There's no quicksand on the moon, I say. Look! Strausson points.

A gloved hand protrudes from the ground, tiny gray rocks shifting around it. Another one juts out a foot away, thickly gloved fingers flexing. Something isn't right about the scene, besides the obvious. but I can't quite grasp what it is. I'm too busy crouching and reaching out, grabbing the hand and hauling on it. Beside me, Strasson does the same with the other hand. That's when I realize what's bothering me about it. Both hands are right hands. I pull the low gravity, making it easier than normal. An arm comes out, and a helmet with Tessima above the visor. His terrified face peers out from the depths of the helmet. His mouth moves, but I can't hear him.

I pull him the rest of the way out, keenly aware that Strausson is also pulling an astronaut out of the hole, one with Tessima's nameplate above the visor, and Tessima's terrified face peering out from the helmet. Suddenly, I can hear Tessima again. His radio is working. Jesus! I thought I thought I was a goner! Both Strasson and I have dragged our Tessima away several yards, leaving him face down. As the two of them get to their hands and knees, I look at Strassen, crouching eight feet away. I search for words, but there are none. And I can tell by Strasson's expression that he's feeling the same.

What the hell was that? What the hell was that? What's going on? There's an echo. Both Tassimas finally stand, which involves walking their hands toward their feet until they can straighten. They see each other for the first time, both having the same reaction, stumbling away, gasping, choking on their words.

What am I seeing on your feed, Micah? Valdera asks. It looks like, sir. I say, trying and failing to step away from my fear. You'd better tell Houston that we have... If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my other podcast, the SCP experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now or search for the

SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts. We haven't been trained for this. No one has. And it's clear after several minutes of back and forth that all the big brains back in Houston are just as lost as we are. Meanwhile, our suits don't have infinite oxygen. We have to do something. Luckily, both tests. Tessimas have calmed down. That isn't surprising, because Tessima has always been fearless. But considering the situation, it's also completely insane. Valdera cut off the twins from radio contact, so they couldn't overhear our conversations. Before he did that, we tried to figure out which one was the original, but they both insisted they were. They both have all the same memories, know all the same things that only Tessima would know. So Valdera had no choice,

but to take that precaution. If one of them is some kind of alien life form with nefarious intentions, we have to keep them both in the dark until we figure out which is which, or rule out that possibility altogether. Of course, Valdera explained all this to them before shutting off the radio. Their twin reactions were just what I would expect from Tessima. They weren't exactly happy about it, but they understood and didn't put up any sort of fight. The two of them seemed to be taking it better than I am. Only in the last minute have I managed to get my breathing under control. For the five minutes before, I was gulping down oxygen,

my normal method of calming down, no longer working as I thought of all I might miss out on with Trevor. But now we have orders. Get back to base. Separate them. Use the med pod to see if there are any differences. Be wary, Valdera says from his orbital perch. talking to Strasson and me. Don't let your guard down for even half a second, okay?

And when you get back to base, arm yourselves. There are plasma cutters in the weapons locker. Got it, Strasson replies. Okay, I'm restoring the radio contact now. Valdera explains the situation to both Tessimas, and we head back to the rover, passing the twin AEVs as we go. Since the rover is only made for three, the Tessimas have to double up in the front seat.

I sit by. behind them, staring at the backs of their helmets, focusing on keeping calm. Luckily, the rover was tested in Earth's gravity, so it has no problem transporting the extra weight. Strausson drives us back toward base, and some of the tension inside me loosens as the rover emerges from shadow into sunlight. Minutes later, we arrive at base, which is a glorified term for the pot-like habitat building about the size of two shipping containers placed side by side. Com's equipment and other supplies sit in crates around the habitat.

70 yards away, the Lunarlander sits just where we left it when we touched down four hours ago. The Habitat building is constructed of four separate modules. Designed that way for easier transport. The modules fit together with specially designed seals. We move through the primary entrance and into a cramped airlock. The cabin pressurizing. But Valdera tells the rest of us to keep our suits on while one Tessima removes his. The sensors perform a scan, searching for any pathogens or unidentified molecules.

When it finds none, we repeat the process with the other Tessima. Still nothing. Strasson and I are given the all-clear to remove our suits, but we keep our few pieces in. Valdera commands the twins to hand over theirs. They do it without complaint. The inner door unlocks, and we move into the habitat. I guide one, Tessima, into a tiny room that contains various medical supplies on lightweight shelves, arranged around the med pod. The device looks like a sophisticated tanning bed with a dome lid that completely seals the patient inside before working on them.

It's going to be okay, I tell Tessima. Now that there's only one of him in my sight, it's easy to think I'm looking at the original. We'll figure this out. He nods but says nothing, looking grim as he strips to his underwear and lies down in the med pod. I give him the best smile I can muster before closing the lid. Using the touchpad, I tell the machine what to do. NASA has extensive data on all of us, every scar, mole, mended bone, and dental filling. I simply tell the medpod computer to compare that data against the real-time scan of this Tessima.

If there's anything out of place, it will tell us. Valdera already sent the required data down, so it takes me less than a minute to program it. The device hums as it goes to work. A countdown clock appears on the touch screen. It will take ten minutes. The MedPod has no windows, but it's possible to access a camera feed on the touchpad.

Just as I'm about to pull the feet up, the room door opens behind me. Strassen steps inside, thrusting what looks like a small backpack at me. He's wearing an identical pack slung across his chest. In his left hand, he holds a small tablet. What happened? I asked. Where's the other one?

I locked him in the bathroom. Take this. Take in the back. I work my arms through the straps to position it in front, noticing that there's a wand attached to the side with the clip. A length of hose strings from the bottom to the wand to the main body of the pack. Strassen removes his wand, gripping it in one hand. He presses a trigger with his thumb, and a 12-inch-long plasma beam of pale neon blue sprouts from the end.

Simple to use, very hot. I nod. This wasn't in the mission briefing, and I've never been trained with one. I look into Strasson's face, noting his sallow skin and clenched jaw. He clears his throat. You have to look at this, stepping beside me. He lifts the tablet in one hand. positioning it so we can both see the screen.

We're watching a video feed from one of the AEVs we left behind. One vehicle seems to be melting. The metal components are turning to soup, dripping like hot candle wax onto the gritty ground below. Rubber gaskets and polymer components warp, for some reason melting slower than the metal. Fear crackles inside my head. My throat thickens.

Is this happening now? No. Strausson pans as he skips the footage forward. The AEV is now unrecognizable, but there is a strangely shaped hunk in the middle of the goopy puddle, about the size of a beach ball. Realization hits me, and the fact that it took so long only ratchets up my fear. This, this is going to happen to one of them? Strasson and I look at the med pod. There's no worry of Tessima overhearing us in there.

The pod is soundproof. That would be my guess. That or something like it. I swallow. What do we do? We're working on it, Valdera says in my ear. I'm talking with Houston now. If the AEV is any indication, we have several hours before it happens,

unless biological matter is more susceptible to collapse. I shake my head. So we're thinking he was copied somehow, and the copy will only last so long before it collapses? That's... Strasson and I gape at each other. The terror evident in Valdera's voice, producing a powerful reaction in each of us.

What is it? The feed. Beldera says almost choking. Look at the feed. Strasson brings the tablet back up, and when I see what's on it, my vision jitters with panic. The beach ball-sized hunk

has now taken on a different form. The shape expands, shimmering with melted metal that drips slowly off. Mechanical joints shift. Four legs reaching out to support its almost dog-like body. Only this dog has not.

no head. It's made of roughly repurposed metal and looks like something a child might make out of glittery silver playdoh. It steps sideways out of the puddle and pauses, gently swang on legs that look rubbery one moment, and rigid as steel the next. I get the impression at sniffing the air. Of course, it has no nose, and there is no air to sniff. It suddenly springs at the camera, swinging one foreleg out. The feed goes black for a moment, before automatic, automatically switching to another of the AEVs cameras just in time to see the creature's limb swinging at it. Soon, all the camera feeds are down. Strasson and I look at each other, mouths and eyes gaping, but we don't need to say anything.

It doesn't take a great leap of imagination to realize that it's coming for us. If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things humanity was never meant to understand, Check out my other podcast, The SCP Experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts. I say as I pull my suit back on, but I'm secretly hoping Valdera will give us the order to do just that. Leave both Tessimus here, get into the lander, and launch back up to the capsule.

The terror is poisoning my mind now, and I've given up on trying my meditation method. This doesn't stop me from feeling ashamed that how quickly I'm willing to ditch a man I've spent more time with in the last six months than I have with my wife or one-year-old son. Then again, Sandra and Trevor are a major reason why I'm so willing to ditch him. The thought of never seeing them again makes the fear worse. and the shame easier to ignore. What are we doing, Commander? Strasson says, pulling his helmet on.

We've only received orders to suit up so far. Nothing else from Baldura yet. What's going on out there? Tussima says from the bathroom, knocking on the door. Talk to me, guys, please. I've got my helmet on, and I'm now focused on getting my gloves locked into place. The inner airlock door is open,

allowing us to hear his muffled voice, and it's also what allows us to hear the sudden beeping from the med pod. With only my left glove on, I bound to the room and check the touchscreen. Words flash on the screen in time with the beeping. Anomily detected. It's this one! Commander, are you seeing this? It means the other one is real, so we can let him...

This one doesn't match. A grating alarm replaces the beeping, and the pulsing words, critical injury, replace anomaly detected. I bring up the camera feed from inside the pod and recoil at the image that greets me. Tessima's skin is melting off his muscles, streams of blood running from his body to mix with the liquefied flesh on the padded surface. The Medpod's robotic arms work frantically, trying to treat the injury. But the system has never seen anything like this before.

No one has. I can't help but stare at Tessimus face, even though I know it's not the real Tessima. His jaw opens and closes in clear agony, the melting flesh, allowing me to be. to see muscles and tendons working. As his eyelids slough off, I glimpse pain-filled eyes that dart around before they turn into puddles of bloody liquid sloshing around in his eye sockets. The muscles begin to break down next. The med pod gives up on helping him, switching to palliative mode,

as it injects him with a cocktail of drugs designed to dampen agony in the last moments of life. But there is no vascular system to transport the drugs around the body. So they only joined, the puddle now overflowing the waterproof batting. Grimising, I noticed that Tessima's ribcage doesn't seem to be melting like the rest of them. I already know why. Soon, the rib cage loses its form, revealing a creature that's slightly smaller than Tessima's abdomen.

Just like the dog creature from the AEV did, this one unfurls its limbs, giving me a clearer picture of its disturbing form. It's a collection of bones, joined together by tendons to make a roughly humanoid shape. A rib cage of uneven bones, shielding a pulsing maroon mass, like nothing I've ever seen before. An infant-sized skull with differently-sized eye sockets. Fleshless jaws jumbled with mismatched teeth.

Some dull and some sharp. As the thing gets on to all fours, the bone limbs flexing like rubber and then solidifying for stability. I realize it's more ape-like than humanoid. Stubby legs and long arms, like a miniature gorilla. Micah! Strasson says. I turned to look at him. His eyes flicked to the creature on the screen. I forgot I hadn't finished suiting up. I lock the glove into place on my suit sleeve. What about Tessima? A loud thud issues from the med pod. We both pause and look at the thing.

Another thud sounds and the pod rocks. You need to move, Valdera says. If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my own. other podcast, The SCP Experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts. With every two-footed jump I make, traveling and excruciating slow motion across the lunar surface, I grow closer to the lunar lander. My breathing is labored from the effort of jumping in the

pressurized space suit and from the fear of the dog creature on her heels. It's coming. 60 yards behind you, Valdera says. He's monitoring a camera feed from the lander, acting as our eyes, because it's impossible to look behind us in these suits without turning at least halfway around. Another mound, another eight feet closer. Ahead and to my left, Tessima lands gently, and flexes his knees to jump again. Strausson, the only one with military training, is taking up the rear, but not far behind. I'm tempted to jump with more force,

as much as the stiff suit legs will allow, but I know it could cause me to fall. And getting up off the ground isn't as simple here as it is on earth. It can take anywhere from 10 to 30 seconds, depending on how you land. 40 yards you can make. I want to ask about the creature from the med pod,

but I can't spare the breath. ahead. Tessima jumps too hard, losing his balance in slow motion as he floats toward the lander, still 20 yards away. It looks like he overcorrected, and the life support backpack is pulling him onto his back. He cries. I fix my gaze on the lander, my terror already trying to squash any notion of helping the man up. He lands on his back, feet digging furrows in the moon's surface before his motion ceases. It's the worst way to land, because it's nearly impossible to get up without flipping onto your stomach first. Sandra and Trevor loom in my mind. I have to get back to them. And if that means leaving Tessima behind, then so be it. I bound forward again, knowing I'll land close to him,

but determined to keep going. Micah, Tessima is down, Valdera says. Get him up. Strassen, you have no choice. I need you to. I know. Strasson says, I'm on. I think. I'm not going to die here. I have to get home. But then I imagine Trevor when he's old enough to understand. what I did here. Will he see it as the work of a devoted dad or that of a lowly coward? As I land a yard away from Tessima, I slip into meditation mode and make one last attempt to separate myself from the terror. It doesn't work. I think of Trevor again, imagining him at 13, grappling with the stories of what I did, trying to fit it into his conception of right and wrong. What would I think if I were in his position.

I don't have to search for the answer because, deep down, I already know it. I shift my feet, my decision made. I flex my ankles and launch myself over to Tesima with a small hop. Now that I'm half turned, I glance back to see Strasson facing the galloping dog creature. He holds the plasma weapon in one hand,

blade growing even against the bright sun-splashed landscape. Strasson's bravery should inspire me, but it doesn't. Seeing how close the creature is and how fast it's moving despite the conditions here only brings my terror back full force. But I'm already here, already stooping to help Tessima up. Come on, you little shit, Strassen growls, not a hint of fear in his voice. As soon as I get Tessima to his feet, I hear Strassen scream. Now there's so much fear in his voice, fear and pain.

Looking that way, I see the astronaut floating, boots, two feet off the ground as he jerks and spasm Something that is difficult to do in a space suit. The plasma blade is off, the wand floating freely. A rupture alarm sounds from his suit, broadcasting over the comms channel, high temperature alarm, oxygen level alarm. There's no sign at the dog creature, not at first. Then the back of Strassen's suit bursts open, just below the life support backpack. The dog creature scurries out amid a sluggish spray of blood and ruptured organs. It launches off his body coming for us.

Turning, I see Tessima has already made it to the lander. He's halfway up the stairs. I bound that way, gripping my plasma wand in one gloved hand. Although Strausson was the pilot, we've all been trained to fly the lander. Missions like this are all about redundancies, but you can only plan for things in the realm of the possible. What's happened today is the opposite. Tessima is already powering up the boosters as I get the door closed.

A moment later, the dog creature crashes into it with a metallic thud. I pray it can't get in as I take my seat. Valdera has remotely powered everything else up, so we're lifting off in a matter of moments. I realize I haven't heard from the commander in what seems like a long while. Can you see it, commander? I ask. Is it still with us? Negative, Valdera says in a hollow voice.

It fell off when you launched. Jesus, I say. Strassan, he... Yeah. Tessima says. He saved us. Two hours later, we're back in the crew, captain. finally heading home minus one member of our team. Five minutes after beginning the journey back to

Earth, the moon is still huge outside the capsule window. Earth, still a distant blue-white ball. The mood is appropriately somber, and I'm reveling in self-disgust for even thinking about leaving Tesama behind. Not only that, I'm wondering if there's anything I could have done to prevent Strasson's death. Shortly after we boarded the capsule, Valdera showed his footage from the habitat building. The bone creature is still inside. It can't seem to break through any of the windowless walls, not for lack of trying. NASA is already putting another mission together, one featuring people trained for this sort of thing, or as close as we have, I suppose, a capture mission. I think it's a very bad idea. But if it allows us to get Strasson's body

back to his family, I can grin and bear it. There's no sign at the dog creature, unless adventures near the habitat, which has external and internal cameras. We won't know what it's doing or where it is. I suppose some other country might capture the thing on camera, China, Russia, or Japan. Even if that doesn't happen, this incident is going to come out sooner or later. It will be a shit show. Tessima and I are out of our suits, strapped into our bridge seats. Valdera is in the front left seat, the one to his right empty.

Tessima sits to my left behind Valdera. I'm behind Strasson's empty seat. Each of us has a headset on. It's through the headset speaker that I first hear the familiar voice, half hidden in a faint hiss of static. Valdera straightens. Hello? Strasen, is that you?

The voice comes through more clearly. What the hell? My spine feels like it's made of rusting metal, as I turn back to look at Tessima. Where are you? Valdera asks. Looking into it. to the mirror above his workstation so we can see the man sitting behind him.

I'm here or something. Tessima, the one I can see, blinks innocently as he meets Valdera's gaze in the mirror. You said both vehicles are gone? I'm standing next to Strasson. Valdera doesn't answer. Tessima turns to look at me. As our eyes meet, his skin starts to melt. Want more? Subscribe and turn on all notifications so you'll you never miss any of our weekly uploads.