The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast Presents The New Decayed Episode 04

Episode Date: February 2, 2020

NoSleep Podcast Presents The New Decayed Episode 04 It's episode 04 of The New Decayed. On this week's show we take a trip beyond the stars, where no horror fan has gone before. Disclaimer: This is our first experimental miniseason. For this five-part series you’ll be joining Jessica McEvoy and Olivia White as they delve into the experimental, dark abyss of horror. Instead of taking an extended break during the European tour, we thought we’d try out something new. We’ll be taking this miniseason in directions outside of the usual mandate of The NoSleep Podcast. Some episodes of this miniseason are not for the faint of heart. Some are not for the squeamish. It’s not mandatory listening. If you choose to consider this a break and wait for Season 14, that’s fine. If you choose to join us, then brace yourselves. We’ll be taking you places. "Final Broadcast" written by Olivia White (Story starts around 0:04:48) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator/Robot – Nikolle Doolin, Caleb – Atticus Jackson "The White Planet" written by Conor Etherton (Story starts around 0:26:43) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Jessica McEvoy "I Found My Abduction Journal" written by One Faraday and Ronin Ellis (Story starts around 1:10:33) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Graham Rowat, Sarah Michelle Gellar Clone – Jessica McEvoy, Kayla – Erin Lillis Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about Emily Cannon   Click here to learn more about Olivia White   Executive Producer: David Cummings Host: Jessica McEvoy The New Decayed showrunner: Olivia White Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone "The White Planet" illustration courtesy of Emily Cannon Audio program ©2019-2020 - Creative Reason Media Inc. - All Rights Reserved - No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

season. For this five-parts series, you'll be joining myself and Olivia White as we delve into the experimental dark abyss of horror. Instead of taking an extended break during the European tour, we thought we'd try out something new. We'll be taking this mini-season in directions outside of the usual mandate of the No Sleep podcast to see what lands and what doesn't. Some episodes of this mini-season are not for the faint of heart. Some are not for the squeamish. It's not mandatory listening. Each episode has a theme revealed in the title. If that theme isn't for you, then please don't feel obliged to sit through it as you would a regular episode. Not every episode will plumb the darkest depths of horror, but some will. We will, as usual, provide trigger

warnings for each of the stories. But again, we stress this mini-season is experimental. There's no shame in changing the channel and adjusting your sets. If you'd prefer to wait for service to resume as normal, then our next full season, season 14, will begin in February, and we'll see you then. If you're still here and intend on joining us for this episode, then I'm Jessica McAvoy, and this is The New Decade. Do not adjust your set. We control the sound. I'm Jessica McAvoy.

If you've been keeping up with the new decade, you'll know that last week was a disaster of epic proportions, at least in terms of getting a new episode out. But this week, gaze to the stars, and you'll see that we're back and ready to take you on a fantastic journey. Where, you ask? Why? Into space?

of course. Horror and sci-fi always had a long-standing relationship. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, arguably the pioneer of science fiction, was, of course, a horror story too. And that trend has continued throughout the years, with classic pieces of media such as War of the Worlds, System Shock 2, Alien and Killer Clowns from Outer Space. So, with Episode 4 of the New Decade, which we call Intergalactic, we've decided to take a trip into the vast blackness of the universe to see what horrors lurk around the cosmos. From a space station to an alien planet and back to Earth,

our trek will leave no stone unturned in the quest to discover just how many unknown ways do aliens have to brutally kill us. In our first tale, we meet a man who doesn't need to face off against aliens to be in danger in space. He lives on a space station, alone. But quite why he's there by himself is a mystery. He may be the last human alive, in fact. But in this tale shared with us by Olivia White, that won't stop him from sending a message to any survivors who might be out there. Performing this tale are Nicole Doolin and Atticus Jackson.

So gaze out the window at the empty expanse of the universe, say goodbye to ground control, and listen to the final broadcast. Every sound hung in the dead air, every rustle, cough, beep, the whirring and humming of the machinery, self-sustaining rhythmic pulses, Sometimes it felt like an intensive care unit. Caleb strolled down the corridor, each footfall ringing out heavy echoes in the silence. Overhead, a speaker crackled to life.

Core, temperature, optimal. Oxygen levels. Sufficient. Life signs. Normal. Thanks. Caleb wasn't sure who he was speaking to. The automated voice was hardly much of a conversationalist. The alternative, though, was talking to himself.

Caleb wasn't keen on that idea, at least outside of the recording booth. Around him, the station purred along. It wasn't silence, not quite anyway, but it was as close as it could ever come out here. Caleb stared out the window, at the distant stars, across the vast black gullas. He stared at the earth. It seemed like a dream now. He'd pictured what might be going on down there a thousand times over in the past. No longer.

The door to the recording booth was shut as it should be. Caleb swiped his access card and the red light turned green. He stepped inside, taking a few moments to marvel at the equipment. Far beyond anything he'd played around with before this gig. He'd never gotten used to it. Caleb walked into the room and sat in the big swivel chair, sinking into it, the leather crackling under his weight. He sighed, reached out, his fingers hovering over the switch. Ship, status report.

Core, temperature, opta. Caleb flicked the switch, silencing the voice. It was something he always did. Called it up only to shut it off. He had no idea why. Chest felt right, he supposed. With a deep breath, Caleb flicked the other switch. Outside, he knew, above the door, the light had gone from green to red.

Good evening, listeners. It's your host, Caleb Bell here, beaming live across this little installation we call home. Boy, do we have some show lined up for you tonight. We got music, the best of the best, all the way from the home planet. And maybe, just maybe, I'll take a few calls. Caleb stopped. He was delaying again.

This was the fourth night now. No, we won't. Enough's enough. This can't go on. This insin tonight. I'm going to tell you a story. You all know why we're here. Why we traveled into the vast reaches of space, mankind's desire to expand both knowledge and territory.

The project was well documented everywhere, and it's not hard to find out about it. The men who would kill God, some called us. Superstitious nonsense. It was always obvious that mankind would try something like this one. day. But as I say, it's not hard to find out what we stood for. This isn't the story of what we were doing. This is the story of what happened to us. For a while, this thousand-strong space station operated well. We'd have newcomers aboard sometimes, and every so often a group of us would head out in the shuttle. Occasionally, some of us

Those who stayed, though, we got on with things well. Being out here isn't as hard as you might think, at least not when there's a job to do. We got on fine and the world moved on without us. Soon, at least from what we picked up on the news networks, people largely forgot about our little project. All the controversy, all the outrage, then eventually we were just a little speck in the night sky. sky doing our thing. One day, the news networks went silent. The airwaves followed shortly after. We waited it out at first. A shuttle was expected a few weeks later. It never came. Of course it didn't. What could we do, really? We had a few shuttles of our own. We launched one of them,

A recon team inside with the goal of reestablishing contact with Earth. They landed. We never heard from them again. Second shuttle. Nothing. We debated for weeks over whether to send a third. In the end, we decided against it. The station is well stocked, more than enough to last for double our lifetimes.

All we could do was waited out. You can imagine then that Earth was a frequent topic of conversation. We discussed it until there was nothing left to say. And then eventually, we forgot. At least everyone else did. It played on my mind a lot, dear listeners. I was always alone up here, you see. A lot of the other guys, they had wives.

Some of the women had husbands. Some families here, too. A few children even born up here. Imagine that. Born in space. But I had nobody, though. And so I just had a lot of time to think. And that's when I came up with this.

The radio station. Just an hour each night. Just something to lighten the mood somewhat. It helped, I think. people seemed to enjoy it. They'd high-fived me in the corridors and call me up during the shows. People sure liked hearing their message read out on air. But all the while, I couldn't stop thinking about down there.

Then one night, I had a dream. I was staring into the blackness of space, and the earth crawled up to meet me. And I heard, as it were, the sound suffering. I heard the people of earth as they were now, not as they once were, and I awoke screaming in the darkness. The next night I had the same dream. and then again and again.

Eventually, it no longer scared me. I kept it to myself, of course. Didn't want to get locked up. I realized, though, just what had happened. Was it the rapture? Was it judgment? The details were unclear, but in the dream, what was clear was that nobody had to be.

been spared. Nobody but us. We were up here, floating in the void, safe. The next night I prayed, I prayed so hard. I'm not a religious man, listeners. Not at all. But when you have an experience like this, it's hard not to turn to the Almighty. So I prayed, and I asked, were we supposed to have been saved? The chosen? I waited for an answer. I waited and waited, listeners. No answer came, and I knew then what must be done.

It wasn't hard once I made the decision. It came pretty naturally, in fact. Everyone trusted everyone here. Of course, working in maintenance, I had a lot of access. If you know the project, you'll know that there are a lot of volatile chemicals on board. It took a bit to poison the very air we all breathed. Now, I did this without a thought for my own safety, of course. I was prepared to judge.

Judge myself, just as I was judging others. And judge myself, I did. It was disconcerting, watching everyone get sick while I stayed perfectly healthy. People noticed, I'm sure. But how could I have orchestrated it? The truth was, I didn't. I didn't expect to be okay.

But to see all of them suffering, the med base filling up, and eventually the deadlining the corridors, this was my reward. And it was beautiful. I was fine, fit, healthy, better than ever. I did not understand why. Not until now. I gave them all a proper burial, of course. Release their bodies out the airlock and watched them float past. While doing this, I realized was the one.

I was the last man left alive. I was the chronicler, the final voice of humanity. I was the broadcaster. The one who was left at the end of all things. To leave this message for whoever might be out there, whoever might come looking sometime in the distant future. I am the last voice you'll ever hear. It's been six years since the last of them died.

Six years I've been here, waiting. Six years waiting. tears waiting for judgment to claim me. And it never has. A week ago, I had a dream. I dreamed of space, of time, and the endless black void. It's time now, listeners. I've put this off too long. I am humanity's final words. I am. Caleb Bell, and this is what happened here. To all out there, good night, and goodbye. Caleb flicked the switch, then the next one.

Ship status. Core, temperature, optimal, oxygen levels, sufficient, life signs, normal. Well, Caleb was already closing the studio door behind him. Thank you. He felt a pang of sadness. He'd missed that voice, he thought. Caleb took a deep gulp of air, as fresh as ever. His head felt fuzzy and warm.

So this was it then. The airlock opened and Caleb stepped inside. A rush of cold air hit him as the door closed. hissing as the locks engaged He closed his eyes and opened his mouth to say one final thing The outer door opened The space station hangs dormant Suspended in the void

The occasional beep echoes through dead air And whispering corridors Overhead a speaker crackles to life Core temperature Optimal Oxygen level. Sufficient.

There is a pause, almost as if the soft mechanical voice is hesitating. Goodbye, Caleb Bell. There is silence, then slowly, almost inaudibly, a faint pulsing sound, a rhythmic, steady noise. The speaker crackles again.

Life signs. Normal. Deep within the station, something stirs. It's in the air. Everywhere I look around. I can't move for love, in fact. Starting to get a bit crowded. Because that's right, it's Valentine's Day soon.

And you know what Valentine's Day means, right? No, not that. It means taking your loved one out for a fancy meal. Except it doesn't. does it? Because you, yes you, you forgot to make reservations, and now every restaurant in a hundred-mile area is fully booked. That's it. Game over. Relationship done. You've earned yourself a one-way ticket to Singlesville, buddy. Nothing left to do but eat raw, tinned potatoes on the couch in your underwear and wonder where it all went wrong. But wait.

Why settle for the single life? Treat your date to delivery with DoorDash at home. DoorDash brings all of America's flavors to your door. Ordering is easy. Open the DoorDash app, choose what you want to eat, and your food will be delivered to you, wherever you are. Not only is your favorite romantic pizza joint already on DoorDash, but there are over 310,000 restaurant partners in 4,000 cities,

so you might find a new favorite too. With door-to-door delivery in all 50 U.S. states, Puerto Rico, Canada, and Australia, you can order from your local go-toes or choose from your favorite national restaurants, like Chipotle, Wendy's, the Cheesecake Factory, and more. With DoorDash, you'll never have to worry about your next meal, and you'll never have to worry about letting the love of your life down.

At the press of a button, you can have the most of the most of your most of your meal. You can have the most romantic meal of your life delivered to your door without even leaving the house. And for all those single folk out there, even if you're by yourself for Valentine's Day, DoorDash means you'll never be alone. Spend the night with a cheeseburger, all the fun with none of the emotional baggage. And as if things couldn't get more loving, right now our listeners can get $5 off their first order of $15 or more when you download the DoorDash. app and enter code no sleep. That's $5 off your first order when you download the DoorDash app in the app store and enter code no sleep.

Don't forget, that's code no sleep for $5 off your first order with DoorDash. So love yourself. Love those around you. Love DoorDash. Before we move on to our next story, Olivia wanted to share a little backstory about the previous story. If you're not interested in her ramblings, then feel free to skip forward about 30 seconds. If you are, then here's a message from her, read by me, because of course Olivia is too shy to speak.

Ahem. This story came to me 15 years ago, almost in full, in the form of a brief moment of confusion. In 2005, and then again in 2009, I had major spinal corrective stuff. surgery, which involved my spine being surgically broken and buzz sought apart, among other things. So, I'd had the surgery and had been in the hospital for three days out of what would be a two-week stay, and I fell asleep listening to the radio on these battered old hospital headphones. I was still on a morphine drip at the time, and I woke up at around 3 a.m., with no idea what was going on, where I was, or even who I was. All I could hear was was the deal.

DJ, signing off for the night. And in my half-asleep drug-addled state, I was absolutely certain he was saying this was the final farewell of humanity and bidding the species farewell. With the beeping and humming of the hospital ward going on around me, I became convinced that I was on a space station drifting through space, listening to the final broadcast from Earth. I came to my senses shortly after when someone in the bed opposite me began to howl in pain. But for that brief moment, I'd never felt more alone and isolated. So a couple years later, I turned the drug dream into a story, and now in 2020, you've heard the results.

This is the oldest story of mine I've ever run on the podcast, but due to where it came from, perhaps the story of mine that still haunts me the most. P.S. Jessica, please remind people that final broadcast is part of my collection, Bright Lights and Glass Houses, Therapy Edition. A link to which is in the show notes. Tell them it's really good or something.

Use your linguistic prowess to really sell me. Thanks. PPS. Did you lock the basement? Because, uh, I'm down here and could really do with being let out before the episode releases in four days' time. Ah, well, I guess that explains why she hasn't been around. Anyway, in our next story, we take another trip into space,

only this time the location isn't anywhere near as comfortable as a deserted space station. Imagine it. One minute you're safe and sound in a lab, the next minute you're submerged in alien water on an unknown planet. That's where the astronaut in this story shared with us by author Connor Etherton finds herself. But the question is, is she alone? Join me as I perform this tale and take a dip in this strange, creamy, translucent water

that makes up 80% of the white planet. I honestly don't know how they found out about the white planet. They're not NASA, but they seem just as good, if a little more underground. They do things that NASA can't, because they don't have the eyes of the world on their every move the way that NASA does. I can't tell you their name.

Not for legal reasons. Believe me, I would if I could. But I can't remember. I also can't remember why what happened happened. I don't know if that's because of some memory wipe thing that they probably have access to, or if it's just a byproduct. Either way, there are things I can't tell you, and that's probably for the best. They kept this story out of public knowledge for a reason, I guess.

I remember I was part of a group of people that the organization called Control Testing. Basically, if they needed to see what would happen to a human being under certain circumstances, They scooped up a handful of us, threw us at the wall, and made note of who stuck. It's more like an organ donor-type deal. Like, just in case we need this from you, you've agreed we can take it. My day job there was just to run basic calculations and experiments that weren't very hush-hush. A desk job for an evil, inhuman, twisted NASA. By day, I lived a fairly normal life.

Nice house full of books, a little cat named Tom. I was advised against relationships when I signed on to the control testing group, just in case something happened whenever my day came. My day came a few months ago. My day, along with another four people I didn't know and didn't get the chance to formally meet. One of the higher-ups came to my desk and said they had a job for me, that my real potential was going to be utilized. Like any evil corporation, they like to put a positive spin on things. I shouldn't really use the word evil.

The organization isn't malicious. They're just prepared to go to lengths that others aren't, and sometimes that involves sacrificing a few lives. They're not evil, but they're not exactly the Samaritans. This is where my memory starts to get a little foggy. I remember going to an office and meeting some very oppressive people, the kind of people that are more suited to a silhouetted greeting in a murky room that smells like disinfectant and fancy cologne. There were three of them, the man that had come to my desk,

whose face I can't recall, the head of the company who I had met a number of times already, an older man with withering gray hair and the kind of saggy eyes that speak of an unhappy home. And finally, the head of interplanetary exploration, the oppressive silhouette. They told me about the white planet. It had been discovered over a year prior, but they hadn't had been discovered. but they hadn't had the means to study until recent advancements. Turns out it has an oxygen-rich atmosphere and what seems to be plenty of water,

or at least something like it. Apparently, this water is what they called mildly corrosive, and they needed to discover just how habitable the planet was due to this. They wanted to send five people to touch down on the planet, Drones and satellites couldn't get close enough. It was like Jupiter. Most of the atmosphere was comprised of what was essentially a storm. Electromagnetic, whatever.

Technology couldn't make it past. We couldn't use computers, drones, rovers. And most importantly, they couldn't send a ship. No shuttles, no spacecrafts. They were trying something. new this time. Essentially, it was teleportation without calling it teleportation, the splitting up of our atoms, blasting them light years across the cosmos to be reassembled on another world. Stuff like that is why the organization kept out of the public eye. This is what I had agreed to

when I signed that contract. I don't remember the training. There was a lot of. There was a lot of psychological preparation, a lot of health checks and fitness tests, all the usual stuff. But the details are just not there anymore. I don't think it's important anyway. That's not what my story is about. I remember the day I was set to leave. They pumped me full of nutrients and vitamins and everything they could to keep me in tip-top shape to be sure I survive to the best of my ability. They said, for our safety, we would only be allowed 30 minutes on the planet before they would. Be must back. We were given watches attached to our suits, suits that came without a lot of what NASA's suits have. No helmet or oxygen tanks or big bulky padding.

We didn't need them. The planet had plenty of oxygen. and was mostly water. In the unlikely event of us being submerged, they wanted us to be able to swim. What we had were close to skin-tight black jumpsuits, a pair of goggles and our watches. Less is more, after all. It's perfectly safe, they assured me.

We wouldn't be sending you if we hadn't made sure. Would you have believed them? They walked me into a small room filled with a small team of people, most wearing lab coats, some dressed like swat. That unnerved me. They stuck me in a solid metal chamber that hummed as it sealed shut. There was a blinding white and purple light, a deafening buzz and hiss, and the sensation of electricity on every inch of my skin. It prickled and burned for a split second, and I was gone.

Now, I'm drowning. I'm not on Earth anymore. I'm on the white planet. There's nothing but water. White translucent water that spans as far as my vision reaches. A vast, bleak ocean of milky water. It must have less mass or something than we're. used to with our earth water because I'm struggling to stay afloat. It tastes salty, but not as salty

as earth, with a sickly sweet aftertaste, like licorice. The scent of it carried by a breeze that whisked over the ocean. I swallow some, and I instinctively coughed back up, my arms treading through the milk frantically, kicking blindly into the expanse beneath. When I get the hang of the process of staying above the surface, I manage to calm down a bit and attempt to get my bearings. I look around, swinging about as best I can. I can't see any of the others that I was sent with. I can't see anyone or anything. Nothing but the white ocean.

Looking up, the sky is just as bleak, more of a creamy, beige than white, but the clouds are barely discernible. I can't picture a roiling, violent, electromagnetic storm up there. It looks peaceful, empty, endless, impossible. In my calmer state, I recall what they had told me back on Earth about just how large this planet was, easily twice the size of our own, and how about 80% of it was allegedly covered in this ocean. I wonder had they planned to drop me in the water, or if it was some kind of accident. Surely they wouldn't strand me, and the others that they had sent. Surely, I begin to panic.

I'm so far from home, so unimaginably far. incomprehensibly far. The kind of distance we as humans can't reasonably fathom. I'm in a different world, with no way home until the people that sent me here decide to bring me back. I check my watch. 29 minutes left. Good God, I've been treading water for only a minute, and it feels like an eternity. It doesn't feel very corrosive anyway.

That's a good thing. Hello? I cry out into the blankness. I don't know why I expected an echo, but the lack of one is just unsettling. How far does this expanse go? How far away are my colleagues? Where am I? Really?

What the hell is this place? I don't see any point in swimming. I don't really care. if I discover anything out there or not. That's the organization's problem. If I swim, I'll lose energy, and I'll likely drown. Thinking coherently, good. That's a start. I begin to consider the implications. I hadn't even thought about breathing. It just came naturally. So clearly, they were right about the oxygen-rich atmosphere. Another. good thing. The implications of inhabiting this planet. Would it be an oceanic existence? Floating homes and

industries. Could we grow crops with this water? Is there anything to hunt in the water? Dear God, what could be in the water? If you've ever been out in the deep sea, you'll understand the feeling. That horrible drop in your gut when you realize just how. far down it goes beneath you. You have no idea what's down there. And you, a land-dwelling mammal, you're basically defenseless in this territory. Top of the food chain is prey to whatever could be lurking in the murky depths. In the milky depths that I'm suspended in, I have no goddamn idea what's down there. The terror is indescribable. I tell you. I tell you. I tell you. I tell you. I don't my goggles down over my eyes.

Preparing for any kind of sensation resembling the corrosion of my flesh, I take a deep breath and dunk my head down. The thinness of the liquid gives me the sensation that I'm sinking. I feel the water tried to almost drag me down, but it's just gravity. I know that. I work in science for God's sake. It's just gravity. I keep my arms and legs pushing through, keeping me afloat.

Down there, I can't see anything. It's just white. Down, down, down, until light can't reach anymore, and it goes black to where I can't see. That's down there. That's real uncharted territory. I find relief in the fact that there are no alien sharks or sun. squids ready to treat themselves to a snack, none that I can see anyway. I bring my head up from the water and gulp in a lung full of air, or whatever you might call it on this planet.

I feel like crying. I know so little about this place. I'm more helpless than I've ever been. I am prey to whatever twisted kind of nature this place is built on. I can't even remember the designated name the organization gave it. Hell, I can barely remember my own name. I check my watch. 26 minutes to go. The planet is oddly peaceful, unsettling, deeply and viscerally terrifying, but peaceful nonetheless, in a perverted sense of the word.

Isn't this what a lot of people. crave, an escape from the rush of human existence, the hustle and bustle of earth and survival, money, meetings, banks, travel, phones, internet, Facebook relationships, love, family, friends, all of it just responsibility upon responsibility, tearing us apart from different directions. Here, there's none of that. I'm a ghost here. I shouldn't be here. I don't exist here. Shouldn't I be doing something, though? Shouldn't I be studying or something?

Did the organization just want to drop us down here and see what happens? Should I be taking samples or... I don't remember. I'm just sort of killing time. I just want to go home. I want to exist again. I do not belong here. Twenty-one minutes.

I hear something. A whine, a hiss, something. Something that might be loud, but in the distance, far, far away in that white eternity, with no sense of direction or source. Like it's in my head, it's coming from all directions. a rumbling single note from the planet itself. And then it's gone. My heart pounce.

I suddenly remember with horrifying clarity that I am on an alien planet. Though discolored and only differing in insubstantial ways, it's deceptively like Earth here. But I don't know anything about this place. And now I know. that it's alive. I am not alone here. The sound comes again. Another note, another high-pitched, soft keening, long and lilting, like a song, fading away into a deep rumble and silence.

Only the sound of my panicked breathing and the splashing of white water over my arms remains. It comes again and again, different lengths of time between each, different notes like a dissonant hymn, distant, quiet, but chilling me to my bones. Turning and looking around, I see nothing but the ocean. There's no change. Goggle still dawned, I submerge again. It takes me a few gut-wrenching moments of staring down into the void. I turn a few times before I see it, the source of the sounds, far to my left, on the periphery of my vision, on the edge of where the light cannot reach. A shape moving gracefully through the milk.

Gigantic and slow. A whale. A white wail. graceful and ignorant, gliding through the alien ocean. It's shaped mostly like what I know as a blue whale, but its skin is almost the same color as the water. It doesn't seem to notice me, which I am thankful for, because I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips. An actual alien life form that, please God, doesn't know I'm here. The sound comes again, clearer this time in the water.

I recognize it now as whale song, but a warped version of it I could never have dreamed up. It was both enchanting and ghoulish, as though the whale were a ghost, and the ocean were its haunted mansion. I watched it for as long as I could stand the burning in my lungs. I burst forth from the water and gasped in another lungful of air before plunging back under, not willing to let the creature out of my sight for a second. It's closer now, only slightly, but I'm sure of it. It's rising through the water, leisurely through, not hunting. This calms my fears briefly before I spot another whale.

It's significantly closer to the surface than the first, but still seemingly quite far away from me. Jesus Christ, they're huge. I was wrong to think they were merely a discolored form of blue whale. They're gigantic, easily three times as large. How anything that size could survive. The biological system inside, the organs and muscles. I can't fathom. White, gargantuan whales.

I'm frozen. I stop treading water and float there. Sinking slowly, I'm mesmerized by the impossibility of these creatures and the harmony of their song. I watched them for a time. Their flukes propelling them like giant oars, slow and powerful through the water. More of them arrive soon enough. A whole pod of them. I count a dozen before I start to lose count.

My memory is getting worse. Though this is the most primal fear I've ever experienced, fear that paralyzes and suffocates, the whales are beautiful in their own peculiar way. They're unlike anything anyone on earth has ever seen. I have no idea how they work, and I fear attempting to figure it out might push me to madness if I'm not there already. So, I just watch. I watch, and I listen to their song.

They're coming now. They're drawing nearer, and I can now see the full scale of these beings. I can feel the vibration in the water from the sheer size of the one that swims directly underneath. me and from the rumble of its vocal chords. A deep shuddering and that high melodious tone, intermingling notes and harmonies. Perhaps the song is what keeps me from trying to swim for my life. Perhaps I just know in the same primal place in my mind that if the whales wanted me, they would have me. I'm suddenly very aware of my lungs and the vice that they're trapped in.

I burst from the water again and gasp, coughing violently and scrambling to stay above the surface. But I am not the only one moving the water. It's not me making these waves that have me bobbing like a buoy. I look over my shoulder, and there's one of them, breaching behind. Find me. Carefully, I pull my goggles up onto my forehead. I see the top of its head first. And though I expect that classic spray of water from its blowhole, none comes.

It simply surfaces silently, elegantly. I imagine that if there is a god, it would move like this. The thing is barely 20 feet away from me. The creature rolls as more of its white blubber is unveiled from the sea, and as I take a good look at it, it takes a good look back at me. The whale's eye shows itself gently from the water and looks at me. I feel it registering me. The eye of the whale itself harbors no pupil, but is comprised only of a sclera, the same pastel as the rest of this world. cloudy pink and huge.

Easily the size of a small car by my estimate. The whale slows and stares at me, and I stare back, and I sense immense intelligence in that being. It sees me, and it's like it knows me. It thinks, it considers, it's curious. I must be losing my mind. because my thoughts blur. It's looking at me and unraveling me.

It understands what I am, and I don't know if I'm imagining it, or if these whales are some race of gods, or if they're comprised of science we have yet to discover. But the thing is probing about in my head. I can feel it in my memories and thoughts, like the remnants of a dream that have you day, and uncertain about everything.

I can remember almost nothing. We stare at each other for a time I can't recount, and it feels like we're staring at ourselves. A deep droning emits from beneath me, and I'm torn away from the gaze of the whale, just as it rolls beneath the water again. I'm shoved back from the whale's mind and into my own body, and I'm painfully aware of how frantically my heart is beating.

There's another one under me, and it's rising. It's going to breach, and I'm just a tiny scrap of flotsam in the way of this giant. I twist onto my side and try to swim away, but I'm far too slow. It's already too close. The spray of water has its massive head arises like a goddamn continent. is almost deafening. My legs meet its head as it pushes ever more upwards, and I'm thrust from the water's surface and sent flying through the air. My arms pinwheel, and I cry out just before I drop back into the ocean, plunging deeper than I'd have ever liked to be on this god-forsaken planet.

I cling onto my lung full of air with every fiber of my being. The song is all around me now. The soft gurgling of bubbles rushing past my head is all that dampens it, but once they clear, the music is maddening. It's everywhere, like I'm standing among an orchestra of hell's most talented musicians. My first instinct should have been to swim to the surface, but instead my hands clamp over my ears in an attempt to block out the whale song. But it's no good. It's in the water. The vibrations rippling through the sea and my body, and it's all I can hear. I open my eyes against the threat of possible corrosion, and I see them.

There are scores of whales now, all around me going on for what must be miles. The massive pink eye of the one that had sent me soaring floats by, accompanied by a yawning groan from the depths of it. Terror boils within me, and I swallow some of the water in my frenzied struggle to the surface. I glance at my watch. Twelve minutes. I'm a good 20 feet down, but I swim. Dear God, do I swim. The shattered light from the alien sun coiling through the ripples on the surface. That's my goal. Alien air. for my human lungs I swim. I will not drown.

The flipper of the whale that had thrown me catches me between it and the body of the creature in its descent, and I'm dragged away from the surface. I can hear my voice, muted against my sealed lips, screaming inside. I fight against the whale, pushing at the gigantic fin in a feeble attempt at escape, but I had underestimated the speed of these creatures.

The sheer momentum keeps me caught between the flipper and the body, and I'm pulled down. I don't know if the whale has caught me deliberately or not. There's no way to tell, but I can't imagine it even knows it's doing so. I am just so small, and it's so unfathomable. The whales are a force of twisted, nature. Like getting caught in a rainstorm, I am caught in its crevice, and I have about as much

chance of escape as I do of keeping dry in the rain. It's going where it wants, and I'm going with it. The water rushes past me, like a gale wind whipping at my hair. My ears pop painfully as we travel deeper, the entire pod joining us in our descent. I keep fighting against the massive fin, but I know it's no use. Just for the sake of my dwindling sanity, I fight against it. We soon reach that boundary where light can no longer reach, and I'm plunged deeper down into the dark. It's far too dark for me to see my watch,

and I curse the organization for not giving me a glow-in-the-dark model. The water is cold down here. I feel my muscles constrict, and I feel my lungs twist and beg me for air. I'm sure I've already inhaled some. I'm sure that I'm going to pass out. I'm going to drown. For a while, nothing changes. The blackness stretches into infinity.

The freezing water continues to caress me, and the song carries on. echoing on through the void. I can take no more of the pain in my lungs, and I gasp. The water floods into my lungs. I sputter, and I do not drown. My mind begins to twist. This can't be real. It feels just like breathing, but not. The water enters my lungs and flows out. the same as air would if I were breathing normally, and I survive. It's invasive to say the least. Oxygen rushes my system, and my vision returns to me, though I still can see nothing through this dense blackness. My fingers curl and grip my hair as I try to come to terms with this, and my new version of breathing begins to quicken. This place is wrong.

The scientist within me attempts to make sense of all that I've experienced, but I'm only human. Nothing about this place makes sense, and I fear, as the water grows colder and I'm pulled deeper into the unknown, that I may really be losing my mind. The swell of my new perception imitates the crescendo of the whale song, and time loses meaning for the second instance. of my visit. I delve into my own mind, looking for answers while the whales delve into the chasm and pose me more questions. I swear I think I hear them in my head. The song, my own voice, an ancient, powerful language. I can't fathom it, any of it. I think I've stopped trying. Time. Time. I've. Time grants me solace and returns to me as a flicker of color emerges from the blackness beyond. A gentle glow of blue, so pale it could be white.

I judge that this must be the seabed, and I ignore my scientist brain asking me how I'm still alive at this depth. On earth, the pressure would have destroyed me very early on in my descent. As my whale vessel brings me closer to the seabed, I can spy swaying strands of what I assume must be seaweed, lazily drifting back and forth. They look far too long to be anything like Earth's, but what did I expect? Like a field of reeds stretching as far as my vision can stretch in this abyss. The song builds again, and I have. feel my pulse hammer in my neck. The wail's slow. The angle of my vessel evens out, swimming in a more horizontal direction, growing steadily closer to the faintly glowing seabed,

as if it's giving me a scenic view. A glance at my watch, but from this angle, it's still too dark to see the time. Should they have brought me back by now? I miss my home. I remember a bed and a cat. I miss them now. I beg to whatever God there may be, the Christian God, Buddha, or these fucking whales, to let me go home.

The song reaches deafening volume, but I no longer feel the need to cover my ears. It's as natural as my heartbeat at this point. The persistence of it branding itself in my brain. I'm certain that I can hear human voices, like a choir, like God is mocking me. The whale that carries me dives abruptly, and I'm pushed through a swell of freezing ocean water. My eyes squeeze shut against the onslaught, and I almost forget that I can still breathe. Perhaps my brain was denying me that reality.

At this point, I'm almost certain the whale is showing me the seabed. We drift by like a cloud, barely 30 feet above now, and I use the light from whatever alien soil is down there to check my watch as the whale song and this ethereal choir penetrate my psyche. It feels physical, like an ice-yel. and I find myself not only able to breathe, but moan in despair through the water. From the sheer melancholy the music carries, not least of all for the fact that my watch has stopped working. In the gentle glow of the alien soil, a blank digital clock face stares back at me. I'm reminded of the

void I traveled through to arrive at the bottom of the ocean. I'm reminded of the whales knowing I. Then I glance at the seabed and my sanity snaps. They are not strands of unnaturally long seaweed swaying in the ocean current. They are people, human beings, naked, wrinkled, unnaturally pale, and staring in a bizarre blend of reverence and terror at the pod of whales gliding over their heads. All of their mouths hang open, and all of them lend their voices to the whale song. This is the hellish choir I heard in my head. All of them moaning, singing, crying, yelling, screaming, anything they can do to contribute to the symphony of these aliens. I have no way of knowing if these people are from Earth or from some other

unearthly replica. They look no different to Earth's humans. My humans. And here they are, feet fastened into that glowing soil with no evident thoughts of their own other than to sing to the whales. And to me, their voices are in my head. and the whales are in my head. It seems I am the only one not in my head. I am out there. I am with the people. I am part of the planet.

My brain is unraveling the strands of this ball of yarn only to find myself twisted and restraint. I wish I had drought. I scream in reply, I'm in the seabed. I don't know how. I'm buried up to my ankles in this soil, and it feels like iron shackles or socks.

Though the water is cold, I am warm. My voice lifts and falls with that of my new people. We stretch out as far as the seabed exists. The light comes and goes. For long periods I'm plunged into blackness, only the voices as company. Other things come to us sometimes. Creatures I don't understand. Large, but dwarfed by the whales still.

Sometimes they eat some of us. Sometimes they make us happy. And when the whales come to us, we sing to us. We sing to lift our hearts to them as appeasement, as offering. We ask them to leave us in peace. We ask them to stay with us. The song wouldn't have made sense on earth, but it makes sense here. It's the complexity of space and heaven, time and hell.

It's horrible, terrible bliss. For the first time, in as long as I can remember, my skin feels warm, hot even. It lasts for all of a split second, but from the darkness there emerges an all-encompassing white light, and I am back. I'm on earth. I'm in the chamber they sent me away with, dripping wet, coughing up white water, naked and screaming. The chamber opens and people take me away.

People that are clothed. People that aren't singing. Why aren't they singing? Where has all of my water gone? They hold me under the arms and drag me across the floor for I do not want to go. I kick and yell. I curse them. I tell them, demand for them to send me back.

The whales are singing still, light years away. I hear them still. I want to sing with them. I want the cold ocean. I want my people around me. I want the song to swallow me again. They pull me to the feet I've forgotten how to use, through doors and down a hallway. And I fight them the entire way.

They don't understand. They don't know the song. They won't listen. Why can't I make them understand? Please let me go. Send me back. I've been in this room for a while now. A padded room.

This was where the organization decided would be best for me. I don't get to leave very often, but they feed me. I'd forgotten what it was like to eat, but my memory is slowly coming back to me. I remember where I used to work and who I used to work for. I remember my name. I remember when they told me I would be staying here for a while. I remember cursing them. I remember hating them because I never stopped.

They didn't tell me what happened to the other people that were sent to the plane. I wonder if they came back or if they were luckier than I. I remember hearing the report from the organization declaring that the white planet does not support life, declared uninhabitable, the lying bastard of what they don't understand. I remember the whales, the water, and the people, and I remember the song. I never stop hearing the song in my head. It's a memento, if nothing else. I can't tell them that, though. If they knew, I'd never get out of here. I know they want me to be who I was before. A functioning cog in the grand machine. But they didn't see the whales. They can't understand, and they choose not to listen. I want them to understand. I want them to listen.

I just want to go home. In our final tale, we're given a glimpse into the most private of things, a diary. Diaries can often be filled with scandalous things like crushes, fantasies, lists of people you vow revenge on. But this diary contains something altogether more shocking. In this tale, shared with us by authors One Faraday and Ronan Ellis, we get a firsthand insight into the experience of a man who's been abducted by aliens. Performing this tale with me are Graham Rowett and Aaron Lillis. So watch how your surroundings change.

And remember, you're not just being studied. You're being experimented on. But if you forget, then, don't worry. It'll all come flooding back on the day. I found my abduction journal. I found this. If it seems familiar to you at all, please contact me. Maybe you can help me figure this out.

Day three. I suppose it's day three. I can't tell if it's day or night. They've kept the lights at the same dim level all the time, and I haven't really slept well. My head is pounding from days of fear, adrenaline, and insomnia. I don't remember how I got here. The room is small and shaped like a quarter circle, with all of the edges rounded.

The walls, ceiling and floor, all made of the same white plastic-like material. I can't tell where the light is coming from. On the first day, I tried pounding on the walls and screaming for help, but nobody came. After a while, I stopped hitting the walls because they make a weird, dull sound that's really unsettling. They feel strange to the touch, too. Nobody was coming anyways. The day leading up to my captivity is really hazy. I remember driving up to the cabin with my boyfriend.

It was his parents' cabin. Originally, I'd asked my parents if we could spend the weekend at their cabin, but they were still unhappy about the fact that I was dating a guy. We'd had a fight about it. Mike's parents were far more progressive and accepting and offered us theirs. I distinctly remember bits and pieces of the day. Modest mouse on the radio, dropping my green messenger bag on the bed in the cabin,

looking over the stock of firewood, Mike kissing my neck, the tickle of his soft beard. The closer my memories get to nightfall, though, the more uneasy I feel. I remember a moment of lying in bed in the dark, with a bit of moonlight coming through the window, drifting off to sleep.

Then the door slammed open violently, and I sat upright in bed. After that moment I can only remember pure terror, and I can feel my brain screaming at me to stop trying to remember this part. Even writing that down makes me feel panic approaching, and my head gets fuzzy, and I have to think about something else. There's nothing in this room, not even a bed. After a short, shallow nap today,

I discovered someone had put something in the room. It was my sketchbook and my set of drawing pencils. So I decided to sit and write down what's happening. I don't have much else to do. Maybe someday someone will read this and find out what happened to me. Day four. I saw them today. I really, really wish I hadn't.

I've been trying for days to figure out who would kidnap me and put me in this cell, and now I'd give anything not to know. There's no real door to my cell. The opening just sort of appeared, like something soft and organic, like a poor opening. Then it walked in calmly. I don't even want to describe it. Just thinking about what it looked like makes me want to scream. I don't even want to try drawing it,

because I don't even want to flip to this page accidentally and have to look at it again. All that matters, really, is that it wasn't human. It didn't look like anything that even came from the same planet. It wasn't symmetrical like most animals. It did have two eyes, though. And looking at those eyes made me want to vomit. They were huge. bigger than my fist, mostly black, with a bluish ring sort of like an iris.

They looked watery at first, but I realized later there was a thick layer of some clear mucus or something covering them. As it walked in, it looked at me steadily with these horrible eyes, and I backed into the corner screaming in terror. Something like this had come into the cabin the other night. This is the thing I couldn't bring myself to think about. It's impossible to know what their thinking or feeling through their eyes. They don't show any emotion. They just stare at me, and the only thing they convey is a sense of depth and an intelligence that's completely foreign and indecipherable, like looking into the dark eyes of a horse, but a thousand times worse. It stared at me, standing there unmoving in the corner. My screams seemed far away,

as though someone else was making them from another room. I heard the screaming stop, and then only my heavy, ragged breathing. It made a noise. A strange clicking noise like some huge insect might make. Then I heard the strange, low, rumbling. It sounded like a tuba or something, but far deeper. It slowly got louder and louder, and started to warble in frequency like a whale call.

In a few moments, it got so loud that I was screaming again, now from pain. That awful sound resonated through my bones. I tried to plug my ears, but it was coming right. through my skull. I felt like my head was going to crack open like an egg. Then suddenly the sound stopped, and I looked up to see the creature step back as though surprised. Now that the sound was over, I realized it must have been coming from this thing. I just heard its voice. My pained reaction to its voice seemed to startle it. Why am I here? Let me go. You need to let me out of here.

My ears were ringing, and I could barely hear my own voice, like I just left a loud, It didn't really react. It stared at me for a while, then walked to the corner where I've been peeing. There's no toilet or anything, so I had to make do. It stared at the stale, drying puddle on the floor, then back at me. Then it suddenly and decisively walked back out through the opening in the room. I belatedly tried to follow it out, but the wall sealed closed too quickly. Later, a few hours later, I think. They finally gave me a way. They finally gave me a water. I was so thirsty, my lips were starting to crack. I don't know how they put it in the room. It just appeared in a corner when I wasn't looking. It was a clear box made of the same plastic

material. It was awkward drinking out of this oversized, cube-shaped cup, but I swallowed it down quickly. I didn't stop to think about whether it was safe. For all I know, they drugged it with something tasteless and colorless. All I know is that in my state of dehydration, it was the best tasting water I've ever had. Day five. In the morning there was another cube full of water, and the corner where I'd urinated was cleaned. There was a large empty cube there now. It has occurred to me that they don't really understand how human beings function, and they're slowly trying to accommodate my basic needs. I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten since we got to the cabin. I just got back to my cell. They came and got me earlier today.

I don't understand what they did to me or why, but it was awful. I don't know if they're sadistic or they just don't understand what they're doing to me. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. One of them came into the room through that same opening. It was pushing this thing that looked a lot like a hospital gurney, but it didn't have wheels. It didn't hover either. It just sort of slid along the floor. The creature stared at me and made this weird gesture towards the gurney.

It didn't really have arms. Their limbs aren't like ours. I don't even know how to describe what they look like because they're not like any animal from Earth. I realized slowly that it was trying to tell me to get on the stretcher. Where are we going? Where are we? Why have you taken me? It just stared at me and made the gesture again.

Don't you understand me? Why am I here? What do you want from me? It just stared calmly. It looked like it could wait patiently like this all day. It didn't, though. It moved suddenly, as though it changed its mind in an instant and decided to try a different tactic. It rushed me and put one of its weird hands on my wrist. I felt it wrap around my wrist like a tentacle and grabbed me tight.

The sudden violence made me react with the same. I clenched my other hand into a fist and swung it towards that slimy black eye, but it moved too fast. It wrapped another appendage around my other wrist and wrestled me to the gurney. The gurney seemed to be made of that same smooth plastic, but once I was on it, the creature did something, and it suddenly became highly adhesive. I was like a fly on flypaper.

It was horrible. My hair touched it, and my head was glued to the table. It felt like it was pulling it, my hair. My arms and legs were stuck at uncomfortable angles. I screamed. The creature wheeled me down a hallway and threw another opening in the wall that appeared when we approached. It took me to another room, even more dimly lit,

and stopped the gurney in the middle. A bright, harsh light came on above me, but with my head held at this angle, I couldn't properly see the source. It raised these barriers around the gurney, like the railings on a hospital bed, but they were solid like plastic. Then I felt something cold and wet.

I thought for a moment that I had pissed myself out of fear, but then the sensation spread across my body. I realized that I was stuck to the bottom of a, tank that was slowly filling with liquid. I panicked and began to struggle again, but this made my situation even worse. I became even more stuck to the surface, and it was becoming painful. I tried to wriggle out of my clothes, but they were so stuck that they now had me bound. The liquid felt thick and cold, even slimy on my skin. It was getting close to my mouth. I started to scream. My screaming was cut short by the creature forcing a cold, wet, plastic tube into my mouth.

I felt it snake down my tongue to the back of my throat and further. I gagged, but could do nothing to stop it as the creature forced it down my throat. I realized quickly that the purpose of the tube was to let me breathe, but this wasn't much comfort. I struggled against the urge to vomit, knowing I had nothing but water to bring up anyways, but fearful that I might drown in my own bile. The fluid filled the tank completely, and I was completely submerged now. The creature did something I couldn't see very well

Suddenly the fluid altered somehow And instantly changed from a liquid to a solid I was encased like a fly in amber I could feel the solid surface of the substance Against every inch of my skin Even against my open eyeballs I could barely move enough to breathe I resisted the urge to start screaming again

Knowing that I would be unable to do so around the breathing tube I could hear machinery around me. Things that sounded like drills or saws. I'm barely aware of what they did to me, only that they drilled or cut into the resin they'd encased me in, and also drilled and cut into my body. I strained to see what was going on through the resin, but could see little more than shapes moving around. I felt agony as they drilled into my sight. It was even worse when they cut into my leg. The pain had me struggling to scream. I tried to fight against the resin. but only gave myself burning cramps in all of the muscles of my body.

At one point, I saw one of them carrying an object past my face. It was the same blue color as the jeans I was still wearing. It was the same size and shape as my leg. I must have blacked out for a while. I was vaguely aware of other things they were doing to me. They poked and prodded and cut into me. I felt strange sensations, but couldn't see anything. And then, as suddenly as it took to me,

turned solid, the resin returned to a viscous liquid and began to drain away. One of them grabbed the plastic tube in my throat and yanked it out roughly. As relieved as I was to have it gone, my throat was burning. I coughed and gagged and felt a heavy line of drool slide out of my lips. Once the slimy liquid had drained away, I was still stuck there on the adhesive table and still soaking wet. They lowered the sides back down, and one of them maneuvered the gurney out of the room, back down the hallway and back to my cell.

The adhesive suddenly let go, and I could move again. It had ripped out a large chunk of hair from the top of my head, stubble from my cheek, and off my arm, too. I was too exhausted and sore to fight the creature that had returned me here. I slumped off the gurney, leaned against the wall, and slid down to sit on the floor. I'd never been in so much pain. I was crying like a wounded animal.

After a while of slowly stretching my limbs back out, I became aware of three things. The creature was gone, and it had taken the gurney. I still had both my legs, although I had a scar around my left thigh that was very clean and precise. And lying next to me on the floor was a towel. It was a perfectly ordinary towel, made of terry cloth. It wasn't just any towel either. It was one of the ones from my bathroom. It was my large, orange, and round one.

Everything about it, the texture and smell of it, was familiar, like it had just come out of my own dryer using my own dryer sheets. The strangeness broke through the trauma of the situation. Had they been into my apartment? Why had they brought me this? Was it meant to comfort me? I stripped out of my clothes, which resaturated in that slime, and dried myself off as well as I could.

I was still sticky from that stuff. and my clothes were unsalvageable. I slept naked on the floor, using the towel as a pillow. Day six. I woke up this morning to find my clothes and towel, cleaned and returned to me in a nicely folded pile. They smelled like they'd been washed in my usual brand of detergent. They were slightly warm and even nicely pressed.

Next to my clean laundry was a sandwich on a plate. I was so hungry I was light-headed, and my belly was in pain. But I'm so distrustful of my captors that I stopped to examine it first. The plate was identical to the ones that Mike's parents kept at their cabin. The sandwich was roast beef and aged white cheddar with Dijon mustard, exactly like what Mike and I ate for dinner the night before they took me. Everything was identical.

The same brand of bread, the same color of mustard. It smelled incredible. I ate it so fast I very nearly threw it up right away. My stomach was so unprepared. My throat was still burning from yesterday, but I swallowed it down anyway. The sting of the mustard on my throat had my eyes tearing up, but I didn't care. How and why had they made this for me? Was this plate actually from Mike's parents' cabin?

I wondered for the millionth time what they'd done to Mike. I hope he's safe. If they left him behind in the cabin, he must be terrified and worried about me. If they'd taken him too, the thought that he was going through the same hell made me terrified. and worried for him. Later in the day, they brought me another sandwich on an identical plate. Again, I don't know how it got into my cell. It just appeared when I was looking somewhere else, and the old plate vanished.

Another identical sandwich. My stomach is getting used to food again. Day seven. I'd fallen asleep on the floor again, but this morning I woke up on a bed. It took me a moment to recognize it. It was the bed I'd slept on as a boy. complete with those gray and black bed sheets and the heavy quilt my grandmother had sewn for me. It all looked brand new again, even though I remembered the sheets fraying and tearing and being turned into rags.

The bed was far too small. My feet dangled off the end. I sat on the edge and stared down at the bed, feeling the familiar soft texture of the sheets. How the hell had they made this for me? It felt comforting and terrifying at the same time. I slowly became aware of a very pleasant smell. There was yet another roast beef sandwich sitting on the floor for me, and next to it was a cup of what could only be coffee. The cup was one of the ones out of my kitchen.

I'd found it at a second-hand store and bought it because it was peculiar. It had a picture of Garfield, the cat, but the color seemed off, and for some bizarre reason it said, I hate the Monday. I'd always assumed it was some cheap knock-off. The coffee inside of the cat. was exactly how I like it, with sugar and cream. The urinal cube in the corner of my cell had been replaced with an actual working flush

toilet, which I was ecstatic about, because between the food and the coffee, I had my first bowel movement in a week. Near the toilet is a drain in the floor, like the kind in the bottom of a shower, but sadly, no actual shower. It's like they're trying to figure out my basic needs, and slowly starting to get it right, but only bits at a time. I realized that there was only one explanation for this strange assortment of objects they'd given me. They're all objects from various points in my past, some very recent and some from a long time ago.

Even the toilet looked just like one in a place I lived in years ago. Somehow they were accessing my memories, but couldn't pick out which ones were the most useful or recent. The fact that they are able to read my mind like this, but still treat me the way they did, is kind of terrifying. Any living thing that's aware of the agony they're inflicting should be far more empathetic unless they're completely soulless. It's late afternoon, I guess. I can measure out the time in sandwiches now.

Out of nowhere, about half an hour ago, all of the walls of my cell turned into gigantic, high-definition screens. They're all showing various porn movies. I'm surrounded by sex. I have no idea where the speakers are, but they are turned up far too loud. I have no idea what's going on. Why are they showing me this?

There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the movies they're showing me. They're all from different porn studios, different time periods, different types of people, different settings, actions, fetishes. The only thing they have in common is that they're all straight. Every scene has, at least, a man and a woman. Not that it would make any difference anyways. Even if I found what I'm seeing erotic, I'm captive here. I've been kidnapped, starved,

tortured and terrified. Not much could get me horny right now. Finally, after what must have been at least ten hours of wall-to-wall pornography at loud volume, it suddenly went away so I can get some sleep. Day 8. They came with the gurney again. I intended to fight again this time, but I didn't get a chance. The creature just stared at me with those huge, mucusy, black and blue eyes, and suddenly I felt my entire body go limp. I hit the floor hard, banging my right knee really badly. I don't know how, but they can paralyze me now. It lifted my limp body up onto the gurney, and I had no choice but to go back to that dim little room with its bright light. I felt the gurney tilt up. I have no idea how,

but I didn't just slide off. It was like gravity was still pulling me backwards towards the surface. One of those awful hands turned my face forward, something cold pressed against either side of my head, holding it firmly in place. I felt something sharp against the back of my head and realized with terror that they were cutting into my scalp. I felt a circle of pain being traced into my skin, and then a sickening, tearing sensation as the circle of scalp was ripped off my head. With nothing to numb the pain, I was left to just feel the incredible agony of it. I couldn't even move a single muscle to stop them. One of them was watching me, face to face. I couldn't make out anything like an expression.

Whatever it was thinking or feeling was beyond me. It had to know that I was in pain, though. If it could read my memories, it could read my thoughts. How could it not care? Surely whatever these things were, they devolved to feel pain too. Nearly every living thing, especially those with higher brain function, understands pain. There was the whirring sound of a tiny saw. I felt a vibration in the back of my head.

I tried not to think about what was happening, but there was no escaping it. There's no pain nerves in the skull or the brain, so it didn't hurt when they removed the section of the back of my skull. But I could feel it, and I could still feel the excruciating pain from where they'd sliced away the skin and tissue over top. There was no way to know what they were doing back there.

I felt tears run down my cheeks. I'd never felt so helpless. The creature in front of me stepped aside as the wall in front of me turned into a brightly lit screen, like the walls of my cell yesterday. Just like yesterday, I was treated to porn. A young, dark-haired woman straddling an older man, supposedly her high school teacher on his desk.

Another scene showed two women performing oral sex on a man, lounging on a park bench. On and on it went. The creatures gathered in close to watch me. One of them shone a bright light in my eyes. Another one pulled down my pants and started fondling my genitals with its cold, slimy pseudopod. I wanted to scream. One of the creatures suddenly turned to look at another.

I caught a glimpse of what might be surprise. It started making those awful insect-like clicking noises, and then a low, deep moan. I knew what was coming. coming next, but I couldn't even move to cover my ears. There was that loud, awful noise like whale song vibrating through my skull. Hearing them talk was agony. It stopped after a few moments, and they looked like they had come to some sort of agreement. There was the ringing in my ears again. It's still going. It probably will for a day or two. They stepped back again and did something to change the display. It was showing gay porn now.

In a completely different time, in a different setting, I would have found it hot. Now, with the back of my skull cut out, and these grotesque creatures groping my penis and shining lights in my eyes, it was unsurprising that I didn't get an erection. They returned the section of skull and flesh to my head. They seemed to reach whatever conclusion they were looking for. They could have asked. After they returned me to my room, I sat on my childhood bed and rocked back and forth, whimpering and crying for hours.

Day nine. I woke up with the sun shining through the window and the smell of fresh coffee in the air. It took me a moment to realize I wasn't at home. The sunlight wasn't coming through a real window. It was a frame hung on the wall with artificial light coming through it. The coffee tasted great, though.

I'm still so groggy. I had to reread my journal to figure out where I was and what's going on. My memory of the previous eight days is really foggy. I barely remember the events from yesterday's entry. What did they do to my brain? I felt the back of my head. There's a faint scar, circular, about four inches in diameter.

It all seems completely healed, just like my leg. I feel like I should be more afraid than I feel. The weirdest thing just happened. It was after lunch, yet another roast beef sandwich, but I'm not complaining. While I wasn't looking, the portal to my cell opened. I know that escape couldn't possibly be that easy, but I had to see what would happen,

what I could find out about this place. I was aware that they'd probably done this to test me, but I didn't care. On the other side, there wasn't the same hallway I'd been taken down. They'd altered the architecture somehow. There was a cell just the same as mine, a quarter-circle-shaped white cell. It was empty except for a chair.

with a woman sitting on it. She was facing away from me, wearing a green cardigan. She seemed calm, but was sitting a little stiffly. Her hair was immaculately styled, smooth blonde with highlights and layers. Hello? My throat is sore for some reason. Her head turned slightly. Hello?

She sounded very familiar. I moved toward her. Hello? Are you okay? How long have you been here? Are you okay? How long have you been here? My heart sank. She turned to face me, and I gasped and stepped back. The beautiful, smiling woman looking up at me was Sarah Michelle Geller, the actress from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Those bright eyes locked with mine.

Where are we going? Where are we? Why have you taken me? I just stared at her. My mouth opened wide in shock. She sounded like she was repeating something I'd said to the creatures. Obviously, this wasn't really Sarah Michelle Geller. Just like my bed and my towel, they'd made a replica of her. She stood and took a step toward me awkwardly, smiling. Don't you understand me?

Why am I here? What do you want from me? You're not real, are you? You're not real, are you? She began to take off her cardigan. She was topless underneath. I ran from the room, back into my own cell, and started looking around desperately for something to defend myself with.

I settled on the wooden lamp I'd made on a lathe in high school. I ripped off the lampshade and tore the plug out of the wall. I turned and held it up, ready to bring it down on the head of that horrible robotic thing. It hadn't followed me, though. The opening between the cells was closed again, like it had never been there. Day 10 Breakfast of pancakes and bacon, a hot cup of coffee, a hot shower, a fresh change of clothes. I feel a little more human this morning.

My cell has gotten bigger, I'm sure of it. There's a refrigerator in here now. It makes a humming noise, and a light turns on when I open it, but it's not cold inside. It's empty. It's like they've seen one on television before, but aren't really sure what it's for or how it works. Lunch was tomato soup and grilled cheese. Dinner was lasagna. I'm so glad the variety in the menu has improved.

I was feeling bored, so I read through my journal. It's weird. My memories of being in that weird little room. Being cut up by those weird creatures is really hazy. I totally don't remember the Sarah Michelle Geller thing. That is so bizarre. Did that really happen? Day 11.

My accommodation. are improving. I have a separate bedroom now, and they brought me a proper bed. I've been practicing my sketching to pass the time. I don't remember how much longer they said I'd be here. Holy fuck! I just reread my journal. How the hell did I forget that I've been kidnapped and tortured? Does they do something to my brain? I've been screaming and pounding the walls for the last few hours, but I just gave up. Obviously, they're not going to answer. The fridge is cold now, and completely stuffed with bricks of Armstrong's aged white cheddar. I can't find anything else to write on,

so I might as well put my shopping list on here. Tomatoes, cream, spaghetti, butter, cereal, milk, dish detergent, meat, lettuce, bread, peanut butter. Day 12. I can't believe I'm still here. I keep getting these fuzzy moments where I feel like I'm back at home in my apartment. I've reread my journal twice. Well, at least twice, I guess. I keep having to remind myself where I actually am.

I saw them for the first time. They're so disgusting. Total monsters. They have these huge, weird eyes that look like they're covered in slime. My memory of seeing them is really vague, but I remember those eyes. I don't think I'll ever forget those eyes. They were intelligent, but cold. I feel like they took me somewhere.

but I don't remember where. I thought I was wearing my red t-shirt, but then it was gone and now I'm shirtless. I have this thin, perfectly straight scar down my chest. It looks completely healed, but I don't remember having it there before. Why is the fridge full of cheese? Tomatoes, cucumber, cream, butter, cereal, milk, sugar,

dish detergent, meat, bread, Peanut Butter Day 15 She came and shook me awake In more ways than one, I guess. How the hell did I become so docile here? Somehow over the last couple of weeks I must have resigned myself to this situation.

I don't know how she got into my quarters. It's still a cell, I guess, but now it's like a whole apartment with a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, and a sitting area. She doesn't know how she got here too. She says she just will cup on the couch that they must have put her there. She hadn't seen another human being in weeks,

just like me. So of course she woke me. I was a little embarrassed at first. I sleep nude, always have. I was under the covers, so she didn't see anything. I'd completely forgotten most of what happened to me, again. So she suggested I write down as much as I can before I forget it again. We've been comparing notes, talking about our strategies, trying to figure a way out of here. Her name's Kayla. I forgot to pick up sugar. Day 28. It feels like Kayla and I have been packing for a solid week. How did we accumulate so much stuff so quickly? She managed to rope a few of our friends into helping out on Thursday, which is a relief. There's no way we could get the couch down the stairwell alone. I love how all she has to do is flash that smile of hers and people will just bend over backwards. It helps that she has such a sweetheart.

Day 49. I think we've done a good job settling in. It's funny the things you don't realize you're missing at first, like a garbage can for the second bathroom. Kail and I got back from Walmart with a carload of household stuff, hopefully the last of it. There was something strange at Walmart. They had these weird glasses on clearance,

little tumblers that were almost perfect cubes. Something about them seemed really creepy and, and familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Kayla made some comment about how impractical they seemed, like it would be difficult to actually drink from one, like they weren't even designed for human mouths. I got a great deal on notepads. This one's nearly full.

I meant to use it for sketching, but it's made a great journal, so I thought I'd continue on the same brand. Day 86. I got the promotion! Kayla and I went out for sushi to celebrate. Day 167. She said yes. Day 208.

Kayla and I had a strange moment with the wedding planner. She was asking about who we wanted on our guest list and about the names of our family members. I sat there stunned. So did Kayla. Neither of us, for some bizarre reason, can remember any of their names. How could I not remember my own mother's name?

I've been sitting here in a weird, state all afternoon. Kayla seems upset, too. We've both just been staring into space in a day's. Tomatoes, feta, thyme, sugar, bread, onions, cereal, milk,

laundry detergent. Day 278. Everything went off without a hitch. We're married now. I feel like every part of me is glowing. Body and soul. Day 500. Kayla is still on her business trip and has to stay a few extra days.

I miss her, but it means more daughter-daddy bonding time. Here's yet another sketch of my chubby-cheeked little girl. I've decided that today we're going to have a Disney marathon. She has to see all my childhood favorites. Magic mirror on the wall. What the hell is this? Everyone knows it's mirror mirror on the wall. When did they edit the line in Snow White?

What the hell? I was curious about the change in Snow White, so I googled it. People are talking about how things are different from how they remember. What's the Berenstained Bears thing all about? Why on earth would that have an A instead of an E? Okay, I'm seriously creeped out. I just found Allison in her crib, and I don't remember putting her there. In fact, I don't remember half of the day.

Then I sat down to make this entry in my journal, and there's all this stuff about Snow White and the Baron Stain. Bears. I don't remember writing any of this. I think tomorrow I'm going to sit down with my little girl and show her all of her daddy's favorite movies from when I was a kid. She's too young to understand them, but it'd be a great nostalgia trip for me. Day 601. I think things keep changing. I can't put my finger on it. Day 614. I went through the kids section at Indigo today to find some good books for Allison for Christmas. I thought I'd spotted the the weirdest misspelling, but then I saw it was all over the place.

What the hell is up with the Barrenstain Bears? Day 634. We had a great Christmas morning, until Kayla innocently asked me why they'd misspelled Barronstain Bears on Allison's new book. I stared at it in confusion for a minute, but then it broke through. I remembered. I'd seen this before. I'd thought about this.

I'd mulled over. I'd looked it up online. This wasn't right. This wasn't something we'd misremembered. This had been changed. What did the witch say to the mirror in Snow White? Huh? You mean the...

She squinted, concentrating. Wasn't it mirror, mirror on the wall? Who's the fairest of us all? Yeah, that's what it's supposed to be. But it changed somehow. What do you mean changed? If you watch the movie now, it says magic mirror on the wall. Who's the fairest of them all?

Are you sure? That's weird. Why would they change it? I felt like I was on the verge of something, some sort of realization. They didn't change it. They copied it. They made a copy, but they screwed it up. It wasn't perfect.

Who's they? I shrugged, staring off into space, trying hard to hold on to this realization. I could feel it slipping away from me. I caught myself staring at one of the ornaments on the tree. Kayla loved having color schemes for our Christmas decorations. This year was blue and silver. There were about a dozen of the blue spheres hanging on the tree. They're so shiny, glossy, almost like they're wet.

I don't know. I feel like I should remember, but I don't. I could see by the look in her eyes that she could feel it too. There was something just outside our grass. Day 692. What the fuck is going on? I decided to reread my old journal entries. I don't remember any of this early stuff.

I was abducted by these weird creatures. The whole thing reads like a weird acid trip. I don't remember writing any of that. Day 704. Holy shit. I decided to reread my old journal entries just for some nostalgia. I don't remember any of this stuff about being abducted by aliens? What the fuck is going on?

Day 772. I'm sitting here totally terrified. I decided to reread my old journal entries. I don't remember this crazy shit about being taken away by these weird creatures. Who the hell is Mike? What happened to me? Day 8001.

I was getting to the end of another notepad, so I decided to take a trip down memory lane. I'm confused and terrified right now. I reread my old journal entries from my first journal. I don't remember any of this weird stuff about being taken away by aliens? Day 993. I didn't go into work today. I don't think there's any point.

I made the mistake of going back to reread my old journal, and I don't remember any of this stuff about being abducted. Obviously, they've done something to my brain. They're messing with me. to keep me from remembering. I read every page of my journals since I started keeping them nearly three years ago.

And I've come to realize something very important. When they started giving me more and more stuff to replicate my old life, and I started remembering less and less of what was going on, I can't pinpoint the moment they returned me. I don't think they did. I think I'm still a captive.

I think they just got better and better at simulating everything from my life to the point where I forgot they'd taken me in the first place. I know that sounds crazy. I'm surrounded by other people, right? But are they all real? Maybe some of them are captives like me. Maybe some of them are replicas, like that Sarah Michelle Geller thing. And all of the people around the world that I talk to online? I've never met the vast majority of them. They could be sophisticated bots. If I could get up high enough, would I find a screen like the walls of my cell?

Had they just kept expanding and modifying it to make it look like a whole city? If you're like me, if there's something that you can't put your finger on, if you feel like you've forgotten something important, if you feel like everything around you has changed or is fake somehow, contact me. I'm going to post this online. Hopefully someone else can identify with you. with this.

Tomatoes, cucumber, bread, ice cream, sugar, flour, cereal, cream, lettuce. Thank you for joining us on our trip across the cosmos. Our fleets mostly intact. Only a handful of ships crashed into the sun, and we narrowly avoided a collision with Mars. You thought I was going to say Uranus, didn't it? you? Well, there's no such pure real humor here, not on the new decade. We're careful not to be the butt of any jokes. God, Olivia. Meanwhile, breathe a sigh of relief, because season 14 is just

around the corner. But there is one more episode of the new decade to come, and it'll be our hardest, bestest, fastest, strongest episode yet, or at least our longest. But for now, episode four comes to a close. I've been Jessica McAvoy. Olivia has been whoever's skin she's stolen this week. And this has been the New Decade episode four, intergalactic. This audio production is copyrights 2020 by Creative Reason Media Inc. All rights reserved.

The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. No duplication or reproduction of this audio program is permitted without the written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc.