The NoSleep Podcast - S19 Ep3: NoSleep Podcast S19E03

Episode Date: February 19, 2023

It’s Episode 03 of Season 19. We ponder weak and weary with tales about extraterrestrial extremes. “The Equation’s Cold” written by Alexander Hay (Story starts around 00:06:10) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – David Ault, Her – Erika Sanderson “The Voices in Europa” written by Gabriel Kiesel (Story starts around 00:09:15) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Carlos Dias – Atticus Jackson, Forsaken Chorus – Sarah Ruth Thomas “A Mote in the Void” written by Simon Kewin (Story starts around 00:30:10) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Narrator – Erin Lillis, Bohanna – Jake Benson “A Toast for the Hosts” written by Vincent Paiement Désilets (Story starts around 00:45:00) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – David Cummings, Gordon – Mike DelGaudio, Arthur – Graham Rowat, Bill – Elie Hirschman “The Site” written by Daniel Cubias (Story starts around 01:07:05) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Dan Zappulla “Breath of the God” written by Simon Bleaken (Story starts around 01:19:40) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Alex – Andy Cresswell, Ben – Jeff Clement, Heather – Ilana Charnelle, Raminder – Katabelle Ansari his episode is sponsored by: ZocDoc - Zocdoc is a free app that shows you doctors who are patient-reviewed, take your insurance, and are available when you need them. Go to Zocdoc.com/nosleep and download the Zocdoc app for free. Then start your search for a top-rated doctor today. Vessi - Vessi's the only shoes you need because of how versatile they are. Vessis are my go-to shoes by my door. Check them out at vessi.com/nosleep for 15% off your entire order for your Vessi shoes. Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Edgar Allan Poe from author Rene Rehn Click here to learn more about The Sleep Wake Cycle podcast Click here to learn more about Simon Kewin Click here to learn more about Vincent Paiement Désilets Click here to learn more about Simon Bleaken Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone “The Voices in Europa” illustration courtesy of Miggea Audio program ©2023 – 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. The works of Edgar Allan Poe reside in the public domain. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Season 19, episode 3 of the No Sleep podcast is ready to blast off. Are you well enough to venture into the darkness of space? If not, you need to see a doctor, not find medical advice on social media. Look, you're trying to find a cause for your symptoms, right? Like a wonky stomach that keeps you feeling queasy, or a pancreas that hurts like a f***? And you stumble down a TikTok rabbit hole full of questionable advice from so-called experts. There are better ways to get the answers you want and the care you deserve from trusted professionals and not random people on the internet.

Zoc Doc helps you find expert doctors and medical professionals that specialize in the care you need and deliver the type of experience you want. When you're not feeling your best and just trying to hold it together, finding great care shouldn't take up all your energy. That's where Zoc Doc comes in. Using their free app that millions of users rely on, you can find the right doctor that meets your needs and fits your schedule. Book an appointment with a few taps in their app and start feeling better faster with Zoc Doc. Zoc Doc is the only free app that lets you find and book doctors who are patient reviewed, take your insurance, are available when you need them and treat almost every condition under the sun. Go to Zocdoc.com slash no sleep and download the Zocdoc app for free. Then start

your search for a top-rated doctor today. Many are available within 24. hours. That's Z O-C-D-O-C dot com slash no sleep. Zoc-D-O-C-com slash no sleep. And now it's time to get spaced out with horror. In the dark shadows of the Rue Morg, to the rhythm of the stolen telltale heart, as the black cat swings upon the pendulum, and the cask offers its sherry deep and dry. As you knock at our chamber door, we open and usher you in. Our sleepless tales for you in store. And the terror shall be lifted for the no sleep.

Welcome to the no sleep podcast. I'm your host, David Cummings. When we think of Edgar Allan Poe, we usually think of his writing as grounded, usually undergrounded, as it were, with themes of premature burial, death, and other terrestrial notions. But did you know that in 1848 he published Eureka, a prose poem, which was Poe's intuitive conception of the nature of the universe? Turns out Eddie liked to ponder the stars and the cosmos.

In fact, he considered this his greatest work. To that end, we're featuring stories in this episode, which slip the surly bonds of Earth into the planets and deep space of our solar system, horror amongst the stars. And along those lines, if trippy, otherworldly, X-Files-esque storytelling is what you crave, I'd like to highlight a podcast for you. The SleepWake Cycle is an audio drama podcast blending supernatural horror with noir and dark fantasy.

Here's a short trailer to give you a taste. It was hard to believe that dreams even happened. What the hell did I know? I haven't slept a day in my life. I'd been a professional dream catcher for most of my life, yet the trepidation of lowering myself into the depths of sleep was always there. I wasn't a man, and the exopaths weren't just killers. We were microcosms of grander forces. I was the order that chased down the chaos.

The power of the emerging creature shook my bones. You weren't the only one who likes the cold, fella. I'm not running anymore. It's time to see just how much sanity I can bring to the screwball reality. From the creators of the Maltopia Horror Podcast, the sleep-wake cycle is an audio drama podcast, blending supernatural horror with noir and dark fantasy. Born during the night plague of 1983, the Stroud twins have been reunited after a lifetime apart. They're way forward lit by dimest foxfire. Known as the Dreamcatcher and the Insomniac, the twins possess strange abilities,

making them uniquely suited to their role as investigators for the esoterium, a clandestine agency bent on restoring a republic ravaged by the great darkness of 1999. Confronting the Strouds is a world forsaken of sanity, where coffins often become cocoons, shadows rise against the sun, and reality is just the husk that dreams have left behind. Be sure to check out the sleep wake cycle on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or your favorite podcast platform. The Sleep Wake Cycle from the team at Mailtopia. Well worth exploring.

And now our tales come to you upon a midnight dreary. Best not to ponder them while weak and weary. In our first tale, we meet a man on a mission in space. He must get medicine to a desperate planet no matter. what. But in this tale, shared with us by author Alexander Hay, we learned that he made a fateful decision which will affect him more than he could have imagined. Performing this tale are David Alt and Erica Sanderson. So when making a calculated decision, get your numbers right. If not, you'll soon learn that. The equations cold.

Out of the void, she shrieks. Temperature at absolute zero and And giddy with hatred. In space, the old cliche goes, no one can hear you scream. But no one told the vengeful dead. I can feel her presence even before the sensors on my ship start blinking in alarm. My hands shake as I try to keep the craft under control. My nose begins to sting with chill and my skin is burning numb. I had no choice.

You stowed away. There wasn't enough fuel for us to get the medicine to that world. They'd have died. I had to eject you. You know that, right? Sector by sector, the ship goes dark and cold. Soon only the cockpit has any power, bathed red, with backup lights. I light up the cabin with a flare which crackles and hisses with dying purple fire. She is outside. Suddenly, the bulkhead doors rip open with a squeal of tortured metal. The dead girl floats in, and desiccated and crystallized, frozen forever. Clouds are biting, freezing fog rolling behind her.

In shock, I drop my flare. You forgot who you were. And like you, they're supposed to find a way. That's what you're for. But you were too fucking spineless to challenge the numbers. Did you even dare tell my brother what you did? Long, raw fingers begin to. caress and encircle my face.

I stare deep into sunken, frosted eyes. We're going to cold, dark places you and I. You do the maths. As technology moves closer and closer to interplanetary exploration, we dream about what it might be like to have humanity reach into our solar system, planets and moons which might allow us to live as extraterrestrials. And in this tale, Shared with us by author Gabriel Kiesel,

we meet a man who is the first human to delve into the ocean on one of Jupiter's moons, descending deep into that dark, alien water. Performing this tale are Atticus Jackson and Sarah Thomas. So listen closely. Can you hear what he hears? The voices in Europa. Time of immersion. One hour. Depth. Ten kilometers into Europa's ice sheet.

The wind always howls on Europa. Mighty Jupiter's smallest daughter sharing the horizon with a naked cosmos. I stared at its twilight-swept ocean of ice and dust. Hidden under the shadow of its colossal monarch, it glowed blue. Making Earth with its sprawling towers seem to be nothing but a fool's dream. Not that I wish to go back, of course. Those on earth that had something to return to were the first to be eliminated from the candidate-picking process. No, this was the time and place for a man like me.

I was to be the first to touch that moon's hidden ocean under the ice, to be forever written in the pages of humanity's history, a fact which did not help make it any less terrifying. My steps echoed rhythmically throughout the metallic hallway, along with the engineering crew. The current colonial administration desired that the first exploration of an extraterrestrial ocean happened before elections took place back on our home planet. Thus, it was decided that the first pod was to be launched at the end of Europa's dusk,

before the oppressive light of the sun could turn the whole of it into a disco ball again. You could hear a pin drop in the diving bay while my vehicle and I were being prepared. None dared to break the concentration of the physicians as they ran their tests, breathing exercises to ensure my heart rate was stable, controlling my breath so as not to consume more oxygen than the life support systems were able to filter out of the water. When the whole song and dance was done, I was prompted to enter the pod. The tight metallic cylinder had a monitor to allow me to control the omnidirectional camera at the bottom of the hole, as well as the course correction. thrusters. And of course, barely enough space to bend my knees. Other than the camera, my only view of the outside world came from a window designed to withstand the pressure of 260 megapascals of the Europa and sea bottom. Currently, I'm staring at an unending

corridor of ice outside. But more on that later. Fancy equipment aside, the fact is, I'm in a hot, damp metal can, feeling like tuna, because someone higher up didn't want to spend the extra dollar necessary to send a full-sized submarine across space. Once I was packed inside, they sealed the hatch, which I was told was a safety measure to ensure I didn't kill myself by opening it in case of an emergency. That's what the cyanide pills in my pocket are for.

The custom-made suspension cable was then hooked to the pod, and I was lifted into the air like a parson. pig in a wet market. The engineers attached a drill to the bottom, ready to cleave into Europa's virgin ice. I was left alone to attach the final seat belt as the red lights and sirens signal to evacuate the room for depressurization. I hailed mission command. This is Carlos Dias. All systems are green. I reported, feeling quite content with my professionalism. Beneath me, the moon pool opened. revealing the thick layer of ice it made up Europa's surface. There, a small team of drones had been hard at work,

carving a tunnel toward the underground ocean. After a couple of minutes waiting for the drones to clear the way, the order was given to lower me ever so slowly into the hole. The drill on my pod made short work of any reforming ice. And just like that, I was on my way. That was about an hour ago. Now, as I'm recording these mandatory mission logs to be sent back to Earth, I can't help but look at all the packed walls of ice outside with excitement for what awaits me underneath.

Time of immersion. Four hours. Depth. 22 kilometers beneath the ice sheet. When the thick white walls of ice around me finally disappeared, there was no grand uproar. Only the tension and resistance of the ice breaking away. followed by the peace of water. That, in the silent darkness of the underworld.

There, where no man before had ventured, silence was my only companion. A certain quote by Nietzsche came to me, but I drove it from my mind. I didn't want to break the peace of the moment. Unfortunately, this was short-lived. Duty called, and I reported the success of the mission's first step to the sound. of great cheer from the control room over the radio. I was asked what I could see around me. I replied, not much, before hastily correcting myself.

In my periphery, I detected something outside my window. There's an external source of light at four hours. Green circles moving in a strange pattern. The order was then issued for me to turn on the camera and switch to night vision. To my delight. and that of the whole operation. We saw a lone sea serpent swimming nearby, eyeless, and with many antenna-like appendages growing out of its head.

Life in the depths. That was the first time I heard the mission commander speak. In a stern voice announcing, Send a message to earth, there is life on Europa, which was followed by even more cheering. As my brain acclimated to the pattern of life in that, new environment, I soon began to notice more and more sea creatures around me. Each one glowed in their own unique hue with an unspeakable grace. Near me, a pink mass of a thousand appendages

passed by harmoniously until it was disrupted by what I thought at first was a small fish, and turned out to be a cloud of sea worms. Beings akin to octopuses melded with the darkness in their hunt for small golden sea insects. In this world without light, animal life had resorted to bioluminescence to survive. A new command was issued, and they began to lower me further and further, or at least they tried. The cable had become stuck on something. I directed the camera towards the ice ceiling, and the opaque shadow of a four-legged creature of immense size appeared. And one of its six pincers was the metal cable for my pod, which the creature, probably thinking it was either prey or predator, decided to cut,

severing my only link back to the surface. The pod shook, and I screamed, sinking into the abyss, as I have been for the past 30 minutes. Honestly, congratulations, Carlos. Your first and only chance to make something of yourself by becoming the first explorer of an extraterrestrial ocean and you manage to find yourself adrift in the first four hours. Bravo.

Luck is a fickle bitch. But at least it seems to like me enough to put me on a mission that's incredibly important for the bigwigs back on Earth. Either they rescue me or they lose the election for global console. So, I should be rescued shortly. Europa has very low gravity, so I should sink slowly. And thanks to the life support system, I have plenty of oxygen. Until then, I guess I get to enjoy the beautiful view down here.

Anyway, until they pick me up, I'm going to keep recording these logs on what I find down here. Maybe command is trying to keep me busy while thinking of a way to get me out. Time of immersion, six hours, depth, 53 kilometers. So, here's a little story for anyone who might be listening to this recording. I've been trying to contact Mission Command for about two hours now. But because I'm several kilometers underwater and separated by 15 kilometers of ice, the communication system is not exactly working too much. well. So, I tried redirecting power from the camera to the comm system. And it worked. I was able to

reach out and listen to what they were saying at the control room. They knew I could hear them, but they couldn't hear me because of interference, even if I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Why would I scream, you ask? Because Mission Commander Catarina, while in full knowledge that I could hear her, made full use of her office to tell them to cut off my signal permanently. We already have the life reports we came here for, and this mission cannot be jeopardized by what Mr. Carlos Diaz might say if he was to return from his predicament. The crew questioned her. She replied that our mission had a symbolic meaning to Earth, and that it was better to let me die a martyr to science, then have it fail to save me.

And why the fuck not? Am I right? That's why they picked candidates from the prison population. They aimed for a disposable pilot. So, here's the thing. If there are more missions to the European Ocean in the future, and someone happens to find this recording, make sure it goes viral.

Make the lives of the members of the Neo-Aluminist party a living hell. And please, fucking please, with sugar on top. Get Lieutenant Katerina Murkowski court-martialed. Fuck! Of immersion. Unknown. Depth? No even cares at this point.

I'm not quite sure if I believe in some higher power. But if it does exist, it must hold some kind of bizarre grudge against me. Not that I don't deserve it, of course. I did plenty of bad before getting here. So, I came up with this idea that basically makes it more expensive politically for them to kill me than to let me live. You see, this pot is a tracker that lets Mission Command know where I am at a hour. every moment. It has an independent power source and requires very little energy. But because of the ice, they were probably no longer picking me up. But what if I was to get to the surface? What if I made

saving my life too easy to simply not try? Not everyone in the control room is heartless. Those initial objections would only get worse, and they could either threaten Katarina into rescuing me or demote her. And oh boy, hell, I would love that. The best way to do this was by redirecting the power of the pod to the thrusters so I could boost myself up to where they could trace me again. First, I activated just the left thruster to spin me around. I was upside down, but the thrusting system was in the right direction.

Then I had to hack the pod's power regulator and redirect all energy to both the right and left thrusters, rocketing myself towards the ice. Well, turns out this power regulator couldn't take that much of a surge towards a single system. It cut off all power to the left thruster and sent me spinning into the void. I must have hit my head, because I just woke up. The monitor is fried. I'm not sure how deep I am, or for how long I've been out, there's vomit all over the pot, which tells me I had a concussion and explains why I'm so hungry right now. I must also be upside down, because I feel like there's a lot of blood in my skull. At least I know the black box for this thing is working, so I get to speak in order to keep sane, though I'm starting to think that even that's not

working. There's singing coming from outside. Maybe it's one of those animals from this place. I can still see them shining in the deep. Though these ones have big eyes and transparent teeth, which tells me something about what's going to happen to my body. Honestly, if I knew where those damn cyanide pills were, I'd have taken them already, or at least try to open this Damn hatch and let Europa crush me. But they slipped out of my pocket. And they're now loose somewhere in this tin can. Oh, who am I kidding?

I bet I could find a way to open the hatch, but I can't. Too much of a coward to do it. I threw everything away for a chance to show up in history books. First, with the South American insurrection. And then volunteering in prison for this shit show. There's nothing on earth left to return to. I was dead long before the cable broke. At least the view outside is really pretty.

Water, water, everywhere. And the pond started to shrink. Water, water, everywhere. And not a drop to drink. Do you think Samuel Taylor Coleridge will sue me in the afterlife? I guess I'll find out. My vision is starting to black out. My prison had a library, you know, and it was a really good one.

I got to read this book that said modern man's worst fear was to sit alone in the dark with his own thoughts. I'm starting to understand what that means. The only language this place speaks is silence. And I've been getting quite fluent. And all the fish have disappeared. So it's been very dark for a while now, and I've been getting some very unpleasant thoughts. Like, when I said I don't believe in a higher power, for example. Well, what do people mean by higher?

Higher than the sky? The stars? Higher here? I don't know if I believe in a higher power, but here, where there is no higher power. high or low, where I've been sinking for a whole day. There are plenty of powers which float about in the dark. Let me start from the beginning. Ever since I gave up on going back, I've been staring out the window at the beauty of this world.

Have you ever seen a fish's spine emit waves of rainbows? Have you ever seen an octopus open up like a flower, unleashing a thousand, and babies. I have quite a shame. Those won't be my last sights. I started to get lost in their many shapes. Those off, sleep, and awaken, until I could no longer tell when I was dreaming. And eventually, once I awoke, I noticed there was a handprint on my window from the outside. For a while, I tried to figure out what it could have been. So I started paying closer attention, which is when I noticed the lack of light around me. And that is when I saw what seemed to be a person shining a white light of its own. They wore white robes and carried a sword.

And their words were like rocks rolling down a mountain during a thunderstorm. But belong here. This place sat once. It unsheathed its blade, and the fire began to boil the surrounding water. Something similar. Up into its eyes, which burned like hot coal. It walked towards me. Walked.

Not swam nor floated. It took a few steps in my direction with its sword raised before it. And for a moment, I believed my pain was over. But out of nowhere, laughter echoed in my mind. And it nears as well, I think. Because that thing recoiled before it was grabbed by a huge dark hand. I'm not sure what I saw. But I can't help but be terrified of thinking about it.

After a while, I blacked out again. and awoke just recently when I heard my pod hitting the bottom of the European ocean. And now that I look through the window, I see millions upon millions of beings like the one from before. The only difference is that their eyes are not white coals as before. They are black, and they are smiling. They are the forsaken chorus. They were waiting for me. They welcomed me.

They're opening the hatch. I'm home. There are astronauts who have spoken about what it's like to be isolated in space. Solitary humans in a spacecraft, thousands of miles from Earth, completely alone. For many, the thought is terrifying. But as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author Simon Kewen, A woman alone on her spacecraft is dealing with the aftermath of a meteor storm which affected her ship and left her wondering why something is outside of it banging to get in.

Performing this tale are Aaron Lillis and Jake Benson. So if you hear the noise, the incessant knocking, try to ignore it. It's nothing more than a moat in the void. The clanging sound had been there for several minutes before Kelly really, noticed it. Everything on the dam ship rattled or vibrated were squealed. She looked around, floating there in the cramped cylinder of the work habitat, trying to figure out where the new noise came from. It sounded like something banging on the outside of the hull. How the hell could that be? Maybe some part of the calm rig knocked loose in the meteor strike, or a solar cell

flapping around. Power was certainly down, although she had expected that this far out. Some damn thing was broken out there. She laddered herself along the grabs and flew aft to press her ear against the curving aluminum bulkhead. Whatever had come loose was only centimeters from her head, out there in the void of space. Bang. Tap, tap, which made no sense. There obviously couldn't be something just flapping around. It came to her that it must be Richards, somehow still alive and trying to signal to her by banging on the hull. But she'd seen him through the observation ports, drifting away after the meteor, whatever the hell it was, struck, seen him tumbling head over heels into space, umbilical flailing around and venting O2. He was alive then, judging by the way he waved his

arms around and kicked his legs, but they'd lost comms. She'd never know how long he'd lasted out there, him and the Ares II's only EVA suit. She zoomed herself back up to the flight deck to see if anything was visible from the ports now. She could make out Mars quite clearly, a definite circle, reddish-brown, dead ahead, but she needed to see the other way, back along the fuselage. Damn shame the meteor strife. I could take in out the steerable cameras, too. She pressed her face against the carbon-plex window, trying to make out what had come loose. Earth would need to know.

Damn it, she needed to know. This thrown-together ship was the only thing keeping her alive. She could see something, just visible in the distorted glass at the edge of the window, gray and snake-like, flapping to and fro. What the hell was that? the other end of Richard's umbilical, she guessed. She flipped open the comms link to report the situation to Earth. Even if they replied immediately, it would be 30 minutes before she got a response.

With Earth on the other side of the sun, communications were fuzzy anyway. She hadn't had a reply for two days now. Still, she sent in her report, trying to sound calm, matter of fact. She sat and waited for a response, knowing there was no point, but craving some word anyway. With Richard's gone, she was utterly alone. More alone than any other human had ever been. She tried not to think about it. All she heard from the calm was the background hiss of the void.

Damn, mission has been cursed from the start, thrown together in too much of a hurry. That was the problem. Earth had lost contact with the Ares 1 as it neared Mars, and suddenly they needed a rescue mission. Aries, too, wasn't supposed to be commissioned for another year, but they'd fast-tracked it into service, only two of its five pods habitable, sent her and Richards off against all the rules to find out what the hell had happened to the first manned mission to Mars. While she waited, she thought once again about the distress signals they'd received, from Bohana, Achibae, Jones, Edrickson, and Sue on the Ares I. Their frantic, garbled,

screaming had become the soundtrack to her nightmares. What the hell had happened to them? They were the sanest people she knew. The psychological effects of prolonged spaceflight and confinement were well understood, sure. Still, it sounded like all five had flipped at the same. moment. Their insane ramblings replayed in her head now. Their words had been clear enough once the text defused the signal. That was Bohana, screaming. Nothing ever phased Bohana. The skipper of the Ares One was the most laid-back person Kelly had ever met. There'd been trouble from fundamentalists before they blasted off, a religious sect raving about them invading God's domain or some such bullshit. Police said they were dangerous people, fanatics. Instead of ignoring them,

Bohana had met with them, explained the true nature of space from an astrophysicist's perspective. A stupid, futile thing to do, but he'd enjoyed every moment of it, despite the crazy's warnings and threats. And six months later, there he was, screaming all that gibberish into the calm. She looked up. The banging had stopped. Maybe something had worked itself loose. But how could that be? She shook her head to put it out of her mind. She needed to stay focused and she needed to stay busy.

Some mass hysteria had swept through the first ship. Her job was to get out there, find out what had happened, then slingshot back to earth with the facts. Then the banging started again. Alarm thumped through her. It had moved. How could it have moved? It came from over on the port side now.

Her throat squeezed dry. She berated herself for being so jumpy. Was this how it had started on the Ares I? Some minor malfunction, some little sound sending their imaginations off into overdrive? She wasn't going to let it happen to her. It had to be Richards still out there somehow. Maybe he'd managed to use the ambivalves.

to propel himself back to the ship. That must be it. She had to open the hatch for him immediately, haul him inside. They didn't have another EVA rig, but they did have vacuum suits in case the ship depressurized. It would keep her alive for long enough. She wouldn't have thrusters, but she could pull herself along the fuselage, grab Richard's umbilical. It was risky, but they'd trained to do worse. Nothing could go wrong if she tethered herself. The thought of no longer being alone made her heart pounded with excitement. She thought about telling Earth what she was about to do, then decided against it. Probably best the people waiting back there didn't know. She shrugged her way into the suit. They practiced the procedure a thousand times back on Earth. The suit felt uncomfortable,

pinching her limbs and restricting her movements. She acknowledged. She acknowledged. Nort it. With the hatch access sealed off from the rest of the ship, she pumped the air out to avoid explosive decompression. Tethered herself, then instructed the hatch to unseal. When it was open, she pushed herself through. The vastness of space yawned around her. After the cramped quarters of the ship, the sight of it made her dizzy, stretching off to infinity in all directions. She was an insignificant moat in these fathomless gulfs. It felt like the unblinking stars stared at her from every direction. She pushed it all out of her mind.

Focus. She had to find Richards. She faced forwards, looking along the smooth metal curves of the ship, Mars dead ahead. She began to twirl herself around to look for him. The comms array was just to her left. or it should have been, but it had been sheared off the hull by some immense force. A few cables were left, hanging loose from the fusel lodge like dead worms. Her communications had been going nowhere.

How long had they been going nowhere? She pivoted further around, and then she saw it. The vast being that had attached itself to the back. of the Aries regarded her with a single enormous eye. It dwarfed the ship. Its shape and size were hard to grasp against the darkness of space. But the lights of the Aries and the way the being eclipsed the background stars suggested an ovoid bulk, gray and ancient as moon rock. It lashed countless appendages around, tentacles that ended with a curved claw the size of her body. One claw skittered across the smooth hull beside her, trying to gain a hold, trying to break in through the metal.

She knew the sound it would be making in there. Bang, tap, tap, tap, tap, bang. Had it been out here all along, hooked onto the ship while she worked and slept inside, oblivious? She stared at the monstrosity while her mind reeled. No, it couldn't be. Such a creature didn't exist. Could not exist. Some small, logical part of her brain still worked. The prolonged isolation had affected her after all. She'd listened too long to the babbling of the crew of the Ares I, to Bohana's last words. She had to get back inside, seal the hatch, inform Earth. She had to think. But before she could act, A claw caught her, plucking her away from the ship. The line tethering her to the aries snapped as the star creature sent her spinning off into the void. She spun past its enormous eye.

It was lifeless, rudimentary like a shark's, yet she knew the creature saw her, perceived her. She felt a high-pitched screaming sound ring around. in her brain. Kelly screamed wordlessly into her suit calm. But there was no one to hear. Space, no one can hear you scream. You lose your footing, slip off into space, and bam, you're a goner. So while you fly off into the void of space, let's take a quick break to deal with good

footing here on Earth. Unlike in space, here on Earth, we have gravity to contend with. And as a strapping 6-foot-2-inch man, the combination of slippery shoes and gravity means I have a long way to fall back to Earth should I slip and trip. That's one of the reasons I love my Vessy waterproof shoes. Yes, my Vessy Stormburst shoes keep me on my feet and my feet warm and dry. They look great and feel great. All the features of a rubber winter boot build into a sneaker. 100% waterproof, not just water-resistant.

Waterproof and warm, yet lighter and more comfortable than boots. And when I'm trying to keep my face from hitting the ground, their lugged rubber outsole gives me extra grip. Now, you might assume some sort of alien technology made vesey shoes. Well, you're probably right, because they're made from Dimetex, a super soft knit material that keeps your feet warm in the cold but cool in the warmer months. It doesn't feel like it should be waterproof, but it is. That's why I love my vessies, and I'm certain you'll love. love them too. Yes, Vessis are my go-to shoes by my door. Check them out by going to Vessi.com

slash no sleep for a pair of your Vessi shoes. Make your feet invincible this winter by going to V-E-S-S-I dot com slash no sleep for 15% off your entire order. And now, let's return to the toasty warmth of space horror. If the day ever comes that humans reach other planets, encounter alien life forms and even offer them our technology as a peace offering, would we be safe? As we'll learn in this tale, shared with us by author Vincolpémon Desalé, a group of men are stuck in a storm on an alien planet. Their only chance is to avoid the hostile creatures who are using human technology in unintended ways. I join Mike Delgado, Graham Rowett, and Ellie Hirschman in performing this tale.

So be careful what you share with others, especially new life forms. You may have to raise a toast for the hosts. Lightning struck the antenna of the mobile weather station, and a fire broke out. A throbbing red light in the black landscape. Gordon grabbed the fiberglass blanket and climbed onto the roof. The station was about the size of a caravan, and the blanket could cover the fire area, but the gusts of cold wind made the flames arduous to handle. He yelled over the thunder and the hail hitting the metal.

Come on, give me a hand! His head was about to crack. Their instruments had recorded a substantial drop in atmospheric pressure earlier that day, as was often the case on a planet with such a hostile climate. He looked around, a hand on his forehead to shield himself from the aggressive hail, and tried to discern the tall figures he dreaded to see. Lightning illuminated the night in flashes that revealed the thick sea of trees, the inky mountains looming in the distance, and the whirlpool of dark clouds.

They should have left. They had stayed in the same spot much too long. He sought his crewmates. Bill was bent over, hands on his knees, vomiting in the dirt. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, probably passed out from whiskey. Gordon kept stomping the blanket, struggling to keep his balance on the slippery, rounded roof. The fire still made too much smoke. We have to put it out. They'll see us.

A series of hoarse coughs burst out of him. He cursed his colleagues and trampled the blanket faster. His head spun. The fire died. As he got off the roof, he slipped on the hailstones, hit his back, and fell face down on the ground. He pushed himself to his knees, wheezing. Blood poured from his nose. He looked up.

Bill was straight as a rod, staring at something in front of him. His hands quivered against his thighs. Gordon turned his head. They were here. The room was dark and silent, except for Arthur's grunts as he punched the rock wall. You think that's going to help? Arthur stopped boxing to catch his breath.

It hardens me, all right? I wouldn't be ready when those bastards come back. He kept hitting. I don't care how big they are. That don't matter if you're fierce enough. Just punch him in the lower jaw like you do a mad dog. Ugly fuckers! He followed the rugged walls and patted the cold, damp rock.

It's better not to do anything hostile for now. We don't know what they want. Maybe they just want to trade or send some kind of message because we crossed into their territory. They wanted us dead. They could have killed us already. You talk like they're people. You can't reason with animals.

Arthur stumbled and Bill shrieked. That was my leg. It ain't my fault if we can't see shit. They haven't hurt anyone in a long time. Yeah, till now. You surely didn't drag us here to invite us for supper. So what if we got in their territory? Cross some line and they tear you to shreds?

That's politics for you. They had been sent to map out seismic activity, gather soil samples and meteorological data, move the mobile station further, deeper into no man's land. The base wanted to expand and needed Clement's spots for crops. Better to wait until we know what they want. We don't want to do something dumb and make it worse.

Arthur ignored him. He got to a part of the wall with a slight cavity. I'm sure it's the door. He rubbed his hands along it. They just got to open somehow. You think it opens inward or it slides on the side? We tried that already. At least I'm doing something.

Being proactive in all instead of waiting for debt to... What the fuck? What? What? Arthur shook his arm, slapped his hand. Something fell with a slimy sound. A dim red glow revealed a large slug squirming on the ground and died out. My hand's bleeding.

It burns like hell. Cross the fucker. No, no, wait. Gordon crawled and felt around for the slug. When he found it, he squeezed. The heat coming from the slug intensified as it wriggled in his hand. The red glow brightened. Tiny organs throbbed under the translucent, sticky skin.

It's a defense mechanism. How cute. Well, she started it. Gordon let go of the slug and blew on his hand. The room was small, the walls uneven. Bill sat in a corner, arms around his knees. He looked at the slug with curious apprehension. There was no opening in the wall.

Not a single crack for light to seep in, but they knew that already. With the tip of his shoe, Gordon pushed the slug closer to what they assumed was the door. The red glow was fading already. He turned to Arthur. Come on, while it lasts. They scrutinized the cavity, ran their fingers at the junctions. The block of rock in the back of the indentation was smoother, more unified. Arthur crouched and squinted, his nose almost touching the floor.

There's no marks. They won't open inward. The red glow faded. Arthur and Gordon pushed the wall, tried to slide it to the side. Oh, you useless luck on giving us a hand. There's no place for the three of us. They struggled some more. Nothing moved an inch.

Gordon stepped away from the door and leaned against the adjacent wall. Arthur pounded on the rock with his palms, and the dry thumps resented. sounded for a second before being swallowed by the dark. A muffled scream crawled out of his throat, and he let himself slide down the wall, rubbing his head. God damn it! I shouldn't have down the whole bottle.

Believe me, I'm stronger when I ain't hung over. We should have left in the evening anyway, but you pussies want to wait till morning. Scared of a little wind. That's much better. Right, Gordo? He couldn't have known. He's right.

We should have left. Staying in the same spot was a bigger risk than the storm. I made a bad call. Damn right you did. But complaining won't change anything. Complaining's all I have left. So don't you take that away from me? Fine.

Let's complain. We each get a turn. No mood for jokes. I'm not joking. If we blow off some steam, we'll think more clearly. For a while, there was only the distant thunder, accompanied by Bill's nervous tapping. Bill. Why don't you start?

What do you want me to say? Anything. Just get things off your chest. It pisses me off that I'll never get a chance to open my own store. Don't talk like that. Like we'll never get back. Look, when morning comes, the base will send help. They'll see the communications broken and they'll know something happened.

What kind of store? Useful stuff. You know, everyday kind of things. Like we got at the base, but my own. I want to have my own thing. Useful stuff like booze? Yeah, I'd have that. Sounds great.

Yeah, but even if we get back, I still won't have enough saved to make that happen. It ain't worth it. Being miles away from the base, and during those brain squashing storms, and those things. There's no bonus big enough to justify dealing with that shit. Couldn't have been a planet with yellow unicorn.

There's something like that, huh? Then why'd you do it? Still do it for the cash. What'd you think? Might not be enough, but that's still more than I'd make as a mechanic back home. You can always use little more. I'm a big spender.

What can I tell you? Got a shitload of debts, too. I'm tired of being broke. I guess I was kind of bored, too. I'm a fresh airman. When I got here, they didn't tell me we'd stay in the base and barely see the sky. Didn't tell me the kind of shit we'd have to deal with outside, either.

There's a lot of stuff they left out of the brochure. What can you do? Couldn't get a job on Earth anyway. Why not? They call it, assaulting your employer. I call it giving an asshole what he deserved. That shit sticks with you. Arthur spat on the ground.

What about you? What'd you need the extra money for? I've never seen you buy anything in this. shops. I'm saving it. What for? To go back. They stayed silent for a while. Gordon should have never come here. Arthur didn't belong in civilization. Fit better in the middle of a forest with a shotgun and a flask of whiskey, but there wasn't much forest left on earth, nor were there many animals left to shoot. And Bill did not bear well the constantly buzzing and overcrowded earth. The calm, procedural, and restrained living of his new home suited him when his life wasn't threatened.

But Gordon had left on an impulse, an overreaction to a divorce, a lost custody, an attempt to escape feelings that followed him, nevertheless, that were amplified by every added mile between him and them. He had to leave as far as he could, and now that he had, he spent every waking minute wishing he could go back. When they get in here, we all jump on the first one, through that door and beat it senseless. Give it all we got.

That'll make the others think twice. You don't really believe that, do you? Maybe they just don't know what to do with us yet, so we shouldn't give them a reason to kill us. That nonsense yapping again? They've already been pretty fucking hostile, don't you think? Does that feel like good intentions to you? So why not fight back before two weeks to do anything?

Because we're sure to lose. God damn it, that's the spirit. Really bringing much to the table? Billy? If there's one thing I've learned in the hole, it's that it's all about mindset. You act weak, they'll crush you. Hit back, that's how you survive. It doesn't apply here. Nothing applies here. A heavy tromp came from outside the room. More followed, each time closer. Arthur approached the door, but kept his distance. The humans stayed still, silent, listening. The steps stopped. The rock. door rumbled as it slid heavily to the left. Gordon groped on the floor until he found the slug,

squeezed it, and threw it in front of the entrance. The dim light barely revealed the two dark shapes that entered, about eight feet tall, large, very large. Arthur's fist shook against his will. He froze. Everybody did. It happened too fast. Arthur's feet lifted off the ground, frantically kicked the air as he was dragged into the darkness. Gordon jumped to his feet and punched one of the shapes, regretted it immediately. His knuckles scraped on rugged, hard scales, and a wave of pain shot up his wrist. The massive head turned toward him and let out a deep roar. A wave of nasty breath hit Gordon's face. A yellow vertical eye staring right at him let him know who was in control, who would always be in control. Gordon staggered back. On its way out, the shape grabbed the

fading slug, barely bright enough so Gordon could see it get crushed between rows of sharp, teeth-filling jaws the length of a man's arm, and disappear down the bulky throat with a gulp. The door closed, pitch dark again. Arthur's screams receded along with the heavy steps until all Gordon heard was the pounding of his own heart and Bill's quick breathing. Gordon sat back against the rock. He held his throbbing, broken wrist. Blood dripped down his burning knuckles. Had they taken Arthur because he was closest to the door, or had they chosen the toughest one first? They would never know. Gordon had looked for a weakness, found none. He saw only muscles and scales, strength and sharpness, eyes that needed no light, and jaws that could crush bone.

The smell of urine filled the air, bills. Later, the screams resumed. Distant, yet their nature was clear. They were screams of pain. They echoed through the walls, seemed to stretch for hours. And then, silence. Big tough guy yelling like that. You don't screen like that when you get beaten or stabbed.

That was a lot worse. Gordon said nothing, but his mind spun. They had no way of communicating with those creatures, so torturing them for information seemed unlikely. And yet, it had lasted too long for a simple execution. If they had taken them to trade for resources, technology, knowledge, weapons, then why kill them? Maybe Arthur had just passed out.

Maybe he was still alive, and why had they taken only one of them? Maybe they had performed some kind of operation, implanted something in him. Bill was ruminating on the same possibilities, but neither of them spoke. Time did not answer their questions. Arthur never came back. Time dragged by. Thunder still boomed all around. Those storms could last for days.

They listened, shivering, snuffering. getting hungry and thirsty. Say something. What? Talk. I don't want to think. Gordon had nothing. Say something for fuck's sake.

We'll be all right. He cringed at how unconvinced he sounded. Not stupid things like that. You know it's bullshit. Fine. But there's no way to be sure we won't make it either. There was a brief pause. Do you feel the odds are?

in our favor? There was no arrogance in Bill's voice, no defiance. It hurt him to say it. We're on their planet. It's their rules. I'm not going to wait until they come get me. Pounding noises shut them up. The door slid open and something fell with a wet, soft sound.

Then a hard thud. The door shut. A smell of roasted, nearly burnt meat enveloped the room. The men hesitated, but a hard thud. hunger got them crawling forward toward what they assumed was food. Gordon patted the clammy, charred meat, lifted it to his nose, and then dropped it. Why? Bill slid his hand along the large chunk and recoiled. Fucking bastards! I almost ate it! He kicked and banged the nearest wall,

screeching and wailing until he had no voice and no strength left. Gordon threw the meat in the corner near the door. They had left them something else. A vase made of a clay-like material, thick and rough. He picked it up. Crude patterns had been carved on it. A lightning shape, a cloud, or maybe a bush. It was half filled with water.

He shared it with Bill, then smashed the vase on a wall. It shattered into three large pieces, two smaller ones. He took one that could fit in his palm and handed it to Bill. Next time, we go forward. for it. They may be stronger, but we're probably faster. We can't beat them. We don't have to. All we got to do is slip out. When they come back, we stay as far from the door as we can, force them to come across the room. Then we run for it. Give it all we got. If we have to, we aim for the eyes, to destabilize them enough so we have a chance to escape, right? Right. They fell into a grim silence again,

sitting against opposite rock walls, the utter darkness weighing on them. Bill fidgeted, rubbed something on the ground like a rat scratching his way out. Gordon massaged his swollen wrist. He dozed off. He awoke, dripping sweat. The darkness surprised him until he remembered where he was, had he slept for five minutes or hours. Bill? No answer.

Gordon crawled toward him and fumbled around. in the dark until he found his companion. He tapped his shoulder, got no response. A sticky liquid stained his hand. He patted up the chest, the neck, and withdrew his hand with a jerk. Bill's head tilted down. His throat was cut at the jugular on his left side, the wound still dripping. In his dead hand lay the sharpened piece from the face. Gordon crawled back to the opposite wall. He felt like he should sob or get mad, but nothing came. Only fatigue. As horrifying as it was, maybe Bill had made the smart choice.

As he struggled to stay alert, fantasies drifted in and out of his mind. A shotgun in his hands that would blast those monsters oversized heads, reconnecting with his wife, his daughter, reviving Bill and Arthur, bringing them back to the base. He had run away from Earth, had wanted to a little bit. avoid the storm, hadn't put up a real fight when he had the chance. He would next time. But nothing came. As he sank deeper into drowsiness, felt himself getting weaker, his eyes shut and opened, opened and shut. He was still in a dream state when an earthquake brought him back.

He straightened up, found only the same stale darkness. It was no earthquake. Glowing yellow eyes glided toward him. He merely had time to stiffen and reach for a piece of broken vase he never found. Hands seized his ankles and his body dragged across the rock. One of the shapes threw him on its muscular shoulder. Gordon kicked and punched as they carried him through ebony corridors. His head hung next to the elongated foul-smelling jaw that let out a growl as he elbowed his captor's skull. He went for the eye. The beast snorted, and with one, One abrupt pull on his arm, dislocated Gordon's shoulder. A crack.

A scream. Flashes of lightning now illuminated the rocky corridors. The storm was getting louder. They took him into a vast room with a large hole in the ceiling, revealing the tempestuous sky. Thunderbolts drowned the place in icy light at violent intervals. Pure night filled the blanks. In a wide circle, a dozen other creatures performed

an animalistic dance, raised their arms above their heads, then pounded the ground with their hands. They worshipped the storm, roared every time lightning ripped the sky. Five of them gathered around Gordon and tore his clothes off, yanked his shoes from his feet and left him naked, covered with bleeding scratches. They dragged him to a metallic box from which spiked out, long rods that stretched toward the sky. A bolt of lightning struck one of the rods. and the machine buzzed. They shoved Gordon in, shut the door.

He found himself in complete darkness again. The box was tall enough for him to stand, but he could barely extend his arms on the sides. More droning, louder, and the walls closed in on Gordon. He pushed and knocked, but they crept closer. Cold tubes pressed against his bare thighs, arms, ribs until he could barely move.

The tubes emitted dim red. light that intensified along with the buzzing. Then came the heat, a feeble warmth at first, then warmer, hotter, burning. Humans had given them the heater panels as a gift against the cold climate, a peace offering. They had them turned into a giant toaster. The tubes burned their way into Gordon's skin

as the walls squeezed tighter, Tears flowed from his eyes. Every nerve-ending screamed. The stench of his burning flesh filled the box. He struggled in vain. Each move only brought more pain. Outside, the monsters roared with excitement. He could picture them salivating at the prospect of their special feast.

Gordon shrieked in agony and frustration. Not like that. He couldn't die like that. He needed one last chance. at life. Old regrets loomed like scavengers around his dying hopes. His powerlessness filled him with a rage he no longer had the force to express. Then it stopped. The red glow faded. The buzz died out. The walls loosened, and Gordon could push them a little further, enough to move. His melted flesh still stuck to the tubes. A million hooks pulled him from all to

directions, sharp sounds mixed with the storms and roars, faint, very faint. Could it be gunshots? Had they come for him? Had they stopped the machine? Or was it a figment of his failing senses and mind? Livened by the commotion outside, he moved forward, shreds of skin tore from his limbs as he pulled them from the tubes. He'd have to go one at a time, gather all his remaining strength, he freed his right arm. A river of blood poured from his shoulder to his wrist, then the thigh, leaving a red-exposed wound, one by one, until he could drag his flayed, half-roasted carcass forward. One slow step, another, his knees trembled, threatened to give in. He reached the door but failed to pry it open. He tapped weakly on the metal.

tried to scream, but the air came out as a low gurgle. He lay his ear on the door. Their roars seemed angrier, harsher. He slid against the door, dropped to his knees. His hand gripped a tube, but he couldn't pull himself up. A pool of blood formed underneath him. Something hit the box, followed by booming, piercing thunder. Triumphant roars outside.

The buzzing resumed. The mechanism were, and the walls moved inward, and the red glow revived. All he could do was hope. Hope there were really people out there, and that they would win. Hope, the turmoil he had heard, wasn't only the creatures discontent at their machines stopping. Hope he would live long enough to find out. Sleepless tales have dispersed this night. Poetic works from darkness alight.

We leave you with this a question on a theme. Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream? The No Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our creative content manager is Olly White. Our editor-in-chief is Jessica McAvoy. Please visit the nosleeppodcast.com for show notes and more details about the people who bring you this show.

On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep podcast, we thank you for being a supportive season past member and for joining us within the exquisite horror of our reality. This audio program is copyright 2023 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.