Show Notes
The ankle monitor says his client's leg is getting colder. Fifteen years as a county probation officer have shown him every trick for beating a bracelet, so he expects this one buried in ice. Instead he finds his client folded backward under the basement stairs, eyes sealed under amber, mouth sealed over broken teeth. Cold. Not breathing. Somehow still alive.
By dawn, soldiers have fenced in the subdivision. Something has come down a few streets over, and from the bottom of its crater, it knocks. Neighbors arch backward in their beds. Dogs go hairless and sprout joints no dog should have. Teams in white suits walk the lawns with cameras on poles. They never speak. They never help. They only watch.
Then he learns the rule: it only takes you when you sleep.
Trapped with an animal control officer, a burned sound technician, and an old taxidermist who left the Church but kept its night hours, he has to stay awake while the sleepers change in their corners. His own client, first to go under, is furthest along. Outside the wire, the men in charge are in no hurry. They are waiting for everyone inside to close their eyes.
🔗 Official Links:
The only place to get daily and bonus Galactic Horrors stories with no ads or interruptions is Patreon:
📡 Join Patreon: https://patreon.com/GalacticHorrors
Galactic Horrors stories are also available as eBooks on Amazon, with new releases every week:
📚 eBooks: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0H2F5M2B3/allbooks
📖 Written by Galactic Horrors
⚠️ Content Ownership Notice
All stories, artwork, thumbnails, and animations featured on this channel are original creations of Galactic Horrors. I do not accept or feature submissions from other creators. Unauthorized reproduction, redistribution, or re-uploading of any content from this channel, in any form, is strictly prohibited and constitutes a violation of copyright. Legal action may be taken against any parties found infringing these rights.
📜 Fictional Work Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only. The events, characters, and organizations portrayed are entirely fictional, and any references to governmental bodies, entities, or individuals are not intended to represent reality. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real-life events or organizations is purely coincidental.
#scifi #scifihorror #creepypasta
Disclosure: This episode includes AI-generated elements. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
More from Galactic Horrors
Every year since Earth burned, the last human garrison at the edge of space sends its eighteen-year-old boys out in small fighting boats to strike the enemy every child aboard is taught to blame. In thirty years, not one boy has come back. Not one has sent home so much as a bone.
On a dead world beyond the last navigation beacons, an alien city is still at work. Ten-foot beings sow fields of dust with empty hands, walk grooves their feet have worn knee-deep into solid rock, and sit on the steps of a great hall with the calmest faces a veteran surveyor has ever seen. Inside that hall stand rows of bone-white frames.
Two winters ago, something escaped from the laboratory at a secret army research station deep in the northern pines. The scientists vanished the same night. Officially, they are away on fieldwork, and the army now fills the station with punished men.
Every time the truck stops, whoever is standing nearest its back doors begins to slow. Words drag. Faces sag. Then they fall flat and sink into the asphalt, and they keep sinking.
For twenty-two years, an aging captain has fished the rings of a sea that drains endlessly into a vast hole past the horizon, where the catch grows richer the closer a boat dares to go. Each time he comes up short, the cannery that owns his trawler rivets another iron plate to her bow, and the newest one now sits at the waterline. One more short season will cost him his boat.