A Research Vessel Entered An Ancient Gate. What Lurks Beyond Feeds On Unseen Reality
Galactic HorrorsShow Notes
On the far side of an unmapped gate, reality stays put only while someone is watching.
Lieutenant David Harrell expects Gate Eleven to be another routine survey. Instead, one crewman’s arm emerges from a bulkhead six meters from his body, equipment relocates between blinks, and the route home vanishes. The rule seems simple: keep human eyes on the ship, and its shape holds. Look away, and anything may return altered.
Cameras soon stop counting. Sleep becomes a liability. As exhaustion strips the crew of privacy and trust, the Breton begins growing rooms that were never built into its hull: childhood kitchens, forgotten corridors, private places dredged from memory. Outside, a silent fleet of dead ships lines an endless passage, including one vessel the crew knows far too well.
To escape, Harrell must keep four frightened men alive while the impossible world learns what they remember, what they regret, and where they refuse to look. Every hour makes the ship less recognizable. Every lapse of attention gives the corridor another chance to rearrange them.
🔗 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
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.
For two decades he has torn apart dead frontier colonies, and each one died of something he could dig up: a bad well, a burst dam, a hillside that came down in the dark. Every one except the farm town where half the town slid sideways across flat ground overnight and stopped as neatly as a train at a platform.