On A 300-Year Generation Ship, The Erased Population Formed A Hidden Society Of Invisible Humans
Galactic HorrorsShow Notes
On a generation ship three hundred years from anywhere, the missing rations have an official name: spoilage. Every quarter the census office writes off a few thousand people's worth of water and oats, stamps the box, and goes home to bed.
Then one census officer finds a man in a gray work shirt who has let himself into a family's quarters at the same minute every night for eleven years. His own files show he has found this stranger thirty-one times, closed every case as spoilage, and signed each one himself. He remembers none of them.
Now the forgetting is coming for him. His name lifts off his own marriage certificate. Men he has worked beside for years welcome him to the department. His wife of twelve years opens their door on the chain and looks at him like a stranger. By morning she has signed a declaration that he does not exist, and Housing's bailiffs are coming to rivet the door shut.
In the ship's hidden spaces, the people nobody sees still light the galley kettles and raise the newborns their mothers forgot. There may be one way to make his wife see him again. The chapel rail is hung with the locked belts of couples who tried it.
🔗 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.