Lunatics Radio Hour
The history of horror and the horror of history.
Lunatics Radio Hour
Lunatics Library 45 - Space Horror Stories: Part 1
Abby is so thrilled to present three haunting space horror themed stories.
Encounter was written and narrated by Nick Young. You can follow Nick on Instagram @zenblues and on X: @NickYou87166031.
Toy Robot was written by S.S. Fitzgerald and narrated by Jon C Cook. Follow S.S. Fitzgerald on X: @S_S_Fitzgerald. And listen to the Fadó podcast to hear more of Jon's dreamy voice on demand.
A Piece of The Sky was written by Warren Benedetto and narrated by Michael Crosa. Check our Warren's website here: https://warrenbenedetto.com.
Get Lunatics Merch here. Join the discussion on Discord. Check out Abby's book Horror Stories. Available in eBook and paperback. Music by Michaela Papa, Alan Kudan & Jordan Moser. Poster Art by Pilar Keprta @pilar.kep.
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Hello everyone and welcome back to another episode of the Lunatics Radio Hour podcast. Lunatics Radio Hour podcast. I'm your host, Abbey Branker, and today I am so excited to present part one of two space horror story episodes. In total, we have five excellent haunting stories that are set in space or have to do with outer space in some horrifying way, and if you missed our two-part deep dive into the history of space horror, then go check that out first, because I think a lot of the themes that I'm going to highlight today when we listen to these stories really can be traced back in a lot of ways to kind of how this genre came together and started.
Speaker 1:This is absolutely one of my favorite parts of this podcast being able to really showcase the talented and incredible writers that are in this community. So let's kick things off strong. Today we have three stories in this episode. I'm really incredibly excited and honored for this first story which comes to us by Nick Young, and it is the first time that we are featuring Nick's work on the podcast, and not only that, he recorded and narrated this story as well. It's really really wonderful. I love it so much. I think once the story starts, you will all understand why I have an affinity for it, but let's let Nick take it away. Encounter written in red by Nick Young.
Speaker 3:He had been pacing the floor before the fire for the better part of an hour, muttering and fortifying himself with brandy. At last he threw himself into the chair at his writing desk and, with an unsteady hand, took up his pen. Days and longer nights of increasing consternation within my soul, but I can no longer go on without revealing what I know, what I myself have endured, and pleading with any horrendous account to heed its warning. As I sit, well past the midnight hour, the fire ebbing and the candle guttering, my inner turmoil is matched by the ferocity of a storm without that batters unabated the brick and stone of my home. The memories of my travail have instigated a pain that pounds relentlessly within my skull, its intensity growing seemingly by the minute. It has driven me to the brink. God help me, forgive my scrawl. As I hasten to record this testament. I pray that my hand does not fail me.
Speaker 3:It is the autumn of the year of our Lord, 1878. My name is Trevor Highsmith, thirty-two years of age and, by profession, a solicitor. Until a fortnight ago, I had resided in Ascot with my wife Lisbeth and our adopted daughter. Ours had been a quiet life. We kept largely to ourselves, with only a small number of friends in our social circle. To my knowledge, we never gave our neighbors any grounds for quarrel. Those who know me or with whom I have had professional intercourse will attest that I have demonstrated a sound mind, being given neither to fantasy nor dissembling. Why am I at pains to enumerate these points? Because, following the extraordinary events I am about to relate, the world shifted on its axis and I fear without the proper preamble, those who read this would be quite forgiven for dismissing my story out of hand as too outlandish to be taken with any degree of seriousness.
Speaker 3:What has ensnared me commenced five months ago. It was a midweek evening. Dusk had fallen as I was making my way home in a hired handsome after dinner with a client in London. Spring flooding had washed away a bridge on the main road to Ascot, requiring the driver to take a more circuitous route through a forested section of the countryside. The night air had grown chill, so I drew a coverlet about my legs and dozed to the rhythm of the horse's hooves and gentle rocking of the carriage. After a time it is impossible for me to state of what duration I awoke with a start, aware that the handsome was no longer moving In the illumination cast down by the full moon.
Speaker 3:I was struck by the odd appearance of the horse, for the animal was frozen in mid-stride. Astonished, I gave my head a vigorous shake, thinking I was yet in a state of somnolence. Satisfied that this was not the case, I turned my attention to the driver. Why have we stopped? I called out. Receiving no reply, I renewed my query "'Driver, what is the meaning of this? Why are we not moving'. Growing annoyed at again being met with silence, I threw aside the coverlet and alit from the carriage. What I beheld was no less arresting than my first sight of the horse, for the driver too appeared in a state of suspended animation, his mouth partially opened, right arm extended, with the rawhide whip curled in mid-crack.
Speaker 3:What was before my eyes at that moment I could not comprehend, so utterly singular was it, and so too my surroundings. We were stopped in a rather large glade encircled by dense woods, and I swiftly became aware of the profound silence in which I was enwrapped. It was not mere quietude, as if the forest creatures had, at that moment, chosen to mute their nocturnal chorus. Rather, this was a complete and total absence of sound, as if, like a vacuum apparatus removes the oxygen from a chamber. It had been totally extracted from the air.
Speaker 3:What was happening to me? I had no time for speculation before I was taken aback once again. The night had been cloudless, the moon at its fullest, but as I stood, a darkness began to descend over the landscape. When I became aware of it, I looked up to behold a huge shadow gliding slowly from west to east, gradually obscuring the moon and coming to rest, I judged, perhaps a hundred feet directly above me. At first I took it to be a cloud, but I soon realized it was no natural phenomenon, for it bore the distinct outline of an object out of the bounds of nature. It possessed a leading edge that was curved, a curvature which continued around its entirety, giving the whole an ovoid aspect, and its size was quite remarkable, overspreading the whole of the glade. Moreover, its appearance was unaccompanied by the slightest sound.
Speaker 3:Again, I had the gravest doubt that I could trust what my senses were communicating to me. Reason told me I was not in the grip of a dream state, unless one of a vividness unprecedented in my experience. Perhaps then, by some means, I had fallen into an alternate reality. In my reading, I had touched upon discussions of the existence of such worlds in one or two journals of speculative science, but had theretofore given them scant credence. It was at that moment I was touched by a new sensation, a prickliness that began with the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. The feeling crept higher, and did so with such force as to knock the hat from my head.
Speaker 3:Simultaneously, as my eyes were trained skyward and here I beg your forbearance a space opened in the inky shadow, a square of medium size, instantly permitting a shaft of cold white light to descend around me and begin to draw me upward. Stunned, but totally immobile, I marked my progress as I was lifted higher and higher toward the opening in the icy, dazzling light. At that moment, consciousness slipped from me After a time of such duration as was impossible for me to determine. My awareness returned, but only dimly. The white light was now all enveloping, palpable, buoying me up in a state of suspension. Since there were no discernible features about me, it was impossible to orient my body in space, though I had the distinct feeling of being supine.
Speaker 3:Now arrives the most fantastical episode of this story. Presently still in a kind of twilight, consciousness hovering above my own, I beheld two faces possessing physiognomies of the most singular sort oval in shape, slate in color and perfectly smooth, with large coal-black round eyes, deep set below an outsized head that appeared to enclose an enormous brain. There was little in the way of a nose, save for two pinhole nostrils. The mouth, such as there was one, was but a thin slit which curved downward at each end. These were striking countenances indeed, and both wore masks of immobility. I detected no movement of any kind upon them. Yet these creatures appeared to communicate with each other, of that I did not doubt. As to the manner, I have no other explanation than that. I did not doubt. As to the manner, I have no other explanation than that they accomplished it through some form of telepathic transmission.
Speaker 3:At length, the figures moved away out of my line of vision, yet I felt they remained nearby, and anon, one of the faces, again loomed above my own. He, it seemed to bore into my eyes with its own, and as it happened, I witnessed a transformation. The pupils of deep cobalt blue appeared within glittering silvery irises that spun in a clockwise direction, emitting crystalline sparks. At that very moment I heard, not without but within my head, the words not without but within my head, the words you are the chosen. Immediately, I became aware of a wholly new sensation, one I am at pains to describe with the utmost modesty. Below my waist, I began to feel a distinct thrilling and excitation normally associated with intimate contact with someone of the opposite sex. How this was being accomplished I could not say, nor had I any inkling why, but it was nonetheless very real. I found myself powerless in its grip, as a crescendo of arousal washed over me and I again slipped into unconsciousness.
Speaker 3:I was jarred back to wakefulness by the carriage coming to an abrupt halt in front of my home. In her harness, I heard the grey dapple snort and paw the brick pavement. "'beggin' your pardon, guv'nor', the driver said apologetically, gingerly. I climbed out of the handsome, sensing the need to get legs back under me. "'tell me, driver'. I began choosing my words with care. "'did anything unusual transpire since we left London'? "'nary a thing, sir Trip, as smooth as silk, as the saying goes'. "'nothing, nothing at all, you say' "'Only the moon and sky above and the road below. "'i paid the man his fare and, with the tip of his cap, he snapped the whip smartly. "'and he and the dappled grey were off, leaving me to stand in utter bewilderment.
Speaker 3:My story now leaps ahead through the intervening months. It is time to bring it to its conclusion. Eight weeks ago, lisbeth and I received word from the Stockbridge Home for Orphans, which is situated on the outskirts of Ascot, that they had taken in an infant girl, a transfer from a similar institution in Wales A year before. To our dismay, after repeated attempts to start a family, lisbeth had been found to be barren and thus began our search for a child to adopt. It was natural to turn to the Stockbridge home first, and we soon established a good relationship with Dr Ian Trent, the director. But though he strove diligently, he was unable to locate a suitable candidate for us. Then, with shocking suddenness, ownership of the home changed hands and Dr Trent was summarily dismissed and replaced by one major retired, simon Cawthorn. The two men could not have been more different. Where Dr Cawthorn, the two men could not have been more different. Where Dr Trent was warm and engaging, cawthorn was icily remote. Still, he pledged that his efforts to find a child for us would be tireless, and indeed they quickly bore fruit.
Speaker 3:Throughout the long months I had striven to put the events of that spring night behind me, ascribing them to a hallucinatory state brought on by fatigue, overwork. Of what had happened I divulged to no one, not even Elizabeth, and as time passed, troubled as I had been, I had largely succeeded in restoring a sense of normality to my life. The good news of the baby's arrival I greeted with joy and hope On the day we were to bring the child home. We arrived at Stockbridge promptly, at the appointed hour, and were ushered into Major Cawthorn's office. Quite out of character, he greeted us effusively and summoned a nurse with instructions to fetch the baby. She came to us unbaptized and without a name, the major said as the nurse entered with the child but we have called her our little Rose, mrs Highsmith. He gestured for the nurse to place the infant in my wife's arms.
Speaker 3:At that first touch, tears spilled from Lisbeth's eyes. Oh, how beautiful, how precious. She declared. And Trevor, I believe she bears the most uncanny resemblance to you, darling. It's almost as if she were your own here. Take her and see for yourself'.
Speaker 3:With that, lisbeth gently put the child in my arms and I looked upon the delicate face of the tiny girl. As I did, I received the shock of my life, for as I gazed into the child's eyes, they transformed from deep brown into the coloration that was identical to that of the creature who had held sway over me the same deep cobalt irises within spinning, glittering pupils. An involuntary cry escaped my lips. "'you see what I mean, dearest', said Elizabeth. I looked at her face, so filled with openness and love. "'was it possible she did not see what I beheld'. "'yes, mr Highsmith, there is a distinct resemblance', major Cawthorn said, his voice dropping, taking on a flat tone. "'you are the Chosen' those words, my eyes snapped to his, and God will judge me if I tell a falsehood. They were identical to the Childs and the Aliens'.
Speaker 3:It was several hours later that I regained my senses. I found myself in my own bed, tended to by my loving wife. "'why, trevor, you gave us such a start fading away as you did in the Major's office? Fortunately, his attendants were able to return you here. Your joy at seeing little Rose was simply too much, wasn't it, darling'. I returned her query with a weak smile and nod of the head.
Speaker 3:"'what could I say to her? How could I tell her the revelation that had struck me like a bolt of lightning? When I looked upon the child, and then into Cawthorne's eyes, it was plain to me that the baby and what had befallen me on the road to Ascot were inextricably linked. I reasoned that the beings who had abducted me were carrying out some ghastly reproductive experimentation. What I feared was a diabolical plan to meld humans with their own race and populate our world with hybrids. To what end, is it not clear? I am convinced that the goal is nothing less than achieving global dominion. No, I could say nothing to Elizabeth, could never confide in her that the beloved infant she rocked to sleep each night was in reality the spawn of a race of beings who were not of this earth. Instead, I have held my peace and striven mightily to place my life onto an even keel. Alas, I faltered.
Speaker 3:As time went on and I struggled with my horrible secret. My behavior grew more erratic. There were uncharacteristic mood swings, bouts of heavy drinking, ravings in my sleep. That alarmed Lisbeth in the extreme. It finally became too much, leading her to leave with Little Rose and take up residence with her parents in the city. Leave with little Rose and take up residence with her parents in the city.
Speaker 3:Now nothing is left but to recount what I know and to give voice to my darkest fears. I pray to the Almighty. It is not yet too late. On the edge of exhaustion and with trembling hand, he laid aside his pen. Aware of the brass knocker on the front door rapping loudly, incessantly, over the tumult of the storm, he rose from his chair, crossed out of his study and made his way down the hall to the home's foyer. Opening the door, he was met by two members of the local constabulary, their bobby helmets and oil-skinned capes drenched by sheets of rain. "'trevor Highsmith' one of the men men asked loudly enough to be heard amidst the howling wind. Yes, you need to come with us sir.
Speaker 3:Come with you. Why? For what reason? It's time, the constable replied, as both men turned to face him directly lest he fail to see their eyes see their eyes.
Speaker 1:I am particularly taken with science fiction stories that take place in the past, and so Nick's story, of course, comes to us from 19th century England, which is such a wonderful and rich setting for a story like this. And I'm sure you figured out that this is not Nick's first rodeo as a writer or as a narrator. So Nick is a retired, award-winning CBS news correspondent. His writing has appeared in dozens of reviews, journals and anthologies. His first novel, deadline, was published in the fall of 2023. He lives outside of Chicago. You can follow him on Instagram at Zen Blues, and we will leave his Instagram and Twitter handles in the description of this podcast so that you can find him very, very easily. And please check out Deadline. It's next on my to-read list. But let's talk a little bit about Encounter, because I love it so much.
Speaker 1:Interestingly enough, a few of the stories in this series have sort of a similar element, which is that the framing of the story is somebody recounting events that happened and telling that to somebody else. And I think you know something we've talked about a lot, especially on our interview episodes with Andy, but this idea of aliens, extraterrestrials, other dimensional beings, whatever we want to call them. But having this otherworldly thing or creature actually come to Earth in modern times would cause people to have total breakdowns because it would totally change their understanding of reality. And while that certainly is still true in 2025, think about how true that would be in the 1800s, right? And how unprepared that person would be before really, the invention of science fiction and a lot of the work that HG Wells did to start painting these pictures and telling these stories that are set in these, you know, places off of Earth or on Earth, but with beings that are not from Earth. So it's just fascinating to think about that too. Right, having an encounter back when you didn't have a reference for what was happening, right, or even like any kind of understanding to say, okay, this is at least similar to something I've seen in a sci-fi movie. It would be totally out of nowhere, it would totally shatter your understanding of the world, the laws of physics, everything around you.
Speaker 1:I also really love one of my favorite books of all time is Valette by Charlotte Bronte, and I love stories from that time period, which this obviously feels reminiscent of, but because they sort of follow people a little bit longer, and even a short story like this, but it's told in a way that's a little bit biographical. I suppose it's a little bit of an epic journey along with a character, and this feels very much like that because, okay, we have this incident, but then we have the aftermath of this incident, which lingers on and on and takes place over time, and, of course, we just love any story where somebody really sort of descends into depression or madness or paranoia or whatever. You know, whatever that character falls into based on what's going on around them, and I think it really is also a character study in some ways, right, and so I love that. There's this richness to this story, and I think, again, you'll see this with all of the stories that we're going to feature in this series.
Speaker 1:But they're genre pieces, of course, and they're space horror and some of them are science fiction, but they are also stories about human people and they all celebrate and work within themes and emotions and dark, dark emotions and feelings that most of us can really relate to and understand. So that's something that I think is a major through line between all of the different stories that we're going to feature on this podcast. And I mean, I don't even have to say it, but Nick's voice is unreal. It's so good, it was so delightful to listen to Such a beautiful timbre, such a beautiful voice, thank you. Thank you, nick. All right, let's play the next one.
Speaker 2:Joy Robot, written by SS Fitzgerald, read by John C Cook.
Speaker 4:SS Fitzgerald, read by John C Cook. Long tension in the dark amplifies sound. The half-days between sleep and the living world cast shadows that can't exist. Long dark shadows which move and consume, muffling screams from the deepest depths inside. Voices echo and sounds become warnings whispering in the paranoid mind. No one can hear you scream here.
Speaker 4:Jason Wu's eyes fluttered open. A blaring noise called him out of the shadows. Black swirls threw off his eyes. A single bright white light focused in on him. His eyes burned looking at it. Jason threw up a hand blocking the light. He felt the thick fabric under him Blinking, burned. But the images came in. He was in the dark.
Speaker 4:Still, the monitor, the source of the light flickered, still overlooking the waiting station outside of the transit system. He had fallen asleep, waiting in the dark, but it didn't look like anything had changed and he would have heard Brent call back if it had the date read December 10th 2137. Still, he didn't have the time up. He had no clue how long he had dozed off. He didn't have the time up. He had no clue how long he had dozed off.
Speaker 4:The Solomon's Habitation Tower was in such chaos he couldn't flip through any of the other feeds. He wasn't sure if they were all down or if it was an issue on his end. The only feed he could get was the transit, so he waited tirelessly. It was difficult to sleep. Fear had made it difficult for everyone to sleep when the disappearances started. There was speculation, lots of speculation. Jason almost didn't believe any of it. Like the rest, when it got worse he had begun to suspect the working Joes. They had been peculiar from the start. When they arrived, he'd been assigned to assist with their care and found it unusual. He was denied access to the cognitive core, especially as there were known issues with other Weyland-Yutani models pressing on the working Joes Looking through the dark in the small, cramped office. Even here the corners lurked with dangerous shadows. Jason, brent and Drew knew better. They had been near one of the auxiliary escape doors. They had been shutting down doors and locked them. He recalled using his favorite number 0340. He used it to lock one in particular.
Speaker 4:Then they ran into Axel, the weird, wiry, bald jerk only caring to get his paycheck and leave. They found him over one of the maps, vandalizing one of the walls with no future in black ink. When they confronted him he pulled a gun on them. They froze. People had become desperate and scared. As they had stood there, axel's face became a look of terror. He scattered off down the hall in a sprint.
Speaker 4:The group turned From one of the higher maintenance shafts. Something was emerging Slime preceded it Like a broken seal. From above it oozed down. A wet silicone smell preceded it. A mass of wet, dark machinery followed, lowering, controlled with ease, touching down with a muffled thud. It rose. Jason only recalled running after that. Brent was close behind.
Speaker 4:As they reached the shuttle, drew stopped dropping to the panel at the transit station. The doors shut. They could see through the port. Drew pressed the lever down, attempting to seal the door between the shaft and the transit station. The thing moved in blinks in the dark, the large industrialized insect hand reaching up around Drew's head. The transit lurched and they were off, never to see Drew again.
Speaker 4:Jason's stomach nodded with anxiety recalling the scene. He wasn't even sure what he had seen. He wasn't even sure how long ago that really was. The only hard figure of time he really had was that his shipping date was a week ago and somehow that seemed like another lifetime now. And now he was alone. Brent was nowhere to be seen.
Speaker 4:Jason had to act and swallowing the truth proved to be harder than swallowing the lump in his throat. Standing, he shut off the monitor From the desk. He picked up the awkward revolver. He had never fired a weapon in his life, let alone in anger at someone. He swallowed something lumpy. Jason straightened his shoulders and neck. If he was going to stay alive, he was going to get help back to as many people as possible. He stepped towards the door. It opened with the sterile automatic hiss and bang most doors used. He stepped out into the hall.
Speaker 4:The Lorenz Sistek Spire was shaped like an L which had fallen on its side, which linked with the Siegson communication area. People in recent days came here only to loot what little was left before attempting to go to the lower levels in the hopes a ship would come and dock. Since they had sealed the doors, most just became frustrated and left. Others would stay, but not for long. Groups had formed and if you weren't in then you were hostile. The marshals, the failures they were, were nowhere to be seen.
Speaker 4:Jason took the stairs heading down sweating bullets with each step. He never realized how dark everything seemed to be, how quiet the area had grown. The silence and isolation allowed his heartbeat to grow stronger and louder. With each step there came a beating like something pounding against the wall. Pausing mid-step on the stairs, he realized it was his own ears pounding away with his heart. He made it to the bottom of the stairs and stopped. To his left was tech support, to the right was the lounge. Bam Jason pressed himself against the wall. He shook Another two gunshots rang out. He waited, just silence. He waited longer, still nothing. He crept slinking with each movement around the corner Down.
Speaker 4:The corridor was dark. A lit map console glowed in the next room. Jason eased himself away from the wall as he made his way down the corridor. In the room containing the map he saw a man crouched in an orange jacket sorting through things in a wall locker and moving them to a bag he had set out. Jason crouched and continued to creep, watchful of the distracted looter. He edged around and proceeded into the next hall and then into the room on the left. More people had been killed out of desperation than he could count. There were several controls in this room. He knew he could use them to lock the doors, cut off routes. The thing could use. He would need a tuner and he knew one had been left.
Speaker 4:In the next room. He passed by the archive's circular room where a black box recovered from some long-lost ship sat. Where a black box recovered from some long-lost ship sat. The next door opened with a whoosh. Jason stumbled back. Center of the room sat Don, a communication technician. He and Jason had been drinking buddies. They often worked with each other as he needed the working Joes to do physical labor and Jason often had to assist the Joes when they had issues. He was kind and dedicated. Had to assist the Joes when they had issues. He was kind and dedicated. Now he sat slumped in a chair. He'd been shot multiple times, the wounds blossoming from his white sweater like roses laid on marble. Jason couldn't really believe the scene. Don was there and he wasn't. Jason again tried to swallow, but his body had stopped producing saliva. Crossing the threshold into the room, the door sealed behind him. He avoided looking at Don, but the accumulating blood made it difficult to avoid the scene which engulfed a quarter of the room.
Speaker 4:Along one of the shutdown systems, jason saw the tuner he sought Picking up the device. He swung right and glimpsed Don's pale, violated face. Jason flinched at the sight. His flinch brought his attention to the right wall. Jason pushed back his repulsion and moved towards the document clipped to the wall. It looked like the rough outline of schematics for a flashbang. Jason and Don had talked about how they could make one for a prank. This was by far too powerful to use playfully. But it was missing something as well. Don must not have been able to finish the designs. Jason took a pen he kept from his pocket and drew in the last piece a sensor node. It would allow the blasting cap to ignite after being thrown the trigger for the device.
Speaker 4:Jason suddenly felt foolish. He had no idea why he had completed the design. He was wasting time. The science part of his brain was just seeking an escape. Leaving, he passed the room with the black box once more and back into the small control station. He put his pistol down on the desk between a coffee cup and a coaster. Under a document he saw the handle to a key card. Seeing the first few letters, don. He didn't bother uncovering it, knowing whose name it would be. He instead focused on what he felt he needed to do get into the communication section.
Speaker 4:Leaving his pistol there, he moved to a nearby desk. He wanted to set a delay on the door to lock once he left. It wasn't hard. But what would prove hard would be setting it so no one could reverse it. Once he left without a key card, he clicked the controls, his fingers gliding over the keys. He wasn't as intimately familiar with every command as he wished. Jason never thought he'd be here long enough to need to know the commands too well. Now he may not get a chance to learn anything new.
Speaker 4:He heard someone running down the corridor. He moved faster, seeking instead to hide the command prompt rather than disable it. The icon fluttered across the video screen and disappeared in pixels. Jason dropped to his knees, crouching behind the desk. He cursed himself for having left the pistol on the other side of the room. Jason heard the person move in. He didn't dare try to peek out to see who it was. But then the footsteps were overshadowed by a heavy thunder thudding down on the paneled flooring, someone extremely heavy, as if wearing ancient armor, barreling down the corridor.
Speaker 4:Papers blew down on Jason. He clung to the small desk, cowering in fear. A primal scream justified his fears. A woman shrieked right next to him. He dared not look, dared not move. A woman shrieked right next to him. He dared not look, dared not move.
Speaker 4:Thrashing, knocked more papers over onto Jason's side. A deep, reverberating hiss came slamming above him. His eyes stretched in terror. A hand clung to the edge. He could only make out the death grip of the fingers clinging to the furniture. The hand loosened and stayed still, yet still. Jason felt a presence, something beyond the fact the woman was there, yet so far from him. The hand slid limply over the side. Jason dared to breathe. A heavy serpent slid through the air where he looked. He gasped. He held his breath that the air he required may give him away. The tail long, slick and armored. Yet it glided through the air with elegance and then whipped away. He heard the heavy, thundering steps again growing farther away until he felt alone again. He counted down his breaths shallow. He pressed away from the desk. Jason saw nothing, as if no struggle or violation of any sort had occurred. He pressed up with his legs and moved.
Speaker 4:Jason wanted out of the room, out of this area. That table and room had become tainted. He wanted off the installation. He went straight for the tech workshop Running. He slammed his keycard against the panel, forcing it open. He pressed through the door before it had slid completely open, turning and waiting impatiently for it to shut again. With the door shut, he pressed his keycard to it again, but this time to access the security setting. He set the door to authorized personnel only. He ran, hoping that the creature wasn't smart enough to use an access tuner or keycard.
Speaker 4:In this room there was only one terminal that stood out, two screens, each green, with a larger green circle in the center on display, a thermos, coffee cup folder and calendar book sat on the white terminal with the simple plain white chair. There was a flight of stairs to Jason's left with an overhang that read Facility Control. He needed to have the safety lock engaged. Once he left the area, he tapped away. Jason had done it often, especially since he had started to suspect the working Joes of malicious intent. God, how he hated. Proving his paranoia correct, he tapped. The only sound he could hear was the clicking of his keys. As he got better faster. Click, click, click, tap, tap, tap, tap, click, click, click, click. The ancient IBM-era sound buzzed on the screen in success. Tap, tap, tap, tap. He wasn't typing anymore. Tap, tap, tap. He wasn't typing anymore. Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Speaker 4:From the center of the room a flood of goo flowed down. Blood in his veins ran cold. From the access point, the long, slender dome emerged. He shivered, it drooped. He crouched in sequence, subservient, unable to breathe. He edged forward the tubular structure not reptilian, not insect, but undeniably primal. An enlarged body came down into the room. The phallic head rose in silence.
Speaker 4:Jason moved towards the corner into a lower-aft ventilation shaft. The creature's back to him. It stood erect, massive, taller than any man he'd met. It moved confident. It is the deadliest thing on the station. It moved with purpose, not a prowler, but stalking, hunting indiscriminately. Jason moved into the shaft, cautious, to avoid his pursuer.
Speaker 4:Jason slipped into the vent. He moved now with a shaking fright in the low, dim confines of the vent. He could see the green glow of the door before him. He pushed up out of the vent and up the small flight of stairs. The doors clicked with a relieving swoosh that when he passed through, knowing they would lock behind him, you do not have an appointment. A gargled voice greeted him, his bowels almost dropping their contents, the milky face of a working Joe before him. I know I'm not here for you this time.
Speaker 4:Jason gave a wide berth around the android. He had no proof. The working Joes were malicious, but they seemed far too resistant for androids. Something was off about them, but he felt relieved. The creature wouldn't be here with a working Joe moving about, he figured, working together to make a better, safer Sevastopol, the broken voice said as he passed. He paid no mind to it. The creepy thing could stand there for all eternity eternity for all he cared. What he did care about was how the creature was able to always sneak up on him. He needed something to detect it, something that could pick up movement in the vents or on the floor Heading down the corridors. He knew of a maintenance room where there were parts he could throw together something. If I had dreams, I would see unicorns. Jason stopped and looked back. The working Joe stood stationary looking at him. The two did not move and the Joe did not say anything further. In their silence, jason shook off the interaction and continued to the maintenance room.
Speaker 4:Inside the maintenance room there was a single workbench. Two off monitors sat in the shadowy corners, dust having collected from neglect. An old metal fan sat on the opposite end rusting and waiting for repairs. A wrench, flathead, screwdriver, lug iron and red monkey wrench sat nearby, abandoned by their previous owner. There was a toy robot whose gears had given out and several loose components scattered about as well from something else that had been taken apart. Opening the bottom drawer, jason found another variety of parts, the best piece being a battery pack.
Speaker 4:Jason took out the battery pack and then went to work on the robot. With the flathead he pried the head off. First he wanted the body. The body had a small LED display screen which he could use. Then he twisted off the arms and legs. The unneeded pieces he tossed to the floor. Behind him he could hear the working Joe pacing up and down the corridor. He stopped and went silent.
Speaker 4:The working Joe's steps sounded heavy, but he could also feel the thudding of his heart. He went back to work, prying open the toy's screen. He removed the small battery and from the box removed a resistor. He would use the larger battery pack to provide a longer power source. Once the resistor was installed, he switched to where the head had been source.
Speaker 4:Once the resistor was installed, he switched to where the head had been. The opening was large enough he could place an HR-110 antenna. Putting a switch on, he could make the antenna receive twice instead of sending a signal that would provide the detection. Sweat poured from his forehead an ice-cold droplet in the hot, claustrophobic room. He could have sworn. He just heard something drop. He waited too scared to turn. He heard a door open and the padded steps of the working Joe moved in the corridor behind him. He went back to work again.
Speaker 4:Jason connected the battery pack into the back. He flipped the device over and switched it on. The screen's background came in black and the old toy's green lines showed several boxes. A circular display came up and a heavy ticking went off. Jason waved it back and forth. A whoop went off, indicating it picked up the movement. The whoop signaled again. The ticking drowned it out. Then again whoop, whoop. Then ticking. It was picking up the working Joe. It sounded off whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop. The working Joe was coming closer down the hall towards him. He set the tracker down as he moved his unneeded tools away. Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop. The working Joe was behind him. He could hear the steps had stopped, but there was a rustling. He was about to turn to face the ugly, milky face when the garbled voice spoke what are you? Jason scrunched his brow at the question. He turned. A large, dark figure towered before him. Jason mumbled, quivering a deep, reverberating hiss coming from within it. Thick, fleshy lips peeled back. His legs shook but would not move. You are beautiful, sounded the working Joe.
Speaker 1:And starkly different from our last story. Right, right, this one takes place in the future and you may remember ss fitzgerald, who has been featured on the podcast before. If you'd like more information about ss fitzgerald, you can head to ssfitzgeraldnet, and I will, of course, leave the links to follow him on facebook, twitter and instagram so that you can stay attuned to all of the new projects that he has coming out. And, of course, this story was recorded for us by our dear, dear friend John C Cook. He just has the perfect voice for a story like this and it made a ton of sense to kind of bring him in for this project. But let's talk a little bit about Toy Robot Again, set, I think, in 2037. So many, many, many years in the future.
Speaker 1:Something about this story also reminds me of moments in Alien, you know particularly. It's really a survival story. It's a story about one person who is really in isolation, and you remember how much we talked about isolation and how even that can feel like claustrophobia in some cases in our space horror history episodes, and so so this felt like a really important piece to include in isolation and how even that can feel like claustrophobia in some cases in our space horror history episodes and so this felt like a really important piece to include in these story episodes because I think it demonstrates that really really well. I also just love the mechanic of modifying this broken toy robot right and using it in this other way, and how simple that is, I suppose, but also how much of a picture it paints with the visual of doing that and tells us so much about this person.
Speaker 1:I love the visual of that toy robot as a motion detector and I find always with SS Fitzgerald stories that they feel like they're part of a bigger story, which I love, because I love short stories obviously and I love knowing that there's more out there and I feel like there is stories obviously and I love knowing that there's more out there and I feel like there is with this piece and I think a lot of his stories do ladder up into larger universes and worlds and pieces and I hope this is one of them, because it feels like there's so much here and there's so much more about this world that I want to understand. I also feel like the ending is so powerful. Ending with you are beautiful, like such a simple but haunting line from the Working Joe. I don't know. I feel like it gives me chills, and I love when stories can really end on something that's either jarring, of course, or poignant, or both, and I think in this case it's both.
Speaker 1:This next story comes to us from Warren Bettadetto, and I'm sure all of you are very familiar with Warren at this point. His work has been featured on the podcast many a time.
Speaker 2:A Piece of the Sky, written by Warren Benedetto, read by Michael Grosso.
Speaker 5:With all due respect, sir, you don't know what you're talking about. There was no way Bakley could have known what that thing was. When he picked it up it looked like a rock. Hell, it was a rock, just a hunk of the asteroid's crust that he grabbed as a souvenir for his kid. There's no way he could have known. It was a nest. I'm telling you. There was nothing, nothing out of the ordinary about this thing. It was small enough to fit into his chest pack. That was all. That's why he picked it up. I think he said something about how Evie would love it. It was tar black with some gold flecks in it that sparkled like stars in the light from his headlamp. He said it looked like a chunk of the universe had broken off right in his hand. That's what he was going to tell Evie that he brought her a piece of the sky. Maybe if he had dropped the rock in his hip pack instead, none of this would have happened. I don't know. But the chest pack it was right up against his body. I think the things must have sensed his body heat, or maybe his heartbeat or his breathing. Whatever it was. Something woke them, something made them hatch, something made them hungry.
Speaker 5:We were talking about Evie when it happened. He was telling me about the latest videos his wife uploaded about how much bigger Evie had gotten in the two years since he'd last been home. She turned two right before he left and now she was celebrating her fourth birthday. That's why he picked up the rock. He promised he'd bring her something extra special as a surprise. He sent her a whole video about it, making it sound like he was on a great adventure, a big deal treasure hunt instead of a non-union mining expedition. God, he loved that kid so much. He just wanted to make her happy and proud. He wanted her to have something to show off to her friends, to prove that her dad really did go to work in outer space. What better way to do that than bring home a piece of the sky? Yeah, I know about protocols, but I hate to break it to you, sir. Nobody gives a fuck about the protocols. Who cares if we pick up a rock or two? It's not like we're stealing, it's just worthless dirt. We do stuff like that all the time. Everyone does, the whole crew. On every new expedition we bring something home with us. I've got a whole drawer full of rocks in my place, ceres Themis, fortuna, juno, two from Juno. Actually, nothing ever happened. Nobody got hurt, right, sir? Until now.
Speaker 5:I'd say it was maybe two or three minutes from the time he put the rock in his pack to when he started to scream. He was behind me when he fell, so I didn't see him go down. I just heard him yell. When I turned around, he was already on the ground rolling on his back and pawing at his visor. I ran to see if I could help. I thought maybe there was a breach in his suit, like maybe he was losing oxygen or something. But it wasn't that. It was worse. It was so much worse.
Speaker 5:They were eating his face, man, dozens of them writhing rust-colored worms, just devouring him alive inside of his helmet. Each one was as thick as my finger, with a segmented body and a mouth full of pin-sharp iron teeth, and I could hear them. His mic was turned on, so there was this sound, this wet, crunching and squelching sound. That was like I don't know, like the sound your boots make in muddy gravel during a rainstorm. But it wasn't gravel. It was bone, skin and muscle and bone, all of it being gnashed into a pulp by those horrible churning mauls, mostly what I heard. Heard, though, were his screams. The mics in our helmets weren't designed for that kind of sound at that volume so the shrieks were so distorted that they barely sounded human.
Speaker 5:The noise made me flash back to the day when my dad took me to visit my uncle at the slaughterhouse where he worked. It was like the sound of dozens of terrified pigs, all of them squealing at once as they realized what was about to happen. It was the sound of abject terror, of mortal fear. Then, just as suddenly as the screaming started, it stopped. Then, just as suddenly as the screaming started, it stopped. The inside of Bakley's visor was so smeared with blood and gore I couldn't see through it anymore. But based on the sound, I could guess what happened. The worms had forced their way into his mouth. I could hear him gurgling, strangling on his own blood, trying desperately to draw a breath as the worms chewed through his tongue and into his throat.
Speaker 5:Bakley was my friend, sir. He was like a brother to me. You have to know that I didn't want to do what I did, but I had no choice. The things were eating him, but they weren't killing him, not fast enough. Anyway, he was in so much pain I guess he would have bled out eventually. But I wasn't thinking about that at the time. I was thinking about Evie, about how, someday she was gonna ask me how her father died. What was I supposed to tell her? I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't tell her what I saw, what I heard. The only thing I could say was that I didn't let him suffer. So, yes, sir, I cut his throat. I had to. It was the quickest way to end it. Believe me, if you were there, you would have done the same thing, wouldn't you?
Speaker 1:There's so much to say about this story. The first thing that comes to mind, though, is that there's elements of this that really remind me of some of those early HG Wells stories that we cited in the very first episode of this series, especially in the Crystal Egg from 1897. And this is certainly not one-to-one, but there's something about having this item right this rock or this crystal egg and it has something unknown about it or something horrible, right that turns out to be. I just also love how Warren's writing is so contained and he creates such a vivid picture and this is always the case with stories that he sends to us but he creates a really vivid picture while really focusing on two people, two or three people in this case, right, you have the complexity of the story being told to us by somebody else through their observations, and then you also have the depths of the relationship between the child and the dad, especially how the dad feels about the child, and the symbology of taking this thing for Evie. There's just so much richness to it on top of the horror, obviously. That is certainly there in this case. And then, at the end, right, this really difficult decision, but the right thing to do ultimately and yeah, I think Warren brings us on this emotional journey and I love genre fiction that can take us somewhere meaningful and feels really relatable even though this is taking place right in some kind of celestial mining colony, we still understand the baseline feelings and the horror doesn't come from necessarily the fact that it's taking place in this really rare setting. It comes from the interpersonal relationships and the terror that's involved, and that's something that's really relatable. And I have to say I think it's really poignant the way Warren ends the story with a question to you know, in this case, the person that the narrator is talking to, but by default it becomes a question for the audience. Wouldn't you do the same? And I think sometimes that's a hard decision, right, and you never know really what you would do until you're in a situation like that. But I like a story that asks us to question and reflect. And of course, we have to shout out to narrator Michael Crosa, who did such an incredible job bringing this story to life, as he always does. Again, thank you so so much to all three writers, to all three narrators Warren Benedetto, nick Young, ss Fitzgerald, michael Crosa, john C Cook. You guys have done such a great job bringing this episode to life and thank you all for lending your generous talents in the different ways that you have. And I'm so thrilled that we have one more episode with two really fantastic epic stories coming for you in a few weeks.
Speaker 1:So the Space Horror Saga continues and, of course, please check out all of the links in the description of this podcast to stay up to date. Check out people's books, support their work in different ways. We really appreciate building a community of writers and narrators and fiction lovers, horror lovers, space horror lovers through these podcast episodes. So thank you all for checking out their work and supporting them in whatever way that you can. I hope everybody is hanging in there as best as you can. We are always here. Check us out on Discord, dm us on any social media. We're especially happy to continue to build community this year in whatever ways. This community needs to evolve and adapt right. Talk to you all soon. Bye.
