I Was Sent to Maintain an Arctic Station. Something Was Already Here.

Hello and welcome back to another episode by Sleepy Pasta. Before you doze off tonight, don't forget to leave a five star review and a comment where you are watching from. Let's begin. 12 years I've been doing this job. 12 years of flying into the middle of nowhere to fix heating systems and generators for research stations that most people couldn't even pronounce the names of.

I figured I'd seen everything the Arctic could throw at me by now. I was wrong. Station Helix sat on an ice shelf about 200 miles north of the Norwegian coast, right above the Barents Sea. The coordinates Donald gave me put it in one of those spots where the sun barely comes up in winter and barely goes down in summer.

January meant we were flying into that weird polar twilight that makes everything look like the world's running on dying batteries. Donald's been flying. Supply runs up here longer than I've been fixing things. Tough little Norwegian guy with hands like leather and eyes that don't miss much. We'd work together maybe six or seven times before this.

He knows his business. But the whole flight up, something felt off with him. Usually Donald talks your ear off about weather patterns or complaints about fuel costs. This time he kept checking his instruments every few minutes and looking out the window like he expected to see something that shouldn't be there. Radio's been quiet, he said, about an hour out from the station.

That was it. No explanation. I tried raising station Helix on the Comm myself. Got nothing back. Not even static, just that dead silence you get when nobody's listening on the other end.

Could be atmospheric interference, I told him. Happens all the time up here. Solar flares, magnetic field weirdness, all kinds of things that mess with communications or maybe their antennas down. That's probably why they called me. Donald just grunted and kept flying.

The station came into view around 3:00 in the afternoon. From the air, it looked normal enough. Three connected habitat modules arranged in a triangle around a central courtyard, just like the blueprints I'd studied on the plain. Solar array gleaming on one roof. Communications tower standing straight.

Landing strip carved out of the ice in a neat rectangle about half a mile from the main complex. Every single light was on everyone. The place was lit up like a Christmas tree in the middle of nowhere. That should have been the first sign something was wrong. Nobody leaves every light burning in the Arctic.

It's wasteful and it screws with your night vision. But I figured maybe they were just being helpful, making sure we could see the runway clearly. Donald brought us down, smooth as always, but I could tell he was tense. His jaw kept working, like he was chewing on something tough. Soon as the skis touched ice, he started scanning the buildings through the windscreen.

No welcoming committee, he said. He was right. Usually when a supply plane comes in, you get at least one person wandering out to see what you brought them. Basic human curiosity if nothing else. But the station just sat there, bright and quiet and completely still.

Donald didn't shut down the engines. That's when I knew something was really bothering him. Fuel costs money, and engine wear costs more money. Pilots don't keep engines running unless they're planning to leave fast. Radio malfunction?

I said again. Happens all the time. Maybe he kept looking at those buildings. But I don't like it. I grabbed my tool case and the spare parts crate from behind the seats.

Give me two hours to check their systems. If nobody shows up by then, we'll figure out what's going on. Donald nodded, but his hands stayed on the controls. Two hours, Not a minute longer. The cold hit me like a wall soon as I open the door -30 at least maybe colder.

The kind of cold that makes your nose hairs freeze on the first breath and turns your spit into ice before it hits the ground. I pulled my hood up and shouldered my gear. I'll keep the engines warm. Donald called over the noise. You see anything strange, you come back running?

I waved him off and started walking toward the main habitat. The snow crunched under my boots with that particular squeak you only get when it's really cold. My breath made these little puff clouds that hung in the still air for a few seconds before drifting away. The silence was the second thing that bothered me.

No wind, no mechanical noise from the buildings, no voices or radio chatter or even the hum of generators. Just my footsteps and the distant drone of Donald's plane behind me. But the heating systems were definitely running. I could see vapor rising from the exhaust vents. And those lights weren't just on, they were bright.

Somebody was drawing serious power. The main entrance was a double airlock system with heavy insulated doors set up for Arctic facilities. The outer door was unlocked, which was normal enough if they were expecting a delivery. The inner door opened into a mud room with hooks for coats and a bench for changing boots.

That's where I first noticed something was really wrong. The boots were lined up perfectly. 6 pairs in a neat row, all facing the same direction, all the exact same distance apart. Work boots mostly with a couple pairs of snow boots mixed in, but they looked like somebody had arranged them with a ruler.

I've been in a lot of research stations. People are usually pretty casual about where they dump their boots. You get tired after a long day, you kick them off wherever they land. But these look like a military inspection was coming. The coats hanging on the hooks were the same way, all facing the same direction, all hanging at exactly the same height.

Even the spacing between them was identical. I kept telling myself it didn't mean anything. Maybe they just had somebody on the team who was really neat. Some people are like that. The inner door opened into the main corridor.

Warm air hit my face and my glasses fogged up immediately. I pulled them off and wiped them clean while my eyes adjusted to the light. The hallway was bright and clean and completely empty. Doors LED off to different sections of the habitat. I could see labels next to each one.

Laboratory, communications, galley quarters, storage. I tried calling out. Hello, anybody here? Supply delivery? My voice echoed a little and then faded into nothing.

No answer. No footsteps, no sounds at all except the hum of ventilation systems and the distant rumble of generators. I figured I'd start with the communications room. If their radio was down, that would explain the silence, and if I could fix it fast, maybe I could reach Donald and tell him everything was fine.

The com room was small and cramped, with equipment racks covering 3 walls, banks of radios and computer terminals, and monitoring gear that probably cost more than my truck. Status lights blinked green across most of the displays. Everything looked operational. I tried the main radio, turned it on, selected the frequency Donald and I had been using, keyed the microphone.

Donald, this is Silas. You copy? His voice came back immediately, clear as anything. Copy, Silas. Everything OK in there?

So the radio worked fine. That killed my easy explanation. Radio's working, I told him. Still haven't found anybody, though. I'm going to check the other areas.

Be careful. I clipped the handheld radio to my belt and left the com room. The galley was next door. A decent sized kitchen with industrial equipment and a dining area that could probably see 20 people. Recent meal preparation, definitely.

Cutting boards on the counter with knife marks that looked fresh. A pot on the stove with some kind of soup or Stew in it, cold but not dried out. Plates and cups set out on the counter like somebody had been getting ready to serve dinner. But the cups bothered me. Six of them, arranged in a perfect line, all exactly the same distance from the edge of the counter, all facing the same direction.

The handles were even aligned. I opened the refrigerator. Plenty of food. Milk that wasn't expired. Fresh vegetables that looked like they'd been delivered recently.

No signs that people have been gone for more than a day or two. The work areas were the same story. Computer terminals still logged in with half finished reports on the screens, Research notes scattered across desks. Coffee mugs sitting next to keyboards like people had just stepped away for a minute. Except the coffee mugs were all positioned at exactly the same angle, and they were all the same distance from their respective keyboards, and they were all facing the same direction.

I checked the personal quarters next. Six small rooms with single beds and basic furniture. Family photos on night stands. Books and personal items scattered around. Beds made with military standards.

Hospital corners so sharp you could cut yourself on them. Every bed was made exactly the same way. Same tightness to the sheets, same angle for the pillows, same way the blankets were folded at the foot of each bed. That's when I really started feeling uneasy. People don't live like this.

Even military people don't make their beds exactly identical unless somebody's standing over them with a ruler. I walked back to the mud room and looked at those boots again. Counted them, six pairs. Checked the quarters again, 6 rooms. Looked at the cups in the galley.

6 of them. So where were the six people? I tried the radio again. Donald, I've got a situation here. The station's empty, but everything looks like people just vanished in the middle of normal activities.

What do you mean vanished? I mean, gone, But all their stuff is here and nothing looks disturbed, and everything's arranged too perfectly, like somebody came through and organized everything after they left. Static crackled for a few seconds, then Donald's voice came back tighter than before. That's not normal, Silas. I know it's not normal.

Maybe you should come back. I thought about it. Part of me wanted to grab my gear and get back on that plane, but I had a job to do, and maybe there was a simple explanation I hadn't thought of yet. Give me another hour, I told him. Let me check the rest of the facility.

One hour, then we leave, whether you're done or not. I clipped the radio back to my belt and stood there in that too bright, too quiet hallway, looking at all that perfect organization. Coffee mugs lined up like soldiers, boots arranged with mathematical accuracy, beds made like somebody was expecting an inspection. That's when it really hit me.

This wasn't just neat, this was staged. Somebody had gone through this place after the people disappeared and arranged everything just so. Made it look normal at first glance, but wrong if you paid attention to the details. The question was who and why and where the hell were the six people who were supposed to be living here?

I figured the computer logs might tell me something. The main terminal sat in what they called the research lab, which was really just a room with too many screens and not enough coffee stains. Place looked like Maya Simpson ran a tight ship. The login screen didn't even ask for a password. That should have been my first clue.

I scrolled through the entries, trying to make sense of the technical jargon. Most of it was routine stuff. Ice core samples, temperature readings, the kind of data that puts you to sleep if you're not into that sort of thing. But then I found the seismic reports. The team had been tracking some weird readings beneath the ice shelf.

Not just weird, Impossible. According to the notes Simpson left, the readings showed hollow spaces way down deep, like caverns or something 3000 meters down, maybe more. That's when I noticed the drilling permits. They were supposed to stop at 1500 meters protocol for this kind of research, but the logs showed they'd kept going way past their limits.

I'm not a scientist, but I know what unauthorized drilling means. It means someone's going to have a very bad day when the oversight committee finds out, assuming anyone was left to have that conversation. The last few entries were all Simpsons. Her handwriting was neat and clear, the kind of person who probably colour coded her file cabinets.

But reading between the lines, I could tell she was excited about something. Maybe too excited. Four days ago, she documented breaking through into what she called a significant subsurface cavity. Her words not mine. The entry was longer than usual, full of technical measurements and speculation about geological formations.

Then nothing. I scrolled down, looking for more entries. The system showed Simpson had logged in three more times after that breakthrough, but she hadn't written anything, Just access the files, stayed online for maybe 10 minutes each time, then logged out. That bugged me a little. Simpson didn't strike me as the type to break protocol and then not document what she found.

I tried the communication system next. The setup looked typical. Satellite uplink, emergency frequencies, all the gear you'd expect at a remote station. The power indicators showed green across the board, but when I tried to raise anyone, all I got was static. I cycled through every frequency I knew emergency channels, supply coordination, even the Weather Service.

Nothing but white noise, the kind of static that makes your teeth itch if you listen too long. The equipment looked fine. All the connections were solid. The antenna array showed no obvious damage from outside. I checked the signal strength indicators twice.

Everything said the system should work perfectly. It just didn't. That's when I decided to check the drilling facility. The building sat about 50 yards from the main station, connected by a covered walkway. That probably made sense when they designed this place.

In a Blizzard, 50 yards might as well be 50 miles. The facility was warm inside, almost too warm. The heating system was working overtime, pumping hot air through vents that rattled like they needed maintenance. The drill itself dominated the space, a massive piece of machinery that looked like it could bore through the planet if you gave it enough time.

I found Maya Simpson standing against the far wall, standing, not sitting, not collapsed, standing upright like she was waiting for a bus. She was frozen solid. I've got medical training, part of the job when you work in places where the nearest hospital is 1000 miles away. I've seen hypothermia before, seeing what extreme cold does to a human body.

This wasn't that. Simpson looked peaceful. Her eyes were open, staring straight at the drill shaft that disappeared down into the ice. No signs of distress, no indication she'd fought against whatever happened to her. Her expression was almost resigned, like she'd made a choice and was OK with it.

That's what got to me, The complete lack of struggle. When someone freezes to death, they fight, they curl up, try to conserve heat, show some kind of survival instinct. Simpson looked like she just decided to take a nap. Standing up, I checked her pulse out of habit, even though I knew there wouldn't be one.

Her skin was hard as concrete, cold enough to burn if you touched it too long. But the facility was heated. Had to be at least 70° in there. People don't freeze solid in heated rooms. Not unless something's very wrong.

I backed away from the body, my hands shaking a little. Not from the cold, from the wrongness of it all. I had to get out of there, had to call for help, get an evacuation team, let someone else figure out what the hell had happened here. I ran back to the communication center, my boots echoing in the empty hallway.

That's when I really looked at the radio equipment. The front panel was intact, all the lights and displays exactly where they should be. But when I opened the access panel on the back, I found empty spaces where components used to be. Someone had removed specific parts. The signal amplifier, the frequency modulator, 2 circuit boards, I couldn't even name.

Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. They'd left everything that made the system look functional while removing the pieces that actually made it work. The kind of sabotage that required real technical knowledge. The missing components were scattered on a nearby workbench, arranged in a neat row, like someone had been organizing them, taking their time.

I stood there staring at the dismantled radio, trying to process what it meant. Someone had deliberately cut off our communication with the outside world, and judging by the dust patterns on the workbench, they'd done it recently. Which meant whoever did it wanted to make sure nobody could call for help. That thought hit me like a punch to the gut.

6 people missing, Maya Simpson frozen solid in her office chair. And now someone had cut our lifeline to the outside world. I felt that familiar knot in my stomach I got whenever a job went sideways. Except this time it wasn't just about fixing a busted generator. I grabbed the radio manual from the shelf and spread the components out in order.

12 years of maintenance work meant I could rebuild most electronic systems with my eyes closed, but this was going to take time. Time I wasn't sure I had. The first step was checking the power supply. I traced the cables back to the main panel and found the connections intact. Good.

At least whoever had done this hadn't completely fried the system. They'd been careful, professional. Even. That bugged me more than random vandalism would have. I was elbow deep in circuit boards when the seismograph started acting up.

The machine sat in the corner of the research lab, a big metal box with a needle that usually drew gentle WAVY lines across a paper roll. Equipment for monitoring ice shifts and tectonic activity. I'd seen them at half the stations I'd worked, but this one was drawing something different. The needle jumped in steady, rhythmic pulses, not the chaotic spikes you'd expect from an earthquake or ice crack.

This was regular, measured like a heartbeat. I walked over and watched the paper feed through the machine. The pattern repeated every few seconds. Rise, peak, fall, rise, peak, fall. Same amplitude every time, same duration.

That wasn't possible. Seismic activity didn't work that way. I'd seen enough of these readings to know natural vibrations were random, unpredictable. This looked like something breathing. Something massive breathing.

I thought about the drilling operation Maya's team had been running. They'd punched a hole straight down through the ice sheet, deeper than anyone had gone before in this region. What if they'd hit something down there? What if that something was still alive? The idea should have sounded crazy, but standing in an empty research station with a frozen colleague in a sabotaged radio, crazy was starting to feel relative.

I pulled up the drilling data on the main computer. The files were still open from Maya's last session. Depth charts, ice core samples, geological surveys. Everything looked normal until I got to the final penetration log. They'd broken through into a cavity, a big one.

The drill had punched through the bottom of the ice sheet and dropped into open space. The logs showed a chamber at least 50 meters across, maybe bigger. The probe had only gone down 30 meters before hitting the end of its cable. But here's what got my attention. The chamber was sealed, completely isolated from the surface.

The ice core data showed the layer above it had been solid for millions of years. No air exchange, no contamination from the outside world. Whatever was down there had been locked away since before humans existed. I was still staring at the screen when the temperature started dropping. The first thing I noticed was my breath.

One minute I was comfortable in my thermal shirt, the next I could see vapor when I exhaled. I checked the thermostat on the wall. 20°C normal for a research station. I went back to the drilling data. When I looked up again 5 minutes later, the thermostat read 15°.

That was wrong. The heating system was running full blast. I could hear the generators humming outside, pumping heat through the vents. A station this size should have been able to maintain temperature even in a Blizzard. I watched the needle drop 12 degrees, 10°, eight.

In 10 minutes. It hit freezing. That was impossible. No mechanical failure dropped temperature that fast. Even if every heating unit in the station died at once, the residual heat would have kept things warm for hours.

This was like someone had opened a door to the vacuum of space. I grabbed my heavy jacket from the supply room and zipped it up. My fingers were already getting numb. Whatever was happening, it was happening fast. That's when I noticed the windows.

Frost was spreading across the glass in patterns I'd never seen before. Not the random crystals you get from normal cold. This was organized, deliberate. The ice formed geometric shapes that looked almost like fingers reaching across the surface, reaching towards something. I followed the patterns with my eyes and realized they were all pointing in the same direction, toward the drilling facility.

My maintenance training kicked in. When systems fail, you check the source. Whatever was causing this, it was coming from the drill site. I grabbed a flashlight and headed for the door. The drilling facility was a separate building connected to the main station by an enclosed walkway.

I'd walked through it earlier, but hadn't paid much attention. Now I wished I'd looked closer. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped inside. They were all there, 23 people standing in a perfect circle around the drill shaft, all of them frozen solid, just like Maya.

But these weren't random poses they'd arranged themselves deliberately. Some held hands, others stood alone, but every single one of them faced the dark hole in the center of the room, the hole that dropped down into that sealed chamber millions of years old. I walked around the circle, checking faces. Researchers, technicians, support staff.

All peaceful, all calm, like they just decided to take a nap, standing up. But their eyes were wrong. Open but empty. Like nobody was home anymore. I stopped at the edge of the drill shaft and looked down.

The hole disappeared into blackness. Emergency lights had been installed along the walls, but they only illuminated the 1st 20 meters or so below that, nothing. The seismograph reading made sense now. The rhythmic vibrations were coming from down there, from whatever lived in that sealed chamber, whatever Maya's team had woken up when they punched through the ice.

I looked at the frozen researchers again, really looked at them this time. They hadn't died here. They'd come back here. These people had gone down into that hole. They'd seen whatever was waiting in the darkness, and they'd climbed back up, changed, empty, ready to stand guard around the thing that had taken them.

They'd gone down willingly. That was the worst part. Nobody had forced them. They'd made the choice themselves, and now they were waiting for someone else to join them. The floor shuttered under my boots, not a little tremor like before.

This was different, deeper, like something massive was stirring way down below the station. I grabbed the workbench to steady myself as another vibration rolled through the building. The tools rattled. A wrench fell off the edge and clattered on the floor. Outside, I could hear the ice shelf making noises it probably shouldn't make, deep groans and cracks that sounded like the whole thing was getting ready to split apart.

That's when it hit me what I've been missing this whole time. The researchers hadn't found some natural cave system down there. They'd broken through something, something that was supposed to stay sealed. I thought about those computer logs again. Maya's careful notes about unusual density readings and structural anomalies in the ice formation.

She'd been documenting something specific, something they've been drilling toward for weeks. Another vibration shook the station, stronger this time, long enough that I had to brace myself against the wall until it stopped. Whatever was down there, it wasn't just sitting in some random hole. It was in something that had been deliberately buried, probably for a damn good reason.

The radio components on the workbench shifted with the next tremor. I stared at them and felt my stomach drop. Someone had taken that radio apart to make sure nobody could call for help, not because they were trapped or scared because they didn't want to be rescued. I figured I had maybe an hour before Knapp got worried enough to radio base camp.

Maybe 2 if he was running late with his other stops. But that wouldn't matter if whatever was down there got to me first. The vibrations were getting stronger, more frequent, like something was waking up down there and testing how much room it had to move. I needed to stop this, not run from it, stop it.

The drill shaft, that was the connection. That was how it had gotten to them and how it was trying to get to me. If I could collapse the shaft, seal it back up, maybe that would be enough. I'd seen the emergency supplies when I first got here. The Arctic Station kit included demolition charges for emergency ice clearing.

Small ones, but enough to bring down a tunnel if you place them right. Problem was, those charges were stored in the lower level, same level as the drill access, which meant getting a lot closer to whatever was pulsing in the darkness down there. Another tremor rolled through the building. This one lasted almost 10 seconds.

Outside, something made a sound like breaking glass, probably the ice shelf developing new stress fractures. I couldn't wait any longer. I grabbed my flashlight and headed for the stairs. The temperature seemed to drop with every step down. By the time I reached the lower level, my breath was coming out in thick clouds.

The storage room was exactly where I remembered it. Metal shelving units lined the walls, filled with the usual emergency supplies, medical kit, food rations, water purification tablets, and there on the bottom shelf, a metal case marked with warning symbols. I popped the latches and looked inside. 6 shaped charges, each about the size of a soup can.

Enough explosive to punch through three feet of solid ice, more than enough to collapse a drill shaft. The detonators were in a separate compartment, simple remote triggers with about 100 yard range. I'd use similar ones before when I had to clear ice jams around intake vents. I was checking the battery levels on the detonators when I heard it.

Footsteps, slow, deliberate steps coming from somewhere deeper in the lower level. Each one made a strange scraping sound, like whoever was walking was dragging something along the floor. I killed my flashlight and listened. The steps continued getting closer. That's when I remembered the bodies.

The six researchers I'd found earlier, frozen solid in that storage room. I'd left them there because moving them seemed pointless, but what if they weren't staying put? The scraping sound was getting louder. I could hear it clearly now. It was ice, chunks of ice falling off something as it moved.

I turned my flashlight back on and pointed it toward the sound. Maya Simpson stood about 20 feet away, still frozen solid, still covered in that layer of frost. But she was up right now, walking. Her eyes were open, clouded over with ice crystals, but definitely looking at me. She took another step forward, more ice flaked off her jacket and hit the floor with little tinkling sounds.

Behind her I could see the others, Stanley, Reed, the rest of the research team, all of them moving with that same slow, deliberate pace. All of them watching me with those frost covered eyes. The temperature dropped another 10°. I could feel it in my lungs when I breathed. My exhaled breath was turning to ice crystals before it even left my mouth.

I grabbed the case of explosives and back toward the stairs. The frozen researchers didn't speed up, but they didn't stop either. They just kept walking toward me with that horrible scraping sound. Something was pressing against my thoughts. Not words, exactly, but something that felt like a voice was telling me to stop, telling me to put down the explosives and walk toward the drill shaft, telling me how peaceful it would be to join them.

I shook my head and kept backing up. Whatever was down there, it was getting stronger. The cold was getting worse. My fingers were starting to go numb, even inside my thermal gloves. The frozen researchers were almost to the stairs now, moving together like they were following some kind of shared signal.

I turned and ran. The pain helped. That's what I figured out in those last few seconds before everything went to hell. Sharp pain cuts right through whatever that thing was trying to do to my head. So I bit down hard on my lip, bit right through it.

Actually tasted copper and salt. Felt the sting spread across my mouth, but my vision cleared up. The whispers got quieter. My hands stopped shaking. 90 seconds on the timer.

I slammed my palm down on the detonation sequence. The console beeped once, then again. Red light started flashing in a pattern I recognized from demolition work back when I was younger. You get that rhythm wrong and people die. The explosives were set deep, 3000 meters down the drill shaft.

I'd place them right where the chamber opened up into that black space. Enough C4 to bring down half a mountain if you knew what you were doing. I knew what I was doing. 85 seconds. The frozen researchers were almost at the control room door now.

I could hear their feet scraping against the metal flooring, slow but steady, like they had all the time in the world. Maybe they did. Maybe time worked different when you were dead but still walking around. I grabbed my thermal coat off the back of the chair, pulled it on while backing toward the emergency exit.

The researchers turned the corner just as I got the zipper up. Maya Simpson looked right at me. Her face was blue, white with frost. Ice crystals had formed in her eyebrows, but her eyes were still moving, still tracking. You can't stop it, she said.

Her voice sounded like wind through broken glass. Watch me, I said 70 seconds. I hit the emergency exit and ran. The corridor stretched out ahead of me, 20 meters to the main exit, then another 50 across the compound to where I parked the snowmobile. If the thing started before I got clear of the blast radius, I'd be paced.

But if I didn't try, those researchers would keep walking around down here forever, and eventually someone else would come to check on Station Helix, some other maintenance guy like me, and the whole thing would start over again. 60 seconds. My boots pounded against the metal flooring behind me. I could hear the researchers following, Not running, just walking at that same steady pace, like they knew something I didn't.

Maybe they did. The main exit was a heavy steel door with three different locks. I'd memorized the combination when I first got here. Protocol. Always know your way out.

My fingers felt clumsy in the thermal gloves. The first lock clicked open, then the second. 50 seconds. The third lock was being stubborn. I could feel sweat running down my back.

Despite the cold, the researchers were getting closer. I could hear their footsteps echoing down the corridor. The lock finally gave way. I shoved the door open and stepped out into the Arctic night. The cold hit me like a brick wall -40 maybe worse.

The wind was picking up, but after the stale air inside the station, it felt good, clean. 40 seconds. The snowmobile started. On the second try. I gunned it across the compound, kicking up a spray of ice and snow.

In my mirrors, I could see the researchers standing in the doorway of the station, just watching. They didn't try to follow me outside. That was something, I guess. 30 seconds. I pushed the snowmobile harder than I probably should have.

The engine was screaming, but I needed distance. The blast was going to be big, bigger than anything I'd ever set off before. 20 seconds. I was maybe 200 meters from the station when the ground started shaking. Not the little tremors from before.

This was different, like the whole world was coming apart. 10 seconds I killed the engine and threw myself off the snowmobile. Landed face first in a snow bank, covered my head with my arms. 5 seconds. The explosion came from deep underground, so deep I felt it in my bones before I heard it.

A rumble that started way down below and worked its way up through 3000 meters of ice and rock. Then the sound hit. It was like standing next to a freight train when it derails. Like being inside Thunder. My ears popped and kept popping.

I couldn't hear anything except ringing for maybe 30 seconds. When I finally looked up, the drilling facility was gone. Just gone where it used to be. There was a crater about 50 meters across. Smoke and steam were rising from the hole.

Chunks of ice and metal were still falling out of the sky. The station itself was tilting. The explosion had cracked the ice shelf underneath it. I watched the whole compound slide, maybe 10° to the left. Windows shattered.

The radio antenna snapped off and fell into the crater. But the best part was watching the researchers disappear. They've been standing in the doorway when the blast went off. The shockwave hit the station like a giant fist. The building jumped, twisted, and the researchers just crumbled like they were made of ice crystals instead of flesh and bone.

One second they were there, the next second they were just dust blowing away in the wind. That was it. They were finally gone. Whatever had been keeping them walking around down here, it couldn't reach them anymore. 3000 meters of collapsed rock and ice between them and that black chamber.

I figured that was enough. The emergency beacon started going off maybe 10 minutes later. I'd forgotten about it until I heard the high pitched wine cutting through the wind. The blast had damaged something in the station's power grid, triggered the automatic distress signal. That was lucky.

I hadn't planned on that part. The beacon was strong, military grade. It would reach the research vessels patrolling the shipping lanes. Someone would come looking. I just had to stay alive long enough for them to find me.

The snowmobile was banged up, but still running. I drove it back toward the station, not too close. The ice was still shifting, but close enough to salvage what I could. Found a Survival kit in one of the outbuildings that hadn't fallen into the crater. Emergency rations, a thermal sleeping bag, flare gun, basic stuff, but it would keep me alive for a few days.

The Russian ship found me 18 hours later. I was half frozen by then. Hypothermia setting in. Despite the thermal gear, I'd used up most of the flares trying to stay warm. When I saw the lights on the horizon, I thought I was hallucinating, but Captain Reed was real enough.

Tall guy with a Gray beard and a heavy accent. Professional rescue operation. His crew had me aboard and wrapped in heated blankets before I could even explain what happened. Station Helix sent a stress signal, Reed said. We are closest vessel.

I told him there'd been an equipment malfunction, explosion in the drilling facility. Everyone else evacuated before I got there. He didn't ask too many questions. That's the thing about rescue operations. You say first, ask questions later.

They kept me in the medical Bay for six hours. IV fluids, hot soup, antibiotics, just in case. The ship's doctor said I was lucky. Another few hours and the hypothermia would have killed me. I felt lucky.

Whatever that thing was down in the chamber, it couldn't reach me anymore. The researchers were finally at rest, and I was alive. But the best part came three days later. I was back in more months by then, sitting in a hotel room drinking coffee and writing my incident report, trying to figure out how to explain what really happened without sounding completely insane.

Then I saw the news report on the television station. Helix had sunk. The ice shelf finally gave way. The whole compound just slipped into the Barents Sea 2 kilometers down. According to the news anchor, the blast had weakened the ice more than anyone realized.

All evidence of what happened down there was gone. The chamber, the drill shaft, even the crater where the explosion happened, all of it sitting on the ocean floor now. Whatever that entity was, it wasn't going anywhere. 2 kilometers of freezing seawater between it and the surface. No way for it to reach new hosts, no way for it to spread.

I finished my coffee and deleted the incident reports I've been working on. Wrote a new one instead. Equipment malfunction, drilling accident, facility evacuated before my arrival stuff. Nobody would ever know what really happened at Station Helix and that was fine by me. Some things are better left buried.