I Work on an Antarctic Base. We Saw Something Unexplainable.

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. I sat alone in the mess hall of Polaris Research Station, watching the Blizzard rage outside. The wind hurled snow against the reinforced windows with such force that it sounded like someone was throwing handfuls of sand.

The station's sturdy construction dampened most of the storm's fury, but I could still feel occasional vibrations when particularly strong gusts hit the building. My coffee had gone cold. I'd barely touched it since sitting down an hour ago. 2 preoccupied with the news I just received. Five days, At least five days alone in this place while everyone else was already gone.

The satellite phone lay on the table beside my mug. I picked it up again and called Lucy Griffin. She answered on the third ring, her voice crisp despite the slight static on the line. Lucy, it's Jack again. Are you absolutely sure there's no way to Get Me Out sooner?

The storm doesn't look that bad from here. Even as I said it, I watched a particularly violent gust create a complete whiteout beyond the windows. The meteorologists at McMurdo say it's only going to get worse. Jack, We barely got the last transport out before conditions deteriorated. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to sit tight.

I ran a hand through my hair. Five days is the best estimate. Five days minimum could be a week depending on how this system develops. You have plenty of supplies, all systems are functioning normally, and you know the station better than anyone except me. Lucy's tone softened slightly.

I know it's not ideal, but you'll be fine, right. I stared out at the swirling white. I guess I should be grateful I wasn't on the transport that crashed. Exactly. And thank goodness nobody was seriously hurt.

Just focus on your work, keep to your routine, and we'll have you out of there as soon as it's safe. After hanging up, I remained at the table, listening to the strange sounds of the empty station without the usual background noise of 23 other researchers going about their business. I could hear every creak and groan of the building as it withstood the assault of the Antarctic winter.

I decided to walk around. Maybe movement would help shake this odd feeling settling in my chest. The corridors felt different without people in them. Wider, longer. My footsteps echoed against the metal flooring in a way they never had before.

The east wing, which housed the sleeping quarters for most of the staff, was particularly unsettling. The doors, left slightly ajar, revealed hastily made beds and personal items deemed not important enough to take during the emergency evacuation. I passed the rec room with its worn pool table and collection of board games, the gym with exercise equipment now sitting idle, and the library, with books arranged neatly on shelves, spaces designed for groups now empty of everyone but me.

When I reached the biology lab. My lab. I felt a small measure of comfort. This was my domain, where I'd spent most of my waking hours for the past nine months. I flicked on the lights and walked over to the row of incubators where my microbe cultures grew in carefully controlled environments.

At least I have you guys for company, I said aloud to the billions of invisible organisms. My voice sounded strange. In the empty lab, I checked on my latest experiment, an investigation into how certain extremophile bacteria adapted to changes in temperature. The microbes I discovered in ice core samples were fascinating, potentially revolutionary.

They shouldn't have been able to survive in the conditions we found them, yet they thrived. After spending an hour recording observations and making notes, I realized I was hungry. I hadn't eaten since breakfast before the evacuation order came through. Back in the mess hall, I stared at the industrial sized kitchen. Usually we had a rotation of staff who handled meals, but now I had the run.

Back in the mess hall, I stared at the industrial sized kitchen. Usually we had a rotation of staff who handled meals, but now I had the run of the entire facility to myself. I opened the walk in refrigerator and surveyed the abundance of food. With fewer mouths to feed, there would be no shortage of supplies.

As evening approached, a strange transformation began to take place in my mood. The initial uneasiness started giving way to something unexpected, a sense of freedom. I connected my phone to the mess hall sound system and cranked up my music to a volume that would have earned me dirty looks from at least half the research team.

The heavy bass lines echoed throughout the cavernous space. As I moved around the kitchen. I decided to cook something elaborate, something I'd never have time for during normal operations. I found some frozen steaks, potatoes, and fresh vegetables that wouldn't last the week anyway. Why not treat myself?

I hummed along to the music while chopping onions and garlic, occasionally using a wooden spoon as an impromptu microphone. Not bad for a microbiologist, I told myself as I plated the meal, complete with an artful drizzle of sauce that would have impressed our usual chef. I carried my creation to the head of the long dining table, a spot typically reserved for Lucy or visiting dignitaries.

After dinner, I gathered my research materials from the lab and spread them across the entire conference table in the meeting room. No need to keep everything confined to my small workspace anymore. I laid out my notes, sample data, and reference materials in a way that made sense to me, creating a visual map of my research that would have been impossible in the shared space.

This is actually not so bad, I said to the empty room, standing back to admire my work. My voice didn't sound as strange to me now. In fact, talking to myself felt almost natural in the vast emptiness of the station. When fatigue finally caught up with me, I made another impulsive decision. Instead of returning to my standard issue bunk in the researchers quarters, I headed to the VIP suite.

This room, with its private bathroom and queen sized bed was normally off limits to regular staff like me, reserved instead for important visitors from the Antarctic Research Commission or government officials. The bed was already made-up with fresh linens, probably prepared before the evacuation in anticipation of some dignitary who would now not be coming.

I ran my hand over the high thread count sheets, so different from the utilitarian bedding in my regular quarters. I took a long hot shower in the private bathroom, using the fancy soap I found there. The water pressure was better than in the communal facilities and I didn't have to worry about using up all the hot water.

Small luxuries, but they felt significant in the moment. As I settled into the plush bed, I could still hear the storm raging outside, but it seemed more distant now, less threatening. The station's heating system hummed steadily, keeping the bitter cold at Bay. I stretched out diagonally across the wide mattress, simply because I could.

This wasn't how I'd plan to spend the week, but there was something oddly appealing about having the entire research station to myself. No schedules to follow except my own. No sharing facilities or equipment, no compromising on music or meal times or anything else. I reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room Into Darkness.

The only light came from the small emergency LE DS near the floor and the faint glow of monitoring equipment. Five days, I murmured into the darkness. 5 days of peace and quiet. As I drifted towards sleep, I realized that despite the circumstances, this enforced solitude felt like a strange kind of vacation. After nine months of constant companionship in close quarters, having the whole place to myself was an unexpected luxury.

Tomorrow I'd continue my research without interruption, eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, an answer to no one but myself. For now, at least, I was king of Polaris Station. With no one else around, I spent the second day organizing my research data, spreading files and notebooks across the conference table where I've been working.

The Blizzard continued to rage outside, making the windows rattle occasionally despite their reinforced frames. My extremophile cultures needed attention, so I returned to the lab periodically to check on them. Around noon, I set up a satellite call with Craig Guzman, my research partner, who'd been evacuated with everyone else. Jack, how's solitary confinement treating you?

Craig's face appeared on the screen, his bushy beard taking up half the frame as he leaned too close to the camera. It's fine. Quiet. How's McMurdo? Crowded, everyone's on top of each other, waiting for transport to Christchurch.

He adjusted his position, revealing the cramped temporary quarters behind him. Did you check the B12 samples? I was worried about contamination before we left. I nodded. Already done.

The cultures are stable, but I'm seeing something interesting in the deep ice samples. For the next hour, we discussed the bacteria findings, with Craig getting increasingly excited about the survival mechanisms we were documenting. His enthusiasm was infectious, even through the occasionally glitchy connection. This could be publication worthy, Jack, he said, scratching his beard.

The way these organisms adapt to extreme pressure and temperature variations goes beyond anything in current literature. That's what I'm thinking. I'll keep running tests while I'm here. After ending the call, I continued organizing my notes, creating a timeline of our discoveries over the past nine months. The work kept me occupied as the storm howled outside, a constant reminder of my isolation.

That evening, I heated up some frozen lasagna in the mess hall microwave and ate while reviewing research papers on my tablet. As I was walking back to the VIP suite, I noticed the lights flickering in the east corridor. They dimmed momentarily, then returned to full brightness. I stopped, looking up at the ceiling fixtures with a frown.

That was odd. The station's power system had multiple redundancies specifically to prevent such fluctuations. Even during the worst storms, we typically maintained stable power. I made a mental note to check the generators tomorrow. It wasn't urgent enough to venture to the utility section tonight, but definitely something to look into.

The east corridor housed most of the sleeping quarters, and I'd need to pass through it regularly. Back in the VIP suite, I took a hot shower and settled into the comfortable bed with a technical manual on Antarctic microbiology. The combination of the day's work, the warm room, and the dense reading material soon had my eyelids drooping.

I fell asleep with the book open on my chest and the bedside lamp still on. I jolted awake at 3:17 in the morning to a scraping sound somewhere in the station. My heart hammered as I sat upright, the book sliding off my chest onto the floor with a thud. I held my breath and listened intently.

The station creaked and moaned as the wind battered the exterior, but the distinct scraping sound didn't repeat. After a full minute of silence, broken only by the storm, I exhaled slowly. The sensation of being watched crept over me despite being alone in the locked room. I scanned the darkened corners, seeing nothing but shadows cast by the emergency lights that remained on throughout the station at night.

Just the building settling, I muttered to myself, trying to rationalize the sound. The structure was constantly under stress from the extreme weather, and strange noises were common during storms. Everyone at the station had experienced this, the way Antarctic research facilities seemed almost alive, sometimes groaning and shifting against the elements. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease.

I got up and checked that the door was securely locked before returning to bed. Sleep came fitfully for the remainder of the night. In the morning, after a quick breakfast and coffee, I headed straight to the utility section to check the generators. The massive machines hummed steadily, showing no signs of malfunction. I ran a full diagnostic using the control panel, and the system reported normal operations across all Power Distribution networks.

Everything looks fine, I said aloud, my voice echoing slightly. In the cavernous utility room. The flickering lights remained unexplained, but perhaps it had been a momentary glitch that corrected itself. I made a note in the maintenance log anyway, in case it happened again. As I headed back toward the central hub, I took a shortcut through a rarely used corridor that connected the utility section to The West Wing.

Halfway down the corridor, I stopped abruptly. Fresh footprints marked the floor. They weren't mine. I hadn't come this way earlier, and these prints showed a different tread pattern than my station issued boots. The prints appeared to be from standard cold weather gear, but slightly larger than my own feet.

The chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the station's temperature. I was supposed to be alone here. Puzzled and increasingly concerned, I followed the mysterious tracks, moving slowly and listening for any sounds beyond the omnipresent hum of the ventilation system. The footprints LED down the corridor, turned left at a junction, and continued toward a storage area that housed extra equipment.

The trail continued for about 50 feet before something even stranger happened. The footprints abruptly ended at a blank wall. There was no doorway, no vent large enough for a person, nothing to explain where someone could have gone. I placed my hand on the wall, feeling the solid surface. It was just a standard interior wall, painted the same institutional off white as the rest of the station.

I looked up at the ceiling tiles, down at the floor, and all around the area, finding no explanation for how the tracks could simply stop. I crouched down to examine the last footprint more closely. It was clear and complete, not fading or smudged as it would be if someone had tried to hide their trail.

It simply ended, as if the person making it had vanished into thin air. Standing back up, I looked again at the blank wall, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. The footprints were undeniably real, yet their origin and what they might mean remained a complete mystery. I took several steps backward, surveying the entire scene again, hoping for some clue I'd missed.

Nothing presented itself, just footprints that shouldn't exist, ending at a wall where no one could possibly go. I grabbed the satellite phone from the table, my fingers hesitant on the keypad as I dialed Troy's Direct Line at headquarters. The footprints ending at a solid wall kept flashing in my mind, defying all logical explanation.

Harper Troy answered on the 4th ring, his voice crisp and professional. Troy, it's Jack Griffin at Polaris Station. I tried to keep my voice steady. I've got a situation here I need to run by you. Go ahead, Griffin.

The background noise on his end suggested he was in the main security office. I described finding the footprints in detail, their size, the tread pattern different from my boots, and most importantly, how they simply stopped at a solid wall. As I spoke, I paced the length of the communications room, glancing occasionally at the monitors showing empty corridors.

And you're certain they're not your own tracks from earlier? Troy asked after I finished. Positive. Different tread pattern entirely. My station boots have the standard cross hatch design.

These had a circular pattern at the heel and straight lines across the ball of the foot. Troy went quiet for a moment. Have you checked the security footage? Not yet, that was my next step. Good.

Run a full station diagnostic 2 all systems, all sectors. Could be someone access the station during evacuation and the computer logs might show unauthorized entry. His tone remained measured, but I caught the slight edge of concern. Document everything. Take photos of the prints if you can.

Will do. And Griffin? Troy paused. Keep your satellite phone on you at all times. Check in every 12 hours until the extraction team arrives.

After hanging up, I spent the next several hours in the security office methodically reviewing camera feeds from every corridor and access point. The station's security system stored footage on a rolling 72 hour cycle, giving me plenty of time to check the period before and after evacuation. The monitoring room felt claustrophobic after the third hour, walls lined with screens showing empty corridors from multiple angles.

I rubbed my eyes, fighting fatigue as I scrolled through feed after feed of nothing unusual, just empty hallways, occasional glimpses of myself moving between rooms and the expected activity during evacuation. Then I found it, or rather, found what wasn't there a four hour gap in the recordings during the height of the storm, affecting all cameras simultaneously.

The timestamp jumped from 2:12 AM to 6:17 AM the night after everyone had left. I checked the system logs, which indicated a power fluctuation had caused the recording system to reset. I ran the station diagnostic as Troy suggested, but everything came back normal. Power systems, environmental controls, access logs, all functioning within parameters.

According to the computer, nothing was wrong with Polaris Station. By evening, I needed a break from staring at screens. I headed to the hydroponics Bay to check on the station's small garden. The soft hum of grow lights and circulation fans made the space feel alive compared to the rest of the empty station.

Rows of leafy greens, herbs, and even a few tomato plants thrived under artificial light, oblivious to the harsh Antarctic winter raging outside. I checked the nutrient solution levels and adjusted the pH balance, finding comfort in the routine task. The plants needed tending, regardless of mysterious footprints or missing security footage. As I was measuring the water temperature, the lights flickered once, twice, then a sustained dimming that lasted several seconds.

I froze, nutrient meter in hand, watching as the light struggled against whatever was affecting the power. Then everything went black. The sudden darkness felt absolute. The constant background hum of equipment that had become white noise over months at the station fell silent. Even the emergency lights failed to activate.

Not good, I muttered, fumbling in my pocket for the small flashlight I'd started carrying. The beam cut through the darkness, seeming feeble against the perfect black. I swept it across the hydroponics Bay, the plants now looking alien and menacing in the harsh directional light. I needed to check the circuit Breakers in the utility room.

The station had redundant power systems, main generators, backup generators, and emergency batteries. For all three to fail simultaneously was virtually impossible. The beam of my flashlight bounced off the walls as I made my way through the corridors. Without the constant hum of the ventilation system, I could hear my own breathing and footsteps with uncomfortable clarity.

The darkness beyond my light beam seemed to press in, almost alive in its intensity. I found myself walking faster, fighting the irrational feeling that something was following just behind the edge of my light. The utility room was located in the east wing, past the sleeping quarters. As I approached, the temperature dropped noticeably.

My breath began to fog in front of my face, impossible for the controlled environment of the station, even with power issues. I reached the utility room door and hesitated, my hand on the handle. The metal felt unnaturally cold through my skin. Taking a deep breath, I pushed it open. A blast of frigid air hit me like a physical blow.

The temperature inside was impossibly cold, colder than the corridors should ever be. Even with complete power failure, the station's insulation and thermal mass should have maintained reasonable temperatures for days. I swept my flashlight across the room, the beam catching on frost covered equipment and control panels. Everything was coated in a layer of ice crystals that sparkled in the light.

Then my beam found something against the far wall, a human form slumped on the floor. Hello. I called out, my voice echoing strangely in the frozen room. No response. I took a few cautious steps forward, the beam of light revealing more details than my brain struggled to process.

The figure wasn't moving. It sat propped against the wall, head slumped forward completely still. As I moved closer, the reality of what I was seeing hit me. It wasn't someone injured or unconscious. It was a corpse, frozen solid.

I approached slowly, my light revealing more horrifying details. The body wore tattered outdoor gear, not the standard issue station clothing, but heavy duty Antarctic survival gear, now torn and damaged. The face was unrecognizable, mutilated beyond identification, frozen in a grotesque mask. This isn't possible, I whispered, my voice sounding strange in my own ears.

None of it made sense. Everyone had been accounted for during evacuation. The station had been locked down afterward. The nearest research station was hundreds of miles away, and no one could survive the Antarctic conditions long enough to travel that distance on foot. Yet here was a body, a frozen corpse in clothing that didn't match our station supplies with injuries that couldn't be explained by accident or exposure.

My mind raced through possibilities, each more implausible than the last. A stowaway, Someone who had hidden during evacuation. But why and how had they ended up frozen in the utility room with a mutilated face? The horror of the situation crashed over me in a wave. I backed away, unable to look away from the frozen form until my back hit the door frame.

I turned and stumbled into the corridor, slamming the utility room door shut behind me. I leaned against the wall, my heart pounding as I tried to make sense of what I just seen. The flashlight shook in my hand, casting wild shadows across the corridor. I needed to call Troy. I needed to report this.

But first I needed to get away from that room and whatever was inside it. I called Lucy Forrester with shaking hands, struggling to maintain composure as I reported what I'd found. There's a body in the utility room. I said, my voice cracking. A frozen corpse.

The satellite phone trembled in my grip. I leaned against the corridor wall, still trying to process what I'd seen. The mutilated face, the frost covered survival gear, the unnatural cold. Jack, slow down. Lucy's voice came through clearly, despite the storm.

What exactly did you see? I took a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. A dead body in the utility room. It's completely frozen, wearing heavy duty survival gear, not station issued. The face is it's destroyed.

I can't identify who it is, that's impossible, Lucy said firmly. All personnel were accounted for during evacuation. Every single person is here at McMurdo or en route to Christchurch. I know what I saw, I insisted, my free hand clenching into a fist. Someone's dead in our utility room, and there were footprints earlier that ended at a solid wall.

Something very wrong is happening here. There was a long pause on the line. I could almost picture Lucy at her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose the way she did when confronted with an unexpected problem. Listen carefully, she finally said, her voice taking on the authoritative tone she used during emergencies. Do not approach the body again.

Secure the area and retreat to the central hub. Lock all access points between you and the utility section. Do you understand? Yes, I said, already backing further away from the utility room door. What about the power?

The whole station's dark. The backup generator should engage automatically. If not, there's a manual override in the central hub's control panel. But Jack, your priority is securing yourself, not restoring power. I nodded, then remembered she couldn't see me.

Understood. Security personnel will arrive within 48 hours. Lucy continued. I know that seems like an eternity right now, but it's the absolute fastest we can get anyone to you with the current storm conditions. 48 hours.

I repeated the reality of two more days alone, possibly not alone, settling over me like a wait. I'm going to alert Chief Harper immediately. We'll establish hourly check insurance. If you miss even one call, we'll assume emergency protocols. I swallowed hard.

What if, what if whoever left those footprints is still in the station? Lucy's voice softened slightly. Jack, the isolation can play tricks on the mind, but if you truly believe there's an intruder, arm yourself with something from the emergency stations. A fire axe, perhaps, and stay in a secure location, right? I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

I'll head to the central hub now. Call me the moment you're secure. And Jack, be careful. The line went dead. I tucked the satellite phone into my pocket and pointed my flashlight down the dark corridor.

The beam shook with the trembling of my hand. I took one last look at the utility room door, then turned and moved quickly toward the central hub. The corridors felt different in the darkness, longer, more confining. Every shadow seemed to shift and move just beyond the reach of my flashlight. I passed through the east wing, past the sleeping quarters where I'd first heard the scraping sound, and forced myself not to run.

Running would only feed the panic building inside me. When I reached the central hub, I immediately went to the main control panel. My fingers found the manual override for the backup generators, but nothing happened when I flipped the switch. Whatever had caused the power failure had affected the backup systems, too. That shouldn't be possible with our redundancies.

I moved methodically around the hub, securing each access point. The station had been designed with safety in mind, with heavy doors that could be locked from either side. I sealed off every entrance to the central area, checking each lock twice. At the emergency station near the communications room, I grabbed a fire axe from its mount on the wall.

The weight of it in my hands provided a small measure of comfort. I retreated to the communications room, dragging a heavy metal cabinet in front of the door. After locking it inside, I placed the satellite phone on the desk where I could reach it easily and set my flashlight upright to cast light across the room.

The fire axe rested across my knees as I sat in the swivel chair facing the barricaded door. Every sound made me tense. The normal creaks and groans of the station, sounds I'd grown so accustomed to over nine months that I rarely noticed them now seemed sinister and deliberate. The wind howling outside could have been hiding footsteps.

The occasional shifting of the building under the storm's pressure might have been someone testing a door handle. I called Lucy as promised once I was secure. Our conversation was brief. She confirmed security was preparing for immediate deployment. Once weather permitted, she instructed me to conserve my flashlight battery and try to rest if possible.

Rest seemed impossible. Throughout the night, I remained awake, alert to every noise each Creek sent, adrenaline coursing through my system. Twice I gripped the axe handle so tightly my fingers cramped. The hours crawled by in darkness, marked only by my hourly check insurance with Lucy, which grew increasingly terse as fatigue set in.

By morning, though, without windows in the communications room, I only knew it was morning from my watch. My eyes burned from exhaustion. The flashlight had dimmed considerably. Lucy's call came right on schedule. Security team is prepping, she said without preamble.

Whether models show a possible window late tomorrow. How are you holding up? I'm fine, I lied, just tired. Jack, I need you to do something. The security footage, you said there was a gap during the night.

The footprints appeared. Yes, from about 2:00 to 6:00 in the morning. I want you to review the footage again, focus specifically on the utility room area. Look at the days leading up to the evacuation. If someone unauthorized is in the station, they had to enter somehow.

The thought of leaving my barricaded position made my stomach clench. Can't this wait until the security team arrives? Time is critical here. If there's an intruder, we need to know how they got in. The team needs this information before they arrive.

I agreed reluctantly and ended the call. It took me several minutes to work up the courage to move the cabinet away from the door. I listened at the door for a full minute before unlocking it, axe raised and ready. The corridor outside was empty and silent. I made my way to the security office, checking around every corner before proceeding.

The room was as I'd left it the day before. Monitors dark without power. I connected my flashlight to the emergency power port on the main console, sacrificing illumination for the ability to access the system. The security system had its own backup power supply, enough to maintain data but not to keep cameras running during an outage.

I logged in and began reviewing footage, focusing on the utility room area as Lucy had instructed. I went back to the day of evacuation and started there, working my way backward. For hours I searched, eyes straining in the dim light of the monitor. Most of the footage showed nothing. Empty corridors, occasional staff members going about routine tasks.

I was about to give up when something caught my eye. Two days before the evacuation, during the height of the commotion, as people prepared to leave, a figure in cold weather gear appeared in the corridor leading to the utility section. The timestamp showed it was during shift change, when most staff would have been at dinner or handover meetings.

The person moved with purpose, clearly familiar with the station layout. They dragged something heavy behind them, a large duffel bag or perhaps a wrapped bundle. I leaned closer to the screen, trying to make out details. The figure's face was obscured by a hood and what looked like a scarf or mask. What struck me most was how the person moved directly to the utility room access panel and entered a code without hesitation.

The door opened, they dragged their burden inside, and the door closed behind them. They remained in the utility room for 17 minutes before merging without the heavy object they've been dragging. I checked the access logs for that time period. According to the system, no one had entered that code yet. I just watched someone do exactly that.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. Whoever this was knew our access codes and had some way of bypassing the security system. This wasn't an accident or a misunderstanding. Someone had deliberately infiltrated the facility. I rewound the footage and watched it again, looking for any identifying features.

The person was roughly my height, but moved with a slight limp. Their cold weather gear wasn't standard issue. It looked heavier, more specialized, similar to what the corpse had been wearing. I checked other cameras, trying to track the figures movements before and after their visit to the utility room. They seemed to know exactly where the blind spots in our security system were, appearing and disappearing at the edges of camera coverage.

My satellite phone rang, startling me so badly I nearly knocked it off the desk. It was Lucy, checking in again. I found something, I said, without greeting. Footage from two days before evacuation. Someone in cold weather gear dragging something heavy into the utility room.

They knew the access codes, Lucy. They knew how to avoid the cameras. There was silence on the other end of the line. Lucy, did you hear me? I heard you, she said, her voice tight.

Did you recognize who it was? No, their face was covered, but they moved like they knew the station, like they'd been here before. Send the footage to my secure server immediately. I can't. There's no power for the main systems, just enough emergency backup to view the local files.

Lucy swore under her breath. Copy the file to a portable drive. The security team will retrieve it when they arrive. I found a flash drive in the desk drawer and copied the video file. As I did, a thought occurred to me.

Lucy, who has access to our security codes, the full set, I mean station leadership, security personnel, and emergency response team members. She answered promptly. Why? This person entered the code for a restricted area without hesitation. No trial and error.

They knew exactly what to input. What are you suggesting, Jack? I hesitated, not wanting to voice the suspicion forming in my mind. I'm not sure yet, but I think we need to consider the possibility that this wasn't an outsider. Focus on securing yourself.

Lucy said, her tone making it clear the conversation was over. The team will be there as soon as humanly possible. After ending the call, I stared at the frozen image on the screen, the figure disappearing into the utility room with their heavy burden. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something obvious, something right in front of me.

I ejected the flash drive and tucked it into my pocket alongside the satellite phone. The fire axe felt heavier in my hand as I prepared to return to my barricaded position in the communications room. Whoever had entered that code and dragged that burden, which I now strongly suspected was the frozen corpse, had moved through Polaris Station with the confidence of someone who belonged here.

And for all I knew, they might still be here with me. I frantically scrolled through more security footage, my eyes burning from staring at the screen for hours. The grainy black and white images flickered as I searched the digital archives, looking for any other signs of the mysterious figure who had dragged something into the utility room.

Come on, show yourself again, I muttered, clicking through camera feeds. Most of the footage showed empty hallways and vacant rooms, the normal emptiness of an Antarctic research station. But then I caught it, a flash of movement at the edge of camera 12, which monitored the junction between the West corridor and the storage area.

I rewound the footage and slowed it down. There a dark shape moving quickly along the wall, staying in the camera's blind spot. The figure seemed to know exactly where to walk to minimize exposure. I followed the movement across the multiple camera feeds, catching only glimpses. A shoulder here, the back of a hooded head there.

In Camera 8, which covered the entrance to the laboratory wing, the figure paused for just a moment. They turned and looked directly at the camera. My breath caught as I leaned closer to the screen. Despite looking straight into the lens, their face remained obscured by the hood of their cold weather gear and what looked like a dark face covering her mask underneath.

Who are you? I whispered to the screen. The satellite phone rang, startling me so badly I nearly knocked it off the desk. I fumble with it, checking the display before answering. Griffin.

I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Jack, this is Amber Torres. Her voice was calm and professional. I'm conducting your scheduled check in, how are you holding up? I took a deep breath.

Amber, listen carefully. The situation here is worse than we thought. I found more footage of someone moving through the station, someone who knows our blind spots and security protocols. And there's still that frozen body in the utility room wearing non station gear. A pause followed.

When Amber spoke again, her tone had shifted slightly. Jack, I want you to think about something. You've been alone in an isolated research station for nearly 48 hours now. The sudden evacuation, the storm, the power failures, these are all significant stressors. What are you saying?

I asked, though I already knew. I'm saying that isolation can cause perceptual disturbances. Hallucinations and paranoia are documented responses to extreme isolation, especially in polar environments. We call it winter over syndrome. I gripped the phone tighter.

I know what winter over syndrome is, Amber. I've been stationed here for nine months. This isn't that. I'm not hallucinating A corpse or security footage. Jack, you reported finding a body in a room that should be empty after following footprints that ended at a solid wall.

The power is out, you're alone, and you're under extreme stress. These are textbook conditions. For For what? For me losing my mind, I cut in. I know what I saw, there's someone else in this station with me and there's a dead body in the utility room.

I have the footage right here showing someone dragging something heavy into that room 2 days before evacuation. Amber's voice remained measured. Finn Clark will be with the extraction team. He'll conduct a full medical evaluation when they arrive. For now, I want you to focus on your breathing.

Try to get some rest, if you can rest. There could be a killer in this station with me. Jack. The extraction team will be there soon, just stay in your secure location. Is the door still barricaded?

Yes. I said, glancing at the heavy cabinet pushed against the door. Good, keep it that way. Try to conserve your flashlight battery. We'll check in again in one hour.

After ending the call, I sat in the dim light of my flashlight, frustration building. They thought I was hallucinating, maybe seeing things that weren't there. But the footage was real. The body was real. The footprints were real.

I turned back to the security console, determined to find more evidence, but the screen suddenly flickered and went dark. The emergency power that had been running the security system had finally given out. No, no, no, I muttered, pressing buttons uselessly. The entire system was down. I sat in the darkness, my flashlight the only source of light.

The satellite phone showed no signal, the connection to the outside world temporarily lost as the storm interfered with transmission. With no other options, I returned to the communications room, dragging the heavy cabinet back in front of the door. After entering, I positioned myself in the corner facing the door with the fire axe across my knees.

My flashlight sat on a shelf pointing at the door, but dimmed to conserve battery. Hours passed. I checked the satellite phone repeatedly, but the signal remained unavailable. The storm must have intensified, blocking transmission. I was completely cut off.

The temperature in the room dropped steadily as the heating system remained offline. I pulled my jacket tighter around me and tried to ignore the growing cold. At what I estimated was about two in the morning, I heard it. Deliberate footsteps in the corridor outside. Not the random creaks and groans of a building settling, but the measured pace of someone walking slowly toward my door.

I grabbed the fire axe and stood up, my muscles stiff from sitting in one position for so long. The footsteps stopped right outside my door. I know you're out there. I called, my voice sounding strange in the quiet room. I'm armed and I've barricaded the door.

Security is on their way. I raised the axe, gripping it tightly with both hands. Identify yourself now, or I swear I'll swing this axe the moment that door opens. The silence that followed was absolute. I stood frozen in place, waiting for a response, for any sound that would tell me what waited on the other side of that door.

I watched the door handle turn slowly, the metal catching the dim light from my flashlight. My knuckles went white around the axe handle as I raised it higher, ready to swing. Jack. The voice from the other side was distorted, like someone speaking through cloth or damaged radio. Yet underneath the distortion lay something vaguely familiar that I couldn't quite place.

You need to let me in. My heart pounded in my chest. I kept the axe raised, my eyes fixed on the handle that continued to rotate with agonizing slowness. Who are you? I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady.

Identify yourself right now, or I swear I'll swing this axe the second that door opens. The handle stopped turning. A pause followed, filled only with the sound of my own ragged breathing. The body you found in the utility room, the voice said. It's Leon Barker.

I blinked, trying to process this information. Barker. The researcher who left last year. He didn't leave, the voice replied, lower now, almost a whisper. He found something in the ice cores, something they wanted hidden.

My mind raced. Leon Barker had been part of the previous research team. I'd replaced him when he supposedly transferred to another station. What are you talking about? What did he find Doctor Pritchard's work?

The voice said. The samples from the deep core, Level 12. The organisms aren't just extremophiles, Jack. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the failing heating system. Doctor Pritchard was the lead researcher before Barker.

His name appeared in some of the older files I'd reviewed, but I'd never met him. Pritchard, I said. He transferred out over a year ago. A bitter laugh came from the other side of the door. Is that what they told you?

No one transfers out. They're eliminated when they get too close. I shook my head, though whoever was speaking couldn't see me. This is crazy. Who are you?

How do you know about our research? Slide your ID under the door. I demanded. Right now, prove who you are. Another pause.

I heard shuffling on the other side, then saw movement in the thin gap beneath the door. A small plastic rectangle appeared, sliding across the threshold and stopping halfway into the room. I kept the axe raised in one hand while I crouched down, stretching to reach the card without getting too close to the door.

My fingers closed around the plastic edge and I pulled it toward me. Standing back up, I angled my flashlight to illuminate the ID card. The beam revealed a standard Antarctic Research Commission identification badge. The photos showed a young man with shaggy dark hair and intense Gray eyes. The name printed beside it read Park Maverick, Research Assistant.

The issue date was from last year, the expiration date still six months in the future. I stared at the badge in disbelief. Maverick Park had been mentioned during my orientation. He died in a snowmobile accident three months ago while collecting samples outside the station perimeter. There had been a small memorial service before I arrived.

His photo was still on the memorial wall in the rec room. This isn't possible. I whispered, turning the badge over in my hand. It looked authentic. Holographic security strip, proper lamination, the slight wear around the edges that came from daily use.

Maverick Park is dead. I was still staring at the badge when a deafening whale cut through the silence. The station's emergency sirens activated, their piercing sound making me jump. The sirens meant one thing, The extraction team had arrived. I looked back at the door, expecting some reaction from the person on the other side, but there was no sound, no movement of the handle.

I stood frozen in place, the axe in one hand and the ID badge in the other as the sirens continued their rhythmic wailing. Then I heard them. Multiple voices calling out heavy footsteps moving through the facility. The extraction team had somehow made it through the storm. Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by confusion.

How had they arrived so quickly? The last update said they were at least a day away. Jack Griffin. A woman's voice, authoritative and clear, called from somewhere in the station. This is Security Officer Torres.

Respond if you can hear me here, I shouted. I'm in the communications room. E corridor. The footsteps grew louder, more urgent. I heard radio chatter, the professional, clipped exchanges of a trained security team sweeping the facility.

Griffin, are you alone? The voice was closer now. I I looked at the door, then back at the ID in my hand. There's someone outside my door. They have information about Leon Barker.

The footsteps quickened. Stay where you are. Do not open that door. I heard the security team approaching from both directions in the corridor, their tactical movements precise and coordinated. There were commands shouted, positions called out, then silence.

Griffin. The voice was right outside my door now. This is Caroline Torres, Antarctic Research Commission security. We're going to open this door. Are you armed?

I have a fire axe, I called back. Put it down and step away from the door. I hesitated, then placed the axe on the floor. Keeping Maverick's ID tight in my hand, I backed up against the far wall. Ready.

I called. I heard the sound of something heavy being moved. They were clearing my barricade from the outside. The cabinet scraped across the floor as they pushed it aside. Then the door swung open.

Security officer Caroline Torres stood in the doorway, tactical gear pristine despite the storm conditions. Weapon at the ready, but pointed down. Her eyes scanned the room quickly before settling on me. Behind her, I could see other team members securing the corridor in both directions. Where is he?

I asked, looking past her. The person who was just outside, he gave me this. I held up the ID badge. Torres frowned, her eyes moving from my face to the badge in my hand and back again. She stepped into the room, signalling to her team.

There's no one else in this corridor, Griffin. We swept the entire east wing before approaching your position. That's impossible. I insisted. He was right outside.

He slid this under the door not 2 minutes ago. I thrust the ID badge toward her. Torres took the badge, examining it carefully. Her expression remained neutral, professional. But I saw something flicker in her eyes, concern, confusion.

I couldn't tell which Maverick Park, she read aloud. She looked back at me. And you're saying someone gave this to you just now from the other side of that door? Yes. He told me about Leon Barker.

The body in the utility room. He said Barker found something in the ice cores, something about Doctor Pritchard's research. Torres exchanged a glance with another security team member before turning back to me. Jack. She said, her voice softer now.

We need to get you out of here. The medical team will evaluate you once we're airborne. But what about the body and the person who was just here? And this? I pointed at the ID badge in her hand.

We'll investigate everything, she assured me, though her tone had changed. She was speaking to me the way one might address a child or someone in distress. Right now, our priority is your safety. Our priority is. I stood in the communications room, Torres in front of me, her team securing the area beyond.

The fire axe lay on the floor where I'd placed it. The satellite phone sat silent on the desk, and in Torres's hand was Maverick Park's ID badge, the only proof that I wasn't losing my mind. I LED Finn Clark through the empty corridors of Polaris Station, my flashlight beam cutting through the darkness ahead of us.

The fire axe hung loosely in my other hand. It's wait, a reminder of the night's events. It's just around this corner. I said, my voice echoing in the silent hallway. I found the body slumped against the wall.

Finn followed close behind me, his medical kit slung over his shoulder. He'd arrived with the extraction team less than an hour ago, and Torres had assigned him to accompany me to verify my discovery while she coordinated the rest of the team's search of the station. And you're certain about what you saw? Finn asked, his tone neutral but clinical, sometimes in isolation.

Especially during power outages. I know what I saw. I cut him off, stopping at the utility room door. It was a body frozen, wearing survival gear. The door handle felt normal now, not the bone chilling cold I'd experienced before.

I pushed it open, stepping aside to let Finn enter first with his flashlight. The utility room looked nothing like I remembered. The generators and environmental systems stood intact, covered in a layer of frost that sparkled in our flashlight beams, but otherwise undamaged. No ice crystals hung from the ceiling, no extreme cold beyond the general chill of the powerless station, and most importantly, no body slumped against the far wall.

There's nothing here. Finn said, sweeping his light across the room. I pushed past him, moving to the exact spot where I'd seen the corpse. This doesn't make sense. He was right here, wearing expedition gear.

His face was. I trailed off, running my hand along the empty wall. Finn watched me with a careful, assessing gaze. Jack, when was the last time you slept properly? That's not relevant, I said, continuing to search the room.

Someone moved the body. The same person who was outside my door, The same person who gave me Maverick Park's ID. Let's go check the security footage you mentioned, Finn suggested, his voice taking on that careful tone medical professionals use when they think you're unstable. If someone moved a body, it should be on camera.

Back in the security office, I connected my flashlight to the emergency power port on the console. Just as I had done before. The screens flickered to life, bathing the small room in a pale blue glow. I'll show you, I said, navigating to the footage I'd reviewed earlier. There was a figure moving through the station, staying in blind spots, and then there's footage of someone dragging something heavy to the utility room 2 days before evacuation.

I pulled up the timestamp and camera feed I'd examined before. The screen showed an empty corridor. I frowned, rewinding and playing it again. Still nothing. That's impossible, I muttered, navigating to other camera feeds, other timestamps.

Each one showed either empty corridors or me moving through the station alone. Someone tampered with the footage, or perhaps, Finn began. No, I interrupted, pulling Maverick Park's ID from my pocket. This is real. This proves someone was here.

I handed him the badge. Finn examined it carefully. This does appear to be an authentic station ID, he admitted. We'll need to investigate how you came to possess it. Torres appeared in the doorway.

Extraction transport is prepped and ready. We need to move now before the next storm system hits. I turned to her. What about the investigation, the body, the security footage? We're taking digital copies of all station records, she replied.

The Commission will conduct a full investigation, but right now our priority is getting everyone safely to McMurdo. Everyone. I asked. You didn't find anyone else in the station. Torres and Finn exchanged a look I couldn't quite interpret.

No, Jack, you were the only one here, just as reported in the evacuation manifest. I wanted to argue further, but exhaustion was finally catching up with me. The adrenaline that had kept me alert through the night was fading, leaving me hollow and drained. Fine, I said, pocketing Mavericks ID before anyone could take it from me.

Let's go. The extraction team moved efficiently, escorting me through the station to the transport vehicle waiting outside. I took one last look at Polaris Station as we pulled away, it's dark silhouette barely visible through the swirling snow. Whatever secrets it held would remain buried for now. Six months later, I sat in a comfortable chair in Doctor Karen Gilbert's office at Antarctic Research Commission headquarters in Auckland, New Zealand.

Outside her window, palm trees swayed in a warm breeze, about as far from the Antarctic winter as one could get. How are you feeling today, Jack? Karen asked, her dark eyes watching me over her reading glasses as she reviewed my file. The same. I replied, running my finger along the arm of the chair.

The medication helps with sleep, but it doesn't change what happened. Karen nodded, making a note in her tablet. And you're still convinced that everything you experienced at Polaris Station was real? The footprints, the body, the mysterious figure. I know how it sounds, I said.

I've had six months of therapy to understand the psychological explanations. Winter over syndrome, isolation induced hallucinations, sleep deprivation, stress response. I leaned forward. But none of that explains Maverick Park's ID badge. Karen set her tablet down.

The commission's investigation did confirm the badge was authentic, yes, but it could have been left behind during evacuation or even from before Park's reported accident. And what about the inconsistencies they found in Doctor Pritchard's research data? I pressed the discrepancies in Park's death report. Those are still under investigation, Karen said carefully. The Commission takes such matters seriously, which is why they've been thorough in their review of the incident.

I sat back in my chair. We've been through this conversation many times over the past months. Karen was professional and empathetic, but I could tell she still harbored doubts about my account. I received notification this morning, Karen said, changing the subject. You've been cleared to return to limited research duties.

I looked up, surprised. Really. She nodded. Your cognitive assessments show no impairment. Your psychological evaluation indicates you're stable.

Despite your continued belief in your experience, The Commission feels your expertise is too valuable to waste. But there's a catch, I guessed. Karen smiled slightly. You won't be assigned to remote stations again. Your work will be based here at headquarters or at one of the larger research hubs with full staff compliments.

I nodded, having expected as much. What about my research on the extremophiles from the deep ice cores? Level 12 specifically. That's actually part of your new assignment. Karen said.

The Commission wants you to continue that work, but under supervision and with a new team. They found something in those samples, didn't they? I asked. Something that validates what Maverick told me. Karen's expression remained neutral.

I'm not Privy to the details of ongoing research, Jack. I'm just your psychiatrist. She closed my file and removed her glasses. What I can tell you is that the Polaris incident has been classified. It's been filed away with other unexplained occurrences in the commission's history.

Meaning they don't want it discussed. I translated. Meaning they acknowledge that not everything has a neat explanation, Karen corrected gently. Science is about exploring the unknown, after all. I thought about that as I left her office, walking through the bustling headquarters building where researchers and support staff went about their daily work.

None of them knew what I'd experienced in those frozen corridors. None of them had heard the voice outside my door or seen the body in the utility room. The Commission might have classified the incident, but they hadn't dismissed it entirely. The inconsistencies in the research data, the discrepancies in Park's death report, my continued work with the Level 12 samples, these were acknowledgments, however small, that something unusual had occurred.

As I stepped outside into the warm New Zealand sunshine, I thought about the secrets that might still lie buried beneath Antarctica's ancient ice. Whatever truth was down there, I was now part of the official effort to uncover it, even if I was the only one who knew what we were really looking for.