We Were Mapping the Arctic Ice Fields. Something Horrifying Found us.

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 checked my compass for the third time in 20 minutes. The needle held steady, confirming we were still on course across the vast, wide expanse of the Svalbard ice fields.

The wind cut across my face as I looked up to survey our progress. Eight of us spread out in a careful formation, each step measured against the unforgiving landscape. Weather's holding steady, Sam. Blake called out, walking over to me with his monitoring equipment tucked under his arm. His Auburn beard was already collecting frost at the edges.

Barometric pressure's stable. We should have clear conditions for at least the next 12 hours. Good. We need to make the most of it. I pulled my glove tighter and studied the horizon.

The endless white stretched before us, beautiful and deadly in its simplicity. About 50 yards ahead, Donald knelt at his sampling site, his slight frame hunched over the ice as he carefully extracted another core. His glasses kept sliding down his nose and he pushed them up with his wrist, hands too busy with the delicate equipment to adjust them properly.

How's it looking? I asked when I reached him. Donald looked up, excitement visible despite the layers of cold weather gear covering most of his face. The stratification in these samples is remarkable, Samuel. I'm seeing climate patterns that could give us new insight into the warming trends.

I nodded, letting him return to his work. Donald's passion for ice was almost comical until you realized how much his research mattered. August stood nearby, adjusting the satellite communication equipment. His tall frame bent over the device as he fine-tuned the settings with practiced precision signals. Strong today.

August reported without looking up. I've already sent our morning coordinates back to the research vessel. Any word on when they'll circle back to our position? I asked. Captain Fox says they'll maintain the planned schedule unless we signal otherwise three weeks from now, weather permitting.

I moved on, watching the rest of my team as they worked. Leon and Jason were setting up one of the portable weather stations, their movements efficient despite the bulky Arctic gear. Leon's face was flushed from exertion, but he worked with focused intensity. Jason spoke to him in quiet tones, occasionally gesturing toward the equipment further out.

Leo and Jasper were mapping the perimeter of what would become our base camp, carefully placing markers to define our safe zone. Leo moved with deliberate caution, testing each step before committing his weight. Jasper followed, recording the GPS coordinates with methodical precision. Dennis, the youngest and newest member of our team, struggled slightly with the heavy equipment cases.

His face showed a mix of determination and anxiety as he tried to keep pace with the others. Need a hand with those? I asked, approaching him. Dennis straightened quickly. No, Sir, I've got it.

He adjusted his grip on the cases, clearly not wanting to appear weak on his first major expedition. Make sure you pace yourself marathon, not a Sprint out here. I helped him position one of the cases more securely against the ice and drop the SER Samuel works fine. He nodded, a quick smile flashing across his young face before he returned to his task with renewed focus.

By late afternoon, we'd established our base camp. 8 high tech tents formed a rough circle with the equipment and supply tents at the center. The portable weather station stood at the perimeter, its sensor is already collecting data on the harsh Arctic conditions. I called everyone together for a briefing before we settled in for the evening.

The team gathered in a tight circle, breath fogging in the cold air as the light began to fade. Before we break for dinner, I want to go over crevasse safety protocols again. I said, looking at each face in turn. I know most of you have heard this before, but out here, complacency kills.

I pointed to the ice field surrounding us. We've mapped the known crevasses in this area, but new ones can form without warning. Always check the ice ahead of you, watch for discoloration, depressions, or changes in the snow pattern. Never travel alone, and always wear your harness when moving beyond the marked perimeter. Dennis nodded earnestly, absorbing every word.

The others listened with the respectful attention of experienced professionals who knew these warnings weren't just formalities. If you hear cracking or feel the ice shift under your feet, drop to your stomach immediately to distribute your weight. Call for help, but don't move unless the ice is actively breaking beneath you. I paused, making sure my words sank in questions.

When no one spoke up, I nodded. All right, let's get some food and rest. Tomorrow we start the real work. As the team dispersed toward the cooking tent, I walked toward the edge of our camp to check the perimeter one last time before darkness fell completely. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the ice, the Arctic evening stretching out the day's light.

I approached one of the marked crevasses about 30 yards from camp. It was a significant fissure, maybe 3 feet across at its widest point, dropping down Into Darkness. Standing near the edge, I peered down into the blue black depths. The ice walls caught the fading light, reflecting it in strange shifting patterns. That's when I heard it.

Something strange, almost like a voice rising from the depths. Not words exactly, but a sound that didn't belong to the wind or shifting ice. I leaned slightly closer, straining to hear nothing. I shook my head, attributing the sound to exhaustion from our long day of travel And set up. The Arctic played tricks on your senses sometimes.

The isolation, the constant wind, the way sound carried across the ice, it could make you hear things that weren't there. Back at camp, I retreated to my tent after a quick meal with the team. The small space was cramped but efficient, with my sleeping bag laid out next to a small folding desk where I kept my journals and equipment.

I sat down and opened my journal, recording the day's coordinates and notes about our progress. Outside, the wind picked up, whistling around the tents reinforced walls. The familiar sound was almost comforting after so many expeditions. But then the wind changed. The whistling became something else, something that sounded distinctly like my name being whispered through the air.

Samuel. I froze, pen hovering above the page. It came again, barely audible above the natural sounds of the Arctic night. Samuel. I set down my pen and listened intently.

The rationale part of my brain catalogued the possibilities, Wind moving through ice formations, the tent material flexing, equipment settling in the cold. But it had sounded so distinctly like a human voice. The tent flap rustled, and I jumped slightly before Blake's head poked through. Hey, Samuel got a minute. He stepped inside, bringing a blast of cold air with him.

What's up? I asked, closing my journal. Blake looked uncharacteristically unsettled, rubbing his gloved hands together. Did you hear something just now, outside? I hesitated, studying his face.

Blake was our meteorologist, A practical man not given to imagination or nerves. If he was asking, he'd heard something too. Probably just the wind. I said, finally, offering the explanation I'd been trying to convince myself of. It can sound strange when it moves through the ice formations, creates weird acoustics.

Blake nodded slowly. Yeah, that makes sense. The way sound carries out here can be disorienting. He didn't look entirely convinced, but seemed willing to accept the explanation anyway. I wanted to let you know I've set up the automated weather alerts.

If conditions change significantly during the night, the system will wake us. Good thinking. Get some rest Blake. Tomorrow's going to be a long day. After he left, I sat in silence for several minutes, listening.

The wind continued its natural patterns, but the whisper like quality had disappeared. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that what I'd heard wasn't just the wind. The sound had been too distinct, too directed, almost as if someone had been standing just outside my tent, saying my name. I ran my hand over my face, feeling the stubble that had already formed.

After just one day away from proper facilities, the Arctic demanded focus. Letting my mind wander into fanciful territory wasn't just unprofessional, it could be dangerous. I returned to my journal, making a few final notes before preparing for sleep. But even as I zipped myself into my thermal sleeping bag, I remained unconvinced by my own explanation.

The Arctic held many secrets beneath its frozen surface. What I'd heard might have been the wind, but deep down I knew it could be something else entirely. I woke up to the sound of Blake's weather alert beeping from somewhere outside my tent. The steady electronic tone pulled me from a fitful sleep where whispers had chased me through endless ice fields.

My watch read 6:15 in the morning. Blake should have turned that off by now. I unzipped my sleeping bag and pulled on my boots. The temperature had dropped overnight and my breath made small clouds in the air of my tent. I grabbed my parka and stepped outside.

Blake. I called, scanning the circle of tents. The morning light cast long blue shadows across the pristine white landscape. No movement, no response. I walked to Blake's tent and called his name again before unzipping the entrance.

His sleeping bag lay empty, equipment neatly arranged, but no sign of him. His outer gear was missing from the hooks. He'd gone out properly dressed, at least. I checked the weather station, where the alert continued its monotonous beep. The monitoring equipment showed a slight pressure drop overnight, nothing alarming.

Blake's clipboard hung from its usual spot, with readings from midnight, but nothing after Donald. I said, kneeling at the entrance to the glaciologist's tent. You up? A rustling sound came from inside before Donald's face appeared, glasses Askew. Samuel, what time is it?

Early, Blake's missing. Get dressed and meet me at the center tent in 5 minutes. I moved quickly from tent to tent, waking everyone within minutes. The team gathered in the equipment tent, sleep rumpled but alert. Blake's not in camp.

I said. His last weather reading was at midnight. We need to find him quickly. I pulled out the site map and laid it flat on the table. We'll search in pairs.

Donald and August check the eastern perimeter. Leon and Jason take the western edge. Leo and Jasper head north. Dennis will stay with me at base camp to coordinate. What about South?

Leo asked, pointing to the map. That's where the marked crevasse is. I said. Donald and I will check there after you all head out. Everyone takes radios, extra batteries and emergency kits.

Stay in constant contact. Report in every 15 minutes whether you find anything or not. The teams grabbed their gear and headed out, their breath fogging in the cold morning air. I turned to Dennis set up the communications array. I want a channel open to each team at all times.

Dennis nodded and began unpacking equipment while I gathered my gear. Donald appeared at the tent entrance, fully dressed, with his ice axe in hand, ready to check the southern perimeter. I nodded, shouldering my pack. Let's go. We walked in silence toward the crevasse I'd examined yesterday.

The wind had picked up, blowing loose snow across the surface in wispy patterns. As we approach the marker flags, Donald stopped suddenly. Look, he said, pointing at the snow tracks. Clear boot prints LED from camp directly toward the crevasse. We followed them carefully, noting how straight and purposeful they appeared.

No wandering or hesitation. These are definitely Blake's, Donald said, kneeling to examine. One size and tread pattern matches boots. The tracks LED right to the edge of the crevasse, which looked wider than it had yesterday. Donald and I peered down into the blue black darkness.

They just stop. Donald said, his voice tight. No signs of slipping or struggle. It's like he walked right up to the edge. And he didn't finish the sentence.

I lay flat on my stomach and edged closer, shining my flashlight into the depths. The beam disappeared Into Darkness without illuminating a bottom. Blake. I called down. My voice echoed, bouncing off ice walls.

Blake, can you hear me? We waited in silence. Then I heard it. Not Blake's voice, but a whisper rising from below, too faint to make out words. The sound made the hair on my neck stand up.

Did you hear that? I asked. Donald looked at me, his face pale. Hear what? I was about to answer when the radio crackled.

Bass, this is August, Eastern perimeter clear. No sign of Blake or any tracks heading this way Over. I press the talk button. Copy that. Continue your sweep in a wider pattern over.

The other teams reported similar findings. No tracks, no signs of Blake anywhere else in the search area. We need to get a rope and climbing gear. I told Donald I want to take a closer look at this crevasse. Back at camp, I called an emergency meeting.

Everyone gathered in the equipment tent faces grim. Blake's tracks lead directly to the southern crevasse. I said. We found no signs that he fell accidentally. The tracks just stop at the edge.

What are you saying? Jason asked. That he jumped in? I shook my head. I don't know, but I need to ask.

Has anyone heard anything unusual? Anything at all? The tent went quiet. Leon and Jason exchanged glances. What?

I pressed. Leon cleared his throat. Last night I thought I heard someone Call My Name. It woke me up. Me too, Jason said quietly.

Around 2:00 in the morning. I thought it was one of you guys needing something, but when I looked outside, no one was there. I heard it too. I admitted like whispers. Dennis looked between us, eyes wide.

What does this mean? What happened to Blake? I don't know, I said honestly. But we need to be extremely careful. From now on.

No one goes anywhere alone, not even to take readings or use the bathroom. We implement a buddy system. Anyone leaving the immediate camp area wears A harness and rope tether. You think the ice is unstable? Leo asked.

I think we need to take every precaution. I replied. August, contact the ship, inform Captain Fox about Blake's disappearance and ask if they can move up our extraction date. August nodded and headed to the communications tent. I spent the rest of the day organizing search parties to rappel into accessible crevasses near camp.

We found nothing. No sign of Blake, no equipment, nothing to indicate what had happened to him. For the next three days, we maintained our research schedule, but with doubled safety measures. Everyone wore location trackers, and I enforced strict buddy protocol. The mood in camp grew tense, with little conversation during meals.

At night, the wind seemed to carry whispers that no one wanted to acknowledge. On the morning of the 4th day, Donald didn't appear for breakfast. His tent was empty, his sleeping bag cold. His research partner, August, looked stricken. I swear he was there when I fell asleep, August said.

We were in the same tent, just like you ordered. We organized another search. August found Donald's ice axe near a small crevasse about 100 yards from camp. The rope attached to it had been cut. Not torn or frayed, but sliced cleanly through.

This doesn't make sense, August said, holding up the severed rope. Why would he cut his own safety line? I had no answer. We searched until darkness made it impossible to continue, then retreated to camp. I ordered everyone to sleep in pairs, in the largest tents, with someone on watch at all times.

That night, lying in my sleeping bag with Dennis snoring softly nearby, the whispers came again. At first they sounded like the wind, but gradually they formed into words. A woman's voice, soft and familiar, called my name. Samuel. Come find me, Samuel, I sat up, heart racing.

It was my mother's voice, my mother, who had died when I was 14. Mom, I whispered. Before I could stop myself. Dennis stirred. You say something?

No, I said quickly. Go back to sleep. I lay awake until dawn, listening to the voice fade in and out, calling me to come deeper into the ice. When morning finally came, I stepped outside to find August's tent empty. His radio harness and cold weather gear remained neatly packed, but he was gone.

I gathered Leon, Jason, Leo and Dennis in the equipment tent. Their faces showed the same exhaustion and fear I felt. We're aborting the mission, I announced. We pack essential equipment and samples only. We move out in two hours.

No one argued. What about August and the others? Leon asked. We'll report their location for a proper search and rescue. I said, knowing how hollow it sounded.

But we need to get the rest of you to safety. We worked quickly, packing sleds with core samples and critical equipment. As we prepared to leave, Leo called me over to the edge of camp. Samuel, look at this. He pointed at the ice around us.

What I had taken for normal cracks and fissures now appeared in distinct patterns, lines radiating outward from our camp like a spider's web. These weren't here yesterday, Leo said. They're spreading. I stared at the pattern, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. The cracks seem to pulse slightly, as if breathing.

Everyone move now, I ordered, my voice sharp with sudden urgency. Grab what you packed and head north. We're leaving immediately. As the men rushed to obey, I took one last look at the web of cracks. They seemed to be widening even as I watched, and from deep within them I could have sworn I heard laughter.

I pulled the sled with our remaining supplies, my eyes fixed on the path ahead as we retreated from the camp. The ice beneath our feet looked solid enough, but I knew better now. We moved in single file, me at the front, Leon behind me, then Jasper with Dennis taking up the rear. Each of us wore a harness with safety lines connecting us.

Keep moving. I called over my shoulder. We need to cover as much ground as possible before dark. The wind picked up, cutting through my layers. I checked my watch.

We've been moving for nearly three hours. My muscles burned from the constant exertion, but I couldn't allow us to stop yet, not when we were still too close to that camp. Samuel. Jasper said from behind me, his voice oddly quiet. I glanced back to see him standing completely still, head tilted as if listening.

His face had gone slack, eyes unfocused. Jasper, we need to keep moving. I said, tugging on the safety line between us. He didn't respond. His eyes darted around, searching for something none of us could see.

Do you hear that? He asked, his voice barely audible over the wind. Leon and Dennis looked at each other, then back at Jasper. I felt my stomach tighten. There's nothing to hear, Jasper.

I said firmly. It's just the wind. Jasper shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. It's Emma, my daughter. She's calling me.

I dropped the sled handles and moved toward him. Jasper, listen to me. Emma is back home with your wife. She's not here. His eyes suddenly focused on mine, filled with absolute certainty.

She needs me, Samuel. She's down there. Before I could grab him, Jasper unclipped his safety line with practiced speed. I lunged forward, but he was already sprinting back the way we'd come. Jasper.

I shouted, running after him. Stop. Leon and Dennis followed, all of us racing across the ice. Jasper moved with shocking speed, as if drawn by an invisible force. About 50 yards back.

He stopped at what looked like a hairline crack in the ice, no wider than my thumb. I'm coming, baby. He called out, his voice filled with joy. I was 20 feet away when Jasper dropped to his knees and impossibly squeezed himself into the narrow fissure. It was like watching someone fold themselves into a paper thin space.

His shoulders, which should never have fit, somehow compressed and disappeared. His legs followed and in seconds he was gone. I skidded to a stop at the crack, dropping to my stomach and shining my light into the darkness. The beam revealed nothing but a narrow shaft that quickly angled away from view. Jasper.

I called down, my voice echoing. Jasper, can you hear me? Leon and Dennis arrived beside me, both breathing hard. What the hell just happened? Leon asked, his voice shaking.

That's not possible, he couldn't fit through there. I ran my gloved hand along the edge of the crack. It was barely wide enough for my arm, but he did. Dennis whispered, his face pale. I saw him go in.

How did he do that? I stood up, my mind racing. We need rope. We need to try to. Samuel, Leon said, grabbing my arm.

Look. The crack was sealing itself, the edges drawing together like a healing wound. Within seconds, it had narrowed to a line so thin it was barely visible. No, I whispered, dropping to my knees and digging at the ice with my gloved hands. No, no, no, but the ice was solid.

Jasper was gone. Dennis backed away, his eyes wide with terror. We need to go now. I stayed frozen for a moment, staring at the spot where Jasper had disappeared. Then training kicked in.

I still had three team members to protect. Now 2. He's right, I said, standing up. We keep moving N toward the extraction point. Leon looked like he wanted to argue, but the wind was picking up and darkness would come soon.

We returned to our sled and gear in silence. I reattached the safety lines, now with larger gaps between US, and we continued our journey. None of us spoke for hours. What could we say? We just watched a man squeeze himself through an impossible space, chasing a voice only he could hear.

Just like Blake, just like Donald, just like August. By the time we made camp, the sun was setting. I decided on a single tent for all three of us. Safety in numbers. We huddled inside the portable heater, creating a small bubble of warmth.

We should take watches, I said, checking my watch. Four hours each. I'll go first, then Leon, then Dennis. Leon nodded, already climbing into his sleeping bag. Dennis sat with his knees pulled to his chest, staring at nothing.

Try to sleep, I told him. We have a long day tomorrow. I took the first watch, sitting by the tent entrance with my back against our gear. Outside, the wind howled across the ice, creating a constant background noise, but underneath it, I could hear them, whispers at the edge of perception. I couldn't make out words yet, but I knew they were there.

Around midnight, the whispers grew louder. They multiplied, becoming a chorus of voices, some pleading, some angry, some singing in languages I didn't recognize. I pressed my hands against my ears, but it made no difference. Leon stirred in his sleep, his face contorting. Dennis whimpered, turning restlessly in his sleeping bag.

Don't listen, I whispered to them, though I knew they couldn't hear me. Whatever you do, don't listen to the voices. The night stretched endlessly. When it was Leon's turn to take watch, I shook him awake and warned him again not to pay attention to anything he might hear. He nodded grimly, taking my place by the entrance.

They tried to sleep, but could only manage brief, fitful periods of rest. The voices never stopped. Sometimes they sounded like my team members, Blake laughing, Donald explaining something excitedly. Sometimes they sounded like my mother calling me, as she had when I was a child. When Don finally came, I woke to Leon shaking me, his face ashen.

Dennis is gone, he said. I sat up immediately. Dennis's sleeping bag lay empty, neatly zipped closed as if he'd never been in it when I demanded. I don't know, Leon said, his voice cracking. I swear I didn't fall asleep.

I was right here the whole time. He must have. I don't know how he got past me. I crawled to the tent entrance and looked outside. Fresh snow had fallen during the night, covering any tracks Dennis might have left.

The landscape was pristine, empty. We need to search. Leon said, already pulling on his outer gear. I grabbed his arm. No, we stick together.

If we separate, we'll both end up like the others. We can't just leave him. He's already gone, Leon. I said, the words bitter in my mouth. Just like Jasper, just like all of them.

Leon stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief that slowly hardened into understanding. He nodded once, then continued preparing for the day's journey. We packed quickly and silently, loading our remaining supplies onto a single sled. I discarded anything non essential to lighten our load. Speed was all that mattered now.

The ice conditions worsened as we travelled. What had been a relatively smooth surface days ago was now riddled with small cracks and depressions. I tested each section before we crossed, but it was slow going. Worse, I noticed that new cracks seem to form behind us as we walked, as if the ice itself was tracking our movement.

Do you see that? I asked, Leon, pointing behind us where a web of thin lines spread outward from our footprints. He nodded, his expression grim. It's following us. We pushed harder, stopping only when absolutely necessary.

The extraction point was still days away, but each mile put distance between US and whatever had taken our team. By late afternoon, we'd covered maybe 10 miles. Not enough, but all we could manage with the deteriorating conditions. We set up our tent on what seemed like the most stable patch of ice we could find, though I no longer trusted my judgement about what was safe out here.

As I secured the tent, Leon stood perfectly still, staring at the ice beneath his feet. What is it? I asked, instantly alert. I can feel him. Leon whispered.

I moved toward him slowly. Feel who? My brother Marco. Leon's eyes were wide, fixed on the ground. He's down there, Samuel, right below us.

My heart sank. Not Leon, too. Your brother died 10 years ago, Leon. I said carefully. Remember, you told me about the climbing accident.

Leon nodded, but his eyes never left the ice. I know, but he's here now. He's trapped down there. I stepped closer, ready to grab him if he tried to run. Leon, listen to me.

Whatever you're hearing, it's not real. It's the same thing that took the others. He's crying. Leon said, tears forming in his eyes. He needs me to help him.

Leon. I have to go to him. Leon suddenly shouted, dropping to his knees and beginning to claw at the ice with his bare hands. He'd torn off his gloves and his fingers were already bleeding. I tackled him, wrapping my arms around his chest and pulling him away from the spot.

He fought me with surprising strength, his elbow catching me in the ribs. Let me go, he screamed. I have to save him, Marco. We struggled across the ice, rolling dangerously close to a widening fissure that hadn't been there moments before. I could see it opening like a mouth, the darkness below seeming to pulse with hunger.

Leon, stop. I gasped, trying to pin his arms. It's not real. For a moment he stilled, and I thought I'd gotten through to him. Then he looked at me with perfect clarity.

I'm sorry, Samuel, he said quietly. But I have to go. With a sudden twist, he broke free from my grip. We both fell, but while I scrambled back from the edge of the fissure, Leon rolled toward it. I lunged for him, my fingers catching the edge of his parka, but the fabric slipped through my grasp.

Leon smiled as he tipped over the edge. I heard him call his brother's name as he plunged into the darkness. I lay there, half hanging over the edge, staring into the blackness that it swallowed him. The fissure was already closing, the edges drawing together with unnatural speed. Leon.

I screamed, my voice breaking, but there was no answer, Only the wind and the distant chorus of whispers that never stopped. I was alone. The realization hit me like a physical blow. I was the last one left. Everyone else was gone, taken by whatever lived in the ice.

I crawled back from the closing fissure and sat huddled on the ice, my body shaking with exhaustion and fear. Night was falling. I needed shelter. Moving mechanically, I finished setting up the tent and crawled inside. I didn't bother with the heater.

The cold seemed appropriate now. I sat in the dim light of my headlamp, too afraid to sleep, too tired to move. The voices grew louder as darkness fell. They weren't whispers anymore, but clear, distinct voices speaking directly to me. You led them here, Blake's voice said accusingly.

You brought us to this place. You knew something was wrong that first night, Donald added. Why didn't you get us out sooner? You could have saved us, August whispered. I pressed my hands over my ears.

You're not real, I said aloud. None of you are real. But we are, Samuel, my mother's voice said gently. We're all here waiting for you to join us. Stop it, I hissed.

You failed them, a new voice said. Edith, my ex-wife, just like you failed us. Always putting your work first, always leaving when things got hard. That's not true, I said, though the words lacked convictions, even to my own ears. You never even call me anymore, my son, Dan's voice added.

Do you even care? The voices kept coming, picking at every failure, every regret, every mistake I'd ever made. They knew exactly where to push, which wounds were still raw. I LED everyone to their deaths, I whispered, the truth of it crushing me. It's my fault, yes, the voice is agreed in unison.

But you can make it right. You can join us. We're waiting for you, Samuel. Just let go. The offer was tempting, so tempting.

I was so tired of fighting, of running, of failing. Maybe it would be easier to give in, to follow the others into the ice. But something in me rebelled at the thought, some stubborn core that refused to surrender. No, I said, forcing strength into my voice. I'm getting out of here.

I'm going to tell people what happened. The voices laughed, a sound like ice cracking. No one will believe you, Samuel. They'll say you lost your mind out here, that you abandoned your team. Maybe, I admitted.

But I'll know the truth. I forced myself to lie down, to close my eyes, though I knew sleep would be nearly impossible. The voices continued their whispered accusations, their temptations, their promises. They were harder to resist with each passing hour. Tomorrow, I would continue N alone.

The extraction point was still days away, across increasingly unstable ice, with only my failing strength to carry me there. And all the while. The voices would be with me, growing more persuasive, more difficult to ignore. I wasn't sure I had the strength to make it, but I had to try. For Blake, for Donald, for August, for Jasper, for Dennis, for Leon.

I owe them that much. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, the whispers became a lullaby, almost comforting in their persistence. They promised peace if I would only give in, If I would only let go and join the others beneath the ice. I clutched my compass in my hand like a Talisman, focusing on the solid feel of it against my palm.

NI just needed to keep going north. The voices would be with me every step of the way. I pushed forward across the ice, each step sending spider web cracks through the surface beneath my boots. The sound followed me, a constant, delicate splintering that made my shoulders tense. My compass pointed N where the extraction point waited.

Three more days of walking. If the ice held. If I held, the wind cut through my layers, but I kept moving. 1 foot, then the other. The sled behind me felt heavier by the hour, loaded with what remained of our equipment and the ice core samples Donald had been so excited about.

I wondered if they'd still matter to anyone when I got back. If I got back. My radio crackled with static every hour when I tried the emergency channel. No response, just the endless white horizon ahead and the sound of my own laboured breathing. Captain Fox, this is Burton, do you copy?

I spoke into the radio for the third time that day. Nothing but static answered me. I tucked the radio away and checked my GPS, still on course. The extraction point was approximately 30 miles ahead. I can make 10 miles a day if a sound like Thunder rolled beneath my feet.

I froze mid step, watching as a massive crack tore through the ice 20 yards ahead, cutting directly across my path. It widened as I watched the edges crumbling away to reveal dark water below. No, no, no, I muttered, backing away as the crack expanded to six feet wide, then ten. I stood there, watching my direct route disappear.

The crack stretched left and right as far as I could see. There was no crossing it here, not with a sled, not alone. I checked my compass, then the map. I'd have to go West for several miles before attempting to find a crossing point, then double back east to get on course again.

Hours of extra walking, maybe a full day lost. Adapt and overcome, I said to myself, the word sounding hollow in the vast emptiness. I turned West and began walking parallel to the massive crack, pulling the sled behind me. The sky darkened gradually as the short Arctic day faded. After four hours of detour, I still hadn't found a place to cross.

My muscles ached, and the cold had worked its way deep into my bones. As night approached, I set up my tent on what seemed like stable ground, far enough from any visible cracks inside. I fired up the small camp stove to heat water for a meal of freeze dried Stew. The warmth from the stove was the only comfort in the growing darkness.

I ate mechanically, not tasting the food. My thoughts drifted to the team. Blake, the 1st to go. Donald with his enthusiasm for ice cores. August, who'd promised to get us an early extraction.

Jasper, who'd squeezed himself through an impossible gap in the ice. Dennis, who'd vanished without a sound. Leon, who'd chosen to follow his dead brother. The wind picked up outside, making the tent walls flutter. I zipped myself into my sleeping bag and tried to quiet my mind, knowing I needed rest for tomorrow's journey.

That's when the voices started. At first they were just whispers, indistinct and easy to dismiss as wind through ice formations. But they grew louder, more distinct, the chorus of familiar voices, Samuel Blake's voice, calm and analytical. The ice wanted me, Samuel. I heard a calling all night.

I found something in the core samples. Donald's voice next, excited as always. Something old, something waiting. The radio signals were coming from below, not above, August whispered. They've been down there all along.

I pressed my hands over my ears, but the voices only grew louder. It wasn't my daughter, Jasper's voice explained. But it knew her name. It knew all our names. I never fell asleep on watch.

Leon insisted. It took Dennis right next to me, and I didn't see a thing. The voices overlapped, describing their deaths in vivid detail. Blake walking willingly into the crevasse, Donald being pulled down by something with too many limbs, August following coordinates to a place beneath the ice. You left us, they accused in unison.

You watched us disappear 1 by 1. I tried, I said aloud, my voice shaking. I tried to save you, Samuel. A new voice joined the chorus, My mother's voice, exactly as I remembered it from childhood. Samuel, my boy, why didn't you come when I called you?

I'm so cold down here. You're not real, I said through gritted teeth. Mom died years ago. Did I? Her voice changed, becoming mocking.

Or did they just tell you that maybe I've been here all along, waiting for you to find me? The voices grew to a deafening roar. I covered my ears and began reciting the periodic table. Atmospheric pressure formulas, Anything to drown them out. Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, I whispered frantically.

My mother's laughter cut through my recitation. Science won't save you, Samuel. Nothing will. I thought of Dan, my son, 17 and angry, barely speaking to me since the divorce. The last time I'd seen him, he'd refused to look me in the eye.

Would he mourn if I never came back? Or would he just see it as one final abandonment? Dan needs me, I said to the darkness. I have to get back. Dan doesn't need you, my mother's voice replied.

He never did. Edith raised him while you chased ice and glory. The voices continued all night. I didn't sleep. I couldn't.

I lay there reciting formulas and thinking of my son until the dim Arctic dawn filtered through the tent walls. When I emerged, the world had transformed. Cracks surrounded my tent in a perfect circle, leaving only a narrow path forward. The ice was speaking to me, showing me the only way out. I packed quickly, hands shaking with exhaustion and cold.

The voices had quieted with the daylight, but I could still hear them murmuring just below the threshold of hearing. I stepped onto the narrow path and began walking, pulling the lightened sled behind me. I discarded everything non essential during the night. Extra clothes, research equipment, everything except the core samples and survival gear.

The path twisted N, then east, then N again. I followed it, having no choice. The cracks to either side widened as I passed, as if the ice itself was falling away behind me. Just a little further. Blake's voice encouraged from somewhere beneath my feet.

Join us down here, it's beautiful. The pressure's dropping. Donald added. The ice is going to break. Better to come willingly.

Step off the path. August suggested. It's quicker that way. I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon and my feet on the narrow strip of solid ice. One step at a time, 1 foot then the other.

By midday, I'd covered nearly 8 miles. According to my GPS, The extraction point was close now, less than a day's walk if the path held. That's when I saw it. A dark speck on the horizon. I raised my binoculars with trembling hands.

The research vessel, Captain Fox had brought the ship closer to shore than planned. They were looking for us. I'm here. I shouted uselessly, knowing they were too far away to hear. I fumble for my radio.

Captain Fox, this is Burton, do you copy? I can see the vessel. The radio crackled to life. Burton, is that you? Where's the rest of your team?

Fox's gruff voice was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. I'm the only one left. I replied, my voice breaking. I need immediate extraction. I'm approximately 3 miles from the arranged pickup point.

We see movement on the ice. Fox confirmed. Heading your way. Stay where you are. Negative.

I said. The ice is unstable, I need to keep moving. I'll meet you at the extraction point. I picked up my pace, pulling the sled with renewed energy. The ship grew larger in my vision.

I could make out figures on deck now, watching me through binoculars. The voices below grew frantic, angry. You can't leave, my mother hissed. We won't let you. A sound like a gunshot rang out the ice before me.

My path to the extraction point split open. A massive crack, 15 feet wide and growing, cut off my escape route. I stopped at the edge, looking across to the solid ice beyond. The ship was less than a mile away now. So close.

You belong with us, the voices insisted. Down in the dark, down in the cold. The crack widened to 20 feet. Behind me, I heard more ice breaking. My narrow path was disappearing, leaving me on an island of ice that was shrinking by the second.

I unclipped the sled harness, the samples, the equipment. None of it mattered now. I backed up 20 paces, took a deep breath and ran toward the crack. I leapt across the widening chasm, arms windmilling. For a moment I hung suspended over the dark water.

Then I slammed into the ice on the other side, my chest hitting the edge. My legs dangled over the void. I clawed at the ice, pulling myself up inch by inch. Behind me, the ice shelf I'd been standing on collapsed entirely, taking the sled with it. I rolled onto solid ice, gasping for breath.

My ribs screamed in pain, possible fracture. My left ankle throbbed where I twisted it on landing, but I was across. I staggered to my feet and limped toward the extraction point, not daring to look back. I saw three figures running across the ice toward me, Captain Fox and two crewmen I didn't recognize.

They wore bright orange cold weather gear and carried emergency medical equipment. Burton Fox called out. Stay where you are, we're coming to you. I stopped, swaying on my feet. The voices had gone quiet, but as I turned to look back at the massive crack, I jumped.

I saw them faces in the ice. Blake's calm features, Donald's excited eyes, August's steady gaze, Jasper, Dennis, and Leon, my mother looking just as she had when I was a child. And behind them, other faces, dozens, maybe hundreds, men and women with hollow eyes and blue tinged skin reaching up through the ice.

Burton Fox grabbed my arm, steadying me. Where's the rest of your team? I tore my gaze away from the ice. Gone, I said. They're all gone.

Fox and his men helped me across the remaining distance to a small landing craft. As they loaded me aboard, I looked back one last time. The faces were gone, but the ice continued to crack and split, as if something massive was moving beneath it. The landing craft carried us back to the research vessel.

Dr. Kaminsky, the ship's physician, met us at the railing. She helped me to the Infirmary, asking questions. I barely heard multiple contusions, possible fractured ribs, mild hypothermia, dehydration she listed as she examined me, and exhaustion. When did you last sleep, Doctor Burton?

I don't remember, I admitted. She gave me something for the pain and wrapped my ribs tightly. You need rest, she said. Real rest. But I couldn't sleep, not yet.

That night, after Doctor Kaminsky had left me alone in the small Infirmary bed, I got up and made my way to the deck. The cold air bit at my face as I looked back toward the ice fields we were now leaving behind. In the distance, I thought I could still hear them, faint whispers carried on the Arctic wind.

My team, my mother, all those unknown others. I gripped the railing, watching the ice recede. The voices would follow me, I knew. Not in reality, perhaps, but in memory, in nightmares, in the moments between waking and sleep, when the mind is most vulnerable. I'd escaped the ice, but part of me remained there, with my lost team, with all those faces watching from below.

I'm sorry, I whispered to the darkness. I'm so sorry, the ship continued S carrying me back to a world that would want explanations I couldn't give. But for now, I stood alone on the deck, listening to the whispers fade into the sound of breaking ice and churning water.