Speaker 1: I'm a biologist. For the past four months, I've been
part of an international research team stationed in one of
the most isolated parts of the Arctic. The mission was
simple enough, study ancient ice layers to reconstruct historical climate patterns.
Important work, sure, but not the kind of thing you
expect to haunt you. Our team had ten people geologists, glaciologists,
biologists like me, and technicians to keep everything running. We
were equipped with state of the art drilling rigs, spectrometers,
and thermal imaging systems. The station itself was a preef
obstructure perched the miles of endless white tundra. Outside, the
air could freeze your skin in seconds, and the wind
howled like it wanted to tear the building apart. Inside
it was the constant noise, the harm of the machinery,
the chatter of comms, and when the ice shifted beneath us,
a low resonant groaning that rattled through the floors. Despite
all the tech, the work wasn't glamorous. My job was
to analyze any organic material we pulled from the ice cores,
ancient pollen, microbial remnants, that sort of thing. Most days
were just cataloging and running samples under the microscope while
the rest of the team drilled. The monotony of it
all weighed on us. Sleep was broken into short shifts,
and the lack of sunlight messed with our circadian rhythms.
People started snapping at each other over little things, whose
turn it was the cook, why someone didn't clean up
their work station. It was subtle at first, but you
could feel the tension simmering. One of the geologists, doctor Harris,
was particular on edge. He kept saying the ice felt wrong.
He'd run his hand along the drill course, muttering about
how dense it was, or how it didn't fracture the
way it should. Most of us brushed it off of stress.
After all, you don't get to pick who you're stuck
with on these expeditions, and Harris was the type to
find something to complain about. But then a few days
ago something changed. We've been drilling deeper than we ever
had before, almost two kilometers into the ice sheet. The
core samples from that depth were pristine, layered with tiny
air bubbles trapped for tens of thousands of years. It
was a gold mine for climate data. And then the
drill hit something I remember the way everyone froze when
the rig operator called it out. At that depth, there
shouldn't have been anything but ice, but the drill head
had stopped cold. The team pulled the core up cautiously,
and when we saw what was embedded in it, even
Harris went quiet. It was a massive block of ice,
denser than anything we'd encountered. Inside it was something dark,
a shape just barely visible. It wasn't clear enough to identify,
but it was large, much larger than any organic material
we'd expected. My first thought was that we'd hit a tree,
maybe a fragment of ancient forest preserved in the ice. Harris, though,
was pale as a sheet. This doesn't belong here, he said.
We shouldn't dig it out. Of course, we didn't listen.
Curiosity outweighs common sense in our field more often than that.
That's why we were out here in the first place.
We extracted the ice block with surgical precision, using the
station's gantry crane to lift it from the drill site
and transport it to the lab. The thing was massive,
roughly the size of a sunken trunk, and impossibly dense,
Harris argued again, springing in inside but the rest of
us were too intrigued. This was at once in a
lifetime find something buried beneath two kilometers of ice. Shouldn't exist,
let alone pulse faintly in the cold. In the lab,
we used controlled thermal plates to slowly melt the outer
layers of ice, keeping the temperature just above freezing to
preserve whatever was inside. The work took ours, and we
all rotated shifts, logging every detail meticulously, and the eyes
thin enough to see through the shape became clearer her heart.
I can't describe the unease that hit me when I
first realized what I was looking at. It wasn't a
human heart. It was too large, about the size of
a basketball, and the surface was rough and blackened like
charred wood. But it was unmistakably organic, with thick vein
like structures webbing across its surface. And the strangest part,
it was beating slowly, faintly, but undeniably alive. Dr Walker
was the first to speak, what the hell are we
looking at? No one answered. Harris muttered under his breath
and left the room. The rest of us hovered around
the observation table, staring in stun silence as the heart
pulsed in slow, deliberate rhythms. We ran every test you
could think of. Thermal imaging showed no heat signature. It
was as cold as the eyes had been trapped in.
Scans with the spectrometer revealed no identifiable cellular structure, nothing
remotely resembling DNA. It didn't even register as organic matter
by conventional standards. And yet the rhythmic contradictions continued, steady
and unyielding, like a clock ticking down to something. Walker
wanted to escalate. This could redefine biology, she said, pacing
the room. We're looking at something older than humanity itself,
may be older than life as we know it. Harris,
on the other hand, was livid. He stormed back into
the lab, at one point slamming his hand on the table.
You're not listening, he shouted. This isn't a discovery, it's
a warning. We shouldn't be poking at it. No one
took him seriously, myself included. I told myself he was
cracking under the pressure. Four months of isolation can mess
with anyone's head, But part of me couldn't shake the
feeling that he might be right. That night, after the
others had gone to bed, they stayed behind in the lab,
staring at the thing in its containment chamber. The heartbeat
was faint, but it had a strange resonance to it,
almost like it was echoing through the room. I thought
I was imagining it, but when I left to get
some air in the main corridor, I could still hear it,
faint and rhythmic, like it was coming from the walls.
I didn't sleep much that night. Every time I closed
my eyes, I heard it, the steady, unrelenting thud of
something ancient and alive, something that shouldn't exist. The next
step was to transfer the heart into a custom containment chamber.
The lab had an isolation tank we usually used for
volatile samples, complete with temperature controls, reinforced glass, and a
heap of filtration system. It wasn't designed for something alive
or whatever this thing was, but it would have to do.
As we worked, I couldn't shake the feeling that it
was what us. It didn't have eyes, thank god, but
every time I glanced at it, the beat seemed intentional,
like it was aware of us. That's impossible, of course,
just my mind playing tricks. At least that's what I
kept telling myself. We ran every test imaginable. Harris protested,
but Walker overruled him. Samples were taken and analyzed, thin
slices of tissue, microfluid tests, even a spectroscopic scan to
identify its chemical makeup. The results made no sense. One
sample showed isotropic signatures consistent with ancient biological material, something
preserved for millions of years. Another indicated who was practically new,
no more than a few weeks old. Harris refused to
be even lock at the results. You're asking the wrong questions,
he muttered, pacing the room like a caged animal. You're
trying to explain something that doesn't belong here. I wanted
to argue, but I couldn't ignore what was happening around us.
The station's equipment started acting up. Our spectrometers gave inconsistent readings,
the cry of freeze or alarm went off without reason,
and the atmospheric monitors kept resetting to zero. The worst
was the temperature. Despite the heaters being cranked at their macs,
the lab was freezing and frost started forming on the windows.
We checked for leaks, recalibrated everything, but nothing worked. Then
came the dreams. It started with Walker. She mentioned one
morning that she had nightmare about a vast, pulsating shadow
beneath the eyes. The next day, Harris admitted he dreamt
the same thing. By the third night, even I couldn't
sleep without seeing it, this infinite, breathing darkness that felt
like it was pulling me under. I brushed it off
a stress. That's what scientists do, right, rationalize, control the narrative.
But Harris was losing it. He outright refused to go
near the heart anymore. You need to destroy it, he
hissed that Walker during one of our meetings, This isn't science,
it's something else, something else, She shot back, You're being ridiculous,
am I Look around you you think it's a coincidence
the station's falling apart, that we're all having the same
damn dream. No one answered him, but the room felt
heavier after that. One night, I stayed late in the
lab reviewing footage from the containment chamber. The camera we
set up had been recording non stop since the heart
was transferred. At first, it was just more of the
same slow, steady beats, a faint shimmer of condensation on
the glass. But as I skipped through the time stamps.
Something caught my eye, the thudding sound. It wasn't random.
I cross referenced the audio with environmental data from the station.
Every time someone entered the room, the heart's beat became stronger, faster.
It wasn't just alive. It was reacting to us. I
sat back, staring at the screen as the realization sank in.
The thing wasn't just pulsing, It was waiting. The breaking
point came when doctor Walker finally decided enough was enough.
We scientists, she said, her voice strained but resolute, But
we're also human, and we have limits. This thing is
beyond them. It was the first time anyone openly acknowledged
the dread we'd all been feeling. Even Harris, who had
been spiraling into paranoia for days, nodded in grim agreement.
For the first time, we all seemed united in a
singular purpose to wind this. The plan was straightforward. We'd
use the station's high temperature furnace, normally reserved for incinerating
biohazardous waste, to destroy with a heart completely. The furnace
could reach temperatures upwards of fifteen hundred degrees celsius, enough
to obliterate organic material to ash. Nothing would survive that,
not even this monstrosity. The preparation was meticulous. Walker insisted
on strict protocol, and for once no one questioned her.
We wore our full protective gear, thermal gloves, lab coats
and goggles, despite the bitter cords still permeating the station.
The heart was carefully transferred into a reinforced steel container,
then wheeled to the furnace room on a trolley. Harris
kept his distance, his eyes darting nervously to the chamber's
glass windows, as if expecting the heart to leap out
at him. I focused on the equipment, double checking the
furnace's settings and ensuring the fail safes were active. It
was a model I was familiar with, a robust, industrial
grade incinerator designed for extreme reliability. The digital display glowed
faintly in the dim light, and I felt a small,
fleeting sense of control. We had this. As the heart
was placed into the furnace, I couldn't help but notice
how it seemed still. The pulsing had stopped entirely, almost
as if it knew what was coming. My rational mind
told me it was just coincidence, a mechanical process nothing more,
but a small irrational part of me wondered if it
was holding its breath. Walker closed the furnace door with
a finality that echoed in the silent room. She turned
to me, nodding, once start it. I pressed the button
and the machine roared to life. Flames burst within the chamber,
visible through the small observation window. The heart was engulfed
in an instant, its dark, unnatural mass consumed by the fire.
It felt like I had lifted my head out of water.
The oppressive thudding sound vanished, The sudden silence felt deafening.
Harris let out a shaky laugh, a sound that teetered
between relief and hysteria. It's over, he muttered, It's finally over.
Even I felt a glimmer of hope. The tension that
had gripped the station for so long seemed to lift,
replaced by a tentative sense of calm. We stayed there
for what felt like ours, watching the furnaces temperature hold steady,
ensuring nothing remained but ash. As the flames died down,
the furnace's senses confirmed total incineration. Walker turned to the
team with a weary smile. It's done. Let's get some rest.
For the first time in days, I believed her. I
woke to the sound of something crashing so loudly it
felt like the entire station had collapsed. The air was freezing,
colder than it had any right to be indoors, and
I could see my breath hanging in the dim emergency lighting.
My heart pounded as I grabd noise flashlight and threw
on my coat, ignoring the trembling in my hands. The
noise had come from the lab. I ran, slipping slightly
on the icy patches forming on the floor. By the
time I reached the lab door, I already knew something
was terribly wrong. The air felt thicker, heavier, and there
was a faint, rhythmic sound coming from inside, the sound
I hadn't heard since we destroyed the Heart. Thud, thud, thud.
The lab was in ruins. The containment chamber, which we'd
used the study of the Heart was shattered, fixed. The
walls bent outwards, as if something inside had pushed its
way out. Equipment lay strewn across the floor, Monitors blinking
erratically in the center of the room, sitting in a
pool of what I could only hope wasn't blood, was
the heart? It was vibrant, now, an unnatural crimson that
almost glowed in the dim light. It pulsed steadily, stronger
than before, the sound so loud. I could feel it
reverberating in my chest. My breath caught in my throat
as I stepped closer, my flashlight trembling in my grip.
This isn't possible, I whispered, My mind scrambled for answers.
Could it have been a hallucination, a sheer delusion? Had
we somehow failed to destroy it? But no, there were
the ashes still inside the furnace, undeniable proof of what
we'd done. And yet here it was. The sound of
glass shattering behind me made me spin round. Harris stood there,
wild eyed, clutching a piece of broken equipment in one hand.
We should have left it alone, he hissed. You all
had to push, didn't you. You had to know, Harris.
Calm down, I said, my voice shaking. We don't know
what's happening. We'll figure it out, figure it out, he laughed,
a harsh, grating laugh. You don't get it. It's not
just the heart, It's connected to something, something alive. I
opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off,
stepping closer, his face inches from mine. You've felt it,
haven't you? The dreams they called. It's not just in
our heads, it's broadcasting calling. His words hit me like
a punch to the gut. The dreams, I knew exactly
what he was talking about, The endless void, the sense
of something massive shifting just out of sight, beneath the eyes.
I wanted to believe it was stress, my brain playing
tricks on me. But the way Harris looked at me,
desperate and unhinged, made me wonder if it wasn't something more. Harris,
I said, carefully, you're not making sense. What are you saying?
He pointed a shaking finger at the heart. That thing
isn't just an organ, it's a beacon. It's waking something up.
A cold chill ran down my spine. I glanced at
the heart. It's steady, thudding, now, feeling more like a
countdown than a pulse. The air grew colder, and the
lights flickered ominously. Harris snapped. He grabbed a metal stool
and hurled it across the room, smashing a monitor in
a shower of sparks. We're doomed. He screamed. We're nothing
but ants digging into a mountain, and now it knows
we're here. Stop, I shouted, trying to grab him, but
he shoved me away. He picked up another piece of
equipment and began smashing it against the lab bench. The
noise was deafening, echoing through the room and mixing with
the relentless thud of the heart. Harris get a grip.
Walker's voice rang out as she burst into the lab,
her face pale but resolute. We need to focus, We
can fix this. Harris froze, staring at her like she'd
just spoken in another language. Then he dropped the broken equipment,
his shoulders sagging. It's too late, he whispered, It's already awake.
The lights flickered again, and the rhythmic thudding grew louder,
almost deafening. This time, it wasn't just the heart, It
was coming from beneath our feet. The station had never
felt so hostile. The air was so cold it heard
to breathe, and frost crept up from the walls like
a living thing. My breath fogged in the weak emergency
lighting as the temperature plummeted far below what our heaters
could handle. The lights flickered in and out, casting the
lamp in a strobel like chaos every few seconds. The
ice beneath us groaned like a wounded animal, and through
it all, the heart beat faster, louder, sinking perfectly with
the tremors beneath our feet. Doctor Walker's voice cut through
the chaos, barking, orders were not running. We contain it again, now, no,
Harris shouted, backing toward the door, his eyes wild. You're insane.
He's too late. If we stay, they we're dead. I hesitated,
caught between them. Walker's confidence was resolute, almost comforting, but Harris,
Harris looked like he'd already seen the end. His fear
was infectious. I wanted to bolt, to run as far
as I could, but some part of me couldn't let go.
The questions, the impossibility of the heart hid a dug
into my mind, and I couldn't leave without understanding. I'm
with Walker, I said, forcing the words through the lump
in my throat. Harris shot me a look of pure
disbelief before turning and bolting into the hallway. Walker grabbed
my arm. Let's move, she said, pulling me toward the
containment chamber. We seal it. That's the only way. The
heart lay in the center of the lab, pulsating like
a drum beat that vibrated through my bones. Walker and
I worked quickly, moving in a mechanical rhythm born of
pure adrenaline. We pushed the shattered remnants of the containment
chamber out of the way and hauled out a secondary unit.
The smaller, less robust chamber meant for biological samples. It
wasn't ideal, but it was all we had temperature regulation first,
Walker said, her voice trembling but steady. I nodded and
grabbed the control panel, fumbling with the calibration dials. The
unit hummed to life, and I felt a flicker of hope.
Maybe we could fix this, Maybe it wasn't too late.
But then the ice screamed. There's no other word for it.
They pitched bone deep sound echoed through the station as
the floor beneath us cracked violently. I staggered, nearly lose
my grip on the containment panel. Walker cursed and grabbed
the edge of the bench for support. The heart's rhythm changed.
It was an erratic or panicked. It was intentional, calculated.
Each beat seemed to match the tremors beneath us, growing
louder faster. I glanced at Walker, and for the first
time I saw fear in her eyes. We need to hurry,
she said her voice. Tight shadows danced on the walls,
flickering unnaturally in the failing light. They moved like smoke,
twisting and shifting into shapes. I couldn't comprehend. For a moment,
I swore one of them looked at me, though it
had no eyes, no face. Just avoid that radiated malice.
We've got it, Walker shouted. As we locked the chamber seals.
The heart was contained again, its pulsations muffled but still deafening.
Relief washed over me for a split second, but then
the lab floor heaved, violently, throwing us to the ground.
The feisia opened without warning. A jagged, gaping more split
the lab in two, swallowing equipment and debris into an
impossibly dark void. The containment chamber teetered on the edge,
the heart beat echoing louder and faster, like a countdown,
and then it fell. Everything went still. The heart sound disappeared,
leaving a silence so profound it felt like a vacuum.
I thought it was over, I thought we'd stopped it.
But then the noise began. It wasn't a heartbeat, it
wasn't anything I could truly describe. A low resonant sound
rumbled from the depths of the fisire, shaking the walls
and vibrating in my chest. It wasn't just a noise.
It was a presence, Something enormous, something alive, was down there,
stirring in the darkness. Walker and I locked eyes. She
didn't say anything. She didn't have to. We both knew
the heart wasn't the thing, It was just a piece
of it. The station felt like it was being ripped apart.
Every step sent shock waves through my body as the
ice beneath us heaved and groaned. Walker and I scrambled
out of the lab. The containment chamber, and the heart
long gone swallowed into the abyss. The fusure stretched through
the main hallway, now fracturing the floor and walls, as
if the station itself was being consumed. We found Harris
in the control room, frantically packing a bag with whatever
supplies he could grab. His wild eyes locked on mine
as he hissed. I told you, I told you. We
never should have touched it. There was no time to argue.
Walker grabbed the emergency satellite beacon from the wall, while
I snagged a handheld radio, though I knew he was
useless in the storm outside, We bolted for the airlock,
barely managing to pull on our cold weathered gear before
stepping into the howling blizzard. The wind hit like a
freight train, stinging every exposed inch of skin and reducing
visibility to a few feet. The station was a fading
silhouette behind us, its lights flickering like a dying signal.
We trudged forward, relying on muscle memory to navigate towards
the secondary outpost a few kilometers away. That's when the
ground shook again. Different This time, it wasn't a random
shuddering of ice under strain. It was rhythmic, deliberate. I
risked a glance back, and through the swirling snow, I
saw something moving. It was massive, indescribable. The ice itself
seemed to ripple and bulge, as if something enormous was
swimming beneath it, displacing the frozen landscape with each movement.
I froze my breath catching in my throat, but Walker
yanked me forward. Keep moving, she shouted over the wind.
We stumbled into the outpost hours later, half frozen and
barely coherent. Harris collapsed against the wall, muttering incoherently about
shadows and whispers. Walker and I managed to activate the
backup generator and send a distress signal. Then we waited.
Rescue didn't come for three days. By the time the
team arrived, the storm had passed, leaving the Arctic wasteland
eerily quiet. When we tried to lead them back to
the station, we found nothing. The site where it had
stood was now a featureless expanse of ice, as though
the building itself had been raised. There was no debris,
no signs of the feisure, just smooth, undisturbed snow, stretching
endlessly in every direction. Back at base camp, I filed
my report. I included everything the heart, the containment chamber,
the tremors, and the impossible creature beneath the ice. Aven
uploaded the fragmented video logs from the station, though they
were distorted and beyond recognition. The official response came weeks later.
My account was dismissed as stress induced delusions brought on
by isolation and environmental conditions. Harris quit the project entirely,
retreating to his family in the South. Walker stayed on,
but she wouldn't speak to me after the debrief. I
could see the guilt in her eyes. She blamed herself,
though I knew none of us could have known what
we were waking up. As for me, I thought I
could move on, But I was wrong. The dreams started
a month later. At first they were just fragments, dark
shapes beneath the ice, the sound of faint thudding in
the distance. Then they became more vivid. I was back
in the lab, staring at the heart as it pulls
stronger and faster, the shadows on the walls growing darker, deeper.
The worst part is the sound, that rhythmic thudding. It's
with me all the time now. Sometimes I hear it
in my apartment, soft but insistent, like it's calling to me.
I don't know what we awakened beneath the ice. I
don't know if it's still there or if it's already spreading.
But I do know one thing. We were never meant
to find it and has not done yet.