The fog pressed close, a heavy, clinging presence that muffled every sound and distorted every shape. I stood at the edge of the clearing, gripping my flashlight tighter than I’d intended. In front of me, the alien ship towered—its wounded hull reflecting the floodlights in broken shards of light, the faint pulsing glow beneath its surface giving it the illusion of something alive. I tried to remember the exact orders: *Don’t approach, don’t enter, report anything unusual.* But every fiber of my being hummed with restless curiosity. The soldiers had withdrawn, leaving me alone with the mystery that flickered at the edges of my mind like a half-forgotten dream.
I thumbed the radio on my belt. “Whitaker here,” I said quietly, voice cracking in the silence. “Situation still stable. Perimeter secure.” Only static greeted me at first, then a crackle and a terse acknowledgment from the soldier who’d warned me earlier.
“Keep it that way, Whitaker,” he said, his tone clipped and distant. “And remember—keep your distance from that thing.”
I exhaled slowly before responding. “Roger that.” I released the button, but my heart hammered as I turned back to the ship. Already, I knew I was going to disobey that warning. The pull was too strong, the questions too urgent. I had to see inside, if only for a moment. Nobody would know, and if they did, I’d handle it later.
“Bad idea,” I muttered under my breath, taking slow, deliberate steps forward. The ground felt soft and treacherous under my boots. The ship’s hull, torn and jagged, shimmered as my flashlight beam grazed it. I reached out with my free hand, knuckles brushing over scorched metal that felt eerily warm.
“Hello?” I called softly, the sound absurd in the thick silence. I wasn’t expecting an answer, but somehow I needed to break the tension. My voice came back to me muffled, swallowed by the fog and the metal walls beyond. I gritted my teeth and stepped through the opening.
Inside, darkness closed around me like a fist. My flashlight cut a narrow path ahead, illuminating sleek surfaces and alien contours. I stepped carefully, each footfall echoing hollowly. Sparks flared above, and my breath caught as shadowy shapes leapt and twisted along the curved walls. I tried the radio again.
“Whitaker checking in,” I whispered. “I’ve… I’ve entered the ship.” Static hissed, then the soldier’s voice came through, harsher than before.
“What the hell are you doing?” he barked, voice low but urgent. “I told you to stay out. Get back out here, now.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the jagged opening behind me. The world outside looked distant and distorted through the crack. “I’m just taking a quick look,” I said, trying to sound firm even as my heart pounded. “Something’s not right here, and we need answers.”
Silence, then a muttered curse. “Fine,” he said finally, tone begrudging. “But don’t push your luck. If you see anything—”
“I know,” I cut in, my voice steadier. “I’ll call it in.” I clipped the radio back onto my belt, determined to at least make this risk count.
Moving on, I entered what looked like the cockpit. Two chairs rose from the floor, contoured for beings almost human but not quite. I leaned in, shining my light over them. The harnesses were slack, as if recently vacated. My stomach twisted. Whoever had flown this vessel—where were they now? Had they survived the crash?
I tapped the radio again. “I’m seeing seating for two, harnesses intact,” I said quietly. “Doesn’t look like they’re here now.”
No immediate response. Maybe they were listening, maybe not. I pressed on, my beam dancing across a smooth console of shifting, liquid-like lights. I hovered a hand above it, tempted to touch. “How do you work?” I murmured, as if speaking to the ship itself. The lights rippled in response, no sound emerging, but I swore I felt a faint vibration in my fingertips.
Forcing myself away from the cockpit, I followed the corridor deeper into the ship. Another radio check: “Moving into what seems like a living area.” Still no reply. The silence was unnerving, and I realized that I was glad I hadn’t heard the soldier’s voice scolding me again. I needed to focus.
In the communal space, I ran my hand over the bolted table, the metal cooler than expected. No chairs—just benches, each riveted in place. Everything spoke of efficiency, no comfort at all. I tried a door-like seam in the wall—no handle, no hinge. It didn’t budge. Frustration gnawed at me.
“Hello?” I called again, louder this time. Still no answer. I licked my lips and moved on, arriving at the sleeping quarters. The recessed alcove, the shimmering sheet of fabric, the compartments with sealed containers—I noted them all with growing unease. No personal effects, no signs of individual identity. It felt less like a home and more like a testing chamber. Had these beings lived like this, day after day, star after star?
A faint clatter snapped me to attention. I spun, flashlight cutting back down the corridor. “Who’s there?” I demanded, pulse hammering. The silence pressed closer. For a moment, I considered turning back, but I shook off the fear. I had to know.
I retraced my steps toward what I assumed was a cargo hold. The ship’s hum vibrated under my boots, each step making me more aware of it. Another crackle from the radio: just static, no voice. My grip on the flashlight tightened. I swallowed hard.
The corridor ended at a larger chamber, its walls higher, maybe a place for storage. Loose wires and broken panels littered the floor. Cables hung overhead, some dripping faint sparks that fizzled and died in the stale air. I tried to shine my light over everything, searching for movement. My heart hammered as I remembered the soldier’s words—there was something inside, something dangerous.
“Show yourself!” I yelled, voice shaky but determined. “I know you’re here!” My shout echoed, then faded, leaving me alone with my own ragged breathing.
A subtle scrape answered, metal sliding against metal. My flashlight jerked toward the sound. Every muscle tensed as I stepped closer. The air was thicker here, a strange smell drifting through it—oily and unfamiliar. I tried the radio again with trembling fingers. “I’m not alone in here,” I whispered, voice too thin. “Something’s moving around.”
Static. Then the soldier’s voice: “Get out, Whitaker. Now.”
I hesitated, torn between a command I should follow and a need to see what lurked in the darkness. Footsteps—or something like them—echoed softly. My throat went dry.
Then I heard it again: slow, deliberate movement. Not just a random creak, not just the ship settling. This was something with intent, drawing closer, hidden by the gloom of the cargo hold. My chest tightened, adrenaline flooding my veins, eyes scanning the shadows for even the slightest hint of form or shape.
Someone—or something—was here. My pulse quickened as I spun around, the beam of my flashlight slicing through the gloom of the cargo hold.
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