Here Be Monsters

Session recordings of patient 869J-G21:

Alexi Austvich

Dr. C. Timus, presiding psychiatric resident for Project: Riptide

[Audio Journal 10/24/53: Patient is one Alexi Austvich. After a week here he is still quite talkative and stable as opposed to some of the others. Upon arrival patient showed signs of malnourishment and severe dehydration but despite close care, he shows few signs of improvement. I was not told where he had come from, but I can guess well enough. Another test, more lives ruined by this damnable project. His narrative is both disturbing and unbelievable, or would be did I not know the truth. Every day I see the patient I am impressed upon by my employers the importance of finding out to what extent the patient can recall about the events surrounding the night of the thirteenth of October. The more the patient says, the harder they press. Thankfully he is cooperative. He doesn’t know how lucky he is to be alive.] 

         My name? You ask me that every time, as if you expect me to change my answer. But my answer remains the same, my name is Alexi Austvich. And now you will ask what it is I did for a living, as you always do. And I say I was a crewman aboard the merchant ship Dawnstar.

         The Event? Again? Every time I say my name, every time I say my vocation; but it is the recounting of The Event that draws at the few remaining strands of my sanity friend. How long has it been since that night? I cannot say. Weeks? Months? Time means nothing to me anymore, I look at a clock and the numbers are a blur, the hands waver.

         It was late, or early, I can’t be sure. Boshkovf and I had drawn night watch. Who is Boshkovf? He is a name now, a face in my mind. He is a scream of terror in the stinging cold. Boshkovf… You ask who he was, I do not know any more. But we sat together that night, we drank together, we played cards. The night was cold and a bitter wind cut to our bones. I’m not sure where exactly we were, the currents had been strange for the three days previous, but the captain was confident that our course would show itself soon enough. He was wrong of course.

         Boshkovf heard the noises first. I heard them as well, but… I dismissed them. It was not unheard of to have migrating whale pods move alongside the ship. ‘It is just the whales Boshkovf.’ I said. I remember him shaking his head. ‘No,’ he said back, ‘It is not a whale Alexi, can’t you hear that?’ And I listened harder then.

         Boshkovf was an old hand at ship work, but he was also a drunk. Soon though, I also heard what he was talking about. It was unlike anything I had ever heard before, impossible to describe beyond vague meanderings. Wailing, howling, screeching. Echoing and distorted. It rang out through the cold night and after the first two times it seemed to be growing closer.

         Boshkovf stared out at the churning sea behind us. ‘What is that Alexi?’ I didn’t know, but I stared out as well. There was something. It was large, larger than any whale I have ever seen, larger still than the greatest of humpbacks. It surged in and out of our wake, like a dolphin. I thought at first, despite its size, despite my better judgment and despite all that logic dictated, that it was a whale. How could it be anything else? What else could be that big? What else could traverse the ocean at that size that wasn’t man made?

         This thing was not made by man. This I know. I knew it then too. It moved with a fluidity that no device or craft can simulate on that scale. ‘What is it?’ asked Boshkovf. Neither of us had any idea. Even now, sitting here between these four white walls, staring at my sunken eyes in that mirror over there, I still have no idea how to describe it. Yet every time, you ask about IT.

         But how do I describe such evil? How can I possibly paint an accurate picture? You might have an image in your mind’s eye, but you couldn’t possibly see it as I do in my nightmares and my waking dreams. It came up besides the ship so quickly, too quickly. It slammed into us, making the entire ship lurch sideways. The noises grew unbearably loud then and the Dawnstar was suddenly stopped. I know of no creature with such strength.

         It tore into us like… like – my words fail me. But you’ve heard me describe it before, the speed, the ferocity, the tearing of metal and the screams of men being dragged to their deaths. Boshkovf, Yuri, Daniel. I saw men screaming and running around the deck only to be plucked off into the darkness. I saw the flashes of muzzle fire; men shooting blindly at a consuming shadow that we could not fight. Claws, fangs, scales. And the Eye. I remember the Eye. A yellow disc, consuming my whole field of vision, it glared at me with an intensity that shattered my mind for a time.

         All I can recall after that is more screams. Then I was here, in this room with its four white walls and its one mirror in which I see my broken and scarred face. You won’t tell me where I am, how long I’ve been here or who you are. It is all classified apparently. But I know that my name is Alexi Austvich and I know what I saw and I know you can’t keep me here forever.

[Audio Journal 11/01/53: Mr. Austvich is more unstable than I had previously surmised. His loose grip on the passage of time has him insisting that time is moving faster than it actually is. Details he is divulging are more precise now, but I fear that this focus on The Event has loosened his grip on the rest of reality. My employers insist that Austvich may still know more than he is saying. I don’t know why they press on these men so, it’s not as though many of them would be believed were they returned to civilization.]

         I have been thinking more on The Event these past few… months? You say it hasn’t been nearly that long, but I can feel time distorting around me – hours turn to days, days to weeks and so on. As I say though, I have been thinking on it and how could I not, with your constant questions, but the more I think back, the more disturbing my thoughts become.

         It is starting to really bother me how large the gap in my memory is. I remember the night, the cold, Boshkovf, the screams; but the before and the after are lost to me. I have my name, my name is Alexi- it is Alexi- My name is Alexi and I worked aboard the Dawnstar. But where did we leave from? Where were we going? What was the captain’s name? I… I feel as though I did know these things, but there is something missing. A gap where there shouldn’t be one.

         Did I know these things not all that long ago? Did I know these things when I got here? Why won’t you answer me? Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?!

         I’m sorry. I feel like I’m going mad in this place and perhaps I am. To keep trying the same action, expecting a different result; isn’t that the definition of insanity? And I am trying! You ask me these questions; the same questions, every time, and within my mind I search for the answers, but always I look and always I can’t find the answers you’re looking for.

         It’s infuriating.

[Audio Journal 11/02/53: Austvich can see his own psyche destroying itself. What a terrible thought, to see one’s own mind turn against you. He also seems to be losing his ability to identify “self” though his accounts of The Event grow ever more detailed. My original analysis may have been correct.]

         Hello again. How many sessions does this make? Seven? Eight? It’s odd that I don’t recall the exact number, these visits you have with me seem to be the only marker of time passing. The clock? No, I told you, it means nothing to me; the time kept by men is an illusion after all, but now it seems as though in piercing that veil I have rendered myself incapable of tracking my own movement through it. It is odd.

         The Event? Again you ask, but this time I have something new for you! No, I was not concealing it. I just remembered it, just after I woke. At first it seemed odd that such an event as this would remove itself from my mind; but the more I dwell on it, the more I see that it might have been better had I not remembered.

         It was just after we had left port. From where, I still cannot say, but I know we had just set out.  The air smelled foul that day, like rotting fish or sea carrion. The Dawnstar was not a fishing vessel, so this was a bit odd and was worth my note. The captain, his name I still cannot recall, noted it as well. He ordered several men to track it down. I was among them.

         Three of us were there. Yuri, myself and Viktor. We tracked the smell to the crews quarters. As I’ve told you, the Dawnstar was by no means a small ship. Each crew member shared his own room with only one other man. The rooms are small, but this is far better than some of the other accommodations I’ve been privy to.

         What was I saying? Oh yes, the smell. The deeper we went into ship, the stronger the smell became. I find this amazing, because it was already almost overwhelming on the deck, but the closer we got to the source… it started to overcome Yuri. He vomited, though I can’t say I blame him; the stench was terrific.

         After a time we came to what we thought the source was. It emanated from a cabin, the one belonging to Warner, the German crewman. We feared the worst, but what we found far surpassed that…

         Please, I’d rather not speak of it. Suffice to say, he was dead. No, please… I… I’d rather… Good God… In the room. Where do I begin? It was something out of a nightmare. No… worse than that. Any mind that thought up what we found is far worse off than I.

         There was an altar of sorts, made of stone or some dark metal, it was carved with… I don’t know how to describe the writing. Runes? Perhaps, but it was unlike anything I had ever seen in all my travels. And Warner’s body propped about the altar – Christ preserve me. Please, I cannot go on. It is enough to know that he died in a fashion that no man should.

         I can still hear Viktor screaming at the sight.

[Audio Journal 11/7/53: By the grace of Almighty God, he continues to describe that thrice-damned altar without provocation. At first I did not think what he was telling me was true, but after supplying Austvich with pencil and paper, he was able to duplicate the so called “runes” he had seen with apparent ease. I am doing some searching on my own time to discover if they have any origin beyond this man’s twisted imagination. Is there some connection between his experience and the project? We shall see.]

         Can you see those marks on the wall there? I’ve started tracking days as I perceive them. Mmmm? I… I don’t know. I can feel the passing of the sun I guess. I feel it and I make a mark on the wall there. I’m happy to say it has been three days since our last chat. No – I don’t care what you say, it has been three days to me.

         Another nine days have passed! I have my marks to prove it!

         My name? Why it’s… I… with an “A” I believe. And, I had a friend! His name was Boshkovf, we traveled aboard the Dawnstar. Yes, The Event. We have gone over it so many times. I can speak of it, I know it well.

         I felt a breeze today. It blew in from under my door. It smelled like pine. I’m not sure what that means. I don’t remember what pine means anymore. I… I wish I could see the sky again.

         Something occurs to me. Or occurred to me. I, or you, you’ve never told me your name. It’s been, what? Years now? And still I’ve never pressed, nor have you offered. You know my name, something which I no longer have use for, and yet I know so very little about you. What is your name, where are you from, do you enjoy your job? Do you find pleasure in my descending madness?

         The Event? I remember the Eye; I remember screams in the cold night. I… there was, a ship. I, they… there are screams. I can hear them at night, when I sleep. Screams in the cold.

         My name?

[Audio Journal 11/25/53: Alexi has lost all sense of self. He seems to be degenerating at a ponderous rate in his other mental faculties, but he is unable to identify who he is to any degree of accuracy. My employers don’t especially care. I ask how I can help a man such as this, but I’m told that I am not here to help him, only to get the details they need. I don’t know how much more they think they can wring from this man. I will attempt to press him, but I don’t have much hope. My search for the origin of the runes has led me in a quire direction. A scholarly friend of mine tells me that they appear to be Mesoamerican in origin. Odd.]

         The Creature!  I’m trying to make you understand! It was not some accident! It was not some freak occurrence! It was the creature! Giant beyond imagining, its vastness blotting out the moon. Fangs and claws and eyes! No! Do not show me pictures of Narwhals or giant squid; don’t you think I know these creatures?! This was not something man has seen before, this was something so old and terrible that man cannot even grasp at such a thing.  No… you don’t understand… please, I’m trying - I’m trying to tell you… I’m trying to tell…

[Audio Journal 11/26/53: As suspected, Alexi did not respond well to added pressure when questioned about the so called creature that attacked his vessel. My employers are more insistent than ever that push Mr. Austvich. I wonder how many men there are like me within Project: Riptide that have had their professions twisted into ruining other men’s lives. I know that our success may mean our nations security, but is it justified? My sleep has been troubled with strange dreams of late, though again I credit this to the macabre tales that I’ve had to endure at the hands of poor Alexi. I genuinely feel sorry for the man.]

         Ha! Ahhahaha! You think I can’t hear them? The voices! They’re muffled, but I can hear them out beyond the door! There is muttering and arguing, about me I think, or the stories I’ve been telling you. Something has happened, hasn’t it? Something that makes you question your smug ideals that I am crazy! I don’t question it, not anymore; I am perfectly insane, but that comes from month upon month of confinement and doesn’t make my tale any less true.

         I can see the gears spin in your head sir! I can see the strings on your wrists leading back to puppet masters who demand more than I have already told you! Tell me it’s not true, go ahead, lie to me; it doesn’t matter, I know the truth. Some event has transpired! Something has changed the situation! HA! I can see it in your eyes!

         You lead me away with more of the same questions I’ve heard hundreds of times. My name?! You wonder at my name, even after I’ve told you so many times before? No, I will not be led away from what is going on! I can hear the whispers at night, I can hear the pounding feet of men rushing up and down the hall outside my door. You need me now! HAHAHA! Watch the tables my friend, they are turning! AHHAHAHAHA!

         The strings of your puppeteer is tugging, yes? You press me for more, more of what no man should probably know. Fine! You want to know so badly?!  I tell you now that what I saw that night was something brought up from the depths by man! Yes, man! Can’t you see? We dared go where men should not, and this is what it got us!

[Audio Journal 12/06/53: There is no way that Alexi can know the things he does. The room that is both his prison and our meeting place is quite soundproof. He speaks of my employers, the men responsible for his detainment and their persistence that he knows something. But he is also very right about the fact that something has happened. I cannot know exactly what, for no one of any standing will tell me much. From what I’ve gleaned, there was another test run, but something went amiss. I hear that the lead research vessel was destroyed, that my colleague, Dr. Vernholt is dead. A terrible loss. There is whispered talk of another taken from the wreckage; though for the life of me, I cannot tell where they’re keeping the man. A report back on the runes. I had them sent to an old colleague at the Natural History Museum and he says that, yes, they do resemble those of some Pre-Roman Aztec cultures, but with subtle differences that makes any translation he makes just an educated guess. Curious.] 

         The voices outside are clearer now. They’re urging you on, I can hear it. They need to know more, always more. And something about an attack? Was it another ship? Was it a city? Is the adoration that has caused me so much grief and madness now plaguing you as well? I can only hope it is! Yes, you heard me right. I hope that thing destroys you and your masters! With claw and tooth and maddening eye!

         The voices have been quiet for a while now and your questions seem to be lacking the urgency they once had. Is it over then? Have they killed the beast or, god forbid, captured it? No? I can see it in your eyes as you look away. You are a terrible liar friend. It isn’t over is it? Look at my smile. I hardly recognize it in the mirror, but I’m grinning at you my friend. At your misfortune, you and yours are just as lost as I am now. More so, I think, for at least I don’t have to fight the creature while I am trapped in this place.

[Audio Journal 12/09/53: I… I cannot believe what I am hearing around this place. They say there has been an attack, but not by the soviets. Apparently the last test went far worse than the rumors had suggested. The Creature is loose.  My employers are preoccupied and do not demand daily updates anymore. Alexi again drives through the dross of confusion and seemingly guesses at what I know to be the truth. His eyes have a terrible glint about them nowadays. He looks at me like a hungry wolf and I fear what I have made of this man.]

         Ha… it is strange, I cannot remember eating anymore. Mmmm? No, it’s not that I am hungry, I still relieve myself so I know I am eating. I can recall the food even, but the act itself seems absent in my mind. I would like a window. Sorry, my mind wanders at times. But I really do wish to see the outside again. Perhaps… but no. Of course not, you would never let me out of here would you? Bitter? Me? Why would you say that? I’ve only been trapped here for god knows how long! Years it seems like, though you tell me it’s barely been one.

The marks? What mar… oh, those… I don’t know, I suppose when I started hearing the whispers outside I forgot them for a time. Ha! Get it? Time? Meh-heh… god…

         I’m just tired is all. Oh no, I get plenty of sleep; that’s all there is to do in this cell, sleep. I’m tired of this, being here, trapped like a mouse in a maze. And you! Your questions are my maze, always leading me towards something I don’t know if I dare know. The is a minotaur in my maze and I fear there is no cheese at the end.

         I wonder if Theseus thought there would be cheese at the end of his maze?

[Audio Journal 12/14/53: The halls of Project: Riptide have been all hustle and bustle these last two days. The Creature was retaken not two hours before I sit down to dictate this. Men were lost I hear. It is a bloody shame if you ask me. I don’t know whether or not my employers will continue with the project after what has transpired. One does not need a weapon that one cannot aim. My strange dreams continue; they seemed more vivid last night. There was water and darkness. Every time I wake they become just a little more clear.]

         I dreamt last time I slept. I don’t call it night because that word has lost its meaning in here. But I dreamt none the less. It was strange to say the least. I was at sea, floating and trying to keep myself above the surf. I felt the seas rise up over my head; once, twice. And on the third time I sunk. I sunk down farther than I should have with my limited breath.

         I continued to fall for a time, surrounded on all sides by a murk so dense I could not see more than five feet before me. Then I touched upon the floor of the sea, my feet alighting upon hard stone, worn by the ageless waters. It felt as though my body had no weight and I bounced forward wearily.

         Now, this is a dream mind; I know my breath would not hold for so long beneath the water, but as I slept I saw a great city below the waves. It was made of a stone man has yet to discover a name for. And there were those same marking about the stone; the same as those in poor Warner’s room. The stone was old beyond reckoning and coated in mucus-like slime that flowed like weeds in the sea bottom winds.

         The stone formed a long highway which I traversed with some speed. It led down. Into a long trench with fires belching out its walls and molten rock crawled up and out. I followed it still deeper and deeper; some invisible hand pushed me onwards while all my reason told me to flee.

         Reason be damned.

         I made my way into the deepest part of the trench, to the end of the runic stone, and there I found wide fissure in the earth. Great pillars surrounded it, carved with the same symbols. One rune that resembled an eye leered down at me with an intensity that threatened to consume me.

         In my dream I stood there, in the midst of some long forgotten architects creation and gazed down into the darkening void beneath the world. And the void stared back. Truly a sign of my insanity. I could feel that great malevolent eye on me, the one of the creature; it tore at my mind when it simply gazed at me. There was no malice behind it, merely a calculating mind that dwarfed my own to such an extent that I thought of nothing more than ceasing to exist before such loathsome greatness.

         Is this how lesser beings must feel before man? How does a worm look up at us and not feel insignificant? Or are we so great a thing that they do not even take heed of our presence? Much like the vastness of things is lost on men. What do they say? One man’s death is a tragedy, One million is a statistic? We feel the small things with sharp precision, yet there are things so large that we simply can’t comprehend them.

         I did not comprehend within my dream; I was too terrified to even try. That eye stared through me, I doubt it even recognized my presence. Do we recognize individual specs of dust upon the floor?

         Ha! Listen to me. I was never like this before coming here; never was I one to look at life through the eyes of a philosopher. I was a working man for God’s sake. I made enough to feed myself and waste the rest in card games. Now look at me, wondering over whether or not we matter to some grander scheme.

         I feel like a fool now.

         What do you think now? Do you think me mad? Am I so far gone that these kinds of dreams are only to be expected? Look into my eyes and tell me that I am still sane and whole, that would do me as much good as freedom right now. To hear someone tell me that I am not mad, please… please… for the love of god… I… PLEASE!

[Audio Journal 12/17/53: Impossible! I’ve been going over my transcripts of Alexi’s description of his dream and they are the same as my own! What I had thought at first to be just strange wanderings of my imagination are now turning out to be something far more sinister. Can it be that in my dealings with Alexi that some form of… resonance has occurred? I hesitate to call it a psychic connection. I am a man of science after all, but he has the details down to the most minute. He asks me to tell him that he is sane, that he is whole, but how can I when I am starting to question my own sanity. For this can be nothing but madness. From my own memories and Alexi’s descriptions, there can be no doubt that the thing in our dreams is The Creature. I may have to bring this up with my employers.]

         How long has it been? Since that night when my whole life turned? Since the cold and the creature and that place where the screams come from? It seems like years. My face reflects that in the mirror. My eyes are sunken, I have lost so much weight, my hair is graying. Within that mirror over there I can see the man I have become. Christ… Look at me. I’ve become a shell, a husk, my family would never recognize me, my own sister could pass me on the street and never know. Not that I will ever get the chance to see any of them.

         Even if I could leave, I don’t know if I would; is there a world left for me outside anymore? My life has merely been your endless repeating questions for as long as I can remember now. I don’t know whether The Event has happened or if it is merely a story repeated so many times that it has become my reality.

[Audio Journal 12/23/53: There is a deadly quiet in the halls of late, it hangs about the place like thick cobwebs. I see few men bustling about, always in a hurry, always too busy to talk. I’m not even sure if my services are needed anymore, but no one has told me otherwise, so I continue to talk to Mr. Austvich. Even the noises below have ceased. And the phones! All of the lines out of this place seem to have been cut or stopped intentionally, I don’t even get a dial tone when I pick up the receiver. I am afraid and I’m not even sure why. At night, in my room, when the dread silence has settled about me I shake uncontrollably. I have never felt such fear. It pervades my mind like a fog, clouding my logic and reason. I feel as though it shall consume me. I did not volunteer for this.]

Last record dated at 12/25/53

Record has sustained water damage

What is going on? What are you doing? I… Those sounds? Those/

Screams of dying men!

My god! What have you done?! What is happening to the rest of this place? You brought it here didn’t you? Good Lord, you/

You brought IT back here?!

         You didn’t believe me! You doubted me! You thought me mad and/

Christ preserve… I can hear the sounds now, above the screams, those same sounds echoing from bellow us that I heard that night. It’s all so clear again, my god.

         This place is coming down around us! You had IT beneath me this whole time?!  Can you hear the screams of/

Can you hear the men of this place dying because/

Now, get up! Come on you sniveling coward.

         No, you’re coming with me!

         Open the door! Move it man, come on.

         Watch it! Christ, what… what was going on here?! What did you do? No, I don’t want to know, which way?

         Get up. GET UP! Yes, yes, the sounds, I know, how long have I been telling you. Christ… move it!

         Wait… Sshh. Do you hear that? It’s stopped – does that mean...

         No, No! NOOOO!

         The Eye! THE EYE!



End of Recording

Recovered from site 51-B: pacific sector

Project: Riptide terminated as of this review



Gentlemen,

         Our first foray into the field of xenomorphic warfare has been met with some setbacks and ultimately failure. We must remain undaunted by this though. Though our specimen, the Octogoth Carcharodon is loose, our hunt will not stop until it is either destroyed or back under lock and key. Rest assured sirs, this is not, by any means a sign of defeat.  The works of Doctors, Timus, Vernholt, Green and Crowley will not go unused. We have learned a lot from this first experiment and our next venture is already in its first stages of completion. I would like to see budget cleared for three such projects. And sirs, I can do nothing but thank you for your continued support in our efforts. We have high hopes that our next program will show far faster results to put forth into live testing within the next year. As for the failed Project: Riptide, we are happy to say that no more than %10 of the staff survived the destruction of site 51-B, but we are confident that these few remaining men will be hunted down before the end of the month. Of all the survivors, only one remains unaccounted for. He was the last of the subjects taken in during field testing, denomination 869J-G21, Alexi Austvich. Our search for Mr. Austvich remains intensive, we believe he died in the specimen’s escape. Our suspicions are unfounded in that we have yet to find the body. We shall remain vigilant for the time being. I look forward to speaking with you again.

         -General R.R. Bastion-