Recovered Audio Log — Origin: Outer Reach Colony GR-17
This file was flagged as corrupted and unsent in Confederation archives.
Metadata suggests it was recorded less than twelve minutes before Galon-Reach went dark.
[00:00:02]
—audio hiss—
UNKNOWN MALE (CALM, TIRED):
Okay, I think it’s logging. Uh… this is Systems Tech Eli Sarin, Galon-Reach Colony, comms tower B. Local time… 04:12 pre-dawn.
If anybody in relay space ever hears this, congratulations. That means my patch job worked and the tower didn’t blow us all to—
short burst of static, muted chuckle
Right. Sorry. Been on night shift too long.
For the record: this isn’t an official report. I just—
I needed to talk to someone that isn’t half-asleep or quoting procedures at me.
[00:00:39]
So. Context.
Galon-Reach is supposed to be paradise.
You’ve seen the brochures:
Amber sun, pine-glass forests, atmospheric index greener than the Confederation flag. “It doesn’t just support life,” says the administrator’s orientation file, “it welcomes it.”
That line plays on loop in the commissary.
We’ve been here eight months. Long enough to get bored. Long enough that the wildlife committees started complaining nothing out here wants to eat us. Couple of grazers, some skittish gliders, a few crystal-bark herbivores that panic if you look at them too hard.
No apex predators, they said.
No fangs.
No claws.
No problem.
Except…
[00:01:22]
Three nights ago, the perimeter cams glitched.
Not a big deal, right? New world, interference, software updates. We get hiccups.
Only this wasn’t a normal hiccup. Every north-facing camera on the valley line dropped for exactly twelve seconds. Same timestamp, same burst of static, same weird frequency spike that lit my board red.
When they came back up, the feed looked clean.
Too clean.
The algorithms do this thing where they tag motion for analysis. Subtle hairline boxes around anything that might be alive.
After the outage… there were forty-two boxes in frame.
All at the exact same height off the ground.
All absolutely still.
The system flagged it as an error.
I told myself it was, too.
[00:02:11]
Last night, same thing.
North cameras die for twelve seconds.
Come back.
Fields empty. Boxes gone.
The only thing the logs show is that spike. Like something breathed against the lens.
I filed the fault report. Admin marked it low priority. “Environmental interference,” they said. “We’ll recalibrate tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
[00:02:35]
Tonight, it’s… different.
Because the cameras didn’t just glitch.
They saw something.
[00:02:43] — [VIDEO REVIEW AUDIO BEING PLAYED INTO LOG]
Soft clicking of keys. Distant hum of the tower. A low beep, then the hollow sound of external wind through speakers.
ELI (MUTTERING):
Okay, tower B, north ridge, time index 03:41…
Fast-forwarding. Playback whine. Sudden silence.
There. Right there.
Pause.
Frame by frame.
At first it looks like compression noise. Black on black, just… defects in the valley shadow. Ground’s dark glass, trees darker still. No motion.
Until you notice the eyes.
Two points of red.
Not flares. Not reflections.
Eyes.
They slide up from the bottom of the frame — too high for a crawler, too steady for a flyer. The system tags them, finally waking up.
The really fun part?
They blink.
Horizontally.
Then two more appear.
And two more.
Little red coals, brightening.
Motion boxes explode across the frame — twelve, twenty, thirty — all hovering at the edge of the forest, just inside the treeline, watching the colony lights.
Then the whole feed goes white with static.
Twelve seconds of nothing.
When it clears, the valley is empty.
Those… whatever they were… are gone.
But the static doesn’t cleanly cut. When you slow it down, there’s something in it.
A pattern.
Like something trying to speak and the channel refusing to carry it.
[00:04:41]
I showed that clip to Security.
Sergeant laughed, said I’d been spooking myself with old horror streams. Suggested the ground crew were shining red lasers into the lens.
I suggested maybe we ask them to stop shining lasers that move like eyes and blink sideways.
He told me to get some sleep.
I don’t think he watched the static.
[00:05:06]
Long exhale. Chair creak.
Look, I know how this sounds.
New world.
Night shift tech hears bumps in the dark.
Next thing you know, he’s claiming the bushes are full of monsters.
Only… I’ve been replaying that twelve-second static burst on loop for the last hour, and—
There’s a point, right in the middle, where the noise drops low. Below normal interference. Almost inaudible unless you lean in.
It sounds like clicking.
Layers of it.
Teeth or claws tapping in unison.
And under that—
You get this… almost-word.
The system can’t translate it. No linguistic root. But my brain keeps trying to force it into syllables.
Ree—
Reach—
Reea—
Like it’s trying to say the planet’s name back to us and choking on it.
[00:06:01]
Right. This is the part where I reassure whoever finds this that I’m probably wrong. That I’ll wake up, laugh at myself, and blame it on caffeine.
But here’s the thing.
While I’ve been talking, the board’s been lighting up again.
North ridge cams.
Same spike.
Same twelve-second drop.
Only this time… the outage isn’t just on my screens.
The whole colony grid blinked.
Comms, power — everything — for exactly twelve seconds.
The tower emergency lights are still flickering.
And… fun fact… my window looks straight out over the valley.
Hang on.
[00:06:43] — [MICROPHONE RUSTLING AS HE STANDS]
ELI (OFF-MIC):
Okay, don’t do this, Sarin. Don’t be the idiot who goes to the window in the horror feed.
Footsteps. A hand thumps against glass.
…they’re closer.
You can see them from here.
It’s… gods—
They’re standing at the edge of the agri-fields. Dozens of them. Maybe more. I can’t see their bodies. Just shapes. Taller than a person. Too thin.
All I can really see are the eyes.
A field of coals, all at head height, shifting left to right in perfect sync. Watching the colony. Watching the tower.
One just—
One just looked up at me.
Not glanced.
Tracked.
Like it already knew where I was.
The others followed.
Whole valley of red eyes, all aligning on the tower window.
They’re not animals.
Animals don’t aim their attention like that.
[00:07:52]
Alarm tone begins, faint.
That’s perimeter two.
That’s… that’s inside the outer fence.
They’re moving.
Hang on— going back to the console.
[00:08:05] — [RAPID KEYCLACKS]
Every external cam just blinked out.
All at once.
Not a glitch. Not random.
Someone just put their hand over our eyes.
The only feed I’ve got left is tower-internal.
I can see the stairwell.
The elevator doors.
If anything comes up here—
[00:08:28]
Distant crash. Metal shudders. The alarm pitch rises. Voices below — panicked, unclear.
Okay, I think—
I think they hit the south sector too. Emergency bursts on civilian bands—screaming, people yelling about shapes in the housing blocks. Something about teeth—
static wipes the rest
No one is saying “wild animal.”
Everybody’s just saying “they.”
[00:08:54]
Slow scratching sound near mic.
…okay.
That’s… that’s on the outside of the tower.
Something’s climbing.
You can hear the claws on the metal.
Almost like… tapping their way up.
Each scrape matching the rhythm of the clicking in the static.
Ree-ree-ree—
He laughs weakly.
If this is a prank, it’s the best-funded one in colonial history.
[00:09:21]
I’m going to try something.
Looping this log into a tight-beam packet. Slaving it to the emergency relay. If the tower dishes survive, this file will dump to the nearest listening post.
If not… at least I’ll have talked to someone before—
Heavy impact shakes the tower. Metal screams as if being peeled open.
That’s the roof hatch.
They’re on the roof.
[00:09:48] — [BREATHING LOUDER, MIC CLIPPED]
They move fast. You can hear them over the wind—hands, claws, whatever they are, scraping across the plating. Multiple sets.
They’re not howling.
They’re not roaring.
They’re… talking to each other. Low, chittered bursts. Short. Precise.
The hatch latch just clicked.
It—
It’s turning.
I locked it from this side, but it’s turning.
They’re thinking their way in.
[00:10:19]
If anyone hears this, I need you to understand something.
We were told this world had no apex predators.
We were wrong.
Whatever they are, they’ve been watching us. Days, maybe weeks. Learning the lights. The patrols. The shifts.
Waiting for the right hour to—
Metal shriek. Hatch tears open. Wind roars. Layered clicking — sharp, hungry, intelligent.
Oh—
Oh, God.
It’s in the doorway.
Its eyes are—
They’re brighter up close. Not just red. Deeper. Hotter. Like they’re lit from inside with something that remembers every face it’s ever seen.
It’s… smiling.
Do you understand?
It has a mouth full of knives and it looks pleased we’re here.
I think it’s—
garbled static — piercing tone — mic distortion
It’s making a sound.
Right into the mic.
Like it knows I’m recording.
It’s… trying to say—
Ree—
Reeea—
Reeeach—
Another creature clicks a response from below. Rushing movement.
No— no— stay back—
Scream. Impact. Log rattles. Claws scrape inches from the mic.
[00:10:59]
Low chittering. Silence. Footsteps recede.
For seven seconds the only sound is failing wind systems and a faint, rhythmic tapping.
As if claws drum thoughtfully on metal.
Then, very softly — almost perfectly imitating Eli’s earlier tone:
UNKNOWN VOICE (DISTORTED, MULTI-LAYERED):
“…anybody out… there…”
Static surge. Transmission ends.
End of file.
This recovered transmission is set in the universe of the Harmonic Constellation and my upcoming sci-fi horror novel, The Fall of Galon-Reach, where something with ember-red eyes decides paradise is a hunting ground.
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