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17 February 2008

1. Prelude

Philip would often tell me spooky stories late at night and I remember one in particular that he told me.

How we got into the position of relating scary stories was, of course, always my fault. I would ask him in the half-light of my bedroom to tell me something spooky, he would oblige, and before the end I would always tell him to stop, that I was spooked and didn’t want to hear anymore. Then we’d cuddle up in bed in the dark and I’d feel secure, safe, and that nothing could trouble me.

Ridiculous! Pathetic! I hate myself at the very memory of doing such things! Not the spooky stories, just the whole damn stupid scenario!

Anyway, this is how the story goes. There was a US space station floating above the Earth’s atmosphere. Not one of those recent ‘Fancy Dan’ jobs, I think – one of the earlier types, like an aerosol can with little port-holes. Well, the crew are doing all the usual stuff – experiments, checking instruments, long-range anti-gravitational peeing into a jar! The usual astronautical shenanigans! Then one of them looks out of a window. On one side of the space station is Earth, all detailed and shining and splendid and quiet. But on the other side, where he’s looking, there’s black void stretching on until the end of the universe. But there’s something else, something that shouldn’t be there. Another astronaut. Not one of his colleagues though – they’re all there inside the space station. And this astronaut is just hovering there, kind of small in the distance. He’s not moving, just appearing to look fixedly at the space station. His visor is completely black so any face inside is inscrutable. The astronaut calls to his colleagues and they all stare, wondering if they’re hallucinating. This is no Russian cosmonaut – at least, there’s nothing on his space suit to give the impression that he’s Russian. But also this is early space exploration, long before the heavens were littered with space dudes and their satellites, and reusable shuttles and space stations like floating hotels!

One of them says that they should radio Mission Control and tell them what they can see. The others agree. As they scurry about to make this radio-link happen, suddenly everything goes black – the lights in the space station cut out, everything cuts out, all the instrument panels are dead. For a second there’s panic, voices shouting out, shouting over each other, colliding around and scuttling about. Then one of the astronauts glances out of the window at where the mysterious astronaut figure should be, but space is empty again. No astronaut. Just nothing. He calls out to the others that the figure has disappeared. They stop what they’re doing, and, as the silence descends, there’s a slight sound of scraping on the outside of the space station, as if something is moving along the outside of it. Then the sound stops. One of the astronauts whispers: “What was that?” No sooner had he finished the question than a huge bang resounds through the station. It’s coming from the main airlock. Then another bang. Then another. The sounds can be felt reverberating through the metal, and the station almost seems to move slightly with every impact. And then after maybe the fourth or fifth impact, one of the astronauts is looking in the direction of the airlock door when …

It’s at that point that I told Philip to stop, that I was spooked and didn’t want to hear anymore. Then we cuddled up in bed in the dark and I felt secure, safe, and that nothing could trouble me.

Yuk! I disgust myself! I make myself feel sick!

Philip said that the story was true. I wonder about that now. Before I would have scoffed at such a claim. Now, I’m not so sure.

20:30 Posted in Part One: The Story So Far | Permalink | Comments (0) | Email this | Tags: haunted house, ghost story, horror story, astronaut, space, nicole kidman, journal