This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/AdditionalPrune7391 on 2024-10-16 20:21:44+00:00.

Journal Entry – October 17, 2024

It’s late. I’ve lost track of time, but the moon is full again tonight. My telescope is old, but reliable—a relic from my father, who always told me to never stop looking up. He was obsessed with space, with the possibility of life beyond Earth. I’ve taken on that obsession myself. But tonight, I wish I hadn’t.

To whoever reads this: you need to listen carefully. I don’t know if I’ll have time to finish writing, but I need someone to know what I’ve seen. What’s happening. And what’s coming.

It started like any other night. The sky was clear, and the moon hung like a beacon in the darkness. I positioned my telescope, aiming for the Sea of Tranquility—my usual spot. But something was different tonight. There was a shadow across the surface, moving against the stillness of the lunar landscape. At first, I thought it was an anomaly in the lens, maybe dirt or a crack, but it wasn’t.

The shadow grew larger. It wasn’t just drifting; it was crawling.

My pulse quickened as I adjusted the focus. What I saw—God help me—wasn’t a shadow at all. It was something else entirely. A figure, or rather, many figures, stretched out like black tendrils across the lunar surface. Their forms moved in an unnatural, jerking manner, as though they were flickering between realities. I couldn’t tell how large they were, but they dwarfed the craters around them.

I kept staring, not wanting to believe it, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, slithering across the moon, growing in number and mass. And then I saw it—the center of them all.

There was something huge, something buried deep in the moon itself, starting to break through the surface. Its sheer size was impossible to comprehend, like a mountain rising from the depths. The tendrils—those things—seemed to be feeding from it, drawing energy, life, from whatever it was. I could see the cracks in the moon, spreading from the point of emergence, webbing across the surface like shattered glass.

My heart raced as I zoomed in further. That’s when I saw them—the eyes.

They weren’t just on the moon. They were looking back at me. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of glowing red eyes stared from within that abyss, unblinking, aware. I don’t know if they saw me through the telescope or sensed me somehow, but the moment I realized they were staring, everything went wrong.

The earth beneath my feet seemed to vibrate—just a tremor, at first, but it’s been growing. The moon… it’s changing. Even to the naked eye, I can see the fractures deepening, spreading, as if the entire surface is about to crumble. Something—whatever is inside it—is waking up. I can feel it.

This is not a natural phenomenon. It’s alive. And it’s about to break free.

I can’t explain how I know, but I feel certain that once it emerges, it won’t stop with the moon. It will reach Earth. The tendrils, the things crawling across the lunar surface… they’re not just staying there. They’re spreading. Fast.

I keep hearing this… humming sound. It started as a low vibration, but now it’s a constant hum in my ears, as if the air itself is charged with some invisible force. I’ve tried turning off all the electronics, but it’s still there, growing louder.

If you’re reading this, I’m warning you—do not look at the moon. Don’t use a telescope, don’t stare at it directly. They can see you. They know when you’re watching. I’m sure of it now. I think I’ve already drawn too much attention.

The tremors are getting worse. I can see cracks forming along the edges of the floorboards, and the air is stifling, like it’s harder to breathe. I don’t know how much time we have, but it’s not long. There’s something ancient, something monstrous inside the moon, and it’s breaking through. Once it does, there will be no stopping it.

I don’t know if the government knows, or if anyone else has seen what I’ve seen. But I’m certain now: this is the end. Not just for me, but for all of us.

Please, whoever finds this, spread the word. Stay indoors, stay away from the moon. It’s too late for me, but maybe you’ll have a chance to survive. Maybe.

The humming… it’s deafening now. The walls are shaking. The moon—dear God, the moon is splitting open. I can see it even without the telescope. The sky is turning a deep, unnatural red.

I can’t stay here any longer. I need to warn someone, but I don’t know if there’s anyone left to warn.

It’s coming.

—L