This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/DivineAnime1 on 2024-11-16 20:52:19+00:00.

They told us the truth under oath: aliens aren’t coming from the stars—they’re already here, hiding beneath the oceans. When former NASA scientists and Area 51 workers testified before Congress, the world shook. The media couldn’t get enough of it. Official reports hinted at sonar readings too symmetrical to be natural, structures too deep for any human to build, and something alive, moving in the darkest parts of the ocean.

At first, people thought it was a hoax, another conspiracy theory to stir the pot. But then funding for deep-sea exploration tripled overnight. What scared me wasn’t the testimony itself but the silence that followed—the way the governments of the world seemed to drop the conversation as if admitting too much would doom us all.

I didn’t believe in any of it, not really. I was just a deep-sea diver trying to make a living. But when Merrick, a billionaire with an ego the size of the ocean, offered me a fortune to take him and a marine biologist named Dr. Evelyn Park to the Mariana Trench, I couldn’t say no. He wasn’t subtle about his intentions. “We’re going to find proof,” he said. “Proof that they’re down there.”

The Mariana Trench isn’t just the deepest part of the ocean—it’s the closest thing we have to another planet. At over 36,000 feet deep, it’s a place where the human body wouldn’t last a second. The pressure is so intense it can crush steel. The temperatures are so cold they border on freezing. It’s pitch black, silent, and utterly alien.

Merrick had spared no expense in chartering The Nautilus, a state-of-the-art submersible designed to withstand the crushing depths. As we descended into the abyss, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were trespassing, crossing a threshold humans weren’t meant to cross.

By the time we passed 10,000 feet, the light from the surface was long gone. The world outside was a black void, broken only by the occasional flicker of bioluminescent creatures. Evelyn marveled at every glowing jellyfish and deep-sea anglerfish that floated past the viewport. “Look at them,” she whispered. “They’ve adapted to total darkness. They’re not just surviving—they’re thriving.”

Merrick wasn’t interested in the lifeforms we could see. His eyes were glued to the sonar, where a faint, rhythmic pulse had been growing louder with every meter we descended. The signal had been picked up by satellite arrays weeks ago, emanating from a specific part of the trench. It was what had drawn him—and us—here.

“It’s not geological,” Evelyn said, studying the signal. “The intervals are too precise.”

Merrick grinned. “Exactly. It’s artificial. A signal. Someone—or something—is down there.”

I didn’t like how certain he sounded.

At 22,000 feet, the ocean started to feel different. The water itself seemed heavier, colder. The submersible creaked and groaned as the pressure mounted, but that wasn’t what unnerved me. It was the silence. The sonar, which had been steadily pinging, now returned strange echoes—delayed, distorted, like something out there was answering us.

The rhythmic pulse we’d been following grew louder, more defined. It wasn’t random. It was a pattern, deliberate and mechanical. And it was close.

Then we saw it.

The floodlights illuminated a ridge on the ocean floor, and beyond it, something impossible: a structure. It was massive, partially buried in sediment, with smooth, curving lines that glimmered faintly in the light. It wasn’t made of stone or metal but something else, a material that seemed to shift and flow like liquid but held its shape.

The structure was covered in intricate patterns, lines and grooves that pulsed faintly with light, like veins carrying some alien energy. Evelyn stared, her face pale. “That’s… that’s not natural. It can’t be.”

Merrick leaned forward, his face alight with greed. “It’s a monolith,” he said. “Proof. This is it.”

Evelyn was scanning the structure with every tool at her disposal, but nothing made sense. “The readings are… inconsistent. The material doesn’t match anything on Earth. And it’s… emitting something.”

“What do you mean, ‘emitting’?” I asked.

“A low-frequency hum,” she said. “It’s resonating through the water.”

As if on cue, the hum grew louder. It wasn’t just in our ears—it was in our bodies, vibrating through our bones. The lights on the monolith flared, and the entire structure seemed to come alive.

Then they appeared.

From behind the monolith, shapes emerged. At first, they blended into the structure, their shimmering bodies reflecting the light. But as they moved, it became clear they weren’t part of the monolith—they were something else entirely.

They were humanoid in shape but impossibly alien. Their limbs were elongated and webbed, their skin a liquid-metal sheen that shifted and flowed like mercury. Their heads had no eyes, no mouth, just smooth, featureless domes that seemed to absorb the light. And yet, I felt them watching us, their presence suffocating.

One of them tilted its head, and a ripple passed through its body. The sonar fell silent.

“They know we’re here,” Evelyn whispered.

Merrick didn’t seem scared—he seemed thrilled. “Get closer,” he demanded. “We need to document this.”

Before I could stop him, Merrick activated the submersible’s maneuvering thrusters, bringing us dangerously close to the monolith. The creatures reacted instantly. One of them surged forward, its liquid-metal body twisting and elongating as it slammed into the viewport. The sub shook violently, alarms blaring as the glass began to crack.

“Merrick, stop!” Evelyn screamed, but he was too focused on the controls. “They’re testing us,” she said, her voice trembling. “We’re intruding!”

The creature struck again, this time with more force. A long, clawed appendage shot out from its body, piercing the side of the sub. Water began to flood the cabin. The pressure difference dragged Merrick toward the breach.

“No!” he yelled, clawing at the console, but it was useless. The water took him in an instant, pulling him out through the jagged hole. The force shredded his body before he even cleared the sub. Blood and fragments of flesh clouded the water as the creatures descended upon him.

Evelyn and I watched in horror as the creatures swarmed Merrick’s remains, their bodies undulating as they tore into him. The monolith pulsed in response, its grooves glowing brighter, as if feeding on the carnage.

“They’re distracted,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “We need to go.”

I activated the safety protocoll for emergencies to seal off the submarine and slammed the controls into reverse, praying the sub would hold together long enough to get us out of there. The creatures didn’t follow—not because they had let us go, but because they were still busy with Merrick. The sight of them, their fluid bodies shimmering as they devoured him, would haunt me forever.

The monolith’s hum began to fade as we ascended, but the silence that replaced it was worse. It wasn’t peace—it was a warning.

Evelyn clutched her chest, her breathing shallow. “They didn’t let us go,” she said. “They… they were done with us.”

The ascent felt endless. Every creak of the sub’s hull, every groan of the pressure, made me think we wouldn’t make it. But somehow, we broke the surface, the sunlight almost blinding after the abyss.

The official report listed Merrick’s death as an accident, the result of equipment failure. Evelyn and I were sworn to secrecy, our footage confiscated by government officials who offered no explanation but plenty of threats.

I tried to move on, to forget what I saw, but the hum never left me. It’s faint, almost imperceptible, but it’s there, resonating in my chest like a second heartbeat. Evelyn says she hears it too.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, I dream of the monolith and the creatures waiting behind it. I see Merrick’s broken body, and I hear the hum growing louder.

They’re still down there, watching, waiting.

And I know someday they’ll call us back.