A meteor had fallen from the sky in central Siberia. The explosion had been tremendous. They isolated the area in fear of radiation or other kind of contamination. Physiological contamination. They had never dreamed of this.
Colours were seen in the sky. At first they were thought to be northern lights, but they moved differently, had more shape. They seemed… Conscious, somehow. There were some kind of darkness in them.
A group of scientists was sent in. Raskolnikov lead the crew. They went in on a military vehicle, accompanied by soldiers. Major Rasputin led the excursion.
They left in the morning, it was high spring, and there were flowers everywhere. The sun was shining.
As they came closer to the impact area the sky started to darken in a strange way. Not like clouds or anything else covered for the sun, but more as if it was becoming nighttime. The sun was still as high on the sky as it should be this far north, but it became more and more pale, and the stars started showing. The colours started dancing in the the air high above them. The further in they went, the lower the colours, and soon they were flying around the truck like ghosts.
Do you think their alien lifeforms? Said Boris.
I don’t know, answered Raskolnikov. They don’t seem material.
The forms had faces, and they were looking at them through the truck window. Floating around them. They looked like they were asking for something, no, begging. Begging for help.
Alien ghosts, said Boris, more to himself than to anyone else. Is that even possible?
They arrived at the crater. The sight was spectacular. Never before had Raskolnikov seen anything like it. Spirits flying around in chaos and harmony. Moans of pain could be heard. Raskolnikov went out of the truck. He was to amazed to be careful. Boris tried to stop him, but he started walking into the crater.
As he went further the spirits were surrounding him, caressing him, whispering into his ear sound which could be some kind of language. Something was calling for him. There, in the darkness in front of him a transparent, abstract creature was sitting. It’s face was twisted in a strange way, pain, horror and bottomless suffering was shining. It spoke to Raskolnikov.
We destroyed our planet. When there was nothing else to eat, we ate each other. We kept the meat living, cutting off piece by piece. Our planet was suffering so deeply, so indescribably that the dead could not rest. The suffering was only getting more and more horrible.
A group of our race found a solution. Euthanasia. They destroyed the whole planet, blew it up from within. This piece has been flying through space for a long, long time, longer than you can ever imagine. Now we are here, and we are still suffering. Now you will suffer with us.
The spirits surrounded him, started scratching his skin, his bones. He started running towards the truck. He heard gunshots. Screams. Silence. The ghosts were ripping his skin to pieces. He did not die. Agony. Pain became everything.
It still is.
His souls is still floating around in the crater waiting for the next unfortunate creature wander into the trap to be destroyed as he once was.
The area stayed a no go zone. Anyone who entered was never seen again.