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Part of USS Norway: Spectre


Devron Fleet Yards
November 2399
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Something felt off, Matthews thought to himself. The corridors of Devron Station were normally a hive of activity. People going about their business, returning to their quarters following long shifts, there were even occasions where crew members would exercise in the corridors for lack of a better space. Not tonight, the whole station was filled with an eerie stillness as though everyone had just got up and left.

And the sound, what was that sound? It was discordant, unorganised, unsettling and it was… everywhere. Matthews could feel it in his very core, as though it was coming from the fabric of space. It was like a nail being driven through his temple, scratching at his thoughts.

As he neared the end of the corridor the sound changed. Less chaotic, more organised, softer. Still though, it called to him.

Matthews took a deep breath and rounded the corner at the end of the corridor. 

There it was, the source of the dread he felt inside. A figure stood ten meters away, cloaked in darkness. Thick black oily tendrils reaching out from it absorbing the bulkheads around it.

Matthews stood paralysed in fear. He had seen this before on the runabout just before it took Miller.

“Find me.” A voice whispered from the shadows. “It hasn’t found the others… it can still be stopped.”

The sound began to swell again, getting louder and louder until it felt like a needle in his ears. Matthews gasped in pain clutching at his ears.

The figure grinned, it’s face contorted into a demonic smile.

“She is mine.” It growled as its boney hand snapped up around Matthew’s throat.

Matthews woke in a panic and sat bolt upright, his bed was drenched in sweat and he was shivering.

“Shit,” he exclaimed “not again.”

Matthews exhaled and leant over to his bedside table, pressing a control and illuminating his quarters. 

“Computer, time?” He said as he rubbed his face with both hands.

“03:00 hours.” The computer chirped.

“Same time every damn night,” he said as he swung his legs out of bed, placing his feet on the soft carpet. Pulling himself up and out of bed he picked up his dressing gown from the back of a nearby chair and draped it over himself. 

Matthews walked over to the small sofa in the corner of his quarters and picked up a PADD from the several scattered around it.

He began to read it as he collapsed into a heap on the sofa. He had spent a lot of his time researching various databases, looking at duty reports of starships that had passed through the area, historical texts and even folklore. Looking for anything that could explain his ordeal and help him find his friend.


  • Now that was a story to whet the imagination. I love a read like that, which has me pondering what it means now, and curious even more about what's to come. The opening prose evoked the dizziness of a dream -- halfway between poetry and sense-memory. Really, really evocative wordsmithing! Similarly, the description of the shadowy figure put a fit of discomfort right through me. "She is mine" is wicked ominous. I really enjoy the mixing of genres in this one, some of my favourite Star Trek has the mystical or full on ghost story elements. I can't wait to read more of Spectre.

    April 6, 2022