Field Entry: McMurdo Station, Antarctica – 3:33 a.m.
You think nothing can happen here.
Too cold. Too isolated. Too logical.
But isolation doesn’t protect you — it amplifies you.
And if something wants in…
There’s nowhere to run.
Day 1: Science, Sex, and Something Else
I came under the guise of “psychological field study.”
No one here trusts journalists.
Even fewer talk about the incidents — the weird ones.
But after two weeks of pretending to be normal, one man finally cracked.
Let’s call him Dr. Felix Greene, climatologist, 41, previously married, now divorced… after Antarctica.
“It started with long talks in the dark.
Then dreams.
Then waking up in the middle of the night… mid-conversation with her.
But she was asleep.”
He and Claire, a glaciologist, had begun a quiet romance — rare, private, and intense.
“We started finishing each other’s sentences. Sharing dreams.
At one point, we spoke in unison… in a language we didn’t know.”
Then came the blackout.
42 Hours Missing — But Not Gone
They were last seen entering Sector H-9, a disused comms outpost buried in the ice.
They returned nearly two days later — frostbitten, dehydrated, and completely silent.
Claire recovered.
Felix didn’t.
“She came back different,” he said. “Not cruel. Not distant.
Just… like something else was in there too.”
They broke off contact.
Felix was later discharged for “delusional behavior” after claiming to see her watching him in mirrors — even back home.
Lorgen’s Final Word: The Coldest Love Bite
If Eve Lorgen had written a case study on polar parasitic relationships, this would be Exhibit A.
- Emotional bonding intensified by isolation
- Psychic merge with unexplained telepathic overlap
- Sudden collapse of intimacy, followed by personality distortion
- An overwhelming sense that “something else” hijacked the connection
This wasn’t just manipulation.
It was full-body, full-soul occupancy.
Symbol Watch: Ice Runes, Reflected Eyes, and the Silent Room
I gained access to Sector H-9 with a sympathetic tech.
Found:
- A journal left behind by Claire — pages ripped out, but one sketch remained: a spiral descending into a black sun
- An old laptop with no power, yet still glowing
- And on the walls: frost patterns that resembled eye shapes, recurring in clusters of three
The floor beneath the server room vibrated, but only when I stood still.
No wind. No sound. Just… listening.
Field Notes: Antarctica Doesn’t Want Witnesses
- The harsh environment prevents easy escape, making psychic invasions more likely to “settle in”
- Romance here moves fast — accelerated by isolation, trauma, and desperation
- And when it ends, it often ends with silence. Or madness.
One woman I met off-record said,
“Sometimes we leave a part of ourselves down there.
And sometimes something else follows us back.”
Closing Log: 2:00 a.m. – Ross Ice Shelf
The sky is black.
The stars flicker like eyes trying not to blink.
I whisper her name — not Claire’s, but someone else’s.
Something inside the wind… whispers back.
End of Blog Series One.
Ten sites. Ten entangled encounters.
One repeating pattern.
They don’t come for the planet.
They come for the bond.
And we keep opening the door.