Transcript
Narrator 1 (0:01)
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Narrator 2 (1:14)
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Narrator 4 (1:23)
Bunker 8 is a horror and sci fi audio drama that explores disturbing themes and intense moments. Some content may be unsettling for certain listeners. Listener discretion is advised. The Midnight Mystery Presents Bunker 8 Season 2 Episode 6 George I've had enough. Enough of Violet not giving me any answers. Enough of being in the dark. I need to find a way back to find out what's going on here. I need answers. And the only thing that can give me that is is chained up in one of these rooms. But first, I need something to protect myself. A weapon. Emily's quarters. If there's anything useful, it'll be here. I need some type of weapon. Something practical. Something I can actually use against this. This creature. I can't go at it empty handed again. The room. The room is too neat. Everything is in its place. The bed is perfectly made. I don't know, it kind of feels wrong. Like no one actually lived here. Let's see what you have here. I start with the drawers. I'm hoping for a knife or a tool, but all I find are clothes. They're folded perfectly stacked, like she was waiting for an inspection. There's nothing useful. Not even like a pair of scissors or anything like that. I move to the desk. There are papers everywhere. Notes, drawings and maps off the bunker Some of it looks like research, maybe experiments that she was conducting. I pushed them aside. I don't really have time to figure out what all this means. I need something I can hold in my hand, something I can swing or stab with. The wardrobe is next. Coats and jackets hang in a perfect row. I push them aside, searching the back of the closet. Maybe she had like a hiding spot or something like that. But nothing. My hand hits a flashlight. It's heavy, solid. I pick it up and give it a quick test with my hand. Okay. This should be okay. It's not ideal, but it's. It's better than nothing. I then search under the bed. I find a box. It's locked. I pry at it, my fingers aching as I try to force it open. Ah, there we go. Gotcha. Inside, there are photos. Old, black and white with the familiar white border of an early Polaroid. The. The image has that grainy, worn look, but it's still clear enough to make out the faces. The photo shows Emily, much younger, maybe in her early 20s. Her hair is styled in soft waves and she's wearing a simple patterned dress that fits the 1930s style. She's smiling. A big, genuine smile that makes her look carefree. She looks happy. She's standing in front of a small wooden house with ivy creeping up the sides. Next to her is a man. He's tall, with a neat haircut and a buttoned up shirt with suspenders. He's got his arm around Emily, pulling her close. And he's smiling, too. They look like they belong to another world. One where things were simpler. Happier. I look down at the photo and there's a note scribbled at the bottom. Summer 38. Before the move. Why am I even looking at this? This is personal. I put it all away and grab the flashlight and move on. The hallway stretches out in front of me, long and empty. I don't know this place well. I've only been here a day, maybe two. I'm not even sure anymore. Every corridor looks the same, and it's easy to get turned around. I keep the flashlight in my hand, holding it tight. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. I need to find that room again. The one where I saw it. That. That thing. I didn't get a good look before, but I saw enough to know I'm not safe. Even if it was chained up. I believe it was left, then straight. I think I wasn't right. I try to retrace my steps, but everything looks the same. The walls, the doors. There's no signs, no markers. It's like the bunker was built to keep people lost. To keep me lost. God, how did Emily even get around here? I pass a row of doors. Some are open, showing empty rooms with bunk beds or metal desks. Others are locked. I don't even want to know what's behind them. I need to focus on finding that room again. Jesus. I don't know why I'm even doing this. I should be running in the opposite direction. But I need answers. I need to know what that thing is and why it's here and why I'm here with it. Ah, Finally I see it. The heavy door at the end of the hallway. The middle surface is scratched and dented with deep drag marks leading right up to it. The same marks I saw earlier smeared into the concrete floor. Whatever Emily dragged in here, it sure did put up a fight.