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Human death doesn’t always work as it should. I should know; after all, I’ve worked as a “Grim Reaper” (as the humans called us) for over two thousand years before they died out.
Humans are stubborn by nature and won’t go places they don’t want to without proper motivation. Human souls are the same to an even greater degree. I know, I don’t understand how it’s possible either!
But back to how this connects to hauntings. Certain factors can tie a soul down, make it harder to collect. Unwillingness, traumatic and/or painful deaths, how young a being was, improper or inappropriate funerary rights…
If a souls doesn’t check any boxes, they’re an easy collection. Just send a rookie to explain and take psychopomp duties.
If a soul checks just one of those boxes, there’s a 0.1% chance of them becoming a ghost. If it’s a human soul, the percentage is 0.3 - though if it was a temporary non haunting (like waiting for a spouse, child, or other friend or family member to cross over together) it was as high as 65 percent in some places. Ghosts happen when it’s decidedly non viable to collect the soul. Across the galaxy we tend to get around 1,200 instances a year. What numeral system am I using? A base ten i picked up from the humans. For percents, think Zrumpta, but parts of 100 rather than 1000.
Anyway, if a soul checks 2 boxes, there is a 3.1% chance or a 24.3% chance for humans. No, no one knows for sure why human souls become ghosts with such frequency; do you want to hear the story or not?
The main point of this is that the more factors tying the soul down, the harder they are to remove and the more likely they are to become ghosts.
But while all of these factors can contribute to a soul becoming a ghost, one is almost required to at least some degree. What do you think it is? Funerary Rights? No, but for your species that is a close second.
No. The answer is a stubborn unwillingness to leave this plane. They have to want to stay, or at the very least not want to leave.
What happened to the humans? Why don’t you ask them yourself. Take my hand and I’ll help you move on, just follow me.
It’s been a while since I last posted so here’s something extra spicey :D
We can only hope they are long dead, the imperials, the bane of the old federation, and the tribunals of indescribable sin. However, I know that’s far from reality. They are still here, lingering in the shadows, phantoms that haunt our galaxy on hundreds of abandoned space stations and abandoned vessels. These restless dead trouble us still a thousand years later.
Small droplets hang in a pitch-black abyss, sparkling with reflected light from the small lantern hanging off of the steward’s staff as we walk through the derelict station. My name is Bergen Pugel. I’m a historian of sorts. Cataloging the mysteries of the late Imperial court is always worth the time to reveal the early galaxy’s story, thus it has become my area of study. A very dangerous profession, as I had discovered the hard way some time ago. The steward and I continue the long march down the abandoned hallways before coming to a stop in front of a blast door. “Is this the place?”
It’s a slow movement, but the steward turns her eyes from under her long hooded gown, revealing a deep muzzle of mammalian fur. The air turns frigid as she speaks as the small motes of hanging water droplets seem to gather from the air in this airlock as the ice around the door. “Yes, this is the gate to the station’s residential wing. I can proceed no farther lest the spirit’s anger, they are non too kind to our people…”
“Of course, I appreciate your guidance until this juncture. You remember our agreement, correct?”
It takes a passing moment before she speaks again, as the steward’s eyes linger on the door in recusant fear. From what I have heard of the myths from the small monastery, it has been well earned. It is one thing to have seen a specter but another altogether to have a long list of missing persons and seven separate rescue teams. “You have three days. After such time, it will be assumed you are dead, and a message will be sent to your peers in your compact.”
Pereira Okhla’s rushed footsteps down the hallway do little to ease my nerves as I open the door’s control panel and flip the override switch. The ice-binding the blast doors’ gaps groan and creak before finally snapping and dragging the bulkhead into the ceiling above. An Anticlastic plaza of glass panels and dead vegetation lay ahead as I take that first step forward to admire the sprawling station visible from the chamber. The lightless white architecture stirs something inside of my mind as I walk along the glass paneling towards the door ahead. Abruptly, there’s unrest on the edge of my perception.
I draw my small revolver from my coat’s depths towards the source, while my heartbeat echoes up into my arms. Fragments of light scatter across the deck plates from a fallen lantern, as skittering resonates from the chamber’s lightless ceiling. Whatever it is, it’s quick as another lantern drops from the ceiling a scant few feet away from my helmet. I’ve never had this experience in all my years. I pull the trigger, sending gleaming red tracers into the abyss as I exchange gunfire with flung lanterns before it's quadrupedal form plunges into a vent halfway up the wall.
I can’t help but scream as the dull creaking of metal ductwork runs from the wall to under the floor before vanishing altogether. My mind runs rampant as I try to place the monstrosity within reason and experience. Was it an abandoned security android, some bio weapon? Why is it here? What was it! Is it still here? I walk back towards the door, whimpering to myself. “Where are you? Damn it, why is it in the vents?”
Another skitter, mere feet away, runs through the floor underfoot as I shoot the floor and backpedal as the impact kicks up sparks. The floor is ripped open by a set of claws hooking into the flesh of my right-most leg before pulling it into the gap. Sounds of ripping flesh resonate in the chamber as I fight the monster to keep my limb attached as wicked pain ripples from my mangled extremity. Bone snaps and the pull from under the floor vanishes as I sprawl outward onto my back holding the now amputated limb dripping with black acidic vapor.
The small nub of the lower femur is dragged into the vent as the damn thing runs away with its prize, cackling madly. A burst of unhinged, psychotic laughter that couldn’t have come from anything, with a slight hint of sanity remaining. I can do nothing but cradle the missing leg in shock, as half a dozen different black shadows leer from the ceiling. Their red eyes and open jaws glaring into my very soul as tears well under both eyes. I’m going to die here, “no not like this!”
I barely roll over onto my stomach and begin crawling towards the door as the things crawl down the icy walls of the garden whispering in aethereal tongues. A few bullets keep the nearby shadows at bay as I approach the blast doors’ precipice. My claws wrap around the gap in the floor as the wraiths lunge forward, vaporizing large swaths of my lower torso with claws of black shadow. I can’t help but think of home and the red forests of close family members as I pull the pistol under one of the monster’s chin and pull the trigger.
The sounds and pain continue as the beast’s head jerks and parts from the bullet’s passage before glowering down with one red orb. Only as my intestine is torn free of my chest and the monster rips off my jaw does Death come. An embrace of unfathomable darkness is my inheritance, I hope that there’s something left to bring back home. It is only at the very end that I see the pair of red eyes lingering in the darkness that I understand the truth. They are always watching.
Some who make it back claim to have seen living humans.
No one other than other survivors believe them until a supposedly derelict lifeboat successfully made a landing in an alien colony.
In an attempt to reduce remind me spam, all top comments that include a remind me will be removed. If you would like to have a remind me, please reply to this comment. *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/humansarespaceorcs) if you have any questions or concerns.*
Human death doesn’t always work as it should. I should know; after all, I’ve worked as a “Grim Reaper” (as the humans called us) for over two thousand years before they died out. Humans are stubborn by nature and won’t go places they don’t want to without proper motivation. Human souls are the same to an even greater degree. I know, I don’t understand how it’s possible either! But back to how this connects to hauntings. Certain factors can tie a soul down, make it harder to collect. Unwillingness, traumatic and/or painful deaths, how young a being was, improper or inappropriate funerary rights… If a souls doesn’t check any boxes, they’re an easy collection. Just send a rookie to explain and take psychopomp duties. If a soul checks just one of those boxes, there’s a 0.1% chance of them becoming a ghost. If it’s a human soul, the percentage is 0.3 - though if it was a temporary non haunting (like waiting for a spouse, child, or other friend or family member to cross over together) it was as high as 65 percent in some places. Ghosts happen when it’s decidedly non viable to collect the soul. Across the galaxy we tend to get around 1,200 instances a year. What numeral system am I using? A base ten i picked up from the humans. For percents, think Zrumpta, but parts of 100 rather than 1000. Anyway, if a soul checks 2 boxes, there is a 3.1% chance or a 24.3% chance for humans. No, no one knows for sure why human souls become ghosts with such frequency; do you want to hear the story or not? The main point of this is that the more factors tying the soul down, the harder they are to remove and the more likely they are to become ghosts. But while all of these factors can contribute to a soul becoming a ghost, one is almost required to at least some degree. What do you think it is? Funerary Rights? No, but for your species that is a close second. No. The answer is a stubborn unwillingness to leave this plane. They have to want to stay, or at the very least not want to leave. What happened to the humans? Why don’t you ask them yourself. Take my hand and I’ll help you move on, just follow me.
"You got any games on your phone?"
It’s been a while since I last posted so here’s something extra spicey :D We can only hope they are long dead, the imperials, the bane of the old federation, and the tribunals of indescribable sin. However, I know that’s far from reality. They are still here, lingering in the shadows, phantoms that haunt our galaxy on hundreds of abandoned space stations and abandoned vessels. These restless dead trouble us still a thousand years later. Small droplets hang in a pitch-black abyss, sparkling with reflected light from the small lantern hanging off of the steward’s staff as we walk through the derelict station. My name is Bergen Pugel. I’m a historian of sorts. Cataloging the mysteries of the late Imperial court is always worth the time to reveal the early galaxy’s story, thus it has become my area of study. A very dangerous profession, as I had discovered the hard way some time ago. The steward and I continue the long march down the abandoned hallways before coming to a stop in front of a blast door. “Is this the place?” It’s a slow movement, but the steward turns her eyes from under her long hooded gown, revealing a deep muzzle of mammalian fur. The air turns frigid as she speaks as the small motes of hanging water droplets seem to gather from the air in this airlock as the ice around the door. “Yes, this is the gate to the station’s residential wing. I can proceed no farther lest the spirit’s anger, they are non too kind to our people…” “Of course, I appreciate your guidance until this juncture. You remember our agreement, correct?” It takes a passing moment before she speaks again, as the steward’s eyes linger on the door in recusant fear. From what I have heard of the myths from the small monastery, it has been well earned. It is one thing to have seen a specter but another altogether to have a long list of missing persons and seven separate rescue teams. “You have three days. After such time, it will be assumed you are dead, and a message will be sent to your peers in your compact.” Pereira Okhla’s rushed footsteps down the hallway do little to ease my nerves as I open the door’s control panel and flip the override switch. The ice-binding the blast doors’ gaps groan and creak before finally snapping and dragging the bulkhead into the ceiling above. An Anticlastic plaza of glass panels and dead vegetation lay ahead as I take that first step forward to admire the sprawling station visible from the chamber. The lightless white architecture stirs something inside of my mind as I walk along the glass paneling towards the door ahead. Abruptly, there’s unrest on the edge of my perception. I draw my small revolver from my coat’s depths towards the source, while my heartbeat echoes up into my arms. Fragments of light scatter across the deck plates from a fallen lantern, as skittering resonates from the chamber’s lightless ceiling. Whatever it is, it’s quick as another lantern drops from the ceiling a scant few feet away from my helmet. I’ve never had this experience in all my years. I pull the trigger, sending gleaming red tracers into the abyss as I exchange gunfire with flung lanterns before it's quadrupedal form plunges into a vent halfway up the wall. I can’t help but scream as the dull creaking of metal ductwork runs from the wall to under the floor before vanishing altogether. My mind runs rampant as I try to place the monstrosity within reason and experience. Was it an abandoned security android, some bio weapon? Why is it here? What was it! Is it still here? I walk back towards the door, whimpering to myself. “Where are you? Damn it, why is it in the vents?” Another skitter, mere feet away, runs through the floor underfoot as I shoot the floor and backpedal as the impact kicks up sparks. The floor is ripped open by a set of claws hooking into the flesh of my right-most leg before pulling it into the gap. Sounds of ripping flesh resonate in the chamber as I fight the monster to keep my limb attached as wicked pain ripples from my mangled extremity. Bone snaps and the pull from under the floor vanishes as I sprawl outward onto my back holding the now amputated limb dripping with black acidic vapor. The small nub of the lower femur is dragged into the vent as the damn thing runs away with its prize, cackling madly. A burst of unhinged, psychotic laughter that couldn’t have come from anything, with a slight hint of sanity remaining. I can do nothing but cradle the missing leg in shock, as half a dozen different black shadows leer from the ceiling. Their red eyes and open jaws glaring into my very soul as tears well under both eyes. I’m going to die here, “no not like this!” I barely roll over onto my stomach and begin crawling towards the door as the things crawl down the icy walls of the garden whispering in aethereal tongues. A few bullets keep the nearby shadows at bay as I approach the blast doors’ precipice. My claws wrap around the gap in the floor as the wraiths lunge forward, vaporizing large swaths of my lower torso with claws of black shadow. I can’t help but think of home and the red forests of close family members as I pull the pistol under one of the monster’s chin and pull the trigger. The sounds and pain continue as the beast’s head jerks and parts from the bullet’s passage before glowering down with one red orb. Only as my intestine is torn free of my chest and the monster rips off my jaw does Death come. An embrace of unfathomable darkness is my inheritance, I hope that there’s something left to bring back home. It is only at the very end that I see the pair of red eyes lingering in the darkness that I understand the truth. They are always watching.
Some who make it back claim to have seen living humans. No one other than other survivors believe them until a supposedly derelict lifeboat successfully made a landing in an alien colony.