The sea gives things back eventually.

The Lobsterman – The Fallen: A Dark Beyond Tale follows David, a quiet Maine lobsterman living off the coast, hauling traps from cold water while carrying memories that never stayed buried.

Human bones begin surfacing inside his traps.

Some things don't begin with monsters.

Sometimes they begin with frightened children, broken homes, addiction, violence, and people who learn too early that pain does not simply disappear when the moment ends.

Oftentimes, those who have fallen were once victims themselves.

The Fallen explores the thin line between trauma and transformation — the slow erosion of a person beneath abuse, isolation, grief, and the desperate need to hold onto something human after too much has already been taken away.

Set along the coast of Maine, The Lobsterman blends psychological horror, crime thriller tension, trauma, violence, and emotional collapse into a story about what remains of a person after years of surviving the unbearable.

Beyond the Dark is a standalone branch of the Red in the Dark universe — psychological horror stories, isolated incidents, recovered narratives, and fragmented descents into the people and places existing just outside the main storyline.

Some things sink quietly.

Some things wash back ashore.

Support the show: share it with someone you think would love Red in the Dark.

Written, produced, sound engineered, and voice acted by Leonard Voss

Co-written by David Gee

Narrated by Leonard Voss

The Lobsterman / David voiced by David Gee

All other voices are AI generated while we continue seeking voice actors to replace and update those performances.

Email [email protected] if you're interested in participating in the project, from voice acting and production to editing and website support.

Beyond the dark, the fallen, the lobster man.

The hauler whined a long mechanical note that rose and fell with the slow rotation of the hydraulic drum.

David stood at the call table, looking down at the bones that rest upon it, pale, arranged.

He studied them without moving, the sound dragging on behind him, thin and mechanical, until it began to stretch.

The kettle shrieked.

David could hear it from where he sat in the middle of the floor of his bedroom, his back against the wall.

The carpet smelled like dust and something sour.

Behind him, someone moved around the small table, plastic rustling as things were folded, tucked away, pressed into little packets.

A lighter clicked once, then again.

David kept his eyes on the floor.

The bedroom door opened.

His mother stepped inside, and her eyes went straight to the man.

She smiled weakly and leaned in, kissing him.

He pressed several small packets into her hand.

Thanks, baby.

She looked over at David.

You behave.

Then.

She turned and stumbled out into the hallway.

The bedroom door swung shut behind her.

Her footsteps moved away.

The light clicked off.

For a moment there was only the dark.

Then footsteps moved behind David.

A hand settled onto his shoulder.

The trap slammed against the rail.

David turned toward the sound.

The trap hung there a moment, dripping.

David swung it over the rail, setting it carefully beside the other traps already scattered across the deck.

The other traps lie open where he left them, their mesh doors folded back across the top.

He crouched and pulled the trap closer, reaching through the wire.

A lobster came out first.

He flung it back into the water.

Another fog, then a crab.

The rest cleared in the same methodical rhythm until his fingers closed around something smooth.

Bone.

He pulled another free.

The last piece caught inside.

David gripped it and pulled, bending one section of the cage outward until it gave just enough for him to slip, slip the last one out.

A skull.

He studied it, running a finger over the smooth curve of bone.

Pale, sick gray, its surface glistened in the noon sun.

He carried it over to the coal table and laid it with the others.

He stood there, looking down at the bones, then turned and walked to starboard.

David raised a hand to shade his eyes, studying the distance.

Nothing.

Just open water there.

Something sat on the horizon.

Small, easy to miss, just a dark speck against the pale line where the sea met the sky.

He watched it for a few moments before slowly lowering his hand.

He turned back to the call table, carefully gathering the bones, placing them one by one onto a small metal cart.

When the last of them was settled, he gripped the handle and began to wheel it toward the cabin.

The cart rolled slowly across the wet deck.

One of the wheels squeaked, then again a thin dragging sound against the quiet of the afternoon.

It sharpens brakes, headlights washing over rows of old brick buildings that lean close to the narrow road.

Nobody is out here at this hour unless they have a reason to be.

A church slides past on his right, its tall windows dark.

Ahead.

Beyond the intersection, the open black stretch of Deering Oaks park sits under the faint glow of distant streetlights.

David slows at the corner of Melon and Grant.

Someone stands beneath a tired streetlight.

A woman.

She shifts her weight against the cold.

He looks straight ahead through the windshield, toward the park.

He turns his head toward her.

She glances up and down the street, once quick and practiced, before walking over to the passenger side.

You need something?

David studies her for a moment.

His voice is calm, polite.

Yeah.

She shifts her weight again, studying his face.

Then she opens the door and climbs in.

The truck rocks slightly as her weight settles into the seat.

David glances over at her.

What's your name?

She pulls the door closed.

Sarah.

His expression softens with a small, gentle smile.

Then the truck jolts.

Something heavy slams against the wall behind him.

The boat rocked.

A swell rolled under the hull.

The cart rattled across the floorboards, loose bones shifting on the metal frame.

David gripped the handle, holding it steady until the movement settled.

He exhaled slowly.

He reached down, adjusting a few pieces, then turned and opened a narrow closet built into the cabin wall.

He pulled out a roll of parchment and laid it onto the cabin floor.

Beside the door sat a drawer and a floor cabinet, their fronts painted crimson, a stark contrast to the cream color of the rest of the wood.

David crossed to it and opened the cabinet.

Below.

Inside were four lead sinkers.

He took them out and set them beside the parchment.

Then he knelt and rolled the paper across the boards.

David moved around the edges, placing the sinkers one by one onto the corners to hold it in place.

The first two landed with dull, quiet taps.

The third came down on a crease on the parchment.

The paper snapped sharply under the weight.

Paper rustled.

David caught the newspaper mid swing.

Maddie cut it out.

She reached for it again, trying to tug it back out of his hands.

Hey, hey, easy with that, kiddo.

You're gonna tear it.

She grinned up at him and let go.

She said immediately, already tugging at his sleeve, can I have two dollars?

David chuckled and dug into his pocket.

Sure.

Keep the change.

He pressed the bills into her hand.

Maddy lit up and bolted toward the counter, already talking about Little Debbie's snacks.

David opened the paper, smoothing it back into place on the wire rack.

The Portland Press Herald masthead spread across the top of the page and just beneath it.

Divers recover human Remains from Lobster Traps off Geoffrey's Ledge.

His hand stopped mid motion.

Divers working with state police recovered several lobster traps from the bottom nearly 30 miles southeast of Cape Elizabeth, beyond the waters off Two Lights.

David's eyes drifted up from the page across the store.

Maddy was still at the counter, holding up her Little Debbie snack while the cashier rang it through.

They were laughing.

He watched her, eyes soft, face worn, loving.

David turned his attention back down to the paper.

Authorities say the discovery may represent a significant development in a series of long running investigations along the Maine coast.

He read that again.

Officials declined to comment further, but confirmed that detectives are now working to identify the remains and trace the origin of the traps.

Authorities are urging local fishermen to report any unusual gear, trap lines, or offshore activity to state police and local authorities.

He finished smoothing the paper into its place across the store.

Maddy was still smiling at the cashier.

David walked over.

She turned when he came up beside her, already halfway through another story.

Got it?

He asked.

She held up the snack.

Yep.

The cashier slid the change across the counter.

Maddie grabbed it and grinned.

They stepped outside together.

The afternoon air caught the low tide, smell of the bay.

Salt, mud, seaweed, and a mix of things only the locals ever bother trying to describe.

David reached into his pocket and pulled out keys.

Hey, Maddie, he said.

She looked up.

He dropped them into her hand.

Hold onto these for me, would you, kid?

She turned them over in her fingers.

Without thinking about it, David reached down and patted the top of her head.

Come on, kiddo.

Let's go get some ice cream or something.

David walked to the cart.

He reached in and lifted the bones out one at a time.

The small bones of the hands went down first, then the forearms, the upper arms, a shoulder blade, the long bones of the back.

Each piece placed with quiet precision, turned and adjusted until it sits exactly where it belongs.

He worked slowly, deliberately, every movement calm.

The skeleton begins to take shape across the parchment.

He reached back into the cart to lift out the ribs.

Instead of placing them one by one, he let them fall together in a loose pile.

They clatter softly across the paper.

One rib taps against another, then another.

A faint, irregular rhythm.

Tap, tap, tap.

Sarah's fingernails tap idly against the nightstand in a small room at The Portland Motel 6.

Tap.

Tap.

David sits at the edge of the mattress, staring down at his hands.

Sarah watches him.

Hey, baby, she says lightly.

David looks to her, his expression calm, almost gentle.

Sarah, all I need is for you to hold me For a little while.

Well, she said, amused, tilting her head slightly.

That's a new one.

So no sex?

Sarah asks through a smile.

David glances down again, rubbing his palms together.

No.

I mean, yes, there will be.

I just need a moment.

Sarah studies him for a second, then shrugs softly and shifts closer on the bed.

All right, honey.

She leans forward and wraps her arms around him, the mattress creaking softly beneath their weight.

David glanced down at the floorboard beneath his knee.

It creaked softly.

He shifted his weight, steadying the ribs where they rested across the parchment.

One bone had slipped out of line.

He nudged it back with two fingers, then another, until the curve of the ribcage settled into place.

He reached back to the cart for the remaining arm.

He turned the bone once in his hand, examining the joint, then lowered it beside the other and made a small adjustment, straightening the elbow so it aligned with the shoulder and the hand bones.

Already waiting, he leaned back to study the work.

The body was beginning to take shape.

The ribs sit clean, and even now the arms aligned beside them.

He reached back into the cart, lifting the vertebrae carefully out.

David carried them carefully to the parchment, lowering them into place with slow, deliberate hands.

His hand lingered on the pale chain of the vertebrae resting in his palm.

His eyes twitched, his thumb pressed in, his fingers following as his grip tightened around the neck.

His hands are around her throat.

Sarah's eyes wide.

She thrashed violently beneath him, her legs kicking against the bed, hands clawing at his wrists, fingernails biting into his skin.

Her breath breaks into wet, choking sounds.

I'm sorry, david whispered.

Her legs kicked harder against the bed.

No one can know.

The headboard knocked softly against the wall, her hands weakened, her body going slack beneath him.

His grip remained tight around her throat, his face calm, almost gentle.

I'm sorry, he whispered again.

I'm sorry.

He loosened his fingers.

The small chain of vertebrae he had been holding dropped onto the parchment.

He knelt there, staring at them for a moment before gently moving them back into place.

He placed the tibia first, aligning it carefully beneath the pelvis, then the other.

The ankle bones followed, small and delicate, turned until they sit naturally against the ends of the lower legs.

He reached into the cart again, lifting the femur.

He paused near the joint.

The bone ended in a clean, deliberate cut.

The rounded head that should seat into the hip is missing.

David lowered the femur into place anyway, aligning it with the rest of the leg.

He looked back toward the cartoon.

Nothing.

He stood.

The cabin door opened with a quiet scrape as he stepped back onto the deck.

The lobster Traps sit where he left them, wire cages, dark and wet in the mid afternoon light.

He walked over and began checking them one by one.

Something shifted inside the third trap.

He reached in and pulled the missing piece free, the rounded head of the femur.

He turned it once in his fingers, then paused.

Out beyond the stern, far across the water, the dark speck on the horizon had grown still distant, larger now.

David watched it for a moment.

The radio broke the silence.

Next up for you.

We got a local sound from Red in the Dark.

This is her.

He returned inside now, kneeling beside the parchment, David put the cut end of the femur into its place.

The edges match perfectly.

For a moment he studied the clean line where the bone was separated.

Night Rain.

The same radio murmurs softly from the wheelhouse, its mutual music spilling out across the dark water.

The call table sits beneath a harsh deck light.

The bulb burns white against the black ocean, throwing hard shadows across the wet boards.

The surface of the table glistens where the light catches it, blood shining.

David stands over it in his yellow grundons, the rubber dark and slick.

The cleaver hangs heavy in his hand.

He lifts his other hand and wipes his cheek.

The motion only smears it further, leaving a dull streak across his face before he wipes his palm absently down the front of the slicker.

What remains of her lies across the call table.

The upper body has already been taken apart, arms removed and pushed aside near the edge of the table, hands resting nearby where he left them.

The head lies turned slightly away.

Her eyes are open, David notices.

He stands there, looking at them.

Then he reaches over and gently closes her eyelids with two fingers.

The lower half of her body remains intact.

Rags have been packed into the open section of the abdomen to hold everything in place while he works.

The cloth, dark and heavy where it presses against the wood.

David shifts his stance slightly as the boat rocks beneath him.

He studies the leg, the joint, the exact place the bone needs to separate.

He holds the cleaver above it.

He swings.

Miss.

The femur settled softly against the parchment.

David adjusted it slightly, aligning the bone with the rest of the leg.

The skeleton is nearly complete now.

He reached back to the cart to lift the last piece, the skull.

He studied it, turning it slightly.

In the dim cabin light outside, a horn echoed across the water, followed by the cackle of a loudspeaker somewhere beyond the hull.

This is the United States Coast Guard,.

The voice carried faintly through the cabin window.

Still holding the skull, he turned toward the glass.

The vessel is close now, its white hull cutting Slowly across the gray sea.

Blue lights flash against the afternoon haze as it closes the distance.

David watched it for a few seconds before turning back to Sarah.

She was waiting for him.

Carefully, he placed the skull at the top of the spine, adjusting it slightly until the angle felt right.

The loudspeaker called again across the water.

Inside the cabin, David sat there beside the finished body, taking in the sound of the creeping boat.

A door opens.

The room smells stale and sour, the air heavy with things that have been left too long.

David sits on the edge of the bed, small shoulders shaking as he tries to keep quiet.

Across the room, the man is pulling his belt through the loops of his jeans.

He doesn't look at David.

The bedroom door opens again.

His mother steps inside.

Her eyes land on David briefly before shifting those glassy eyes to her boyfriend.

She smiles weakly while leaning in, kissing him as if everything were normal.

He slips several small packets into her hand.

She clutches them quickly, already drifting somewhere else, swaying a little as she tucks them away.

Neither of them look at David.

The man exits the room, closing the door gently behind him.

The room froze in silence.

David's quiet sobbing, the only thing breaking through it.

His mother sighs, irritated, like she's been interrupted.

What now?

She mutters.

David starts crying harder.

She rolls her eyes.

God, you're so dramatic.

He keeps sobbing.

Stop being so fucking selfish.

David lifts his head, his voice small and shaking.

But Mom, I hurt the loudspeaker outside the cabin shook the air.

DAVID G. This is the United States Coast Guard assisting the Portland Police Department.

Come out of the cabin with your hands up now.

David flinched back to reality.

He was still kneeling beside the parchment,.

Breathing slowly as the memory faded away.

She now lay complete in front of him.

Dark spots stain the paper near the ribs.

He lifts a hand and wiped his.

Cheek with the back of it.

DAVID G. Exit the cabin with your hands up.

They were near the boat.

David lowered his hand to look down at the body laying carefully across the parchment.

He reached toward the hand and gently lifted one of the small bones.

A finger bone.

David stood, the small bones still resting between his fingers.

DAVID G. Exit the cabin with your hands up.

He walked slowly to the drawer beside the door.

Through the cabin window he can see them now, Officers stepping onto the deck from the Coast Guard vessel, rifles raised,.

Moving carefully across the the boards.

The drawer slid open.

Inside lay the others.

Small finger bones, pale smooth, each marked carefully with a name.

David reaches in and takes the old marker.

Boots began striking the deck in quick, deliberate steps.

DAVID G. If you do not exit the cabin immediately.

We will make entry.

He steadied the bone in his hand.

The marker tip touched its surface.

He writes one word.

Sarah.

The marker goes back into the drawer.

David slipped the new bone into his pocket and then gathers the others, one careful handful at a time.

The drawer closed with a soft scrape.

Outside, the loudspeaker cracks again.

If you do not comply, we will breach the cabin.

This is your final warning.

He could hear them stop behind the cabin door, rifles raised.

He looked once more at the skeleton.

He turned.

It's time.

His hand closed around the cabin handle.

David took a slow breath.

And the door opens.