The 3 spookiest sounds from science

You don’t need a BBC Sounds Archive disc to scare yourself silly this Halloween: here are three genuinely creepy recordings from real life.

The scariest noise we tend to hear on a day-to-day basis is the sound of our smartphone telling us we've hammered it too hard and that it's about to die.

Expiring battery beeps aside, we haven't been truly creeped out by a noise since a creaky door made us jump and scatter our Pog collection over the floor, back when we were little gadgeteers.

That's why we've decided to test our mettle by rounding up some genuinely spooky real sounds. Find a dark room, plug in your headphones, and start Halloween off in style.


Last month, Voyager 1 emerged from the protective bubble of our sun’s magnetosphere and crossed into the unimaginable depths of interstellar space, the first object created by our civilisation ever to leave the solar system. As NASA’s boffins craned excitedly into their headsets listening for confirmation that the 36-year-old space probe had indeed crossed the heliopause, a terrible noise was heard: first a ghostly whistle, then a high, otherwordly scream, a sudden peaking in intensity, almost as if something was homing in, powerfully and directly, on the little craft.   

In the NASA offices, people stared silently at one another as the terrible sounds played over and over. A cardboard coffee cup rolled off a desk, startling Voyager’s Mission Director. “They’ve found us”, he was heard to mutter. “My God, they’ve found us.” 

More after the break...


The job of the US National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) is to listen to the ocean. Not in the way your yoga teacher tells you to listen to the ocean. In a much more technical way, with arrays of hydrophones that listened for enemy submarines during the Cold War, and which now listen for advance warning of natural disasters such as tsunamis and hurricanes.

In 1997, from a point in the Southern Ocean, something vast was heard. It was so loud that it was heard by hydrophones almost 5000km apart, and was thought to be an underwater earthquake until Dr Christopher Fox of the NOAA reported that analysis of the sound showed it to have an ‘organic signature’: the varying frequency that is the hallmark of a sound made by an animal. An animal huge beyond imagining, and – although oceanographers have been slow to confirm this – with an unquenchable hunger for human souls.

If H.P. Lovecraft is to be believed, and he definitely is, then the noise (nicknamed ‘the Bloop’ by the NOAA) is the bellowing of Cthulu, a demonic Elder God who dwells in R’yleh, a city beneath the Southern Ocean. 


This is one you can hear for yourself: take any cheap shortwave radio and sweep across the spectrum to 4625 kHz. As you comb through the static you’ll come across a sudden, jarring alarm. Callsign UVB-76, known to its listeners as The Buzzer (žužžalka to the Russians) broadcasts nothing but a loud, repeating ERK-ERK-ERK noise, 24 hours a day.

Except, that is, for rare occasions when muffled voices make themselves heard, repeating strings of names and numbers in Russian, with the occasional snatch of classical music. It began in the late 70s, and when it stops, the world ends. A relic of the Cold War that can never be dismantled, UVB-76 is the Dead Hand, the trigger that will launch all of Russia’s nuclear weapons even if no general is left alive to press the button. It is the sound of Mutually Assured Destruction. 

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