CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My New Job Has Only One Rule; Don't Die" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 29, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by JessumGui: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►huleeb: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/3d...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

So, is there like a list of weird rules I have to follow or something? I asked, because I can be kind of a smartass sometimes. Only one rule on the job, kid, Stanley said. Don't die. He wasn't joking. Stanley handed me a heavy, three-cell maglite and wished me luck, before pulling the security gate down over the abandoned hospital's entrance and locking it. Listen, he said, before turning away.

It's not a rule. Just some good advice. Try to stick to the upper floors. The hallways are narrower and the ceilings are lower. That'll give you a bit of an edge. What? What's that supposed to mean? I asked.

But he was already hobbling down the hospital's front steps to the company truck idling at the curb. You'll be okay, he called over his shoulder. I got a good feeling about you. I didn't want this job. Fact is, I don't want any job. My father says I'm shiftless and lack ambition. He never says that to my face, but he never bothers to check the room to see if I can overhear him either.

Mom claims that I just haven't found the right spirit guide to illuminate my life path. She's really into all that new age stuff. My girlfriend, I should probably say X, since she's been ghost to me for the past five days thinks I'm depressed. I used to work in the mailroom at an investment firm downtown. To me, it was just a job, not a career. I was pretty ambivalent towards stocks and bonds, the market, and getting promoted to an office upstairs. While the other mailroom employees were networking, building relationships, and going the extra mile to get noticed.

I just dropped envelopes off at people's desks. A smile and a nod was pretty much all the social interaction I could handle. Then the pandemic hit, and I was laid off. My roommates made the most of it Anita delivered grub up and learned to play guitar online Sanjay worked from home He actually wore pants to his Zoom meetings Me

I sat in my room Listening to creepy bastard narrations on YouTube Which is where I got the idea for the weird rules joke That Stanley didn't get And every once in a while When I was feeling particularly motivated I play a couple of levels of Candy Crush saga I never wore pants

If it weren't for the home screen of my phone, I wouldn't have ever known what month it was, alone what day of the week. I didn't want anything. I didn't care about anything. I didn't do anything. Sometimes I'll check my own pulse, just to see if I was still alive.

The only way the level of subtitude in my existence could increase was if I had to move back in with my parents. That became a real possibility when they started lifting the pandemic restrictions and my unemployment benefits ran out. I didn't get my old job back when the firm reopened. HR sent me a text telling me they were downsizing the mailroom. I was too busy, wallowing in inertia to care,

but my roommates didn't take the news well. The first time I couldn't come up with my share of the rent, Anita and Sanjay gave me an ultimatum. Find a job and kick in by the time the next month's rent was due, or get out. They were not amused when I told them. them that I expected my investment in scratch-off tickets to pay off big any day now. Like I said, kind of a smart ass.

The prospect of moving back in with my parents, living with my father's disappointment, and my mom's pity, was what finally got me off my ass. Of course, I started with Craig's List. The night watchman gig seemed ideal, low effort with no education or experience necessary, perfect for a low energy, uneducated, inexperienced type. like me. And they had an immediate opening. I figured I'd be sitting in a booth somewhere, playing around my phone all night and getting paid for it. I called the number and was asked

to come down for an interview immediately. So I shouted for the first time in days and threw in some semi-clean pants. They even sent an Uber. The company was a storefront. There was a sign in the window, you know, the old-fashioned kind, but they painted backwards on the inside of the glass. The Unate script was chipped and faded, but it wasn't sharpy scrawled on cardboard, so I figured it must be legit. Inside, I was met with a man who looked to be in his 50s, with receding hair and a good start on a pot belly. He introduced himself as Stanley. Walking with a pronounced limp, he led me to his office and motioned me to a chair. The interview wasn't at all what I expected.

He didn't seem to care about where I went to school. sharp history, or what qualifications I might have. Mostly, he wanted to know about my situation. Was I close to my family? Not really. Did I have a lot of friends? No. Was I dating anyone? It's complicated, but probably not. Stuff like that. It threw me off a little. His line of questioning, but then he asked about my size. I told him I was 5'5 and 130 pounds. He smiled big, clapped his hands together and said, Excellent. So yeah, that was pretty weird.

One last question, he said. Are you a good runner? Runner? Runner? I asked. Not sure what he was getting at. You know, running. He bumped his arms at his side, miming a jogger. Are you fast?

Got any endurance. I shrugged. I lettered in Cross County in high school, but that was five years ago. It'll do. he said, scribbling and a dress on a post-it note and handing it to me. Meet me here, no later than 10.45 tonight. Aren't we going to discuss paying benefits? Stuff like that?

Let's see how things go tonight. If you still want the job in the morning, we'll talk about paying benefits then. He walked me to the door, smiling ear to ear. I got a good feeling about you, kid. He said, shaking my hand. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I was about to be kid. kidnapped by some weirdo with a fetish for chasing short people.

I know, because I was thinking the exact same thing. At 1025, my Uber showed up for the ride across town. I almost didn't go. But, the thought of moving back into my parents' basement convinced me to take the chance. Besides, even five years after my last cross-county meet, I was pretty sure I could run faster scared and Stanley could run horny.

15 minutes later, I was dropped off in front of St. Luke's Memorial hospital. You'd think that a creepy abandoned hospital would have some stories floating about, but I didn't even know the place existed until the car pulled up in front of the building. The hospital set back from the street a hundred feet or so

where the semicircular drive leading to the entrance was in a neighborhood of walk-ups and a few ground-level storefronts. Stanley sat in a company pick-up truck by the front steps. The building itself had two wings, one on either side of the main entrance. It was five stories tall with a flat roof and was constructed of poured concrete with yellow brick accents around the windows.

You know, like those ugly old high schools from the 70s that you see in your parents' yearbook photos. The windows were all covered by ornate iron bars, a high brick wall topped with spikes with the same style as the window bars, hid the rest of the grounds. So, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here? I asked as he ushered me up the front steps. You just stay inside and keep an eye on things until 7 a.m. The water is still on in the main building in case you need a drink or to use the bathroom. But there's no power.

Okay, but what do I do if somebody tries to break in or something? Call the police? Your phone wouldn't work inside. All the rebound in the concrete blocks the signal. But don't worry. Nobody ever tries to break in. Just do what you need to do to get through the night. night. I'll be back at seven.

There were red flags popping up all over the place, but instead of paying attention to them, I was too busy being disappointed that I wouldn't be able to watch YouTube. That's when I decided to be Captain Smartass and ask about weird rules. The first couple of hours were uneventful. I spent them wandering around the hospital, shining my flashlight into dusty exam rooms and empty offices. The main part of the building was a dude.

drab square, its floors covered with murky grey linoleum tiles, the walls and neutral beige. Even without the years of crime and dust coating every surface, this place would have been lifeless. It occurred to me that if my existence could be translated into architecture, it would look a lot like this. A hallway beside the reception desk led deeper into the building. Beyond a defunct pair of elevators and the central stairs was a cafeteria, kitchen, a couple of administration offices, and the waiting room. Most of the furniture and equipment had been removed, but there were still some odd ends lying around,

empty desks, filing cabinets, and a few office chairs. You know, stuff like that. In the waiting room, I found what looked like an upside-down traffic cone made of brushed aluminium. I had no idea what they were, until I took a closer look and saw they were filled with sand and cigarette butts. This place must have been closed before I was born

Because I can't ever remember a time when people could smoke in hospitals The wings on either side of the main building had a central hall With emergency stairs at each end The halls were lined with doors to offices Probably for all the doctors that had worked here The doors were all open And the glow from the streetlights outside filtered through the crimy windows It was enough that I could make my way around without the flashlight

but I used it anyway. Something I should have noticed much sooner was the lack of vandalism. No one had tagged the walls with graffiti or smashed the windows. Though no crushed beer cans or empty mad dog bottles, no used needles or busted meth pipes. I did find a couple of rooms where it looked like someone had kicked the doors off the hinges. Inside each were broken furniture and deep gashes in the plaster, more red flags that I ignored.

By about two-thirds, 13 the morning, I was actually starting to get into the job. For the first time in recent memory, I was actually engaged with the world around me instead of being lost in my phone screen. There was this low-grade buzz in the back of my head. It kind of reminded me of the way I felt running a new cross-county course at a no-way meet, or going on a first date, when everything is new and fresh and maybe a little bit scary. Describing a hospital that's been abandoned longer than I've been alive as

new and fresh is crazy, I know, but that's how it felt. Then, I heard the crash. It was far away and faint, but noise carried on the dead air hanging in the corridors. It sounded like it came from below. I'd seen a sign for the basement back in the central stairway, a diagonal arrow pointing downward with a word laundry, storage, boiler and morgue beside it. But I hadn't been down there. As much as I was digging the hole, exploring abandon the hospital vibe,

I wasn't ready to go poking around in an old morgue yet. Just about the time I had myself convinced that a stack of junk somewhere had finally lost this battle with gravity and toppled over. I heard more noises. Thunks, bangs and scrapes. I was standing in the corridor of the north wing, maybe 20 feet from the junction with the main building. Past the entrance lobby and the reception desk and around the corner

of essential stairs and basement access that I had seen earlier. That's where the noises seem to be coming from. Stanley? That you? I called out into the darkness. My voice was a weak, dry croak. The beam of my flashlight trembled.

Hazing the new employee, huh? And the far reaches of my flashlight beam. Spinly fingers, like the legs of an enormous spider, curled around the corner of the hallway beside the reception desk. Slowly, a head emerged into view, high enough above the ground that it nearly brushed the ceiling. It was elongated, with skin the colour of mouldering leather stretched tight over skull-like features. Stringy hair, dark and tangled, hung from its scalp like diseased Spanish moss.

Its eyes were two coins at the bottom of a stagnant well, reflecting dull silver in the beam of my flashlight. Then, it smiled. revealing row upon row of jagged serrated teeth. Jesus, I screamed as I turned to flee. I remember that distinctly. Weird, the stuff that sticks in your mind when you're terrified. I ran in a blind panic with no plan or purpose other than to put as much distance between me and that monstrosity as possible. It pursued, of course, because why wouldn't it?

That's what monsters do. They pursue people and then kill them. usually in the most horrible and painful way possible. I could hear the staccato clacking of its talons or claws or whatever nightmarous appendage it had for feet on the linoleum tiles behind me. The sound grew louder, but I didn't dare turn to look. At the end of the hall, I slammed through a door

and found myself on the emergency stairs. There was no place to go but up. By the time I reached the first landing, marked by a sign reading, surgery, the thing crashed to the access door below. I flung myself into the second floor hallway, dodging a few wheelchairs and

journeys that had been left behind as I bolted back towards the main building. Halfway along the corridor was a nurse's station. I dove under the counter and turned my flashlight off, just as I heard the creature burst through the stairwell door. The sound of the creature's pursuit slowed. Claws or talons

still clacking against the linoonium, but at a deliberate, more measure, at pace. Street lights shine dimly through the dirty windows, casting the creature's shadow in soft relief on the cabinets and decaying corgboards behind the nurse's station as it approached. It stopped, just on the other side of the counter from me. Only a thin sheet of near-covered plywood separated us. Its spider-like fingers curled around the edge of the chipped formica worktop, spike tips tapping impatiently on the underside of the counter just inches from my face. My skin tingled and I could feel the blood coursing through my veins.

I covered my mouth with my hand. It sounds insane, but I wasn't sure if I was going to scream or start giggling. Before I could lose control and find out which noise was building inside my chest, the creature snorted and moved off along the hallway. When the sounds of his feet and the tile grew fainter, I chanced the peek around the edge of the counter. The creature had moved down the hall, almost to the door. juncture with the main building.

It was vaguely human in shape and so gaunt that his bone structure stood out in knobs and jags beneath its skin. And it was enormous, at least ten or twelve feet tall. It was bent, almost doubling, shuffling, awkwardly

to negotiate the hallway and all the abandoned clutter. Now, I understand his advice about sticking to the upper floors with a narrow corridor and low ceiling. If that thing had been able to stretch out and run, I wouldn't have made it two steps. As I slipped out from behind the counter to sneak off in the other direction, the maglite in my hand bumped into the wall with a soft clunk. It wasn't much of a noise, but it was enough.

The creature whirled spotting me, shrieking as it charged. I sprinted back to the stairwell. It was my only choice. Taking the stairs two at a time, I ran through the door marked Patient Ward, and into the third floor hallway, docking into the first open room. It was empty, except for two bed frames and a dusty final privacy curtain hanging between them. There was a window over each bed, but both a barred. Behind me, I could hear the monster's heavy footfalls coming up the stairs. There was nowhere to run, no time to barricade the door, and nothing to break.

barricade it with. I threw my back against the wall, behind the bed frames, and wrapped myself in the folds of the curtain like a little kid hiding under the blankets from the boogeyman. Just as soon as the curtain stopped rustling, the creature shoved its way into the room, snarling in frustration when it didn't immediately spot me. It smashed one of the bed frames and then swiped its stiletto fingertips through the curtain just above my head, severing it from the rod. The curtain crumbled to the floor. I crumbled with it. While the monster smashed the other bed frame in a fit of rage, I laid very still.

I didn't move or making noise, even when the N-cap came off one of the bedposts and struck me in the temple hard enough to make me see stars. The creature hoffed and snorted for a few moments before forcing his way back out into the hall. I remain in the floor, under the curtain, still and silent, sipping air through my teeth,

suppressing the urge to either scream or giggle. I stayed under the curtain until I was sure the creature had gone away. For all I knew, it could be lying in ambush somewhere out in the hallway, but I needed to move. My body was literally throwing with energy, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could stay still. I needed to find some place to hide until morning. Or better yet, maybe I could get to the roof,

above the concrete and rebar that was blocking my phone signal and call for help. The glow of the streetlights floating through the windows was dimmer up on the third floor, but still bright enough that I could make my way without bumping or tripping over anything. The stairwell, however, was pitch black. I had to use my flashlight. But I hesitated, sure that as soon as I turned it on, I would see those dull, silver eyes reflecting in the beam. Taking a deep breath and holding it,

muscles called to bolt in any direction. I clicked the button. The stairwell was in any way. empty, nothing above or below. I made my way upstairs, creeping past the fourth or fifth floors. At the top of the stairs, I found the roof access. The door was chained and padlocked. I checked my phone.

Still, no reception. There was nothing to do, but go back down. About five steps below the fifth floor landing, I heard it. A soft scrape, the sound of clawed feet brushing. against a concrete stair coming from the darkness beneath me. I shine my light over the railing. Two floors down, those dull silver eyes fixed on me.

The creature made a ticking growl and sounded almost like laughter, then scrambled up the stairs. I tripped twice on the five steps it took to reach the fifth floor hallway. I didn't need any signs to tell me. This had been the mental ward. Most of the rooms were padded, and I even saw one with what I'm pretty sure was an electroshock machine.

Again, so weird that things are stick in your head when you're running for your life. I sprinted down the corridor, heart-bashing against my ribs, and into the main building, as the sounds of the monster's pursuit got louder and louder behind me. I was headed for the central stairs, but even in my frenzy to escape, I realized that was a bad idea. If it was gaining on me running hunched over in the narrow hallway, I wouldn't last long in the open stairwell. I ducked into the first room I saw with a sturdy looking door and slammed it behind me. It was the only choice I had. There was a deadbolt just above the knob.

I threw it. It must have been the janitor's closet. The shelves lining the walls were empty. There was a galvanized mop bucket with a wringer and a couple of pushrooms in the corner. A launcher cart sat against the back wall. None of it was of any use to me. The boom of the creature's first impact against the door was deafening in the small room. Bitter plaster sprinkled down from around the frame. Another boom,

and I thought I heard the crack of splintering wood. I grabbed the mop bucket, brooms and launcher cart and shove them all against the door. I tried to pull the shelves down too, but they were bolted to the wall. The sound of cracking wood was unmistakable in the third impact. I didn't have much longer. I cast the beam in my flashlight desperately around the room, looking for something, anything. And that's when I spotted it. A sliding panel on the back wall, maybe two feet square.

I grabbed the handle and yanked it up. It was a laundry chute. Behind me, the closet door burst inward, smashing the cart, brooms in the bucket against the wall. I dove into the chute head first. About six feet down, I stopped abruptly, then started to rise. Shining the flashlight between my knees,

I saw the creature's arm. It had reached into the chute up to its shoulder and managed to snag me by the heel of my sneaker. I wedged my back and arms against the walls, trying to push away, but it was too strong. No matter how hard I thought, I was dragged upwards,

my sweaty hands and arms squeaking against the metal sheet of the shoot. Curling my shoulders inward and tucking my chin to my chest, I was just able to grab my dangling shoelace with my fingertips and pull. It came on top. tied. My foot slipped out of my shoe and I plummeted downward. I managed to slow my descent a little by pressing my hands and feet to the walls, but not by much. When I hit the unyielding floor of the laundry room, five floors below, I hit it hard. The world went black. When I came to, I found

myself at the far end of the large, rectangular room. The walls on either side were lined with industrial-sized washers and dryers. The door at the other end. was open to the rest of the basement. From the darkness beyond, I could hear the creature prowling around coming closer. I was trapped again. My only choice was to hide. Pulling open the door to one of the front-loading dryers, I saw that the basket was big enough for me to crawl into,

where the door itself was glass. The washers were the same, and I had no doubt that those dull, silver eyes could see just fine in the dark. That's when I noticed the space between the wall and the back. back the machines, just wide enough for someone to squeeze in to service the water hookups and dryer vents. I clicked the flashlight off and settled in behind the dryers. It wasn't long before the monster showed up. The first thing it did was yank open the doors of each washer and dryer peering into the baskets. I would have silently congratulated myself

from my own foresight, but at the time I was busy pinching my nostrils shut. The dust and lint was tickling my nose and I felt a sneeze building in the back of my sinuses. Hiding behind the washers would have been the better choice. The creature reached the end of the row and seemed to deliberate for a long moment while I stood holding my nose, unable to even breathe. About the time my chest started to spasm, the thing snarled and stomped off, backhanding washers and dries as it went. It smacked the dry I stood behind with enough force to send its upper edge crashing into the wall.

If I hadn't ducked in time, it would have crushed my skull. Working my way out was tough. Doing it quietly was even tougher. Some of the tries were still tilted back against the wall from the impacts, and I had to get down and crawl underneath of my side to get past them. By the time I reached the end of the row, I was completely covered in dust and lint. Judging by the sounds coming out of the darkness, the creature had left the laundry and gone off to the right.

I went left. Another mistake in a night filled with them. The hallway dead-ended at a door. Even before I covered the flashlight lins with my hand, clicked it on and had a slither of light slipped between my fingers. I knew what the sign would say. Morg. It was the last place I wanted to be.

And when I sneezed, it became the last place I was most likely ever going to be. Some duster lint must have drifted up from my shirt. The sneeze came so suddenly that I didn't even have a chance to try and stifle it it, and of course it was loud, because that's just how my night was going. Off in the darkness, the creature snorted and charged back in my direction.

There were no low ceilings or narrow hallways to slow it down. I yanked open the door to the morgue and ducked inside. I had no other choice. I've watched enough crime scene shows to recognize an autopsy room when I see one. There were three states. stainless steel tables evenly spaced in the middle of the room. Above each was the dish of an examination light, hung from the ceiling on an armature, all of them dripping cobwebs. Behind the tables,

the walls were lined with cabinets and worktops, still cluttered with all the tools necessary to carve somebody open and figure out what killed them. What I'd never seen in a crime show morgue was a half-dozen human schools, decoratively arranged on the work tables like trophies. I had to blink just to make sure I wasn't imagining it, but the one in the middle had a samurai sword shoved through its temple with the ends bent upwards like rabbit ears. Oh, this is bad, I moaned.

At the back of the room, another door, thick and insulated, stood open. It led to the walking freezer, a dead end to the dead end. The sound of the creature's approach were getting louder, and there was no place else to go. Once I stepped inside,

I realized that I had just, jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. In the back corner, across from a wall of storage straws for bodies, was an enormous pile of fibre-filled and shredded foam. The thing must have dragged every mattress left in the old hospital down here and torn them apart to make a pile that big. In the centre was the depression, which I knew intuitively or was just the right size for the monster to curl up in.

This was its nest, or den, or there, or whatever the hell you want to call it, I was trapped in its bedroom. My heart pounded in my chest. No need to check my pulse to see if I was still alive. I could feel the blood coursing fast and hot through my veins. Running out of time, I gave the freezer door a quick glance. It had no lock and opened outward, so there was no way to bar it. I yanked on the handles of a couple of the body drawers, but they wouldn't budge.

Whether there was some kind of catch that I didn't see or they were rusted shut, I don't know. I spun in a frantic circle, waving my flashlight beam around the room. There were no counters to hide behind. No privacy curtains to carry under. No laundry shoots to dive into. I was well and truly screwed. I don't remember when or how the idea occurred to me. I don't even remember thinking about it.

I just did it. I dove into the fibre fill where it lay piled against the wall and borrowed as far back as I could. The stench was awful. I had to grip my teeth against my gag reflex. Just as soon as I clicked my flash out off, the creature announced itself with a low growl and the clack of its claws on the tile floor.

It paced for several seconds, breathing heavily before I heard the sound of screeching metal. It was ripping open the body drawers looking for me. That went on for several moments before its footsteps retreated back to the autopsy room. Even under all the shredded mattress stuffing, I could hear it rummaging around, making frustrated chuffs and snorts. The rummaging sounds didn't last long.

It really wasn't a lot to rummage throughout there, and the creature returned to the cold storage room. It paced for a while, the ticking of its claws on the tariff floor, almost becoming monotonous. Then, I actually heard it yawn. A moment later, I could feel the mattress stuffing being displaced by the weight of the monster as it crawled into its nest, fluffing, and tamping the fibers until it got comfortable.

Soon. It was snoring. I'm the thing under the monster's bed, I thought, and came dangerously close to bursting out in laughter. I waited, biting my knuckle, still fighting that insane urge to giggle. My heartbeat roared in my ears. Muscles recalled under my skin,

ready to explode with kinetic energy. My whole being was energized to fight or flee. inch by inch I dug my way out from under the mattress stuffing Once free I looked back over my shoulder Toward the sound of low buzzing the creature made as it snored There were no windows in the room and there was no way I was going to turn on the flashlight So other than glimpses I caught running away from it I never did get a good look at the monster

Crawling on my hands and knees Carefully sweeping the floor in front of me with my fingertips for obstructions I made my way out of the cold storage, through the autopsy room and back into the basement hall. With a door to the morgue quietly close behind me, I finally felt safe enough to turn on my flashlight. By now, the batteries were getting weak, but they lasted long enough for me to find the central stairs and make it up the corridor leading to the main entrance. The first rays of the rising sun was streaming through the windows as I jog past the reception desk and through the lobby. When I yanked open the frosted glass front doors,

I came face to face with Stanley. In one hand, he held a cardboard tray with two styrofoam cups and a paper bag. With the other, he lifted the security grate barring the entrance. Rough night, huh? He quipped, looking me up and down. What happened to your shoe?

I swung the blunt end of the three-cell maglight at his head. He deftly blocked the blow. I brought coffee and doughnuts. He said, holding up the cardboard tray. I swung the flashlight again. He plucked it again, this time twisting it out of my grasp and stuffing it in his back pocket. Stop that, he scurled.

It'll make me spill the coffee. I screamed an incoherent string of obscenities in his face. My voice echoed in the empty building behind me, and I suddenly realized how much noise I was making. I scrambled out the door and around Stanley, only stopping to look back when I was halfway down the steps. Oh, don't worry. it's asleep by now, he said, pulling down the security gate and locking it. You know, sometimes, it doesn't come out for his nest for days, even weeks, but you got your cherry busted on your first night and survived. Good job. I had a good feeling about you.

What the hell, dude, you know about the monster? Well, yeah, that's kind of my job, finding people to keep it occupied. You mean to feed it? Stanley limped his way down to where I stood on the steps. handing me a coffee and sat down, motioning for me to join him. Not knowing what else to do, I did. There's cream and sugar if you want. They only had glazed donuts.

I hope that's okay. I gave him a hard glare and poured four creams and six sugars into my cup with trembling hands. I've never been a coffee drinker, so I didn't really know what I was doing. Stanley just watched with raised eyebrows. What? I asked. Nothing, he grinned. Take as much as you want. I drink mine black.

The first sip of my coffee was disgusting. The second was delicious. I grabbed a donut out of the bag and stuffed half of it in my mouth. Stanley sipped his coffee, grimacing at the taste. We're not so much feeding it as keeping it entertained, he said. I mean, yeah, sure. Every once in a while somebody gets killed. But we try to avoid that.

The goal is to keep it occupied. Somebody has to be in there every night just in case the creature wakes up. So it has someone to chase around. Otherwise it gets bored and starts looking for a way out. That's a bad thing if it gets out. We've got a regular crew to run the halls as we call it. But Russo had an unfortunate accident. That left a last minute vacancy on the schedule.

And I had to find a replacement. By unfortunate accident, you mean got eaten? Nah, she got it by a car, broke a pelvis. And you just grabbed the first idiot that walked through your door and applied for a job? He shook his head. There were three other applicants. I picked you because I thought you had the best chance of survival. And if things didn't work out, you'd be the least likely to be missed.

Hey, I got parents. I got roommates. If I disappeared, they wouldn't notice. Yeah, sure, but they miss you. He had me there You could at least be a bit more specific in your help-wanted ads Stanley snorted at that Almost shooting coffee out of his nose

Yeah, right He held up his hands as if framing a newspaper headline Help wanted, monster bait Competitive pay and benefits No experience necessary I shrugged and ate another donut I guess he had a point What happens

I asked, I ran a mouthful of sugar and carbs. If it gets out, I mean. You ever hear of the Mill Street Massacre? It sounded familiar. Something that happened when I was in middle school, or maybe my freshman year, but I had only vague memories of the incident. Wasn't that when a drug cartel hacked a bunch of people up with machetes and some kind of turf or something? I asked.

That's the story the paper's got. But it wasn't a cartel, and it wasn't machetes. Stanley said, nodding towards the hospital entrance with his chin. So, if this thing is that dangerous, why doesn't somebody just kill it? I asked. Oh, people have tried. Guns, fire, electricity, crossbow bolts dipped in holy water. You name it. Never turns out well. Last one was a guy named Dwayne. He'd been running the horse for about six months. Showed up with a samurai sword one night. A samurai sword. Can you believe that? I dread to talk him out of it.

But he was in no mood to listen. Never saw him again. Usually, when the creature gets someone, we find bits and pieces in the morning. Not with Dwayne. Always wondered what happened to him. I opened my mouth to tell him about the skull I'd seen in the autopsy room, but decided against it. Instead, I grabbed another donut, my third, and tore a trunk out of the ring with my teeth. Nobody knows how to kill it.

We don't even know what it is. Stanley spoke, staring off into the distance. Some say it's a demon, others a genetic aberration. I think it's the physical manifestation of negative energy. That's the only explanation that makes any sense to me, but I can't claim it's better than anyone else's. What we do know is that it's been around for the better part of 150 years. The earliest reports come from just after the Civil War. You also know that destroying its nest is a bad idea.

It just moves somewhere else and a lot of people get killed before we track it down and find a way to keep it out. and find a way to keep it occupied again. Then why don't you? Stanley held up his hand and shook his head. Trust me, kid. We've been doing this a long time, longer than I've been around, and I've been around for a while.

Everything you're going to think of on how to do things better has already been tried. We do it the way we do it, because that's the way that works. Stanley paused the sip and grimace before continuing. The job pays two grand a week,

full benefits, and we match contributions to your 401k. You'll work two to three times a week. I don't like to schedule people to run two nights in a row, so I won't need you back here until Thursday. Are you insane? No way in hell I'm going back in there. You need somebody else to play hide-in-sequel a monster.

Do it yourself. Are you too scared? I ran those halls for eight years, kid. He reached down and pulled up the cuff of his chinos, revealing the titanium shaft of a prosthetic leg. Things went sideways one night. Oh, sorry, I muttered. Stanley shrugged.

The company promoted me to supervisor. We tried to take care of our people. It's not nearly as exciting, doesn't pay as much. And yes, occasionally I have to send people to their deaths. It sucks, but somebody's got to do it. We sat quietly, me shoving clay's dough into my mouth, while Stanley sipped and made faces. I'm starting to suspect that he didn't really take his coffee black.

After a few minutes, he checked his watch and stood, limping down the remaining steps before turning to face me. Well, I gotta get to the office. Paperwork, you know. I'll see you Thursday night, 10.45. Don't be late. I shook my head in disbelief. Dude, I'm not coming within 10 miles of this place ever again.

You'll be here, Stanley chuckled. I got a feeling about you. What feeling? What feeling do you have about me? You liked it. First time you felt really, truly alive in years. Tell me I'm wrong. I wanted to.

But I couldn't. God help me, I couldn't. Welcome to the crew. See you Thursday. He said, before wrestling himself into his truck and pulling away in a cloud of blue tinge exhaust. I've been thinking about it a lot these last two days. Maybe I'm an adrenaline junkie and never realized it. or one of those people who gets off and being terrified.

Maybe it's just that, for the first time in my adult life, I have a sense of purpose. I don't know, and I don't care. I've hardly touched my phone. I'm spending time out of the apartment, and I don't need to check in my pulse anymore. Seems I've found that spirit guide to light my path that mom always talked about, and is a 12-foot monstrosity that shows samurai swords through people's skulls.

It's 10.15 on Thursday night. I'm waiting in front of my building for the Uber to tame to St. Luke's as I post this. I guess Stanley's feeling about me was right after all. Wish me luck.