Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I got a Job as a Fireman. We have a STRANGE List of RULES | Scary Stories

Episode Date: December 5, 2024

This is my scariest story... Scary Story exclusively written for the channel by The Lighthouse Horror Team Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts         Original YouTube link: I got a Job as a Fireman. We have a STRANGE List of RULES  Merch: lighthousehorror.shop For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

I've been a fireman in plenty of towns. It's a job like any other. A little dangerous, sometimes long hours. But the kind of work that makes you feel like you're doing something good. Not here. Here in Devil's Point, nothing is simple. From the day I set foot in this place, I knew something was wrong. It wasn't the kind of thing you could just put your finger on, but the air felt different. It was too quiet here, you know, too still. As if everything and everyone was just waiting. I took the job because it was supposed to be easy. Small town, less than 2,000 people, mostly retirees and some families passing through on their way to a better place. The firehouse was old, creaky, and hadn't seen much action in years. That's what I was told, at least. The other firemen were all in their 60s or older. they weren't exactly in shape, and it seemed like the only fires they dealt with were campfires

getting out of hand. But something was strange about the way they all looked at me when I first walked in. Like they knew something I didn't. The chief, a guy named Reynolds, didn't waste time with pleasantries. He just handed me a clipboard with a single sheet of paper on it. These are the rules, he said. I figured he was talking about safety proceedings. things every department has. But when I looked at the list, it wasn't anything I'd ever seen before.

There were seven rules, and they didn't make sense. Rule number one, always park the truck facing east, never west. Number two, if the siren sounds more than twice in a row, lock the doors and wait until morning. Number three, don't respond to calls

between 2.13 and 3.33 a.m. No exceptions. Number four, if the radio starts playing music, shut it off and don't turn it back on until sunrise. Number five, never look out the windows after dark. Number six, if the station dog growls, stay where you are, don't move until it stops. And number seven, on the first day of each month, burn something. personal in the fire pit. I looked up at Reynolds, waiting for him to crack a smile. Tell me it was some kind of hazing ritual, but he just stared at me dead serious. Follow the rules, he said, and you'll be just fine.

What is this? I asked. It's the reason I'm alive, he replied. The other guys in the station kept their heads down, busying themselves. with cleaning equipment that didn't need cleaning or shuffling papers that had already been filed. No one really wanted to talk to me. Didn't even introduce themselves. It was like they were waiting for me to get up and leave. Maybe they hoped I would.

But I didn't. I needed this job. And even if the list seemed like a joke, I wasn't going to back out on my first day. So I shrugged? Put the clipboard down and said, All right, I got it. Now the first few days were quiet. Strangely, quiet.

There were no fires, no emergencies, not even a cat stuck in a tree. The guys in the station barely talked to me. But they followed the rules religiously. Every night, someone would double-check the truck to make sure it was facing east. At exactly 9 p.m., someone would close all the blinds, making sure none of us could see outside. And the radio. They didn't even turn it on. Not once. I thought they were crazy. Maybe they'd all just been here too long, you know, grown superstitious. Let the isolation get to them. But then, on my fifth night, something happened. I was alone in the station. The others had gone

home for the night, leaving me on call. It was just past midnight, and I was sitting at the small kitchen table, going over some old reports, trying to stay awake. The station was silent, except for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Then the radio crackled alive. It wasn't like a normal emergency call. No static, no voices, just a soft, scratchy tune. It was an old song, one I recognized. One I recognized. recognized but couldn't name something from the 1920s maybe, with a grainy piano melody and a woman's voice, low and slow, almost whispering. It felt out of place like it didn't belong here. I stared at the radio unsure of what to do. Reynolds' voice echoed in my head. If the radio starts playing music, shut it off and don't turn it back on until sunrise. I reached for

the dial, hesitating for just a second, and then clicked it off. The room was silent again. But something had changed. It was subtle at first, barely noticeable, but it seemed like it got colder. I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the tile floor and crossed the room to the window. The blinds were closed, just like they always were at night. But I had this sudden, overpowering urge to look outside. My hand hovered near the string that controlled the blinds, but then I stopped. Never look out the windows after dark, I thought. I pulled my hand back. The station dog, an old mutt named Buster, who usually just slept by the door, began to growl, low guttural, like he was warning me.

His eyes, which were usually dull and lazy, were fixed on something behind me. I froze every muscle tensing. I couldn't hear anything. But Buster was staring at the kitchen door, his body rigid, growling deeper. I didn't turn around. I don't know why, but I had this feeling that if I turned, something would be there. Something I didn't want to see. For what felt like hours.

I just stayed like that. Listening to the dog growl not moving. Eventually, Buster stopped. His body relaxing as he laid his head back down on the floor. Eyes closing. Like nothing had happened. The room felt warmer again. The air lighter.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I checked the clock. 2.13 a.m. The rest of the night was quiet, but I didn't sleep. I just sat there staring at the radio, waiting for something else to happen. The next morning, Reynolds came in like nothing was out of the ordinary. He didn't ask me about the night, and I didn't bring it up.

But I noticed him glance at the radio, like he was making sure it was still off. I thought about quitting right there and then, packing up my things and getting the hell out of devil's point. But I didn't. I don't know. I'm stubborn. Maybe I was curious. Or maybe deep down.

I was already too far in to walk away. The next week, I followed the rules just like the others. I parked the truck facing east. I shut the blinds. I didn't respond to calls after two-13. a.m., and every time I heard the slightest crackle from the radio, I turned it off before the music could start. But then came the first of the month. I'd forgotten about the last rule on the list until Reynolds reminded me. You got something to burn? He asked. Like it was the most normal question in the

world. Huh? What do you mean something to burn? He didn't explain. He just pointed to the fire pit out back. You need to burn something personal, something that matters to you. I laughed, thinking he was messing with my head again, but he didn't smile. If you don't, you'll regret it. I looked at him, searching for some kind of explanation, but he just walked away, leaving me alone in the station. I stood there for a long while. thinking about what he said, and then I made my way to the bunkroom where I kept my things. I didn't have much, a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, and a framed photo of me and my brother from years ago.

We weren't close anymore, hadn't spoken in years, but the photo was one of the few things I still had that reminded me of better times. I didn't want to. I really didn't want to. but I had this bad feeling. So I took the photo out of the frame and walked outside to the fire pit. The others were already out there, standing in a loose circle, tossing items into the flames, old books, letters, photographs,

even a wedding ring. No one said anything. They just watched the fire consume their things, the smoke curling into the sky like some kind of offering. When it was my turn, I hesitated. The photo felt heavy in my hand, like letting it go was letting go of more than just the paper. But I did it.

I dropped it into the flames and I watched it blacken, the faces curling and disappearing in the heat. Reynolds nodded at me, satisfied. And we all went back inside without a word. That night, I didn't sleep again. I lay in the bunk, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence. It felt like the station was watching me, waiting for me to break the rules. But I wouldn't.

Not now. Not after what I'd seen. I didn't know what was going on in Devil's Point, but I knew one thing for sure. the rules were not a joke. Somehow, they were keeping us alive, and whatever was out there in the dark. I think it was waiting for us to break a rule. The days blurred together after the night I burned the photo. The stations settled into a routine, quiet and predictable, except for the ever-present sense of unease. I wasn't the only one who felt it, but none of the older guys ever-year-old.

ever talked about it. We all knew the rules and we followed them day in and day out. The list had become a part of life in Devil's Point, something ingrained in the air like the smell of smoke and old wood. I followed them like second nature, but I couldn't shake the growing sense that something was coming. It was late September when the first real call came in. I was alone again. Reynolds and the others had gone home for the evening, leaving me on the night shift. I was sitting at the same table where the radio had played its strange, haunting music, eating a cold sandwich, and flipping through an old magazine. The clock read 1230 a.m. And then the siren went off. It wasn't the same as the radio incident. This was different. The siren mounted on the roof of the station, wailed, sharp and loud,

cutting through the stillness of the night. I dropped the sandwich, stood up fast, knocking the chair back. The clipboard with the rules was still hanging on the wall by the kitchen. I stared at it, my eyes flicking down to rule number two. If the siren sounds more than twice in a row, lock the doors and wait until morning. It had only sounded once. For a moment I hesitated. The rule said nothing about a single siren blight.

Was this a real emergency? Should I go? I grabbed the radio and flicked it on, half expecting to hear the eerie music again, but instead a voice crackled through. Fire in the Eastwoods, multiple houses, we need all available units. My training kicked in. Without thinking, I grabbed my coat, pulled on my boots, and headed for the truck.

The siren had stopped. the night falling back into silence. I tried to push the weirdness of the station out of my head and focus on the task at hand. This was a fire, a real one, something I could handle. The truck was already parked facing east, just as the rules required. I climbed in, started the engine, and pulled out into the empty streets of Devil's Point. The town looked different at night. The moon was hidden behind a thick.

thick layer of clouds, and the streetlights seemed dim. As I drove towards the woods, I could see the orange glow of flames in the distance. Smoke curled up into the sky, a thick, oily plume that twisted in the breeze. My pulse quickened. This was big, bigger than anything I'd dealt with since arriving in Devil's Point. When I got closer, I saw the first house. It was a two-story structure, old and wooden, already half-engulfed in flames. The fires spread fast, leaping from the house to the dry tree surrounding it. I grabbed my radio calling for backup, but there was no response just static. I cursed under my breath, grabbing the hose from the back of the truck and springing towards the burning house. The heat hit me in waves, almost unbearable. But I was used to

to it, I'd fought fires like this before. But as I sprayed water onto the flames, trying to keep them from spreading, something gnawed at the back of my mind. The flames hissed as they met the water, but they didn't die down. In fact, it seemed like the fire was almost fighting back, burning hotter and brighter. I could feel the heat intensify. I stepped back, the hose still spraying, but it wasn't enough. The fire was too strong. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something. At first I thought it was someone inside the house trapped in the flames, but as I turned, I realized it wasn't a person. Standing in the middle of the flames was a figure, tall and thin. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before.

Its face or what I could see of it was featureless. I froze the hose slipping from my hand. The figure didn't move. It just stood there in the center of the inferno, as if the flames were nothing more than air. For a long moment, we just stared at each other, me standing on the edge of the fire, and it in the middle of it.

And then it moved slowly and deliberately. The figure took a step towards my... The flames licked at its body, but it didn't burn. I stumbled back my mind racing, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. This couldn't be real. The figure took another step and another. I backed away. My training told me to run, to get as far away.

from this thing as I could. And then as quickly as it had happened, it turned and walked back into the flames. Within seconds, it was gone. I stood there, the heat from the fire now more distant, like it was happening somewhere else. I don't know how long I stood there before I snapped out of it, grabbing the hose again and trying to put out the flames.

But it was no use. The fire had already consumed the house, and now it was spreading to the trees. I was alone. No backup, no response on the radio, just me and the fire. I did my best, but it didn't do much. I drove back to the station after the flames had burned themselves out. There was nothing left of the house but a blackened skeleton, and the woods around it were scorched, the trees still smoldering in the cool night air. I didn't see the figure again, but its presence lingered in my mind.

When I got back, Reynolds was waiting for me, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in his hands. He didn't say anything at first, just watched me as I walked in, covered in soot and sweat. You saw it, didn't you? He asked finally. I didn't answer right away. I didn't need to. I think he could see it in my eyes. Reynolds nodded, setting the mug down.

We all see it eventually, he said. What is it? I asked. He leaned back in his chair, staring off into the distance, as if searching for the right words. We don't know. Some say it's part of the town. Something that's always been here, long before we were. Others? Well, others think it's a warning. But no one really knows.

Why the hell didn't you tell me? I asked. Reynolds sighed. Would you have believed me if I had? I didn't have an answer for that. Look, kid, the rules keep us safe. Most of the time. I sat down across from him.

the weight of the night settling on my shoulders. And when they don't? He didn't answer that right away. Instead, he pulled something out of his pocket and slid it across the table. It was a small, worn piece of paper. I picked it up and unfolded it. And there were more rules, handwritten in the same shaky script as the first list.

You got to be kidding me, I said. "'Rule number one,' I read aloud. "'Never go into the woods alone. "'Nobber two, if you hear knocking, don't open the door. "'Nobber three, don't answer the phone after midnight. "'And number four, if you see the figure in the fire, "'run?' "'I stared at the new list, my mind racing.

"'Why the hell didn't she give me this before?' I asked. "'Reynolds met my gaze. "'Because now you've seen it. "'And once you've seen it, well, the rules get harder.' "'He stood up, grabbing his coffee and heading for the door. "'Get some rest, kid, you're going to need it.' "'I watched him leave, the weight of the new rules settling in my chest. "'The fire had taken more than just a house tonight.

"'It felt like it had taken a piece of me, too. and whatever was out there in the flames, it wasn't done yet. The figure had seen me, and I'd seen it. I somehow knew there was no going back now. The rules were changing, and I had a feeling things were about to get much worse. The days after that fire dragged down like a bad dream. I went through the motions, doing my job, eating, sleeping when I could, but there was no escape from that feeling.

The new list of rules haunted me, just like the first had, except these rules felt more personal, more dangerous. I'd crossed a line somehow, and it was like the town was almost testing me. Reynolds didn't say much after our conversation. He kept to his routines just like the others, following the rules as though they were as normal, as brushing his teeth. The other guys barely looked at me anymore, as if my seeing the figure

had marked me as different, a part of something they didn't want to acknowledge. I couldn't blame them. They'd been here long enough to know better than to ask questions. But I wasn't like them. Not yet. I couldn't just sit back and pretend this was normal. Not after what I'd seen. And so every night I went back to the list, reading it over and over, trying to figure out what it all meant, trying to understand why this was happening. There had to be a reason. Something was in this town, something that shouldn't be, and it was using the fires, using us, for something. The days passed without incident until the last night of September when the call came in. It was a little after midnight. The clock had just struck 1201, and I was alone again as usual.

The others had gone home, leaving me to the quiet of the station. I was sitting in the kitchen, staring blankly at the rules on the clipboard, when the phone rang. I froze. Don't answer the phone. after midnight, I thought. The ring echoed through the empty station, sharp and shrill, cutting through the silence. My hand hovered over the receiver, but I didn't pick it up. I let it ring. Each chime louder and more insistent, and then it stopped. For a moment, I thought that was the end of it. I let out a breath. But then the phone rang again. I couldn't ignore it this time. My instincts were screaming at me not to pick it up,

but something stronger, I don't know, a deeper sense of duty pushed me to grab the receiver. I mean, what if someone needed help? Hello? I said, my voice almost a whisper. For a second, there was nothing but static. And then a child's voice broke through. Help me

The voice was small, weak A little boy, I think I could hear noises in the background Almost like the crackles of fire The fire His voice cut off My blood ran cold I knew the rules

I wasn't supposed to answer the phone But this was a kid and he was in trouble I couldn't ignore that Okay, okay, where are you? I asked. Already grabbing my gear? The radio was silent. No alarms had gone off, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to let this kid die. The East Woods. The boy said. The East Woods. The same place where I'd seen that figure. My hands shook a little as I fumbled with my gear, but I pushed the fear down. This wasn't. about me. I could handle whatever was out there. I just needed to get this kid out. I bolted out the door jumping into the truck. It was parked facing east, just like the rules said. I started the

engine and sped through the deserted streets of Devil's Point, the memory of the last fire fresh in my mind. As I neared the woods, the orange glow of flames flickered off the horizon, just like before. The fire was even bigger this time. More intense. The trees were ablaze, the flames reaching high into the night sky, casting an eerie light over the entire area. The heat hit me as soon as I stepped out, but I ignored it, grabbing my hose and running towards the source of the flames. Hey, kid, kid! I shouted. My voice barely audible over the room. roar of the fire. Where are you?

There was no response. For a moment, I thought I'd been tricked that there was no boy, that this was just another part of whatever was happening in this town. But then I heard it. A faint cough,

weak but unmistakable. I pushed forward, weaving through the trees, the fire licking at my boots. My lungs burned from the smoke, but I kept moving, following the sound of the cough. And then I saw him. The boy was huddled at the base of a tree. His small body curled up against the trunk.

My God, he couldn't have been more than six or seven. His clothes were singed, and his eyes were wide. I'm here, I said, dropping to my knees beside him. It's okay, all right, I got you. He looked up at my, his lower lip trembling. Please, please don't leave me. I'm not going anywhere, I replied. As I scooped him into my arms, the heat from the flames searing the skin on the back of my neck.

All right, we're getting out of here. I turned to run, but something was wrong. The fire had closed in around us, the flames forming a wall blocking our eyes. path. I could feel the heat getting worse, the air growing thick with smoke. My vision blurred as the fire roared louder. There was no way out. But then through the flames, I could make out one small gap in the fire, one way out. I squinted and moved closer, and then I saw it, the figure. It was standing there blocking the only path of escape, watching me. Its blank face turned in my direction. This time it was closer, more defined. I could see its eyes. It was watching me. I backed away, holding the boy tighter,

but the figure took a step forward, and then another. It didn't speak and it didn't need to. I could feel its intentions. This thing was not here to help. It wanted the boy. It had made this fire to take him. No, I said, you can't have him. The figure stopped, tilting its head slightly, as if curious. For a moment we stood there, locked in a silent standoff as the thud.

Fire burned brighter around us. I could feel the boy trembling in my arms, his small hands clutching at my shirt, but I didn't move. Then I remembered the last rule on the list. If you see the figure in the fire, run. I looked around, looking for any way out, but the fire was everywhere. The only way out was through the flames

or through the figure itself. I had no choice. I took a deep breath, and I ran straight towards the figure, the boy still in my arms. The fire lashed at us, the heat unbearable, but I didn't stop. I kept my eyes forward,

refusing to look at the figure. For a split second, I felt something. I felt this coldness like a shadow falling over me. I was more afraid than I'd ever been in my life, but then it was gone, and we were through. I burst out of the flames, gasping for air,

my legs trembling beneath me. The boy was still clinging to me, breathing, his face buried in my chest. I stumbled forward, coughing and moving away from the fire, until we were safely out of the wind. woods. The fire continued to burn behind us, but I didn't look back. I didn't want to. We made it back to the truck, and I set the boy down gently. His face was pale, but he was breathing. His eyes wide was shock. I know beside him, trying to catch my breath. Did you feel that? He asked.

Yeah, yeah, I felt it. But you're safe now. I said, it's over. I'm going to get you home, okay. The next day, I didn't go back to the station. I spent the morning sitting on the front steps of my small rented house, staring out at the quiet streets, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next. I thought about leaving, packing up and driving away from devil's point and never looking back. But I had saved that boy. Maybe I could make a difference here.

I couldn't leave. As the sun began to set, I found myself back at the station, standing outside the firehouse, staring up at the old, worn building. The truck was parked outside, facing east as always. The windows were dark, the blinds drawn, just like every night.

Reynolds was waiting for me inside. He put his arm on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and said one thing. You did good.