Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Got a Job at the Night Post Office. There's a Strange LIST OF RULES | Scary Stories

Episode Date: December 27, 2023

Don't break them.        Story from Dominic Eagle  Make sure to check out more of their work at u/Theeaglestrikes                     Original Post: Do you see him yet? : r/nosleep  Original YouTube link: I Got a Job at the Night Post Office. There's a Strange LIST OF RULES           For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  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!

The small town where I live is a bit strange. Most places have a post office that's open during the day with regular mail deliveries. We don't have that here. We have a night post office. And the worst night in my life started when I got a job there. My first night on the job, I parked in a lot at the front of the building, looked completely deserted. The entry doors were unlocked, so I went in. I called out, hello, anyone there.

But the large room was silent. I walked up to the main counter to find a note placed dead center on the desk. This is what it said. Hi, Carl. I hope your first shift goes smoothly. I know you said you used to work the night shift at a gas station, so I'm sure you must be mentally prepared for the solitude and boredom that comes with the job. But I think you should be aware that things are a little different in this small town.

I mean, how many places hire a night guard for a post office? I wish I could say more, but the peculiarity of this town is something that can't really be explained. You just have to see it for yourself. Anyho, I won't bore you with the history of this quaint little place. You're here because you want money. I'm not some fool who pretends otherwise. Still, your safety is of great importance to me.

So I would like you to pay close attention to this list of rules. Number one, never under any circumstances leave the post office between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. Number two, don't look at the trick-or-treaters. Number three, if you use the bathroom, wait 15 minutes before returning to the main desk. Number four, when Fergus delivers the mail at midnight, thank him. Number five, never open the packages. Number six, don't answer the phone even if I call. And number seven, if I turn up before six,

6 a.m., hide in the freezer. Good luck, Mr. Black. That was the note my employer left me before my first shift at the night post office, and he hit the nail on the head. What kind of a place hires a night worker for a post office? He didn't really answer the question. I assumed my job was mostly a mail sorter and security guard, but there seemed to be more to it. Trick-or-treaters? I snorted. It's April. That's what stood out to me, but I wasn't really paying attention. Yet. The first couple of hours passed without incident. Looked to be a very dull job. I considered quitting after my first shift was over. But as I would soon learn, there are things

far worse than boredom. Far worse. A few minutes before midnight, the phone rang. Now obviously, I didn't answer. That was Mr. Black's sixth rule. And I only knew he was the one calling, because when I didn't pick up, he left a voicemail. Carl, his voice rang out. Mine picking up so we can talk about the job a little more. I ignored that, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Why would Mr. Black tell me not to answer the phone even if it was him? That was all I could think about for the next ten minutes or so. I picked up the list of rules and I read it again.

Don't answer the phone even if I call it read. Those were his exact words, so why was he calling? It seemed strange, but I'd shock the phone. up to a strange management style. Probably a test, I muttered to myself. Wants to see whether I have what it takes to follow rules. And then the phone rang again. Carl? Mr. Black growled in a distorted voice. It's rude to ignore people. Rude people get there just desserts. A loud crashing sound jolted me out of myself. seat.

Through the glass pane at the front of the post office, I saw a black shape move out of sight across the street. My heart was pinging around inside my chest like pinball, and I was struggling to find some kind of explanation. No employer would try to scare their employee, would they? And then there was a knock on the back door. I rose to my feet and headed towards the back of the post office, unlatching the back door. door, and there, standing like this sinister silhouette, was a tall man in a hooded jacket.

Fergus. He didn't say anything. Just held out his arms, which carried a large cardboard box. I shakily took the package. His face was shadowed in darkness under his hood. For a moment, I thought I saw solid black where the whites of his eyes should have been, but I convinced myself that the night was just playing tricks on me. I backed slowly away from the man, and I almost forgot the fourth rule. When Fergus delivers the mail at midnight, thank him. I cleared my throat. Um, thank you, Fergus, I said.

The man said, nothing. But happy with his payment of gratitude, he walked away. And to this day, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't thanked him. A few more hours came and went. So to pass the time, I decided to explore the post office. It was actually quite a large building, only one floor, but separated into numerous rooms, rooms I hoped, that would answer some of my questions. And they did. Now first, I wandered into the mail sorting room, keeping the door open so I could watch the main desk. It was a messy, shamble of a space.

Whoever worked there during the day had left this place a mess. I started to wonder whether Mr. Black and I were the only employees. I searched through the files, the folders, stacked up in tall piles on the desk. There was this mountain of documents, but when I looked closer, I realized they were covered in scribbled lines and squiggles, fake documents, like they were trying to fool someone. There was only one real piece of information in there. A notebook at the bottom of the pile. A notebook belonging to John Glass.

Just what I was hoping to find. from the past night shift worker. I had to be filling a vacancy, and thankfully, the previous worker had left something for me in his notebook. It was a more thorough list of rules. This is what it said. Hey, Newhire, if you find yourself reading this, then I apologize. You're in hell. You don't even know me yet, and if they needed to replace me with someone new... Doesn't look good for me, huh? Sorry, you don't even have the foggiest clue as what I'm talking about.

Or maybe you do. Maybe you've already seen some of the horrors I'm about to tell you. Let's talk a little more clearly about Mr. Black's rules. Number one, never, under any circumstances, leave the post office between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. If you walk out of that door before 6 a.m., you die, okay? The town isn't safe at night, but we'll get to that. I just wanted to tell you that this rule is about more than keeping your job.

It's about keeping your life. Number two, don't look at the trick-or-treaters. A trio of hooded children in masks who visit every night. If you haven't met them yet, you will. And I am so sorry, there's no escaping them. Pray they don't remove their masks. If they do, just don't look them in the eye. And if you do, make sure they don't see you.

If you make eye contact, they will convince you to invite them in. And they won't leave. Not until they get their treats. Number three, if you use the bathroom, wait at least 15 minutes before return into the main desk. Let's just say the thing in the packages, which I'll talk about soon, is adventurous. And it's best to leave it alone when it finds its way out. But if you wait for 15 minutes, it'll find its way back into the parcel. It always does.

And then it's safe to enter the main post office area. Just don't interfere with it. Okay? And that ties into rule number five. Rule number four. When Fergus delivers the mail at midnight, thank him. Yeah, Fergus. He delivers THE package.

The only item we ever. receive. It's what's changed him. Changed all of us, I guess. You know, it's time to finally talk about my mistake. Even if nobody ever reads this, I need to confess. Rule number five, never open the packages. Okay, so here we are, huh? You probably should have done your research on this place, but I don't blame you. Easy work for great pay. You don't. You don't. You You'd have to be a fool to turn that down. But that isn't normal for a post office now, is it? Crazy money like that.

And I think you know what I'm talking about. Who I'm talking about? Mr. Black himself. But it's not all his fault. It's mine too. You see, Mr. Black's night post office delivers one item and one item only. Every single package contains this item, and it's delivered to the exact same address. This is a private post office.

I know this is very strange for a business that delivers mail, but Mr. Black is paid a fortune by someone. He only needs one client. As for the one item, I can't tell you what it is. I can only tell you what it does. It does. You see, the reason these rules exist is that I messed up. Several months ago, curiosity got the better of me. And I opened one of the packages. And what I found inside, well, I'm not going to describe it because you're never going to look at it, okay? Don't. Don't ever open the parcels. Just know that it changed this town. It showed me things that mesmerized me.

And I started selling it to people in town. I took my cut from each of the parcels. It was an evil thing to do. I know it changed me. Corrupted me to my core. I only used it once, but I've never been the same. And the rest of the town, well, I got them hooked on the stuff. It's, well, it's like I said, I don't want to talk about it.

Never touch it, and you won't have to worry. The point is that I got them hooked. They were no longer human. And now they flock to this place. Every night they come to the post office, hoping to have a little, taste of what's in those packages. That's why Fergus himself has changed. But he's not the worst. If he were, he'd have slit my throat a long time ago and stolen every parcel in this place. So what's your job description? What do you have to do at the post office other than accept

mail from Fergus and leave it in the sorting room? You have to guard this place. Guard the parcels from them, the townsfolk. It's Mr. Black's horrible secret. The things he sells to some unknown buyer, packages from hell itself. I don't know why he kept me on after I betrayed his trust. Maybe he doesn't want his secret getting out. Maybe he has something.

horrible in store for me. All I know is that I can't bring myself to quit. I can't leave this place. Maybe I'm like the rest of the town. I'm drawn to what's in those packages. I don't want to leave. Number six, don't answer the phone, even if I call. And that's what brings us to the next point. Phone calls from Mr. Black, the boss himself. is fine. The thing that pretends to be him? Not at all. A thing that offers a fate worse than death. I don't fully understand him, but I do know that you shouldn't ever answer the phone. It started after I released this plague upon the town. Mr. Black says he doesn't know the identity of his imposter. But I think he's lying. I wish I could tell you more, but I don't have all the hands.

I'm sorry. Rule number seven. If I turn up before 6 a.m., hide in the freezer. If the Mr. Black Imposter shows up at the post office's front door, get in the freezer, lock the door, and wait until your shift ends. Forget the packages. Your life is more important. Look, I'm sorry you were lured into this place. If you make it out of this shift alive, Don't ever come back. Don't be a fool like me. I can't leave this place. It's changed me. I hope that nobody ever needs to read this notebook. I hope I work here until I'm too old to work anymore. But if you found this, it means I could no longer play by the rules and stay safe. You can be optimistic about my fate if that makes you feel better. But the truth is, I'm probably dead. Sincerely, John Glass. I dropped the notebook onto the desk.

I tried to tell myself that he must be a disturbed individual. But I thought about the list of rules, weird phone calls, and the odd interaction with Fergus. More than anything else. I thought about the strangeness of the sort. the scattered documents full of ink-drawn scribbles, printed documents with no writing. Something was very off about this post office. I knew that, even before the awful things began. And the awful things began with a knock on the door. I could hear banging on the window in the main post office area, but I was too scared to leave the sorting room. And then came

Then came the giggling. The giggling of children. I thought of rule too. The rule that had made me chuckle when I first read it. It didn't seem quite so funny now, after John's more detailed explanation of what to expect. I scooped up the notebook, ignoring the banging on the glass pane, and I read his entry again. look at the trick-or-treaters. They won't leave. Not until they get their treats. Worried. I glanced

at my watch. It was a little after 4 a.m. Just two more hours, I thought. Two more hours, and it'd be all over. I could leave that town and never look back. Maybe John and Mr. Black were oddballs who wanted to prank the newcomer, but I didn't care. I'm not. I would happily leave and never come back. I had no problem with that at all." Easing the door open. I peered out. I could see the trick-or-treaters at the door, three children, each around five feet tall,

but they hadn't seen me yet. I know the rule said not to look at them, but John said it would be fine as long as they didn't see me. Well, he didn't say it would be fine, but I felt like I had to look. I had to make sure they weren't going to get in. Twik a tweet. One kid said. He wore a pumpkin mask.

The other two wore a Dracula mask. They had on long black cloaks, and I was glad that I couldn't see their faces. I only needed to worry if they removed their masks. But then I bumped into a desk and I sent a stack of folders clattering to the floor. All three heads swiveled in sharp rapid unison to the sorting room doorway, eyeballing me through the slits of their masks, the three children lifted their hands up to remove them. I couldn't speak. In the dim light of the lamppost on the sidewalk, I could make out the face.

of the three children, terrifying smiles, curled up all the way to their ears. And those eyes, those awful, awful eyes. I finally realized that like Fergus, the people of this town had completely black eyes. Why yes, the pumpkin child said in that unhinged, distorted voice. I'd love to come inside, Mr. Postman. Just open the door. Limbs moving by themselves.

It was like I was puppeteered by the demonic children. I found myself crossing the post office's main area straight for the door. My lips wouldn't budge. I wanted to scream for help. I wanted the clock to magically strike six. But none of that happened. I flipped the latch, unlocking the front door, and just as I did, I regained control of my body. The ringleader's bony hand curled around the handle, and his smile widened as he pushed the door open.

Trick? Okay, Mr. Postman. He laughed, sliding his fingers toward me. through the open crack of the doorway. I turned and sprinted for the bathroom, screaming at the top of my lungs. And when I made it inside one of the stalls, I locked the door behind me.

Giggles erupted from the main post office area, and I heard the sounds of childish chaos in the sorting room. One of the children entered the bathroom, peering at me between the cracks, peering at me with one. One of her black, lifeless eyes. I don't know what happened outside, but I know that it didn't stop when the three children finally left.

Packages in hand. Sounds continued from the main post office area. Different sounds. And that's when I remembered one of the other rules on Mr. Black's list. If you use the bathroom, wait at least 15 minutes before returning to the main post office area. I thought about what John wrote in his notebook, the parcels, the things inside them slipping free to explore the post office. I didn't look, but I wanted to do. I wanted to see what it turned the town into such a place of horror, but I knew if I did, it would be like opening Pandora's box.

There'd be no going back. Like John, I would die. Maybe not tonight, but eventually. After all, whatever was in those packages, it was enough to keep him here, knowing that sooner or later it would kill him. All I know is that the sound from beyond the bathroom door was something that chilled my bones. Not the slithering or squelching of some black, sludgy substance. That's what I pictured when I stared into the children's eyes. No, it was a scraping sound.

The sound of chalk against a blackboard, or the sound of a child screaming through a warped telephone. Maybe neither of those. Because it was like nothing I'd ever heard. Even after I stopped, And I was sure the thing had returned to its package. I still waited for another ten minutes just to be safe. And when I returned to the main desk, the clock on the wall showed that it was 5 a.m.

One more hour to go. But you already know how that night ended, don't you? I knew how it would end too. Six rules. I'd learn the importance of six rules on that list. But there were seven rules. And what was the one rule that I had yet to use? If I turn up before 6 a.m., hide in the freezer.

And by some psychic connection, Mr. Black answered that thought. Well, the thing pretending to be him answered. Carl? He said. The voice jolted me from my position, slumped in the death. desk chair behind the reception area. I jumped up and looked at the man in the road. Standing in the dawning light was a man terrifying enough to strike fear into anyone's heart. It looked like the man who'd interviewed me, and yet it looked nothing like him. Six foot tall, grey trench coat,

gaunt face, and black eyes, of course. He didn't smile like the children. He did not offer a neutral, emotionless face like Fergus. No. Instead, he offered a gaping mouth, hanging low, as if it might swallow me. From beyond the window, he stood and watched. And then, eventually, why didn't you answer my call, Carl? Mr. Black's demented doppelganger asked. You have a parcel for me.

Before waiting for an answer, the man's arms grew, stretching unnaturally long. It moved toward the bottom of the glass door. I saw its long, slender fingers, as black as his eyes, curl beneath the bottom of the door, working their way inside the post office. I screamed, as his arm worked its way up to him. the door handle from the inside and unlocked it. Unlike the children, Mr. Black needed no invitation. And that's when I understood Rule 7. If I turn up before 6 a.m., hide in the freezer. It was the only room in the post office with a lock, and I ran for it. I didn't want to look at him.

I just kept my eyes fixated on the freezer door ahead of me. fumbling with a handle. I heard a whimper from behind me, like a wounded animal. But I didn't fall for it. I didn't turn to see it. I knew I only had seconds before Mr. Black reached me. So I flung the freezer door open and I slammed it shut behind me. Just for a moment as the freezer door closed, I caught a glimpse of a horror that I can't even put into words. Mr. Black's doble. Ganger looked nothing like him. He'd morphed into a colorless being with dozens of gangly spider-like limbs. When 6 a.m. arrived. I high-tailed it out of there. Never to return. I never spoke to Mr. Black again. And for the record, I don't believe him. I agree with John. He knows more than he says.

I have so many questions. But the biggest one of all is, what is in those packages?