Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I work at a Toll Booth. We have strange RULES | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 16, 2024

I almost broke them... Scary Story exclusively written for the channel by H.R Selke Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts                   Original YouTube link: I work at a Toll Booth. We have strange 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!

The rules are there to protect us. Always follow them. Deep in the mountains of Montana is a small town called Eden. And just outside a town is a rusty old towboof. It guards the only road in and out of town. Now, I've heard a lot of rumors about that old towbooth. Some say it keeps evil away from town. Others say it's actually to keep us from leaving.

and a few people say it's a gateway to someplace different from our world. But what I do know for sure is that it's important to our town, so important in fact that it's considered a great honor to be chosen to operate the booth at night. Only the oldest families in town are allowed to do it. And my family, well, we pretty much founded Eden. And as the mayor's son, I was finally old enough to do a shift. James, you know why we're here, right? Dad's voice was gruff.

He always sounded like he'd just finished yelling, which, to be fair, he usually had. I nodded, knowing better than to take this lightly. Yeah, it's about more than just watching the booth, I said. It's about keeping everything in order, right? Exactly, he began. It's an honor. You're not just keeping the town safe. You're maintaining a tradition that's protected us for generations, he said.

We reached the toll booth. No one has to pay for it during the day. The arms stayed up. Anyone can come and go whatever they want. But at night, it's a different story. Someone was always in the booth after sundown, but no one really talks about what happens during those shifts. We weren't allowed to leave town at night anyway.

So, nobody really bothered to find out. In front of it is a wooden sign telling people about the payment. It cost one penny to pass through. Dad unlocked the door. The old wood creaked loudly as it opened. He looked at it opened. led me inside. It was cramped with the two of us there. The air was filled with a musty smell of old wood and tobacco. He reached into his coat and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He

handed it to me with a stern look. All right, now listen. Anyone can pass by as long as they pay the toll. That's more symbolic than anything. These are the rules you really need to follow. Do not break them, no matter what you hear or see, can you do that? Dad said. Yeah, I can, I replied. I tried to sound more confident than I felt. He patted my shoulder. I know you can.

I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were ready. His voice softened for just a moment. Then Dad turned to leave. It was getting dark fast. and he needed to be home soon. Remember, son. Rules are what protect us. It's how the town has survived all these centuries.

I watched him disappear down the road before unfolding the paper. I read through the rules. Some of them made no sense. Number one, do not respond to your name. Number two, trace the symbol when the clock strikes midnight. Number three, ignore the reflection in the mirror from 3 a.m. to 4 a.m. Number 4. Do not accept anything from the old woman. Number 5. Never turn off the old radio.

Number 6. Ignore all cries for help. And number 7. Always salute the headless officer. I stared at the list trying to figure it out. What, headless officer? And what's with the old woman and a mirror? Were these some riddles or something like that? But Dad wasn't the type to do that sort of thing. He wouldn't pull a prank like this.

Nothing made him happier than keeping order around here. So I figured I better take this seriously. I flicked a switch by the door. A single light bulb came to life. But honestly, the booth wasn't that bad. It always looked pretty cozy. There was a plush chair with a thick blanket draped over it. A space heater sat on the floor.

A small sink with a mirror stood in one corner. Some books and an old radio rested on a table mounted on the wall. The radio hummed softly in the background. I turned up the volume, and I found a little. I found an easy rock station. I started to make myself at home. I brought some water and chips with me, plus a thermos of chicken soup dad made.

I unscrewed the cap and took a nice big gulp. Dad wasn't the best cook, but the soup reminded me of home. It was nice and familiar. All right, let's do this, I said to myself. I looked at my watch. It was 6.15 p.m. The sun was completely gone now.

Dad said I could only leave when dawn broke. I locked the door behind me before I settled into the chair and pulled the blanket over my legs. I figured it would be a long night, so I might as well get comfortable. The first half hour was peaceful. I flipped through an old mystery novel until I saw some headlights in the distance. They came from a tiny blue car, headed out of town. It was shiny and newer looking than most around here. It cruised towards the toll booth. I set my book down, watching as the car eased up close. The driver rolled down the window

and dropped a shiny penny into the collection basket. Routine stuff, right? I hit the button to raise the toll arm, and I gave a friendly wave as the car rolled past. But then something odd struck me as the taillights faded into the distance. I realized I couldn't picture the driver at all. All I could remember was a smile, just a blurry, indistinct smile. I couldn't remember if they had hair, what they were wearing, or even if the driver was a man or a woman. Nothing.

Nata. I rubbed my eyes. I had to be more tired than I thought. But the more I tried to remember anything about that driver, the more that smile seemed to float in my memory. I couldn't attach a face to it. All I remember are the teeth, perfectly straight teeth, like something out of a dental magazine. And the blue car, well, I racked my brain, but I couldn't think of anyone in Eden who drove one like that. The whole thing made me uneasy. How could I not remember anything about someone I just saw? I shook my head, trying to shrug it off. But as I was still trying to shake off the weird feeling from earlier, a shiny green sedan rolled up. to the toll booth.

The driver was a middle-aged guy with a friendly face. He rolled down his window. The familiar lyrics of Take Me Home, Country Roads by John Denver filled the air. Man, that song took me back. Dad and I used to sing that in the house when he was in a good mood. Hey, great song choice, I said with a nod. The man replied with a smile and a thumb, up. He dropped a penny into the collection basket and drove off, humming along with the song.

But then things got weird, like deja vu weird. Another green sedan, identical to the first pulled up. The window rolled down, and there was the same guy with the same smile. And the music. It picked up right where it had left off. I swear it did. Uh, nice to see you again. I tried to joke, not sure what was happening. He just smiled again, dropped another penny, and drove off. The song continued to play the entire time. Before I could even process what happened, another green sedan rolled up. the same guy, the same song, continuing from where it left off again.

This repeated over and over again. Each time the song resumed exactly where it had stopped until the whole thing finally played through. It was like watching the same scene on repeat, except the song stitched itself together a bit more each time. I checked my watch when the first. final country roads notes faded away with the last green sedan. Forty-five minutes had passed.

Forty-five minutes of the same car, the same guy, and the same song over and over. I swear those sedans came by right after one another. It shouldn't have taken that long to get through the whole song. I rubbed in my eyes. expecting to see the sedan appear again. But it didn't. The road was quiet. The night suddenly felt a lot colder.

A few minutes later, a police car showed up. It sped towards the booth with its lights flashing, and it was coming out of town. That caught me off guard. Our town only had one police car, and this was not it. Did something bad happen back home? The car pulled up to the booth, and I braced myself for some bad news as he rolled down the window. But instead of a familiar face, there was no face at all, no head even.

It was just a bloody stump where the officer's neck should have been. Yet his uniform was spotless. It was perfectly pressed like he was ready for inspection. He wore a badge, but I couldn't make out the name. I could hear angry growling noises coming from the backseat, something fierce and wild that didn't sound human or animal. Remembering the rules, I quickly saluted the headless officer. He returned the gesture.

A crisp, precise movement That seemed normal Despite everything else And then without a word He drove off into the night After that encounter with a headless officer I took another long look at Dad's list of rules Seemed like they were more literal than I thought

The old radio crackled to life As I read them over Making me jump It started jumping channels until it landed on a station I'd never heard of before, called itself Radio Harmony. The radio host voice came through, smooth and calm. He was saying how it was almost time for the midnight record. I glanced at my watch and my stomach dropped. It was nearly 12.

It didn't feel like I'd been in the booth that long. I scrambled to figure out how to follow the rule about the symbol. The list said I had to trace something. But with what? I searched the booth for some sort of clue, and that's when I noticed a small box under the desk. Inside, I found an old paintbrush and a dusty bottle of ink. Just in time, a strange song started playing on the radio.

I assumed it was the midnight record the host mentioned. But it wasn't like any song I'd ever heard. It was a mix of drums and a high-pitched whirring sound that made the hairs on my neck stand up. I tried to change the station, but the radio wouldn't let me. It was stuck behind me. A glowing blue symbol appeared inside the toll booth's door. It formed a circle with runes drawn on the inside.

I dipped the brush and ink, and I carefully traced over them. The symbol glowed brighter with every ruin I traced. By the time I got to the last one, it was blinding. I could barely keep my eyes open. In the background, the song on the radio was nothing but screaming now. I squeezed my eyes shut instead. waiting for it all to stop. Finally, the light blinked out as suddenly as it appeared.

The symbol was completely gone. The radio went silent for a moment, before it switched back to my easy rock station. Everything was back to how it should be. But my heart was still pounding. I struggled to catch my breath. I took out some water and just gulped it all down. and that's when I heard it.

A loud cry coming from outside. I looked up and in the distance I could see a woman stumbling to the booth. She had a worn out coat. Her face was covered up by her long stringy hair. She staggered to the tall arm trying to push her way into town. I pointed to the sign and called out to her. Uh, ma'am, all it costs is one penny, please don't break the arm, I said. But it was like she couldn't hear me.

Instead, she got even more upset. She slammed her body against the barrier, hard enough to shake it. And the whole time, she's sobbing like her heart just broke. I yelled for her to stop, hoping to snap her out of whatever panic she was in. That caught her attention. She froze. It was like someone hit the pause button on a movie, and she stayed like that for a few seconds, not moving even an inch.

And then suddenly she dropped to all fours. Her limbs scrambled across the road, headed right at me. Her head bobbed up and down as she moved like her neck was on a string. She kept sobbing even as she jumped to the window. She hung on to the booth, demanding I let her in. And then without warning, she started banging her head against the glass. I tried to calm her down, but all she did was cry and smash her face against the glass. And that's when I saw police lights in the distance.

They came from the direction of the town. The patrol car pulled up fast and outstepped the headless officer. He went straight for the woman. He grabbed her and quickly got her off the booth. I could see her struggling to break free as he put her in the back of the police car. I did the only thing I could think of. I put a hand up and I saluted the headless officer. Rules or rules.

He returned the gesture before driving off with a crying woman. I settled back into the booth and figured I'd call Dad to ask what the hell was going on. Who was that headless cop? But of course my phone had no signal. The questions would have to wait until morning. I glanced at my watch. It was almost 2 a.m. A beat-up green pickup truck covered in rust rolled up to the booth.

It looked like it would fall apart any minute. The driver was an old woman who began fumbling for a penny as she reached the toll arm. And that was when I remembered one of the rules, Do not accept anything from the old woman. I wasn't entirely sure if this was the old woman the rule mentioned, but at this point I was not taking any chances. I quickly hit the button to raise the arm. "'Ah, no need for that, ma'am. You can go right ahead,' I told her, trying to sound as polite as possible.

But she wouldn't have it. She insisted on paying, pushing this dirty coin at me. I reassured her. Really, look, it's okay. You don't have to pay tonight. But that made her more agitated, shoving the coin closer to me. I looked at the coin she was so desperate to give me. It wasn't even a penny. It was larger, weirdly shimmering under the moonlight. The longer I looked at it, the more it seemed to flicker like it wasn't entirely real. Please, just go through, okay?

I said. I didn't want anything to do with that coin. Whatever was going on with it. It didn't feel right. Despite my protest, the old woman wouldn't budge. She leaned closer to me. Do you know who I am, young man? I shook my head and taken a step back.

I've never seen you before, I said. She laughed. I've known you since you were born, James. I've been here every time a child was born in Eden, ever since your ancestors first settled this land and made a deal with me. As she spoke, I noticed the rust from her truck begin to spread like a disease. It crawled up the sides and over the hood. It didn't stop there. The rust spread to her. creeping under her skin. It flaked off her whenever she moved. She continued, her eyes locking onto mine.

Your town owes much to that deal, boy. We had an agreement. Safety and prosperity for Eden, in exchange for certain concessions. Her words made my stomach drop. I didn't want to believe her, but the fear in her eyes and the supernatural spread of rust were all too real and immediate to just dismiss. What kind of deal? I asked. She smiled, the rust on her lips cracking. A deal that's kept this place alive and... thriving.

The rust was now eating away at her clothes, hands, and her face. Her features slowly started turning less human. It was like she was slowly turning into a statue. Remember, James,

every rule has its reason. Every pact has its price. She said, her voice becoming a croak as the rust claimed her throat. With a final nod, she threw the coin on the road and drove toward town. Her truck left a trail of rust particles in the air. I watched until her headlights disappeared into the darkness, turning my attention back to the ground where she dropped the coin.

But it wasn't a coin anymore. Lying there in the dust was something else, a giant, dirty, fingernail. But I didn't have time to dwell on it. Headlights shone in the distance. But these looked different. They weren't from a car this time, but a motorcycle. It rolled up to the booth from out of town, its engine cutting through the quiet of the night. The guy riding it wore sunglasses.

I thought that was weird, considering it was pitch black outside. He pulled up to pay the toll, pushing up his sunglasses to flash me a smile and a thumbs up as he passed through. But something went horribly wrong just as he got past the toll arm. He suddenly lost control of his bike, which skidded across the road, leaving harsh black marks on the asphalt. The motorcycle crashed, and the motorist ended up pinned underneath, not moving. Hey, you okay? I called out my heart racing. He groaned in response, and weakly raised his arm, signaling for me to come over and help. I was about to leave the booth when I remember the rule. ignore all cries for help.

I was conflicted. I wanted to help him, but those rules, they were there for a reason, right? Just then I smelled gasoline in the air. A fire erupted from the bike, and the motorist started screaming. Thick black smoke rose, making it hard to see what was happening.

to the guy. My instincts screamed at me to do something, and I was just about to leave the booth when he started calling out my name. But wait, how did he know my name? I never told him. I paused. My hand on the booth door. Another rule flashed in my mind. Do not respond to your name. His scream sounded real enough, but the way he said my name, it felt off. It was calm and monotone, almost like it was a recording playing over his cries for help. It didn't sit right with me. I hesitated as the flames grew, reaching maybe seven feet high. The screams grew louder, more high-pitched.

But I'd hear my name every few seconds. It sounded like it was being dubbed over the screams. Just then, the familiar police car appeared down the road, and it pulled up right to the burning wreckage. The headless officer stepped out. He walked straight into the flames and carried out the motorist. He didn't even look human anymore. He looked more like a being made of fire.

He walked normally as the headless officer guided him to the backseat of the cop car. I gave the officer another salute. The road cleared, and the car drove away. There was no trace of the wrecked motorcycle or the fire now. I kept staring at the road. I felt sick. close I'd come to breaking a rule. I was snapped out of it, as I heard a loud banging coming from inside the booth.

I followed the sound to a small bathroom mirror above the sink. I hesitated, and I remember the rule about not looking at mirrors between three and four a.m. It wasn't quite that time yet, so I quickly looked. What I saw nearly knocked the wind. out of me. In the mirror, another version of myself was desperately banging on the glass. It wore my clothes, but they were torn and filthy. A nasty cut was bleeding down its cheek, and its fists were bloody as it pounded against the glass. The reflection looked utterly terrified, eyes wide with panic.

Remembering the rule about mirrors, I glanced at my watch. It was still a few minutes shy of 3 a.m. So technically, I could still look. But what I saw was making me wish I hadn't. Turning back to the mirror, I noticed that headlights appeared in the distance behind my desperate reflection. I spun around to check the road, but it was empty. No car, no lights, nothing.

Looking back in the mirror, I saw a vehicle had pulled up to the booth. It was an ambulance, and my reflection pounded harder on the glass. I watched horrified as a toll man in a dark suit stepped out of the ambulance. The weirdest part, he was wearing a pig mask. The man in the pig mask reached the booth in the mirror and did something unthinkable. He crawled right through the small booth window. I rechecked my watch. It was precisely 3 a.m. I forced myself to look away from the mirror.

behind me the banging grew louder, more frantic. I could feel each thud vibrating through the floor of the booth. It sounded like bones cracking, as the reflection punched the mirror even harder. I squeezed my eyes shut, placing my hands over my ears as I tried to block out the noise. The rule was clear. Do not engage with a mirror from three to four a-a-m-mere. I had to ignore it, no matter what happened. As I stood there, trying to block out the horrific sounds from the mirror, the bone-cracking sound suddenly stopped. But it was quickly replaced by a new, equally disturbing sound.

A loud, wet, thudding. It was repetitive and consistent. and each thump sounded wetter than the last. Just then, a car rolled up to the toll booth. Trying to look normal, I took the driver's penny, and I raised the toll booth to let them through. The driver gave me a nod and drove off. Nothing unusual there.

Then another car came, and another. Each driver looked completely normal, and paid the toll without any fuss. For a moment, almost felt normal, like I was working a regular toll job. Except it wasn't. It was 3 a.m. on some backcountry road.

It shouldn't be this busy. Who were these people heading in and out of town? Something was off. The steady stream of cars seemed too timed. too regular. Throughout it all, that awful, pulpy, thumping sound continued against the mirror. It was relentless, and as I waved through the next car, I heard a new sound. I could hear the sound of pigs in between each thud, squealing, snuffling, even the occasional snort. It was unmistakable.

I tried to focus on the road, the drivers paying their tolls, anything but the sounds behind me. But it was hard. The thudding seemed to grow louder and more desperate with each passing minute. It felt like each sound was being drilled into my brain. As soon as the clock struck 4 a.m., the familiar sight of the police car cut through. the darkness. It was the headless officer again. But this time, something was strapped to the roof of his car.

It was a giant pig head. Much larger than any I'd ever seen. The thing was so big. It looked like it might just fall off at any second. This wasn't like any pig you'd picture. It had a face covered in thick, matted hair. It had jagged teeth that stuck out from its mouth. Yellow pus dripped from its nostrils.

The strangest part, it had antlers growing out of its head. As he passed by the booth, I remembered the rules, and I gave the headless officer a quick salute. The moment his car passed through, the disturbing thumping noise haunting me from the mirror, It just stopped. I sighed with relief. I checked my watch. It was safe now. Cautiously, I turned to look at the mirror.

It looked normal, like any other mirror, except for a small crack in the center. As the night wore on, the booth settled into a routine. Sometimes, the radio-on. I listened to would turn to that weird station radio harmony. It would play some gospel music before flipping back to my rock tunes. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the road and the cars that came through. And then a white van approached the booth. As it neared, the driver rolled down the window to pay the toll. That's when I noticed something alarming. His head was turned and entirely backward, as if somebody had twisted his neck.

Struggling to maintain my composure, I quickly allowed the van to pass. As it drove away, I saw more faces in the back window. They were all staring at me. Their heads also twisted backward. Not long after, a woman driving a shiny green pickup pulled up. The truck was so new, it practically gleamed under the booth lights. She leaned out to pay, and she asked if I'd seen her mother drive by. I couldn't be sure. So many cars had come and gone. The woman just laughed, a light, carefree sound, that seemed out of place with everything that happened. She drove off, leaving a trail of flower petals on the road behind her. As dawn approached, and I counted the minutes until my shift ended at 6 a.m.,

I suddenly heard what sounded like a crowd of footsteps in the distance. I squinted down the road, trying to make sense of the shape approaching the toll booth. As it drew closer, the sound clarified into the scuttling of numerous legs against asphalt. What came out of the darkness was horrifying. A giant dark centipede with a human head at the front. The rest of its body stretched out into segmented lengths down the road, rushing towards me. This was not mentioned in any rules.

As it reached the booth, it started slamming against the window. Up close, I could see that. its body was made up of stitched up skins so gruesomely put together that I couldn't tell if they were human. Despite the violence of its actions, the centipede's human face remained eerily calm. As it continued to smash its body against the toll booth, with each crash, I felt the booth shake, the structure straining under the assault. The centipede monster began to wrap its long body around the booth, constricting it like a snake. The windows fogged up with a press of its dark, stitched skin against the glass, and soon, I could barely see outside.

The booth creaked and groaned under the pressure. I backed away from the windows. I didn't know what to do. the rules had prepared me for a lot, but nothing like this. Through the twisted, stitched mass of the centipede monster, I could see the flashing of police lights in the distance. Thinking about all the times the headless officer had saved me, I scrambled to raise the toll arm,

hoping somehow it might signal him or anyone else who could see me. Suddenly, there was a loud crash outside, and the booth shook violently. The centipede creature hissed, its grip tightening around the booth. I couldn't see what was happening outside. Then gunshots rang out, followed by wet chopping sounds, like something being cut or torn apart. The booth went dark. I could only wait, hoping that it was over. More gunshots erupted, closer this time.

The booth shook again, worse than before. It was so forceful that it threw me off my feet and must have knocked me out. Everything went black. When I came to, my watch alarm was beeping. 6.30 a.m. The early morning light filtered through the booth. To my shock, everything looked normal. No signs of a monster, no damage, no headless officer. Just silence and the sunrise. I felt a dull ache where I hit my head, but I picked myself up and I made my way back to town. As I approached, I saw my dad, waiting for me. His expression was serious, and there was a hint of concern in his eyes. Now do you understand why the rules are important? Why someone must always be at the toll booth at night, he asked. I nodded, still processing everything. But what was that thing? The centipede,

I asked. His face grew somber. We call it the skin taker. It's why we don't let anyone go out of town at night. It doesn't come often. I'm sorry it came on your first shift. He said, I think I was saved by that headless officer.

I said, trying to make sense of the night's events. Dad nodded. The rule about saluting him, it's a new one. He's been trying to get his head back from that thing for decades now. In the meantime, he helps out at the booth when he can. And then Dad paused, smiled, and said one last thing. He'll always protect you, you know.

You're his great-grandson.