Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Work In A Prison. Something Is Killing The Inmates | Scary Stories

Episode Date: March 30, 2024

I think this place is haunted...   Story from J. Campbell Make sure to check out more of their work at u/Erutious | Doctor Plague - YouTube  Cover Art from Konstantin Vohwinkel           Original Post: Jesse : r/Erutious  Original YouTube link: I Work In A Prison. Something Is Killing The Inmates           For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat 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!

It was the third inmate that week we'd found dead in his cell. Inmate deaths aren't exactly uncommon in a prison setting. Some guys realize that this is going to be their life and they decide to end it. Some people run afoul of a criminal element and they pay the price. Some people are just placed in a cell with the wrong person and when they snap, they snap hard. Edward Wargrave appeared to be one of the former. He'd cut himself in a cell with the wrong person. He'd cut himself from ear to ear and died with the most fulfilled look of joy on his face. His cellmate had woken up to discover him like this, face down on his bunk, and cold as a block of ice.

When we'd rolled the doors open at 4.30 a.m. for breakfast, he'd been sitting on the top bunk shaking, as his roommate lay in a pool of congealing blood. I was currently standing in the cell with the inspection team, such as it was. There was Captain Darwin, my shift supervisor, the Inspector General, a beefy man named Hulk, an assistant warden Clive. Clive acted as the warden's representative in this matter, and his enthusiasm was a little creepy. Most assistant wardens would have hung back and taken a note, but Clive seemed to want to stay in close enough to smell the man's last meal.

I saw Hulk move him out of the way several times so that he and the captain could get a better look at the body. It was Hulk's job to do a formal inspection of the scene, and the weasley little man was clearly getting on his nerves. Clive was a new addition to the staff, and no one really seemed to like him. He was thin to the point of emaciation, a fact that was not helped by his height. The man was about five feet tall, and even that height was gained on tiptoe sometimes. He had a pinched face, in an unfortunate nose that looked more concave than anything. He seemed to delight in any sort of suffering that he could find, and he already had a reputation with the inmates as someone best avoided.

I yawned, already ready to be done with us. It was 4.45 a.m., and I already knew there would be another three hours of paperwork for something like this. I'd been acting as Security 9, a position directly under the captain, for about six months now. It's not a bad gig, mostly a lot of paperwork and running around. In many ways, you are the captain's right hand, and you often act as his representative and matters. You are also responsible for ensuring that everything runs smoothly on the compound, which

can sometimes be a little daunting. After several years of working as an officer, it wasn't too overwhelming a task, and I took to it quickly. The strange deaths didn't start happening until recently. Five inmates in the last month and a half had been found dead. dead in their cells. They'd all committed suicide, cutting their throat from ear to ear, before dying with the most profound look of happiness on their face I had ever seen. They were very different, and there was no real pattern to any of them.

The first one had been a young guy, only there for about six months, while Wargrave was a lifer who'd been incarcerated for the last 15 years. The other three had run the gambit somewhere in the middle, and there was no gang affiliation or demographic to connect any of them. The warden was keeping it all very hush-hush from the outside world, which was why we were investigating this. Keeping it inside the gate was our general M.O., 90% of the time. Especially after the Captain Peterson incident.

Hulk was talking to Wargrave cellmate. The little man was beside himself, blubbering and talking very fast about how he'd been asleep, the officer had just seen him an hour ago snoring, so he couldn't have been the one to do this. The kid was all of 22, and doing a short sentence for battery. He didn't want to get more time or get hemmed up over some nonsense, like his cellmate killing himself. As they loaded Wargrave onto the stretcher, his arm flopped out bonelessly. That's how I noticed the new tattoo. The skin around the ward's Jesse was red and angry-looking. Prison tattoos are are rarely lovely, and are a great way to get a nasty case of hepatitis if you're lucky.

This one, however, was exceptionally inflamed-looking. It almost looked as though someone had branded him instead of just marking his skin with ink. I mentioned it to the inspector, and he nodded, saying they'd make a note of it on his chart since they were supposed to keep track of any new tattoos. Then the stretcher left with Wargrave, and the captain and I returned to his office to start the paperwork, I didn't think about the tattoo again until a couple days later as I was directing inmates to chow. I was directing D dorm towards the Chow Hall when we were stopped by a group returning. You didn't want to let them get too close to each other if you could help it.

That was usually how drugs were exchanged, or people got stabbed. So I stopped them at the corner and let the new group go on ahead, turning left as they headed for their dorm. As I stood there, I noticed a familiar tattoo. on the first man's arm and squinted at it. It was fresh. The arm was still inflamed looking, and his hand seemed to creep towards it as I looked at it. It had the same look that Wargraves had, the ink possessed of an almost burnt look. It looked as though someone had gently branded him with the name Jesse, the name done in cursive, the squiggles supposed to look cute, I suppose.

There was nothing cute about that tattoo, though. It looked painful. It looked like it would itch and be very uncomfortable. It seemed that this, Jesse, would never be far from his mind or the attention of his dirty fingernails. Inmate. And when he looked up at me, I realized I knew this inmate. Hey, Myers. Where'd you get that new ink?

Myers. A scrawny white boy in his early thirties, who had never lost the look of a lost 16-year-old. Looked at me almost guiltily. in prison is an offense that can get you a cell in confinement, and failure to give up your artist is just as bad. Of course, tattling on your artist is also a great way to get stabbed, so most choose to go to the box. Myers made to cover the tattoo, but seemed to think better of it.

I'd seen it, so there was no use pretending that it didn't exist. He slumped a little and looked around shiftily before responding. Just the name of my girl, Sarge. I gave him a mistrustful look. That's not fresh ink, is it? He shook his head dumbly, and the line began to move about that time. I let him go, not wanting to hold up Chow over a tat, but I made a little note to check into him.

Two inmates with the same name tattooed on them was a little bit suspicious. At least that's what I thought at the time. We conducted Chow, getting everybody packed back in, and then I went to the captain's office to start my evening work. I probably would have forgotten about the tattoo completely if it weren't for the paperwork that Captain Darwin dropped on my desk at about nine o'clock that night. He had a haggard look these days. These inmate deaths were really starting to get to him.

Brass was on his ass about finding out why so many inmates were committing suicide, and he wanted to tell them something substantial. I got to finish typing on my report from the Wargrave suicide. Could you go through these, make sure everything looks right? I've been through them so many times the words are starting to run together, and I think a fresh set of eyes might be just what's needed. I told them I would and pulled the files over. I hadn't been doing anything, just reviewing count slips, and going over our logs to make sure they were ready to turn in in the morning. Going over this busy work would be just what I needed to kill time until it was time to count again at eleven.

It wasn't until I'd started going through the second file that I noticed something scribbled on the front under defining marks. Someone had written Jesse under tattoos in a thick, blocky handwriting. The location was inmate Cohen's neck, and that word jumped out at me like a ghost in a funhouse. I switched back to the first file, an inmate called Clark and looked over defining marks to find that he also had a tattoo that said Jesse. His had been on his calf, But the coincidence was just too much to overlook. I fumbled through the following three files, seeing all five inmates with Jesse tattooed on some part of their bodies. They'd all been handwritten, meaning they were likely fresh ink. It was all just a little too weird to overlook his circumstance.

I brought it to the captain's attention, but he cut me off and told me just to file the paperwork. I've got enough on my plate without worrying about whatever damn thing inmates are getting tattooed on themselves. Just get it done, or I will find someone else who can and give them your post." Captain Darvin was clearly feeling the squeeze, and I couldn't hold his outburst against him. So I finished the paperwork and told him I'd take it down to the inspector's office and put it in his box. He waved me off and said to hurry back, because it would be count time again in about three

30 minutes. So I took the load of files and went to the admin hallway to drop them off. As I left the captain's office, I couldn't help but get a prickle on the nape of my neck as I stood in the shadow of the warden's tower. He'd moved his office to the old rat-infested tower, and many of us felt like he had taken up residence in there. You could see him standing on the catwalk around the tower sometimes, just watching people. It was damn creepy. The warden himself being damn creepy too. This was not something that I would have shared with anyone, because you never knew when the warden was watching, or what he might hear. He'd been at Strague for a long, long time, and sometimes firing wasn't the worst thing that could happen to you.

People had disappeared and never been seen again. Some of them had been seen again. And that was almost worse. I hurried across the yard so as to not linger under his supposed sight and was soon in the admin hallway. I'd expected to put the files in the inspector's box that sat on the wall outside his office. To my surprise though, the light was on, and the door was open. Inspector Hulk sat at his desk, one big hand resting against his head as he dozed. The last few weeks have been hell for him. Five den inmates, even those dead by their own hands, was hard to explain on paperwork. He was clearly getting the squeeze from someone higher up as well and not having any luck figuring it out. He jerked awake when I knocked and told me to come in.

I set the file down on his desk, telling him they were from Captain Darwin. He thanked me and said he would get to them. I started to leave right then, but turned on a whim and asked him if he'd noticed the tattoos. He blinked at me and asked me what I was talking about, offering me a seat. I pointed out to him that all five inmates had Jesse tattooed on them in a relatively fresh sort of way. They'd all been recently marked with that name. Hulk raised an eyebrow. You gunning for my job or something? I told him at that moment. It didn't look like much fun, and he laughed, telling me to show him what I was talking about. I opened up the files and showed him the hastily scrolled tattoo descriptions on a few of them.

He nodded, saying that was weird, but not the weirdest thing you'd ever seen. He thanked me for the information, saying that it did tie them all together somehow. I also told him about the inmate that I'd seen with a fresh tattoo, and he perked up a little bit. Do you mind coming with me to see him? If he has the same tattoo, he might have information on this. If this isn't one big coincidence, that is, he said. I told him I didn't mind. And we set off for D-Dorm to question inmate Myers. We came in through the side door, and I nodded at the guard in the booth. We approached approached the window and told her quietly that we were here to speak with inmate Myers.

She pointed me to a bunk towards the back, and the other inmates parted as we approached. Like most open bay dorms, D-Dorm is set up with a bunkhouse. There are lots of bunk beds with foot lockers in front of them, and about 150 men sleep across two similar sides. Myers was set near the fire door towards the end of the bunk house, but his bed was empty when we arrived. I asked some of the others, and one of them told me. me that he'd gone to the bathroom.

Yeah, yeah, he was acting weird. He just suddenly got up, walked to the bathroom, like he was dreaming. They said. We ran to the bathroom, and we found Myers sitting on the toilet. He was fully clothed with his head down and his hands in his lap. I thought that he might be praying for a moment, but he was also dead quiet. He seemed to have taken no notice of us. Myers, I said.

The inspector wants a ward with you. You aren't in any trouble, he just wants to talk to you about some things. Myers didn't move. Come on, Myers, don't make a scene. I told you you're not in trouble. The man just... That's when I put my hand on his shoulder, and I noticed how still he was. As from my touch, he just fell over.

His head hit the tile wall of the bathroom's stall, and that was when his throat began to bleed. We were suddenly in a pool of blood, and Myers was just staring. sightlessly ahead. Captain Darvin was less than pleased to get a call about yet another inmate's suicide. He was even less pleased to discover Inspector Hulk and I were already there. I told you not to go stick in your nose into this, Darvin said roughly to me as we stood outside the dorm. I told you to just deliver files and leave this alone. If you can't follow orders, Don't chastise your officers for showing some initiative." Hulk rumbled, walking out of the dorm and glowering at Darvin.

If he hadn't mentioned it, I would have never put the two together. He deserves accommodation, not addressing down." He said. Captain Darwin looked put out about being spoken to in such a way, but he grunted and stalked away from Hulk and I as we stood out in front of the dorm and talked about what would come next. Fortunately, the answer seemed to find us. As we stood making plans outside the dorm, someone tapped on the window and looked out at the two of us.

It was an inmate. Someone I recognized. Sullivan held up an angry red tattoo on his arm as we stared back at him. Like Myers, the tattoo looked more like a burn than fresh ink. The man's eyes told me all I needed to know, and I could see that Hulk had come to the same conclusion. The man was scared and willing to break the code of silence to make that fear go away. We took Sullivan down to the inspector's office and told them to tell us what he knew.

He was hesitant at first. They always are, but when their own safety is at stake, they'll usually spill their guts. I was asleep three nights ago when I was interrupted by this girl. A girl? I asked skeptically. In here? Not precisely. I was having a dream I've had before.

The time I robbed the bank that landed me in here. In real life, it all went south real bad. In the dream, it was going even worse. The cops had machine guns and rocket launchers, and they was blowing us up, really just making a mess of it. I was hunkered behind the teller's desk clutching my automatic pistol and just praying to God to make it all go away. Then I look up and there's this girl standing in front of me. She says if I wanted all to go away, she can help. She said she can make everything better

and all I have to do is take her hand. I'm guessing she wasn't there on the day in question. Hulk asked. If she had been, I guess I would have been doing 25 to life, Sullivan said. You Joker want to hear the rest of the story or you want to keep interrupting me." We both nodded for him to continue, and he went on. So I took her hand, I mean, why not? After all, it was just a dream. But then it felt like my arm was on fire. The flame seemed to creep over my forearm, and I tried to pull away from her. But my God, her grip was like iron, and she just held me there, as her smile got wider. Then she turned my arm over so I could see the name printed there.

The name Jesse looked like it had been branded into me, and she said that I belonged to her now. She also said that she'd be back for what was hers later. Then what happened? I asked. I woke up, and I saw that her name was on me. That's when I realized it might have been a little more than a dream. when Myers approached me, showing me his own markings. He said that Jesse had come to him

in a dream as well, saying that she could help him escape his current situation. There were quite a few of them, eight or nine maybe. But now I think there might only be a couple of us. I asked him for the names of the ones that were left, but he refused to tell. You know what happens to snitches in here. They'll have to come forward on their own. I need your help. After Myers, I was the first one to get it. Everyone before Myers is dead now, and I'm afraid I'm going to be next. I need help. I'll say whatever you need me to say, so that Jesse doesn't get me to—' Hulk signed the order, and we put him under surveillance. We had him in an isolation cell down in medical, telling them he was a witness to the murders

that had been happening. Hulk put me on duty the first night, watching him and sitting with him. But nothing happened. I watched him the night after, and the night after that. I came in on my off days to sit with him, and on the fifth day, something finally happened. I was drowsing. Five days of 12-hour shifts will do that to you, and I already decided that tomorrow I'd let someone else take this for a night or two. It was about 2 a.m. when my chair threatened to spill me over, and I was And I realized I'd been sleeping. I looked up into the small room where we kept him, and I saw that Sullivan wasn't alone in there.

Someone was standing over him, and as they stroked his thinning hair, he shuddered in his sleep. I was speechless. I didn't know what to do. The woman was tall and thin to the point of gauntness. Her long silver hair hung down in front of Sullivan's face, and as it touched him. He shuddered again, and then she bent down and pressed her lips to his ear, whispering to him, and telling him something I couldn't hear. His eyes snapped open, and the pupils had become black and staring.

I was up then, banging on the glass and asking her what the hell she thought she was doing in there. She smiled at me, and her lips pulled back in a feral grin, the sort of grin that hinted, She might come for me once she'd finished. Sullivan had gotten to his feet, looking around the little room as if trying to figure out what to do. There were no weapons here, no bunks to hang yourself from, no ledges to jump from, but he seemed to have found something nonetheless. He lowered his head and began to run at the wall, intent on breaking his neck.

I stepped up to the door, pushing the key in the lock and trying to open it. The key stopped halfway around, not wanting to connect and open. I bent over the key, trying to make my weight force it open, but the more I pushed, the more the key groaned and threatened to break. I began to panic. They'd never believed that some ghost woman had broken in and killed Sullivan. They'd think he decided to kill himself, and I just simply sat there and watched it happen. And then a pair of strong hands circled mine, taking the key and pushing the key.

aside. I looked up and realized it was the warden. He was smiling down at me with a slightly serpentine face of his, and as he pushed me against the wall ever so gently, he told me not to move and just to stand. Then he proceeded into the isolation cell, and I was treated to the sound of Sullivan nearly cracking his skull on the wall as he ran a second time. The woman, I suppose she was Jesse, looked up at him with something like terror, mixed with curiosity. I couldn't see what lay in the warden's eyes, since he had his back to me, but she began to back away from him as he forced her into a corner. Her face still looked as a predator's must, when faced with a larger predator, unsure

if they can share the food, or if the larger one means to have it all, and them as well. And then, as the warden pinned her to the corner, blocking her from sight, she began to scream. I placed my hands on either side of my head, as I tried to muffle that piercing sound. I could hear it vibrate in my bones, hear it wavering over my senses, and I felt that I would shatter if I was forced to endure it much longer. I slid to the ground, surprised not to feel blood running through my fingers, and I put my head between my knees, and I prayed for it to end. It seemed my prayers were answered, because the screaming abruptly ended.

I looked up to see the warden towering over me, Sullivan lying on the floor as his head bled. The warden just smiled, and I became afraid that he would silence me as easily as he had Jesse. I would suggest you call medical ASAP. It would appear that inmate Sullivan has had a psychotic break and will need some medical attention. I won't tell anyone about your nap on the floor so long as you don't mention anything about Mr. Sullivan's nighttime visitor. Agree. I nodded dumbly, and he patted my head, his strangely scaly fingers rasping over the hair. He started walking away, but then stopped suddenly, and left me with one more thing to ponder, before returning to his tower.

Please tell Inspector Hulk that the situation we spoke of earlier has been taken care of. If there's one thing I can't stand in this world, it's a poacher." And then he left, and I was forced to call medical and get Sullivan some help. Sullivan had nearly cracked his skull and his neck was badly bruised. He would spend the next few weeks in medical to be sure, and Hulk sent me home to get some rest. When I told him about what the warden had said, privately of course, he went ill. little pale and just nodded. He said he didn't want any details. He didn't want to know what had happened at all and just told me to go get some sleep. Lying here awake, however,

trying to forget what I saw is a little harder than expected. I watched the warden, a man who signs my checks and commands the respect of nearly every warm body on the compound. Kill, what I suspect, was a restless spirit. The morning. The more I try to puzzle it out, however, the more questions I seem to discover. The longer I lay here and try to make sense of it all, the more I wonder what will happen, to those men marked by Jesse, who still exist on the compound. The longer I think about it, the more I think it might be time to take that vacation I've been putting off.