Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I've worked at a STRANGE Toll Booth for the past 500 years | Scary Stories

Episode Date: February 11, 2025

Story written by Stephen & Rachel of Lighthouse Horror. For usage rights or more information, please contact us at [e-mail] Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts         Original YouTube link: I've worked at a STRANGE Toll Booth for the past 500 years         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!

You can call me Grimm. It's not my real name, of course. But it's what I go by now. Has a certain ring to it, don't you think? Grim. Short, simple, to the point. It fits my current line of work. Though it's not exactly the career path I dreamed of when I was alive.

Yes, I was alive once. Flesh, blood, all that jazz. Had a family, a job? A dog named Rufus. Pretty average existence. And then came the promotion. Let me tell you something. Death isn't the end.

Not for everyone, anyway. Some of us get picked for the special jobs. Lucky me, right? I was a 38-year-old insurance salesman when I got the call, or rather, the visit. One minute I was driving home, singing along to a song I can't remember on the radio. And the next, there he was.

my predecessor Grim 1.0 He looked tired, worn out like he'd been doing this for eons and he had. He handed me the sigh metaphorical these days. Patted me on the shoulder

and said, You don't get used to it. That was over a century ago. Or was it two, five, ten, I don't remember. Time gets slippery when you're eternal. Now, I'm not a skeleton in a robe, if that's what you're imagining. I look normal.

Well, mostly. The job changes you. My eyes are a bit too intense. My smile a little too sharp. I could pass for human if I tried hard enough, but why bother? The people who meet me aren't sticking around long enough to care. My job is simple, in theory. I judge, I collect, I sort.

Call it what you want, justice, fate, cosmic bookkeeping. It boils down to deciding who goes where, heaven, hell. Something in between. Every soul story is unique, and every decision matters. You think it'd get boring after a while. But people surprise you. The things they've done, the lives they've had, it's fascinating, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes hilarious.

And me? Oh, I'm fair. Fairer than most would expect from someone with my title. I was human once, remember? I know what it's like to mess up, to have regrets. I don't hold that against anyone. What I can't stand are excuses. Just own up to it.

If you stole the bread, say you stole it. Don't tell me about how your third cousin's goldfish gave you bad advice. Right now, my office is a toll booth. Not your average toll booth, mind you. This one's on a deserted stretch of road. The kind of place you wouldn't find unless you were meant to. Travelers who end up here usually think they're lost in a way they're right. They stop, roll down their window, and there I am.

Grim, in my little booth, clipboard and hand, ready to ask some deeply personal questions. Back in the old days, before toll booths and highways, before cars and cities, my work looked a lot different. If you're a fan of Greek mythology, you've probably heard of the ferrymen who guided souls across the river sticks. He wasn't just a myth. He was one of us. Not me, exactly, but another like me. Different job, same employer. That river was one of the first boundaries between the living and the dead.

A thin place. Where the world of the living brushed up against the world of the dead. The ferryman had his boat. I had my feet. No rivers for me, just the dusty roads were truished. Travelers wandered too far from their villages. Back then, we were seen as gods, or sometimes demons, depending on who you asked. I didn't have the fancy title, Grim back then.

I was just another nameless guide in a long line of them. People left offerings at crossroads, hoping we'd steer clear, but it didn't work like that. If it was your time, well, it was your time. I didn't take pleasure, minute, but I didn't shy away either. Someone had to do it. The job's always been about more than collecting souls, though. Most people don't realize this, but the boundaries between the worlds, the living and the dead, the real and the unreal, aren't as sturdy as you'd think.

Some places are thin, like the river sticks back in the day. And thin places shift over time. The old boundaries fade, and new ones emerge. My job isn't just to judge people, it's to keep those boundaries safe. Back then, it meant standing guard at sacred groves or ancient burial sites. Sometimes it meant guiding lost souls who couldn't find their way. Other times, it meant dealing with things that that tried to cross over when they shouldn't.

There's always something waiting on the other side. It's not always bad, but it's not always good either. My job is to keep the two worlds balanced, to make sure nothing spills over that shouldn't. The tools change, but the job stays the same. Once it was ferries, the crossroads, the groves. Now. A toll booth. Go figure. You might laugh at the idea of a toll booth being a cosmic boundary. But here we are. It works. The particular stretch of road runs through one of those thin places, a spot where the veil between the worlds is fragile. Most people driving through, they don't even notice. They're too busy staring at their GPS, or most people, muttering about how they got off course.

But every so often, someone comes along who needs to be here, someone who's ready to cross. And that's where I come in. Judging souls isn't just about weighing their sins and virtues. It's about making sure they're ready for what's next, ready for what's on the other side of that boundary. Because once you cross, There's no coming back.

It was just another day at the toll booth, and I was ready for whatever ruled up. My mornings are pretty predictable, if you could call them mornings. Time doesn't move the same way here, but I like to stick to the routine. Keep things grounded. Coffee in one hand? Not that I need to, but old habits die hard, clipboard in the other, and the little window opened just enough to hear the grown. of tires on gravel when the next car pulls up.

The first visitor of the day was a sweet-looking old lady driving a beat-up station wagon. Her hands shook a little as she rolled down her window. The lines on her face, soft but worn, like a favorite old blanket. Her car smelled like lavender and peppermint candies. Good morning, dear, she said. her voice trembling but kind. I think I must be lost. I gave her my best polite smile,

the kind you'd give your grandmother. Not lost, ma'am. Just rerouted. Her brow furrowed, but she nodded, as if that made perfect sense. They always know, deep down, that this isn't just another toll booth.

She handed me a quarter like it was still 1965, and I chuckled. No need for that, I said, sliding the coin back. We deal in answers here, not change. Answers? She asked, confused. Just one question, ma'am. I glanced at my clipboard, which already had her name,

Margaret Lewis, and a summary of her life. Nothing flashy. a school teacher for 40 years, devoted wife, mother of two. But there was the thing that brought her here today. She had a temper. Not the big explosive kind, but the sharp, cutting kind. She'd yell at her neighbors for not recycling, scolded the kids on her street for skateboarding too fast,

even wrote angry letters to the city council about potholes. She was good-hearted, no doubt about it. But she let that fire burn a little too hot sometimes. And here at the toll booth, every ember of your life matters. Margaret, I said, leaning on the counter. Do you think you made the world a better place? Her eyes widened. It was a simple question, but it hit her like a freight train. She opened her mouth, then closed it, fumbling for an answer. I, I tried, she said finally. I wanted to, but I suppose I could have been kinder about it.

And that was enough for me. I saw the sincerity in her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of her own admission. Go back, I told her, pointing her. straight ahead. You've got time to make it right. She blinked, tears welling up, but she nodded. The station wagon sputtered to life, and she drove off, back to the world of the living, back to another chance. Next up was a different story altogether. A sleek black SUV pulled up, practically gleaming under the dull, eternal light of this place. The driver was a middle-aged man in an expensive suit,

the kind of guy who smelled like success and power. He didn't roll down his window right away, too busy checking his phone even here. I rapped on the glass. Excuse me? He glanced up, annoyed, and rolled the window down an inch. Yeah, what's this about? I don't have all day.

Funny, I said dryly. I think you have nothing but time now. I leaned in closer. What's your name? Richard Tanner, he said. His tone clipped. I didn't need to check the clipboard to know who he was, CEO of some tech company.

brilliant, ruthless, and rich beyond imagination. But there was more to his story. He never went home to his wife and kids. Missed birthdays, anniversaries, first steps, school plays, you name it. He skipped it. His father was a footnote in his life, and he didn't even realize it until the heart attack hit him like a sledgehammer. Richard? I began.

Do you think your work is more important than your family? His jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought he'd argue. But then he looked away, his shoulders slumping. I thought it was. I thought I was doing it for them, but I was wrong, wasn't I? I didn't answer. Wasn't my job to rub it in? Go right, I said after a moment, pointing him toward reincarnation.

Maybe next time you'll get it right. He nodded, silent and solemn, and drove off. No snark, no sarcasm, just a man who knew he'd messed up and was willing to try again. The last visitor of the day was one of my favorites, not him specifically, but his type. The car was a beat-up sedan, held together with duct tape and prayers. The driver was a scruffy man in his 30s, with wild hair and a smirk that told me he didn't take anything seriously. His name was Daniel Carter, but everyone called him Danny, a drunkard, a troublemaker, and here's the kicker. A genius. This man had a mind that could have rivaled Elon Musk, but he's

spent his life in bars and back alleys, running from himself. He rolled down the window and gave me a lopsided grin. Hey, buddy, what's this, uh, toll for sinners? Something like that, I began. I got a question for you, Danny. Yeah, shoot, he said, leaning back like he didn't have a care in the world. Do you think you lived up to your potential? That wiped the smirk right off his face.

He stared at me. Then out the windshield, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. No, I guess I didn't, um, not even close. I nodded, letting the silence stretch. Sometimes. The hardest truth. are the ones you say out loud. Go back,

I told him. You've got more to do. He looked at me, surprised. Really? Through all the crap I pulled? Yes, I began. You've got another shot and don't waste it. He laughed, shaking his head.

I'll try. No promises, though. And just like that, he was gone. Back to the world of the living, back to his unfinished story. Three souls, three choices, forward for another chance, left to the void, right to try again in a new life. It's not easy, being the one who decides. But someone has to do it. And for as long as humans exist, I'll be here.

At the toll booth, or wherever else they need me, asking the questions that matter most. It had been a steady day so far. Souls came, souls went. Some took longer than others to accept their fate. But they all eventually did. At least most of them did. That's the thing about humans.

They can surprise you in good ways, sure. But sometimes, they surprise you in ways that make this job harder than it has to be. The next car rolled up, an old muscle car with a paint job that had seen better days. The engine rumbled low as it idled, and the driver stepped out before I could even lean toward the window. Bold move. Most people stayed seated, too disoriented to do much else. This one, though, he slammed the door. behind him and strode toward my booth, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust.

The man was young, mid-20s at most, with wiring muscles and a chipped tooth that flashed when he smiled. His name came to me, before he even opened his mouth. Lucas Harper. Petty thief, gambler, occasional brawler. Not a saint by any stretch, but nothing that would send him straight to the void either. He'd spent his short life, scrapping for whatever he could get, never thinking much about the consequences. Until now. All right, Lucas said, leaning against the side of my booth.

What's the deal here? Where am I? I leaned back in my chair, keeping my tone calm and even. You're at a crumb. Crossroads, Lucas, and I'm here to help you figure out where you're going next. Yeah, no thanks. I don't need anyone deciding my fate, okay, I'll take my chances. I sighed. There's always one. That's not how this works. You can't just opt out. Watch me, he said, crossing his arms. His smirk didn't waver.

But there was a flicker of something in his eyes, fear, maybe, or defiance. Either way, it was going to be a problem. Lucas, I began. I'm not here to argue with you. Let me ask you something instead. I stepped out of the booth, walking toward him. My eyes locked on his.

What about your wife? Your son, do you think they're better off now with you gone? His smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of anger that quickly turned into something closer to panic. What's that supposed to mean? You know exactly what it means. You abandoned them. Spent more time at the bar than you did home. Missed your son's birthday, because you were too busy hustling.

wrestling pool. Didn't even win the game, did you? Didn't even call. Do you think they cried for you, Lucas? Or do you think they're relieved? His jaw tightened, and he looked away. Shut up. You don't know anything about me. I stepped closer, my tone softening, but still razor sharp. I know. You spent your last night. night alive, yelling at your wife. I know she begged you to stay home, to talk to her, to be the man she fell in love with. I know she was a good woman, and I know you walked out that door anyway. Stop it, he interrupted. Why, Lucas? Why couldn't you face them? Why couldn't she be the man they needed. He didn't answer. He couldn't. His defiance crumbled, and all that was left was guilt,

raw, unfiltered guilt. But instead of admitting it, instead of facing it, he shoved it back down and shook his head. No, no, I'm not doing this. You don't get to judge me. I sighed. The weight of his denial, settling over me like a familiar burden. Ah, Lucas, you've made your choice then. Before he could respond, I moved faster than he could see, my hand wrapping around his throat. His eyes went wide, and I leaned in close, staring straight into them. You brought this on yourself. The air between us seemed to shimmer, and Lucas froze, his body rigid under my grip. I let my power flow into him, a searing, all-consuming force that started deep in his core and worked its way outward. His pupils dilated, and for a moment all I saw in his eyes was fear, pure,

Primal fear. His body began to burn, but not in flames. It was something deeper, something more final. His essence, his soul, crumbled from the inside out, turning to ash that spilled from his mouth and eyes. He tried to scream, but no sound came. In seconds, he was gone. disintegrated into nothingness.

Not even the ash remained, as if Lucas Harper had never existed. I lowered my hand, the air settling back into its usual stillness. My fingers tingled faintly, the remnants of his energy fading. There was no satisfaction in what I'd done, no triumph, just the hollow ache that always came after dealing with one of these. I stepped back into the booth, closing the door behind me. Wasn't the first time I disintegrated a soul, and it would not be the last. But each time, it chipped away at something.

Another car appeared on the horizon, its headlights cutting through the dim, eternal haze. There was no time to dwell, just another day at the toll booth. The next car that pulled up was a beaten-owned truck with mismatched panels and an engine that sputtered like it was on its last legs. Behind the wheel was a man who radiated a foul kind of energy before he even opened his mouth. His name came to me instantly. Earl Donovan, the kind of soul you could smell.

before you saw it. I didn't need the clipboard to know Earl's story. Years of cruelty. A man who thrived on hurting the defenseless. He ran illegal dog fights, training animals to maul each other for entertainment and profit. Earl didn't care about the pain he caused, not to people or animals.

He was simply put. A monster. As he rolled down his window, I heard a whimper from the back seat. I glanced past him and saw a small German shepherd puppy huddled on the torn seat. Its eyes were wide with fear, its ribs showing through a patchy coat. Earl turned around and smacked the puppy with the back of his hand. Shut up, you little mutt. The puppy whimpered again, cowering.

My hand tightened around the edge of the booth's counter. It'd been a long time since I'd felt this particular brand of anger. I wasn't supposed to get involved. My job was judgment, not intervention. But this. You're late, Earl? Late for what? He spat.

For this? I replied, pointing to the clipboard. For facing what comes next? He squinted at me. His face, a mixture of confusion and irritation. What the hell you're talking about? I just need directions. You're here, because it's your time.

And I've got a question for you, Earl. His eyes narrowed. A question. What kind of crap is this? Just one, I said, leaning forward slightly. Do you regret what you've done to them? So, he snapped. But there was a flicker of recognition in his tone.

The animals. The dogs, you tortured. The fight. you ran, the lives you ruined. Do you regret it, Earl? He scoffed, leaning back in his seat with a smug grin. There's just dogs. They got no souls. What's there to regret? I nodded. A cold finality, settling in my chest. He wasn't going to change. People like Earl rarely. really did. But that didn't mean the puppy in the back deserved the same fate. All right, Earl. Looks like you're going left. Just a simple turn and you're on your way.

Damn right, he muttered, starting to roll up his window. Wait, I said, raising a hand. Before you go, that puppy, what are you planning to do with it? What's it to you? Earl snarled, sneering as he glanced over his shoulder at the trembling puppy. You want it? Fine, it's useless anyway. Damn thing can't even bark right. I froze for a moment, staring at the scared little thing huddled in the backseat.

Earl didn't know the stakes. He didn't know that when he drove off, the puppy would go with him. straight to the void, straight to hell. The thought of it made my chest tighten. It wasn't fair, not to the dog. It hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't had a chance to live. It deserved better than Earl and what was waiting for him. I'll take the dog then, I said.

Earl turned to face me, his eyes narrowing. Oh, you'll take it, huh? Just like that. Nah, that's not how it works. My jaw tightened. You don't want the dog, Earl? You said it yourself. Hand it over, and you can go on your way. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

You know, when I see it, I'm starting to think it is worth something. Otherwise, why would you want it so bad? I step closer, the air between us growing heavier. This isn't a negotiation. Give me the dog. If there weren't rules, I take it from you. He laughed again. Oh, I get it.

You're one of those do-gooder types. Fine, you want the money. You'll have to pay for it. What do you want, Earl? Money? I don't carry cash. He shook his head slowly, his greedy eyes locking onto the small chain around my neck.

That necklace, he said, pointing with a gnarled finger. Yeah, I want that necklace. Looks like it's worth something. You give me that? This little runt, it's all yours. My hand instinctively went to the necklace, fingers brushing against the smooth metal. It wasn't much to look at, a simple chain with a small, unremarkable charm, but it wasn't about what it was worth. The necklace, it was one of the last pieces of my human life.

A tie to a past, I can barely remember. I didn't know who had given it to me or why it mattered, but I'd kept it all this time because it felt important. It was a reminder that I had been someone before all this. I stared at Earl, his smug grin, making my stomach turn. You don't even know what the necklace was. is, I said. I don't care.

A deal's a deal. Necklace for the dog. I hesitated, gripping the chain tighter. Letting it go felt like cutting off the last fragile thread that connected me to whatever I used to be. But I looked at the puppy, its wide, frightened eyes staring back at me. And I knew there wasn't a choice, not really, with a sigh.

I reached behind my neck and unclasped the chain. I held it in my hand for a moment, letting the weight of it sink in. Then I looked at Earl one last time, his greedy eyes already alight with triumph. And I handed it over. There, take it. Earl snatched the necklace from my hand, turning it over in his fingers with a satisfied smirk. "'Heha, pleasure doing business with you.' I opened the back door carefully, scooping up the puppy.

It whined softly, but didn't resist. Its tiny body trembling in my arms. I cradled it against my chest, glaring at Earl as he climbed back into the dry, seat. Enjoy the ride, Earl. Yeah, yeah. He grumbled, starting the engine. The truck rumbled down the road,

and I watched as it disappeared around the bend. He didn't know it yet, but his ride was one way. Straight to hell. The necklace wouldn't help him there. Ah, my side. Looking down at the puppy, You're safe now, I said softly.

Let's get you inside. The toll booth door creaked as I pushed it open, stepping into the cramped little space that served as my office. Leased, that's what it looked like to anyone passing by. But as I stepped inside, the walls stretched and shifted, revealing the truth. A massive warm room bathed in a soft golden light. Animals filled the space, lounging on plush beds, chasing each other across thick rugs, or curling up in cozy corners.

Cats purred contently on high shelves, while dogs of every breed wagged their tails and barked haply. There were even a few rabbits hopping lazily across the room. Their nose is twitching as they explored. I sat the puppy down on a blanket near a bowl of water. It sniffed cautiously, its tail wagging ever so slightly. A golden retriever ambled over, sniffing the newcomer before giving it a gentle lick. The puppy relaxed, lapping at the water with renewed confidence. I sat down on the edge of a low couch.

running a hand through my hair. The tow booth was my job, my duty. But this room, this was my refuge, the one place where I could still feel something close to peace. Every animal here was one I'd rescued, some from judgment, others from the void, all from lives they didn't deserve. I looked around the room,

The wagging tails, the soft purring, the quiet hum of life. For all the darkness my job brought, this was the light. The puppy glanced back up at me. It's tail wagging faster now. And I smiled. Welcome home. I said softly. You'll like it here.