Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 10 Rules for Surviving the Night Shift at a Haunted Lighthouse | Part 1

Episode Date: June 29, 2026

Listen to all 3 parts now with a 7-day FREE TRIAL of Dr. NoSleep Premium: ⁠⁠⁠patreon.com/drnosleep⁠⁠ – Cancel anytime. No commitment. Are you still drinking that stale, store-bought coffee? Check out ⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠ to get 20% off fresh, same-day roasted coffee delivered straight to your door. Just use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! Huge thanks to our sponsors: BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at ⁠betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Shopify: Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at shopify.com/dns. Author:  Jake Bible Check out Jake's latest collection of stories, They All Bleed: Ten NoSleep Stories, Volume Two https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G96H432Y * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #creepypasta #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts. The full 10 rules for surviving the night shift at a Haunted Lighthouse three-part series is live on Patreon right now. Start your seven-day free trial of Dr. No Sleep Premium to hear all three parts instantly. No delays, no waiting. Cancel any time, no commitment. Just go to patreon.com slash DR. No Sleep to sign up.

The link is also in the description below. That's patreon.com slash DR. No Sleep. Part 1. Let's get this party started. The fog rolls in, because that's what fog does. It rolls in at night, making the entire landscape and seascape, I suppose, as eerie and spooky as possible. At least it's not the bad fog. Not yet. Ten rolls, I muttered to myself as I pull my jacket tighter around my body. the waves far below the lighthouse crashing against the rocks.

Ten rules, ten rules, ten rules. It's become my mantra ever since I started working the night shift alone. I have to keep in mind the ten rules at all times. Forget one and, well, the night can take a bit of a turn. Old Macmillan, the lighthouse keeper who trained me, drilled the rules into my skull. I won't always be here to protect you. lad, he said one evening as we watched, the white caps appear and disappear. Their existence dictated by the wind, by the tide, and by fate. If you don't abide by the rules, well,

then God have mercy on your soul. God should have had mercy on his soul. It's been what now? Six weeks since old McMillan perished. Have I truly been muttering to myself for six weeks' worth of night shifts. My lord, I could use a vacation. Not that we lighthouse keepers ever get to take. All closed up below, Augie, Jimbo says, scaring the crap out of me. I spin around and glare at the little twerp. Thanks, Jimbo. I say, trying to be polite. I am also trying not to throw him over the railing. It's James. He responds like always. Please don't call me Jimbo. Ah, come on, Jimbo. Relax. It's a pretty cool name for a gift shop clerk. Manager.

I was promoted to manager this morning. Damn, Jimbo, way to go. I lift a poem. High five, my man. He gives me a reluctant slap to my hand. Then he looks about, pursing his lips. I heard you muttering, he says. Muttering?

Me? Nah. I was just practicing what I'm going to say to your mom when I get off my shift. What time does your dad head off to work again? Jimbo stares at me for a moment, his lip curling into a snarl. My parents died in a car accident two years ago. He snaps. And you know that.

I did know that, but Jimbo rubs me the wrong way, has pretty much since I started. I was just taking the piss, man. Real sorry about that. Jimbo looks me up and down, then finally nods. All right. Apology accepted. He jams a finger in my face. But stop calling me Jimbo, got it? Technically, I outrank you, so don't be an ass. Do we have ranks?

I ask. He rolls his eyes. Well, thanks for letting me know that the gift shop is closed and locked for the night. That kind of info definitely can't fit in a text. Text? I thought cell phones weren't allowed to appear during your shift. Isn't that one of your special rules? He can't hide the snicker.

I want to slap him. But he's not wrong. Digital technology is a big no-no during the night shift. Things go wrong when anything except for analog electronics is present up here. Not that analog is all that safe or reliable. I don't know the last time I switched on the radio. Not after. No digital tech.

No one but the lighthouse keeper is allowed in the lighthouse after midnight. If you see something, say nothing. Keep your trap shut, and hopefully it goes away. The lights are lies. Ignore them. Voices can be helpful. Voices can be deadly. Know the difference. The fog is not your friend.

When you hear footsteps, do not turn around. We don't talk about the smell. Dawn's light is your only salvation. And no singing after 3 a.m., which is weird to have as the end rule. Old McMillan never. did tell me why it's like that. Jimbo laughs at me and navigates the widow's walk back to the lantern room. I watch him move to the stairs. He gives me a snotty wave, then descends the spiral

staircase until he's out of sight. Leaning over the walk's railing, I'd wait for him to appear far below, out of the main entrance. He does. He stops, he waves again, then he heads to his car and is gone, leaving me all alone until morning. I start muttering almost immediately. My ex-girlfriend calls it obsessive behavior. I call it basic survival. But then, she hasn't seen what I've seen, so there's that. I turned from the railing and head back inside, navigating the lantern room, keeping

my eyes averted as the huge, reflective mirrors spin my way. I had laughed at old McMillan, asking why don't stare at the lantern wasn't one of the rules. said any moron who stares directly into the lantern deserves to be blinded for life. Can't really disagree. Best to save the rules for the things that matter. The things that matter. The things. I shudder at the thought of what the rules keep at bay as I take the spiral staircase down to the service room.

I cut across that and take a smaller set of stairs down into the keeper's room, where a table, chair, small cot, and a tiny kitchen with a hot plater set up. I rinse the kettle, fill it, and set it on the hot plate to boil. Leaning against the window frame, I watched the dark waves roll themselves to shore. Having a spot of tea, are we? The voice says from the darkness under the cot. That's good. Yes, that's very good. We like tea. We love tea, a different voice adds.

Tea time, tea time. A third voice cackles. Tea eggs. I hate them the most of all the voices. What tea are we having this evening, August Jones? The first voice asks. I do hope that it is Earl Grey, the second says. Out, Earl Grey his ass! The third shouts. You two hold him down while I pour hot boiling water in his...

Quiet down, you hags. A deep voice rumbles. A man is trying to sleep. The cot shifts and the tea hags underneath snarl and hiss. Bitter old man, he is. Never any fun. Can we still pour boiling water in the labs bum? Ignore them, Sonny, the deep voice says.

Carry on with your work. How dare you tell him to ignore us? Do not make us come out and teach you a lesson, Mr. Rickard. We know how to put boiling water to diabolical use. Silence! The deep voice roars so loudly that the windows shake in their frames. The teahags go quiet. I have never seen Mr. Rickard, the voice who occupies the cot.

I've never seen the three teahags either, for that matter. but their voices are so omnipresent during my shifts that I don't really need to see their physical forms if they have them. They get their points across easily without them. The kettle whistles, and I take it off the hot plate, pouring the steaming contents over my two bags of Earl Grey. The hags are right, but I always drink Earl Grey at the beginning of my shift. So it wasn't a hard guess. Old McMillan warned me away from coffee. He said that my nerves will be ten, tested enough, and to stick to tea, except for the wee hours. If I find myself nodding off during the wee hours, well, then coffee is the way.

Nerves are one thing to deal with. Having your feet eaten while you sleep is an entirely different thing altogether. Don't fall asleep isn't a rule because not falling asleep is part of the job. I wasn't hired to sleep through my shift. No. A lighthouse must be constantly monitored, especially this one. With my tea prepared and the hags silent for the moment, I step out of the keeper's room and on to the gallery deck and stare out at the vast expanse of water. I've never been much of a sailor or seaman.

I loved the coast I was born on, but unlike my ancestors, taking to the sea has never been appealing. Dear Lord, I can only imagine the number of rules to follow out there. If there are ten here, there must be a hundred. A thousand out there on that water. If any place is more haunted than this lighthouse, it's the very sea itself. The amount of souls lost to the deep, I shudder even thinking about it.

I sip my tea and watch the wet darkness undulate below. When the lantern swings about, I catch a glimpse of the vastness for a second, but only for a second. Regardless of how dark it is, I wouldn't want to see what could be watching from beneath those waves. Old Macmillan said that the lighthouse is merely a symptom of the sickness that plagues the ocean. It is a beacon that not only keeps the ships from crashing into the rocky shore, but a beacon that also warns against messing with ancient powers that are so much bigger than all of us. I try not to imagine what he was talking about. As I sip my tea, a noise brings me out of my reverie.

Was that a car door? I sigh. down my tea in three quick gulps, then head inside the keeper's room. Setting my teacup by the hot plate, I ignore the ribbing I get from the tea hags about being a messy little snot, then move back outside and circle around the gallery deck until I'm facing the parking lot side. The sound of another car door slamming echoes up to me, and I glare down at the parking lot. Jimbo, I'd recognize that purple Mazda Miata anywhere.

I rush inside and check the wall clock, which I forgot to wind last night, and forget again this evening when my shift started. I am fairly certain it is not 4.14 in the afternoon. Damn it, what time is it? When did Jimbo leave? How long was I sipping tea for? I don't dare check my phone. Not that I can anyway, since I left it turned off in the center console in my car that is parked a few spaces away from Jimbo's garish purple Miata. Crap. Not good. Careful not to break my neck. I sprint down the spiral staircase until I burst out into the gift shop just as Jimbo is

unlocking the front door and ushering in a young man and two young women. I catch sight of the clock on the gift shop's wall behind the register. 1120. Shit. Jimbo? What the hell? I snapped as the three newcomers stare at me with wide eyes. The man looks startled. The women look like they've seen a ghost.

Ah, Augie, relax. Jimbo says, and I can tell he's been drinking. In fact, I can smell it wafting off all of them. I'm the manager now, so it's all good. Just showing my friends around. Is it really haunted? One of the women asks. Oh, you bet it is. Jimbo cackles. Right, Augie. Tell them. Tell them the rules you have to follow. He snickers and doesn't even bother hiding it. My dad saw a ghost when he was a kid. The guy says.

Everyone waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. Cool, Eric. Great story. Jimbo responds and staggers over to me, slapping his palm onto my shoulder, like we're the oldest, closest to friends. Hey, Augie, tell them the rules, will ya? He'll set the mood. Dude, Jimbo, get out.

I pointed the front doors. Now, it's after you. 11 man, you cannot be here. See, that's one of the rules, Jimbo exclaims, clapping his hands together. He reaches back, and one of the young women takes his hand and allows herself to be pulled forward next to Jimbo. Tell her, Augie, tell Keisha here the rest of the rules. I want to hear too, the other young woman says, and moves to the side of, um, Keisha, I guess her name is. These are great. You're going to love them, Jimbo says. three give me expectant stares. I roll my eyes and clench my fists. Jimbo, this isn't funny. You

can't be here. I point at the women. None of you can be here. Please leave while you can. Hey, buddy, we came to celebrate our friend's promotion. The guy, Eric, says. James here said we could get wasted and hear some ghost stories. He pats his chest. Already wasted. So get with the storytelling, weirdo. Jimbo? Come on, man. I plead. Don't call me Jimbo. Jimbo snaps. He points at Eric.

He knows my correct name. He shows me respect. You don't, Augie. Okay, sorry, but I don't really care right now, James. You four need to leave. Do that, and I promise not to call you Jimbo again. Whatever. He says and shoves past me, dragging Keisha with him.

We're going up. I can't wait to show you the view. Come on, Roxy. Keisha says, holding a hand back. The other young woman takes it. Eric? Roxy asks, just as Jimbo disappears into the stairwell. Yeah, ghost stories with a view.

Eric says, and drunkenly shoves me out of his way. Hey, no need for that. I protest. I was already going to move, jerk. A glance at the clock. I have barely 30 minutes to get them out of here orr. Well, I'm not sure what the oar is exactly. I've never had anyone stay past midnight.

I assume nothing good will happen. It's one of the ten rules for a reason. But the exact nature of what will happen is a total mystery, and not a mystery I want to solve anytime soon. I probably should have asked old McMillan before his unfortunate accident. The young women are giggling and whispering to each other. His jimbo prattles on about all the scary crap that's happened in this lighthouse over the years. Eric just casually follows them up the spiral staircase. Yeah, and then this woman slid her own throat and threw herself off the top walkway, Jimbo says as he stumbles his way up the stairs. How did he even drive here? Jimbo's lucky not to have wrapped his purple miata around a pine tree. Although I think his luck is going to run out tonight if he doesn't get the hell out of here in the next 20-something minutes. It's called the Widows Walk! I yell up the stairwell.

They aren't listening. Jimbo is still jabbering about stories he's getting completely wrong. The young women are still giggling and whispering. Eric is still sauntering. It's like I'm not even here. Jimbo opens the door to the keeper's room and ushers the women inside. Eric is right after that, and I glare at Jimbo as I step into what is supposed to be my space and only my space. I'm the lighthouse keeper, and this is the keeper's room, so it's really rude not to ask permission to... Ew, what's that smell?

Roxy asks. I freeze. Oh no. Oh crap. Literally. Man, I think your toilet is backed up, Eric says, waving a hand in front of his face. Big time. Augie, aren't you supposed to maintain this lighthouse, including the plumbing? Jimbo snaps, obviously angry and blaming me for ruining his drunken good time. Do something. This is horrendous. Stop talking about the smell. I growl. It only makes it worse. I hurry to the few windows and throw them open.

Then I point at each of the four interlopers. Ignore it and it'll go away. Keep talking and it'll only gain power, okay? They all stare at me like I'm crazy. Just go flush again, Jimbo says, waving me off. Then get back here and tell us all the rules. He grins at the women. You're gonna laugh your asses off when you hear these.

You got anything to drink? Eric asks. Where's the fridge? I have a mini-fridge for my meals, but no, I don't have anything to drink except for tea, I say. Then wince, waiting for the tea hags to pipe up. They stay surprisingly silent. That's it? Tea?

Eric asks. He shakes his head dismissively. Lame. Go flush that toilet, Augie. Jimbo orders. It's not the toilet. I say and hold up my hands. And please, stop talking about it.

You're only making it worse. I need some fresh air, Roxy says, looking a little green. Here, how about you all go outside? The wind is pleasant right now. Jimbo begins to protest, but I cut him off. And I'll get things fixed in here, okay? Fresh air beats smelling this, right? Jimbo looks like he's about to argue,

but he just shrugs and heads to the door, opening it for everyone. The widows walk awaits, my ladies. He says with a deep bow, That's the gallery deck, not the... No, never mind. As soon as the four step out onto the deck, I close the door and hurry into the tiny bathroom.

There is no need to flush. It's not the toilet making the odor. It's the lighthouse itself. Old Macmillan said that the place has a sensitive stomach, whatever that means. And, unfortunately, there is only one way to calm it down once it gets agitated. Hush little baby, don't say a word.

I sing. Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. I go through every verse and chorus of the old nursery song. Twice. The smell begins to abate, just in time for the screaming. I race out of the bathroom and hurry onto the gallery deck. Keisha and Jimbo are clutching each other, while Roxy and stare and point down at the rocks.

Someone fell! Roxy shouts. What? Who? I look around and count again. Yeah, there are still four of them. Some old guy, Eric says, looking back at me. We all heard the footsteps and turned to look, and this old dude is just standing there, glaring at us.

I said, hey, what's up? But he was a dick and just walked past us. Then he jumped. Jimbo says in a quiet voice. He freaking jumped, Augie. We should call the police. He's gone. Roxy says, still looking over the railing.

He's not on the rocks anymore. She glances at us, her eyes wide. Then they get wider, and she starts to scream. But her screams only last for a moment before a shape shoves past me, grabs her in a bear hug, and throws both of them over the railing. Keisha shrieks. Jimbo cries out. Eric, stands there, stunned.

Then we all rush to the railing and look down into the gloom below. Oh my God! Jimbo whispers as Keisha buries her face in his shoulder. Roxy? Eric's voice isn't cocky and cool now. He sounds like a small child. who has walked outside to see his dog run over in the street, which is pretty much what rocks he looks like.

Her body is a mangled, bloody mess, stretched out over the rocks below. Most of her isn't connected any longer. Her right arm is about to fall into the ocean, while her left arm is wedged between two rocks. Her head is perched on top of a pile of seagull crap. The rest of her is basically impaled on the tip of the rock that old McMillan always told me to aim for

if I ever had to jump off the lighthouse. A quick end is what you'll find, lad, he said. And a quick end is what you'll be wanting. Trust me. Then he sneered at me. But if you really want it all to end, just sing after 3 a.m. I remember asking him what happens then. He just kept sneering.

We need to call someone! Keisha shouts. Then she pulls her phone out of her pocket and dials. No! I yell. I slapped the phone out of her hand. and it clatters across the metal grating of the walkway, stopping near the railing. What the hell?

Kisha screams at me. Then she's in my face, her fists pounding my chest. You asshole! You dick! No digital tech in the lighthouse! It's the first rule! I yell, trying to grab her wrists so I can stop her from cracking one of my ribs. It's for our safety! Safety? Safety!

Eric is in my face, shoving Kisha out of the way. And now Eric's hands are around my throat. choking the life out of me. Roxy is dead, you weird freak! That's not safe! That's the opposite of safe! Spots are forming before my eyes. I grip his arms, but I can't pull his hands free.

I try to scratch his face, to go for his eyes, but he turns his head away from my attacks. Then he head butts me. Lucky for me, the blow causes him to lose his grip on my windpipe. I gasp and stumble backwards, falling hard, the metal grating of the walkway digging into my ass. I have my phone, Eric says, as he casually pulls his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, as if he didn't just try to murder me.

Stop, please. I rasp, no, digital. Eric glares down at me, dials, and puts the phone to his ear. 911? Yeah, my emergency is that? His head explodes. The phone clatters to the walkway, then slips through the grading and is lost from sight. What isn't lost from sight is Eric.

Eric's headless body, still standing upright, like some horror show mannequin. Okay, so that's what happens when you use digital tech in the lighthouse on the night shift. Good to know. Keisha and Jimbo are both screaming. I can't tell who is louder or more high-pitched, if I'm being honest. Then, while still screaming, Jimbo pulls out his phone. Are you kidding me? I get off my ass, take two steps, grab his phone, and toss it over the railing.

He blinks at me a few times, then looks past. He asked me at the impossible sight of Eric's still standing body. When he looks back at me, he nods. Then he spots Keisha's phone still lying on the walkway, snatches it up, and throws it over the railing, too. Good job, I say. Keisha screams, turned to sobs, which my ears are thankful for. Why? What happens? What happens after midnight?

Keisha asks through her sobs. I don't know. I take a look at Eric. Do you really want to find out? She shakes her head. Jimbo? He shakes his head, clears his throat, and says, Don't call me Jimbo, please.

Okay, James, how about we get you two downstairs now? He nods, and I lead them back into the keeper's room. Then we're at the spiral staircase, each of us taking the steps two at a time. Careful! I shout over my shoulder. Hang on to the railing! I don't really have to tell either of them this. They are both in full survival mode,

and hanging onto the railing like their lives depend on it, which they do. They definitely do. We're on the ground floor and running through the gift shop when the front doors suddenly disappear. Blink, gone. In their place is a brick wall, just like the rest of the brick the lighthouse is built out of. Oh shit, I say, skidding to a stop. Jimbo and Keisha slam into my back, and I fall against the newly appeared brick wall. Where are the doors?

Keisha asks. Did we go a different way? No, I say. Then look at the wall behind the checkout counter. I point at the clock. It's midnight. I sigh. And it doesn't look like any of us are getting out of here this way.

The back entrance! Jimbo shouts. He dashes away, leaving Keisha to stare back and forth between me and the brick wall. James, don't leave me. Keisha's voice is so small, almost childlike. Where are you going? She staggers off in the direction Jimbo. went. I don't even bother following him. I know what they'll find. I mean, I don't know for sure,

but I have a pretty good guess. When I hear Jimbo let out a frustrated whale, I knew I'm right. In seconds, he returns to the gift shop with Keisha, clutching his arm. The doors are all sealed. How do we get out of here? Jimbo aims an accusatory finger at me. You know the rules. Fix this. Now! I start to open my mouth, but then think for a moment. Don't just stand there. Say something. Do something! Jimbo roars at me. I shrug. I don't think there's anything I can do.

The ninth rule comes to mind. Looks like you're here with me until dawn's light appears. Oh, we shall have so much fun! A voice hisses from all directions. Jimbo jumps. Kisha shrieks. I groaned. I don't know this voice.

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