Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 10 Rules for Surviving the Night Shift at a Haunted Lighthouse | Part 3

Episode Date: July 3, 2026

Alone on the night shift at a haunted lighthouse, Auggie must follow ten unbreakable rules to survive the ghosts, the hungry fog, and the deadly secrets that lurk after midnight. hen his obnoxious boss Jimbo and a group of drunk friends break the most important rule and get trapped inside, the long night turns into a brutal fight for survival where every voice lies, every light deceives, and only one can make it to dawn. 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: You don’t need anyone’s approval to make a living. Build your own business with a free trial 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

If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my other podcast, the SCP experience. 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. Part 3. Three's a crowd. The great part about the lantern room is that the door locks, a knob lock and a deadbolt. It's this way to keep curious tourists out, unless there's an actual lighthouse tour in progress. There isn't one in progress now, but that's besides the point.

I slam the door closed and throw the deadbolt just as Jimbo slams him to the door. I'll get in there, Augie. You know I will. He yells through the old wood. No. I don't know that. I yell back, which is true. Jimbo is a little twirp. I can probably take him,

but then old McMillan probably could have taken me, so I'm airing on the side of caution. Looking around, I find the supply crates we keep up here so that extra parts are always at the ready. They are too heavy to carry, so I shove them up against the door. It takes some leveraging, but I'm able to stack two on top of each other,

then shove two stacked up to those. Jimbo stops throwing himself against the door after a couple of minutes. What happens now, Augie? He asks through the door. Someone has to be the sacrifice, and it sounds like you're the one who deserves it the most. Oh, he does. He so deserves it. The hiss says.

Shut your trap! I yell. Don't listen to the evil voice, Jimbo. It's James, you bastard. James! I don't care. I'm not coming out of this room. You two have to work.

It's working out for yourselves! I'm not sacrificing myself, and I know Keisha is going to volunteer! He has a point. If I hold out up here and they hold out down there, then no sacrifice happens, which means we're screwed. Footsteps echo on the widow's walk, but I ignore them and do not turn around. I got fog and sacrifices to deal with. The footsteps will just have to take a back seat for now.

Come on, hockey! You're the one you threw old McMillan over the bridge. Rambling, you've already lost your soul. It only makes sense for you to be the sacrifice this time. How? How does that make sense? I didn't have a choice. It was old McMillan or it was me? One thing I learned as a lead supervisor before becoming a manager is that there is always a choice, Augie, like right now, I have to make a choice between you and Keisha. Technically, that is. But, like you said, I really don't have a choice, do I? I can choose to sacrifice. sacrifice my girlfriend, or I can choose to sacrifice my coworker. See? Not exactly a choice.

There's some mumbling and hushed voices. Well, yeah, you are. We've been dating for a couple of weeks now. I hear Jimbo say. Okay, no, I'm not a label guy either, but come on. It's not like we're seeing other people. Keisha says something, but I can't make it out. What do you mean you are? Jimbo snaps. How many guys? Muffled Keisha. Four other guys.

Guys, are you shitting me right now with this? Keisha shouts something like, I never said we're exclusive. Then I hear footsteps pound back down the spiral staircase. A second set follows, and Jimbo shouts, Don't you walk away from me? Once I am sure they're gone, I hurry out onto the Widows' Walk. The fog, the dangerous fog, that is, is still rolling slowly toward the lighthouse.

It'll reach us well before dawn arrives. It's not even going to be a close race. The fog is going to get here soon, and when it does, if we haven't fed it, given it the sacrifice it hungers for, well, it'll probably take all three of us. Stay away from me! Kisha yells from below. I go to the railing and look down, seeing her standing on the gallery deck, her hands gesturing wildly as Jimbo approaches her. His hands at his sides, clenched into angry fists. You don't own me! Kisha shrieks. What? I never said I owned you. I just thought we were... Like, together, boyfriend and girlfriend.

Why? Why would you think that? We never discussed it once. And I really like you, James, but come on. This was never long term. You work in a lighthouse gift shop for God's sake. I'm the damn manager. Who cares? Who cares?

My future does not include a man who's making his living selling plushy lobsters and snow globes with shipwrecks in them. Damn, she's really going for it. I almost feel sorry for Jimbo. Almost. Jimbo takes a few breaths and unclunches his fists. Listen, we obviously need to have a larger discussion around this topic, but we can save that for later.

Right now, we have to get inside that lantern room so we can throw Augie to the fog and survive this nightmare. They both look out at the incoming fog. I do too. It's like looking into cotton candy made of charcoal, so thick that I can almost imagine I'm walking across it. You really are considering killing someone?

Keisha asks quietly. Hell yes, I'm considering it. I want to live. I want to keep seeing you. Not sure that's going to happen, Kisha mutters. What? What did you say? Jimba's whole body is shaking with anger.

I said, I'm not sure that is going to happen. How can I be with a murderer? Well, for starters, I won't be the only murderer up here. You'll be benefiting too, which makes you an accomplice. In some states, that's exactly the same as the person who does the killing. No, it's not. That's insane! If you sacrifice Augie to the fog, then that makes you the murderer, not me.

Is that so? I wonder if Augie feels the same. Jimbo cranes his neck, and I duck back out of sight. I know you're up there, Augie, so tell her. Tell her that it doesn't matter who does the actual killing. The two left are both killers. Yeah, you're gonna have to handle your relationship issues on your relationship issues on your own Jimbo. James!

No, it's Jimbo. It'll always be Jimbo. You bastard! Now I want to sacrifice you even more! Tough shit, because I'm not coming down. And there's no way you're breaking through the door to get me. There's a fire axe, Keisha says. I pause.

Oh, crap, she's right. Just inside the door to the gallery deck is a fire axe hanging on the wall. God damn it. What are you doing? Why are you helping him? I shout. You know you'll kill you in a heartbeat when you can't get to me, right? But I can get to you, Augie, Jimbo says.

Now that I have an axe! I rushed to the railing and look over, but Keisha and Jimbo are already back inside. Spinning, I sprint to the door. I need to stack the crates higher. The entire upper half of the door isn't blocked. Straining with all of my strength, I wrap my arms around one crate, bend at the knees, and lift with my legs. I scream at the top of my lungs as I managed to get the crate up onto the first two.

Then I see my problem. The stack is too tall, and I don't have more crates to brace it with. Is this what it was like for pirates or those under siege by pirates? Panic and realization that no matter what you do, the sons of bitches are getting in? No wonder this lighthouse is haunted. The whole scene is terrifying. If I die here, I'm definitely haunting the place. No joke.

I'll become one of the voices that, hold on. The voices. Hacks, I whisper. Can you hear me up here? We're dead, not deaf, one replies. What do you want, boy? Can you get them riled up? Who?

Kisha and Jimbo. Who do you think I'm talking about? Well, they are quite riled up already, wouldn't you say? How riled up are we talking? A second hag asks. I want them out of control. I want them at each other's throats. Can you do that?

Can you do that annoying thing you three do? and turn them against each other? Anoying thing we do? Not exactly making friends right now, boy. Will there be tea after? All the tea I can possibly make and drink, yes. I say quickly. Will you three help?

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Start your free trial at Shopify.com slash DNS. There's a thunk against the door and the entire frame shakes. Even the crates jiggle slightly. Who are you talking to, Wagi? Jimbo yells from the other side of the door. Nah, it doesn't matter. There's nowhere for you to go. And there are two of us and only one of you!

The axe hits the door again, and I see wood begin to splinter. It doesn't quite crack, but it'll only be a couple more blows before I see the steel of the axe's blade peeking through. I have to do something, anything. There is no way I'm letting Jimbo sacrifice me. Anyone else, and I might be okay with it, but not Jimbo. No way, not this guy. What?

I hear Jimbo ask. What does that mean? Muffled voices. Oh, please let the hat. do their hag bullshit. I'm used to it, but Jimbo isn't. They are going to mess with him bad. No, no, that's not true, he says. I said that's not true. A large splinter sticks out from the door. He's going to get inside. I tried to lift the last crate up onto the other three, but I'm not tall enough.

I get halfway before I have to drop it and step back. Having problems in there? Jimbo shouts. Oh shit, I see more metal. Jimbo is better at this than I thought. Huh? No. Stop saying that. Jimbo yells. Just go away, you awful bitch! Screw you! Keisha shouts.

No, no, I wasn't talking to you. Keisha, come back! She replies, but I can't make it out. A hag laughs. You did this, didn't you, Aki? Jimbo shouts at me. Irresponsible for the horrible things these damn ghosts are saying. Damn ghosts?

Oh, you have made a big mistake now! A hag screeches. Jimbo cries out in pain. Then I hear footsteps retreating down the spiral staircase. Outside, someone yells something. I'm back at the widow's walk railing, and I see Keisha holding out a chair in front of her, warding off Jimbo, who holds the fire axe across his body.

Oh, calm down! He yells at her. I'm not going to hurt you. Then stay away! Why? Why do I have to stay away when I say I'm not going to hurt you? Those voices are lying to you. I never did any of that stuff.

You're dating four other men, so forgive me if I don't believe you. Keisha swings the chair, but it just whiffs open air. Jimbo is several feet back. Stop that. You look like a child. He says. You asshole, I look like a child. She barks a laugh. Well, you look like a B-movie psycho and a useless one.

How's that door coming, Jimbo? Huh? Have you broken it down yet? You get to Augie so we can survive the night? Oh, wait, that's right. You don't care about whether we survive. It only matters that you survive, right, Jimbo? The axe shakes in his hands.

Don't call me Jimbo. He says quietly. I'll call you Jimbo if I want. That's not my name. Jimbo, Jimbo, Jimbo, Jimbo, Jimbo, Jimbo. That's not my name. Oh? You want me to call you James?

Is that it? No way. James is successful. James is important. James is going to make something of himself. You? You're a gift shop manager, Jimbo. I barely see a move. Then he's no longer standing by the door, but across the deck, the axe raised up over his head. Kimbo! Kisha's scream is cut short as the blade is embedded into the top of her skull. For a moment, she stands there, blinking.

Then the blood begins to pour, and she falls to her knees. Jimbo. She says before falling over her side, Jimbo stands there, staring down at the mess he's made. Well, that sort's that. And you killed her. The fog wants a lot. This says it's laughter echoing through the night. What? What? Jimbo asks, looking around like he's going to find the source of the voice. What? No, no. You said a sacrifice. You said nothing about a live one. You didn't ask. laughter is cruel and twisted. I chuckle along. I just can't help it. Oops, Jimbo, I say,

leaning over the railing. Looks like you screwed up, big time. Oh yeah? Jimbo shouts. Then he pulls the axe out of Keisha's skull. He looks up at me and grins. I still have you, Augie. And now that I know what I have to do, I'm not messing this up. He runs back inside, and I lose sight of him. My attention immediately goes to the semi-barricaded door. That could have gone better, a hag says. Shush, I want to watch what happens. This is highly entertaining. A second says. Too bad we don't have tea.

The third adds. Half the blade slips through the hole in the wood. What are you going to do now, Augie? Huh? Your hags can't confuse me now. They can't tell Keisha lies anymore. So, what are you going to do? Two! He's knocked an entire panel out of the door.

Jimbo's face appears like a twerpy Jack Nicholson. There's nowhere to run a-a-haggy, he says. His eyes manic, his face split into an evil, evil grin. And when I get in there, I'm going to chop your legs off, then feed you to the fog before you die. I take a few steps back, getting close to the lantern that continues to spin, oblivious to the horrific drama happening right next to him. The lantern. I smile.

What are you getting at? Jimbo snarls. If you think dying is funny, then you're crazier than I thought. A few more steps, and I'm right next to the lantern. The huge mirrors kick off enough heat that I begin to sweat. I hope Jimbo doesn't notice what I'm about to do. Talk all you want, Jimbo, but you aren't getting in here, I say, my right hand, reaching down to grasp one of the handles on the lantern's base.

We'll see about that. He really goes for it. Good. The top half of the door is pulverized in seconds. Jimbo leans through and laughs. Here I come, Augie. You can run, but what's the point? Who said I'm running?

I flip a switch, and the lantern's pedestal stops rotating. Then I grab a lever and yank hard, which allows me to manually spin the lantern. Right at Jimbo's face. He screams and tries to cover his eyes in time, but he fails. He disappears from the door, and I hear him stumble back. You bastard, I hate you so much, Augie! I hate you! Feeling is mutual!

In a way, I guess this was all bound to happen. Not the whole having to sacrifice each other part, but the me and Jimbo come into a head part. If I'm going to face reality, which is a laughable thought, considering the shit I am in right now, I have to admit that I have despised Jimbo from the moment I met him,

the little twerpy, power-tripping punk-ass bitch. He has been on my ass from day one, and tonight that ends. Knowing I don't have much time before he recovers, I shoved the crates out of the way and yank open the door, ready to dash past the blind, son of a bitch. Which is a great plan until I see that Jimbo has no intention of letting me get by. He's standing at the top of the landing, his heels close to going over the first step.

I'd expect him to fall backwards and break his neck, but he's planted firmly on that landing, swinging the axe back and forth and quick, wide arcs. Maybe I can duck under his swing, possibly. But even if I do, he's blocking the landing. Could I get to his legs and yank them out from under him? The axe comes down against the landing, clanking off the metal, sending sparks, shooting everywhere.

So, going under is not a good idea. Then Jimbo is back to swinging from side to side. I know what you're thinking, Augie! He shouts, his temporarily sightless eyes red and watering profusely. But you will never get by me! Damn, he's right. Any thought I have otherwise is lost when he clangs that axe down on the landing again. Then brings it back up in a wild arc that nearly clips the doorframe.

Nope, not going out that way. I back away from the door, trying to stay quiet. Where you going, boy? A hag asks. Stay and fight. Yes, yes, we want to see your head roll. What? Jimbo yells.

No, new head's rolling. I'll take you a lot. Oh, right. He can't kill me, or the sacrifice doesn't count. Duh. I crack open a crate and pull out a long iron rod. Hey, Jimbo! I walk to the door and wait. Catch! What? The iron rod flies from my hand and nails Jimbo in the chest. He stumbles back and almost falls down the spiral staircase, but I'm ready. I leap onto the landing and grab him by the waist of his jeans, pulling him right toward me. The axe swings for my legs, but I jump aside, and the blade hits the stairwell. where's metal railing. I hear Jimbo gasp from the impact vibrating up his arms. Then I punch

him in the face and the axe falls from his grip. Getting him into a headlock, I drag him into the lantern room. I drag him past the rotating light and drag him out onto the Widows' Walk. The deadly fog is only feet away. You don't want to do, Marcus Jones, the hiss says. No, please. Jimbo tries to fight me, but I slam a fist into the back of his head, and he stills. In fact, he goes completely limp. forcing me to drag him the last couple of feet to the railing. Wait for it, August Jones.

Just like you waited for the right moment to push old McPhill in. Shut up, I whisper, as I struggle to get Jimbo's body up and over the railing. He's perched and ready to take a very long fall. All that is keeping him alive is my hand on the waistband of his jeans. Augie, please, stop. He mumbles. I'm sorry. Me too.

I say, not really. But while I may be about to murder the twerp, I'm not going to be cruel about it. The fog has reached the rocks. It has reached the edge of the railing. It is ready, so hungry for its sacrifice. Foggy! Goodbye, Jimbo, I say unshove.

His body plummets over the railing, lost from sight as the fog wraps itself around the lighthouse. I race inside and close the door. Then I hurry downstairs to the keeper's room, making sure the door to the deck is closed, too. All I can see is fog. Then Jimbo's body slams against a window. It's James, you asshole!

He yells as his flesh, melts from his body, and he slides out of view. I slump to the floor and shake as I try to catch my breath. That's when the laughter starts. It's not just the his voice laughing, but the teahags too. Then Mr. Rickard joins in, followed by a dozen other voices that I have never even heard before. I wince as I look about the room. What?

What's so funny? Why are you all laughing? I cry. Oh, August Jones, you handled that perfectly, Mr. Rickard says. So much better than we hoped. Damned yourself to hell you did. I had cackles. And for absolutely no reason.

The hiss joins in. That hits me hard. No reason? I'm still alive, right? And it will become dawn. That's a pretty damn good reason. But you didn't need to do any of it, Augie Jones. You would have survived just fine when the sun rose.

After all, you are the lighthouse keeper. You are supposed to be here after midnight. The fog knows that. It would have backed off. You're wrong, I say. But there's not a lot of conviction behind the statement. Because they aren't wrong. I'm the lighthouse keeper.

I didn't break a rule. Keisha and Jimbo did. That Eric guy and Roxy did. Not me. I followed all the rules. Gonna be time to explain this when the place opens tomorrow, huh? The hiss asks. Old McMillan was easy.

Old guys fall all the time. But this one will be hard. What are you going to do, August Jones? I don't know, I admit. I think of Jimbo's purple Mazda Miata sitting down in the parking lot. Everyone will know that Jimbo was here. And I'll ask where he is. Can't really say I fed him to a bank of killer fog, can I?

Poor, poor Augie, a hag says. He never saw this coming. I go over the rules in my head. 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. But is Dawn's Light my only salvation? Why is no singing after 3 a.m. at the end of the list? I get up and walk out onto the gallery deck. Thinking of taking things into your own hands. The hiss asks as I move to the railing.

Well, August John. I open my mouth, but a reply doesn't come out. Musical notes do. Hush, little baby, don't say a word. I begin. Papa's gonna buy you a mocking bird. What are you doing? The hiss cries.

Stop that. It's after 3 a.m. The boy has figured it out. A hag screams. Stop that, this instant lad! Mr. Rickard shouts. I even feel. his frigid breath on the back of my neck.

Then my chest goes cold, and I look down to see a spectral arm sticking out of it. Stop now, lad! Stop! I don't stop. If that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring. I continue. The fog parts, and a hint of pink appears on the horizon. Then I see the ocean begin to churn. Well, that's that.

No more tea time for us. Hags says with a laugh. I knew we shouldn't have messed around. No, shut your tea hole. You wanted to prank the lad as much as we did. Another hag says. A prank? I can't even think about that.

All of this death for a prank? Hold McMillan said ghosts get bored. But this is ridiculous. What's more ridiculous is the massive creature coming out of the surf and heading straight for the lighthouse. Huh. So this is what singing after 3 a.m. does. It calls an old one to destroy it all.

That really should be explained better. Oh, well, sometimes breaking rules is the only way to go out. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.