Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 15 Rules for a New Midnight Watchman | Part 3

Episode Date: February 27, 2026

I guard the gate to Hell, enforce fifteen rules I don’t fully understand, and record a podcast to stay sane—but tonight, angels are lying, demons are panicking, and something far worse is trying to get through. When the Midnight Watchman’s rules start breaking one by one, the question isn’t what’s coming for the gate—it’s whether I’ll survive my shift long enough to stop it. BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at ⁠betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Quince: Go to ⁠quince.com/dns⁠ for free shipping and 365-day returns. ⁠⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠⁠ - Fresh, same-day roasted coffee delivered straight to your door. Use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout to get 20% off your first order. 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 #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The dirty to-go containers tumble from my grip as the screams echo through the night. My hand instantly reaches back inside the guardhouse for my nightstick. I look at the emissary. Stay here. I'm hardly in any danger watchman. A scream so loud, so blood-curdling that the branches of the trees lining the road shake with fear. I can almost feel its force as I keep moving out into the road and away from the safety of the guardhouse. Yes, on second thought, perhaps I will wait inside.

Let me know if you need any assistance, watchman. I laugh at its offer. The emissary will have to be dragged out of that guardhouse. I know fear, and surprisingly, he is dripping with it. Which does make me pause, if only for a brief moment. What would scare an emissary from above? The screams continue, and I feel as if I'm surrounded by them. enveloped in them, like I'm suffocating in a miasma of wailing, all so thick and agonized.

I hear pain and misery, I hear loss and grief, I hear longing and regret, I hear it all. Spinning slowly in a circle, I try to pin down the source, the direction, but the screams have no origin. They just are. The impossible never there breeze picks up, and a chill wind Whips about me, pulling at my coat, threatening to take my hat for a ride. But it's the screams that go for a ride, not my hat. The wind picks them up instead, swirling them into a cyclone of terror. What are you? There is no answer. Only the screams, only the cyclone. I watch as the mist rises and joins the cyclone. And soon all I can see is a soaring, whirling cloud of screaming hell. What are you? The cyclone races back and

forth across the road. I watch, my nightstick up and ready. Although what can a nightstick? Even one wielded by the midnight watchman do against a cyclone of screams and mist. Then it all goes silent, and a single voice says, What? Who is coming? The words have barely left my lips when the cyclone explodes, and I'm sent flying back against the guardhouse, the back of my head, slamming into the siding. I slumped to the ground, landing, landing on my ass, landing on my ass, with my legs sticking out, my head in a daze. The silence that follows is almost as oppressive as the screaming was.

A silence quickly broken by the emissary when it peaks its head out of the open door. Are you all right, watchman? That did not sound pleasant. It wasn't. I struggled to get to my feet. Cold, yet also warm hands grab me and hoist me up. Then help me inside and into my chair.

There you go, Watchman. Should I make you some tea? It looks around. Can I make you some tea? Is there tea? If I need tea, the wraiths will deliver it. I close my eyes, taking in a deep, soothing breath. I flex my fingers, working out some of the wooziness I feel. Then I realize that my hands are empty. I start to get up, but that's a bad idea.

so I sit back down. What do you need, watchman? My nightstick. I must have dropped it. Oh dear, well, let me fetch it for you. The emissary hurries out of the guardhouse. I hear a small gasp. When it returns, I see the look on its face first.

Then I see what it's holding. Has this ever happened before? The emissary holds out the two halves of my nightstick. I try to respond, but my mouth has become so, so dry. I could use some water, which makes me laugh, but the laugh dries up quickly. I didn't know what could happen. I better order a new one. I stand up and have to hang onto the back of the chair to keep from tumbling over.

Whoa there, watchman, sit back down. Wait a few minutes, get your bearings, then call for a replacement. Nope. I stumbled to the desk when I lean hard and take several deep breaths. Number, forget the personal rules for now. Your well-being is more important. Please watchman, sit back down. Rule number 11 is that procrastination is not your friend.

If something needs doing, then just get it done. I reach out and pick up the phone. My nightstick broke. A confused quiet. fills the line then yes grading sickly sweet saxophone music fills my ear and I feel like I'm going to puke although it may not be the hold music's fault I probably have a mild concussion but the hold music isn't exactly helping matters long are we talking I look out the window at what is now a calm and normal road well as normal as anything is around this place an hour two hours a day

I can't do my job without my nightstick. I'll be unarmed out there. My eyes fall on the clipboard in the checklist of names. I can't protect the procession of the damned without a nightstick. Okay. So when do I get a new one? Two days? Three? A week? It better not be a week.

Decades? Are you insane? Centuries? Centuries? The emissary. My voice full of barely contained fury, I say. Is that city of? The employees are self-serving, useless pricks.

Bureaucracy. What can you do? Apparently nothing. I stumble back to the chair and take a seat. My body feeling like it's been run over by a truck or two or three. And just as I get settled, a vibration comes up through the floor, through my boots, up my legs, and into my tender, throbbing skull. An earthquake? You feel that too?

How can I not? I shake my head. No, we don't get earthquakes here. I sigh and get back up, hauling my ass out of the chair and over to the desk once more, where I can lean and look out the window. The vibration grows stronger. Not natural ones at least. Whatever is making the ground shake is big, really big.

I hold my hand out. Hand me my stick, please. Um, it's still broken. know, hand it to me. The emissary hesitates, then places the two halves of my nightstick in my palm. I study the halves, a perfect, clean break right in the center. I take the half with the strap in my right hand, slipping the strap over my wrist, and the other half in my left hand. I take the left half and slide the guardhouse door open with it. That's when the screaming starts up again, But it's different this time.

It's not coming from everywhere, not coming from a horrid cyclone. No, it's coming from one single direction. The gate. Looking about, scanning for threats, I step out of the sanctuary of the guardhouse. Nothing comes for me. My palms are sweaty, and I grip the nightstick halves as tight as I can. The vibration is getting stronger. So is the screaming.

Slowly, because my head does hurt like a bitch, I walk over to the gate. The iron bars and ornaments begin to rattle, and the gate rarely rattles, which just adds to my worry. I step close to the gate and study the hell side of the road. The usual dead trees sway in the wind, leaves tumble back and forth. I see nothing out of the ordinary, other than the screaming, which is gaining in volume even more. The screaming breaks up into individual cries and shouts and yells. The screams are still there, but now they are no longer the most dominant part of the cacophony. The vibration is changing as well.

It's not an earthquake or the footfalls of a giant. Although that's not too far off. It is footfalls, yes. Just a whole hell of a lot of them. Anything? The emissary is still in the guardhouse. It's definitely not as adventurous as it was early. earlier in the night, not after the whole debacle with the imps.

I point through the bars with my left stick. And it's heading this way. Stampede? Of what? From the feel and sound of it? Everything. Oh, that is not good. No, I wouldn't put it in the good column.

Right now, it's in the get ready to crap your pants column, but that's the job. A job that is missing one important element. A working weapon. Maybe I have two weapons now. Now. I look down in my hands and grimace at the smaller sticks. Maybe. Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling and suddenly you find exactly what you've been looking for. You add it to your cart, maybe browse a little more than head to checkout, only to realize you don't have your wallet. But then you see it, that purple shop pay button.

And just like that, you're done in seconds. That's the power of Shopify. It supports millions of businesses and drives 10% of all e-commerce in the U.S. major brands like Mattel and Jimshark to entrepreneurs just getting started. With Shopify, everything you need is in one place, from customizable store templates to built-in AI tools that help write product descriptions and enhance your images. It also makes marketing easy with integrated email and social campaigns. And if you get stuck, Shopify's award-winning customer support is there for you 24-7. See less cards go abandoned and more sales go. With Shopify and their shop pay button. Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com slash dns. Go to

Shopify.com slash dns. That's Shopify.com slash dns. What is the protocol for this watchman? Should we barricade the guardhouse? No, the gate will hold. I see movement far down the road on the hell side. A lot of movement. A wave of movement. The screams and cries and shouts and yells get louder and louder. All I can do is stand my ground and wait for it all to arrive. My eyes drift to the gate's hinges, four on each side. I have never learned the origin of the gate or the others in the grove, but whispers and rumors here and there have told me that the gate was either forged by God, Satan, a bunch of coked-out trolls, three giants and a unicorn, or, and this one is most likely, knowing the city, the lowest bitter. I'll take every single. I'll take every

scenario except for the lowest bidder but my 14th rule is rarely wrong so dear lord let it hold oh i've already got an expedited request heading above don't you worry watchman if there is an extra miracle hanging around up there it'll be sent our way extra miracle is there a finite number always i wait for more but it doesn't elaborate great well maybe we'll get you'll get get lucky. The roar of cries and screams and shouts and bellows continues growing as the wave of things on the hell side races toward the gate. That is a lot of demons and imps and creatures of darkness.

Are you sure this gate will hold? I glance over and see that the emissary is at the door. Yes. But I'm not sure. Not sure at all. Appear through the gate down the road and can make out individuals. Demons, devils, humans, various cryptids, ghosts, ghouls, goblins, so many lost souls charging toward me. My eyes go to the hinges once more.

Is that rust on one? Does a bolt on another look loose? Is four on each side really enough? I mean, there are things the size of skyscrapers living on the hillside. You'd think an investment in multiple, extremely sturdy hinges would have been a priority. Oh yeah, this was built by the lowest bidder. A 30-foot, slimy, slithering reptile creature is in the lead of the massive mob of hellish denizens. It zigzags directly for the gate.

Open up, watchmen. Save us, please. Not what I expected to come out of its mouth. You must be on the list. All of you must be on the list. Which is when I realize I don't have my clipboard. Emissary. I need the checklist. Now! There is no response. Emissary! Still no response.

Are you kidding me? Without taking my eyes off the mob of monsters about to storm the gate, I back up to the guardhouse and wrap my knuckles on the door. Emissary, hand me the clipboard. Silence. I push the door open and take a quick glance inside. The emissary is not there. The guardhouse is empty.

Damn it! I find the clipboard, shut the door, and return to the gate. I let the half a stick dangle from my rear. wrist by the leather strap as I read the checklist. No one is scheduled to return from the hellside tonight. The only names are ones I assume will be part of the procession of the damned. This is about to get very, very messy. Stop!

I wave my arms over my head. You cannot pass through! The watchman has his arms up! He's opening it now! Cheers erupt from the rest of the mob, which lessens the screams and yells and bellows, but does nothing for their plight. They aren't getting through the gate. I hope not, at least.

I lower my arms and hold out my hands instead, thinking maybe a placating gesture will get my message across. No, no, I am not opening the gate. Did he say he is or isn't opening the gate? The question comes from a mutilated, half-eaten, and rotting unicorn. What's left of its horn falls off and is trampled under its bloody, cracked hooves. He's opening it, right, watchman?

You are opening the gate? No, damn it! I am not opening the gate! The creatures in the lead all try to come to a stop, but the mass of the wave behind them is too great, and they are lifted up off their feet as the mob continues to race directly for me. Stop! Please stop! Nothing stops.

The wave of hell creatures pushes forward. That's when I feel the air behind me change. I risk a glance over my shoulder and see thick mist begin to form at the far end of the road on my side. Oh no. The procession of the damned is here. I read the checklist and gulp hard. Two hundred and fourteen names. It's a larger than usual procession.

I have maybe five minutes before they reach the gate. And when they do, it'll need to be open. Except I also have a wave of hell aiming straight for me as well. There's a physics rule about two forces coming together, but I can't think of what it is. All I know is, my night is about to take a turn for the worse, which is really saying something. I shake off my fear and get back to work. Turning to the thickening mist, I shout. Please stop!

I'm no closer! The first figures breach the edge of the mist and walk toward the gate. Soon, dozens of other figures, all in neat columns and rows appear. The road is filled from side of the middle. decide with the damned. Souls who have perished in the city, and owe a debt or have committed a grave sin, or are just really awful nasty people, slowly march their way across the cracked and broken pavement. They aren't stopping. I turned to the gate. Nope, those beasts aren't stopping either. I noticed that the impossible breeze that isn't there and never stops has, in fact, stopped.

I don't blame it. I want to be gone from here too. What do I do? What do I do? If I open the gate, then I risk the hell mob crossing over to this side, which cannot happen. If I don't open the gate, then the procession will... I don't know. I've always opened the gate. Will the procession stop? Will they keep marching and crush themselves against the iron bars? And, what if I open the gate and the procession and the mob reach it at the same time?

Will they collide? Will the hellside part and allow the procession to pass? The watchman's ninth rule pops into my head. Report all violations. But a violation hasn't occurred yet. And like they said earlier when I called, don't call until there's a violation, which fits my personal rule of not crying wolf.

Except this isn't crying wolf. This is crying possible apocalypse. Then another of the watchman's rules comes to mind, and I know my course. Rule 13. Do whatever it takes to protect the procession until it passes through the gate. I take a deep breath and sprint toward the procession. Okay, folks, I know you can't really hear me, and you have no idea what's happening, but I'm going to make this quick so I can get back to the gate and hopefully get all of you onto the other side, safe and sound.

Not that they'll be safe ones in hell, but that's not my problem. I just have to get them through. As I get to the procession, names light up on my checker. list. I marked them off as I see them, pushing through the columns and rows as fast as possible, trying to cover the whole procession in record time. Nancy Ballard, check. Ogdar the Smalley, check. Miss Little Spitz, check. I continue marking names, and continue racing up and down the procession. Billy Bogart? Ah, there we go. Check. Grab a dole. Check. The late great Mr. Harry Pinsky, Lord of Envelopes. I look up and frown. Seriously, Harry, who'd you bribe in the city to get

that title on the list. I mark him off despite being highly annoyed. Name by name, mark by mark, I make my way down the list until every single name is checked off. Thanks, folks. I hurry back to the gate. The procession is about 50 yards away now. This might get dicey for a second, but as the midnight watchman, it is my duty to see you all through this gate unharmed. There's no response from the procession. There never is. They simply march to their horrid fate in silence. The things on the hellside, not so silent. Watchmen! The reptile has reached the gate.

It presses its face up against the bars and receives a nasty shock. None of you are on the list, so why are you here? I get as close to the gate as I can without worrying that the reptile's forked tongue will shoot through the bars and stab me or wrap about my neck or just lick me. Death. Death is on our heels. Death? As in Lady Death? I scrunch up my face. That doesn't make sense.

All of you are already dead. That's why you're in hell. Dead? What? No. Not all of us are dead. Yeah, sure. Lots of souls here.

Quite a few in the mob. But no, not everyone or everything in hell is dead. Huh. I didn't know that. I just assumed you were all dead. We damn well will be if you don't open the gate. I can't open it. I tap my clip.

You aren't on the list. You'll have to open it for them. It nods its slimy, scaly head at the procession. We'll trade places. Can't do that. Sorry. What? Sure you can. Just let us pass to your side when all them souls pass to this side. Even trade.

It's not an even trade, because there is no trade. You are not getting through. Let us through! The creature jams its snout through the bars. snout through the bars, and fire races across its cheeks down its neck and over its entire body. How, crap! Your head back, stupid! I smacked the bars with one half of the nightstick.

Sparks fly, and the reptile cries out. It slithers back a few feet, shaking its scorched snout, as the rest of the flames on its body shrink and then disappear. The mutilated rotten unicorn arrives and looks around. What's going on? What's happening with the gate? He won't open it. What? Dude, you gotta.

Didn't you hear? Death is on our tails. I heard. I just don't understand why. Neither do we. She showed up at Count Nargill's retirement party, apparently invited. And the next thing we know,

she's obliterating guests with the snap of her fingers. Poof, splush, splat, barf. She just made them not there anymore. Yeah, man, it was awful. I was sipping an abscess martini and talking to a one-arm troll when it just exploded all over me. The troll or the martini? Both! Open the damn gate!

I shake my head. Sorry. The reptile and the unicorn throw themselves at the bars. Sparks and fire and lightning shoot this way and that. I duck under a good-sized fireball as it slips from between the iron bars and heads straight for me. Stop! This isn't helping! They ignore me and keep attacking the gate. More creatures join them.

Nightmares of all sizes, shapes, and species slam against the bars. I take a few steps back, seriously not sure if the gate is going to withstand the force of their panicked violence. Soon, there are so many bodies pressed against the gate that I can't even see the other side anymore. They climb over each other, desperate to escape hell. The mob is so thick and large, that the ones on top actually reach the crown of the gate. A creature, the shape of a pyramid with short legs and muscular arms, reaches over the gate. It explodes into a cloud of gray mist, which settles on those below it.

Skins of all types begin to smolder. The shouts grow louder. The panic grows. More tried to climb over, but end up with the same fate as the pyramid. You are going to kill yourselves, you idiots. Back off and let me get the procession through, and then we can figure this all out. They don't hear me anymore. Or if they do, they don't really give too runny shits what I'm saying, even if it is for their own good.

I shake my head and turn my back on the bloody, messy chaos. The procession of the damned is now only a few yards away. Ah, damn it! I faced the gate once more. My arms raised over my head. I say the words I don't understand, and the gate begins to groan. He's opening it for us. I'd shout back at it, but I have to continue the recitation of the unknown.

words. As the gate begins to open, creatures try to force their way onto this side. The reptile is first, and the second my recitation is over. I move to block its way. Back the hell up. I point half a stick at it. Technically, I don't have to even give you that one warning. So no, there won't be a second or third. It looks at my broken night stick and laughs. I shove the left half up under its chin. My fist and stick bursting through its mouth, into its brain, and out the top of its skull. The reptile blinks at me, then go still, and I pull my hand out as it collapses at my feet. The entire hell mob stops and stares at me. Dude! The unicorn shakes its moldy, nasty head. Then they all charge. All I can do is scream as I feel the procession close around me at the

same time. Two great forces collide, and reality turns into a hallucination. I am surrounded by blood and guts and mist and smoke and fire in lightning and pos and acto. plasma. My fists fly out in all directions at once. Turns out, even half a nightstick can do some serious damage. I am like a whirlwind. I spin and punch and strike and kick and spin some more. I leap and tumble and roll and dive. I sweep the legs of a giant spider, then kick it so hard it flips onto its back, helpless. Other things climb over it to get at me, to get through the gate, to get at the procession. That's when I realize not everything cares about safety. Some have come for opportunity and devouring a damned soul straight from the procession is quite the opportunity

for a denizen of hell. I change tactics from trying to beat the hell mob back to trying to protect as many damned as I can. And Onee lunges for a row of damned. I leap and strike, knocking it to the road where I stomp it with my boot. Its head pops and the body turns into mush, which then seeps through the cracks in the pavement. A blue devil races toward a column, and I stick my boot out, tripping it up. It skids to the front of the procession and is quickly trampled by the damned.

A bright green Yeti grabs up a soul and tries to shove it in its maw. I stab a half stick into its groin, and it lets the soul go with a squeaky howl. Hell creatures swarm past me, but I figured out who to deal with now and who to deal with later. The pink ones I don't worry about. They're escaping Lady Death. The ones not pink, I attack without prejudice. They've come to feast. My hat flies loose by a swinging barb-tail, but I don't care.

My coat is torn and shredded by claws of various types. Don't care about that either. All I care about is smashing and killing those who dare to attack my procession of the damned. That's right, asshole! These souls are mine, not yours. You cannot have them! Everything is a blur. I move faster than I have ever moved.

My fists and feet have power within them that I could never imagine. My two nightsticks are coated in blood, matted and furrow. and dripping in pus. My two nightsticks? I cannot afford the glance, but I take it anyway. I am no longer holding two halves of one nightstick, but two fully formed nightsticks, one in each hand. The sight of the weapons emboldens me,

and I double my attacks. Fluids fly as flesh is ripped. Limbs are separated from torsos and heads start rolling. The cracked and broken pavement is slippery with ooze seething down through it. I glide about the road like a little Dutch boy on skates from out of a children's tail. Then my gliding stops abruptly as I slam into 16 feet of ogre. I stumbled back under my ass. It picks me up and looks me in the eye.

Watch, Minjami. Not this one! I slam a nightstick straight into its mouth and out the back of its head. It drops me, but instead of my nightstick staying in place, it remains in my hand and follows me down, splitting the ogre from its lips under its nose to the tips of its toes. The two halves of the ogre waver, wobble, then fall in opposite directions, spraying the whole crowd in greenish-blueish putrid

ogre blood. Half the procession is through. Luckily, once they reach the other side, the mob parts for them. Even those coming for a snack, step aside. They aren't any good if they have already reached hell. I triple, quadruple my attacks until only the pink ones are left standing. Although, to be honest, a few of those may have fallen under my nightsticks. The pink mob stands there, staring at me. I'm coated in everything awful. From head to toe, I drip, gunk. My right arm lifts, and I point at a pink shape. You can walk back into hell, on your own, or die here? There will be no second chance. Um, I live on this side. Can I stay?

A pink furred arm shoots into the air. Oh, hey Brian. Uh, I don't know. Can you find my clipboard for me? Sure. What's it look like? A clipboard. Got it. The pink furred arm disappears back down into the mob, and I hear, Excuse me, pardon me. Hey, can you move to the left? Thanks. Nope, not it. Excuse me. Sorry, sorry, got to get through. Brian emerges from the mob and holds up my gore-slicked clipboard. I take it from him, shake it off, and study the checklist. Yeah, Brian, you're good. Get on home. Oh, thank the Dark Lord. Without another word, Brian turns tail and sprints down the road, lost in the thick mist. Voices cry out, pleading for me to let them leave, too.

But there's only one name left on the checklist. Sorry, folks. All of you back through. I pointed the gate with the nightstick. Now! The mob tenses, and I know they aren't going to their side without a fight. I groan, also knowing that I don't have very much left in. me to stop them. Ah, screw it. I hold both nightsticks out to the side. Let's do this. Stop! Stop! It was a joke! Just a joke! All eyes fall on a spot behind me, and I slowly turn my body

sideways, trying to watch the pink horde while I also search for the source of the voice coming from the hellside. Two figures walked past the fading procession, and through the detritus of my battle that is spilled over onto the hellside. But I only recognize what we're going to the hellside. But I only recognize one of them. Lady Death, I bow my head. The pink horde shudders and whimpers. The demon lord who walks next to her looks familiar, but I can't place the name. Do you know who I am, watchman?

Yeah, of course. I know who you are. Personal rule number 13, as that when asked by a demon lord of hell if you've heard of them, you say yes, no exceptions. Too bad the emissary isn't around to hear the rule or see it in action. Say my name, watchman. Yeah, there is a big gaping flaw in my rule, but half the time it works. Then, of course, the name comes to me.

I almost smack myself for my stupidity. Count Nargle! I don't bow my head. I'm the midnight watchman, nothing else. I'm not a servant of hell. Lady Death, dressed now in a black evening gown with black stiletto heels, leaves Count Nargle to his side, and walks through the gate directly into the main carnage I have wrought. I don't bother checking the clipboard. Her name is on there.

Oh, this is impressive, watchman. There is no sarcasm in her voice. You serve me well without serving me at all. Bravo, watchman, bravo. I'm just doing my job. I point to nightstick at the pink horde. And my job is to lay waste to these interlopers. They are on the wrong side of the gate. No, no, that's my fault. He eyes the gate and takes a step forward. I'm I wouldn't. My voice is icy and without compromise. Count Norgel stops. I have no need to enter your plane, watchman.

The demon lord waves his hands around. Too much humanity and icky life over there. The count is correct. It is his fault that all of this has happened. He does like his practical jokes. I invited Lady Death to appear at my retirement party and pretended she was there to reap the souls, or anti-souls, of all of my god.

guests. The demon lord rolls his eyes. I thought it would be a great laugh, but it got out of control rather quickly. Too many of your guests are still working through death trauma, Nargill. I told you that when you called. I know, I know, but I just can't help myself sometimes. Good thing you're retired now. I jab my nightstick at the pink horde. That doesn't solve the problem at hand. Care to call your guests back, Count Nargle? If they walk back through the gate peacefully, I won't obliterate them.

Everyone looks at the state of the road, then back to me. I'm good. That side looks great. Whoa, how did I get over here? Three quarters of the horde hurries through the gate to stand behind Count Nargill. But a quarter remains, and they do not look like they are going to cooperate at all. And they are all big suckers. Yes, I split an ogre in half, but also, yes, I am exhausted as I've never been. been exhausted before. I honestly don't know if I can take them.

Count Nargle, call them now. Me? They aren't mine to control. They were guests at my party, and that is the extent of our relationship. He turns to the pink ones behind him. Now, how about round two, folks? I have 84 virgins ready to spill their blood for our enjoyment. What? You didn't say anything about virgin blood spilling. One of the stragglers jogs by me, still leaving over a dozen nasty-looking things ready to throw down. My arms are so tired. I'm so tired. I truly am not sure I can do this, two nightsticks or not. Then I see a shimmer, a shadow move, and an idea comes to mind.

I don't know what all you guys are, but do any of you have souls? They all do. She's now in blue jeans and a tight black tea, and leaning against the guardhouse. Great. I turned to the gate as I lift my arms. Hey, Aldus, that you lurking out there? Yes, Watchman, it is I, but I was not lurking. I didn't say slithering, so take the wind, shade. Heard and understood.

What can I do for you, Watchman? I'm going to close the gate. Anything still left on this side after it is shut is yours to eat. Devour those souls at will, Aldus. Is this a trick? Nope. You can clean up for me. Deal? Oh, that sounds like a lovely deal. I haven't eaten a soul from hell in quite some time. Normally, I stay away from spicy foods, but I am just so hungry tonight.

Have at it. I recite the words I do not understand, and the gate begins to close. Three of the straggling things hurry by and make it to the hellside at the very last second. I don't even bother to look at the others. I just walk my tired ass to the guardhouse. Care to come inside, Lady Death? She shakes her head. Nah, I want to watch this. Suit yourself.

I slide open the door and pause. There are two identical emissaries sitting at my small table. I aim a nightstick at the chair closest to the desk. That's mine. Move. Watch me. Don't be right. My colleague and I are here to make you an offer that will change your life forever. Great. I close the door behind me.

Outside, the screams begin. I hear Lady Death laugh. I still want my chair. My emissary, as I have come to think of it, nods at the other. It grumbles and then stands up. I slip into the chair just before my legs give out. What a night. I take my hat off.

Or would, if it was on my head. I'll either have to find it or request a new one. Probably a new one. Plus a new coat and shirt and trousers. But that can wait. Just need a breather first. The screams outside grow in volume, as does Lady Death's laughter. Okay.

What's this offer? Well, watchman, as I have told you, we are all big fans of your podcast. My emissary looks at its colleague. The colleague nods. And we want you to come above and produce your podcast from there. From above? Yes. You want me to produce my podcast from above?

Oh, yes, that's what I said. How would I do my job? Your job? Midnight Watchman. Oh, that's all just a bunch of red tape we can cut through the second you accept your offer. What about when my shift is done? I won't walk through the gate. Is this human stupid?

The other emissary glares at me with its black eyes. We are offering you salvation, watchman. Say yes and come with us now. My emissary wences. Um, what my colleague means is this is an opportunity that will not come again. You will go to above and you will produce your podcast. And we will distribute it. to the entire universe, possibly beyond.

But we're still working on the rights deal for that. I glance back and forth between them, then shake my head. Nah, I'll pass. I'm sorry, what did it just say? Did it turn us down? I did, and I'm not an it. I stand up, even though my legs feel like jelly. I'm the motherfucking midnight watchman, nothing else.

And I have a job to do until my replacement arrives. Doing things the easy way is how I ended up here. Not making that mistake again. But you go to hell! I shrug. Yeah, I will. And that's my penance for what I did. I have a debt to pay, and I will pay it.

Is that one of your personal rules? Nope, and I'm done telling you my rules. You missed one outside, by the way. Too bad. The emissary starts to argue. but I hold up a finger. I think we're done here. The other emissary takes a step toward me,

but my emissary grabs it by the arm, and they disappear. I groan and sit back down. The screams outside and Lady Death's laughter have finally stopped. I ease into my chair and close my eyes. There's a knock at the door. Are you kidding? I get up and open it. A wraith stands outside with a tray of tea,

cookies, and a large pitcher of water. Oh, wow, thanks. I don't know what I have for a tip. The Wraith shrugs, looks down at the tray, then looks back up at me. Want to come in? It nods. Cool. Come on in. We'll have some tea.

It nods again and enters the guardhouse, setting the tray on my table. It glances at my two nightsticks. Yeah, I got two of them. I put my finger to my lips. Shh, don't tell the city. It sticks a hand inside its hood, and I have to assume it's making some sort of zip-the-lip-lip motion.

Do wraiths have lips? Cool, thanks. We each take a seat, and I pour. The smell of black tea fills the house as I relax into my chair and take a sip. That hits the spot. I smile at the wraith. You ever hear of my purse?

personal 15 rules for a new midnight watchman? It shakes its head as it picks up its tea. I'll start with 15. I kick my feet up onto the table. You're gonna be here a while, so try to relax when you can. It nods. I point my chin at the tray. Have a cookie.

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.