Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Everyone on My Shift Resets at Midnight Except Me

Episode Date: August 5, 2026

Bruce works in a windowless office with no clocks, no calendars, and no memory of the last time he slept. His job is simple: stare at endless columns of numbers, find the hidden pattern, and type whatever answer appears in his head. But every night at midnight, all of his coworkers stop working, put their hands to their heads, and scream for five straight minutes. Bruce screams too, but he's the only one pretending. Listen to over 100 exclusive bonus stories with a 7-day FREE TRIAL of Dr. NoSleep Premium: ⁠⁠⁠patreon.com/drnosleep⁠⁠ – Cancel anytime. No commitment. 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 all of Jake’s horror story collections at: https://jakebible.com/short-storiesnovellascollections/ * * * 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

In today's story, Bruce works in a windowless office with no clocks, no calendars, and no memory of the last time he slept. His job is simple, stare at endless columns of numbers, find the hidden pattern, and type whatever answer appears in his head. But every night at midnight, all of his coworkers stop working, put their hands to their heads, and scream for five straight minutes. Bruce screams too, but he's the only one pretending. But before we get into it, if you enjoy scary stories like this, Be sure to like and subscribe so you never miss any of our weekly uploads. Now, let's get into today's story. I am so tired.

All I want to do is curl up in a corner and sleep for a year or two. I don't know the last time I set my head on a pillow or laid down in an actual bed. Other than falling asleep on my feet and fits and starts, I haven't had any actual should I in... Um, in... Shit. I can't remember. Pretty damn sure. I'm sure it's beginning to erode my sanity a bit, a tiny bit, a little bitty-itty-tiny

bit, bit, bit. Hey, Bruce, you good man? Nelson, my supervisor, asks, suddenly at my elbow. I think you're talking to yourself again. Crap, am I? I can't tell. So I laugh and shake my head, which makes me slightly dizzy. No, no, just humming a tune.

Oh? What tune? I turn and stare at him blankly, then say, Sweet Caroline. Even though I'm not exactly sure how the song goes. The Neil Diamond song? That didn't sound like sweet Caroline, man. I laugh and shake my head again.

Never said I was good at humming. Nelson smirks. Claps me on the shoulder, then turns and sees one of our other co-workers. Todd, you son of a gun. How's life treating you today? I get back to work. Work, work, work, work.

Work, work, work, work. Work, work, work. Whoa, calm yourself, Bruce. Take a breath. Get your shit together, buddy. There are still two hours in the shift before... I shudder it what happens in two hours. I need to think about something else. Anything else. Focus on work, Bruce. Jesus H., buddy. You still have a job to do. And it's not like you get to do anything else, like ever. So suck it up, Buttercup, and do your damn job. Christ. Was that out loud, too? I glance around the workspace. A massive single floor that I think is subterranean. That's below ground, right?

Right. Yeah, subterranean. I haven't seen daylight in days. No. Weeks. Months? I don't know. I don't know.

I don't know. Work. None of my coworkers are paying me any attention. That could either mean that the thoughts that should only be in my head or staying in my head, or they are so used to me cracking up by now that they have learned to ignore my insanity. I wish I could ignore my insanity. Work. With all of my willpower, I focus on the monitor in front of me. Strings of numbers stream up and down vertically, never horizontally, like how we read normal stuff. Now, these numbers

are in columns, columns that fill the screen, up and down, up and down, numbers, numbers, numbers. The wild thing is, I know what the numbers mean. I can read the columns and extract information from them, writing that info into text boxes in the bottom right-hand corner of the monitor. Decipher a column, write the answer in the text box, hit send, and move on to the next column. I have to admit that I don't know why I am doing this. I don't know why any of us are doing this. All I know is that we are doing it. And we're underground. Did I already say the workspace is subterranean? I think I did. I did. I did. Nelson is talking to Sabrina over by the cluster of work stations closest to the vending machines.

Empty vending machines. I can't recall ever seeing anyone try to fill the machines. It's just empty rows of metal machines with useless letter and number combinations under them. The front graphic of happy, laughing people doing something fun in some fun place is so faded that if I hadn't been here as long as I have, I wouldn't even know they were happy, laughing people on it. How long have I been here? There are no clocks or calendars, so it's hard to know.

I wonder what Nelson and Sabrina are talking about. They immediately glance over at me. Shit. Was that thought out loud too? Sabrina waves and turns back to Nelson. Nelson keeps his eyes on me longer, though. I wave back, even though Sabrina isn't paying attention. Nelson smirks.

Places his hand on Sabrina's shoulder in a way that makes me irrationally angry, then finally breaks eye contact. I scan the rest of the workspace. Olivia is scratching that bowl on her chin that just keeps getting bigger. Todd, done schmoozing with Nelson, is typing furiously at his keyboard. I feel sorry for that text box. Iggy is picking his nose, no surprise there.

Mitchell is staring at Olivia. And, um, shit, what is her name? The blonde one in the corner who never smiles. Something that begins with an egg. I think. Linda, that's it. And Linda is watching me as intently as I am watching her. She's new, started not too long ago.

I laugh and know it's out loud, so I quickly clamp a hand over my mouth, which is weird. So I drop my hand and my eyes to my keyboard and pretend to type. I haven't cracked the next column, so my pretending has multiple uses. When I risk a glance again,

Linda is still watching me. I smile, I think. A bell chimes. Soft, low. Like at some upper-class, bougie, pretend Buddhist retreat in the Redwoods. Have I ever been to the Redwoods? What the hell are the Redwoods?

I should ask someone. No! I should not ask someone. Not a good idea. I don't know why exactly. But it's not. Hey. I jump in spin.

Linda is standing right behind me. Oh, hey. Laura, right? Shit, no. Not Laura. It's Linda. God, I'm so tired. I hold up a shaky hand.

Nope, sorry. Wait, Linda. It's Linda. She smiles. It's a kind smile. Maybe filled with a hint of worry. But who can blame her? I sure as Elle can't. Blame me for what? she asks. Damn it. For absolutely nothing. How are you liking the job? She cocks her head like I just asked her how she likes being a space alien.

Christ, we aren't aliens, are we? The job is good, a little repetitive but good, and you, how do you like it? My mouth goes dry before I can answer. What even is this interaction? She gives me that kind, semi-wurried smile again. Um, someone said there are cupcakes in the break room. Want to go get one? Cupcakes?

Yeah, cupcakes. In the break room? She laughs. That's what I said. I fidget and squirm. Um, what kind of cupcakes? Does it matter? I freeze up on the question.

Does it matter? What flavor of cupcakes do I like? What flavor do I not like? These are important questions. I have to have answers. Linda takes a step back for me, the smile gone, and nothing but worry on her face. And I realize why. As I look and see that my arms are thrust up into the air in some sort of triumphant celebration,

I slowly lower my arms. You bet. Let's go get cupcakes. The rest of my co-workers are already in the breakroom space, which is actually just a partitioned-off corner of the open floor. The walls that they have used to make the partition are movable. A word comes to mind. Cubby? Cubicle? Something like that. Here you go, Bruce.

Nelson says, with so much cheer that I worry the world will run out because he's hogging it all. He hands me a cupcake, white frosting, yellow cake, sprinkles. Thanks, I say, taking the cupcake and giving it a deep sniff. Nelson raises an eyebrow, chuckles, and hands one to Linda. And for our newest worker, I hope you like vanilla. Who doesn't like vanilla? Linda replies, accepting the cupcake before taking a huge bite out of it. Waxy paper hangs from the corner of her mouth.

I don't think you're supposed to eat the paper, but what do I know? I double check, and yes, it looks like everyone, is eating the paper except for me. Not a fan of vanilla? Nelson asks me. No, I love vanilla. I reply, not knowing if I do or not. I take a bite, paper and all.

Mmm, yummy. We finish our cupcakes in silence. Well, except for the lip smacking and wet mouth noises, plus the occasional cough, hack, and quick backslap as someone starts to choke on their paper. Nelson claps his hands. All right, folks. Back to work.

No one complains. We swallow what cupcake is left in our mouths and all head to our respective workstations. Except for Linda, she follows me to my workstation. One thing I've learned from building businesses is that getting started is usually the hardest part. When we launched No Sleep Coffee, we already knew exactly what we wanted to sell.

We just needed a website. Shopify made that step incredibly straightforward. We set up our storefront, added our products, uploaded the descriptions and images, and within a few days we had a fully functioning online store. What I really value is how Shopify takes care of so much behind the scenes. The checkout experience is extremely smooth. Customers complete their purchases quickly, giving you peace of mind as an owner that you're not losing sales at the last step.

If you've been considering selling a product online, whether it's coffee, merch, or something you made yourself, Shopify is definitely worth a look. With Shopify, nothing stands between your ideas. and a real business, so go make it one. Start your free trial at Shopify.com slash DNS. Start your free trial at Shopify.com slash DNS. 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. May I ask you a question? A nod.

Yeah, of course. I know I'm new, and there's a lot to learn. But how much of this do you actually comprehend? She's pointing at the columns of numbers on my monitor. But she might as well be pointing to the entire workspace. Oh, well, we really aren't supposed to understand any of it. Simply recognizing the pattern and typing the answer into the text box is enough. But shouldn't we understand what we are seeing before we type the answer?

How do we know that the answer is correct? I don't have an answer for her, but I can't tell her that. So I say, Um, well, we just do? She's not satisfied with my response. I can see it in her eyes. I should get back to work. I say and turn to my monitor.

Maybe we can shout on the next break. Another bell chimes, letting us all know that the break is officially over. I glance behind me, but Linda is already gone, halfway to her workstation. I think there's an hour left before the columns. They are what I need to pay attention to, except that Linda's question is bouncing around in my head now like a super ball on meth. How do we know that the answer is correct? It's a good question. I may have thought it once or twice myself, but I'm not sure.

No surprise there. My eyes zero in on the next column I need to work on. And after a few seconds, I see the pattern. It's there, right there. Repeating over and over as the number scroll down, down, down. I type my answer into the text box. The zebra sees me in the brush. My hunt is over.

Makes sense. It's the obvious answer. I'm not sure where Linda's confusion is coming from. time for the next column. I conquer that, and the next column, and the next, and the next. I'm filling text box after text box with beautiful, brilliant answers. Every time I hit the energy, I feel a little more alive. I am doing a great job here. I am killing it.

You sure are, Bruce, Nelson says, hooking the crook of his elbow around my neck and pulling me in close to him. But how about you keep that to yourself? Or, and I'm willing to compromise here? You say it just a smidge quieter. Inside voice, Bruce, inside voice. I don't need to look around to know that all eyes are on us right now. Right. Sorry.

I get excited. As you should, Bruce, as you should. But, you know, that excitement can get a little distracting to the others. Not everyone is a pattern rock star like you, Bruce. Some of the others need a little more silence to concentrate. Quiet, yes. Got it. No problem. him, quiet. He lets my neck go and grabs both of my shoulders, turning me so we are face to face.

How are you, Bruce? Really? You seem like you're coming apart at the seams. I'd hate for that to happen, Rockstar. Can't afford to lose you. He lets go of one of my shoulders and twirls a finger around his ear. You know what I mean. I have no idea what he means. Is he saying I'm going crazy? Or is he saying I've already gone crazy? What if he's the crazy one and I'm perfectly sane? Maybe all my coworkers are bat-shit-nutso. Maybe this is all some delusion. I could be living in my head right now, while my body is in a straitjacket in some rubber room somewhere. That's a thing, right? Straight jackets and rubber rooms? Seems like a thing. Feels like a thing. But is it my thing? Nelson snaps his fingers in my face. Earth de Bruce, you still there, man? Louding

clear, sir. I shout and salute. If everyone wasn't staring at me before, they are now. Nelson returns the salute. That's the spirit, Bruce. Then he walks off humming sweet Caroline. I think. The columns. Got to get back to the columns. I answer six in a row. My mind moving at a speed that I didn't think possible. Kind of helps that reality isn't getting in the way. Text box after text box is filled and set packing. The Nobel challenge. Not once, but twice, three times, all the way up to a twelfth time. Midnight. My insides go cold, and all I want to do is drop to the floor and curl up into a ball under my standing desk.

I don't know if I can go through another midnight. It takes so much out of me that I know I'll... The screaming starts, and I clamp my hands to my head, parroting what every single one of my co-workers is doing. Hands clamped to the sides of their heads, mouths wide open, screams unleashed. She looks on their faces. Jesus! Todd and Sabrina have tears screaming down their cheeks.

Olivia is tilting her head back, looking straight up at the ceiling, which seems to go on forever and ever and ever, which makes me wonder if there actually is a ceiling for her to look up at. Iggy has one hand, pressed to his left ear, and the other hand, jamming a finger up his nose. No surprise there. Mitchell is spinning in circles, moving faster and faster and faster. He's going to hurt himself if he doesn't watch out. is staring directly at me. She has her hands to her head, and she's screaming too. But then so am I.

And I am faking it. I always fake it. Every goddamn night at midnight, my co-workers do this hands-to-head screaming thing for five minutes straight. Every damn night. I don't. Or, not like them. It's not a compulsion for me. Sure, the stress release of a good five-minute scream cannot be overstated. But I'm still me. They aren't. They are locked in their heads, or maybe they are finally free of being locked in their heads. Which would explain the screaming. Doesn't really matter. The few times I haven't parroted the behavior and gone to try to talk to some of them.

It was like talking to a brick wall, a screaming brick wall, but still a brick wall. Linda is still staring straight at me, so I inject a little mucus into my screams, hoping the natural effect will add some realism to my charade. Where's Nelson? I never see Nelson around here during screaming time. Maybe he prefers privacy for his freakouts. I bet he's in the breakroom area, mashing cupcakes into his ears or something.

Two minutes to go. I've gotten good at timing the screams. I can barely think a coherent thought inside my head, but I do know how long my screaming is supposed to last. It's just past the point of a painfully scratching itch in my throat and the eventual tearing of a vocal cord. Linda is still staring at me. What is her problem?

One minute. Here comes that scratchy itch. We all scream and scream and scream and scream and a bell chimes and we stop. Well, everyone else stops. I always miss the moment by half a beat. No one has ever noticed that I know of. Linda lowers her hands,

and I see her eyes narrow and her shoulders straighten, which is different than everyone else's response to the end of scream time. Todd and Sabrina and the rest have their eyes closed while their bodies shake unconcernation. controllably. They just stand and shake. I try to give myself a little jiggle, but I haven't mastered the shaking. Hands to head and screaming I have down. The semi-seizure is a tough one. Linda cocks her head. She isn't shaking either. I try to fake it, but it's exhausting, and I just don't have

that kind of coordination. I lose my balance and fall back against my standing desk, almost bumping my keyboard to the floor. I catch myself, straighten up, do a sad shimmy. Then just deflate and wait for everyone to go still. Linda isn't looking away. I am locked in her sights. Then, abruptly as always, my co-workers freeze in place. All take a deep breath at the exact same time. Let it out slowly.

Then blink, in happy surprise, like waking up at work is totally normal and not terrifying at all. They all wave to each other, calling out greetings, as if it's nine in the morning, and they have all just arrived at the office. People walk away from their desks, engage in some small talk about their weekends or their hobbies, or the little trip they took to Havana, Cuba,

which I don't think anyone can actually travel to because it doesn't exist. Not that it matters, since I know for a damn fact, not a single one of them has left this workspace in days, weeks, months. Dear God, has it been years? Someone calls my name, and I wave and make a joke about the big game. They laugh. I don't know what a big game is, but it sure makes people happy. The whole place has reset, as if we weren't just standing here, working on our columns only a few minutes ago. God, that must be nice. It's not sleep, but it looks like a sort of rest. I could use a sort of rest.

I could use any type of rest. Linda is walking toward me. That kindness in her smile is gone. Actually, the whole smile is gone, if I'm being honest. There's a grim determination on her face as she weaves through the so happy to be here gaggle of workers milling around the room. Oh, crap, what does she want? What do I say? Am I caught? But caught doing what exactly?

It's not like I'm being myself on purpose. I'd freaking love a reset. Please, reset me now! She's 30 feet away. 20, 10. Then Nelson swoops in and takes her by the elbow. his classic power move, and steers her away from me. He's guiding her into the breakroom space, of course,

and I lose sight of them as they slip behind those movable walls. I decide I've had enough of being in the dark and leave my desk, nodding hello to folks as I work my way nonchalantly toward the breakroom space. I don't enter it when I get there. Instead, I just stand on one side of the thin, useless wall, acting like I'm... Um, okay, I don't know how to act. So I just stand here and listen and hope no one blows my cover.

One thing I've learned from building businesses is that getting started is usually the hardest part. When we launched No Sleep Coffee, we already knew exactly what we wanted to sell. We just needed a website. Shopify made that step incredibly straightforward. We set up our storefront, added our products, uploaded the descriptions and images, and within a few days we had a fully functioning online store. What I really value is how Shopify takes care of so much. behind the scenes. The checkout experience is extremely smooth. Customers complete their purchases

quickly, giving you peace of mind as an owner that you're not losing sales at the last step. If you've been considering selling a product online, whether it's coffee, merch, or something you made yourself, Shopify is definitely worth a look. With Shopify, nothing stands between your idea and a real business, so go make it one. Start your free trial at Shopify.com slash DNS. Start your free trial at Shopify.com slash DNS. 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. He's kept it together for 13 months straight. I think it's time to cut him loose. That's Nelson. No. Have you seen his numbers? Linda says. The longer he stays himself. He is not himself. None of them are. You know what I mean. As long as he skips the resets, his productivity goes through the roof. He doesn't even know what he's doing, yet his accuracy is incredible.

He is going to crack. Nelson chuckles. Hell, he already has cracked. You remember what happened to Carlos, right? Linda makes some dismissive shushing noise. Carlos wasn't cut out for this kind of work. He should never have been placed in the program. Subconscious productivity is the next wave, Nelson.

I know it is. And I've let the board know my feelings on the matter. It's too soon. You shouldn't have done that. Thirteen months isn't too soon. And I've been down here watching him with my own eyes. Is he losing his grasp on any semblance of reality? Sure he is.

No denying that. But they all crack at some point. Why not have them hit new heights before we have to purge them? Burn and turn, Nelson. Burn and turn. I don't think I like what I'm hearing. There's a sick feeling in my belly and I need to pee. I rush away from the breakroom space wall

and hurry to the freestanding toilet space. Porta John is printed on the side, but, just like the vending machines, the letters are deeply faded. I grabbed the plastic handle, yank, open the door, and slip inside to the dank aroma of blue chemical water and yesterday's nachos.

Sitting, I wait for my insides to relax, which they do eventually. I take some deep breaths, choke on the stench, cough a few times, then get up and wash my hands. I have to pump the water, with my foot, which means I am barely washing off the foam soap. There's plumbing in the breakroom space, so why not a real toilet and hand-washing sink? This can't be OSHA approved. But again, to be honest,

I'm not exactly sure what OSHA is, so maybe I'm wrong. I step out of the portage on and nearly run into Nelson and Linda. Hi, Bruce, Nelson says. Um, hi? Everything all right? Yep, just making room for more cupcakes. Oh, crap. I shouldn't have said that. Cupcakes were from the last shift. I shouldn't know about the cupcakes. Nelson and Linda share a look. Um, may I? Linda asks. May you what? She nods at the portage on. Oh, right. Yeah, of course. Excuse me. I move. She slips past me and into the toilet. Nelson just smiles at me. I'll walk you back to your desk. Thanks. my elbow and literally walks me back to my desk. You know, Bruce, we are very pleased with

what you were accomplishing here. Great. Thanks. You are doing amazing work. And we all hope that you can continue to do so. Me too. This conversation is going well. So, if you feel like things aren't exactly clear in your mind, you'll tell me, right? You know I will. Do I know that, Bruce? Do I? Uh-oh, the conversation is not going well now. I gulp, glance about at my coworkers who are all back at their desks, then try to put a big smile on my face. I hold a thumb up.

I'm a team player, Nelson. Always ready to give my all. He studies me for a bit, the nods, smirks, and slaps my shoulder. Great. Good to hear it, Bruce. Awesome. I add a second thumb to the gesture. No one can resist a two-thumb to.

up. And don't you worry, subconscious productivity is the next wave, and I am fully on board. Nailed it. Nelson's face falls. All of his Nelsonness disappears, and what stands before me is an angry, angry man. God damn it! He shouts, throwing his arms in the air. How do you know that phrase? Were you eavesdropping? The door to the toilet slams with a plastic crack, and Linda yells from the corner. What is happening, Nelson? He's a woman. He's a He was listening to us talk. I told you I had this under control and that your presence might put a wrench in things.

I told you that. No one is working now. They all stare at the spectacle that has become my existence. Linda storms over to us, pulling out something from her pocket. It looks familiar. It's called a fun. No, it's a faun.

No, no. A phone! I shout and clap as Linda reaches us. That's a phone! The word trickles through the, room, my co-workers saying it under their breaths. Linda rolls her eyes, the phone to her mouth. Yeah, we're going to need a full purge. Sub-level 645 is compromised. She hangs up and glars at Nelson. This is your fault. My fault? You can kiss my ass. They argue and bicker as they walk

over to the wall, where a door slides open for them. Huh, I didn't know that was there. We watched them leave, then look to each other. Now what? Todd asks. I'm about to say that I don't know, but somewhere above us, sprinklers turn on, and we're drenched in what I believe is gasoline. I don't quite know what gasoline is exactly, but I do know that being drenched in it is not good.

Hey, what does this do? Iggy asks, holding up a small plastic something. He moves his thumb, and there's a spark. Oh dear. 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.

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