Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - What We Locked in the Storage Room

Episode Date: August 29, 2022

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3juM1og 🎉 Ad-free bonus stories + exclusive uncensored animations: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] Author: John Beardify Check out more of his work Here: https://www.reddit.com/user/beardify/ New Book Release Here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09QJXLHF4 DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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An organization like ours needs new blood. The man had the precision of a trained public speaker. Even beneath the harsh auditorium lights, he wasn't sweating. His polished shoes squeaked across the stage as he paced. We tend to get stuck in our ways, trapped in outdated habits and prejudices. Bullshit. The tenure teacher beside me hissed. Plinkletoes up there is only saying that, because the retention rate here is 50%.

50. They were Nazi death camps with better survival rates. I tried to ignore him and focus on the new principal up on stage. But this wasn't exactly an encouraging start to my career at Whitestone Middle School. Not to mention. My co-worker went on in a half-whisper. This place is haunted as hell. Here we go.

I groaned inwardly. I was starting to suspect that hazing by senior staff was one of the reasons so few teachers lasted more than a year at Whitestone. If we all work together to put the bad old ways and the mistakes of the past behind us, I'm sure Whitestone has a bright future. The administrator ended with a cheer. There was some scattered applause, but it was drowned out by snorts, shuffling feet,

and barely concealed by. I felt bad for the guy. It hadn't even been an hour, and he'd already lost control of the situation. I was surprised to see that there was yet another meeting after this one, and this one was for new hires only. I'm not going to lie to you all, the well-dressed principal deflated into his rolling chair as soon as we'd gathered in his office. This is going to be a tough year for all of us.

I was assigned here by the state to save a failing school. I had to step on some toes, fire some people, make some tough choices. It's going to be even harder for you all. Nobody wants you here, not the old guard teachers, not the students, not the parents. And if you can't hack it here, no other school in the district is going to hire you. Whitestone Middle is like a black mark on your record. We've got all this working against us and then some. But if we can work through that, well, I really do believe we have a chance to turn this place around.

There was a long silence. It was a lot to take in. Then the art teacher popped her gum and raised a be jeweled hand. Hey, here's a question. How come only us new hires have to do hall duty and extracurriculars after school? That got an even longer silence. The, uh, senior staff. They refused to do it.

They think the school's got a ghost. We didn't join in on the principal's weak laughter. I don't think it was because we were afraid of the haunting. Rather, we were afraid of having to face some of the most dangerous students in the state, alongside a bunch of superstitious fools. Whether the rumors were true or not, the extra duties certainly didn't make the principal popular, with already overwhelmed new teachers.

After a long day of creating material, contacting parents in breaking up fights, the last thing I wanted to do was patrol a bunch of empty hallways all evening. Wasn't this security's job anyway? I thought, walking past row after row of dark classrooms, silent lockers, and flickering fluorescent lights. But Ethan Warrants, the school resource officer, who was normally burly and aggressive when tackling troublemakers or searching for drugs,

was scared of his own shadow when it was just the two of us after hours. He didn't dare to leave his office until it was time to lock up. Ethan was also relatively new and didn't know much more about the supposed haunting than I did. One day after school, Ethan and I were both whiskey drunk in the smoking cage of a bar just before closing time. A hard, cold rain rattled the tin roof above us like it was trying to drown the world for its sins. What I do know, man, Ethan told me late one night, is what I seen in that place, what I felt. The last time was April.

There was this boy and girl from the track team. I kept running into them snooping around, looking for an empty place to, you know, do what teenagers do. I'd just catch a glimpse of him. A skirt swishing around a corner, running footsteps, a giggle. I was getting pretty sick of it. So I decided to hunt him down, even though I never liked to walk around the place alone. Finally, I thought I saw a couple shadows down by the maintenance room. Ever been back there? I shrugged.

Place is a maze. The cafeteria loading dock, old desks, and all that other junk. The HVAC system that looks like. like a whole circle of hell made out of pipes and godwebs. Anyhow, the maintenance door was open just a crack. So I figured the couple had gone in there. I got my mag light out, through the door open, and then I figured they must have hid themselves real quick,

because all I saw was the same junk as always. So I started scanning the place, nice and slow. When I heard rustling behind the old chalkboards, I thought I'd had him pinned. It wasn't horny teenagers, was it? I crossed my arms, skeptical. At first it was like, my brain couldn't believe what I was seeing. It looked like a kid, right?

But it wasn't. It was climbing upside down along the pipes like a damn spider. Head turned around backwards, jaw hanging down like it was broke off. Skin all gray, like ashes. And the thing started chasing me. He took a deep breath. I wish I could say it ended when I got out of the maintenance. room, but it was like once I'd noticed the thing, I became a part of some kind of twisted

game, and I still see it, sometimes just out of the corner of my eye, scurrying along the ceiling tiles, dangling just above me, like it's daring me to look up so it can enjoy the look on my face when it strikes. I just can't relax in that place, man. I've been looking for a transfer ever since April, but with the ex and the two kids, you're like the rest. I rolled my eyes. Trying to scare me with bullshit stories. Like I don't already have enough on my plate. No bullshit, man.

He jabbed a finger into my chest. No story. It's the truth. Okay. Whatever. I was drunk, tired, and I just wanted to go home. Although I didn't believe a word of the officer's story, some part of it still took root in me,

like a seed that starts to grow underground, long before it sprouts on the surface. I spent my afternoon patrols on edge, waiting for something to happen. Exactly what, I couldn't say. I also began to suspect that the haunting was affecting our students. Emma Ray was a quiet girl from a broken home, who obsessively twisted her long brown hair into knots

and wore a lot of black. She had a long history of mental illness, the most recent incident, involving stabbing the girl beside her with a pair of scissors, because my friend thought it would be funny. Emma Ray's friend, as it turned out, only existed in her imagination and in her notebook, which was filled with page after page of drawings of a gray figure,

sometimes hanging upside down, sometimes grinning a gigantic, distended smile. According to Emma Ray, she only hurt people when her friend told her to. Then there were the stories about Julio Barrancos, a 13-year-old who left class to use the bathroom and never came back. According to social services, he ran away. According to our students,

you can still sometimes hear his faint voice crying and begging for help in the pipes of the second floor boys' restroom. I don't like to give credit to rumors, but it's true that none of the security cameras captured Julio leaving school that day. Looking back, that was only the tip of the iceberg. There was a lot more evidence, stuff that we just attributed to bad luck or mean-spirited pranks. But that should have been physically impossible for even the most talented troublemaker.

Like the plastic letters that arranged themselves into profanity behind the locked doors of empty rooms, or the oddly specific insults that the printer would sometimes run copies of until it ran out of paper. What student could have even known about Mr. Redmond's affair, much less written about it, in such precise and cruel detail. The loudspeaker, too, would occasionally crackle with insults, secrets, and dire predictions,

always followed by distant laughter. Someone checked Mr. Lloyd's computer. There's some nasty stuff on that hard drive. Brianna Alexander's period is late this month, and you won't believe who the father is. News flash, Deonté Harris's grandma just got hit by a bus. Some of it was malicious gossip. Some of it was eerily accurate.

But we never did find out who was hijacking the system or how. All we knew was that the continuous interruptions and credibility destroying pranks made all our lives even more impossible. The veteran staff just rolled their eyes at our attempts to solve these bizarre mysteries. For them, the explanation was clear. It was all the work of Whitestone Middle School's resident ghost. That was all I knew, until I ran into Sonia Korniev, the school custodian while grocery shopping. His name was Javier Bright.

Sonia sighed when the topic of conversation turned to the ghost. But we don't say it in school. That attracts it. Same as noticing it. Same as paying attention to it at all. Sonia must have read the look on my face because she sighed again and put her hands on her hips. Look, I know this time. Does it make sense to your big, logical, Western-educated brain?

But just try to keep your head down and ignore it, okay? I don't need someone else crying in the pipes while I'm trying to clean the bathroom. She picked out a few zucchini's and started to push her cart away. Wait! I shouted. Who is Javier Bright? An evil seed. Sonia coughed. In the universities, they teach you that no one is born bad,

and that all children are precious. Well, they're wrong. I'm sure Javier's file is long gone, but you can just ask his old classmates if you want an idea. Ask the ones who went to Whitestone four years ago. They can tell you if any of them are willing to talk. It was easier said than done. Almost none of the old contact information still worked.

So many Whitestone alumni had been evicted, imprisoned, were just swallowed up by the streets. And on the off chance that someone's grandmother or aunt still lived at the same address and could put me in touch with a former student, they stonewalled me every time. Most acted like they'd never heard of a Javier Bright. Others still seemed afraid of him or his so-called curse.

One classmate confessed that Javier would chase him home each day after school, beating him to within an inch of his life when he didn't escape quickly enough. Another described how Javier made her life a living hell, constantly trying to trap her in an empty classroom or a coerce her into doing it with him. A former teacher explained that Javier had probably been the mysterious saboteur who'd cut the brake lines in his car, supposedly has revenge for detention.

Each story ended the same way with Javier Bright's death. It was just like, boom, splat! And there he was. The classmate shrugged. They said he just. jumped off the roof. Good riddons. Some said Javier had killed himself just despite his parents, who hadn't outlived him by much.

Then there were those who said it was part of some ritual he'd read about online. A few suspected that it wasn't a suicide at all. Bien-bored, Viarai. Embarque, and profite. Embarque and relaxed. Ciroat, bouquinet. Oh, that also. And profite.

Via Rai, the voice that we Trust me, a convict who'd sat next to Javier in history told me. If you'd known the guy, you wouldn't be surprised to hear somebody pushed him off a roof. I just wish I knew who'd done it so I could shake their hand. Was that it then? The haunting was revenge for a murder? Justified or not? I couldn't believe how much I'd changed over the course of a semester.

I was taking for granted that Whitestone's ghost existed. My new perspective made my afternoon hall patrols a lot more unnerving. As Sonia had advised, I kept my eyes down, no longer dared to peer into the empty classrooms, afraid that if I did, I'd see a shattered ashen face pressed hungrily against the glass. Sudden loud sounds that I'd previously attributed to clunky machinery or students messing around took on a new sinister significance. Where the noise is actually following me, getting closer and closer as I'm, I walked. Even worse was the mysterious warning I found in my classroom one morning. Snitches

get stitches. It had been carved into my whiteboard, apparently with some kind of blade. Emma Ray had returned from her scissor stabbing suspension that very day. Coincidence? I wondered. It was like Emma Ray had become a completely different girl. She sat ramrod straight at the front of class, smiling. I didn't think I'd ever seen her. smile before. I asked her to stay after class. Do you know anything about this? I gestured to the cut-up whiteboard. Well, I mean, Emma Ray drawled. It's Whitestone, right? Stuff like that just happens here. I didn't have that knack some teachers have of spotting a lie by instinct, but I didn't see any deception in her eyes. It was good to see you so happy and

attentive in class today, I said finally. Yeah, well. They put me on new mans. The shrink I had before gave me like a candy bowl full of pills. And I guess it kind of messed with my head. But don't worry, she laughed. It's not like I see Javier anymore. What? I gasped.

Yeah, you know, Javier, the dead kid who wants the school. I mean, come on. How new are you? Emma Rade bitter lip, hesitated, and went on. There's a rumor that you can even like, meet him by doing this one ritual in the school. But I don't see why anybody'd want to. She shuddered.

How? I asked, more sharply than I meant to. Emma Ray winced like I'd hit her, then flipped through a black notebook until she found the crumpled up paper she was looking for. She threw it on my desk like it burned her. Don't tell anybody I gave that to you. Emma Ray added finally.

With a whirl of brown hair, she was gone. I locked the door and opened the door. wrinkled page that was about to change my life forever. The instructions were written in blocky, childish handwriting. How to trap a ghost. One, set up two mirrors facing each other. Two, light a candle between the mirrors. Three, pour a ring of salt around the candle, but leave a gap.

Four, spin around the candle in circles till you're dizzy. Five, step backwards into a mirror. You will pass through it if you did it right. Six, you are on the other side. You can go back through any mirror where you see your candle. Seven, if a ghost chases you, trap it in the ring with more salt and blow out the candle. I guess it was a sign of my desperation that I took the silly,

misspelled ritual so seriously. But my sanity felt like a quickly fraying rope. and I realized what had chased so many teachers from Whitestone Middle School. It was that constant feeling of being stalked, even hunted, by something invisible. It was the low-key fear that pervaded the building like an electric hum. Even students and staff who'd never heard of Javier Bright felt it, and there was only so much a person could take, I had to end it. Even so, I felt foolish when I skipped out on my hall patrol duties

to set up two dusty bathroom mirrors in the maintenance room. I lit a candle between them, that made a ring around it with salt. Its flickering glow on the cobwebbed walls was the only light in the storage room, and it made the heaps of disused furniture and piles of books appear freakish and strange. The light that reflected in the mirror seemed to shine from somewhere else. I started spinning in circles. I miscalculated and spun too long. When I tried to leave the circle, I didn't step out.

I fell! I should have smashed into a mirror, but instead, I felt, my back crash against the bathroom stall door. Somehow, I was in the second floor boy's restroom, looking through the mirror at a flickering candle. It was the same, and yet it wasn't. The ugly tile floor and cracked sinks were more or less what I remembered, but everything seemed to be covered by a thick film of gray dust. The air felt cloying, and there was a heavy, watchful silence that seemed to dare me to make a sound. I tiptoed to the exit and attempted to peer out the door. It opened with the squeak that echoed down the empty corridors. I winced and

froze like a hunted animal. The windows were so dark that they might as well have been painted black. Everything was covered in that same choking gray dust. That was when I realized that none of the lights were on. Instead, this place, whatever it was, seemed to produce its own gloomy twilight glow. A warning in my head screamed that I'd gone far enough. What if the candle went out? Then again. What if the ritual never worked again? And this was my only chance to end the school's curse.

I told myself that I'd come too far to just turn around. I had to see it through. But each step I took down the dead hallway, felt like it lowered my chances of ever making it back to where I'd come from. I was so used to the near total silence of the place that when I heard the noise, I froze in my tracks like a hunted animal. Footsteps were coming from the corridor just ahead.

A perfectly ordinary sound. But in this nightmarish place, it chilled me to the bone. I pressed myself into a gap between the lockers, hoping that whatever it was would pass by without noticing me. For the first time it occurred to me that Javier Bright might not be the only thing here on the other side. The footsteps stopped at the intersection of my corridor. There was a little cough, a rustling of papers.

A long, horrible shadow stretched down the hallway, although there was no light to cast it. And it called my name. Michael. It was the mocking tone used by bullies, looking for someone to hurt. I held my breath and pressed myself even tighter against the wall behind me. Michael! The thing called again.

It waited for a moment, gave a short laugh. that was almost a bark and walked on, its shoes echoing down the empty corridors. I was finally able to breathe again, or so I thought. But when I looked down, I had to stifle a scream. It was like I'd been half swallowed by the wall. With a gasp, I pulled my hand out of the wall, then put it back again, out and back. I shut my eyes and stepped through the wall as easily as if it were made of cello. I realized that I was in my own classroom, just on the other side. The desks sat in perfect rows facing the whiteboard and projector. I tried something. I reached into the projector as semi-solid as the wall and fiddled with some wires.

From the muted light that came out of it, I could tell that back on my side, I'd just turned it on. I'd just figure out how Javier was messing with us. I thought about the same. that angry soul, drifting through these dark corridors with nothing but hatred and endless time. The crying made me jump. I wasn't alone. Something was silently sobbing at a desk in the back corner. My adrenaline had been pumping so hard I hadn't even realized it was there. At one point, it might have been a preteen just like my students. Now, however, it was a raw and skinless thing with empty sockets where its eyes should be. It passed a razor over itself, up and down, eternally as it wept.

If color existed on the other side, I was sure I'd see coagulated fluids and the shiny red tone of flayed flesh. I wanted to wretch, but some horrible curiosity drew me closer to it. The thing was suffering, that was clear. If there was something I could do, I began.

The skinned thing's head snapped up. A ghostly light appeared in a single socket, and it screamed. The sound was ear-splitting, But even so, I heard other echoes in the background. The footsteps from before running toward us, something skittering behind the ceiling tiles, and other noises too terrible to think about.

That shriek was alerting everything that haunted Whitestone to my presence. Without even thinking, I ran through the opposite wall into another dark classroom, then another. My panic was so intense that I was actually running further away from the mirror, which was my only escape. I must have miscalculated, because after bursting through a final wall, I found myself outside the school, hovering two stories above the ground.

I spun and clutched the brick siding, but I'm not sure I would have fallen. The sky overhead was still in charcoal gray. Fog gave the abandoned playground and barren gnarled trees a monstrous aspect. A shadow as big as the school itself passed by overhead and circled back again. I didn't dare to look up at whatever might be flying through that unnatural sky. Instead, I climbed down the bricks with sweating palms and slipped back through the wall of the first floor. The scream that still reverberated through the halls was keeping everything else in this place distracted. I was in over my head. I hadn't found Javier, and if I didn't find a mirror to escape through soon, I'd be trapped.

Sooner or later, I'd become one of the insane and hateful things that haunted the other side. The closest mirror was in the changing room beside the principal's office. I burst through three doors without opening them and saw it. My candle, glimmering dimly in the reflective glass, it felt very far away. As I prepared to leap, something dropped down from the ceiling behind me. A grasp as cold as death wrapped around my ankle. I'd never seen a picture of Javier Bright, but I knew what I was looking at all the same. A 13-year-old boy, broken by a terrible fall, stretched, and warped into something monstrous. I kicked and thrashed, unable to free myself from its grip until my shoe slipped off. fell forward, through the mirror, and toward the candle.

It felt like I flew past hundreds of mirrors before finally landing on the oily concrete floor of the maintenance room. The salt circle in front of me was smudged, but intact. And that was a good thing, because Javier was coming. I could see his twisted form growing larger and larger in the mirror, approaching as if for miles away. I fumbled in my pocket and readied a handful of salt. The monstrous gray thing burst out of the mirror, arms flailing.

I ducked and closed the circle the moment it landed within, then blew out the candle. Javier screamed in his flimsy prison, but as the memory of the other side faded, so did my ability to hear or see him. By the time I had backed up to the maintenance room door, the thing in the ring of salt was just a vague shadow, and its once deafening wail sounded more like a faint hiss. I felt cold metal push into my back. The door behind me was opening. There you are! Ethan, the security officer, panted.

I've been looking everywhere for you. Look, I know everybody's gone, but you still need to be doing your rounds. His voice faded when he saw my face. You look like you just seen... A ghost. I finished for him. I gestured to the two mirrors, the ring of salt, and smoking candle in front of us. My missing shoe. Remember your story about what happens here after hours?

You wanted me to believe you, and I should have. I paused. A plan was forming in my house. my head, but I knew the magnitude of the favor I was about to ask. Look, Ethan, if I told you that I could stop all that weird shit from happening ever again, but I needed your help to do it, what would you say? What do you need? Ethan asked immediately. See those mirrors over there, that ring of salt? I need you to help me close that area off, cover it with a tarp, stack a mountain of junk around it, then wrap it in caution tape,

whatever it takes to keep people out. But that's going to take all night. Ethan exclaimed. looking at the heaps of cobwebbed clutter around us. He took a deep breath. Okay, fine. Where do we start? Ethan and I were up till dawn setting up a protective wall around the salt ring where I'd trapped Javier. We were dusty, sticky, and caked with grime and sweat. But it was done.

We'd created a barrier that would never come down, or so we hoped. Sonia Corniev, the custodian, came by my classroom one morning a few weeks later. She bent down beside my desk, pretending to inspect something in the trash can. I don't know what you did, she whispered. But it worked. I smiled, but said nothing. Sonia pointed her broom at this single shoe that's out on my desk, covered with gray dust. Do you want me to get rid of that for you?

No, that's all right. It's sort of a memento. Hmm. Sonia gave me an odd look. Where is the other one? I'm not sure, I shrugged. And you know what? I hope I never find out.