September 2, 2025 • 35 mins
Can't sleep? Welcome back to another bone-chilling episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast. This is where your deepest nightmares come to life.
Tune in for a mix of spine-tingling horror fiction, terrifying paranormal encounters, and bone-rattling true crime stories that blur the line between nightmare and reality. We'll dive into the darkest corners of the supernatural, from ghostly sightings to otherworldly encounters that will leave you frozen in fear. These stories will haunt your mind far longer than that weird noise in your attic. We'll keep you on the edge of your seat, with your heart racing, as each tale tightens its grip on your imagination. After listening, we'd love to hear your thoughts—leave a review on your preferred podcast platform and let us know what sent shivers down your spine.
Subscribe so you don't miss any of the horrifying tales we have coming your way. So, sit back, unwind, and brace yourself for a chilling experience. Keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams...
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/nighttime-scary-tales--6704938/support.
Welcome to another episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast, where we explore the dark side of storytelling. Tonight, prepare for spine-chilling tales featuring original horror stories, eerie supernatural encounters, and real-life crime that reveals the darker aspects of human nature. Each story is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat long after it ends. We’d love to hear your thoughts! Share your most chilling moments by leaving a review on your favorite podcast platform. More haunting stories are coming, so keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams… if you can find them!
Tune in for a mix of spine-tingling horror fiction, terrifying paranormal encounters, and bone-rattling true crime stories that blur the line between nightmare and reality. We'll dive into the darkest corners of the supernatural, from ghostly sightings to otherworldly encounters that will leave you frozen in fear. These stories will haunt your mind far longer than that weird noise in your attic. We'll keep you on the edge of your seat, with your heart racing, as each tale tightens its grip on your imagination. After listening, we'd love to hear your thoughts—leave a review on your preferred podcast platform and let us know what sent shivers down your spine.
Subscribe so you don't miss any of the horrifying tales we have coming your way. So, sit back, unwind, and brace yourself for a chilling experience. Keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams...
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/nighttime-scary-tales--6704938/support.
Welcome to another episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast, where we explore the dark side of storytelling. Tonight, prepare for spine-chilling tales featuring original horror stories, eerie supernatural encounters, and real-life crime that reveals the darker aspects of human nature. Each story is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat long after it ends. We’d love to hear your thoughts! Share your most chilling moments by leaving a review on your favorite podcast platform. More haunting stories are coming, so keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams… if you can find them!
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:07):
Hospitals are full of secrets.
Speaker 2 (00:09):
I'd been a doctor long enough to know the strange stories,
the ones shared in hushed voices at the nurses station
or over a quick cup of coffee during an overnight shift,
but I never thought I'd become part of one. It
was an ordinary night on the medical floor, where I
was working the night shift. Things had been slow, with
(00:30):
only a handful of patients in critical care. I'd seen
plenty of long nights, and when things were quiet, I
usually welcomed it. I was heading to check on one
of my patients, mister Peterson, an elderly man who'd been
in a coma for almost two weeks. He was stable,
but there was little hope of recovery. It was one
of those cases where the family had said their goodbyes
(00:52):
and the staff had prepared themselves for the inevitable. I'd
checked his vitals earlier that evening and everything had been uneventful.
Still something nagged at me, a feeling that tonight was different.
As I approached his room, I noticed something odd. The
faint hum of monitors filled the air, but the usual
routine sounds had a strange undertone, almost like a whispering
(01:15):
A faint murmur coming from down the hall. I slowed
my pace, straining my ears to catch any actual words,
but it faded as soon as I stopped. I brushed
it off as my imagination and continued to mister Peterson's room,
mentally going through his chart to keep my focus. I
pushed open the door quietly and stepped inside. To my surprise,
(01:37):
mister Peterson was awake. He lay there, blinking up at
the ceiling, his expression unreadable. His eyes dull and glassy
from his prolonged state, seemed to hold a spark now,
a flicker of awareness. For someone who'd been in a
coma for so long, it was startling to see him awake,
mister Peterson, I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He slowly turned his head to look at me, and
(01:59):
for a moment I wasn't sure he recognized me. Then,
as if some clarity settled over him, he nodded the
barest hint of a movement.
Speaker 1 (02:06):
Doctor.
Speaker 2 (02:07):
He whispered, his voice barely audible, she's leaving us tonight?
Who's leaving mister Peterson? He looked past me, his eyes
focusing on something just over my shoulder. I resisted the
urge to turn around, feeling a shiver trickle down my spine.
His expression was serene, almost peaceful, as if he was
sharing some quiet secret with me. She's waiting, he murmured,
(02:29):
his gaze drifting back to the ceiling. I didn't know
how to respond. I'd seen cases of patients experiencing confusion
or hallucinations upon waking from a coma, but this was different.
His tone, his certainty. It felt more like he was
stating a fact than drifting through a delusion. I managed
to regain my composure, making a quick note in his chart,
(02:51):
but I couldn't stop thinking about his words. I tried
to push it aside, chalking it up to the effects
of his condition, but the phrase echoed in my Mind's
leaving us tonight. I checked his vitals and administered his medication,
trying to ignore the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
As I turned to leave, mister Peterson whispered again, his
(03:12):
voice as soft.
Speaker 1 (03:13):
As a breeze.
Speaker 2 (03:14):
She's here. I looked back at him. His gaze was
locked on the door, his eyes wide and unblinking. I
followed his stare, expecting to see someone standing there, but
the doorway was empty. Who's here, mister Peterson, I asked,
trying to keep my tone calm. He didn't respond, his
gaze remaining fixed on the door.
Speaker 1 (03:35):
I took a.
Speaker 2 (03:35):
Step closer, hoping to snap him out of whatever state
he was in, but his expression didn't change. He was
staring into the empty hallway, as if someone or something
was standing just beyond the threshold. Feeling an uneasy twinge
in my stomach, I backed out of the room, casting
one last look at him before closing the door.
Speaker 1 (03:55):
His words lingered.
Speaker 2 (03:56):
In my mind as I moved down the hallway. Back
at the nurse's station, I found Linda, the head nurse,
preparing charts for the next shift. I tried to shake
off the tension, but the urge to share what I
just experienced was too strong. Linda, I said, trying to
sound casual, Do you know anything about mister Peterson. Has
he ever been lucid before? She looked at me, frowning slightly. No,
(04:20):
he's been unresponsive since he was admitted. Why, I hesitated,
not wanting to sound overly dramatic. He was awake just
now and he said something strange. Her expression shifted a
flicker of curiosity mixed with unease. Strange how he told
me someone was leaving us tonight, and then he said
she's here. He kept looking at the door, like he
(04:42):
was seeing someone standing there. Linda's face paled slightly, and
she looked down the hall toward mister Peterson's room. You're
not the first one to mention that, she said. I
leaned closer.
Speaker 1 (04:53):
What do you mean?
Speaker 2 (04:55):
There have been rumors among the night's staff. Sometimes patience
those close to the end and will say similar things.
It's like they sense something the rest of us can't.
They say they see someone waiting for them. A chill
settled over me. I'd heard tales of patients having visions,
but I'd always dismissed them as hallucinations or the effects
(05:15):
of medication. But there was a weight to her words,
a sincerity that made it hard to brush off. Has
anyone else on this floor mentioned it recently? Linda looked
down the hall again, her expression unreadable. Room two seventeen.
The woman in there passed away last night. She told
one of the nurses that someone had come to visit her,
(05:37):
but when they checked, the hallway was empty.
Speaker 1 (05:41):
A shiver ran through me.
Speaker 2 (05:42):
I hadn't been on duty the previous night, but the
thought of another patient seeing the same thing sent a
wave of.
Speaker 1 (05:48):
Unease through me. Could it really be just a coincidence?
Speaker 2 (05:52):
Trying to shake off the unsettling feeling, I made my
rounds checking on the other patients, but as the hours
wore on, I couldn't escape the nagging sensation that I
was being watched. Every time I walked past an empty
room or a shadowy corner, I felt an invisible presence,
as if someone was lingering just out of sight. As
(06:13):
I returned to the nurses station, I heard a soft
beap coming from one of the monitors down the hall.
I checked my watch three twelve am. Most of the
staff had gone home, leaving only a skeleton crew to
manage the floor. The corridor stretched ahead, silent and barely lit,
each step reverberating in.
Speaker 1 (06:31):
The empty stretch.
Speaker 2 (06:33):
I made my way back to mister Peterson's room, just
to check on him again. He'd been in a coma
for weeks, and after his sudden words about her leaving
us tonight, I couldn't shake the feeling that something strange
was unfolding. As I entered the room, I was met
with an unexpected sight. Mister Peterson was awake, not groggy
or confused, but sitting up, fully conscious, with the light
(06:56):
of awareness in his eyes for the first time since
he'd been admitted. A nurse was by his bedside, calmly
arranging his pillows and checking his ivs, and he looked
over at me with a faint smile. Mister Peterson, you're awake,
I stammered, masking my shock as best as I could.
He looked completely at ease, as though he'd just come
(07:17):
back from a RESTful nap, not a prolonged coma. Awake
and feeling pretty good, Doc, he said, with a chuckle.
The nurses here know how to take care of you.
I looked at the nurse, who nodded, confirming that everything
had been checked and adjusted to make sure he was comfortable.
It was routine for her, but something about this whole
(07:37):
situation felt anything but routine to me. How are you feeling,
mister Peterson, I asked, still taken aback by his rapid recovery. Honestly,
I feel like I've been asleep for ages, he replied,
But everything feels normal, just well, just feels like I'm
waking up. He paused, looking at my face and added,
(07:57):
is something wrong. It took me a second to respond,
not at all. I'm just glad to see you awake.
But do you remember anything from earlier tonight? Mister Peterson's
brow furrowed. Earlier tonight? I don't remember anything?
Speaker 1 (08:10):
Why?
Speaker 2 (08:11):
I hesitated, then pressed on. You said something to me
about someone leaving us tonight. Does that ring any bells?
He shook his head, looking genuinely puzzled. Doc, I have
no memory of anything like that. I told myself it
was possible he'd been coming in and out of consciousness,
maybe murmuring things that didn't make sense to him now
that he was fully awake, And yet the memory of
(08:33):
his voice, so clear and certain, kept replaying in my mind.
The rest of the night passed without incident, and after
a few hours I returned to my rounds.
Speaker 1 (08:44):
When I came by.
Speaker 2 (08:44):
Mister Peterson's room again, he was asleep, looking as peaceful
as anyone who had just emerged from weeks of unconsciousness
could be. Around five in the morning, I was paged
by one of the nurses from the ICU. A patient
had passed away in the early hours, a woman in
her late forties who had been battling a complicated series
of health issues for months. As I scanned the notes
(09:07):
on her chart, my gaze drifted down the hall toward
mister Peterson's room, just one door over from the deceased woman's.
Speaker 1 (09:15):
The connection struck me like a jolt.
Speaker 2 (09:17):
She's leaving us tonight. Had mister Peterson somehow sensed what
was going to happen in the room next to his
After her passing, There was a peculiar quiet feeling that
settled over that hallway, a feeling that lingered even as
the hospital began to stir with the early morning routines
of doctors, nurses, and patients. It was a heaviness, one
(09:38):
I couldn't quite explain, as though something important had transpired
in those quiet hours of the night, something beyond what
the mind.
Speaker 1 (09:45):
Could fully grasp.
Speaker 2 (09:47):
I never spoke of the incident with mister Peterson again,
and neither did he. When he was discharged a few
days later, he seemed as sharp and clear headed as
anyone could be, offering no further mention of his strange prediction.
But to this day, whenever I walk by that room,
I remember that night and the words he'd spoken before
he woke up. Fully, was it just coincidence, or was
(10:11):
there something deeper, something neither of us could ever fully understand.
I'll never know for sure, but part of me wonders if,
in those liminal spaces between consciousness and the unknown, mister
Peterson had glimpsed something I couldn't see, something waiting just
beyond the door, hidden within the quiet hours of the night.
(10:36):
Hospitals have a way of playing tricks on your mind.
Speaker 1 (10:39):
At night.
Speaker 2 (10:40):
The sterile, buzzing environment is disconcerting in itself, but when
darkness falls, it morphs into something entirely different, a quiet,
echoing expanse.
Speaker 1 (10:49):
That feels far too empty and unsettling.
Speaker 2 (10:53):
I'd been admitted for a minor surgery, nothing life threatening,
but they wanted me under observation for a few days,
which was supposed to be routine. My room was tucked
away at the end of a long hallway, isolated from
the busier areas and far from the nurses station. It
felt peaceful at first, but as the hours stretched on,
that solitude started feeling more like abandonment. It was on
(11:17):
my second night that the uneasiness really started to creep in.
I'd been drifting in and out of sleep that hazy
half awake state where sounds seemed louder than they should
and shadows seemed darker.
Speaker 1 (11:29):
I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Speaker 2 (11:31):
Which wasn't unusual for a hospital at night, but there
was something off about them. They were slow, dragging, with
long pauses between each step. I thought it was a nurse,
maybe checking on patients, with the quiet kind of diligence.
Speaker 1 (11:46):
They used during night rounds. Not wanting to disturb.
Speaker 2 (11:49):
Anyone, I turned over in bed, trying to ignore the
sounds and get back to sleep, but I couldn't. The
footsteps stopped right outside my door. Lingering for a moment,
I expected to hear the gentle knock or the soft
creak of the door opening, but there was nothing, just silence.
The longer I listened, the more unsettling it became. The
(12:10):
presence outside my door didn't move, didn't make a sound.
I looked at the clock three oh seven am. I
was just beginning to convince myself that I was overthinking things,
maybe imagining it all.
Speaker 1 (12:21):
But then I saw it. A shadow stretched across the small.
Speaker 2 (12:25):
Sliver of light that seeped in from under the door.
It wasn't a trick of the light. This shadow was clear, distinct,
with a shape that looked human. But it didn't move
like a person's shadow should. It just stayed there, motionless,
as though someone was standing perfectly still right outside my
door watching. I sat up in bed, my pulse quickening,
(12:47):
but still clinging to rational explanations. Maybe it was a
nurse on a call, maybe they'd stepped away from my
door for a moment. But as I stared, the shadow
didn't budge. I strained to listen, trying to catch even
the slightest noise, but there was nothing. After a few moments,
the shadow receded, as if it was melting back into
(13:08):
the darkness in the morning, I convinced myself it had
been a figment of my imagination. Hospitals and medication can
play tricks on you, I reasoned. When the nurse came
in to check my vitals, I casually mentioned it, almost
laughing it off. But the nurse didn't seem amused. Oh
you saw a shadow in the hallway, she asked, her
(13:28):
voice tight. Maybe just one of the night staff on rounds.
Her response seemed rehearsed, forced, and it left a strange
feeling in my gut. I tried to shake it off
and spent the rest of the day in a distracted haze,
unable to fully relax. That night, when the lights dimmed,
the tension returned. I watched the hallway with weary eyes,
(13:50):
dreading the thought of seeing that shadow again. Midnight came
and went, and for a while everything was quiet, But
at three two am I was woken up by the
same slow, dragging footsteps. I lay still, my entire body
tensing as I listened. The footsteps stopped outside my door again,
and I braced myself, knowing what I would see. Sure enough,
(14:12):
the shadow reappeared, but this time it was like it
was pressing itself against the crack beneath the door. The
air felt thick. I stared at the shadow, unable to
look away, wondering who or what was standing there, and
why they weren't coming in or moving away. Suddenly, the
shadow shifted, as though whoever or whatever it was had
changed its stance. Then just as quickly, it melted into
(14:35):
the darkness again, leaving the hallway silent. The next morning,
I noticed the patient across the hall, an older man
named mister Wilkes, talking to a nurse. I couldn't hear
most of their conversation, but one phrase caught my attention,
making my heart skip a beat. The shadow in the hallway.
Speaker 1 (14:54):
He'd seen it too.
Speaker 2 (14:56):
I knew it wasn't my imagination. There was something real
lurking in the hallway at night, something that only showed
itself in the dead hours when everyone else was asleep.
I felt a chill settle over me as I looked
back at my door, dreading the thought of another night
in that room. When the nurse came in to check
on me, I mentioned what mister Wilkes had said, hoping
(15:17):
she might give me some kind of rational explanation, but
her expression shifted and she quickly dismissed it, saying mister
Wilkes was on heavy medication and often hallucinated, but the
way she avoided my eyes made me think there was
more to it, something she didn't want to discuss. That night,
I tried to keep myself awake, determined to catch the
(15:39):
shadow if it came back.
Speaker 1 (15:41):
I kept my bedside light on, hoping it would be
enough to keep whatever it was at bay.
Speaker 2 (15:46):
Hours passed and I eventually dozed off, my exhaustion overwhelming
my fear. But at precisely three am, I was jolted awake.
The room was silent, but the hairs on the back
of my neck stood up, as though I was being watched.
I turned my head toward the door, my heart pounding,
and there it was again, the shadow, darker and more
defined than ever before, pressed against the slim crack of
(16:09):
my door, left slightly open, it seemed eager, almost as
if it was trying to get in.
Speaker 1 (16:16):
I couldn't take.
Speaker 2 (16:16):
My eyes off it, watching with a morbid fascination as
it began to move, slowly, gliding down the hall, only
to pause at mister Wilkes's door.
Speaker 1 (16:25):
The shadow lingered there for a long moment, and then,
to my horror.
Speaker 2 (16:29):
It passed through his closed door, disappearing into his room.
Speaker 1 (16:33):
I lay there, too, terrified.
Speaker 2 (16:35):
To move, listening for any sign of what was happening
across the hall, but there was nothing, just an oppressive
silence that felt like it was suffocating me. I barely
slept the rest of the night, my mind racing with
fear and questions. In the morning, I learned that mister
Wilkes had passed away during the night. The nurses said
(16:55):
he'd gone peacefully, that it was simply his time, but
I couldn't shake the feeling that the shadow had something
to do with it. I knew what I'd seen, and
I knew it wasn't a coincidence. Later that day, I
overheard two nurses talking in hushed tones outside my room.
It's always around three in the morning.
Speaker 1 (17:15):
One of them whispered, and.
Speaker 2 (17:17):
It's always the patience at the end of the hall.
I don't know what it is, but it's not natural.
Hearing that sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn't
just a trick of the light or the side effects
of medication. There was something in the hospital, something that
only came out in the dead of night, and I
was next in line. That night, I lay awake, my
(17:38):
body tense with fear. I knew it would come for me,
just as it had come from mister Wilkes. I watched
the clock, my heart pounding harder as the minutes ticked
closer to three AM. I wanted to leave, to run
out of that room and never look back, but I
was too afraid to move. When the clock struck three am,
the shadow appeared again, darker and more defied than ever.
(18:01):
It slid across the hallway floor, creeping toward my door,
and I knew there was no escaping it. I held
my breath, watching as the shadow pressed against the thin
opening of my door, almost as though it was testing.
Speaker 1 (18:13):
The barrier, trying to find a way in.
Speaker 2 (18:16):
I could feel its presence, cold, filling the room with
a sense of dread so strong it was suffocating. For
what felt like hours, the shadow lingered outside my door,
and then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it
was gone, leaving nothing but silence in its wake. The
next morning, I was discharged from the hospital. I left
as quickly as I could, grateful to be free of
(18:38):
that place. But even now I can't shake the memory
of that shadow lurking in the hallway, waiting, and sometimes
I wonder if it's still there, waiting for its next victim.
I've been working as a night nurse for years. You
(19:00):
see things, you get used to things, and then eventually
you get used to being used to things, if that
makes any sense. But every once in a while, something
happens that sticks with you. I'm not a superstitious person,
or at least I wasn't before this, but there's one
night I just can't shake. Even now, it feels like
it happened yesterday. It was a quiet night's shift. There
(19:23):
was an older man, mister Connor's, up in room two sixteen.
He'd been admitted after a big stroke, and when he
came in he was already in a coma. The doctors
were straightforward about it. He probably wouldn't wake up again. Honestly,
he was just there breathing on his own but barely
a lot of people would just say he was existing,
(19:43):
not living. Most nights I would go into his room
to check his vitals, make sure his IV drip was good,
and maybe adjust his blankets. He was a familiar part
of my shift. I got used to the steady, faint
sound of his breathing, the quiet rhythm that became part
of my own routine.
Speaker 1 (20:00):
But there was something off about him, or maybe about
his room.
Speaker 2 (20:05):
I can't say exactly what, just a strange feeling I'd
get whenever I was in there. It's hard to explain,
but sometimes it felt like there was a weight in
the air, a heaviness that pressed down on me the
moment I stepped inside. One night, it must have been
close to two am. I was doing my usual rounds.
The hallways were empty and dead silent, and I remember
(20:27):
it being colder than usual. Hospitals are always cold, but
that night it felt bone chilling. I was bundled in
my sweater, but it didn't seem to make a difference.
I remember my hands were actually shaking from the cold
as I walked up to room two sixteen. When I
stepped into mister Connors's room, that cold hit me harder.
It was like walking into a freezer. I shivered, pulled
(20:49):
my sweater tighter, and told myself it was just the
air conditioning. I tried to focus on my job, checking
his vitals and looking at the monitors, but I couldn't
ignore this prickling feeling at the back of my neck.
You know that feeling you get when you just know
someone's watching you. That's exactly what it felt like. I
tried to shake it off. I didn't want to start
(21:12):
imagining things. In the middle of my shift, I leaned
over mister Connors to check his IV and that's when
I noticed it. His breathing was so light, so faint.
I had to lean in to make sure I was
seeing it right, and then out of nowhere, he moved.
I swear my heart just about stopped one second. He
(21:32):
was lying there perfectly still, and the next he was
sitting up, staring right at me. It wasn't a gradual thing.
It was like he just came to life in an instant,
his eyes wide open and fixed right on mine. I
couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. I felt like I was
staring at a ghost. And then he spoke, He's coming
for me. He whispered, his voice hoarse and barely there.
(21:54):
Those words hung in the air, heavy and cold. I
tried to ask him what he meant, to ask him
who he was talking about, But before I could say
a word, his eyes closed and he slumped back onto
the bed.
Speaker 1 (22:05):
Just like that, he was gone again.
Speaker 2 (22:08):
His breathing went back to that slow, shallow rhythm, and
it was like he hadn't moved at all. I stood there, frozen,
trying to make sense of what I just seen. My
mind was racing, and I felt this wave of fear
and confusion wash over me.
Speaker 1 (22:23):
Reflex.
Speaker 2 (22:23):
I told myself it had to be some kind of reflex,
maybe a last burst of energy. People say that can
happen sometimes. But I couldn't shake his words, couldn't get
his voice out of my head. He's coming for me.
The way he'd said it, like he was sure of it,
like he'd been waiting for this moment. I left the room,
feeling this tightness in my chest and walked back to
(22:44):
the nurses station, hoping the other nurses wouldn't notice how
rattled I was. But I guess I must have looked
a little pale, because one of them asked if I
was okay. I nodded, trying to laugh it off, saying
it was just the cold that I was tired, But
the truth was I couldn't stop thinking about it. After
a few minutes, I forced myself to go back to
(23:05):
check on him. I told myself I was being ridiculous,
that it was just a weird moment and I needed
to get over it. But when I opened the door
to his room, his bed was empty. My first thought
was that maybe they'd moved him for some kind of
late night test, though I knew that made no sense.
Speaker 1 (23:25):
I checked the sheets, still warm, as if he'd just
been there a minute ago.
Speaker 2 (23:29):
I ran back to the nurse's station, trying to keep
calm as I asked, did someone move mister Connors. They
looked at me, confused, move him? What are you talking about?
One of them, asked, and I could see the confusion
in her eyes. Mister Connors is gone, I said, trying
to keep calm, though I felt a panic rising inside me.
(23:51):
They all stared at me like I was crazy. We
checked the floor, searching every room, even the supply closets
and stairwells, but.
Speaker 1 (23:58):
He was nowhere. It was as if he just vanished
into thin air.
Speaker 2 (24:03):
The more we searched, the more I started to feel
that same cold creeping over me, a chill that went
right to my bones. I kept hearing his words in
my head, He's coming for me. Finally, one of the
nurses suggested we check the security footage. We gathered around
the monitor, all of us tense, watching as the security
guard rewound the footage from that night, and then we
(24:25):
saw it. There was mister Connors lying in his bed,
just like I'd left him.
Speaker 1 (24:30):
And then a.
Speaker 2 (24:31):
Figure appeared at the door. A tall man dressed in
dark clothes slipped into the room, moving so smoothly it
was almost like he was gliding. He walked up to
the bed, didn't hesitate for a second, just reached down
and lifted mister Connors out of bed, placing him carefully
into a wheelchair he'd brought with him. There was something
unsettling about his movements, like he was too practiced, too calm.
(24:55):
We watched as he wheeled mister Connors out of the room,
down the empty hallway and out of sight. Not one
person noticed. He didn't pass a single nurse or set
off a single alarm. It was like he knew exactly
what he was doing, like he'd planned it all down
to the last detail. The police were called immediately. They
questioned all of us, trying to make sense of how
(25:17):
someone could just walk in and take a patient without
anyone noticing, But none of us had answers. We were
as shocked as they were. The footage showed everything, but
there was no sign of them after they left the building.
For days, there was no word, no trace of mister
Connors or the man who'd taken him. The police kept looking,
(25:38):
kept calling us with questions, but it was like they
disappeared into thin air. I couldn't stop thinking about what
he'd said, couldn't get those words out of my mind.
Speaker 1 (25:49):
He's coming for me.
Speaker 2 (25:50):
It was like a warning, like he knew this was
going to happen, but how could that be possible.
Speaker 1 (25:56):
Finally, about A week later, the police found.
Speaker 2 (25:58):
Them down the man in the footage, identifying him as
mister Connor's son. Turns out mister Connors had made his
son promise years ago that he wouldn't let him die
in a hospital. I guess he'd been afraid of hospital's
his whole life, like those people who always say they
were places where people went to die. It was a
pack they'd made, and his son had come to keep
(26:20):
that promise. They found them both in an old farmhouse
a few towns away. Mister Connors was weak, barely able
to sit up, but he'd refused to go back to
the hospital. He passed away two weeks later, with his
son by his side, just like he'd wanted. And as
tragic as the story was, I couldn't shake the image
of him sitting up in that hospital bed, looking straight
(26:43):
at me and saying he's coming for me. It felt
like he'd known all along. Doing hospital security on the
night shift is already unsettling in strange events, and it
gets intense. I took the job, figuring it would be simple,
(27:05):
keep the halls secure, do a few rounds each shift,
and generally make sure no one was sneaking into the hospital,
but the reality of it turned out to be something
I hadn't expected. There's an eerie quality to hospitals at night,
an intense stillness that hangs in the air. I told
myself that it was all just my mind playing tricks,
(27:26):
that the constant hum of the air conditioning or the
flickering lights in the stairwell were normal. After all, any
building this old would have its quirks. I was getting
paid to stand watch and ignore those minor disturbances. That
was until one particular shift down near the morgue. I'd
never enjoyed.
Speaker 1 (27:44):
Being near the morgue.
Speaker 2 (27:46):
If I'm honest, I'd try to avoid it as much
as possible. But that Wednesday night, I was assigned to
the basement level, meaning that every hour I'd have to
do a sweep of the area, checking locks, doors and
making sure all was secure. The hospital was emptier than
usual that night, with few patients and even fewer visitors,
(28:07):
just a couple of staff members wandering the halls on
different floors trying to wrap up their shifts at around
eleven pm. The basement was cold, unusually so hospitals are
always chilly, but this had a different feel. A bone
deep chill that made you feel as if you were
walking straight into a freezer. And then I noticed a
faint flicker of light at the end of the hallway
(28:28):
leading to the morgue. Figuring it was probably just another
faulty bulb, I didn't think much of it at first, still,
I added it to my list of issues to report.
As I approached the morgue entrance, the lights seemed to
flicker again, this time pulsing as though they were synced
with my footsteps. I forced myself to keep calm, pushing
(28:49):
the unsettling feeling away. Flickering lights happened.
Speaker 1 (28:53):
The morgue is just a room.
Speaker 2 (28:54):
My thoughts kept spiraling like this, attempting to keep things normal.
Speaker 1 (28:59):
I was just doing my job.
Speaker 2 (29:01):
But then, as I walked past the main door, I
thought I heard something, a faint, indistinct noise that I
couldn't quite make out. It was almost like someone whispering.
I stopped listening, but all I heard was the humming
of the air vents. So I kept moving mentally, telling
myself to keep it together.
Speaker 1 (29:19):
But then, just as I took a.
Speaker 2 (29:20):
Few steps forward, I heard it again, clearer, this time
a voice, low and weak, whispering, Derek.
Speaker 1 (29:28):
I froze.
Speaker 2 (29:29):
I told myself it had to be my mind playing tricks.
Perhaps it was just the wind moving through the ventilation system,
or a distant echo of a conversation from another floor.
But it hadn't sounded like that. It sounded personal. Whoever
it was they'd said my name, I shook it off,
or tried to.
Speaker 1 (29:46):
The hospital was just a big.
Speaker 2 (29:47):
Empty building at night, after all, it's easy to imagine things.
But the voice came again, and this time it was
so clear, so unmistakable, that I couldn't ignore it.
Speaker 1 (29:58):
Derek.
Speaker 2 (30:00):
I took a deep breath, reasoning with myself. I was
the security guard. I had to check it out, make
sure no one was breaking any rules, no one.
Speaker 1 (30:09):
Was trespassing or doing anything they shouldn't.
Speaker 2 (30:12):
Slowly, I made my way to the morgue door and
pulled it open just a bit more. The light inside
was dim, but it illuminated the room well enough for
me to see that it was in fact empty. But
as I turned to leave, that voice came again, louder, closer, Derek, Please.
My breath caught in my throat. This time it was unmistakable.
(30:34):
I wasn't imagining it. Someone was calling my name, pleading
against every instinct, screaming at me to leave. I walked
further into the room, scanning the shadows, my heart racing
as I took in every corner, every surface. Nothing was
out of place. The tables were empty, the drawers were shut,
and the silence was as thick as the walls around me.
(30:55):
But as I stood there, I heard something else, a faint,
rhythmic tapping. The sound was soft, but it echoed through
the room, steady and constant, almost like fingers tapping against
the metal drawers. I turned my flashlight toward the source
of the sound, my hands trembling as I gripped it tightly,
expecting to see something, anything, But again there was nothing. Then,
(31:17):
just as I was about to turn around and leave,
I felt something cold, an intense chill, pressing against the
back of my neck. It was as if someone had
exhaled an icy breath against my skin. I spun around
my flashlight, scanning the room frantically, but again nothing.
Speaker 1 (31:34):
I was alone, or at least I should have been.
Speaker 2 (31:36):
As I stood there, trying to steady my breathing, the
tapping started again, coming from the far end of the room.
Speaker 1 (31:42):
My heart raised every fiber.
Speaker 2 (31:44):
Of my being, screaming at me to get out, but
I was rooted to the spot, unable to tear myself away.
It felt like something was holding me there, like I
was meant to hear, to listen, to understand. The room
fell silent. I was already on edge, and that's silence
made everything feel even more intense. I turned to leave
(32:04):
when I heard a faint shuffle somewhere down the hall,
growing louder, like someone slowly making their way down the corridor.
My first instinct was to brush it off as a
janitor or another night shift employee, but something about those
footsteps felt wrong. They were slow, almost hesitant, yet steady,
(32:25):
each one drawing.
Speaker 1 (32:26):
Closer to the mor groom.
Speaker 2 (32:28):
They echoed off the tiled walls, bouncing around me, making
it impossible to tell exactly where they were coming from.
Then I realized the footsteps were heading straight toward me.
I strained to hear, hoping maybe they'd turn fade off
in another direction, but they didn't. They kept moving closer.
I didn't wait to see who or what it was.
(32:49):
I grabbed my flashlight and back toward the exit, part,
hammering as I reached for the doorknob. The footsteps were
only a few feet away, now right outside the door,
I barely twisted the knob before I yanked it open
and darted into the hallway.
Speaker 1 (33:03):
Once in the hall, I didn't look back.
Speaker 2 (33:06):
I kept moving fast, not stopping until I was out
of that corridor and back near the safety of the
main floor. Only when I reached the light and heard
the familiar sounds of the hospital's night routine did I pause,
catching my breath. That night, I realized there was more
in the silence of the hospital than I'd ever imagined,
(33:27):
and whatever was down there in the morgue I didn't
intend to find out. When I finally calmed down, I
tried to rationalize what I'd seen and heard. Maybe it
was just my mind playing tricks, the stress of the
night shift getting to me, But deep down I knew
that wasn't the case. I hadn't imagined the voice, the chill,
something or someone had been in that morgue with me
(33:49):
reaching out, desperate, trapped. After that night, I avoided the
morgue as much as possible, requesting shifts that kept.
Speaker 1 (33:57):
Me away from the basement.
Speaker 2 (33:59):
But every night now and then I'd hear stories from
other guards, tales of whispers, strange noises, lights flickering at
odd times, and each time I'd feel that familiar chill,
the memory of that voice calling my name. The last
time I was assigned to the basement, I did my rounds, quickly,
keeping my head down, my footsteps light, not daring to linger.
(34:20):
I don't know what was in that morgue that night.
Maybe it was a lost soul, a spirit trapped between worlds,
reaching out for someone to hear its plea.
Speaker 1 (34:30):
Or maybe it was.
Speaker 2 (34:31):
Just the building, the echoes of lives and deaths that
had passed through its walls, lingering hoping for someone to remember.
All I know is that since that night, I've never
set foot in that morgue again, and every time I
pass by, I can't shake the feeling that someone is watching, waiting,
hoping for another.
Speaker 1 (34:49):
Chance to whisper my name.
Speaker 2 (34:52):
If these stories kept you on edge, hit that like
button and subscribe.
Speaker 1 (34:56):
For more unsettling encounters.
Speaker 2 (34:58):
Turn on notifications because you won't want to miss what's
coming next. Stay safe, stay aware, and remember sometimes it's
what you don't see in the hospital that should scare
you most. Thanks for watching, and I'll see you in
the next nightmare
Hospitals are full of secrets.
Speaker 2 (00:09):
I'd been a doctor long enough to know the strange stories,
the ones shared in hushed voices at the nurses station
or over a quick cup of coffee during an overnight shift,
but I never thought I'd become part of one. It
was an ordinary night on the medical floor, where I
was working the night shift. Things had been slow, with
(00:30):
only a handful of patients in critical care. I'd seen
plenty of long nights, and when things were quiet, I
usually welcomed it. I was heading to check on one
of my patients, mister Peterson, an elderly man who'd been
in a coma for almost two weeks. He was stable,
but there was little hope of recovery. It was one
of those cases where the family had said their goodbyes
(00:52):
and the staff had prepared themselves for the inevitable. I'd
checked his vitals earlier that evening and everything had been uneventful.
Still something nagged at me, a feeling that tonight was different.
As I approached his room, I noticed something odd. The
faint hum of monitors filled the air, but the usual
routine sounds had a strange undertone, almost like a whispering
(01:15):
A faint murmur coming from down the hall. I slowed
my pace, straining my ears to catch any actual words,
but it faded as soon as I stopped. I brushed
it off as my imagination and continued to mister Peterson's room,
mentally going through his chart to keep my focus. I
pushed open the door quietly and stepped inside. To my surprise,
(01:37):
mister Peterson was awake. He lay there, blinking up at
the ceiling, his expression unreadable. His eyes dull and glassy
from his prolonged state, seemed to hold a spark now,
a flicker of awareness. For someone who'd been in a
coma for so long, it was startling to see him awake,
mister Peterson, I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He slowly turned his head to look at me, and
(01:59):
for a moment I wasn't sure he recognized me. Then,
as if some clarity settled over him, he nodded the
barest hint of a movement.
Speaker 1 (02:06):
Doctor.
Speaker 2 (02:07):
He whispered, his voice barely audible, she's leaving us tonight?
Who's leaving mister Peterson? He looked past me, his eyes
focusing on something just over my shoulder. I resisted the
urge to turn around, feeling a shiver trickle down my spine.
His expression was serene, almost peaceful, as if he was
sharing some quiet secret with me. She's waiting, he murmured,
(02:29):
his gaze drifting back to the ceiling. I didn't know
how to respond. I'd seen cases of patients experiencing confusion
or hallucinations upon waking from a coma, but this was different.
His tone, his certainty. It felt more like he was
stating a fact than drifting through a delusion. I managed
to regain my composure, making a quick note in his chart,
(02:51):
but I couldn't stop thinking about his words. I tried
to push it aside, chalking it up to the effects
of his condition, but the phrase echoed in my Mind's
leaving us tonight. I checked his vitals and administered his medication,
trying to ignore the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
As I turned to leave, mister Peterson whispered again, his
(03:12):
voice as soft.
Speaker 1 (03:13):
As a breeze.
Speaker 2 (03:14):
She's here. I looked back at him. His gaze was
locked on the door, his eyes wide and unblinking. I
followed his stare, expecting to see someone standing there, but
the doorway was empty. Who's here, mister Peterson, I asked,
trying to keep my tone calm. He didn't respond, his
gaze remaining fixed on the door.
Speaker 1 (03:35):
I took a.
Speaker 2 (03:35):
Step closer, hoping to snap him out of whatever state
he was in, but his expression didn't change. He was
staring into the empty hallway, as if someone or something
was standing just beyond the threshold. Feeling an uneasy twinge
in my stomach, I backed out of the room, casting
one last look at him before closing the door.
Speaker 1 (03:55):
His words lingered.
Speaker 2 (03:56):
In my mind as I moved down the hallway. Back
at the nurse's station, I found Linda, the head nurse,
preparing charts for the next shift. I tried to shake
off the tension, but the urge to share what I
just experienced was too strong. Linda, I said, trying to
sound casual, Do you know anything about mister Peterson. Has
he ever been lucid before? She looked at me, frowning slightly. No,
(04:20):
he's been unresponsive since he was admitted. Why, I hesitated,
not wanting to sound overly dramatic. He was awake just
now and he said something strange. Her expression shifted a
flicker of curiosity mixed with unease. Strange how he told
me someone was leaving us tonight, and then he said
she's here. He kept looking at the door, like he
(04:42):
was seeing someone standing there. Linda's face paled slightly, and
she looked down the hall toward mister Peterson's room. You're
not the first one to mention that, she said. I
leaned closer.
Speaker 1 (04:53):
What do you mean?
Speaker 2 (04:55):
There have been rumors among the night's staff. Sometimes patience
those close to the end and will say similar things.
It's like they sense something the rest of us can't.
They say they see someone waiting for them. A chill
settled over me. I'd heard tales of patients having visions,
but I'd always dismissed them as hallucinations or the effects
(05:15):
of medication. But there was a weight to her words,
a sincerity that made it hard to brush off. Has
anyone else on this floor mentioned it recently? Linda looked
down the hall again, her expression unreadable. Room two seventeen.
The woman in there passed away last night. She told
one of the nurses that someone had come to visit her,
(05:37):
but when they checked, the hallway was empty.
Speaker 1 (05:41):
A shiver ran through me.
Speaker 2 (05:42):
I hadn't been on duty the previous night, but the
thought of another patient seeing the same thing sent a
wave of.
Speaker 1 (05:48):
Unease through me. Could it really be just a coincidence?
Speaker 2 (05:52):
Trying to shake off the unsettling feeling, I made my
rounds checking on the other patients, but as the hours
wore on, I couldn't escape the nagging sensation that I
was being watched. Every time I walked past an empty
room or a shadowy corner, I felt an invisible presence,
as if someone was lingering just out of sight. As
(06:13):
I returned to the nurses station, I heard a soft
beap coming from one of the monitors down the hall.
I checked my watch three twelve am. Most of the
staff had gone home, leaving only a skeleton crew to
manage the floor. The corridor stretched ahead, silent and barely lit,
each step reverberating in.
Speaker 1 (06:31):
The empty stretch.
Speaker 2 (06:33):
I made my way back to mister Peterson's room, just
to check on him again. He'd been in a coma
for weeks, and after his sudden words about her leaving
us tonight, I couldn't shake the feeling that something strange
was unfolding. As I entered the room, I was met
with an unexpected sight. Mister Peterson was awake, not groggy
or confused, but sitting up, fully conscious, with the light
(06:56):
of awareness in his eyes for the first time since
he'd been admitted. A nurse was by his bedside, calmly
arranging his pillows and checking his ivs, and he looked
over at me with a faint smile. Mister Peterson, you're awake,
I stammered, masking my shock as best as I could.
He looked completely at ease, as though he'd just come
(07:17):
back from a RESTful nap, not a prolonged coma. Awake
and feeling pretty good, Doc, he said, with a chuckle.
The nurses here know how to take care of you.
I looked at the nurse, who nodded, confirming that everything
had been checked and adjusted to make sure he was comfortable.
It was routine for her, but something about this whole
(07:37):
situation felt anything but routine to me. How are you feeling,
mister Peterson, I asked, still taken aback by his rapid recovery. Honestly,
I feel like I've been asleep for ages, he replied,
But everything feels normal, just well, just feels like I'm
waking up. He paused, looking at my face and added,
(07:57):
is something wrong. It took me a second to respond,
not at all. I'm just glad to see you awake.
But do you remember anything from earlier tonight? Mister Peterson's
brow furrowed. Earlier tonight? I don't remember anything?
Speaker 1 (08:10):
Why?
Speaker 2 (08:11):
I hesitated, then pressed on. You said something to me
about someone leaving us tonight. Does that ring any bells?
He shook his head, looking genuinely puzzled. Doc, I have
no memory of anything like that. I told myself it
was possible he'd been coming in and out of consciousness,
maybe murmuring things that didn't make sense to him now
that he was fully awake, And yet the memory of
(08:33):
his voice, so clear and certain, kept replaying in my mind.
The rest of the night passed without incident, and after
a few hours I returned to my rounds.
Speaker 1 (08:44):
When I came by.
Speaker 2 (08:44):
Mister Peterson's room again, he was asleep, looking as peaceful
as anyone who had just emerged from weeks of unconsciousness
could be. Around five in the morning, I was paged
by one of the nurses from the ICU. A patient
had passed away in the early hours, a woman in
her late forties who had been battling a complicated series
of health issues for months. As I scanned the notes
(09:07):
on her chart, my gaze drifted down the hall toward
mister Peterson's room, just one door over from the deceased woman's.
Speaker 1 (09:15):
The connection struck me like a jolt.
Speaker 2 (09:17):
She's leaving us tonight. Had mister Peterson somehow sensed what
was going to happen in the room next to his
After her passing, There was a peculiar quiet feeling that
settled over that hallway, a feeling that lingered even as
the hospital began to stir with the early morning routines
of doctors, nurses, and patients. It was a heaviness, one
(09:38):
I couldn't quite explain, as though something important had transpired
in those quiet hours of the night, something beyond what
the mind.
Speaker 1 (09:45):
Could fully grasp.
Speaker 2 (09:47):
I never spoke of the incident with mister Peterson again,
and neither did he. When he was discharged a few
days later, he seemed as sharp and clear headed as
anyone could be, offering no further mention of his strange prediction.
But to this day, whenever I walk by that room,
I remember that night and the words he'd spoken before
he woke up. Fully, was it just coincidence, or was
(10:11):
there something deeper, something neither of us could ever fully understand.
I'll never know for sure, but part of me wonders if,
in those liminal spaces between consciousness and the unknown, mister
Peterson had glimpsed something I couldn't see, something waiting just
beyond the door, hidden within the quiet hours of the night.
(10:36):
Hospitals have a way of playing tricks on your mind.
Speaker 1 (10:39):
At night.
Speaker 2 (10:40):
The sterile, buzzing environment is disconcerting in itself, but when
darkness falls, it morphs into something entirely different, a quiet,
echoing expanse.
Speaker 1 (10:49):
That feels far too empty and unsettling.
Speaker 2 (10:53):
I'd been admitted for a minor surgery, nothing life threatening,
but they wanted me under observation for a few days,
which was supposed to be routine. My room was tucked
away at the end of a long hallway, isolated from
the busier areas and far from the nurses station. It
felt peaceful at first, but as the hours stretched on,
that solitude started feeling more like abandonment. It was on
(11:17):
my second night that the uneasiness really started to creep in.
I'd been drifting in and out of sleep that hazy
half awake state where sounds seemed louder than they should
and shadows seemed darker.
Speaker 1 (11:29):
I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Speaker 2 (11:31):
Which wasn't unusual for a hospital at night, but there
was something off about them. They were slow, dragging, with
long pauses between each step. I thought it was a nurse,
maybe checking on patients, with the quiet kind of diligence.
Speaker 1 (11:46):
They used during night rounds. Not wanting to disturb.
Speaker 2 (11:49):
Anyone, I turned over in bed, trying to ignore the
sounds and get back to sleep, but I couldn't. The
footsteps stopped right outside my door. Lingering for a moment,
I expected to hear the gentle knock or the soft
creak of the door opening, but there was nothing, just silence.
The longer I listened, the more unsettling it became. The
(12:10):
presence outside my door didn't move, didn't make a sound.
I looked at the clock three oh seven am. I
was just beginning to convince myself that I was overthinking things,
maybe imagining it all.
Speaker 1 (12:21):
But then I saw it. A shadow stretched across the small.
Speaker 2 (12:25):
Sliver of light that seeped in from under the door.
It wasn't a trick of the light. This shadow was clear, distinct,
with a shape that looked human. But it didn't move
like a person's shadow should. It just stayed there, motionless,
as though someone was standing perfectly still right outside my
door watching. I sat up in bed, my pulse quickening,
(12:47):
but still clinging to rational explanations. Maybe it was a
nurse on a call, maybe they'd stepped away from my
door for a moment. But as I stared, the shadow
didn't budge. I strained to listen, trying to catch even
the slightest noise, but there was nothing. After a few moments,
the shadow receded, as if it was melting back into
(13:08):
the darkness in the morning, I convinced myself it had
been a figment of my imagination. Hospitals and medication can
play tricks on you, I reasoned. When the nurse came
in to check my vitals, I casually mentioned it, almost
laughing it off. But the nurse didn't seem amused. Oh
you saw a shadow in the hallway, she asked, her
(13:28):
voice tight. Maybe just one of the night staff on rounds.
Her response seemed rehearsed, forced, and it left a strange
feeling in my gut. I tried to shake it off
and spent the rest of the day in a distracted haze,
unable to fully relax. That night, when the lights dimmed,
the tension returned. I watched the hallway with weary eyes,
(13:50):
dreading the thought of seeing that shadow again. Midnight came
and went, and for a while everything was quiet, But
at three two am I was woken up by the
same slow, dragging footsteps. I lay still, my entire body
tensing as I listened. The footsteps stopped outside my door again,
and I braced myself, knowing what I would see. Sure enough,
(14:12):
the shadow reappeared, but this time it was like it
was pressing itself against the crack beneath the door. The
air felt thick. I stared at the shadow, unable to
look away, wondering who or what was standing there, and
why they weren't coming in or moving away. Suddenly, the
shadow shifted, as though whoever or whatever it was had
changed its stance. Then just as quickly, it melted into
(14:35):
the darkness again, leaving the hallway silent. The next morning,
I noticed the patient across the hall, an older man
named mister Wilkes, talking to a nurse. I couldn't hear
most of their conversation, but one phrase caught my attention,
making my heart skip a beat. The shadow in the hallway.
Speaker 1 (14:54):
He'd seen it too.
Speaker 2 (14:56):
I knew it wasn't my imagination. There was something real
lurking in the hallway at night, something that only showed
itself in the dead hours when everyone else was asleep.
I felt a chill settle over me as I looked
back at my door, dreading the thought of another night
in that room. When the nurse came in to check
on me, I mentioned what mister Wilkes had said, hoping
(15:17):
she might give me some kind of rational explanation, but
her expression shifted and she quickly dismissed it, saying mister
Wilkes was on heavy medication and often hallucinated, but the
way she avoided my eyes made me think there was
more to it, something she didn't want to discuss. That night,
I tried to keep myself awake, determined to catch the
(15:39):
shadow if it came back.
Speaker 1 (15:41):
I kept my bedside light on, hoping it would be
enough to keep whatever it was at bay.
Speaker 2 (15:46):
Hours passed and I eventually dozed off, my exhaustion overwhelming
my fear. But at precisely three am, I was jolted awake.
The room was silent, but the hairs on the back
of my neck stood up, as though I was being watched.
I turned my head toward the door, my heart pounding,
and there it was again, the shadow, darker and more
defined than ever before, pressed against the slim crack of
(16:09):
my door, left slightly open, it seemed eager, almost as
if it was trying to get in.
Speaker 1 (16:16):
I couldn't take.
Speaker 2 (16:16):
My eyes off it, watching with a morbid fascination as
it began to move, slowly, gliding down the hall, only
to pause at mister Wilkes's door.
Speaker 1 (16:25):
The shadow lingered there for a long moment, and then,
to my horror.
Speaker 2 (16:29):
It passed through his closed door, disappearing into his room.
Speaker 1 (16:33):
I lay there, too, terrified.
Speaker 2 (16:35):
To move, listening for any sign of what was happening
across the hall, but there was nothing, just an oppressive
silence that felt like it was suffocating me. I barely
slept the rest of the night, my mind racing with
fear and questions. In the morning, I learned that mister
Wilkes had passed away during the night. The nurses said
(16:55):
he'd gone peacefully, that it was simply his time, but
I couldn't shake the feeling that the shadow had something
to do with it. I knew what I'd seen, and
I knew it wasn't a coincidence. Later that day, I
overheard two nurses talking in hushed tones outside my room.
It's always around three in the morning.
Speaker 1 (17:15):
One of them whispered, and.
Speaker 2 (17:17):
It's always the patience at the end of the hall.
I don't know what it is, but it's not natural.
Hearing that sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn't
just a trick of the light or the side effects
of medication. There was something in the hospital, something that
only came out in the dead of night, and I
was next in line. That night, I lay awake, my
(17:38):
body tense with fear. I knew it would come for me,
just as it had come from mister Wilkes. I watched
the clock, my heart pounding harder as the minutes ticked
closer to three AM. I wanted to leave, to run
out of that room and never look back, but I
was too afraid to move. When the clock struck three am,
the shadow appeared again, darker and more defied than ever.
(18:01):
It slid across the hallway floor, creeping toward my door,
and I knew there was no escaping it. I held
my breath, watching as the shadow pressed against the thin
opening of my door, almost as though it was testing.
Speaker 1 (18:13):
The barrier, trying to find a way in.
Speaker 2 (18:16):
I could feel its presence, cold, filling the room with
a sense of dread so strong it was suffocating. For
what felt like hours, the shadow lingered outside my door,
and then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it
was gone, leaving nothing but silence in its wake. The
next morning, I was discharged from the hospital. I left
as quickly as I could, grateful to be free of
(18:38):
that place. But even now I can't shake the memory
of that shadow lurking in the hallway, waiting, and sometimes
I wonder if it's still there, waiting for its next victim.
I've been working as a night nurse for years. You
(19:00):
see things, you get used to things, and then eventually
you get used to being used to things, if that
makes any sense. But every once in a while, something
happens that sticks with you. I'm not a superstitious person,
or at least I wasn't before this, but there's one
night I just can't shake. Even now, it feels like
it happened yesterday. It was a quiet night's shift. There
(19:23):
was an older man, mister Connor's, up in room two sixteen.
He'd been admitted after a big stroke, and when he
came in he was already in a coma. The doctors
were straightforward about it. He probably wouldn't wake up again. Honestly,
he was just there breathing on his own but barely
a lot of people would just say he was existing,
(19:43):
not living. Most nights I would go into his room
to check his vitals, make sure his IV drip was good,
and maybe adjust his blankets. He was a familiar part
of my shift. I got used to the steady, faint
sound of his breathing, the quiet rhythm that became part
of my own routine.
Speaker 1 (20:00):
But there was something off about him, or maybe about
his room.
Speaker 2 (20:05):
I can't say exactly what, just a strange feeling I'd
get whenever I was in there. It's hard to explain,
but sometimes it felt like there was a weight in
the air, a heaviness that pressed down on me the
moment I stepped inside. One night, it must have been
close to two am. I was doing my usual rounds.
The hallways were empty and dead silent, and I remember
(20:27):
it being colder than usual. Hospitals are always cold, but
that night it felt bone chilling. I was bundled in
my sweater, but it didn't seem to make a difference.
I remember my hands were actually shaking from the cold
as I walked up to room two sixteen. When I
stepped into mister Connors's room, that cold hit me harder.
It was like walking into a freezer. I shivered, pulled
(20:49):
my sweater tighter, and told myself it was just the
air conditioning. I tried to focus on my job, checking
his vitals and looking at the monitors, but I couldn't
ignore this prickling feeling at the back of my neck.
You know that feeling you get when you just know
someone's watching you. That's exactly what it felt like. I
tried to shake it off. I didn't want to start
(21:12):
imagining things. In the middle of my shift, I leaned
over mister Connors to check his IV and that's when
I noticed it. His breathing was so light, so faint.
I had to lean in to make sure I was
seeing it right, and then out of nowhere, he moved.
I swear my heart just about stopped one second. He
(21:32):
was lying there perfectly still, and the next he was
sitting up, staring right at me. It wasn't a gradual thing.
It was like he just came to life in an instant,
his eyes wide open and fixed right on mine. I
couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. I felt like I was
staring at a ghost. And then he spoke, He's coming
for me. He whispered, his voice hoarse and barely there.
(21:54):
Those words hung in the air, heavy and cold. I
tried to ask him what he meant, to ask him
who he was talking about, But before I could say
a word, his eyes closed and he slumped back onto
the bed.
Speaker 1 (22:05):
Just like that, he was gone again.
Speaker 2 (22:08):
His breathing went back to that slow, shallow rhythm, and
it was like he hadn't moved at all. I stood there, frozen,
trying to make sense of what I just seen. My
mind was racing, and I felt this wave of fear
and confusion wash over me.
Speaker 1 (22:23):
Reflex.
Speaker 2 (22:23):
I told myself it had to be some kind of reflex,
maybe a last burst of energy. People say that can
happen sometimes. But I couldn't shake his words, couldn't get
his voice out of my head. He's coming for me.
The way he'd said it, like he was sure of it,
like he'd been waiting for this moment. I left the room,
feeling this tightness in my chest and walked back to
(22:44):
the nurses station, hoping the other nurses wouldn't notice how
rattled I was. But I guess I must have looked
a little pale, because one of them asked if I
was okay. I nodded, trying to laugh it off, saying
it was just the cold that I was tired, But
the truth was I couldn't stop thinking about it. After
a few minutes, I forced myself to go back to
(23:05):
check on him. I told myself I was being ridiculous,
that it was just a weird moment and I needed
to get over it. But when I opened the door
to his room, his bed was empty. My first thought
was that maybe they'd moved him for some kind of
late night test, though I knew that made no sense.
Speaker 1 (23:25):
I checked the sheets, still warm, as if he'd just
been there a minute ago.
Speaker 2 (23:29):
I ran back to the nurse's station, trying to keep
calm as I asked, did someone move mister Connors. They
looked at me, confused, move him? What are you talking about?
One of them, asked, and I could see the confusion
in her eyes. Mister Connors is gone, I said, trying
to keep calm, though I felt a panic rising inside me.
(23:51):
They all stared at me like I was crazy. We
checked the floor, searching every room, even the supply closets
and stairwells, but.
Speaker 1 (23:58):
He was nowhere. It was as if he just vanished
into thin air.
Speaker 2 (24:03):
The more we searched, the more I started to feel
that same cold creeping over me, a chill that went
right to my bones. I kept hearing his words in
my head, He's coming for me. Finally, one of the
nurses suggested we check the security footage. We gathered around
the monitor, all of us tense, watching as the security
guard rewound the footage from that night, and then we
(24:25):
saw it. There was mister Connors lying in his bed,
just like I'd left him.
Speaker 1 (24:30):
And then a.
Speaker 2 (24:31):
Figure appeared at the door. A tall man dressed in
dark clothes slipped into the room, moving so smoothly it
was almost like he was gliding. He walked up to
the bed, didn't hesitate for a second, just reached down
and lifted mister Connors out of bed, placing him carefully
into a wheelchair he'd brought with him. There was something
unsettling about his movements, like he was too practiced, too calm.
(24:55):
We watched as he wheeled mister Connors out of the room,
down the empty hallway and out of sight. Not one
person noticed. He didn't pass a single nurse or set
off a single alarm. It was like he knew exactly
what he was doing, like he'd planned it all down
to the last detail. The police were called immediately. They
questioned all of us, trying to make sense of how
(25:17):
someone could just walk in and take a patient without
anyone noticing, But none of us had answers. We were
as shocked as they were. The footage showed everything, but
there was no sign of them after they left the building.
For days, there was no word, no trace of mister
Connors or the man who'd taken him. The police kept looking,
(25:38):
kept calling us with questions, but it was like they
disappeared into thin air. I couldn't stop thinking about what
he'd said, couldn't get those words out of my mind.
Speaker 1 (25:49):
He's coming for me.
Speaker 2 (25:50):
It was like a warning, like he knew this was
going to happen, but how could that be possible.
Speaker 1 (25:56):
Finally, about A week later, the police found.
Speaker 2 (25:58):
Them down the man in the footage, identifying him as
mister Connor's son. Turns out mister Connors had made his
son promise years ago that he wouldn't let him die
in a hospital. I guess he'd been afraid of hospital's
his whole life, like those people who always say they
were places where people went to die. It was a
pack they'd made, and his son had come to keep
(26:20):
that promise. They found them both in an old farmhouse
a few towns away. Mister Connors was weak, barely able
to sit up, but he'd refused to go back to
the hospital. He passed away two weeks later, with his
son by his side, just like he'd wanted. And as
tragic as the story was, I couldn't shake the image
of him sitting up in that hospital bed, looking straight
(26:43):
at me and saying he's coming for me. It felt
like he'd known all along. Doing hospital security on the
night shift is already unsettling in strange events, and it
gets intense. I took the job, figuring it would be simple,
(27:05):
keep the halls secure, do a few rounds each shift,
and generally make sure no one was sneaking into the hospital,
but the reality of it turned out to be something
I hadn't expected. There's an eerie quality to hospitals at night,
an intense stillness that hangs in the air. I told
myself that it was all just my mind playing tricks,
(27:26):
that the constant hum of the air conditioning or the
flickering lights in the stairwell were normal. After all, any
building this old would have its quirks. I was getting
paid to stand watch and ignore those minor disturbances. That
was until one particular shift down near the morgue. I'd
never enjoyed.
Speaker 1 (27:44):
Being near the morgue.
Speaker 2 (27:46):
If I'm honest, I'd try to avoid it as much
as possible. But that Wednesday night, I was assigned to
the basement level, meaning that every hour I'd have to
do a sweep of the area, checking locks, doors and
making sure all was secure. The hospital was emptier than
usual that night, with few patients and even fewer visitors,
(28:07):
just a couple of staff members wandering the halls on
different floors trying to wrap up their shifts at around
eleven pm. The basement was cold, unusually so hospitals are
always chilly, but this had a different feel. A bone
deep chill that made you feel as if you were
walking straight into a freezer. And then I noticed a
faint flicker of light at the end of the hallway
(28:28):
leading to the morgue. Figuring it was probably just another
faulty bulb, I didn't think much of it at first, still,
I added it to my list of issues to report.
As I approached the morgue entrance, the lights seemed to
flicker again, this time pulsing as though they were synced
with my footsteps. I forced myself to keep calm, pushing
(28:49):
the unsettling feeling away. Flickering lights happened.
Speaker 1 (28:53):
The morgue is just a room.
Speaker 2 (28:54):
My thoughts kept spiraling like this, attempting to keep things normal.
Speaker 1 (28:59):
I was just doing my job.
Speaker 2 (29:01):
But then, as I walked past the main door, I
thought I heard something, a faint, indistinct noise that I
couldn't quite make out. It was almost like someone whispering.
I stopped listening, but all I heard was the humming
of the air vents. So I kept moving mentally, telling
myself to keep it together.
Speaker 1 (29:19):
But then, just as I took a.
Speaker 2 (29:20):
Few steps forward, I heard it again, clearer, this time
a voice, low and weak, whispering, Derek.
Speaker 1 (29:28):
I froze.
Speaker 2 (29:29):
I told myself it had to be my mind playing tricks.
Perhaps it was just the wind moving through the ventilation system,
or a distant echo of a conversation from another floor.
But it hadn't sounded like that. It sounded personal. Whoever
it was they'd said my name, I shook it off,
or tried to.
Speaker 1 (29:46):
The hospital was just a big.
Speaker 2 (29:47):
Empty building at night, after all, it's easy to imagine things.
But the voice came again, and this time it was
so clear, so unmistakable, that I couldn't ignore it.
Speaker 1 (29:58):
Derek.
Speaker 2 (30:00):
I took a deep breath, reasoning with myself. I was
the security guard. I had to check it out, make
sure no one was breaking any rules, no one.
Speaker 1 (30:09):
Was trespassing or doing anything they shouldn't.
Speaker 2 (30:12):
Slowly, I made my way to the morgue door and
pulled it open just a bit more. The light inside
was dim, but it illuminated the room well enough for
me to see that it was in fact empty. But
as I turned to leave, that voice came again, louder, closer, Derek, Please.
My breath caught in my throat. This time it was unmistakable.
(30:34):
I wasn't imagining it. Someone was calling my name, pleading
against every instinct, screaming at me to leave. I walked
further into the room, scanning the shadows, my heart racing
as I took in every corner, every surface. Nothing was
out of place. The tables were empty, the drawers were shut,
and the silence was as thick as the walls around me.
(30:55):
But as I stood there, I heard something else, a faint,
rhythmic tapping. The sound was soft, but it echoed through
the room, steady and constant, almost like fingers tapping against
the metal drawers. I turned my flashlight toward the source
of the sound, my hands trembling as I gripped it tightly,
expecting to see something, anything, But again there was nothing. Then,
(31:17):
just as I was about to turn around and leave,
I felt something cold, an intense chill, pressing against the
back of my neck. It was as if someone had
exhaled an icy breath against my skin. I spun around
my flashlight, scanning the room frantically, but again nothing.
Speaker 1 (31:34):
I was alone, or at least I should have been.
Speaker 2 (31:36):
As I stood there, trying to steady my breathing, the
tapping started again, coming from the far end of the room.
Speaker 1 (31:42):
My heart raised every fiber.
Speaker 2 (31:44):
Of my being, screaming at me to get out, but
I was rooted to the spot, unable to tear myself away.
It felt like something was holding me there, like I
was meant to hear, to listen, to understand. The room
fell silent. I was already on edge, and that's silence
made everything feel even more intense. I turned to leave
(32:04):
when I heard a faint shuffle somewhere down the hall,
growing louder, like someone slowly making their way down the corridor.
My first instinct was to brush it off as a
janitor or another night shift employee, but something about those
footsteps felt wrong. They were slow, almost hesitant, yet steady,
(32:25):
each one drawing.
Speaker 1 (32:26):
Closer to the mor groom.
Speaker 2 (32:28):
They echoed off the tiled walls, bouncing around me, making
it impossible to tell exactly where they were coming from.
Then I realized the footsteps were heading straight toward me.
I strained to hear, hoping maybe they'd turn fade off
in another direction, but they didn't. They kept moving closer.
I didn't wait to see who or what it was.
(32:49):
I grabbed my flashlight and back toward the exit, part,
hammering as I reached for the doorknob. The footsteps were
only a few feet away, now right outside the door,
I barely twisted the knob before I yanked it open
and darted into the hallway.
Speaker 1 (33:03):
Once in the hall, I didn't look back.
Speaker 2 (33:06):
I kept moving fast, not stopping until I was out
of that corridor and back near the safety of the
main floor. Only when I reached the light and heard
the familiar sounds of the hospital's night routine did I pause,
catching my breath. That night, I realized there was more
in the silence of the hospital than I'd ever imagined,
(33:27):
and whatever was down there in the morgue I didn't
intend to find out. When I finally calmed down, I
tried to rationalize what I'd seen and heard. Maybe it
was just my mind playing tricks, the stress of the
night shift getting to me, But deep down I knew
that wasn't the case. I hadn't imagined the voice, the chill,
something or someone had been in that morgue with me
(33:49):
reaching out, desperate, trapped. After that night, I avoided the
morgue as much as possible, requesting shifts that kept.
Speaker 1 (33:57):
Me away from the basement.
Speaker 2 (33:59):
But every night now and then I'd hear stories from
other guards, tales of whispers, strange noises, lights flickering at
odd times, and each time I'd feel that familiar chill,
the memory of that voice calling my name. The last
time I was assigned to the basement, I did my rounds, quickly,
keeping my head down, my footsteps light, not daring to linger.
(34:20):
I don't know what was in that morgue that night.
Maybe it was a lost soul, a spirit trapped between worlds,
reaching out for someone to hear its plea.
Speaker 1 (34:30):
Or maybe it was.
Speaker 2 (34:31):
Just the building, the echoes of lives and deaths that
had passed through its walls, lingering hoping for someone to remember.
All I know is that since that night, I've never
set foot in that morgue again, and every time I
pass by, I can't shake the feeling that someone is watching, waiting,
hoping for another.
Speaker 1 (34:49):
Chance to whisper my name.
Speaker 2 (34:52):
If these stories kept you on edge, hit that like
button and subscribe.
Speaker 1 (34:56):
For more unsettling encounters.
Speaker 2 (34:58):
Turn on notifications because you won't want to miss what's
coming next. Stay safe, stay aware, and remember sometimes it's
what you don't see in the hospital that should scare
you most. Thanks for watching, and I'll see you in
the next nightmare
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