Room 305 - Horror Stories

Room 305 - Horror Stories

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
I used to work nights as a custodian at a
public high school in Arizona. It wasn't a glamorous job,
but it paid the bills, and honestly, I liked the
peace and quiet. The students were long gone, teaches out
the door by four, and by the time I showed
up at six the place felt like a tomb. Just me,

(00:21):
my car and a set of keys heavy enough to
take down a small animal. But there was one rule
everyone made very clear to me on my first week.
Don't go near Room three five. It was at the
far end of the west wing, past a stretch of
lockers nobody used anymore. The door was chain shut with
a thick padlock, the kind you'd see on a storage unit.

(00:45):
My supervisor told me it was a storage room. I
didn't push it at first. Old schools always have weird rules,
and I figured maybe it was just asbestos or something. Still,
I couldn't help but notice the way teach avoided that
end of the building, the way other custodians always did
their best to finish early so they didn't have to

(01:06):
mop near there. About three months in, I started cutting corners.
I'd skip empty hallways and wings, if I thought no
one would notice. One night, I decided to shave time
by walking through the west wing instead of taking the
longer loop. I wasn't thinking about three oh five, at

(01:27):
least not until I passed it. That's when I heard
it whispering. At first, I thought it was the hum
of the vents, but the more I listened, the more
distinct it became. Multiple voices layered on top of each other,
too fast to understand, but definitely whispers. I froze. Then

(01:50):
came three knocks on the door, slow, deliberate, right at
my eye level. I backed away, every hair on my arms,
standing straight. My radio crackled on my belt, making me jump,
but no one was talking on the other end. I
should have left right then, but I made the mistake
of leaning forward to glance through the tiny reinforced glass

(02:12):
window in the door. There was a face staring back,
but not exactly a face. It was too close to
the glass, nose almost pressed against it, the features blurred
by the thickness of the old window. The eyes, though
I'll never forget those, They didn't blink, they didn't move,

(02:34):
they just watched. I stumbled back, nearly tipping over my
mop bucket and ran. I didn't even finish my rounds
that night. I just clocked out and drove home, convincing
myself I was overtired, maybe imagining things. The next day
I told my supervisor what I had heard. He didn't laugh,

(02:55):
he didn't even look surprised. He just sighed and said,
and go near three o five again. That room has
been sealed since ninety two kids died in there. I
asked how he just shook his head and walked away.
That should have been the end of it, but I
couldn't stop thinking about it. I started asking around. Most

(03:19):
staff clammed up, but one older teacher finally gave me something.
She said, back in ninety two, a chemistry teacher had
locked a group of kids in there as punishment for
some prank. The door jammed, or maybe he locked it
from the outside. The details were fuzzy, but when they
were finally found, none of the kids were alive. She

(03:42):
wouldn't say more, just muttered they never should have locked
that room, should have torn it down. Weeks went by.
I avoided the west wing, but the whispers followed me.
I'd hear them faintly when I passed certain hallways, echoing
in the vents. Sometimes I'd catch movement in reflections in windows,

(04:05):
in the shine of the freshly waxed floors, always too
quick to be sure, but enough to raise goose bumps.
One night, during a storm, the power went out. Emergency
lights flickered weakly, red and dim. I was alone in
the building, my radio dead, and from somewhere down the

(04:26):
west wing, I heard it again, the whispers, louder, now,
almost like chanting. I should have run, but my feet
carried me forward, mop handle gripped, tied in my hands
like it was a weapon. As I approached three o five,
I realized the door was different. The padlock was gone,

(04:48):
the chains lay slack on the floor, and the door
was opened, just a few inches, but enough to see
the black beyond it. The whispers stopped. I stood there, frozen, hard, hammering.
I don't know how long I stayed before I forced
myself to turn and walk, not run, back the way
I came. I quit the job the next morning. It's

(05:12):
been two years. I still dream about that hallway sometimes,
always the same, the whispers, the knocks, and that face
pressed against the glass, waiting for someone stupid enough to
open the door. All the way,