10 Rules for Surviving the Night Shift at a Haunted Lighthouse | Part 1

Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Dr. NoSleep Studios

A lighthouse keeper faces supernatural horrors during his night shift after ignoring safety rules, leading to deadly consequences when visitors arrive late at night. The episode blends psychological dread with eerie folk

Key takeaways

• Digital devices attract danger in haunted locations.

Transcript preview

If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi classified experiments and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my other podcast, The SCP Experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now, or search for the SCP Experience wherever you get your podcasts. Dr. No sleep. No sleep. The full 10 rules for surviving the night shift at a haunted Lighthouse three-part series is live on Patreon right now. Start your seven-day free trial of Dr No Sleep premium to hear all three parts instantly. No delays, no waiting. Cancel any time, no commitment. Just go to Patreon.com. Don't come, D.R. no sleep to sign up. The link is also in the description below. That's Patreon. D. R. No sleep. Part one. Let's get this party started. The fog rolls in, because that's what fog does. It rolls in at night, making the entire landscape and seascape, I suppose, as eerie and spooky as possible. At least it's not the bad fog. Not yet. Ten rules, I muttered to myself, as I pull my jacket tighter around my body. The waves far below the lighthouse crashing against the rocks. Ten rules, ten rules. It's become my mantra, ever since I started working the night shift alone. I have to keep in mind the ten rules at all times. Forget one and, well, the night can take a bit of a turn. Old Macmillan, the lighthouse keeper who trained me, drilled the rules into my skull. I won't always be here to protect you, He said one evening as we watched the white caps appear and disappear their existence dictated by the wind by the tide and by fate If you don't abide by the rules Well then God have mercy on your soul God should have had mercy on his soul It's been what now six weeks since old McMillan perished have I truly been muttering to myself for six weeks worth of night shifts Lord I could use a vacation not that we lighthouse keepers ever get to take all closed up below oggy Jimbo says scaring the crap out of me I spin around and glare at the little twarp thanks Jimboe. I say trying to be polite I'm also trying not to throw him over the railing it's James he responds like always please don't call me Jimboe gift shop clerk manager I was promoted to manager this morning damn Jimbo way to go I lift a palm high five my man he gives me a reluctant slap to my hand then he looks about pursing his lips I heard you muttering he says motoring me nah I was just practicing what I'm gonna say to your mom when I get off my shift what time does your dad head off to work again his lip curling into a snarl. My parents died in a car accident two years ago. He snaps. And you know that? I did know that. But Jimbo rubs me the wrong way. Has, pretty much since I started. I was just taking the piss, man. Real sorry about that. Jimbo looks me up and down, then finally nods. All right. Apology accepted. He jams a finger in my face. But stop calling me, got it? Got it? Technically, I outrank you, so don't be an ass. Do we have ranks? I ask. He rolls his eyes. Well, thanks for letting me know that the gift shop is closed and locked for the night. That kind of info definitely can't fit in a text. Text? I thought cell phones weren't allowed up here during your shift. Isn't that one of your special rules? He can't hide the snicker. I want to slap him. But he's not wrong. a big no-no during the night shift. Things go wrong when anything except for analog electronics is present up here. Not that analog is all that safe or reliable. I don't know the last time I switched on the radio, not after no digital tech. No one but the Lighthouse Keeper is allowed in the Lighthouse after midnight. If you see something, say nothing. Keep your trap shut and hopefully it goes away. The lights are live. Ignore them. Voices can be helpful. Voices can be deadly. Know the difference. The fog is not your friend. When you hear footsteps, do not turn around. We don't talk about the smell. Dawn's light is your only salvation. And no singing after 3 a.m. which is weird to have as the end rule. Old Macmillan never did tell me why it's like that. Jimboe laughs at me and navigates the widow's walk back to the lantern. room. I watch him move to the stairs. He gives me a snoddy wave, then descends the spiral staircase until he's out of sight. Leaning over the walks railing, I'd wait for him to appear far below out of the main entrance. He does, he stops, he waves again, then he heads to his car and is gone. Leaving me all alone until morning. I start muttering almost immediately. My ex-girlfriend I call it basic survival but then she hasn't seen what I've seen so there's that I turn from the railing and head back inside navigating the lantern room keeping my eyes averted as the huge reflective mirrors spin my way I had laughed at old McMillan asking why don't stare at the lantern wasn't one of the rules he'd said any moron who stares directly into the lantern deserves to be blinded for life can't really agree. Best to save the rules for the things that matter. The things that matter. The things. I shudder at the thought of what the rules keep at bay as I take the spiral staircase down to the service room. I cut across that and take a smaller set of stairs down into the keeper's room, where a table, chair, small cot, and a tiny kitchen with a hot plater set up. I rinse the kettle, fill it, and set it on the hot plate to boil. frame I watch the dark waves roll themselves to shore. Having a spot of tea are we? the voice says from the darkness under the cot. That's good. Yes, that's very good. We like tea. We love tea. A different voice adds. Day time. Tea time. A third voice cackles. Tea eggs. I hate them the most of all the voices. What tea are we having this evening, August Jones? The first voice asks. I do hope that it is. I do hope that it is Earl The second says. Oh, Earl Gray, his ass! The third shouts. You too old him down while I pour hot boiling water in his. Quiet down, you eggs. A deep voice rumbles. A man is trying to sleep.