Latest / Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories / Uninvited Guests: Chilling Encounters and Eerie Stalkers

Transcript

Uninvited Guests: Chilling Encounters and Eerie Stalkers · Shallow Nights: Scary Bedtime Stories

• 0:06
  As an entrepreneur, my days were often chaotic and non-stop.
• 0:10
  By the time I locked up my laptop each evening, my brain
• 0:13
  felt like it had run a marathon. The one thing I valued more than
• 0:17
  anything was my quiet nights at home.
• 0:21
  My place in Phoenix wasn't extravagant, but it was mine.
• 0:24
  A2 story house in a suburban neighborhood that felt secure
• 0:27
  and predictable. Until that October night.
• 0:30
  I had no reason to question that it was a Thursday, the kind of
• 0:35
  evening where you sink into the couch, finally letting the
• 0:39
  silence wash over you. I'd finished a long day filled
• 0:43
  with client meetings and emails, and I was looking forward to
• 0:46
  nothing more than binge watching my favorite show with a glass of
• 0:50
  wine. The house was quiet, the kind of
• 0:54
  stillness you only appreciate when you're truly alone.
• 0:58
  I didn't realize how fragile that piece was.
• 1:02
  At around midnight, just as I was considering heading upstairs
• 1:05
  to bed, my phone buzzed. It wasn't a call or text, but a
• 1:10
  notification from my home security app.
• 1:13
  Backdoor Alarm triggered. My first thought was that it had
• 1:18
  to be a false alarm. These systems were notoriously
• 1:21
  finicky, and it wasn't the first time it had gone off for no
• 1:24
  apparent reason. I opened the app, saw the alert,
• 1:28
  and without much thought, deactivated the alarm.
• 1:32
  Probably a bird or something. I muttered, convincing myself it
• 1:35
  was nothing. I climbed into bed, the sound of
• 1:38
  the air conditioner lulling me into a light doze.
• 1:41
  But then I heard a muffled thud. My eyes snapped open.
• 1:46
  At first, I thought it might have been the wind knocking
• 1:48
  something over outside. Phoenix wasn't known for wild
• 1:52
  storms, but gusts weren't uncommon this time of year.
• 1:55
  Holding my breath, I focused hard to listen beyond the sound
• 1:58
  of the AC. Then came another sound.
• 2:02
  This one wasn't vague or easy to dismiss.
• 2:05
  It was like the scrape of something heavy being dragged
• 2:08
  across the wooden floor downstairs.
• 2:10
  My chest tightened as a dozen rational explanations ran
• 2:14
  through my head, each one less convincing than the last.
• 2:18
  I slid out of bed and quietly locked the door to my bedroom.
• 2:22
  My mind raced through what to do next.
• 2:25
  I'd taken precautions. Every door and window had
• 2:28
  sensors, my phone was connected to the security system, and I
• 2:32
  even kept a firearm in the bedside drawer.
• 2:35
  But none of that felt particularly comforting now.
• 2:38
  The idea of someone being in the house felt like a violation I
• 2:41
  wasn't prepared for another noise, this time sharper, like a
• 2:46
  chair being knocked over. I grabbed my phone and dialed
• 2:50
  911. I whispered my address to the
• 2:52
  dispatcher and explained what I'd heard.
• 2:55
  They assured me officers were on their way.
• 2:57
  I added. Please tell them not to use
• 2:59
  lights or sirens. If someone's inside, they'll
• 3:02
  hear it. The dispatcher's calm tone was
• 3:05
  both reassuring and surreal. She stayed on the line as I
• 3:09
  retrieved the gun from the drawer and positioned myself in
• 3:12
  the furthest corner of the room, the phone balanced on my knee.
• 3:15
  Every second felt like an hour. The creaks and groans of the
• 3:19
  house had taken on a sinister edge, as if the walls themselves
• 3:23
  were conspiring against me. I heard faint footsteps on the
• 3:27
  stairs. My grip on the gun tightened as
• 3:30
  adrenaline surged through my veins.
• 3:32
  Whoever it was wasn't rushing. They were taking their time.
• 3:35
  I could barely breathe as I listened, my mind conjuring
• 3:38
  images of who could be on the other side of the door.
• 3:41
  Was it one person more? Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.
• 3:46
  Silence. The kind of silence that's
• 3:49
  louder than any noise. Then a quiet knock on the
• 3:52
  bedroom door. Not forceful, just a soft knock.
• 3:56
  My hand trembled as I aimed the gun at the door, willing myself
• 3:59
  not to panic. The dispatcher's voice was still
• 4:02
  in my ear, steady and grounding. Officers are almost there, she
• 4:07
  said. A minute later, I heard movement
• 4:10
  outside, the sound of car doors opening and closing, followed by
• 4:14
  muffled voices. The police were here.
• 4:18
  Relief flooded me. There was a commotion
• 4:20
  downstairs, shouts, the sound of something heavy hitting the
• 4:23
  floor, and then silence again. Finally, a voice called out.
• 4:28
  Phoenix PD, it's safe to come out.
• 4:31
  I opened the door cautiously, gun still in hand, and stepped
• 4:35
  into the hallway. An officer met me at the top of
• 4:37
  the stairs, his expression serious but calm.
• 4:41
  We've got them, he said. Two men.
• 4:44
  They were downstairs when we came in.
• 4:47
  My knees nearly buckled as I followed him to the living room.
• 4:51
  2 men sat handcuffed on the floor, their faces grim.
• 4:54
  One of the officers explained that they'd entered through the
• 4:57
  back door, which they've managed to unlock somehow.
• 5:00
  They said they thought no one was home because there wasn't a
• 5:02
  car in the driveway, the officer added.
• 5:05
  Then it hit me. I'd let my car to my brother
• 5:08
  earlier that week while his was in the shop.
• 5:11
  To these men, an empty driveway meant an empty house.
• 5:15
  The police searched the house and found a crowbar and zip ties
• 5:18
  in the men's bag. One officer pulled me aside and
• 5:21
  said, you did everything right, locking yourself in the room,
• 5:24
  calling us. That probably saved you tonight.
• 5:28
  The weight of his words didn't hit me until hours later, when I
• 5:31
  was sitting in a hotel room, too shaken to return home.
• 5:35
  I replayed every moment in my mind.
• 5:38
  The alarm, the quiet knock on the door, the slow footsteps
• 5:43
  that shattered any sense of safety I'd had.
• 5:45
  In the following weeks, I had a reinforced security system
• 5:48
  installed, along with motion activated cameras.
• 5:52
  But even with all those precautions, I still find myself
• 5:55
  lying awake some nights trying to hear the silence.
• 5:58
  Because once you felt that kind of vulnerability, it never
• 6:01
  really leaves you. Being alone at night used to
• 6:05
  feel like a luxury, a chance to escape the noise of the world.
• 6:09
  Now it's a reminder that peace can be deceiving and safety is
• 6:13
  never guaranteed. The day my parents decided to go
• 6:23
  on a ski trip for the weekend, I was more than happy to stay home
• 6:27
  alone. As a 28 year old grad student
• 6:30
  buried in research, the quiet house in our suburban Atlanta
• 6:34
  neighborhood was the perfect place to catch up on studying.
• 6:38
  They'd pack their things and waved goodbye Friday morning,
• 6:41
  leaving me with their parting instructions.
• 6:44
  Don't forget to water the plants, lock the doors, and of
• 6:47
  course, stay safe. On the first evening, I curled
• 6:51
  up on the couch with my laptop, a stack of textbooks, and some
• 6:54
  leftover pizza. Every now and then, the sound of
• 6:57
  a car passing or a dog barking gave the silence a little life.
• 7:02
  By the time I went to bed, I was feeling good about my progress
• 7:05
  and excited for a productive weekend.
• 7:08
  That excitement didn't last long.
• 7:11
  On Saturday night, I was at the kitchen table, surrounded by
• 7:14
  notes and sipping on my third cup of coffee.
• 7:17
  The house was eerily still, the kind of quiet that's almost
• 7:21
  loud. It was nearing midnight when the
• 7:24
  phone rang. At first, I didn't think much of
• 7:26
  it. Our landline rarely rang these
• 7:29
  days, but I figured it might be my parents checking in.
• 7:32
  I answered with a casual hello, but was met with nothing but
• 7:35
  silence on the other end. Hello.
• 7:39
  I repeated, leaning closer to the receiver.
• 7:41
  Still nothing, just the faint sound of static.
• 7:45
  I frowned, hung up, and shrugged it off as a wrong number, but it
• 7:48
  left an odd feeling that stayed with me for the rest of the
• 7:51
  night. The next evening, I was deep
• 7:53
  into my notes when the phone rang again.
• 7:55
  This time, I hesitated before picking up.
• 7:58
  Hello. I asked, more cautious now.
• 8:01
  A moment of silence, then a whisper.
• 8:04
  I can see you. I felt sick to my core as I hung
• 8:08
  up immediately and stared at the phone.
• 8:10
  After a minute of tense silence, I forced myself to look out the
• 8:12
  window. The street outside was empty
• 8:15
  except for a single St. lamp casting its pale glow onto the
• 8:18
  pavement. But then I saw it.
• 8:21
  A figure standing just outside the circle of light barely more
• 8:24
  than a silhouette. I blinked and they were gone.
• 8:28
  I convinced myself it wasn't as strange as it seemed.
• 8:31
  Maybe it was a prank, some bored teenager trying to scare the
• 8:35
  neighborhood. But I couldn't rid myself of the
• 8:37
  tension making it hard to focus. I checked the locks three times
• 8:41
  before going to bed, but every little noise in the house only
• 8:46
  heightened my anxiety. Monday night brought an eerie
• 8:50
  stillness. I threw myself into my work,
• 8:52
  drowning out the unease with music and caffeine.
• 8:55
  Around 9 PMI heard a soft tapping sound coming from the
• 8:58
  living room. I stiffened, every muscle tense.
• 9:02
  It came again, light, like someone gently tapping on the
• 9:05
  window pane. My hands trembled as I crept
• 9:08
  toward the source. I peeked around the corner, but
• 9:11
  the living room was empty. The tapping had stopped.
• 9:14
  Then, just as I started to relax, a louder knock echoed
• 9:17
  through the house, this time at the front door.
• 9:20
  I grabbed a kitchen knife an inch closer to the peephole, but
• 9:23
  when I looked outside, no one was there.
• 9:25
  The porch light illuminated an empty yard.
• 9:29
  The phone rang again, breaking the silence.
• 9:32
  I snatched it up, adrenaline coursing through me.
• 9:35
  Who is this? What do you want?
• 9:38
  This time, the whisper was slower.
• 9:41
  Check the porch. My whole body tensed, warning me
• 9:44
  not to look, but curiosity pulled me in.
• 9:47
  I peered through the frosted glass pane of the front door,
• 9:50
  and for a split second, I thought I saw movement.
• 9:53
  My stomach churned as I dialed 911, explaining the situation to
• 9:58
  the dispatcher. She promised to send an officer
• 10:01
  right away. When the police arrived, the
• 10:04
  porch was empty. They searched the property but
• 10:06
  found no evidence of anyone lurking around.
• 10:10
  One officer suggested it might be kids playing a prank.
• 10:13
  I nodded, pretending to agree, but deep down I knew something
• 10:17
  was wrong. Tuesday night was the worst.
• 10:20
  Around midnight I saw him again, the same figure from before,
• 10:24
  standing under the street lamp. But something was different.
• 10:28
  His clothes and even his hair looked changed.
• 10:30
  I turned off the lights and peek through the curtains, watching
• 10:33
  as he stood there. Then, just as suddenly as
• 10:37
  before, he disappeared into the shadows.
• 10:40
  An hour later he came back. This time he looked completely
• 10:44
  different. A new jacket, a beanie pulled
• 10:46
  low over his forehead. He stood closer to the house.
• 10:49
  His face was veiled by the shadows.
• 10:52
  The phone rang again, but I didn't answer.
• 10:55
  The sound of the phone ringing over and over felt like it was
• 10:58
  mocking me. I stayed up all night, too
• 11:01
  scared to sleep, clutching a kitchen knife and keeping all
• 11:04
  the lights off. By the time the sun rose, I was
• 11:08
  exhausted but relieved the night was over.
• 11:11
  I opened the front door to get some fresh air and stop dead in
• 11:14
  my tracks. Scattered across the porch were
• 11:17
  photographs of me. Each picture was taken through
• 11:21
  the window, Me at the kitchen table, me sitting on the couch,
• 11:25
  me standing at the sink. My hands shook as I gathered
• 11:29
  them up, my mind racing with questions.
• 11:32
  Who would take in these? How long had they been watching?
• 11:35
  I called the police again, this time handing over the photos as
• 11:39
  evidence. They took my statement and
• 11:41
  promised to patrol the area more frequently, but there wasn't
• 11:45
  much they could do without a clear suspect.
• 11:47
  That was the last night I stayed alone in the house.
• 11:50
  My parents came home the next day and I told them everything.
• 11:54
  They were horrified and immediately had security cameras
• 11:56
  installed. It's been months, but that
• 11:59
  creeping sensation of being observed won't go away.
• 12:03
  Whoever it was, they weren't just a prankster.
• 12:06
  They wanted me to feel vulnerable, to know they could
• 12:09
  see me whenever they wanted. And that's a fear I'll never
• 12:12
  forget. When you bartend at a downtown
• 12:21
  Austin dive bar, the nights are loud, the tips can be great, and
• 12:26
  the walk home is usually peaceful and predictable, if a
• 12:29
  bit eerie in the early morning hours.
• 12:32
  By the time my shift ended on that particular October night, I
• 12:35
  was exhausted, ready to head back to my small apartment and
• 12:39
  crash. The streets were quiet,
• 12:41
  disturbed only by the sporadic honk or muffled music drifting
• 12:44
  from nearby bars. I took my usual route through a
• 12:47
  few side streets, enjoying the cool autumn air.
• 12:52
  It was then that I noticed it, a clown mask lying face up on the
• 12:56
  sidewalk. It was one of those cheap
• 12:58
  plastic ones you'd find at a dollar store.
• 13:01
  The eyes were dark holes, and the painted smile stretched
• 13:05
  unnaturally wide. For a split second, I thought
• 13:08
  someone had dropped it while heading to a Halloween party,
• 13:11
  but the more I looked at it, the more unsettling it became.
• 13:15
  There was something off about how it just sat there, perfectly
• 13:19
  positioned under the glow of a street lamp.
• 13:22
  I shook off the unease, chuckling to myself.
• 13:24
  It's just a mask. I muttered, shaking my head and
• 13:27
  keeping my pace, but the image of it stayed with me the entire
• 13:31
  walk home. The next night, I closed up the
• 13:34
  bar again and began my usual trek back.
• 13:37
  This time, as I approached my apartment building, I froze.
• 13:41
  Across the street, standing perfectly still, was someone
• 13:44
  wearing the exact same mask. They were facing my window.
• 13:49
  My apartment was on the 2nd floor, so at first I thought
• 13:52
  they might be looking at someone else's place.
• 13:54
  But as I reached the front door and looked up, the realization
• 13:57
  hit me. They were staring into my
• 14:00
  window. My living room light was on.
• 14:04
  Maybe it's a prank, I thought, trying to convince myself,
• 14:08
  college kids or someone filming A TikTok.
• 14:12
  Still, I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise.
• 14:16
  I hurried inside, locked the door, and turned off the lights.
• 14:20
  From the safety of the darkness, I peeked out the window.
• 14:23
  The masked figure was still there, completely motionless.
• 14:26
  After a few minutes, they turned and walked away.
• 14:29
  The next day, I told myself I've been overreacting.
• 14:32
  People do weird things around Halloween, I reasoned, but it
• 14:35
  felt too personal. That night, I tried to shake the
• 14:39
  tension and focused on my shift. It was busy, a typical Friday
• 14:43
  crowd, and by the time I clocked out I felt more grounded.
• 14:47
  But as I approached my building, my heart sank.
• 14:51
  The masked figure was back, standing in the same spot across
• 14:54
  the street. This time they were holding
• 14:56
  something what looked like a small notebook.
• 14:59
  My palms grew slick as I fumble for my keys, trying to act like
• 15:02
  I hadn't noticed them inside. I locked the door again, double
• 15:07
  checked it, and pulled the blinds shut.
• 15:09
  I couldn't help myself. I peeked out through a small gap
• 15:12
  in the curtain. The figure had moved closer,
• 15:15
  standing just across the street, now directly below the street
• 15:18
  lamp. Over the next few nights, the
• 15:21
  pattern repeated every time I walked home.
• 15:24
  The masked figure appeared somewhere near my building.
• 15:27
  Sometimes they stood under the street lamp, other times closer
• 15:30
  to my window. They never moved when I was
• 15:33
  watching, but their presence was impossible to ignore.
• 15:37
  My anxiety grew with each passing day.
• 15:40
  I started checking over my shoulder constantly during my
• 15:43
  walks home. One night, I decided to take a
• 15:46
  different route back. I figured if they couldn't
• 15:49
  predict where I'd be, they'd lose interest.
• 15:53
  But as I rounded the corner of my street, I stopped dead in my
• 15:55
  tracks. The figure was already there,
• 15:58
  waiting. They tilted their head slightly,
• 16:01
  as if acknowledging my attempt to evade them.
• 16:03
  That's when I noticed something new.
• 16:05
  They were carrying a small black bag.
• 16:08
  I debated calling the police, but what could I say?
• 16:11
  Someone in a clown mask is standing outside my apartment.
• 16:15
  They hadn't done anything overtly threatening yet, but it
• 16:18
  was clear they weren't just some random prankster.
• 16:21
  They were waiting for something for me.
• 16:24
  That night, I barely slept. Every time I started to drift
• 16:28
  off, I'd hear faint noises in the hallway.
• 16:32
  Around 3, AMI finally got up and checked the peephole.
• 16:35
  The hallway was empty, but I could feel my chest tightening
• 16:38
  with unease. Then, just as I turned to go
• 16:41
  back to bed, I heard a slow knock on my front door.
• 16:44
  I froze, staring at the door, expecting it to burst open.
• 16:47
  I grabbed my phone and dialed 911.
• 16:50
  Whispering to the dispatcher, I explained the situation.
• 16:53
  Someone's knocking on my door. I think it's the same person
• 16:56
  who's been stalking me. The operator assured me officers
• 16:59
  were on the way. In the meantime, I sat on the
• 17:02
  floor, my back against the wall, far from the door.
• 17:06
  The knocking continued, then stopped.
• 17:08
  I tried to hear any movement, but there was only silence.
• 17:12
  When the police arrived, the figure was gone.
• 17:15
  They found no signs of forced entry, but the officers did
• 17:18
  discover something chilling. The black bag had been left on
• 17:22
  my doorstep. Inside was the clown mask.
• 17:26
  I moved out of that apartment the next week.
• 17:29
  To this day, I don't know who they were or what they wanted.
• 17:33
  The landlord installed security cameras after I left, but I
• 17:36
  never followed up to see if they caught anything.
• 17:39
  Some nights when I'm walking home late from work, I catch
• 17:42
  myself looking over my shoulder, expecting to see that mask
• 17:46
  again. Whoever they were, they weren't
• 17:48
  just trying to scare me. They wanted me to know they were
• 17:51
  watching. And that's a kind of fear that
• 17:54
  stays with you forever. If you've ever worked the
• 18:03
  graveyard shift, you know it's a weird vibe.
• 18:06
  The world feels different when most of it is asleep.
• 18:10
  I've been hosting a late night radio show in Portland for about
• 18:13
  a year, and while I love the freedom of being the sole voice
• 18:17
  on the airwaves, it could get lonely sometimes.
• 18:20
  But the thing about loneliness? You learn to embrace it.
• 18:24
  Or at least I thought I had. It was a cold December night,
• 18:28
  the kind where the rain clings to your jacket and the wind cuts
• 18:31
  straight through you. I arrived at the station around
• 18:35
  11:00 PM, my usual caffeine loaded energy drink in hand.
• 18:39
  The building was as lifeless as ever, the fluorescent lights
• 18:42
  humming louder than any conversation I'd had there in
• 18:45
  months. My show started at midnight and
• 18:48
  the routine was simple. Play some tracks, chat about
• 18:51
  whatever, take the occasional caller pretty low key.
• 18:56
  Everything started as usual. I queued up some indie rock,
• 18:59
  cracked a few jokes about the weather, and read a bizarre news
• 19:03
  story about someone trying to steal a live reindeer from a
• 19:06
  Christmas market. It was all going fine until the
• 19:09
  first call came in. It was just past 12:30 AM when
• 19:13
  the phone rang. Calls weren't uncommon, but they
• 19:16
  were rare enough that I got a little excited when the line lit
• 19:19
  up. Good evening, you're on the air.
• 19:22
  I said, my usual sarcasm dripping from my voice.
• 19:26
  Nothing, just static. Hello, you there?
• 19:31
  I tried again. The static crackled for a
• 19:33
  moment, and then the line went dead.
• 19:35
  I rolled my eyes and moved on, chalking it up to someone
• 19:38
  accidentally dialing the station number.
• 19:41
  Happens more than you'd think. About 20 minutes later, the
• 19:44
  phone rang again. This time I hesitated before
• 19:47
  answering. Something about the static from
• 19:50
  the first call had stuck with me, but I shook it off.
• 19:54
  You're live on. KPLXI said, trying to sound
• 19:56
  chipper. Static again, but this time
• 20:00
  there was something else, A whisper, too garbled to make
• 20:03
  out. Hello.
• 20:06
  If you're trying to reach us, you might need to adjust your
• 20:08
  phone or speak up. I said, forcing a laugh.
• 20:12
  The whispering grew louder, just for a second.
• 20:14
  It was still unintelligible, but the sound of it made my skin
• 20:18
  crawl. The line clicked off.
• 20:21
  I sat the receiver down. Weird, I muttered to myself and
• 20:26
  went back to my playlist. I tried not to think about it,
• 20:29
  but every time I looked at the phone, a strange sense of
• 20:32
  discomfort prickled at the edges of my thoughts.
• 20:36
  The third call came in at 1:15 AM.
• 20:39
  By then, the station was dead silent except for the music
• 20:42
  pumping through the soundboard. All right, I said, picking up
• 20:46
  the phone. You've got my attention.
• 20:47
  What's up? The static was there again, but
• 20:51
  it was quieter now. And then, clear as day, a voice
• 20:54
  whispered my name. Matt.
• 20:57
  My grip on the phone tightened. Who is this?
• 21:00
  I demanded, my voice sharper than I'd intended.
• 21:03
  The whisper came again, this time slower.
• 21:07
  Matt, you dropped your pen. I froze.
• 21:10
  My gaze flicked to the desk, where, sure enough, my pen was
• 21:13
  lying on the floor, exactly where I dropped it earlier.
• 21:17
  My mind raced. There was no way they could have
• 21:20
  known that the studio was empty. The only windows were high up on
• 21:24
  the walls, and they were covered with thick blinds.
• 21:28
  I slammed the receiver down, my heart thudding harder than I
• 21:31
  cared to admit. Whoever it was, they weren't
• 21:33
  guessing. They were watching me.
• 21:37
  For the next hour, I couldn't focus.
• 21:39
  Every time I tried to speak on air, I stumbled over my words.
• 21:43
  My eyes kept darting around the room, searching for cameras or
• 21:46
  some explanation for how the caller knew what I'd done.
• 21:50
  At 2:10 AM, the phone rang again.
• 21:52
  I stared at it, willing it to stop.
• 21:55
  It rang 4 times before I picked it up.
• 21:57
  And then I heard the static, softer now, almost like a
• 22:00
  whisper. And then the voice spoke again.
• 22:03
  Look outside. My blood ran cold.
• 22:07
  For a moment. I debated ignoring it, but I
• 22:09
  think stupidity got the better of me.
• 22:11
  I grabbed the flashlight from the desk drawer and made my way
• 22:14
  to the lobby. The front doors were glass, but
• 22:17
  the rain had fogged them up, obscuring the view outside.
• 22:20
  I hesitated and slowly shined the flashlight toward the doors.
• 22:25
  For a moment, I saw nothing but the distorted reflection of my
• 22:27
  own face. But then, just beyond the glass,
• 22:30
  a figure stepped into view. They were wearing a dark hoodie,
• 22:34
  their face obscured by the shadow of the hood.
• 22:37
  In their hand, I could just make out the shape of a phone.
• 22:41
  They were standing perfectly still, the rain dripping off
• 22:44
  their jacket. And then, as if sensing my gaze,
• 22:47
  they raise the phone to their ear.
• 22:50
  The lobby phone rang. I bolted back to the studio,
• 22:53
  slamming the door behind me and locking it.
• 22:56
  My breathing was ragged, my thoughts a mess.
• 22:59
  I grabbed my personal phone and called the station manager,
• 23:02
  leaving a frantic voicemail about someone outside.
• 23:06
  Then I called the police. By the time the officers
• 23:09
  arrived, the figure was gone. They searched the area and
• 23:12
  checked the security footage. What they found made my stomach
• 23:16
  churn. The cameras had caught the
• 23:18
  figure standing outside the station for nearly an hour,
• 23:21
  pacing back and forth before finally stopping at the door.
• 23:25
  They've been talking on the phone the entire time.
• 23:29
  When the police reviewed the footage further, they noticed
• 23:31
  something even stranger. Around 1:15 AM, the exact moment
• 23:36
  the caller had mentioned my dropped pen, the figure had
• 23:39
  looked directly at the camera and smiled.
• 23:42
  I took the next week off, claiming I was sick.
• 23:45
  When I finally returned to work, I asked to switch to the daytime
• 23:48
  shift. I haven't done a graveyard show
• 23:51
  since. Whoever that person was, they
• 23:55
  wanted me to know I wasn't as alone as I thought, and that's a
• 23:59
  feeling I'll carry with me every time I step into a studio.
• 24:05
  If these alone at night horrors sent shivers down your spine,
• 24:09
  don't forget to hit that like button and subscribe for more
• 24:12
  terrifying tales. What would you have done if it
• 24:15
  were you? Drop your thoughts in the
• 24:17
  comments, we want to hear all about it.
• 24:20
  Share this video with a friend who says they're fearless at
• 24:22
  night and see if they still agree.
• 24:25
  Remember, the dark isn't always empty and being alone doesn't
• 24:29
  always mean you're safe. Thanks for watching and I'll see
• 24:33
  you in the next nightmare.