Transcript generated automatically by AI and may contain errors.
Chapter 1: What is the premise of the story 'Night Shift'?
No. This is Creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous, chilling, and disturbing creepypastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.
Hey, y'all. Hope you've been having a good week. I rolled up to the station today and felt a little nostalgic. Probably because of how old I am and the fact that social media seems largely catered toward people of my age and making us feel all nostalgic for how life was back in the 90s, which I'm not even going to pretend was the best time in the world for me.
But there is some stuff that I really do wish that I just... I don't know. I just wish I'd been around for. There's something about old stories about working at radio stations that just absolutely fascinates me. I don't really remember much of that zoo crew type stuff that I think people on the coasts got more of than the flyover states. But just the craziness of the business. The money.
The... substances. When rock stars were living what we actually think of as a rock star lifestyle, which is to say making choices that are great for stories and probably not so great for their internal organs. I just love hearing about the lawless days of certain industries and how there are those moments when things just grow faster than people are prepared to adapt with.
Kind of like how we are with social media now, except fun. Then I walk into an empty building after everyone's gone, walk into a dusty basement, and sit by myself listening to disembodied voices. So, you know, there are worse ways to spend your time. Anyway, hope y'all are finding little moments of terror to lose yourself in. And if not, let's see if we can help.
First up, from writer Nicholas Waller and narrated by Jimmy Ferrer, Creepy Presents Night Shift.
The car was struggling as much as I was on the drive into work. We both groaned as we struggled up what felt like the world's steepest hill. Every shift I hated driving up that fucking hill. The little rattle in the dashboard seemed to match the persistent dull ache behind my eyes. I truly despised working the night shift. The upside down schedule. How the world feels tilted and strange at 3am.
The way I always end up feeling like a damn zombie. The only reason I transferred was the difference in pay from working days. It was how I made the math work. Regardless of my feelings, I sucked it up and told myself it was a small price to pay for the peace of mind it provided. Rent was paid. The fridge was full. The drives to and from work always gave me some time to reflect on things.
Home had been feeling like a constant, delicate balancing act. And lately, I wasn't entirely sure it was one I was able to maintain. When I was in a silent safety net for my elderly father-in-law... whose pride outpaced his limitations.
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Chapter 2: How does the narrator describe the challenges of working the night shift?
I shined the flashlight on my fingers, revealing a thin, gooey thread stretching between them. My breath started to hitch and tremble. Filled with dread, I shifted the flashlight towards the source of the bizarre sounds I had heard in the hallway, finally landing on what could only be described as as a biological obscenity.
It clung to the wall like a tumorous growth, glistening, a disgusting weeping mass of raw, translucent tissue that was oozing directly out of the HVAC. When the light hit it, the substance seemed to pulse in time with my rapidly quickening heartbeat. What the fuck is this? I thought. Mouth agape. I put the flashlight under my right armpit and started to glove up, examining this... thing.
This chaotic weave of what looked like a thick, wet cluster of vocal cords. Laryngeal cartilage and microscopic cilia fused into a convulsive hive-like structure. What the hell have I found? Where did it come from? I wondered while trying to get a closer look. Where this unknown meat, as I decided to call it, met the floor.
The strange fluid which had been seeping into the hall continued to spread, and caught the thread of my boots. Fuck! These are relatively new. I shifted my weight so I could try to move to a dry area of the floor. But strangely, the sound of my soul's moving didn't echo through the room. The mass suddenly shivered.
Then a split second later, the distinct crunch of my footsteps emanated from the center of this thing. Replicated perfectly, but much louder. Unnervingly so. It was as though this thing had drunk the noise. Tentatively, I reached out with my gloved hand, breath still hitching, only to realize that this meat was reacting to my silence already.
It started to emit a soft, wet mimicry of my now panicked respiration. I panned my flashlight downward and landed on a glimpse of synthetic blue fabric. half submerged within the translucent sap. This goddamn thing was leaking everywhere. Oh shit. My ribs tightened until it hurt to breathe. This wasn't some discarded uniform tangled in this mess.
The scrubs were pulled tight, woven into the meat's wet insides. Instead of running like anyone with half a brain, I stepped closer. As I did, the background hum changed. The HVAC drone died out, cut short by a wet, bubbling rasp. Like someone trying to clear a congested throat. The mass shifted, exposing the unlucky first witness. Nausea tasted like copper in my mouth.
A hand, still in a latex exam glove, was melted straight into the wall. Fingers splayed, vibrating so fast they blurred. There was no blood. No signs of a fight either. The skin ended at the shoulder, blurred into the thick, pulsating trunk of what looked like throat cartilage. The meat hadn't just killed the staff member. It had unmade them. Harvesting the raw parts it needed to become larger.
Louder. The fingers suddenly slammed against the wall in a frantic, erratic rhythm. The sound wasn't a tap. Instead, a crystal clear looping recording of a woman's voice. Code blue. Med-surge room 2035. Over and over and over. The pitch climbing with each repetition until it scratched at my eardrums. The air in the closet felt razor thin.
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Chapter 3: What unsettling event occurs in the hospital basement?
I watched as they tugged at his body, not as if they were trying to help him up, but as if they were trying to take him apart. I'd looked into his eyes as I'd driven past, and both the man and the worker stared at me. I got to see the terror in that man's eyes all over again. the mortal fear he felt, and it was intense enough that I felt it in my own heart, too.
I wanted to help him, but the workers were staring at me, their eyes burning into me, silently willing me away, warning me with an unspoken threat should I get closer. In my dream, I drove away, like I'd driven away the night before. I'd woken up in a cold sweat. The knot in my stomach was anything but a dream. And though I tried to lay back down and rest, my brain was wide awake.
I didn't feel rested. I still felt exhausted. But after an hour, sleep wouldn't come, and browsing on my phone quickly felt like a hollow distraction. So I got up, got dressed, and grabbed my keys to go on another drive. I passed by the spot where I'd seen the truck again, although there was still nothing there, no evidence of roadwork. I didn't linger there for much longer.
I moved on, taking a back road that I knew would lead me to one of the small towns just outside the city I live in. I didn't listen to a podcast this time. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts for a little while. I don't know what I was expecting or hoping to accomplish. I just figured it would help. Perhaps it did. Perhaps it didn't. I'm not really sure.
Roughly an hour into my drive, I noticed a flash of orange just down the highway. Roadwork. Even from a distance, I recognized the tall, lumbering forms of the workers. These were the men I'd seen before. On instinct, I slowed my car down, pulled over to the side of the road, and killed the engine. My lights fell dead, immersing me in darkness.
I saw one of the workers look over in my direction, and for a moment I dreaded that they might stare at me, noticing me through the darkness. But they didn't. They just went on with their business, seemingly none the wiser. I felt like I was doing something wrong. At the very least, I was doing something weird, spying on random construction workers.
These probably weren't even the same guys I'd seen the night before. I mean, they looked similar, but I had no proof. But I still figured that I'd watch them for 20 minutes or so before getting bored and driving off. I'd probably spook the hell out of them, but it would put those nagging voices in my mind at rest. So I sat. I waited. And in time, I saw.
I watched as the worker set up something on the road. Just what I couldn't say. Some sort of strip right across the highway, though. It came out like a jack. Oddly enough, they didn't seem to mark where it was. They just laid it out, then went back to the safety of their orange cones. I wondered if perhaps this was some sort of road treatment.
I never thought it'd be anything dangerous, and yet when the next car came... I'd seen a car's tires pop before. The sound is hard to forget, as is the smell of burning rubber. The second that car ran over whatever they'd put in the road, the tires shredded instantly. I watched the car skid and struggle to brake before veering over to the side of the road.
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Chapter 4: How does the protagonist react to the strange occurrences?
They found parts of several disassembled vehicles dumped in a nearby lake. Some of them even date back to the 1960s. There's even some video of the vehicles being pulled out. One of them looked like it used to be part of a white pickup truck, and it was even covered in decals and stickers, praising Jesus. Hard to say for sure, but I can hazard a guess as to where it came from.
I haven't left the house in a few days. I don't think the workers go out in daylight, but... I don't want to chance it. I know they've seen me at least twice now. I don't know if they can find me, but I've seen a lot of construction on the street outside my window lately. And it seems more active at night.
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