I never thought I would end up working at a funeral home. However, I found that job opportunities were limited and when I came across the listing in the local paper, the money was too good to pass up. They even had an attached residence that I could live in rent-free, to ensure I was always on hand since I was their only security guard.
Sometimes, the job can be somewhat unnerving. Being surrounded by death on a daily basis takes its toll on a person. But I remind myself that I am here to keep the place secure and to make sure that everything runs smoothly.
Every night before turning in, I take a walk through the building to ensure that all the doors are locked, and the lights are off. I check on the mourners attending evening services if one is scheduled, making sure that they aren’t causing any trouble or breaking any rules. I get up periodically through the night to make my rounds and ensure all is well. If I hear anything out of the ordinary, I investigate it.
At first, I thought that the job here would be a piece of cake. All I had to do was patrol the building at night, keep an eye on the cameras, and ensure that no one tries to break in. Beyond the morbid appeal, this place provides for young thrill seekers, there are also chemicals stored here that an enterprising criminal could use in the manufacture of narcotics, so intruders were a concern worth noting.
However, as I settled into my new role, I began to realize that the job was more than I had anticipated. The funeral home itself was pretty creepy, with dimly lit hallways and creaky old doors. Every time I walked down one of these dark corridors, I could not help but feel like someone—or something—was watching me.
Sometimes, I hear strange noises coming from the other side of the walls. Sometimes, I see a shadow flash past in the corners of my vision. Sometimes, I swear that I can feel a cold breath on the back of my neck.
Despite my unease, I try to remain professional. After all, I am here to keep the place secure, not to be spooked by every little sound. However, as the nights wear on, I find it harder and harder to shake the feeling that something is not quite right.
It wasn't until a few weeks into the job that things began to get strange. I was doing my usual rounds when I heard a noise coming from one of the rooms we use to store the prepped bodies in their caskets for upcoming funerals. It sounded like something was shuffling around in there. I tried to tell myself that there was a reasonable explanation, but I could not shake the feeling that something was not right.
As I approached the door to the room, my heart started to race. I wondered if I was just acting paranoid, but the noise was unmistakable. It sounded like footsteps, slow and deliberate. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I reached for the doorknob. I hesitated for a moment, trying to gather my courage.
Finally, I turned the knob and pushed the door open, just a crack, trying to peek inside without making too much noise. The room was dark, but I could make out the shape of a casket in the center of the room. I tried to remember if there was a funeral scheduled for the morning, but I couldn't recall seeing the schedule that day.
I listened for a moment, but the shuffling noise had stopped. I pushed the door open a little further, and that's when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I spun around, my hand reaching for the flashlight on my belt, but there was nothing there. My heart was pounding now, and I could feel the sweat starting to form on my forehead.
I took a deep breath and stepped into the room, shining my flashlight around. The casket was still in the center of the room, and there didn’t seem to be anything else out of place. But I could not shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I finished my patrol of the room quickly and made my way back to my apartment, trying to calm my nerves. It was going to be a long night.
The next night, I heard the noise again. My heart sank as I realized that the sound was not just in my head, but was coming from the same room as before. Once again, I decided to investigate this issue. I slowly made my way down the hallway, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. As I approached the door, my palms began to sweat and my breath became shallow. My personal experiences have taught me to remain calm under pressure; however, this was a different kind of fear.
I pushed the door open slowly and peered inside, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement. To my surprise, there was nothing there. No people, no animals, no signs of any disturbance. The room was empty, and the only thing that greeted me was an eerie silence.
I stood there for a few moments, trying to make sense of what I heard. Was it just my imagination, playing tricks on me? Had I been up too late? I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, but I also couldn't find any logical explanation for the noise.
As I made my way back to my room, my mind was racing with thoughts and questions. Was there something in the funeral home that I didn't know about? I did not want to jump to any conclusions, but I knew that I had to keep my guard up and stay alert.
As the nights go on, the strange noises persist, and I begin to feel like I am being watched. It's as if someone, or something, is following me through the halls. Every time I turn around, I expect to see a figure looming in the shadows, but there's never anything there.
I start to become increasingly paranoid. I double-check the locks on the doors and windows every hour, just to make sure they're secure. I even start carrying a side-arm with me on my rounds, just in case.
Things just continue to become even stranger. One night, as I was sitting in my apartment, I heard a series of strange noises coming from outside. At first, I thought it was just the wind, but the sounds grew louder and more persistent until they sounded like someone knocking at the door.
I tried to ignore it, thinking that it was probably just some kids playing a prank. But the knocking continued, growing more insistent by the minute. It was as if someone was desperately trying to get my attention.
Feeling a sense of unease, I cautiously approached the door and peered through the peephole. To my surprise, there was no one there. The hallway was completely empty, and there was no sign of anyone lurking in the shadows.
I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. As I returned to my apartment, I felt a chill blow past me into the apartment. Once inside I couldn’t help but notice that the atmosphere had changed. The air felt thick and heavy, and there was an unexplained chill that seemed to permeate through every corner of the room. Uncomfortable I retreated to my bedroom. Hoping to get my mind off of the night’s events.
However, the knocking continued sporadically throughout the night, each time causing my heart to race with fear. I tried to convince myself that it was just my imagination, but the persistent tapping at the door made it clear that it was not. That's the moment when I realize I can't take it anymore. I need to find out what's causing these noises and put an end to it.
The next day, I decide to talk to the funeral home director about my concerns. I half expect him to laugh it off and tell me I'm crazy, but to my surprise, he takes me seriously. He tells me that the funeral home has been rumored to be haunted for years and that some of the staff have reported strange occurrences in the past.
As time goes on, my interactions with the spirits are becoming more frequent and intense. I often hear whispers in my ear or feel a cold breath on my neck. Some nights, the spirits become angry and throw objects around the room. I've taken to talking to them as I make my rounds. As it makes me more comfortable and I believe helps to calm the spirits.
I've begun to realize that not all spirits behave the same. Some are friendly and curious, whereas others are vengeful and aggressive. It's as if they each have their own stories to tell, and I am the only one who can hear them.
Despite my growing attachment to the spirits, I've still had moments of fear and doubt. There are nights when I hear something so terrifying that I just freeze in place, too afraid to move. But then, a warm feeling comes over me, reminding me that I was not alone and that everything is going to be okay.
I started to document my experiences in a journal, detailing the encounters I had with the spirits and the strange occurrences that happen each night. I've even begun to research the history of the funeral home, hoping to uncover clues about the spirits' identities and motives. I haven't had much luck yet, but I'm optimistic.
Although my job is unusual, I find a sense of purpose in my interactions with the dead. I know what I'm doing is something important, something that no one else could do as well. And who knows, maybe one day I'll even be able to solve the mystery of this place and help the spirits find peace.
submitted by /u/Dr3adN07
[link] [comments]I never thought I would end up working at a funeral home. However, I found that job opportunities were limited and when I came across the listing in the local paper, the money was too good to pass up. They even had an attached residence that I could live in rent-free, to ensure I was always on hand since I was their only security guard. Sometimes, the job can be somewhat unnerving. Being surrounded by death on a daily basis takes its toll on a person. But I remind myself that I am here to keep the place secure and to make sure that everything runs smoothly. Every night before turning in, I take a walk through the building to ensure that all the doors are locked, and the lights are off. I check on the mourners attending evening services if one is scheduled, making sure that they aren’t causing any trouble or breaking any rules. I get up periodically through the night to make my rounds and ensure all is well. If I hear anything out of the ordinary, I investigate it. At first, I thought that the job here would be a piece of cake. All I had to do was patrol the building at night, keep an eye on the cameras, and ensure that no one tries to break in. Beyond the morbid appeal, this place provides for young thrill seekers, there are also chemicals stored here that an enterprising criminal could use in the manufacture of narcotics, so intruders were a concern worth noting. However, as I settled into my new role, I began to realize that the job was more than I had anticipated. The funeral home itself was pretty creepy, with dimly lit hallways and creaky old doors. Every time I walked down one of these dark corridors, I could not help but feel like someone—or something—was watching me. Sometimes, I hear strange noises coming from the other side of the walls. Sometimes, I see a shadow flash past in the corners of my vision. Sometimes, I swear that I can feel a cold breath on the back of my neck. Despite my unease, I try to remain professional. After all, I am here to keep the place secure, not to be spooked by every little sound. However, as the nights wear on, I find it harder and harder to shake the feeling that something is not quite right. It wasn't until a few weeks into the job that things began to get strange. I was doing my usual rounds when I heard a noise coming from one of the rooms we use to store the prepped bodies in their caskets for upcoming funerals. It sounded like something was shuffling around in there. I tried to tell myself that there was a reasonable explanation, but I could not shake the feeling that something was not right. As I approached the door to the room, my heart started to race. I wondered if I was just acting paranoid, but the noise was unmistakable. It sounded like footsteps, slow and deliberate. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I reached for the doorknob. I hesitated for a moment, trying to gather my courage. Finally, I turned the knob and pushed the door open, just a crack, trying to peek inside without making too much noise. The room was dark, but I could make out the shape of a casket in the center of the room. I tried to remember if there was a funeral scheduled for the morning, but I couldn't recall seeing the schedule that day. I listened for a moment, but the shuffling noise had stopped. I pushed the door open a little further, and that's when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I spun around, my hand reaching for the flashlight on my belt, but there was nothing there. My heart was pounding now, and I could feel the sweat starting to form on my forehead. I took a deep breath and stepped into the room, shining my flashlight around. The casket was still in the center of the room, and there didn’t seem to be anything else out of place. But I could not shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I finished my patrol of the room quickly and made my way back to my apartment, trying to calm my nerves. It was going to be a long night. The next night, I heard the noise again. My heart sank as I realized that the sound was not just in my head, but was coming from the same room as before. Once again, I decided to investigate this issue. I slowly made my way down the hallway, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. As I approached the door, my palms began to sweat and my breath became shallow. My personal experiences have taught me to remain calm under pressure; however, this was a different kind of fear. I pushed the door open slowly and peered inside, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement. To my surprise, there was nothing there. No people, no animals, no signs of any disturbance. The room was empty, and the only thing that greeted me was an eerie silence. I stood there for a few moments, trying to make sense of what I heard. Was it just my imagination, playing tricks on me? Had I been up too late? I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, but I also couldn't find any logical explanation for the noise. As I made my way back to my room, my mind was racing with thoughts and questions. Was there something in the funeral home that I didn't know about? I did not want to jump to any conclusions, but I knew that I had to keep my guard up and stay alert. As the nights go on, the strange noises persist, and I begin to feel like I am being watched. It's as if someone, or something, is following me through the halls. Every time I turn around, I expect to see a figure looming in the shadows, but there's never anything there. I start to become increasingly paranoid. I double-check the locks on the doors and windows every hour, just to make sure they're secure. I even start carrying a side-arm with me on my rounds, just in case. Things just continue to become even stranger. One night, as I was sitting in my apartment, I heard a series of strange noises coming from outside. At first, I thought it was just the wind, but the sounds grew louder and more persistent until they sounded like someone knocking at the door. I tried to ignore it, thinking that it was probably just some kids playing a prank. But the knocking continued, growing more insistent by the minute. It was as if someone was desperately trying to get my attention. Feeling a sense of unease, I cautiously approached the door and peered through the peephole. To my surprise, there was no one there. The hallway was completely empty, and there was no sign of anyone lurking in the shadows. I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. As I returned to my apartment, I felt a chill blow past me into the apartment. Once inside I couldn’t help but notice that the atmosphere had changed. The air felt thick and heavy, and there was an unexplained chill that seemed to permeate through every corner of the room. Uncomfortable I retreated to my bedroom. Hoping to get my mind off of the night’s events. However, the knocking continued sporadically throughout the night, each time causing my heart to race with fear. I tried to convince myself that it was just my imagination, but the persistent tapping at the door made it clear that it was not. That's the moment when I realize I can't take it anymore. I need to find out what's causing these noises and put an end to it. The next day, I decide to talk to the funeral home director about my concerns. I half expect him to laugh it off and tell me I'm crazy, but to my surprise, he takes me seriously. He tells me that the funeral home has been rumored to be haunted for years and that some of the staff have reported strange occurrences in the past. As time goes on, my interactions with the spirits are becoming more frequent and intense. I often hear whispers in my ear or feel a cold breath on my neck. Some nights, the spirits become angry and throw objects around the room. I've taken to talking to them as I make my rounds. As it makes me more comfortable and I believe helps to calm the spirits. I've begun to realize that not all spirits behave the same. Some are friendly and curious, whereas others are vengeful and aggressive. It's as if they each have their own stories to tell, and I am the only one who can hear them. Despite my growing attachment to the spirits, I've still had moments of fear and doubt. There are nights when I hear something so terrifying that I just freeze in place, too afraid to move. But then, a warm feeling comes over me, reminding me that I was not alone and that everything is going to be okay. I started to document my experiences in a journal, detailing the encounters I had with the spirits and the strange occurrences that happen each night. I've even begun to research the history of the funeral home, hoping to uncover clues about the spirits' identities and motives. I haven't had much luck yet, but I'm optimistic. Although my job is unusual, I find a sense of purpose in my interactions with the dead. I know what I'm doing is something important, something that no one else could do as well. And who knows, maybe one day I'll even be able to solve the mystery of this place and help the spirits find peace. submitted by /u/Dr3adN07 [link] [comments]
