This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/pentyworth223 on 2025-05-22 01:19:00+00:00.
I needed the job.
Just something steady—something quiet. The kind of work where no one asks questions, and you don’t have to talk to too many people.
The listing said: Overnight security, no experience necessary. Surveillance-focused. Low traffic. $20/hr, paid weekly.
Sounded perfect.
The place was called Mickey’s Americana Diner. One of those washed-out 24-hour spots you drive by without noticing. The neon sign didn’t work right, and the parking lot was cracked to hell. But I didn’t care. I showed up at 9:45 PM sharp.
Lowell was waiting for me by the side entrance. Thin guy, late fifties maybe. Greasy ball cap. Yellow teeth. Tired eyes. He barely looked at me as he handed me the keys.
“You just stay in the office, keep an eye on the monitors,” he said. “Nobody should be coming in through the back, especially not after 2:00. If they do, follow the rules.”
He handed me a laminated sheet.
⸻
SECURITY PROTOCOL – NIGHT SHIFT
- Do not engage with anyone who enters after 2:14 AM through the back door.
- If someone smiles without blinking for longer than ten seconds, they’re not human.
- Anyone wearing outdated uniforms or clothes from before 1990 must be escorted out—calmly, but firmly.
- The man with no eyebrows is not real. Do not speak to him.
- If someone says they know you, and you don’t recognize them, do not pretend you do.
- Use the axe only if absolutely necessary.
⸻
I laughed. Thought it was a joke. Like hazing for the new hire.
But Lowell didn’t smile.
“You’ll understand eventually,” he said, and left without another word.
The first night was fine. Boring. I watched grainy black-and-white monitors and did a quick patrol every hour. The place smelled like fryer grease and lemon cleaner. A few lights flickered, but nothing weird.
Until 2:19 AM.
Motion sensor near the delivery entrance tripped.
I checked the monitor. A man was standing there, just outside the glass.
He was tall. Wearing a red knit sweater. Smiling.
And he didn’t blink.
I stared. Counted to ten.
Nothing.
He didn’t move. Just kept smiling—wide and unnatural, like he was trying to remember how to smile. I didn’t open the door. I didn’t even breathe. I locked the hallway and waited until he disappeared from the screen.
The next night, it was a woman in a teal dress. Looked like something out of a decades-old Sears catalog. She waved at the camera. Didn’t blink either.
They kept coming.
Some knocked. Some whispered through the cracks in the door. Some just stood there, staring. I stopped doing patrols. I kept the axe closer.
One night, someone got in.
He was already in the dining area when I saw him—table four, facing the kitchen, sipping from a coffee mug that should’ve been empty.
He didn’t have eyebrows.
I grabbed the axe.
He smiled and said my name.
I didn’t remember him.
He didn’t bleed much. Not at first.
But when I went to drag the body out the back like I was supposed to, it was gone. No blood trail. No mess. No proof.
Lowell never said a word. Just left a sharper axe in the box the next night.
I kept following the rules.
There was another man in a bellhop uniform. A woman in nurses’ scrubs from the ’70s. A kid who looked like my brother did when he was twelve, but with black pits for eyes. I did what I had to do.
By week three, I’d logged 23 incidents in the ledger.
Then came Hailey.
She looked normal. Hoodie, jeans, nervous energy. Said she worked prep for the morning shift. She even had a badge.
I told her she needed to leave. That she didn’t belong here.
She looked confused. Scared.
“You trained me last week,” she said. “Remember? You showed me the cameras—”
She reached out to touch my shoulder.
So I used the axe.
She cried the whole time. Screamed like a real person. Begged.
I told myself she was faking it. That she was one of them.
But when I went to drag her body outside, Lowell was there.
Just standing. Pale.
His hands were shaking.
“You need to leave,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Right now.”
“But she wasn’t—”
“There are no rules. Not for you.”
Then he called someone.
I left before they got there.
Now I’m holed up in a motel outside town. Axe under the bed. Logbook full.
But last night, I saw one of them again.
He was standing across the parking lot. Red sweater. Still smiling.
I think they’re following me.
I think they’re waiting.