I Took a Job Watching Security Cameras at an Abandoned Hospital — I Was Told to Never Look at Camera 6
I was two months into unemployment when I found the Craigslist listing.
Night Shift Security — $45/hour — Must Stay Awake. Must Follow Instructions. Location: Undisclosed (transport provided) Must not ask questions about the location. Must not interact with anything you see on Camera 6.
It was sketchy as hell. But $45/hour? I’d been eating rice and frozen peas for weeks.
I applied and heard back that same night. A man with a perfectly calm voice called and said I was hired. No interview. Just: “Be ready at 6:00 p.m. A black van will pick you up. Don’t be late.”
The van arrived precisely on time. No license plate. Tinted windows. The driver didn’t speak a word — just handed me a blindfold before I stepped in.
When the blindfold came off, I was inside what looked like an old hospital security room. The walls were yellowed and cracked, the air smelled faintly of mildew and iodine.
There were seven monitors, each labeled with faded tape:
CAM 1 — Lobby CAM 2 — ICU Hallway CAM 3 — Stairwell CAM 4 — Morgue CAM 5 — Children’s Ward CAM 6 — [NO ACCESS] CAM 7 — Roof
Before I could ask anything, a laminated sheet was slid under the steel security door behind me. No one on the other side. Just this:
RULES FOR OVERNIGHT SECURITY (10 PM–6 AM)
Do NOT sleep. Ever.
Do NOT open the door for anyone, even if they claim to be staff.
Check all cameras every 10 minutes — EXCEPT Camera 6.
If Camera 6 activates, turn the monitor off immediately.
If the screen flickers with static, pray.
If you see yourself on any camera, turn off the feed and do not acknowledge it.
Don’t leave. No matter what you hear.
Do not, under ANY circumstance, try to leave between 2:33 and 3:13 AM.
I thought it was a joke.
Then the lights flickered, and Camera 1 lit up. Dusty lobby. No one there. I checked all the others. Nothing but long, abandoned hallways. Except Camera 6, which stayed dark.
Everything was still until 1:22 AM.
That's when Camera 5 — the Children’s Ward — started glitching. I leaned in.
There was… something moving just at the edge of the frame. A small figure, hunched and twitching. At first, I thought it was a child, but the limbs were wrong — too long. The head jerked up suddenly, and though the feed was grainy, I swear its eyes were pitch black.
I turned off the monitor.
At 2:11 AM, the door behind me rattled.
“Hey, man! It’s me — Marcus, the supervisor. Power cut, can you open up?”
The voice sounded almost human. But flat. Too smooth.
I didn’t move.
“Come on, man. You can’t just leave me out here. Don’t be a dick.”
He kept knocking — same tone, same phrasing, over and over, like he was reading a script he barely understood. After five minutes, it stopped.
2:33 AM hit. The lights went out completely.
All cameras except 6 went black. 6 flickered on by itself.
I froze.
On the screen was a room I hadn’t seen before. A clean, white operating theater. In the middle stood a tall figure in a surgeon's coat — face blurred, head twitching like bad VHS tracking. And lying on the table, chest slowly rising, was me.
The figure looked up, directly into the camera. My ears began to ring.
I don’t remember turning off the monitor, but I must’ve.
The lights came back at 3:14. All cameras returned to normal. Except Camera 6 — back to static.
When 6:00 AM hit, the van was waiting. Same driver. No words.
When I got home, I slept for twelve straight hours.
I tried calling the number that hired me. Disconnected. The Craigslist ad? Gone.
But I just got a plain envelope in my mailbox.
Inside was a new laminated sheet:
Welcome to Night 2. You lasted longer than most. Tonight, the rules change. Do NOT trust what Camera 1 shows you after 4:44 AM. And don’t answer the phone. It’s not me.
