Security Shifts and Scary Encounters

The Lonely Shift

Around twelve years ago, I worked as a security guard at a small company's headquarters in New York City. One night, my partner called in sick, leaving me to work the midnight to 6 a.m. shift alone. Normally, this wouldn’t bother me. My duties were simple: sit in the back room, watch the surveillance cameras, and occasionally do a sweep of the building. Easy, right?

That night, however, something felt different. The usual quiet of the building seemed heavier, almost suffocating. It was just past midnight when I first noticed the flicker of movement on one of the screens. It was brief, almost like a shadow darting across the hallway. I dismissed it at first, thinking it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. But then it happened again, a few minutes later.

The Eerie Encounter

Feeling a growing sense of unease, I grabbed my flashlight and headed out to do a sweep. I started in the main hallway, its length stretching into the semi-darkness. As I entered, I saw another flash of movement at the far end. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood frozen, peering into the shadows. I debated whether to call out, but something told me to stay quiet.

Then, a loud bang shattered the silence—a gunshot. My blood ran cold. I forced myself to move, slowly walking down the hallway. The sound had come from the president's office. The light was on, casting a faint glow into the corridor. My hands trembled as I approached the door. With a deep breath, I pushed it open.

The Horrific Scene

The sight inside was beyond anything I had ever imagined. An employee, whom I recognized but didn't know well, had taken a seat in the president's chair. He had shot himself in the head, his blood and brains splattered across the walls and floor. The room reeked of gunpowder and death.

I felt bile rise in my throat and couldn't stop myself from vomiting. My mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened. I knew this man had been struggling with personal issues, but I had no idea things were this bad. The president was known for being a difficult boss, and it seemed this employee had reached his breaking point, choosing this horrific act as his final statement.

Calling for Help

My hands shook as I dialed 911, struggling to keep my voice steady as I reported the incident. The dispatcher assured me that help was on the way, but those minutes waiting for the police to arrive felt like hours. I stayed outside the office, unable to bear looking at the gruesome scene again.

When the police finally arrived, they took over the scene, and I gave my statement. The officers were professional, but their faces showed their horror. One of them patted me on the shoulder, offering a small measure of comfort, but I still felt numb, detached from reality.

The Aftermath

In the days that followed, the company's headquarters became a hub of activity. Police investigations, media coverage, and grief counselling sessions filled the normally quiet halls. The incident left a deep scar on everyone who worked there. The president, who had been the target of the employee's final act, took a leave of absence, and rumors swirled about his possible resignation.

For me, the nightmares began almost immediately. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the employee's lifeless body, heard the echo of the gunshot, and smelled the acrid scent of blood. I started to dread my shifts, especially the nights. The building's once-familiar corridors now seemed filled with unseen threats, shadows that moved just out of sight.

Facing the Darkness

One particularly restless night, about a month after the incident, I decided to confront my fears head-on. I stayed late after my shift, determined to walk through the building alone, in the dark. Armed with only my flashlight, I retraced my steps from that fateful night, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I walked down the main hallway, I thought I heard faint whispers, almost like the building itself was trying to speak to me. I paused, straining to listen, but there was only silence. I took a deep breath and continued on.

When I reached the president's office, I hesitated. The door was closed, just as it had been that night. I felt a wave of nausea but forced myself to open it. The office was empty now, the bloodstains cleaned, but the memory of what had happened there lingered like a dark cloud.

A Glimmer of Light

Standing in the office, I spoke aloud, addressing the spirit of the employee. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

A strange sense of calm washed over me. I can't explain it, but it felt as if some of the darkness lifted. I left the office, closed the door gently behind me, and walked back to the security room.

Moving Forward

The nightmares didn't stop immediately, but they became less frequent. I sought help, talking to a therapist about what I had experienced. Slowly, I began to heal. The building, once a place of terror, started to feel familiar again.

Though I eventually left that job, the events of that night stayed with me. They reminded me of the unseen struggles people face and the importance of reaching out and offering help before it's too late.

Even now, years later, I sometimes think back to that employee and wonder if things could have been different. I hope he found peace, and in some small way, I hope he knows that he's not forgotten.