3 Terrifying Night Shift Horror Stories and Graveyard Shift Moments
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I had a job working overnight at a gas station close to my home. I'm a woman and was 31 years old at the time. I noticed some "it seems unsafe for a woman to work graveyard shift by herself" but this was a slow store and the sheriff's office was a mere 20 feet from it, right across the street. I really didn't think that I would have that many problems. There would be about 30 customers in an 8 hour shift and that was on a busier night. It was about 3:30 in the morning.

I'd gone outside to sweep the parking lot and do a last minute check of the trash. It was also time for a cigarette, and I had one headphone in, kinda just jamming out, across the road in the parking lot of the sheriff's office. I saw a figure with his back to me. He was swaying back and forth, all while looking down. Honestly, it looked like he was right in the middle of enjoying a much needed piss. Against the sheriff's office though? Yeah, the building closed at 4pm and wouldn't open again till 6 the next morning.

But why? Seeing the back of his ripped white t-shirt, I remembered that he had come into the gas station about four hours earlier. He was a total creep then, and I could already tell that he had a good buzz going. I didn't say anything. I just minded my own business, kept up with my sweeping, and tried not to draw attention to myself. It was working. That is, until a car pulled in. I was still outside as they pulled up. I saw him look at the car, then at me, and then back and forth between the two.

The customer paid at the pump, although we made eye contact when she first got out of her driver's seat. After acknowledging this woman, I continued with my duties until we both heard him start to swear angrily and seemingly engage in an argument with himself. This woman looked across the road, then turned to me and told me to be careful before getting back into her car. I made an awkward joke about him being the one who should be more afraid of me, or something to that effect.

The man was still there, but now closer to the road, now facing the parking lot to my store. Whatever he's yelling was completely unintelligible. He was obviously very drunk and could barely stand up straight, still just swaying away. I didn't engage with him, but I was sure not to let my eyes leave him. I just slowly walked myself back into the store. Something about his face really bothered me. It had a darkness to it, but his eyes were so wild.

that I could see them from across the street. And in my own experience during graveyard jobs, it's the crazy-eyed ones who tend to be the worst. I didn't like it at all and wanted absolutely zero part of it. I still had almost three hours to go on my shift and two before any of the other employees got there. Instantly, I went to the computer and typed up a temporarily closed sign just in case he wanted trouble. I was coming around the counter on my way to the doors

When I saw that he'd walked across the road, now on my side of the street, I literally had just gotten the second door locked when he stumbled into our very small parking lot. At that instant, my hand mimed the hand signal for "CUT" going across my neck, basically saying "Nope, sorry you can't come in here, we're closed." I shook my head back and forth too, hoping that this would further discourage him. He started walking away, but screamed something at me while he was walking.

I don't mean like he was grumpy and shouted at me or yelled that I was an asshole or anything. I mean like he was at an enraged volume and was violently throwing his hands everywhere, definitely knowing I'm in the wrong shift of the wrong job. I got a bit creeped out. I decided to call the cops, and it's a good thing too, because the moment I hung up with them, there he comes again, only this time right up to the door. He starts pulling and banging on it,

He backs up and runs into it at full speed, trying to ram it open. Not that it would have done any good, but after two or three attempts of that, he backs up about six feet before pulling a large rock from his pocket. I already knew what his plan was before it even unfolded. He reared back and threw that rock as hard as he could. Thankfully, those doors are shatterproof because I can only imagine what would have happened had he made his way inside the store. After his fastball to the glass,

I made the mistake of telling him that I had called the cops and that they were on their way. I say I made the mistake of telling him because, once I said it, he bolted. The police who arrived less than 10 minutes later never found him. They drove around the road and the surrounding neighborhoods for over an hour, but found absolutely no one. He was on foot, so I don't get where he could have gone to. He didn't harm me, and with them not finding him,

The only report that I could help them fill out was for the damage that he had caused to the property. While the doors showed obvious signs of trauma, I was safe behind the thick glass and they stayed locked for the rest of my shift. It just sucked. Maybe if I didn't warn him ahead of time, I wouldn't have had to spend the last three months of my job constantly looking over my shoulder. I'll never know what the right choice was. I'm just glad that I don't work there anymore. If you ever want to hear some of the most fucked up stories you'll ever find in your life,

Just ask the regular graveyard guy at your local all-night convenience store for some of the sh*t that he's seen, and I implore you, bring some popcorn. In my life, I've been the graveyard guy for not one, not two, but three different 7-Eleven locations, and I'm going to bring the bulk of my horror stories to you lovely people here online. I'm going to start with one of my favorites, which is also one of the weirdest and one of the saddest.

It was my last night at my favorite 7-Eleven, the one I'd worked at for almost two years at that point. It was a little bit before 5:30 in the morning. The assistant manager for the day shift had already counted in and the reports had already been pulled for the night. His name was Dave. I was counting out my register. That's when she walked in. A pleasant looking older woman, well dressed and quiet. She poured a couple of cups of coffee, then brought them in front of Dave. He greeted her with a good morning, rang her up.

and asked if there'd be anything else. She responds by silently walking away, back over by the coolers, staring up at the products, thinking that she'd forgotten something. Dave voids her purchase and waits patiently for her to return. After a few minutes, the woman comes back to the register. He rings her up and again asks if there'd be anything else. She said something but quickly trailed off, and then she silently walked away again, back over by the coolers,

He looks at me with a look of slightly panicked confusion. At this point, I realize that this pleasant-looking older woman was well-dressed, all in black, quiet, and was wearing a gold cross. I looked at her, I looked at Dave, and mouthed out, "I think she's going to a funeral." I looked at the clock and said, "Alright, I have time for this." It was about 5:35, and I wasn't technically off until 6, so I put the cash drawer back into the register

and I walk across the store to where she was standing. She turned and looked at me with the strangest, most hollow eyes that I've ever seen. I looked at her with as much compassion as I could muster, and I asked, "Who was it?" She gave me a look like she didn't understand how I knew. She opened her mouth to answer, but instead started to wail. She began crying hysterically, loudly sobbing right in our back aisle. She threw her arms around me, collapsed to the floor by the coolers,

and just crumpled into this broken person. I wrapped the woman up in my arms, I held her while she cried, and I tried my best to comfort her with generic well-meaning platitudes. She told me that it was her brother. It had been an accident, a sudden and violent death, and she blamed herself. After ten minutes of the most soul-shattering crying you can ever imagine, I help her to her feet and I walk her out of the store to the parking lot. I run back in, buy her coffee,

buy her cigarettes, and I go back out to talk with her. She hugs me and continues to cry. I speak to her about the fragility of life and how you can't blame yourself for accidents, no matter how much you believe or may want them to be your own fault. They're just not. I light her a cigarette and check the time to find I could have clocked out and gone home 20 minutes ago, but I didn't want to leave her in such a terrible state.

Finally, almost an hour had passed since she had first walked in, and she seemed like she'd finally pulled herself together. She stops crying, fixes herself up, and looks up at me again. That's when she asks me, "What church do you go to?" "Well, I don't actually go to church." "Why not?" "Well, it's not really for me." "Well, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?" "No, I can't say that I have." "Well, tell me now, why not?"

I see myself as an atheist. That's when the woman's face churned in total disgust. "You're a monster." I was absolutely blindsided by this. "I'm sorry?" He, voice booming at this point, who has not accepted Jesus, getting louder and louder, will suffer an eternity, now practically screaming this inches from my face. In the darkest pits of hell, I crush out my cigarette, picked up my items, and I start to walk back into the store.

She screams from behind me, "You touched me! How dare you touch me! You with your unclean hands! You who dares to make a mockery of the Bible! Who has turned your back on the Lord! How dare you touch someone like me!" I let the door shut, allowing her to scream more and more obscenities at me. I walk behind the counter, and Dave asks me how it went. After two years of one strange, horrible thing after another, I said, "Dave, this is officially my last night here.

And that was the perfect example of exactly why the fuck I'm leaving. I clocked out and left. I walked out and she was still screaming, yelling, and pointing. I glance up and notice her face was bright red. This woman was absolutely boiling. I tuck my head down and I walked. I thought about how I had held her, how I did everything I could to make her feel better. And as soon as she did, she verbally attacked me.

I thought of how horrible she made me feel, that she called me a monster. As big of a guy as I am, I'll admit, I cried a little bit on the way home that morning. Believe it or not, this story doesn't end there. According to the police report, that woman returned my 7-11 the very next morning, at nearly the exact same time that she'd come in the day before. She didn't actually come into the store, though. No.

She chose instead to drive her SUV over the concrete parking stops and press the front bumper against the doors, effectively locking everyone inside. That's when she exited the vehicle with a Bible in one hand and some kind of knife in the other. She jumped on the hood of her car and declared that she was there to rid the store of the evil that dwelled within. I believe with every ounce of me, she had returned to the store that morning to attempt to kill me.

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Call 1-800-GRANGER, click granger.com, or just stop by. Granger, for the ones who get it done. Working late at night and into the early morning is not something for the faint of heart. You get all sorts of people walking through those doors after midnight, from the benign to the very much malignant. Drunks, downtrodden, and downright batty. I'm not sure which category the person from my story falls into. I figure I'll let you decide after you hear all about him.

His name is Richard. Working the graveyard shift, I was the lone employee at my store from just after 10:00 PM to just before 6:00 AM. Not only that, but the next nearest all-night anything was another convenience store over two miles away. One that from my store, you could just barely see the light pollution of their neon. This setup alone made for many interesting happenings. In this particular evening,

It was a Saturday night going into Sunday morning, just after 4am, when a middle-aged male with thick glasses and week-old stubble walked in. He wasn't unpleasant at first. He made small talk as he walked through the store, sometimes to me, sometimes to no one in particular. He mentioned things about the weather. He asked about the hot dogs and taquitos on the grill. It was what it was at first, but then the comments started slipping in.

minor vulgarities coupled with weird things. And after walking about the store for a good 20 minutes, he comes up to the register to check out without anything to actually buy. I asked if he needed help with anything and that's when he asked me what I knew about the Antichrist. Alright, well, I know enough, I guess. I was raised Catholic, so I know quite a bit on the subject, I suppose. And to this admission, he stares at me, eyes wide,

Mouth pursed. I wasn't sure if he was about to bite me on the face or kiss me on the lips, and not being able to tell the difference made me uneasy. The man. I should get a hot dog. Me. Alright. Which one would you like? The man. One of the king-sized ones. I want to enjoy it. There will be no more hot dogs once the Antichrist comes. Now, it sounds like a ridiculous statement, and I'll admit, it is one.

but when said with genuine menace, it becomes a thinly veiled harbinger of doom. I did my best to ignore it. I got the bun and his hot dog and handed it over to him. He walked around to the condiment bar before continuing. "You have onions?" "Yes, we do." "I love onions." Me: "Yeah, a lot of people do." "They better enjoy them."

Because, you know, there'll be no more onions once the Antichrist comes. There's no real way to respond to this, so I just try to go back about my work. But even as I walk, as I stock cigarettes and start my nightly count, I can feel him watching every move that I make. He comes up to the register with his hot dog, pays, and I hope to hell that we're just done here. Thanks for coming in, man. Have a good night. That's when I turn my back. He asks if he can eat this hot dog here.

I tell him it's probably not a good idea. The manager usually comes in at about 5:30 and he doesn't like it if anyone's just hanging around. You know, stuff to do and all. The man: "Oh, I'm not worried about him. The shit part about this is that I was actually partially lying." The manager, James, my boss, and a really awesome guy, did arrive somewhere between 5:30 and 5:45 every morning, Monday through Friday.

But he avoided the place like the plague on the weekends. I was trying to sell something that I knew wouldn't fly if this guy actually stuck around long enough for no one to show up. And now he was telling me he wasn't concerned about someone else showing up. Saturday nights are busy times for convenience stores, but after about 3:30 they become a ghost town and it was just me and this guy for one extended uninterrupted conversation after another.

I'd try to walk to stock cups, lids, and straws, and he'd pop up right behind me. There'll be no cups and straws when the Antichrist comes. I arranged the beer and the coffee. There'll be no more coffee when the Antichrist comes. I realize that it sounds like a joke, but his panicked eyes and horribly hinting smile made it clear that he was dead serious in everything he said. 5am rolls around. Well, you should probably get going. Don't want boss man getting mad at me now.

The man. He won't get mad at you. Me. It's just, he doesn't like people hanging around the store. The man. We're just talking. Talking about the Bible. He said this so sickly sweet, it made my stomach churn. Yeah, but he's still going to be here soon. The man, repeating one of his original statements. I'm not worried about him. I need milk. Uh, okay. I point to the display case. He walks back, grabs a carton of milk.

slowly and robotically inspecting it, all the way back to the register. "I love milk," he says. "Oh, really?" "Yeah, but there'll be no more milk when the Antichrist comes. The devil won't allow that. It's holy sustenance." "Alright, so at this point, I'm now sizing the guy up. He's about 5'9, I'm 6'4, and I've got at least 100 pounds on him. So if things head south, I think I can get a few good knocks in before he pulls out my liver."

and puts it on his head. 5:10: Should really probably get going. The man: Jesus loves all of his children. 5:15: Boss is going to be here soon. The man: I told you, I'm not worried about him. 5:20: Is there anything else you need? The man: The devil is real. Before reciting my full name. This is where two things happened that if I hadn't lived through it, I would have called bullshit to the person telling the story.

At 5:30, for the first time in almost two years that I'd worked there, my boss James comes walking into the store on a Sunday morning. He managed to unbluff my bluff with this guy. Secondly, and this is the jaw-droppingly hilarious part for me, James had been to the beach on Saturday. James had fallen asleep at said beach on Saturday. James had shaved his head fresh before going to the beach on Saturday. In other words, just as I told him he would,

My boss came walking in at 5:30 on the dot with a completely shaved head, a long dark goatee, and bright red skin. Me. "What the f*ck are you doing here?" James. "I honestly have no idea." He looks at the guy. "Who's this?" I didn't answer. I looked at James, I looked at the guy, and back at my boss. He looks at the guy before saying, "Let's go outside and chat, friend." Less than 10 minutes later,

The guy was walking off, and James came back into the store. "So how are you?" he asked. "Dude, what the fuck was that all about?" "Oh, Richard?" "Well, he started telling me about Jesus. I started telling him about witchcraft. He said the Antichrist was coming. I said I was the Antichrist." Absolutely blew his circuits. Then he left. This only solidified my love for James as a person. Now, I wish this is where the story ended.

But about three months later, I'm outside of the store and smoking a cigarette with a few regular customers of mine, just chatting away. Somewhere off in the distance, I hear, Jesus, Lord God, help me. I perk up, but the people I'm with don't seem to notice. Jesus, please, I know you can help me. It's closer now, and I actually say, Oh, please don't be Richard. Jesus, Jesus Christ, come down from heaven and save me.

Please, just please don't let this be Richard. Sure enough, barreling around the side of the building and heading right in my direction is a panicked, screaming, and sweaty Richard. He's covered in his own blood. The people I'm with ask the appropriate question. Dude, is he fucking covered in blood? I, on the other hand, only had one thought coursing through my mind, and it repeated over and over again. Don't go in the store. Don't go in the store. Don't go in the store.

Don't go in the- God damn it. I crush my cigarette out and run into the store behind him. In the few seconds that he's been in there, I now have blood all over the doors, the floors, the rugs, and countertops. Jesus Christ, please come down and save me. I grab him some towels and toss them in his general direction, trying to get an idea of the nature of his wounds, all while dialing 911. Now, I can't be sure because I can't say I've seen it before,

but it looked quite possibly like he tried to crucify himself. When the dispatcher picks up, I say, I've got a gentleman in my store who's injured, screaming profanities, yelling about Jesus and is covered in his own blood. They were instantly taken aback. I tell them his name is Richard and I don't know how badly he's hurt, but I hear her typing. She asked me in a confirming manner that I said that he was screaming profanities. Richard, who can't hear her,

lets out a long, loud "fuck." I ask the dispatcher if she heard that. She confirms that she did. "And you said he's talking about Jesus?" Richard, who still can't hear her, "Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, please fucking come and save me." "Did you happen to hear that?" The dispatcher confirms that yes she did. And then Richard, in all of his glory, does the one thing that makes any convenience store clerk go aggro, especially one working graveyard.

I turn away from him to give the operator the store incident number, and when I turn back around, Richard is now behind me, behind the register. I drop the phone. "Richard, I don't give a f- what's wrong with you. If you don't get out from behind my counter, I will hang up with 911 and let you bleed to death right here in the store." But that confrontation didn't last long. Before he could respond, there were four PD officers through the door. I thank the 911 operator.

hung up, and left the area. Richard was handcuffed inside of the ambulance, and even the officer said that it appeared that he'd tried to do something harmful with religious significance. I thanked them for arriving so quickly, and we all laughed about the strangeness of this entire situation. Then, I asked a question that I wish I hadn't. So, who cleans up all this blood? The lead officer replies with, That'd be you. Fuck my life, right?

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