Full transcript of “3 Disturbing TRUE Alone At Work Horror Stories | Mr. Night Scares”. Click a timestamp to open the video at that moment. Need another video? Use the YouTube transcript generator.
0:09 I was the last one in the office on a Saturday night in October. Our sixth floor was with empty chairs. The HVAC hummed. An exit sign glowed. My laptop showed a budget file due Monday. I told myself one more hour. My green mug with a chipped rim sat by my mouse. A yellow sticky note with three numbers on my monitor. The time was 12:27 a.m. I sent one email and started another. My phone buzzed. An unknown number. I almost let it go to voicemail, then answered. Hello. Only breathing. Not heavy, just close. I said, "Hello again." More breathing. I hung up and told myself it was a mistake. 2 minutes later, the same number called. I answered and said, "Stop calling." Breathing again with a faint rasp at each exhale. I hung up. My stomach went tight. The motion lights in
0:55 the corridor were dark. A text arrived. I can see you. I froze. Another text followed. Blue sweater, green mug with a chip, sticky note with 483 on it. Don't look for me. I was wearing a blue sweater. My mug was green and chipped. The sticky note said 483. I stood so fast my chair bumped the mat. I looked through the glass wall into the hallway. Nothing moved. I checked the office door. From the hall, it needed a key card. Mine hung from a lanyard around my neck. I decided to get coffee and reset. The kitchenet was 20 steps away. I grabbed my mug, stepped into the hallway, and the motion lights came on. In the kitchen, I pressed the button, and watched coffee fill the cup. The small window over the sink was a black mirror. The feeling hit first. Heat on
1:43 the back of my neck like someone standing too close. I turned. [Music] A man stood behind me. Dark jacket, cap, ordinary face, empty hands. He did not speak. His eyes went from my face to my mug, then back as if confirming a list. "You need to leave," I said. My voice shook. He smiled without teeth. I edged so the counter stayed between us. Then I ran. His footsteps followed fast and steady. I yanked the women's restroom door, slipped inside, and locked it. I backed up until I hit the sinks. My phone was still on my desk. I had no way to call the police. I listened. The lights buzzed. The vent hissed. The handle shook once and stopped. Then it was quiet except for a small drip from a faucet that never fully closes. I
2:30 pressed my hands against the counter and tried to slow my breathing. I waited and counted. 60. 100 200. Every few seconds, I thought I heard steps in the hall, but it was the building settling. The mirror showed a woman in a blue sweater with wide eyes. That was me. When I guessed 30 minutes had passed, I unlocked the door. The hallway was empty. The exit sign glowed. The motion lights stayed off until I stepped out, then brightened above me and ahead. I listened for any sound that did not belong. Nothing. I walked toward my desk. My phone sat where I left it. Three new texts were on the screen. The last one said, "Brave girl." I pressed the phone icon. Footsteps sounded behind me quick and close from the copy room. I turned. He
3:15 was already there. Pain struck above my ear. The floor tilted. Light smeared across the ceiling. I tasted metal. Papers flashed by and then everything went dark. When I woke, a gray band of mourning sat across the windows. A paramedic shown a light into my eyes. My boss stood with two police officers. The HVAC hum blended with the medic's quiet radio. My boss spoke in a careful voice. Someone had gone into the server room during the night. An external drive was missing. A set of master keys, too. Security had noticed a stairwell door, a jar on a camera, and sent the guard. That was how they found me, by the copy room. I gave the officer my phone. He slid it into a clear bag. I told them about the calls, the texts, the man in the kitchen, and hiding in the restroom.
4:02 We walked the hallway. The dome camera above the kitchenet had been turned to face the ceiling. The camera near the copy room had smears on the lens. The server room door showed a neat scratch by the lock. The coffee in my mug was cold. A torn sugar packet lay open on the counter. One officer said it looked planned. He said the person knew the building and our camera angles. He might have used a contractor badge. They asked who knew I was working late. I said I emailed my boss at 8 and messaged our team. They told me to get checked at the hospital and to expect a call. They would pull footage from the elevators in the street. My boss walked me back to my desk while the paramedic wrote a report. He told me again that something important was gone. He said it
4:49 like repeating the fact might make the rest logical. I nodded. I went home with a bandage on my head and a police report number on a folded paper. I slept with the lamp on. In the afternoon, I changed my number. Security sent an email titled incident update. The cameras gave no clear face. The number that called me was not real. There were no useful fingerprints. Whoever he was, he knew where to look and when to leave. I still work on the sixth floor. I keep my phone in my pocket now. I keep a new sticky note on my monitor with three words and block letters. Lock your door. It was a typical night shift at the
5:34 small warehouse where I worked security. I'm not some tough guy or anything. I'm just a regular dude in his 30s trying to pay the bills. The job was boring most of the time, sitting in a dimly lit control room, watching grainy feeds from a dozen cameras scattered around the building. We stored auto parts, nothing fancy, but the owner was paranoid about theft after a break-in a few years back. So, we had these basic security cams hooked up to monitors, live feed only, no recording because the boss was too cheap to spring for a DVR system. If something happens, you'll see it in real time, he'd say. Yeah, right. The warehouse was in an industrial park on the outskirts of town, surrounded by chainlink fences and empty lots. Nights
6:20 were quiet, especially after midnight. I'd sip coffee, scroll my phone, and glance at the screens every few minutes. That night, actually, early morning around 3:00 a.m., I was fighting off sleep. The clock ticked slowly, and the only sounds were the hum of the AC and distant trucks on the highway. I remember yawning and rubbing my eyes when something caught my attention on the back door camera. That feed showed the rear entrance, a metal door with a small loading dock lit by a single flood light. At first, I thought it was a shadow or maybe a glitch. But no, a person was standing right there, dead center in the frame. They were wearing a black robe and one of those scream masks. You know, the white ghost face from that old horror movie, the kind you
7:05 can buy at any Halloween store for like 10 bucks. They weren't moving, just standing, staring straight at the camera lens like they knew I was watching. My heart skipped. I leaned forward, squinting at the screen. The mask's black eyes and mouth hole looked creepy under the light. No wind, no rain that night. Everything was still. Who the hell would be out there at 3:00 a.m.? We didn't have deliveries and the gate was locked. I grabbed the radio to call my coworker Mike who was patrolling the front. But then I thought, maybe it's a prank. Kids sometimes messed around in the area, throwing rocks or tagging fences. But this didn't feel like kids. The figure was tall, adult-sized, and that stare, it was unnerving. I watched for a full
7:51 minute, and they didn't budge, not even a sway, like a statue. Finally, I decided to check it out myself. The control room was in the middle of the building, so I had to walk down a long hallway to the back door. That door was no joke. Magnetically sealed with an electronic lock, plus a heavy deadbolt we flipped at night. It took two keys and a code to open from inside and forcing it from outside. Forget it. It was built to withstand a battering ram. As I walked, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows. My footsteps echoed on the concrete floor. I felt a chill but told myself to calm down. Probably just some drunk idiot who wandered over. I reached the door and pressed my eye to the peepphole. It was one of those wide-angle ones giving a
8:37 fisheye view of the dock and the fence beyond. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The dock was empty, the flood light shining on bare concrete. No person, no mask, no robe. I blinked and looked again, scanning left and right. The chainlink fence was intact with no holes. The gate was chained shut, padlock in place. My stomach twisted. How could they vanish so fast? The camera was maybe 20 ft up, angled down, but the peepphole covered the same spot. I stood there for a second, heart pounding now. Then I hurried back to the control room, my mind racing. Maybe they ran off when I left the desk. But as I sat down and looked at the monitor, there they were again, walking back into frame from the side, casual as hell. The scream mask tilted up at the camera. And then they
9:24 waved. A slow, deliberate wave, like saying hi to an old friend. Then they turned and walked out of view toward the fence line. I froze, staring at the empty screen. That wave, it was mocking me, like they knew I'd checked and found nothing. How did they hear me coming? But the door was solid. No sound leaked out. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911, my voice shaky as I explained to the dispatcher. There's someone in a mask outside our back door. They were staring at the camera, then vanished when I looked out, then came back and waved. The cops showed up about 15 minutes later. Two officers in a patrol car. I let them in through the front and showed them the control room, but of course, the feed was live only. No recording, no
10:11 proof. They searched the perimeter with flashlights, checked the fence, and even looked for footprints in the gravel. Nothing. No signs of tampering, no discarded mask in the bushes. It could be a hoax, one cop said. Kids with masks are common this time of year, but it was summer, not Halloween. The other officer asked if we had enemies or recent firings. Nope, just a quiet warehouse. They left after taking my statement, promising to patrol the area more. Mike came back from his round, and I told him everything. He laughed it off at first, but when he saw my face, he got serious. Dude, that's messed up. Stay alert. The rest of the shift dragged on. I kept eyeing that back door feed, but it stayed empty. Dawn came and I clocked
10:57 out, driving home in the early light, feeling watched. That should have been the end, but it wasn't. The next night, I was back on shift, nerves on edge. Around 2:00 a.m., I spotted something on the same camera. Not the full figure this time, just a hand. A gloved hand reaches into the frame, placing something on the dockstep. Then it withdrew. I bolted to the door. Peeppole again. empty. Back to the screen, nothing. But whatever they left was still there. I radioed Mike and we went out together, unlocking the door carefully. On the step was a small envelope. Inside a printed photo of me from earlier that night, sitting in the control room, staring at the monitors. It must have been taken through the window, but that window was tinted and high up. How did they get that angle? No
11:43 note, just the photo. We called the cops again. Same officers. They dusted for prints, but the envelope was clean. Stalker, maybe, they said. Install recording cams. Yeah, tell that to the boss. Days blurred after that. I started sleeping poorly, jumping at shadows in my apartment. I'd double check locks, peek out windows. One evening, as I left for work, I found a scream mask sticker on my car windshield, tiny like from a kids pack, but it freaked me out. Was it the same person following me home? The warehouse was 20 mi from my place. Then a week later, the big one. 3:00 a.m. again. Back door camera. The figure was there, but this time they held a sign handwritten, "I see you, too." They stood staring, then dropped the sign and
12:28 walked away. I didn't go to the door. I called the cops from the desk, watching the feed. By the time they arrived, the sign was gone. No trace. The boss finally caved and added recording, but the incident stopped. No more visits. Police figured it was someone messing with me. Maybe an ex- employee or neighbor kid with a drone explaining the vanishing act. Drones can hover out of peepphole view, capture photos. Real tech, nothing supernatural. But that didn't ease the dread. Months passed. I quit the job, moved to a new town. I work in a building where you need a badge for everything. Street door, lobby, turnstyle, elevator after hours,
13:14 our floor, our suite. The readers flash red if you rush and green if you do it right. Every beep carries through the halls. Saturday night, I took the late shift to finish an audit. I rode up alone. The motion lights woke one zone at a time. I badged into the suite and heard the latch catch. The office looks like a clinic with desks. In the kitchen, a filter grinds as it fills a cup. I locked my laptop to the desk and texted my manager here till midnight. We'll send the draft. He sent a thumbs up. Around 9:00, the AC slowed. I typed until I needed coffee. The motion lights led me down the hall. By the door, a folded strip of cardboard was wedged to stop the latch. I had not put it there. We trained not to prop doors. I pulled
14:00 the cardboard out, tossed it in the bin, and badged the door again to check the latch. It clicked. I tried to forget it. 10 minutes later, the elevator dinged, doors opened and shut, and no one appeared. I tried to focus. I listened. At 10, a key card beep sounded at our door, then a lower one, like a failed read. I opened the building app. The camera feed said, "Video unavailable." I muted my laptop and listened. Another beep. Then the handle turned and hit the latch. I called the security desk. The guard sounded tired. He said the cleaner left at 8:00 and he would send someone up. I moved to the conference room near the door to watch without being seen. Through the frosted glass, a shadow slid across a man's outline. Navy shirt like maintenance, but jeans. He cupped a hand
14:46 to the glass. The reader beeped again, read. He tried the handle and stopped. He stood as if listening. I ducked behind the table and waited. He walked away toward the elevator. I stepped into the server closet and stood by the emergency bar that triggers an alarm. I kept my hand near it and called the desk again. The guard said he was on another floor but coming up. Minutes later, the stairwell door opened. The metal echo rolled along the hall. He had used the stairs to come around the other side. Our back door to the copy room needs a stairwell badge. The reader chirped once, then twice, then silence. I checked the stairwell camera and saw nothing. I turned off the lights in my row and moved to an interior office with no glass. I locked the door and sat on
15:34 the floor with my back to it. The hallway smelled like dust and old paint. I texted my manager, "Someone is trying doors." He responded, "Call me." I called. He made me list steps. Lock doors. Stay away from glass. Keep the alarm bar in reach. My hands shook, but I kept them steady. The building went quiet. Then the copier woke. He was inside in our copy room. The back door had failed. My manager said he was calling 911 and the building desk. Footsteps moved down the corridor. Rubber souls. He stopped at each office and tried the handles. He did not speak. He reached my door, tried it twice, then I heard metal scratch at the lock. I slid my heel against the carpet and leaned harder against the door. The lock clicked once, then again. I whispered
16:20 that he was at my door. My manager told me to hit the alarm. I pressed the bar and the siren burst through the suite. The man did not run. He pressed the handle again, calm like the noise meant nothing. Then a smell reached me. Citrus cleaner. He had wiped things. The lock turned. He opened the door a few inches and met my eyes. Mid-30s, shaved head, no logo, no name tag. He set his shoulder to the door and forced it. I grabbed the metal hole punch off the desk. It felt heavy. He slipped inside and closed the door. Fear went quiet. I recorded details. His watch was scratched. His jeans were wet at the cuffs. His hands were bare. He did not speak. He reached for me like he was clocking in. I swung the hole punch. It hit his forearm and fell. He used his
17:06 weight. The desk corner clipped my hip. The monitor cracked. The siren drilled. My name came from the phone on the floor. One thought stayed. The cardboard under the door. The elevator dinged. Doors opened. Shoes ran. The siren cut. I tasted metal and felt the floor cold against my cheek. Someone shouted in the hall. His steps moved away, then back. He was not rushing. I waited. After this, this became a case file. People will read it in training. They will watch timelines and count beeps. They will note the cardboard, the alarm, and the calls. They will see I followed the rules we click through each year. Check doors. Do not prop them. Do not let anyone tailgate. Trust the feeling that tells you something is wrong. If you
17:52 work late, tell someone. Tell them again. Make noise early. Do not wait for proof. I am writing this in my head the way I write audit notes. If you sit alone in a bright office and hear a badge beep that is not yours, stand up now. Turn on the lights. Call. Set off the alarm. Make the building loud. Lock a second door. Slide a chair against it. The rules are not for a slide deck. They are for moments like this. The last thing I hear is a radio in the hall. Security. Then hand on the door. Then my name spoken by someone who knows me. I wish I had pressed the alarm 5 minutes earlier. Do it before you need to. Walk out.
