I Work at an Asylum and Can't Tell

A r/nosleep style story I've started writing

I Work at an Asylum and Can't Tell Anybody


         I'm not supposed to tell anyone about my job. I know I'm not supposed to, but I can't keep living like this. I can't keep the silence anymore. I need someone to know. I'm posting this on a throwaway account, and you'll understand why soon enough. Please... just listen.
         I never applied for this job. Looking back, that should've been my first red flag. But I was desperate. My hospital had been shut down, the CEO ran off with all of the money, and investors pulled out. I needed something, anything, to keep me afloat.
         So, I got in my 2002 Ford Taurus and drove. An hour and a half. Into the woods.The GPS had stopped working twenty minutes ago, and there hadn't been a single road sign since.
         I wasn't even sure I was heading the right way anymore. But I kept going, because the thought of going back to that silent apartment with nothing but rejection emails felt worse than driving off the edge of the world.
         The road twisted, winding deeper and deeper into the dark, barren trees. Even in the daylight, the branches felt like skeletal arms, reaching out, clawing at the sky. There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the winter cold.
         I pulled up to a rusted iron gate, the kind you only see in old, forgotten places. A guard booth sat at the entrance, barely visible behind the overgrown weeds and creeping vines. I sat there for a minute, staring at the gate, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that had been creeping up my spine since I'd arrived.
         Then, a sharp knock on my window startled me. My heart skipped as I whipped around to see a guard, his face obscured by a mask and dark sunglasses, motioning for me to roll down the window.
         "Hey, I'm here for the interview," I managed to say, my voice sounding smaller than I intended.
         He didn't answer right away, just stared at me with cold, unblinking eyes; or so I assumed, I couldn't see them through his sunglasses. For a second, I thought he might say something-but instead, he turned and walked away. His gait was off, jerky in a sense.
         The gate screamed in agony, opening with a sickening screech, metal on rust, the sound echoing through the still air. I didn't want to go through, but I didn't have a choice.
         My Taurus rolled through the dirt path, crunching underneath the weight of the tires. The asylum loomed ahead, a hulking, crumbling structure that looked like it had been abandoned for decades, yet somehow, it still stood.
         The stone walls were cracked and weathered, the mortar between them long gone, leaving jagged lines where the bricks threatened to fall away. The windows were filthy, coated in a grime so thick it was impossible to tell if they were even glass or just empty holes in the walls. Vines crept up the exterior, twisting like fingers desperately clutching for purchase. The once-pristine white paint had long since peeled away, leaving the building a dull, sickly gray.
         I thought about turning back and going home but figured since I was here I might as well stay. I found the closest thing that could be considered a parking space and exited my car. The air felt heavy here, thick with the scent of mildew and decay, as if the place had forgotten how to breathe properly.
         I approached the thick, dark-oak double doors, their surfaces swallowed by creeping vines that seemed to pull them inward, as if trying to drag the entire building into the earth. Before I could even raise my hand to knock, the door creaked open on its own, revealing another guard--his face hidden behind the same mask and the same glasses. He looked eerily identical to the one at the gate.
         He didn't blink. He just stared.
         "Uh, I'm here for the interview."
         His gaze lingered for a beat longer before he finally stepped aside. But I could still feel his eyes boring into my back as I walked past.
         Surprisingly, the lobby was clean -- almost like a hospital waiting room.
         Behind the counter was another woman, also wearing a mask and dark sunglasses, her face as unreadable as the guard's. However, she spoke. It was robotic; but she spoke.
         "Are you Tyler?" Her head jerked to the side, stiff and sudden.
         "Yeah, I'm here for the interview."
         Her head straightened, the motion unsettling. "I will notify Him. Please sit. He will be with you shortly."
         She pointed to a lone red plastic chair I hadn't noticed before. It sat in the corner-not against the wall or anything-just in the corner. Just sitting there, three feet from the nearest wall.
         I walked over to the chair, it was caked in a thick layer of dust. I sat down, and immediately, something was wrong. I'm not huge or anything, but this chair felt way too small for someone my size. It's as if it had been made for someone smaller, or maybe for no one at all. The hard plastic dug into the back of my legs, and I shifted uncomfortably. There was only one door, behind the counter, and beyond that, the space was barren, save for a few pieces of outdated furniture and the dust clinging to the corners like it's been here for ages.
         A man with thin gray hair on his sides and a few strands clinging on the top entered the room. He wore a black business suit with a crimson tie.
         He raised his hand and beckoned me with a blue stained finger without a word.
         I stood up and followed him down the singular, dimly lit corridor. Each step echoed like a gunshot. I dared a glance at him from the corner of my eye and saw his thin lips, stained red. He had wrinkles of age but not one of them was from smiling.
         Unable to bear the silence any longer I asked, "What's up with all the staff wearing masks and sunglasses?"
         He stopped dead in his tracks and turned toward me suddenly. He didn't say anything. Just stared at me with his eyes that were just a little too black, his crimson red lips were razor thin.
         I decided that may not have been the greatest idea and retracted my question, "Erm... Nevermind."
         He stared at me a beat longer before turning away and resumed his lopsided gait down the hall. The hall was lined with metal security doors, all of them were shut.
         We finally got to a wooden door at the end of the hallway, he stiffly opened it and gestured for me to enter. Hesitating a moment too long, I reluctantly entered. The room resembled an interrogation chamber more than an office. Concrete walls surrounded me, lit only by a single naked bulb hanging above. The only furniture was a simple wooden table with two stiff-looking wooden chairs. There was also a mirror, likely one-way glass. He shuffled to the chair opposite the door and pulled it out slowly with a long screech before sitting down.
         I chose to follow along and sat down, my back to the door. We sat in an uncomfortable silence for an unbearable amount of time giving me time to study him. His eyes were normal, but they weren't normal, if that makes sense. They felt soulless, his nose was too thin, his ears were pressed against his head at an unnatural angle, and his skin was vampirically pale.
         Another thing I noticed was it looked like he didn't breathe. During the whole time I knew him, his chest never moved, when someone is breathing you can see their chest move up and down, not his, it was still.
         I finally had enough. I was opening my mouth to say something when the man spoke.
         "H-hello." The voice was deep and garbled, almost sounding like a faint radio transmission.
         "Are... You... Here for the... job?" His speech was painstakingly slow as if he was selecting every single word one by one.
         "Um, yeah," I said nervously. "What is it exactly?"
         He paused. His eye twitched. The silence stretched into something unbearable.
         "N-Nurse," he finally spat out after what could have been an eternity.
         I felt hyper-aware of the entire room, I could feel the door looming behind me, glancing to the mirror to my left I saw nobody behind me. Turning my head towards the man I find him directly in my face.
         I jumped back, tipped the chair over, scrambled to my feet, my heart ready to rip out of my chest, and shouted, "What the fuck man!"
         "S-Sorry, I thought... there was something... on your... f-face." He stammered out, not out of nervousness but deliberateness.
         I was about ready to storm out then.
         I should have.
         I should have heeded the warnings.
         But I needed the money badly.
         "There's only one rule," he drawled, his voice still thick like tar.
         "Don't mention this... to anybody."
         A spike of unease went through me.
         What the hell happened in this building that I couldn't talk about?
         He held out his hand -- fingertips tinged blue.
         It felt like I was making a deal with the Devil, but I needed the money.
         Besides, I'm too curious for my own good.
         I shook his hand. It was cold. Brittle.
         It felt dead.
         You know what they say: curiosity killed the cat.
         It didn't in this scenario.
         But I wish it did.