Night Nurse
I just got this sweet little job over on the Northside. It’s too cool; I sit with this old lady from the evening to early morning. I don’t like to party and all that, so I don’t mind. I get there and feed her through the feeding tube and I wash her up, but it’s no big deal because I’m used to caring for a whole floor of patients. Now I’m getting paid double with twenty times less responsibility. Her family never comes into the house. They drop off groceries and stuff at the door and keep it moving. The other nurses say the old lady was a real jerk when she was able to fend for herself, so I guess now her family is happy with letting her rot away peacefully. She would never move much, all she would do is a little twitch or something if anything. She was in a mysterious coma that her doctors couldn’t figure out, and I guess her family didn’t really push the issue. It was payday, so I ordered me some wings and some fries. I was smashing, you feel me. The old lady was breathing extra heavy, so I just sat close and watched TV. The doctors said her health is nearly perfect, except she in a coma, and every time I took her vitals, everything came back good, but this lady can’t even open her own eyes, it’s crazy. I had just finished eating when I heard the doorbell ring. It scared me because it was almost midnight. Who could be at the door? I stood up and got scared all over again after thunder boomed so loud it shook the house. I wanted to ignore the bell but it rang again. I grabbed my phone, with 911 already pre-dialed, waiting for my thumb to hit the send button. The house, even with the lights on, was creepy. Dark-colored carpet and walls in every room, with yellow flickering lights in most rooms, made the whole place dark. She has paintings on the wall of the ugliest, most serious people you could ever see. And statues and art that me and the other nurses called demonic. I tried to ignore the house and focus on the door. I just about died when I heard another boom of thunder and someone banging on the door instead of ringing the bell. I finally got to the door and I yelled, “Who is it,” trying to sound tough, knowing I’m about to crap myself. And of course, nobody says anything. I peek out the window, and I see a van from the medical delivery company. I start to feel better. I hollered through the door, “Why you didn’t call first?” I reached for the door handle and unlocked it. Before I could take the chain off, the door was rammed from the other side. I screamed. The only thing stopping it from opening was the chain latch. A hand reached through that I slammed the door on. The hand continued to try to reach into the house. I slammed the door repeatedly until the person finally pulled their hand out. I locked all the locks and ran to the window. I looked out again and saw the person on the porch calmly knocking at the door with a black raincoat on, their head covered by their hood. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. They continued to knock and ring the bell. I started looking for my phone when I realized I dropped it during the scrap. It fell so hard the screen was cracked. My heart felt like it was cramping in my chest. I started to look for a house phone. I thought I remembered seeing one even though she never got calls. As I turned to leave the door I saw that bolt of lightning, the one that I knew well was going to kill the power. The thunder boomed again and the house slowly went dark. I made my way to the old lady. Her machines needed electricity to run. I used the lightning strikes for light to make it through the house. I got to the old lady’s room and felt relief when I heard a loud hum and all the lights came back on. I heard the doorbell again and got right back scared. I grabbed my phone and tried to get it to restart, and I just prayed I could get it to just call the police. Thank goodness the phone came on and let me dial. “I need help! I’m on 668 Blair Street. Somebody trying to get into my patient’s house! You gotta get here fast, bruh…” The lady on the phone just kept saying “hello.” “You know you can hear me! Send twelve!” The mic on my phone must be broken. The banging on the door was more intense then. Homey was really ready to get in there. The lights went out again. I turned my flashlight on and made my way to the door. I shined the light into the room, and nearly dropped the phone. The old lady was sitting up in the bed staring at me. She had the nastiest look ever on her face. I have never been so scared. Her eyes were straight black, and her wrinkles gave her face in the most terrifying look imaginable. She called out to me, “Nurse, nurse. Come to my bedside. Nurse, isn’t it time for my dinner?” I saw her jerk towards the edge of her bed and I took off to the back door. I could hear her coming behind me, dragging her equipment with her. I ran through the back door and outside into the yard. I ran around to the front to get to my car. I saw the figure still knocking at the door. I got in the car, praying they wouldn’t notice me till it was too late. Just then I saw the front door open and the old lady came out to the porch and pointed towards me. Tears clouded my eyes but I stomped on the gas and never looked back. That was three months ago. I finally got myself back to work. I never reported the incident to the police or anything, I just never wanted to be anywhere near that house again. I tried to tell the other nurses, but they looked at me like I was on drugs. I ain’t even worried about it no more. My new job was cool. The pay wasn’t like the old lady, but I’ll take that pay cut any day. I sat at my computer and just took a second to take it all in. My friend who helped me get the job walked by and said, “Didn’t you used to have a patient down there on Blair? This old lady just checked in from 668 Blair. I’ll send you her file. She’s in a coma, so should be real easy to manage.” Credit: Wesley Baker (Hood Horror Playlist • Facebook • Twitter • Instagram) Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.