The Night Shift Security Guard
People think that being a security guard on the night shift means we do absolutely nothing. They have this picture in their heads of us just sitting in a small room, watching a clock tick by, maybe scrolling on a phone or nodding off in a chair. They think the night is just dead time. But let me tell you, they have never worked in a massive office building like Sterling Heights. They have never stood in a hallway that seems to stretch for miles when the sun goes down. My name is Frankie, and I have been guarding this building for a few years now. It is definitely lonely, but it gives you a lot of time to think. The silence is not actually silent; it is heavy, like a blanket that settles over everything once the last employee leaves at six in the evening. The worst time, without a doubt, is between two and four in the morning. That is when the building seems to come alive in the strangest ways. The industrial-sized air conditioning system clicks on and off with a rhythmic, mechanical groan that sounds just like a monster waking up from a nap. The metal vents vibrate, and the cold air that rushes through the shafts makes the whole structure feel like it is contracting. The walls move in ways that trick your eyes, and you hear creaks and pops that can really get your heart racing if you are not careful. I walk through all five floors of the main building every single shift. I carry a heavy, industrial ring of keys that jingles against my belt with every step I take. Honestly, the sound of those keys is my only real friend in the dark. It is a grounding sound. It reminds me that I am real, and I am here, and I am moving through the space. One night, a couple of weeks ago, I was doing my routine sweep on the third floor. That floor was undergoing a massive renovation, so it was a wreck. There were rolls of carpet everywhere, exposed wires hanging from the ceiling like vines, and a fine layer of gray dust covering every surface. The air tasted metallic and dry. My flashlight beam cut through the darkness, dancing over the piles of debris and the plastic sheeting draped over the half-finished office cubicles. As I walked, my light caught something moving quickly near the elevator bank. It was just a flash of fur and a pair of glowing eyes. I froze instantly. My feet felt glued to the dusty concrete floor. I did not want to go any closer, but I knew I had to check it out. That is the job. You do not just ignore things because you are nervous. I took a deep breath, gripped my flashlight tighter, and pointed the beam directly at the elevator door. My knuckles were white. I stepped forward, my boots crunching on the loose drywall bits. It was just a stray cat that had somehow managed to sneak into the building during the day. It looked thin and ragged, and it looked just as scared as I was. It hissed at me, baring its teeth, and then darted away through a narrow gap in the plastic sheeting where the workers had left a hole. I stood there for a full minute afterward, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I had to lean against a pillar to steady my breathing. It is funny how I can still scare myself after all these years. You would think I would be used to it, but the human brain plays tricks on you in the dark. You start to imagine shapes where there are none. I take my job very seriously. It is not just about showing up. I make sure to check every single lock, pulling on the heavy glass handles to ensure they are latched. I look for leaks under the sinks in the restrooms, and I make sure the fire doors are clear of obstructions. The night shift is really all about staying alert, even when every fiber of your body wants to sleep. I am the eyes and ears of a building that is otherwise empty. I like that responsibility. It is a simple kind of life. There is a right way and a wrong way to do everything, and I choose to do it the right way. If I do it right, nothing happens, and that is what I call a success. If I get lazy, if I skip a floor or stop checking the locks, that is when problems start. You have to respect the building. I spend my scheduled breaks in the lobby. The lobby is the only place with decent lighting, and I usually bring a book. I like reading scary stories. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but they really fit the mood of the night shift. When you are surrounded by shadows and weird noises, reading about ghosts or strange events makes the real world seem a little less intimidating. I get lost in the pages, and for a little while, I am not just a guard in a dark building; I am somewhere else entirely. As the night drags on, the sky outside the lobby windows slowly starts to shift from an inky black to a deep, bruised purple. When the first rays of the sun finally hit the glass windows, I feel this incredible sense of relief and accomplishment. The building is safe. I did my job. I made it through another long night without any major issues. It is a quiet, steady feeling. By the time the morning guard pulls up into the parking lot, I am already finished with my final report. We swap places, exchanging a few words about how quiet the night was, and then I walk out into the cool morning air. I get in my car and drive home while the rest of the city is just starting to wake up. People are rushing to work, grabbing coffee, and starting their busy days, but I am heading to my bed. It is a quiet, simple life, but it is steady. In a world that feels like it is constantly changing and spinning out of control, that stability means a lot to me. I know who I am, I know what I have to do, and I know that when I wake up, the building will still be there, waiting for me to keep it safe once again.