My First Night Shift Was Interrupted by a Ghostly Cat
The buzzing lights in the old security office at the Abernathy building became the unwanted theme song of my first night shift. I had accepted this job because I needed the money, and it sounded simple enough. But as I sat there watching the second hand move on the wall clock, I started to realize that the old Abernathy building was a different world entirely. The structure itself felt like a set from a low-budget horror movie. The exterior brickwork looked ancient and dark, almost like it was absorbing the streetlights outside. The windows were tall and narrow, resembling empty, hollow eyes that were staring blankly out at the sleeping city. Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of trapped dust, stale coffee, and something else I could not quite identify, maybe something like old paper. My supervisor, Frank, was a massive man with shoulders that looked like they were holding up the weight of the world. He always seemed exhausted, with deep lines around his eyes. He sat me down on my first night and went through the rules like a drill sergeant. He told me the protocol: do my rounds every hour, ensure every entrance was dead-bolted, and stay awake no matter how tempting the silence became. Frank made it very clear that the building was officially empty after 6 PM. He warned me, with a strange intensity in his voice, not to go into the basement. He said there was no reason to be down there and that nobody ever went down there anyway. I tried to maintain a cool, professional exterior, nodding along while my heart drummed against my ribs. The building had sat abandoned for decades before the tech company bought it, and it still carried that sense of lingering history. Now, it was just me and the suffocating silence. Midnight arrived, and I watched Frank walk to the main entrance. The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed through the vast, marble-floored lobby like a gunshot. It was a lonely, hollow sound. Once he was gone, I was officially in charge. I started my first round with nothing but a heavy metal flashlight and a radio that crackled with static every few minutes. I checked the empty offices and the long, winding hallways, listening to the sound of my own footsteps. It was unsettling, but I convinced myself it was just nerves. By 1 AM, I reached the fourth floor. The carpet there was thick and muffled my steps, making the silence feel even heavier. I sat at the security desk for a while, just watching the monitors, but the static was mesmerizing and eerie. Around 2 AM, the air shifted. I was walking down a narrow corridor lined with cubicles when I heard it: a faint, high-pitched meow. I stopped dead in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat. I stood perfectly still, straining my ears against the quiet. It sounded exactly like a scared, lost kitten. I wondered if some stray had managed to squeeze through a broken vent or an open loading dock. I called out, 'Hello? Is someone there?' My voice sounded small and brittle in the massive space. There was no answer, just the wind whistling somewhere deep in the building's skeleton. I walked toward a conference room at the end of the hall, and the meowing grew louder, more insistent. I felt a weird pressure in my ears as I approached the door. I rounded the corner and aimed my flashlight beam directly at the wall near the window. My breath left my lungs in a rush. There it was. A cat. It was bright white, but it didn't look like any animal I had ever seen. It looked see-through, like a projection or a shimmer in the air. It glowed with a faint, pale light that made my vision swim. I blinked hard, wondering if I was finally hallucinating from sleep deprivation, but the image remained. The cat looked at me, its eyes possessing a depth and intelligence that felt profoundly unnatural. It held my gaze for a second, then stood up, stretched its translucent legs, and casually walked straight through the solid, industrial-grade brick wall. I stood there frozen, my mind refusing to process the physics of what I had just witnessed. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, and sweat was instantly chilling on my forehead. I backed away slowly, my flashlight shaking in my hand. I scanned the empty hall, half-expecting to see it appear again, but the corridor was vacant. The silence felt different now—it felt heavy and watching. I didn't care about the rest of the building anymore. I turned and ran back to the security office as fast as my legs could carry me, my footsteps thundering on the floor. Every shadow looked like it was reaching for me. I burst into the office, slammed the heavy door shut, and threw the lock. I scrambled for the radio to call Frank, desperate for a human voice, but the device just emitted a burst of white noise. He was long gone. I was truly, completely alone. I stayed in that small room for the rest of the night, leaving every single light on. I didn't dare turn them off. I kept my chair turned toward the middle of the room, constantly checking the walls, terrified that white shimmer would emerge again. I didn't sleep a wink. I just watched the clock, praying for the sun to rise and for my shift to end. That night, I realized the Abernathy building was not just an old workspace; it was a place that held onto things from the past. I knew then that I wouldn't be staying at this job for long.