"I got a job at a Funeral Home...There are STRANGE RULES to follow." creepypasta

I swear I've been cursed from the moment I took my first breath maybe even before that the moment I came into this world eyes scrunched shut sticky with blood and verx wailing under the harsh Lights of the hospital I took something precious away my mother a vibrant Spirit by all accounts Slipped Away near minutes after I arrived as if we were two Souls passing in the night unable to coexist dad followed just a few years later though I was too young then to truly understand the finality of his absence flashes of memory are all that remain of that horrible day the Screech of tires the crunch of metal a fireman's jacket scratchy against my tear stained cheek as I was pulled from the wreckage they said it was a miracle I survived the crash but even then so small and innocent some part of me knew the truth death had brushed against me claimed what it was due and decided to let me live but not without a price from that moment on the Spectre of loss clung to me like a second skin a shroud I could never fully shake after the funerals the pitying stairs the two tight hugs from distant relatives my grandparents took me in they did their best to make a home for me to Shield me from the darkness that trailed my every step but fate it seemed was not content with the dues I had already paid Granddad went down first his weathered body giving out one Sunny morning over breakfast he was there sipping coffee complaining about the Roger's lousy pitching rotation and then a gasp a shudder and he was gone before the paramedics even thought to rush over Grandma tried to fill the void he left behind but even her stubborn Spirit couldn't stop the cancer that ate her alive slow and merciless by 16 I had become well acquainted with funeral homes the cloying scent of Lies the murmur of empty condolences the way my suit never quite fit right around the shoulders loss was the only constant I knew somehow I made it through high school then College my aspirations always tinted by the knowledge that nothing lasted forever when it came time to find a job I was broke unored and utterly desperate maybe that's what drew me to the funeral business a morbid fascination with the one thing that had defined my life or maybe in some Twisted way I thought I could finally gain some control over the force that had torn so much away from me whatever the reason I found myself standing in front of Andrews in company funeral home one gloomy October day the Aging Victorian house looming before me like something out of a nightmare paint was peeling from the siding shingles hung Loosely from the roof roof and the windows stared out at the overgrown lawn foggy with a patina of neglect the whole structure seemed to lean forward slightly as if daring the world to come inside and see what Horrors it housed I should have turned back then should have listened to the dread coiling in my gut but desperation has a way of overriding sense and so I pushed open The Rusted gate my heart beating a tattoo against my ribs as I approached the front door before I could even knock it swung open with a groan that sounded Almost Human revealing my first glimpse of Harlen Andrews he was tall and gaunt his face a landscape of wrinkles and liver spots his eyes roomy but sharp his suit while well tailored had a distinct air of antiquity about it as if it had been hanging in a closet since the turn of the century when he smiled I caught a flash of yellowed teeth and gums receded with age ah you must be my new Apprentice he said his voice dry as old parchment come in come in we have much to discuss I should have run then should have turned tail and fled back to the safety of the sunlit street but something in his gaze held me transfixed a glimmer of knowing that both Terri IED and intrigued me so I followed him inside the door slamming shut behind us with a finality that made my heart skip a beat the interior of the house was just as unsettling as its facade all dark wood and Dusty velvet the air thick with the scent of Decay and old Secrets Harland led me through a maze of dim hallways the floorboards creaking under our feet until we reached a small cluttered office he gestured for me to sit then lowered himself into the chair behind the desk his joints popping audibly I'll cut right to the Chase he said steepling his fingers I'm an old man and I need someone to carry on my work the pay is decent and there's a room upstairs for you all you have to do is learn the trade and follow my instructions do you think you can handle that I hesitated my mind whirling with a thousand questions but in the end my desperation won out over my unease yes I said my voice sounding small and uncertain even to my own ears I can handle it harland's smile widened and for a moment I swore I saw something flicker in the depths of his eyes something ancient and hungry excellent he said reaching out to shake my hand his skin was cold and papery against mine his grip surprisingly strong welcome to the family business my boy as he spoke those words I felt a chill run down my spine an omen perhaps of the horrors that lay ahead but there was no turning back now I had made my deal with the devil and the house had claimed me as its own the room Harland showed me to was at the top of a narrow winding staircase the steps groaning under our weight as we ascended when he pushed open the door I was hit with a wave of musty air tinged with the scent of moth balls and old books the space was small the ceiling slanted the single window looking out over the overgrown Back Garden but it was furnished with antiques that must have been grand in their day a four poster bed draped in faded brocade a massive Oak wardrobe looming in the corner a writing desk covered in yellowed papers and tarnished brass knick-knacks this was my great-grandfather's room Harland said running a finger along the dusty mantlepiece he founded this business back in the days when embalming was still a new art you'll be continuing a long and proud tradition I set my battered suitcase down on the bed trying to ignore the sense of unease that prickled at the back of my neck there was something off about this place something that went beyond mere age and neglect it was as if the very walls were watching me weighing my worth judging my fitness to join their ranks get some rest Harland said moving back towards the door we start early tomorrow 4:00 a. m. sharp and trust me you'll want to be well rested for what lies ahead with that cryptic warning he left the door closing behind him with a soft click I stood there for a long moment taking in my new surroundings trying to shake off the feeling that I had just stepped into a waking nightmare despite my exhaustion sleep did not come easily that night I lay awake staring at the Cowboy webbed canopy above me listening to the old house breathe and settle every Creek of the floorboards every rattle of the window panes sent a jolt of fear through my tired body it was as if the very bones of the structure were whispering to me hinting at dark secrets lurking just out of sight when I finally drifted off my dreams were plagued by visions of moldering corpses and grinning skulls of ice hands reaching out to drag me down into the depths of some unspeakable hell I woke with a start my heart pounding my sheets damp with sweat only to realize that the knocking sound that had pulled me from my Slumber was not part of the dream at all it was Haron wrapping at my door with a bony fist rise and shine my boy he called his voice far too chipper for the ungodly hour the dead wait for no man I dragged myself out of bed my body Len with fatigue and stumbled to the door Harlin was waiting on the other side impeccably dressed despite the early hour his eyes glinting with a manic energy that made me take an involuntary step back before we begin he said pressing a folded piece of paper into my hand you'll need to familiarize yourself with the rules of the house read this carefully your survival may very well depend on it with that ominous pronouncement he turned and descended the stairs leaving me to stare after him in groggy bewilderment I unfolded the paper with trembling fingers my eyes straining to make out the spidery script in the dim light of the hallway the rules scrolled in a hand that looked almost manic in its intensity were as follows rule one close their eyes as soon as possible if you forget you won't sleep for a week and neither will they rule two limb freezers must always stay locked this isn't a suggestion rule three respect the last wishes of every client you don't have to like it but you do have to do it rule 4 stick to your hours 4 a.

m. to 5:00 p. m.

on Mondays 9:00 a. m. to 5:00 p.

m. Tuesday through Friday Saturday is yours and Sunday belongs to someone else but never stay in the prep room past Sunset rule five guests are allowed but they need to know the rules too no exceptions rule 6 stay out of the Halls between 11:00 p. m.

and 1:31 a. m. if you get caught you won't like what finds you rule 7 power goes out at 336 a.

m. sharp and comes back at 3:42 a. m.

do not under any circumstances try to figure out why rule 8 never investigate crying no matter how close or how real it sounds do not look rule 9 if someone knocks after hours don't answer doesn't matter if it's family friends or the mailman do not open the door I read the the list once then again my mind struggling to process the bizarre nature of the instructions some of them seemed like common sense of course I would lock up potentially hazardous materials of course I would respect the wishes of the bed what could possibly be roaming the Halls at night that I needed to avoid why was the power cutting out at such specific times and what on Earth could be knocking after hours that I wasn't meant to acknowledge part part of me wanted to confront harlon to demand an explanation for these cryptic edicts but some deeper Instinct held me back a sense that there were things at play here far beyond my understanding forces that could not be reasoned with or denied so I folded the paper carefully tucked it into my pocket and made my way downstairs to begin my first day on the job Harin was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase his thin lips curved into a knowing smile ready to meet our guests he asked a queer sort of eagerness in his voice I swallowed hard my mouth suddenly dry as ready as I'll ever be I managed trying to sound more confident than I felt he chuckled a dry rasping sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up that's the spirit my boy follow me he led me down a narrow hallway the floorboards creaking under our feet the walls lined with faded photographs of somber faed men and women in old-fashioned dress at the end of the passage was a heavy wooden door its surface scarred and pitted with age Harland produced a large tarnished key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock the mechanism giving way with a rusty groan welcome he said his eyes glinting in the dim light to the heart of our business the room beyond the door was vast and cold the air heavy with the Tang of chemicals and the sickly sweet odor of Decay a row of stainless steel tables stretched out before us their surfaces gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights along one wall a bank of industrial refrigerators hummed and rattled their handles secured with heavy padlocks Harland stroe over to one of the tables and patted its surface with a gnarled hand this is where the magic happens he said his voice echoing in the cavernous space where we take the remnants of a life and make them presentable for their final farewell he beckoned me over to one of the refrigerators and produced another key from his pocket with a deaft Twist of his wrist he unlocked the door and swung it open releasing a gust of frigid air that made me shiver inside laid out on a sliding tray was the body of a man he was middle-aged his hair graying at the temples his face slack and waxy in death his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling glassy and unseeing meet MrWallace Harland said his tone almost fonded heart attack his family wants an open casket so we'll need to make him look his best I stared at the corpse a wave of nausea rolling through my gut I had known intellectually what this job would entail but being confronted with the reality of it the cold stiff flesh the utter absence of life was something else entirely Haron must have sensed my discomfort because he clapped a hand on my shoulder his fingers digging into my skin it gets easier he said his breath hot against my ear you'll learn to see them as canvases blank slates upon which to work your craft he guided me through the process step by step the washing the embalming the careful arrangement of Limbs and features his hands moved with a deaf Precision a kind of reverence that bordered on The Uncanny it was clear that he took a deep almost unsettling pride in his work as we labored over MrWallace's mortal remains I found myself slipping into a kind of Trance my mind detaching from the Grim reality of what I was doing it was easier somehow to think of the body as an object a puzzle to be solved rather than a person who had once lived D and breathed and loved and yet there were moments when that illusion was shattered when I caught a glimpse of the photographs Haron had laid out on a nearby table snapshots of MrWallace in life smiling beside a woman who must have been his wife hoisting a fish on a sunny dock surrounded by laughing children moments when I was reminded with a sickening jolt of the weight of the loss that hung over this place like a shroud it was in one of those moments that I made my first mistake I was reaching for a tool on the tray beside me my mind wandering when my elbow knocked against MrWallace's face it was a light touch barely enough to disturb the delicate work we had done but in that instant in the space between one heartbeat and the next his eyes snapped open I froze my blood turning to ice in my veins those eyes once glassy and dull were now filled with a terrible awareness a panicked desperation that seemed to bore into my very Soul MrWallace's mouth opened in a Silent Scream his hands scrabbling weakly at the air I stumbled back a cry of horror tearing from my throat but before I could turn and flee Haren was there his hands clamping down on MrWallace's eyes his voice low and steady as he murmured something I could not quite catch as quickly as it had begun it was over MrWallace went limp his eyes drifting shut his face settling back into the peaceful mask of death Harland straightened up his expression Grim rule number one he said his voice soft but Stern closed their eyes and keep them closed you don't want them looking at you not here not ever I could only nod my heart still racing my mind reeling with the horror of what I had just witnessed it was a lesson I would not soon forget the rest of the day passed in a blur of grim tasks and unsettling Revelations Harland guided me through the finer points of cosmetic restoration showing me how to mask the ravages of disease and Trauma how to create the illusion of peaceful Repose but even as I focused on the work my mind kept drifting back to the disturbing incident with MrWallace the memory of those eyes so full of Terror and accusation haunted me dogging my steps like a malevolent Spectre it wasn't until the family arrived for the viewing that I began to understand the true depths of the strangeness that lurked beneath the surface of Andrews and Company funeral home they filed in one by one a somber procession of black-clad figures their faces etched with grief but as they approached the casket as they gazed down at the carefully arranged figure of their loved one their expressions began to shift sorrow gave way to something else something darker and more unsettling the woman who must have been MrWallace's wife the same woman I had seen smiling in the photographs leaned in close her lips brushing against her husband's ear you look just like you did on our wedding day she whispered a queer sort of tenderness in her voice like you're just sleeping the others gathered around murmuring their agreement their eyes alight with a strange feverish intensity they spoke of MrWallace not as a man who had passed but as someone who was merely absent as if he had simply stepped out of the room and would be back at any moment I watched my unease growing as they placed odd little trinkets in the coffin a tarnished pocket watch a faded photograph a lock of hair tied with a ribbon Haron observed the proceeding with a look of grim satisfaction as if this were all part of some macabra ritual he had witnessed a thousand times before it wasn't until the end as the last of the mourners filed out that I noticed the book it was small and leatherbound its Pages yellowed with age tucked discreetly beneath MrWallace's folded hands curiosity getting the better of me I reached out to take a closer look my fingers brushing against the cool waxy flesh as I did so but before I could flip open the cover harland's hand clamped down on my wrist his grip surprisingly strong for a man of his age rule number three he hissed his eyes boring into mine respect the last wishes of every client you don't have to like it but you do have to do it I drew back my heart pounding my mind racing with questions I dared not voice aloud What secrets lay within the pages of that book what dark rituals did haren's cryptic words allude to but I knew better than to ask I had signed on for this job and I would see it through no matter the cost even if it meant turning a blind eye to the strangeness and the sorrow that hung thick in the air of Andrews and Company as Harlen often said with a queer sort of relish in his voice the dead have their ways and we have ours the days began to bleed into one another a grim procession of corpses and caskets of hushed voices and muffled sobs I learned The rhythms of the funeral home the EB and flow of grief and Remembrance but even as I grew more accustomed to the work to the intimate proximity of death I could not shake the feeling that there was something deeply wrong with Andrews and Company it was in the little things the flickering of the lights the cold spots that seemed to linger in certain rooms The Whispers that echoed down empty hallways when no one else was around Harlin seemed to take it all in stride his weathered face betraying no hint of unease or disqui if anything he seemed to Revel in the strangeness to draw some queer sort of sustenance from the miasma of Sorrow that hung over the old house like a shroud it was late one night as I was locking up the prep room that I first saw her a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye a pale figure darting between the Shadows I spun around my heart in my throat but then there was no one there just The Gleam of stainless steel and the hum of the refrigerators I tried to shake it off to tell myself it was just a trick of the light a product of my overworked mind but as I made my way up the creaking stairs to my little room I could not escape the feeling that I was being watched that some unseen presence was dogging my steps that night I dreamt of the Dead not as they were in the caskets peaceful and still but as they might have been in life they crowded around me their faces Twisted with rage and accusation their hands grasping at my clothes my skin my hair I woke with a start my sheets Tangled around my legs my heart pounding in my chest it was then that I heard it a soft muffled sound like a child crying it's seemed to be coming from downstairs from the direction of the prep room I lay there in the darkness my breath coming in Shallow gasps trying to convince myself that it was just my imagination that there was no way but the sound came again louder this time more insistent a whimper of fear and pain that cut through the silence Like a Knife I thought of harland's rules of the dire warnings he had given me never investigate crying he had said his voice low and Grave no matter how close or how real it sounds do not look but in that moment huddled there in the darkness my mind spinning with half-remembered nightmares I could not bring myself to obey I slipped out of bed my bare feet C against the floorboards and crept towards the door the hall hallway was dark and still the only sound the groaning of the old house settling on its foundations I made my way down the stairs my heart in my throat every Creek and Whisper magnified by The Silence the crying was coming from behind a small door I had never noticed before set into the wall of the prep room it was a jar just slightly a thin slice of Darkness visible Beyond with trembling hands I pushed it open the hinges letting out a low ominous groan and there in the shadows I saw her a little girl no more than 8 or 9 years old huddled in the corner of a small cramped space her face was pale and streak with tears her eyes wide with Terror she looked up at me her lip trembling and in that instant I saw myself my own face reflected back at me from the depths of her haunted gaze I took a step forward my hand outstretched my voice caught in my throat but before I could reach her before I could offer Comfort or Solace the world around me seemed to tilt and shift it was as if I was seeing through her eyes experiencing her memories a jumble of images and sensations of pain pain and fear and helpless hopeless despair I saw the face of a man looming over me his features Twisted with rage and something darker something hungry I felt hands on my skin rough and grasping tearing at my clothes my hair I smelled blood and sweat and Cheap whiskey heard the rasp of labored breathing and muffled screams and then with a sickening lurch I was back in my own body staring down at the little girl as she cowered before me her eyes pleading her mouth open in a Silent Scream I stumbled back my heart pounding my vision swimming I wanted to run to flee this house of horrors and never look back but before I could move before I could take a single step I felt a hand close around my arm strong and bony and cold as the grave I turned my mouth opened to cry out in Terror and found myself staring into the face of Harlen Andrews his eyes were hard and glittering in the darkness his lips curled into a smile that held no warmth no kindness I warned you boy he said his voice a low menacing rasp I told you not to look and with that he dragged me up the stairs his grip unbreakable his is strength inhuman he hurled me into my room slamming the door behind me and left me there huddled on the floor my mind reeling with the horror of what I had seen what I had felt I did not sleep that night I lay awake staring at the ceiling my thoughts spinning in Endless desperate circles I knew with a sickening certainty that I had to get out of this place had to escape the madness and the m vence that lurked within its walls but even as I lay there even as I plotted and planned I could feel the house around me watching waiting like a living thing like a predator stalking its prey and deep down in some dark secret place I knew that I would never truly be free of Andrews and company that the dead would follow me no matter how far I ran no matter how hard I tried to forget because in that house in that grim and ghastly place the line between the living and the dead was thin as gossamer and the veil Between Worlds was forever rent aunder the day after my encounter with the crying girl Harlin kept me busy from dawn to dusk as if trying to keep my mind off what I had seen But in every quiet moment in every pause between tasks my thoughts would drift back to that cramped dark space to those haunted eyes staring out at me from the Shadows when night fell Haron practically shoved me up the stairs to my room his face grim and set stay put he growled his hand tight on my shoulder and whatever you do don't come out until morning no matter what you hear no matter what you think you see I lay there in the darkness of my room every fiber of my being straining to hear even the faintest hint of a ghostly whisper a phantom footstep the house was shrouded in a Stillness that felt somehow thick and watchful and pregnant with unspoken Menace the only sound was the pounding of my own heart and the haunted wheeze of my breath I imagined I could feel the house breathing along with me as if it were alive as if it were waiting for something the hours crawled by with maddening slowness I watched the hands on my watch tick past 11: then 12 I thought of harland's warning about not leaving my room and couldn't help but wonder what manner of horror was prowling the shadowy corridors beyond my door in those blackest hours of the night I must have dozed off at some point slipping into a Restless feverish sleep my mind was assailed by a barrage of nightmarish images faces looming out of the darkness hands grasping at me with clammy fingers mouths gaping open in silent screams I jerked awake sometime later to find my room cloaked in the deepest dark I had ever known a glance at my watch told me it was 338 a. m.