The Strangest Security Tape I've Ever Seen

I work at a gas station in rural Pennsylvania. It's a boring job, but it's easy and it pays all right. A few weeks ago, this new guy started. I'll call him Jeremy.

Jeremy is weird. He's about twenty-five or twenty-six, hardly ever speaks, and he's got the creepiest laugh I've ever heard. My boss and I have both noticed it, but it's never been a problem, so there's not much we can do. Customers never complained, and he did his job fine. Up until a few weeks ago, anyway — that's when things started going missing.

Employee theft happens at any place selling consumer goods, and there's only one person working at a time at our little station. About two weeks ago, my boss noticed we were short on motor oil. At first it was a few containers, then whole shelves and boxes from the back room. Pretty soon entire shipments would vanish the day after they arrived — always right after Jeremy's shifts. My boss checked the security tapes from every night Jeremy worked, but he could never catch him doing it. Jeremy would lock up at closing, and the oil would be gone by morning.

My boss usually takes the tapes home to review, but his daughter had a softball game last night, so he asked me to watch them instead. Offered under-the-table overtime, so obviously I said yes. Three cameras, three tapes. I figured it'd be a long night, but I'm saving for vacation and I needed the money. I took the tapes home, popped them in an old VCR, and sat back.

The tape I started with was from two days ago, Jeremy's last shift. He started at four P M. Everything looked normal at first. He counted his drawer, switched off with the girl before him, waited for a customer. First in was Mrs. Templeton — timestamp four oh three — a regular. Cigarettes and a newspaper, paid with a twenty. Nothing weird. Next was some local guy named Ron. Rides a motorcycle, comes in every few days. Filled his tank, grabbed beef jerky, paid by card, left. Then a guy in a cowboy hat I'd never seen — we get plenty of strangers passing through. Forty dollars of diesel, paid with a hundred, on his way. I sat back and sighed. The only thing more boring than working this job is watching someone else work it.

But the overtime offer kept me watching. Everything stayed routine until about five o'clock.

At five oh three, Mrs. Templeton came back in. Must have forgotten something, I thought. But she didn't buy something new — she bought the exact same cigarettes and the exact same newspaper. Paid with another twenty. Odd, I thought, but she's a little absent-minded. Then Ron came in again. Another tank of gas for the motorcycle — I even checked the outdoor camera later thinking maybe he had a second vehicle — and the same bag of beef jerky. Paid by card again.

Weird coincidence, I figured. Then the cowboy hat guy walked back in. A chill went down my spine. "Don't get diesel, don't get diesel," I whispered to my empty living room. But he did. Forty dollars of diesel, another hundred-dollar bill. Every movement identical to his first visit — right down to the way he scratched his nose walking out. Either this man is rich, owns a fleet of trucks, and just moved to town, or something truly bizarre was happening.

I kept watching.

Every customer for the next hour was the same as before. Every single one. I was seriously rattled — and then at six oh three, Mrs. Templeton walked in again. Same cigarettes, same newspaper, same twenty. I thought I was going to lose it. I watched another half hour, then started fast-forwarding. All the same. Every customer, the same times, exactly one hour apart.

Now I know what you're thinking — Jeremy had tampered with the tapes, looped the first hour over and over. Not the case. The camera covers windows around the register, and I watched the sunlight fade as time passed. Jeremy's routine never looped — he swept, mopped, restocked, everything exactly as you'd expect. But the same customers kept coming in.

I was panicking by then. Something was deeply wrong and I had no explanation. I skipped ahead to closing — Jeremy locking up, walking to his car. He hadn't stolen anything. But I kept watching, just to be sure. Fast-forwarded one last time, to around midnight.

At exactly twelve oh three, out of nowhere, Jeremy's face filled the camera. I don't mean he moved into frame — I mean one second the store was empty and the next his face was all I could see. He wasn't looking at the camera. He was looking at me. I'm sure of it. I screamed and fumbled for the remote. By the time I grabbed it, he was gone — one frame there, the next he wasn't. My hands were shaking, but I popped in another tape. The second indoor camera covers the back by the register — I'd be able to see how he got up to the camera like that. I jumped to twelve oh three. Nothing. He wasn't standing on a chair. I never saw him enter the store at all after he left. It was like he wasn't really there. He doesn't know the security code, and no alarms went off that night after he locked up.

But here's what I did see: at twelve oh three, the motor oil vanished off the shelf. All of it. One second there, next second gone — exactly like Jeremy's face. I turned the tape off and went to bed, but I didn't sleep a wink. My body is exhausted and my mind won't stop racing. That tape was the creepiest, most disturbing thing I've ever seen in my life.

I work in a few hours. My boss wants the tapes back and wants to know what I found — but what am I supposed to say? Jeremy works tonight, right after my shift, and the plan is for my boss to come in just before I leave so we can confront him together, with me as the one who caught him. I have no idea what to do. I guess I'll have to show my boss the tapes, but I don't want to watch them with him. I never want to see that again. I can't get the image of Jeremy smiling straight into the camera out of my head. The creepiest look I've ever seen on another person's face.

Anyway, I'm going to try to grab a little sleep before I deal with all this. I'll let you guys know what happens.

UPDATE, two forty-nine P M: Updating from my phone, sorry for errors. My boss just finished the tapes. I warned him, but nothing prepares you for that. He's scared out of his mind — I am too — and Jeremy's due in at four. We've got about an hour to pull ourselves together, and neither of us knows what to say to him. Is he just some messed-up guy who steals motor oil and likes scaring people? Or is he something else? Crazy as it sounds — could he have something to do with the time loop? My boss said he never noticed anything like it on the other tapes, but the way Jeremy popped up in this one felt like he knew I'd be watching. Like he wanted me to see what he could do. Like showing off. That smile into the camera was like a little kid showing you a sandcastle they built. I probably sound insane. I feel insane. I'm going to talk to my boss some more. We need to calm down and figure out how to handle this. I'll update tonight, but I have a really bad feeling about how this plays out.

UPDATE, four thirty-three P M: No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling — phone's disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE, five thirty-three P M: No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling — phone's disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE, six thirty-three P M: No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling — phone's disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE, seven thirty-three P M: No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling — phone's disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE, eight thirty-three P M: No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling — phone's disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE, ten fifty-eight P M: Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. I just got home and read my own updates. Things make less sense than ever. Here's what I can tell you. I went to work. Jeremy never showed. My boss and I decided to call the police, like you all saw. But when I picked up the phone to call — the sun went out. I'm not kidding, that's what it felt like. I must have blacked out for exactly five hours, because when I looked at the clock it was nine thirty-three. I think I got caught in Jeremy's time loop, then snapped out of it at the exact point I blacked out, if that makes sense. But that's when it got really strange.

My boss was right next to me when I blacked out, ready to back up my story to the cops. When I came to, the phone was in my hand — but dead. No dial tone. My boss was still right there, but frozen. Standing up, not moving. I checked the clock again. Not moving. Second hand stuck on the twelve. Nine thirty-three exactly. The register clock wasn't moving either. My phone was frozen. There was even a customer at the register, waiting for my boss to get his cigarettes. I'd bet that was his fifth pack of the day.

I got the hell out of there. Didn't lock up, didn't turn off the lights — and no, I didn't grab the security tapes to upload, believe me that was the last thing on my mind. The gas station sits on a major highway, and cars were lined up along it — except they weren't parked, they were frozen. People inside sat still as wax statues. I got in my car and prayed it would start. Thank God it did.

About halfway home, time started again. The radio static turned back into music, and from what the host was saying between songs, nobody noticed the freeze. Nobody but me. Well — I'm sure Jeremy noticed too. I still have no idea where he is or what he's doing. I'm hiding in my room, calling the police again in the morning. I don't know if I ever got through before, or if they took me seriously. I'm scared for my life at this point. I'll update tomorrow, if I can.

FINAL UPDATE, ten thirty-three A M: I finally fell asleep around four last night — no idea how, exhaustion must have won. This morning my phone rang; it was my boss. He'd been calling since six. He woke up when time restarted last night and called the cops immediately. They came out, he told them everything. The cops around here are small-town guys — they cared more about the missing motor oil than anything — but my boss was glad to have their attention. They went looking for Jeremy.

We keep all employee applications on file, and since Jeremy just started, his was easy to find. They checked the address and drove over.

You're not going to believe what they found.

The address on Jeremy's application was an empty lot. Or it is now. There used to be a house there — it burned down in nineteen ninety-three. Small town, everyone remembers that fire. A family of four lived there. Rumor says they had an estranged son they never talked about, but I can't confirm that. What I can confirm: after the insurance investigation, the fire was ruled arson. The whole house had been soaked in oil and torched with a Molotov cocktail. The family was asleep. None of them made it.

They never caught who did it. Rumor says when they tried to find the estranged son, nobody could.

Anyway, my boss called and told me all this, and I freaked out. Then he asked me to come down to the station. "Are you crazy?" I said — but he swore the cops were with him. Then he dropped the bomb: the FBI was in town, and they were going to talk to me one way or another, so I might as well come in. It was about seven fifteen. I wanted to go back to bed, but I wasn't going to sleep anyway, so I went.

Four men in suits sat me down. We went over everything two or three times until they had every detail. I told them about Jeremy, the tape, last night at work. All of it. Finally one of the agents said, "Oh Christ, we've got another one on our hands." Then they made me sign papers saying I wouldn't tell anyone what happened — so I probably shouldn't even be posting this.

So now I'm home. I don't know what to do with myself. That agent's words are going to haunt me forever.

Anyway, I've got to go. I have errands to run, and then I need to get to work to pick up some tapes. My boss and I think this new guy Jeremy — total creep — is stealing motor oil, and I need to watch the footage to catch him at it. I have better things to do, but the boss is paying me overtime under the table, and I'm saving for vacation, so I could use the money. Should be simple enough — the oil always goes missing right after his shifts. I'll just watch the tapes, catch him in the act, and that'll be that.