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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/CreepyStoriesJR on 2024-09-15 12:21:12+00:00.
The clock had just struck 9:30 PM as Eric and I walked down the fog-filled streets, our jackets zipped tight against the night’s chill. The city was unusually quiet, the mist swallowing sound and muting the neon lights that flickered above closed storefronts. I stuffed my hands deeper into my pockets, the anticipation building inside me. It was Eric's idea to come out here, to find the infamous diner that only opened at night. I wasn’t convinced it was a good idea, but curiosity gnawed at me.
"What's the deal with this place again?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, though I couldn't say why. Maybe it was the fog, or the unsettling silence around us.
Eric shot me a grin, his breath visible in the cold air. "Rumor has it the diner opens at exactly 10 PM and closes before dawn. Some people say it's older than the city itself." He paused for effect. "And, of course, the rules."
The rules. That's what everyone talked about. Online forums, late-night campus discussions, and even random whispers at parties. The 10 PM Diner's rules were legendary, each more bizarre than the last. Yet despite all the speculation, no one seemed to know why they existed or who enforced them. Some said it was just a quirky tradition to attract business. Others hinted at something darker, a power that the diner held over its patrons.
"You think it's just a gimmick?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Probably," Eric replied. "But isn't that part of the fun? Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?"
I forced a smile, more to convince myself than him. The idea of the rules didn’t sit right with me. But then again, how weird could a diner really be? We turned a corner and the building came into view. It sat at the end of a darkened alleyway, wedged between two ancient brick structures.
“There it is,” Eric said, nodding toward the dim glow ahead.
The diner’s façade was cracked and faded, its windows fogged up from the warmth inside. The only sign of life was a flickering neon sign above the entrance, casting a sickly yellow light onto the wet pavement. As we approached, I noticed a faint outline of people through the grime-streaked glass. My stomach tightened.
“You ready?” Eric asked, grabbing the door handle.
I hesitated for a split second, glancing at the street behind us. The fog seemed thicker now, swallowing everything in its path. It felt like the world was closing in on us. I took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, let’s do this.”
Eric pulled the door open, and we stepped inside. A wave of warm, stale air hit me, carrying with it the scent of old leather, coffee, and a faint hint of something metallic. The interior was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the checkered floor. I scanned the room, trying to get my bearings. Booths lined the walls, their red leather cushions cracked and worn with age. A long counter stretched out on the opposite side, stools with torn fabric tops lined up neatly.
There were a few customers scattered around: a man sitting by himself, staring at the window; an elderly couple whispering over their cups; and a lone woman with her back to us, spooning sugar into her drink in a slow, methodical manner. But what struck me the most was how still everything seemed. The other patrons barely moved, their actions sluggish, like they were part of some strange, slow-motion dream.
I glanced at Eric, who appeared to have noticed it too. His usual bravado seemed to wane slightly as we walked toward an empty booth in the center of the room. The seats squeaked under our weight as we sat down. Eric, always one for theatrics, leaned forward and whispered, “Okay, this place is officially creepy.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” I replied, my eyes scanning the room again. Something about the diner made my skin crawl, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was as if the place itself was watching us.
Our conversation was interrupted by the silent arrival of a waitress. She appeared seemingly out of nowhere, placing two menus on the table without so much as a word. Her movements were smooth, almost robotic, and she left as quickly as she had come. Eric raised an eyebrow at me, clearly unnerved.
“Well, that was... something,” he muttered. “Guess we’re not getting the warm and friendly service tonight.”
I picked up the menu, my curiosity piqued. It felt old, the plastic cover worn and sticky to the touch. Then, I noticed the writing on the front, bold, black letters spelling out “House Rules.” Beneath the title was a list of numbered instructions, each one stranger than the last.
RULE 1: Never sit facing the entrance unless you are the first customer to arrive.
RULE 2: Never greet the staff when they approach; only speak when spoken to.
RULE 3: If a stranger joins your table uninvited, offer them a sip of your drink, then excuse yourself to the restroom. Return only when the diner clock chimes.
RULE 4: If you hear soft humming while eating, immediately close your eyes and wait for the humming to stop.
RULE 5: If a waiter drops something, you must turn away and not look at them until they leave your table.
RULE 6: If you hear your name whispered from behind, do not turn around. Pretend you did not hear it.
RULE 7: Should your utensil fall, leave it there. Do not bend down to pick it up, or you risk seeing something under the table that shouldn’t be there.
RULE 8: If you hear footsteps following you as you leave, do not turn around. Slow your pace until the sound fades away.
I read through the list twice, each rule more unsettling than the one before. My mouth went dry as I realized how specific they were. These weren't rules for a quaint diner experience. They were warnings. My eyes darted back to Rule 1: Never sit facing the entrance unless you are the first customer to arrive. A chill ran down my spine as I glanced over my shoulder at the glass door.
"Look at this," Eric whispered, pointing at Rule 4. "If you hear soft humming while eating, close your eyes? What is this place, a haunted house?"
I forced a laugh, but my heart wasn't in it. "It's probably just some elaborate gimmick," I said, trying to convince myself. "You know, to get people talking."
"Yeah, right," Eric replied, his voice tinged with skepticism. "Well, we came here for the experience. Let's just roll with it." He looked at me, waiting for some kind of agreement.
I nodded, feeling a tight knot of anxiety form in my chest. We flipped open the menus and pretended to browse the food options, though neither of us really had an appetite. My eyes kept drifting back to the rules, especially Rule 1.
"Wait," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "We weren’t the first ones here, and..." I trailed off, glancing at the door. Through the grimy glass, something moved. I couldn’t make it out clearly, just a dark silhouette shifting in and out of the foggy night. It was tall, unnaturally so, and seemed to sway as it stood there. I blinked, trying to focus, but it faded into the darkness.
"What?" Eric asked, leaning forward. "What did you see?"
"There's... something out there," I muttered, not taking my eyes off the door. "I don't know what it was, but it looked"
"Don't mess with me," he interrupted, his voice strained. "This place is already creepy enough."
"I'm not messing with you," I snapped, turning back to face him. "I swear I saw something."
We both went silent, the unease between us growing thicker. The rules weren’t a joke. I was sure of it now. This place had its own set of laws, its own way of operating, and we were already violating one.
The tension between us grew thicker with each passing second. I kept glancing at the entrance, scanning for any sign of movement through the glass. My mind replayed the brief glimpse of that shadowy figure I had seen outside, and an icy fear gripped my chest. Eric shifted nervously across from me, tapping his fingers on the table.
We sat there in silence, waiting. The waitress reappeared, sliding up to our table without a sound, her hollow eyes staring straight through us. My skin crawled at the sight of her. Remembering Rule 2, I bit my tongue and stared at the menu in front of me, resisting the urge to greet her or even acknowledge her presence. Eric’s eyes widened as if he had to force himself to stay quiet.
After a long, unsettling pause, the waitress finally spoke, her voice monotone and distant. “What would you like to order?” She didn’t ask it like a question, more like a command. The words felt cold and wrong, echoing strangely in the air around us. It was as if the sound didn’t belong in this place.
Eric coughed and glanced at me, seeking some form of validation. I nodded subtly, indicating he should answer first. He took a deep breath and said, "I’ll have a black coffee and... pancakes." His voice trembled slightly, but he managed to get the words out.
The waitress turned her gaze to me, her eyes boring into mine like a predator assessing its prey. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet her eyes for only a moment before I replied, "Same for me, please."
She didn't react, didn’t even blink. She just scribbled something onto her notepad and turned to leave. As she walked away, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief, as though a great weight had lifted off my chest. I exhaled slowly, my heartbeat gradually returning to a more regular rhythm.
“That was... weird,” Eric muttered, breaking the silence between us. “Did you see how she looked at us?”
I nodded, rubbing my hands togethe...
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