8:13 P.M. | A High School Ghost Story

It was a crisp October evening in suburban Omaha, Nebraska, and the air was thick with the kind of dread only a new kid in school could feel. Chase had been at Westview High for just over a month, but tonight, he was about to face his biggest challenge yet. They called it “The Janitor’s Dare,” a rite of passage for all new students.

Westview High was an old building, its bricks weathered by nearly a century of Nebraska winters. The school had been built in the 1920s, and though it had been renovated and modernized over the years, it still held onto the ghosts of its past—one ghost in particular.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Chase found himself standing in front of the school’s heavy oak doors, flanked by his two classmates, Matt and Emily. Matt was the one who had roped him into this, grinning as he tossed Chase a flashlight. “Ready to meet the janitor?” he asked with a smirk.

Chase hesitated, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. He’d heard the stories, of course—everyone had. According to legend, a janitor had died on the job back in the 1950s, slipping on the wet stairs between the third and fourth floors. His head had cracked against the edge of a concrete step, killing him instantly. But his spirit never left. Every Thursday night at precisely 8:13 p.m., the ghostly janitor would walk the halls, searching for anyone foolish enough to be in the building after dark.

It was all part of the dare. If you were new to Westview, you had to stay after school and try to capture evidence of the ghost. If you succeeded, you were a legend. If you failed—or got caught by the school’s security—suspension and a weekend spent cleaning classrooms were the least of your worries. Missing the big football game on Saturday was what really scared the students.

“Let’s get this over with,” Chase muttered, following Matt and Emily into the school. The hallways, which were usually bustling with students, were eerily silent, their footsteps echoing off the tile floors. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch out and twist around corners.

They made their way through the school, carefully avoiding the main office and any patrolling staff. Their goal was the stairwell between the third and fourth floors, where the janitor had met his tragic end. But before they could reach it, something caught Emily’s eye.

“Hey, look at this,” she said, pulling a dusty old book off a shelf in the school library. It was an annual from the 1950s, its cover worn and faded. She flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for—a black-and-white photo of the janitor.

His face was stern, almost sad, as if he knew the fate that awaited him. Underneath the photo was a brief caption: “John Hargrove, Janitor. 1902-1953.”

“That’s him,” Matt said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Let’s get to the stairs.”

They crept up to the third floor, their nerves on edge as they approached the infamous stairwell. The air seemed to grow colder, the shadows darker, as they climbed the steps. Finally, they reached the landing between the third and fourth floors—the spot where John Hargrove had died.

Matt checked his watch. “7:59 p.m.,” he said. “We’ve got a few minutes.”

Chase felt his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, excitement, or a mix of both. They huddled together, the only sounds the faint hum of the lights and their own ragged breathing.

At exactly 8:13 p.m., the temperature plummeted. Their breath came out in visible puffs, and the hairs on the back of Chase’s neck stood on end. Then, they heard it—the soft, rhythmic thump of footsteps coming down the hall.

“Did you hear that?” Emily whispered, her voice trembling.

They all froze, staring down the darkened corridor. The footsteps grew louder, closer, until a shadowy figure emerged at the end of the hallway.

It was the janitor.

His outline was faint, almost transparent, but there was no mistaking the uniform and the cap pulled low over his eyes. He moved with a slow, deliberate pace, his head slightly bowed, as if deep in thought. And then he looked up.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The janitor’s eyes—cold and empty—locked onto them, and Chase felt a chill run down his spine. Before any of them could react, the ghostly figure surged forward.

“Run!” Matt yelled, but it was too late. The janitor reached out and shoved Matt hard. He lost his balance, teetering on the edge of the top step before plummeting down the stairs. The sickening thud of his body hitting the concrete sent Chase and Emily into a panic.

“Matt!” Emily screamed, but Chase grabbed her arm and pulled her away. The janitor wasn’t done with them yet.

They tore down the hallway, the ghostly figure in hot pursuit. Doors slammed shut as they passed, and the lights flickered wildly. The building itself seemed to come alive, the walls closing in around them, trapping them in a labyrinth of fear.

They darted into the gymnasium, hoping to lose the janitor in the vast, empty space. The bleachers loomed like dark sentinels, casting long shadows across the polished floor. For a moment, it seemed like they had lost him.

But then, the lights went out.

Total darkness enveloped them, and Chase could hear the sound of Emily’s panicked breathing beside him. He reached out, trying to find her hand, but the gym felt impossibly large, the space between them infinite.

“Emily?” he called out, his voice barely more than a whisper.

No answer.

He took a step forward, his footfalls echoing eerily in the dark. A sense of dread settled over him as he realized he was no longer alone. The janitor was here, somewhere in the shadows, watching, waiting.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Chase saw movement. The janitor’s figure emerged from the darkness, gliding silently across the floor. He seemed to grow larger, more solid, as he approached, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

Chase backed away, his heart racing, but there was nowhere to go. The gym doors were locked, the windows barred. He was trapped.

The janitor raised a hand, reaching out for him, and Chase felt a wave of cold wash over him. He stumbled, falling to the ground as the ghost loomed over him. But just as the janitor was about to grab him, the lights flickered back on.

Emily was standing by the gym door, her hand on the switch. “Chase, come on!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted across the gym, the janitor’s presence pressing down on him like a weight. He and Emily burst out of the gym and raced back to the stairwell.

Matt was still lying at the bottom of the stairs, moaning in pain. They hurried to his side, helping him to his feet.

“We need to get out of here,” Chase said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. But the janitor was gone, the hallway eerily quiet once more.

Supporting Matt between them, Chase and Emily made their way out of the school, their hearts pounding with fear and adrenaline. They didn’t stop running until they were safely outside, the cool night air hitting them like a slap in the face.

“We’re… we’re alive,” Matt gasped, wincing as he clutched his side.

“Barely,” Emily muttered, still shaken.

They quickly parted ways, agreeing never to speak of what happened that night. But as Chase lay in bed later, trying to shake off the terror of the evening, he couldn’t help but feel like something was still watching him.

He rolled over, reaching out to turn off his bedside lamp, when he felt a presence in the room. Slowly, he turned his head.

There, standing by his bed, was the janitor.

The ghost’s cold, dead eyes stared down at him, and before Chase could scream, the janitor reached out, his hand closing around Chase’s arm. The world went dark as Chase was pulled into the shadowy abyss, his cries swallowed by the night.

And so, the legend of the janitor of Westview High claimed another victim, leaving behind only whispers in the halls and the lingering scent of old, dusty books.