Congratulations — you’ve been hired as the Night Janitor  at Marrowridge High School, a campus that’s been closed since the fire of 1998. The pay is steady, the hours quiet, and the halls long abandoned. For most, this would be a simple night shift cleaning job — but here, your janitorial duties go far beyond mopping floors. This isn’t just a school. It’s a memory that refuses to fade. Your Role: The Keeper of Empty Halls As the school custodian, your shift runs from 10 PM to 6 AM. You’ll clean classrooms, restock supplies, and patrol the corridors with your flashlight. The air smells faintly of smoke and old textbooks, and sometimes you’ll hear a locker door slam when no one’s around. But that’s part of working night shift jobs — you get used to the strange sounds buildings make when they remember. Still, at Marrowridge High, the sounds mean something else. They’re warnings. Rule #1: If You Smell Smoke, Don’t Check the Classrooms Every janitor knows that fire drills are routine. But here, the fire never ended. If you smell smoke drifting through the hallway, resist the urge to check where it’s coming from. The fire alarms were removed years ago, yet the scent of burning paper and scorched wood lingers when the memories awaken. The classrooms are remembering that night — the night the second floor caught fire during prom, the night twenty-three students never made it out. They don’t like being interrupted. And as part of your Night Janitor shift duties, your job is to keep the halls clean, not to disturb what’s already burning in memory. Rule #2: The Bell Will Ring at Midnight — Don’t Open Any Doors Every school janitor knows the sound of that bell. But here, it doesn’t mark time — it marks presence. When the clock strikes twelve, you’ll hear it echo through the halls. It’s not connected to any power line, and yet it rings, sharp and clear, like it did on the night of the fire. The sound bounces through empty lockers, over cracked tiles, under flickering lights. You’ll feel the pull to open a classroom door. You’ll hear footsteps. You’ll hear laughter — the kind that belongs to teenagers getting ready for prom night. Ignore it. If you open any door, you’ll see them dancing in the smoke. They’ll ask why the lights are off, why it’s so cold. You can’t answer. You don’t belong to that night. This is where many Night Janitor  fail. They think their job responsibility is to respond to every sound, every sign of damage. But here, your only responsibility is survival. Rule #3: If You See a Student in Uniform, Escort Them Outside — But Never Touch Them Sometimes, you’ll see them wandering — a single student in a navy uniform, walking barefoot through the hall. Their shoes melted long ago in the fire, but their steps still echo softly. They’ll seem lost, looking for a way out. They might even speak to you: “Can you help me find my locker?”“Have you seen my prom date?” Be polite. Keep your voice calm. As the night custodian, your task is to guide them toward the exit — slowly, respectfully, as if you’re still working the day shift. But no matter what, never touch them. Their bodies remember what happened. Yours doesn’t. If you break that boundary, you’ll join them — trapped in the memory loop of Marrowridge High’s final Night Janitor The Reality of the Night Shift People romanticize night shift jobs — quiet hours, solitude, better pay. They forget about the silence, the fatigue, and the feeling that you’re the last human awake. Working as a school janitor at a place like Marrowridge teaches you patience and discipline. You learn to handle long nights, stay alert, and manage isolation. These are key traits for anyone pursuing a career in custodial services or overnight maintenance jobs. But no job training prepares you for lights flickering on their own or a classroom that smells of smoke even after decades. Tools of the Trade Every janitor has a cart: mop, disinfectant, rags, and keys. But at Marrowridge High, the cart carries something extra — salt packets taped under the drawers. They aren’t for ice. The former janitor left them there, along with a note you’ll find on your third night: “When the halls get cold, scatter the salt near the main stairwell. It keeps the memories from spreading.” You’ll follow that advice, because you’ll notice the floor there gets sticky with something that isn’t water. The tiles shimmer faintly, like heat waves on pavement. That’s where the fire started. That’s where the walls still whisper. Nightly Routine: The Loop of Shadows To survive this night shift cleaning job, routine is your friend. Sweep the east hallway by 11 PM. Mop the gym before midnight. Check the boiler room at 1 AM — but don’t look at the old mirror inside. Empty trash cans in the staff lounge by 3 AM. Return to your office by 5 AM and lock the door. The school changes slightly every night. Sometimes, the hallways seem longer. Sometimes, you’ll see rows of desks where there were none before. At first, you’ll think you’re tired — maybe overworked. But soon, you’ll realize the building remembers you, too. It learns your schedule. It knows when you’re off guard. The Lesson of the Burned School The strange thing about night shift workers is that they all share a quiet pride. Whether they’re guarding tunnels, patrolling hospitals, or cleaning abandoned schools, they keep the world functioning while everyone else sleeps. At Marrowridge High, that pride becomes something heavier — a connection between the living and the forgotten. You’ll feel it every time you sweep ash into your dustpan or find a charred book page under a desk. This is a job where duty means more than paycheck. You’re not just cleaning — you’re maintaining the line between the past and the present. How the Job Changes You By your second week, the smell of smoke won’t bother you.By your third, you’ll start recognizing the students — the same faces appearing again and again, always smiling, always dancing. You’ll find yourself talking less, sleeping less, glancing at clocks that never seem to move. You’ll realize you’ve stopped checking your phone. This job teaches you something no custodian training manual covers — how to live among memories without becoming one. A Career Few Can Keep There’s always an opening for the night janitor at Marrowridge High. They never seem to keep the same one for long. HR says it’s because of the location — too remote, too quiet. But you’ll know the truth. You’ll stay longer than most because you’ll follow the rules. You’ll survive the smoke, the bell, and the students. But one night, near the end of your shift, you’ll hear footsteps behind you — quiet, measured, deliberate. When you turn, you’ll see a student holding a burnt yearbook. They’ll ask, “Are you the new janitor?” You’ll nod. And when they smile, you’ll realize something unsettling — they remember you. Conclusion: The Custodian of the Forgotten Being the Night Janitor  at Marrowridge High School isn’t just a cleaning job — it’s a haunting profession that tests endurance, loyalty, and respect for the unknown. You’ll learn the discipline of work, the patience of solitude, and the courage it takes to walk dark halls where history still burns. And when the bell rings at midnight, you’ll stand perfectly still, mop in hand, waiting for the sound to fade — because you know what happens to those who don’t. When the sun finally rises and you lock the doors behind you, the halls will fall silent again.Until the next janitor arrives. Inside the Haunted Motel Where Night Shift Never Ends