Ghost on Duty – A Haunting Night on Post 4

An island in the Aegean.
A quiet night watch.
And a figure seen only through the starlight scope.

Four guards. Four sightings. One legend.

Join Jim Richmond as he recalls one of the eeriest legends from his military years — a night watch where the line between duty and the unknown blurred forever.

🎙️ How Did We Get Here?
A podcast about the choices, cracks, and crossroads that shape us.

How Did We Get Here? — real stories about the choices, cracks, and crossroads that shape us.

Transcript

Episode 10 – Ghost on Duty

Have you ever stood watch in a place where the air itself felt… heavy?
 Where the night seemed longer, darker… almost like you weren’t alone?

Some posts are like that.
 And some places — they carry ghosts.

Post 4 wasn’t the worst assignment.
 In fact, compared to others, it was one of the better ones.

A tower standing over the Antenna Field on an island in the Aegean Sea.
 You’d drag your war bag up the ladder, rung by rung, and settle into the small shack at the top.

The routine was always the same:
 Check in on the radio.
 Check your weapon.
 Make sure your gear was in order.
 Then settle in for a long, quiet, eight-hour watch.

From the crow’s nest, you could catch the cool sea breeze drifting off the water —
 the hum of the night, the stars above, the island below.

And here’s the thing — from that tower, you could see almost the entire base.
 On a clear night, even a vehicle running without headlights couldn’t sneak by.
 Sound carried too: the scrape of boots, the growl of an engine, even a muffled laugh cutting through the stillness.

That mattered, because this was a sensitive area.
 Anything unusual had to be reported — and fast.
 Every alert was up-channeled to higher command.
 Nobody played games around Post 4.
 Nobody could.
 At least… nobody alive.

The Antenna Field stretched out beneath you — towers, cables, and long, empty shadows.
 When the darkness pressed in too close, you’d raise the starlight scope to scan the ground.

That’s when it happened.

Through the scope, a figure appeared.
 Walking. Calm. Steady. Across the field.

Lower the scope — empty.
 Raise it again — there he was.

And when guards challenged the figure, shouting into the night —
 he responded.

The figure dropped.
 Flat to the ground.
 Like a soldier trained to hit the dirt at the sound of a command.

Then, in the blink of an eye — gone.
 No movement. No body. Nothing.

Each time, protocol was followed.
 The guard called it in.
 All units scrambled — boots on the ground, flashlights cutting across the field.

And every single time — nothing.
 No footprints. No movement. No trace at all.

Not once, but four times.
 In my two and a half years there, four different guards swore they saw him.
 And every one of them was reliable, trustworthy, solid.

Always the same description:
 One man. Alone.
 Dressed in what looked like a German uniform.

By the third or fourth report, Post 4 wasn’t just a tower anymore.
 It had a reputation.

The Antenna Field had a story — and that story became a legend.
 The figure had a name now.
 We called him The Ghost of Post 4.

And like any good legend, it came with a tradition.

Every new guy assigned to Post 4 would be told about the ghost — along with a “helpful” tip:
 “When it gets dark, make sure you switch on all the antenna lights.”

What they didn’t know was that the lights came on automatically.

Sure enough, a rookie would call control, confused:
 “Hey, uh… where’s the switch for the lights?”

Control would answer — under muffled laughter —
 “Oh, they’re at the base of each antenna. You’ll have to walk out there and find them.”

And off the rookie would go, walking to each antenna, looking for a switch that didn’t exist.
 It usually didn’t take long for them to figure out they’d been had.
 But it was all part of the initiation — a way to break the tension of standing watch at Post 4.

The irony wasn’t lost on us.
 We were trained to guard against the living — intruders, attacks, emergencies.

But Post 4 reminded us — some things don’t leave when the war ends.
 Some things stay behind.
 Still marching.
 Still patrolling their ground.

I don’t know who he was.
 But I do know this — through the naked eye, the field was empty.
 Through that starlight scope… he was there.

And when we challenged him,
 he dropped like a soldier obeying an order.

On that island, on those nights —
 Post 4 still had a ghost on duty.

This is How Did We Get Here?
A podcast about the choices, cracks, and crossroads that shape us.

I’m Jim Richmond.
 And I’m still here for a reason.
 Maybe you are too.