[Theater Reddit] The Never-Ending Reel

Posted by u/ProjectionGuy94 – 4 months ago

I’ve been a projectionist for a decade.

Old-school — real film, not digital. I’ve worked in the same small-town theater since I was 23. There’s something peaceful about it: the hum of the machines, the rhythmic clatter of reels spinning, the flicker of light through celluloid. It’s like the heartbeat of the building.

But lately, the theater’s heartbeat feels wrong.

Reel 7

It started about two months ago when we ran a re-release of an old noir film.

Black-and-white, barely anyone showed up, but I still had to check the prints before each showing.

That’s when I noticed something off about Reel 7.

It doesn’t stop.

Every other reel ends cleanly — credits, cue mark, the usual. But Reel 7 just… keeps going.

After the credits, the footage shifts. The picture distorts, the grain thickens, and then it cuts to something else entirely.

Home video.

I swear, it’s grainy handheld footage of our staff.

The First Time I Saw It

The first time it happened, it showed one of our ushers — Tommy — asleep in the breakroom. You could tell it wasn’t security footage; it was handheld, moving slightly, like someone was filming him.

Then it cut to the parking lot outside. I saw myself walking to my car, checking my phone, unlocking the door. The timestamp on the bottom corner matched that same night.

No one should’ve been recording that.

No sound. Just the soft, constant hum of the projector.

I ejected the reel, ran it backward — but the same thing played again. Same shots, same moments.

When I asked the manager if we had any cameras installed recently, he said no. Our system hasn’t worked properly in years.

The Next Night

The next night, I decided to film it on my phone — proof that I wasn’t losing my mind.

After the credits, the film jittered again, and new footage appeared.

It was of a family eating dinner. Familiar wallpaper, familiar furniture. I realized it was my living room.

My wife. My son. Me.

Eating dinner.

And in the reflection of the kitchen window — a shape.

Someone holding a camera.

Destroying the Film

Last week, I snapped.

I took the reel out after closing, went out behind the dumpster, and poured lighter fluid on it. Watched it burn until the celluloid curled and melted.

For the first time in weeks, I slept through the night.

No flickering lights. No humming sounds in my head.

Then the next morning, when I came into the projection booth, there was a new film canister sitting on my desk.

No note. No tag. Just a plain white label.

Written in marker:

REEL 8.

What’s on It

I haven’t played it yet.

I keep thinking I hear the projector running when it’s unplugged — a faint mechanical whir from behind the door, like the film is waiting.

Sometimes, when I walk past the booth window, I see light flickering inside, even though the machines are off.

And last night, when I checked the office, the monitor for the old camera system was on.

Static.

Then, for just a second, an image flickered through.

It was me.

Standing in the projection booth.

Holding Reel 9.