[FINAL UPDATE] I was the only one working the night shift… so who checked in Room 409?

Okay, I don’t even know why I’m posting this.

I just need someone to see it in case I… I don’t know.

If you read my last two posts, you know what’s been going on.

Room 409 keeps checking itself in.

A dead guest’s name keeps reappearing. And last night, he answered the wake-up call.

Tonight

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I asked for time off — told my manager I needed a break. He said fine, but when I checked the schedule earlier, my name was still listed for the overnight shift.

No one else’s name is ever listed anymore. Just mine. When I walked in, the lobby lights were dim. It smelled like aftershave. The keycard dispenser already had a card sitting in the tray. Room 409.

Time-stamped 1:13 a.m., even though it was barely 9:40 p.m.

I tried pulling up the reservation system, but the page wouldn’t load. It kept flashing the words:

GUEST CHECKED IN

CHECK-OUT: PENDING

And every time I hit refresh, another name appeared underneath Walter D. Price’s... Mine.

At 1:13, the monitors flickered again.

This time, I saw him. A man standing by the window in 409.

Old-fashioned clothes, neat gray hair, holding something that looked like a hotel keychain — the old metal kind we don’t use anymore.

He turned toward the camera. And I swear to God, his face was mine.

The elevator opened on its own. No ding this time. Just that low electrical hum.

I told myself I wasn’t going to go up there, that I’d stay put until morning, but…

The front desk phone started ringing.

Line 409.

The caller ID read: “Front Desk.”

The Room

The door to 409 was already open when I got there.

Inside, everything was arranged the same way as before — suitcase, shoes, toiletries.

But now, there were two suitcases. One was mine. The same black roller bag I keep behind the desk. I didn’t bring it up. I didn’t even pack it.

The bathroom light was on. I heard the tap running.

And then — faintly — that same voice:

“Front desk?”

Only this time, it came from behind me. Before It Went Dark.

The lights cut out as I turned. For a split second, I saw something — a figure, maybe a reflection — standing where I’d been a moment ago.

Same uniform. Same posture. Same name tag.

I don’t remember leaving the room. I don’t remember getting downstairs.

But the footage this morning (before it vanished) showed someone — me — returning to the desk at 1:28 a.m., checking something into the system, then walking out the front doors.

I haven’t left since.

Now

The lobby clock says 1:12 a.m. The elevator just started moving on its own. There’s a keycard sitting on the desk again — fresh, still warm from the dispenser.

Room 409.

Name: [REDACTED].

It’s not Walter this time. It’s me.

And the system says:

CHECKED IN.

GUEST NEVER CHECKS OUT.