[Reddit Post] The same guest checks in every Thursday… and dies every Friday morning.

Posted by u/GraveyardFrontDesk — r/NoSleep

I work the overnight shift at a small roadside hotel just outside Denver. It’s quiet most of the time — truckers, couples who don’t want their names on anything, salesmen passing through. You get used to the silence, the humming ice machine, the smell of burnt coffee, and cheap disinfectant.

But there’s one guest I can’t get used to.

He comes in every Thursday night. Always around 10:15 p.m.

Always books Room 217.

He’s normal at first.

Polite. Quiet. He looks tired but sharp — pressed suit, same leather suitcase, same faint smell of cigarette smoke. He always signs the name “Daniel H.”, though he never gives an ID that matches. His card always goes through, so management doesn’t care.

He asks for the same thing every time:

“Please don’t send housekeeping until after noon.” And every time, I nod and tell him no problem.

Then Friday morning comes.

Around 7:00 a.m., I get the same call from housekeeping. “Front desk, uh, Room 217… you’d better come up here.”

I go upstairs. The door’s ajar. The lights are on.

And Daniel is lying on the bed. Still. Eyes open. No sign of struggle, no blood. Just pale and unmoving, like he went to sleep mid-breath.

We’ve called the cops three times now.

Every single time, it goes the same way:

They show up. They take photos. Then they ask me to wait in the hall. When I go back inside — he’s gone.

The room is spotless. Nobody, no luggage, no trace of him ever being there.

The security footage shows me checking him in, shows him walking down the hall…

But it never shows him leaving. Management won’t talk about it.

After the first incident, I assumed it was a one-off — a freak thing.

By the second week, I thought someone was pranking me. By the third week, I realized management knew.

When I brought it up to the general manager, she told me to “file the incident under maintenance” and handed me a fresh form for “room reset procedures.”

They’ve stopped renting out 217 to anyone else. Except him.

Last Thursday

He came in later than usual — around 11:30. He looked worse than before. His eyes were sunken, his skin grayish, still in that same old suit.

He didn’t speak much, just nodded when I handed him the key.

As he turned to leave, I asked without thinking:

“Do you remember me?”

He paused for a long time. Then he smiled, small and sad.

“Every week,” he said. “Until Friday.” He went up to his room.

Friday morning

Same call. Same voice from housekeeping.

“Front desk? Room 217 again.”

Only this time, when I got there, the door was locked from the inside.

No response when I knocked.

When maintenance came to open it, the bed was made. Nobody. No suitcase.

But the keycard he’d used was still in the door.

And on the pillow, there was a note written in the hotel’s stationery:

“Don’t check me in next week.”

It’s Thursday again tonight.

The reservation system shows a new booking for Room 217, made under the name Daniel H.

The timestamp says it was booked last Friday… at 7:04 a.m.

The exact minute I was standing in the doorway, looking at that empty room.