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

Hey everyone,

I didn’t expect my last post to blow up the way it did. I just needed to vent about something weird that happened at work, but apparently, it freaked a lot of people out.

For anyone who hasn’t seen the original post — I work overnight at a small hotel, and a few nights ago, a room (409) got checked into the system by a guest who’s been dead for years. I saw it happen in real-time, and when I checked the room, it was fully set up with his stuff. The next morning, it was empty again.

Management told me to “forget about it.”

I tried. But last night, it happened again.

Night Two

When I clocked in, I checked the booking system right away — Room 409 was still showing RESERVED, same name, same 1:13 a.m. timestamp. I told myself I’d ignore it. Probably a glitch, right?

Except at 1:12 a.m., the ding went off again. I froze.

I stared at the keycard machine, waiting. The dispenser tray slid open and ejected a card.

I swear to God — I saw the plastic ripple, like something invisible brushed past me.

I didn’t touch it. I just stood there listening.

The elevator down the hall dinged. Doors opened.

No footsteps. No voices. Just that sound of quiet air moving through the building.

When I finally looked back, the keycard was gone.

Room 409

I watched the monitors this time. At exactly 1:13 a.m., the door to 409 opened by itself again.

There was movement inside — not shapes, not shadows — just flickers, like the camera was trying to adjust to someone being there.

I turned up the mic feed. You can barely hear it, but there’s… breathing. Long, labored, like someone asleep.

At 1:28, the lights inside the room turned off. The Smell

By 3 a.m., I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my flashlight and went up there. The hallway felt colder again — that deep, unnatural kind of cold that seems to sink into your lungs.

The air outside 409 smelled faintly of aftershave, the same scent from before. And something underneath it — musty, like old carpet after a flood. When I put my hand on the door, it felt warm.

That’s when I heard the noise.

It wasn’t movement. It wasn’t pipes. It was the faint creak of a mattress, like someone shifting in bed.

I don’t know what possessed me, but I whispered, “Walter?” The sound stopped.

Then a man’s voice — clear as day — whispered back: “Front desk?”

Aftermath

I bolted. Didn’t even look back. I left the door unlocked and stayed in the lobby until sunrise.

My manager came in and acted completely calm. He told me I was “letting the stories get to me.”

When I showed him the security footage, he said the files were corrupted. He didn’t even pretend to be surprised.

Before he left, he said something that’s been stuck in my head all day:

“Walter paid good money for that room. Let him have his stay.”

Last Thing

When I clocked in tonight, there was a note taped to the front desk computer.

No signature. Just one line written in shaky pen:

“Please deliver a wake-up call to Room 409 at 6:30 a.m.”

The call went through.

Someone answered.