UPDATE: The hotel laundry that runs itself after midnight

Hey everyone,

It’s been about a week since my last post. I honestly didn’t plan on updating — I thought maybe I’d just scared myself too much, or imagined half of it. But things have gotten worse. Way worse.

I’m posting this during my lunch break, sitting in the employee lounge with my back against the vending machine because I need something solid behind me.

After my post blew up, management found out.

Someone from corporate must’ve seen it because two days later, my GM pulled me aside. No yelling, no write-up — just this weird calm talk.

He asked if I’d “been feeling stressed lately.”

Said maybe I’d “confused an equipment malfunction for something else.”

But when I mentioned Dryer #7 and how I’d unplugged it and it still turned on, his smile dropped.

He just said:

“That unit’s supposed to be decommissioned.”

Then he left.

Didn’t say anything else.

The security footage.

Our head of maintenance, Carl, told me quietly the cameras did catch something that night.

Corporate took the footage before anyone could see it, but Carl managed to get a screenshot on his phone before they deleted it.

He showed me.

The photo’s grainy and dark, but you can clearly see Dryer #7 in the corner, door wide open — and a reflection in the metal drum.

Not a face exactly.

More like someone standing inside the dryer, pressed against the back, arms curled around their knees like they’d been stuffed in.

Carl said it looked like the burn victim photo he saw once when the old fire happened.

He deleted it right after showing me. Said it “wasn’t something you keep.”

The new clothes.

Every night this week, there’s been something new in the carts.

Last night it was a housekeeper’s uniform — old style, same faded logo, same tag: R. Wilson.

The night before that, a towel embroidered with the previous name of our hotel — the one from over twenty years ago, before the renovation.

They don’t show up when I clock in. They appear after midnight, like someone drops them off while I’m not looking.

And every morning, they’re gone.

The smell.

You know how burnt hair smells? That sick-sweet, metallic stench that sticks to your nose and won’t go away?

That’s what the laundry room smells like now.

Even when the machines are empty. Even when the vents are clean.

I checked the lint trap on Dryer #7 today. It was full. But not with lint.

It looked like ash.

And in the ash was something small and curved — like a human fingernail.

The last straw.

At 12:09 last night, I was finishing a towel fold when the lights flickered. All the machines went off at once — except Number 7.

The door swung open and slammed shut twice, like someone pounding from the inside.

Then the timer display lit up.

It’s never worked properly before, but this time it showed a number.

10:14.

That’s the time listed on R. Wilson’s death certificate.

I’m putting in my notice tomorrow.

Corporate can deal with whatever’s in that room.

I just hope it stays there.

If anyone ever stays at a [REDACTED] Inn off the highway near Exit 27 —

don’t use the laundry.

And if you hear a dryer running after midnight,

don’t open it.