I Work at a Motel Where No One Ever Checks Out | Part 2

If you enjoy a blend of science fiction and horror, be sure to check out my other podcast, The SCP Experience. This podcast takes you on a journey through the SCP Foundation Archives, where strange anomalies, secret experiments, and unsettling mysteries collide. Let's just say it's not for the faint of heart. Be sure to search for the SCP Experience wherever you get your podcasts. Talk to Nicely. Want to listen to the full three-part series today without waiting? Start your 7-day free trial of Dr. No Sleep Premium now. Just go to patreon.com slash drnosleep to sign up. Cancel any time, no commitment. That's patreon.com slash drnosleep. Part 2. Housekeeping. Hold your horses, Jensen! Mrs. Plumb snaps when I come rushing into the motel office, shouting about Room 24. I'm busy with guests! Ms. Belinda stands at the office desk, leaning as far away from Mr. Caldwell as possible, who is busy smirking at her in that Mr. Caldwell way that makes everyone uncomfortable. It even makes the people in my head uncomfortable. Right, people in my head? Very uncomfortable. I know, Mrs. P, but there's an issue with Room 24. What issue? Mrs. Belinda asks. I'm switching to that room. Mrs. Plumb and I were just discussing the issue. Discussing! I have yet to make a determination as to whether or not you shall switch rooms. It all depends on who our new guest is. About that new guest? Mr. Caldwell says, I'd like to make a request if I could. He sneers at Ms. Belinda, which makes me think of doing bad things to him. I never would, of course. Harming a guest is against policy. A request? Since the current guests are too uptight to know how to have a little fun. Mr. Caldwell continues. What kind of choices are we looking at? Do you have a brochure or a binder with the candidates? I'd love to see some headshots and some body shots, if you know what I mean. Spice it up around here a bit. Mr. Caldwell? Mrs. Plumb asks. Yes, ma'am. Get out of my office now, please. I do not enjoy or condone what you are insinuating. You will leave now. You will also leave our young female guests alone. Hey, now, no need to be all weird about things, Mrs. Plumb. I was just being inappropriate. She smiles, and I force myself not to gasp. It's not her good smile. No, sir. Although a guest has recently been dispatched and the next dispatching isn't scheduled for quite some time, I can make an exception. Should I make an exception, Mr. Caldwell? No, ma'am. He answers immediately and hurries to the office door. I was only joking around anyway. You know that, right? He looks to me. Tell them, Jensen. I was just joking around. Sure, Mr. Caldwell. Whatever you say. I reply, wringing my hands. I'm not good with confrontation. I mean, sometimes you people in my head can get a little spicy, as they say. But I know that you don't mean nothing by it. Mr. Caldwell? Mrs. Plumb says. Right. Sorry again. I'll be on my way. He leaves quickly. Okay, Mrs. P. You have to... I start to say. Jensen, I am with the guest. Please wait for your turn. But Mrs. Plumb, like I said, there's a problem with room 24. Jensen, I will not warn you again. Step over to the wall and wait. Mr. Sparks is still occupying the room. My words echo around the office. Mrs. Plumb narrows her eyes at me. Mrs. Belinda puts both hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. I know how she feels. The silence in the office is thick with yuck. Do you feel it too, people in my head? I bet you do. Speak, Jensen. Mrs. Plumb says to me. Okay, yes. Speak. I take a deep breath. So, I was going to clean the room, but then Mrs. Belinda came up and we talked. Then Mr. Caldwell came up and we talked. Then Mr. Amalfi showed up and was angry about the dust on his TV. Did he ever come by? Anyway, doesn't matter. So, what about the dust on his TV? Mrs. Plumb asks. Do I need to have a word with housekeeping? Oh no. I have a home note conversation going on with housekeeping. I'll leave another one. If they are not living up to the Perkins standards, then that is a problem, Jensen. You would alert me to any possible problems, right, Jensen? Oh yes, of course, Mrs. P. But, like I was saying, Mr. Amalfi came up and we talked. Then I was able to get into the room. I swallow hard. I saw the mess and was going to clean it all up, but then the toilet flushed. The toilet flushed? Yes. Who flushed it? Mr. Sparks did. He hasn't vacated the room. You said that. I don't believe a word of it. Mr. Sparks was properly dispatched. Ms. Belinda shivers at the word dispatched, but Mrs. Plumb doesn't seem to notice and keeps on talking. Once a guest has been dispatched, Jensen, they no longer exist. Not on this plane, not on any plane. I used to love flying on planes. Ms. Belinda says. I am sure you did, dear. Mrs. Plumb responds. Then she lets out a slow breath. Jensen, what is this really about? Really about Mrs. P? I don't follow. Obviously, you have an issue with Cleaning Room 24. Sounds to me like you procrastinated for some time. Using conversations with guests as an excuse not to do your job. What? Oh no, Mrs. P. That's not the case at all. Mr. Sparks is still in Room 24. He's not looking so great, if I might say so, but he certainly has not been dispatched. Are you saying I don't know how to do my job? I gasp and press myself against the wall. No, Mrs. P. I'd never say anything of the sort. Then why make something like this up? I didn't make it up, gosh darn it! Ms. Belinda's eyebrows shoot up at my use of profanity. Mrs. Plumb only shakes her head. Go clean the room, Jensen. I do not know what your intention was with this little interaction, but we'll discuss it later. She smiles at Ms. Belinda. After our guest and I finish conducting our business. I could keep arguing. I should keep arguing. But Mrs. Plumb sure seems to have made up her mind. Which gets me to wondering if maybe I'm mistaken after all. Mr. Sparks was dispatched by Mrs. Plumb. There's no way he's still in Room 24. That just isn't possible. Sorry for bothering you, Mrs. P. I say and bow my head as I walk to the office door. Same to you, Ms. Belinda. I'll go clean the room now. Mrs. Plumb doesn't even acknowledge my leaving the office. Which I probably deserve, having interrupted her dealings with Ms. Belinda. My fault, my fault. I mutter. Right? It's my fault. You don't have to answer that, people in my head. It's what they call a rhetorical question. I crossed the parking lot and hurried down the cement walkway, aimed straight for Room 24. When a scream gets my attention, I see Ms. Wanamaker backing out of the doorway of Room 24. Oh no! Ms. Wanamaker, what have you done? I shout and run as fast as I can down the cement walkway until I reach her. She is shaking and crying. What happened? Why is he like that? I don't know. I don't know what to say. If you people in my head want to chime in, go for it. Someone needs to tell Mrs. Plumb. Ms. Wanamaker says, I did. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Ms. Wanamaker says, I did. Okay, good. Is she on her way? Not exactly. Mr. Spark laughs. She didn't believe you, did she, buddy? I shake my head. Typical plum. Oh well. She'll come around soon. It's not like she can fill the room if it isn't vacant. He sneezes and a strip of skin plops off onto the cement. Bless you. I say. Ms. Wanamaker screams and runs to a room. Slamming the door behind her so hard, I worry I'll have to check the frame for cracks. Mr. Sparks and I stand awkwardly for a minute. Um, do you mind if I continue cleaning? I ask. Go for it, buddy. Someone's got to fix this mess up a room. Thanks. Then I look around for my trash card. Where'd my... Cooper. Mr. Sparks says, my shoulders slump. Are you sure? Pretty sure. I just pushed him, grabbed it, and rolled away laughing. Why were you laughing? Nobody. He was laughing. Cooper was. Oh, right. I sigh and look toward the end of the Perkins. I'll be right back. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere. Yes, and that's the problem. But I don't dare say that. That thought is just for you, people in my head. I walk down to the far end of the motel, climb the stairs, then stop at room 329. Taking a deep breath, I knock. No. A gruff voice shouts. Mr. Cooper, it's Jensen. No response. I take another deep breath. Um, I need my trash card, please. You can't have it, you boob. Mr. Cooper shouts. Go away. I can't go away, sir. I need to clean a room. The door jerks open, and a middle-aged man wearing only boxer shorts and a T-shirt that reads, hell is a state of mind, and I'm the governor. What did you say? He snarls. I need my trash card, sir. After that? After what? After you said you needed your trash card. Why do you need your trash card? I need to clean room 24. That's where the trash card was when I took it. I know. I left it there. But room 24 isn't vacant. I saw that spark sky in there. He didn't look so hot. He was dispatched. By who? A blind juggler using chainsaws? Um, no. By Mrs. Plum. It, um, didn't take. No shit. I stand and wait while Mr. Cooper eyes me. May I have my trash card back, please? I try to look past him into his room, but he shifts and blocks my view. I don't have your damn trash card. Oh, um, do you know where it is? Of course I do. I told you I took it, you stupid boob. Mr. Cooper can't be quite mean when he wants to. And he seems to want to a lot. Can you tell me where the card is, please, Mr. Cooper? Mrs. Plum is going to be pretty darned cross with me if I don't keep cleaning room 24. How are you going to clean a room that isn't vacant, huh? You think of that? Oh, as you people in my head all know, I have thought about that. A lot. But I'm not getting into this with him. Mr. Cooper growls, hawks up a loogie, and tries to spit it past my shoulder and out onto the walkway. He misses. I choose not to look at my right shoulder. Fine. I'll tell you since you won't go away, you stupid boob. Mr. Cooper shouts, I fed it to room 330. You happy now? While I suspected guests might be listening to our conversation, since it is quite a loud conversation, especially from Mr. Cooper's side, it's the collective gasp I hear that confirms the eavesdropping. The man grins at the attention. Yep, you heard me right. I fed the whole damn card to room 330, except for that bloody bedspread. I'm keeping that. You hear me? I gulp and try to come to grips with what he's told me. You, you fed my trash card to room 330? Why? Because none of you boobs ever feed that damn void. All night and all day I hear that rumbling emptiness. It's hard to sleep or watch my donkey porn when all I can hear is moan, rumble, grumble, moan, rumble, grumble. Would it kill you boobs to feed it regularly? Mr. Cooper has a point. I wish he didn't, but he does. My apologies, Mr. Cooper. I didn't know it was disturbing you so. I lean back and turn to look at room 330. When you say you fed it. Oh, that card's gone, kid. Gone for good. Unless you want to go speedlunking into the void, you can forget about that trash card. Well, that's unfortunate. Not for me. I got a bloody bedspread, and hopefully I'll get a good night's sleep without that damn room bitching and moaning. He slams the door on my face. Okay then. Goodbye, Mr. Cooper. Thank you. I say to the closed door. I give room 330 a last look, then hurry downstairs. Lately, I've been trying to wear things that feel great, look clean, and actually last. That's why I've been loving Quince. They use premium fabrics and make everyday basics feel luxurious without the huge markup. I recently tried their mesh performance training tee, and it quickly became a favorite. It's soft, comfortable, and breathable. Perfect for my daily workouts. 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I pause and look toward the office, but I don't see an angry Mrs. Peek unroaring after me. So I push the card over to room 24. That Cooper is a piece of work, right? Mr. Sparks says, when I roll the spare card up to open his door, he frowns. Where's your other card? You let Mr. Cooper take it. I reply with a little attitude. I instantly feel bad about it. Sorry Mr. Sparks, didn't mean to get upset. It's all good buddy, don't sweat it. I smile and give him an apologetic nod. Then I start in on cleaning up the broken lamp and the cracked TV and the decimated alarm clock. When I open the closet, Mr. Sparks grabs me with a blood tacky hand. Hold up now Jensen. Sorry Mr. Sparks, but Mrs. Plumb says I have to clean the room. That means removing all of your personal belongings. To hell with that! Permission rescinded Jensen. You may leave now. But Mr. Sparks, Mrs. Plumb said for me, don't care. Get out! Man, some people can just be difficult. Not you people in my head. No, you are all wonderful, delightful folks. Reluctantly, I leave room 24 and roll the spare card off the cement sidewalk and across the parking lot. At least I can empty the little bit I was able to clean up. Jensen! Mrs. Plumb shouts. I turn around and see her storming toward me. Yes Mrs. P, where do you think you're going? I can tell that the card is not full. Why is it not full if you just cleaned out room 24? Mr. Sparks wouldn't let me take his personal belongings. Wouldn't let you? Wouldn't let you? Need I remind you that he is no longer a guest here at the Perkins? He has been dispatched. I start to agree with her because that's the safest thing to do. But then I look inside my backup trash cart and see what little trash I was able to take from room 24. I'm sorry Mrs. P, but you are wrong. Mr. Sparks has not been dispatched. And if you would go to his room and look for yourself, you'd see that I am right. Her eyes go wide and she takes a step back. That sounds like sass! And we have a no-sass policy here at the Perkins Jenkins. You know that! It's not sass ma'am, it's the truth. I aim my chin at room 24. Go see for yourself, please. If I'm wrong, I'll willingly take any punishment I deserve. You certainly will, Jensen. You certainly will. She glares at me, then turns to face the room. Alright, let's see about this. If he is not in that room, Jensen, things will not go well for you. I understand Mrs. P, but he's in there. She sniffs loudly, then stomps toward room 24. I look about and see faces duck behind curtains in several rooms. It's quite a show this evening at the Perkins. Quite a show indeed. Whistling some tune I heard in my head one day, I walk the cart around the east side of the Perkins and over to the pair of dumpsters sitting behind a broken fence and collapsed gate. I really should fix this fence and gate, but I just can't seem to find the time. The dumpsters are overflowing, and I have to be careful to place all the trash from room 24 on top of the precarious piles. A mumble comes from inside the left dumpster, then allowed belch, and the trash shifts violently, spilling several items out onto the ground. I hurriedly toss the bits back up onto the pile, then almost run away with my spare trash cart. It's never a good idea to wake a sleeping dumpster. I learned that the hard way once. Back in the parking lot, I stand and look about. I'm sure what to do next. I mean, I have plenty of work. I'm simply not sure where to start. Jensen! Oh right, room 24 and Mrs Plumb. I roll my spare trash cart that way, having to stop several times to kick the bad wheel back into place. I'll add fixing the wheel to my list of tasks. Jensen! You are lucky that you have a role to play here at the Perkins, or I would put you out on your behind this very instant! Mrs Plumb shouts at me. I'm sorry Mrs Plumb, but why would I be put out on my behind? Because, like I told you, Mr Sparks has been dispatched. He is not in that room, Jensen, and I am not pleased with how you have wasted my time. She storms off before I can reply. I glance into the room, still a mess, still very bloody. But I don't see Mr Sparks anywhere. Okay, people in my head, you have to be honest with me. Did I imagine Mr Sparks still being here? You'd tell me if I did imagine him, right? Okay, where do I start? I say out loud as I turn in a circle and assess all the damage. Probably should wash the blood off the walls first. Hey Jensen, hey you! I scream and jump, looking about for the source of the voice. Mr Sparks? Is she gone? Yes. Okay, good. The bed shifts, the mattress lifts, and Mr Sparks comes crawling out of the frame. He's not graceful about it and leaves a few strips of skin behind before he collapses onto the bloody floor. He laughs and looks up at me. Man, I thought she was going to find me for sure! Um, Mr Sparks, hiding from Mrs Plum isn't going to work. She will find you eventually because a new guest will be staying in this room. What will you do then? Keep hiding under the bed? Technically buddy, I'd be hiding inside the bed since it's a closed frame. I don't believe that will make much difference in the long run Mr Sparks. He rolls his eyes. No, I suppose it won't. But a guy has to try. He holds out a hand, the one with three fingers. Help a guy up? Um, sure. I try not to cringe when I grasp his mangled hand. Pulling hard, I help him to his feet. He stares at the blood on the wall above the bed. She really did a number on me, didn't she? He asks, but I don't answer. It's one of those rhetorical questions, like I talked to you people in my head about before. Right Jensen? Oh dear, maybe it isn't rhetorical. Right about what Mr Sparks? That Mrs Plum did a number on me. He waves his three-fingered hand in my face, then taps a strip of skin dangling from his neck. She just went to town. Is it always like this when she dispatches someone? I guess so. I don't see the actual dispatching. I only clean up afterwards. But is there all this blood and violence? Most definitely. I've seen rooms ten times worse than this. Seriously? Damn. There's a knock at the door, and we both turn to see Miss Belinda standing in the open doorway. Oh wow, Jensen. You weren't kidding. He did refuse to be dispatched. She says, stepping into the room. Surprisingly, she closes the door behind her. How'd you do it, Charlie? How'd you stop her from dispatching you? Oh, it was simple, really. Mr Sparks says then frowns. He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. I mean, I think it was. Huh, you know what? I don't actually remember how I avoided getting dispatched. Well, that's not good. Miss Belinda says, you should remember something as important as that. I know, right? Mr Sparks chuckles and glances at the bathroom. She came into my room, told me it was time to leave, and I told her to kiss my ass because I'm not checking out. We never check out, Miss Belinda says. Exactly, and that's what I said. She didn't care because she said I wasn't checking out. I was being dispatched. He swallows, and I can see his esophagus through a hole in his neck. Then it got really nasty, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in the bathtub. The bathtub? Let me see, Miss Belinda says. Maybe there's a clue in there that we can... The door bursts open, and Mrs Plum is standing there. I knew it! She yells, a machete in her hand. I knew you were hiding! I could smell your fear! Um, Mrs P? Is that my machete? Please be careful with that. It's my last one. Mrs Deckwood broke my spare when she attacked Mr Hush Jensen. This is important Perkins business. Yes ma'am. She points the machete at Mr Sparks. You are coming with me! I am going to have to decline that invitation! Mr Sparks says. He pushes me away and tries to lift the mattress. I'll be in here! I will not go willingly! Just try to get me out to dispatch me! Dispatch you? Oh, we are well past that point, Mr Sparks! Mrs Plum says with a laugh. Then she looks at Miss Belinda. Your request to move rooms has been denied. Please return to your forever in permanent room now, Miss Belinda. Miss Belinda doesn't argue. She does look very sad and disappointed though. That was awful mean of Mrs Plum to deny Miss Belinda's request like that. I try to catch her eye and wave, but Miss Belinda keeps her head down and squeezes past Mrs Plum. The machete aims at Mr Sparks as he clumsily tries to lift the mattress up so he can hide inside the bed. Although it can't really be called hiding if we all know where he is. What do you think, people in my head? Is it hiding or not? Stop that you fool! Hiding in there will not stop what is going to happen to you! Mrs Plum leans out of the room and looks to her left. Housekeeping! Oh, come on! Mr Sparks shouts, still struggling with the mattress. Do you have to call those crazy? Six women wrapped in soiled bed sheets from head to toe, race into the room and grab Mr Sparks by his arms, by his legs, by his crotch area and lift him over their heads. He screams and thrashes and cries the whole time, but I know he's just wasting his time and energy. When housekeeping has a hold of you, you go where they take you. That's just Perkins' policy. They carry him out the door and off to the right. His screams echo across the parking lot. And I know doors are opening and heads are sticking out to see what the commotion is. That was awful! I whisper. You, Jensen! Mrs Plum turns the machete in my direction. I cringe and draw away. Oh, stop that! I'm not going to harm you. You're not? No, you fool! I want to apologize for not believing you earlier. My face twitches at those words. I'm not sure I've ever heard an apology for Mrs Plum before. Have you, people in my head, what am I saying? If I haven't heard it, then you haven't heard it. That may not be Perkins' policy, but it is science. I know that much. Well, aren't you going to say something? Mrs Plum asks, waving the machete about. Oh, yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs P. I appreciate that. Good. She turns on her heels and aims the machete out toward the parking lot. Come along, Jensen. Time to visit room 330. Mr Sparks now has an appointment with the void. She walks off like a general going to war, leaving me to stand there with my mouth hanging open. I slowly close it and shout, We're going where and doing what with Mr Sparks?