Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I Work at a Motel Where No One Ever Checks Out | Part 1

Episode Date: May 18, 2026

Listen to all 3 parts today with a 7-day FREE TRIAL of Dr. NoSleep Premium: ⁠https://www.patreon.com/cw/drnosleep⁠ – Cancel anytime. No commitment. At Perkins Place Motel, no one ever checks out—and when a murdered guest refuses to stay gone, the vacancy meant for someone new becomes a nightmare the whole motel must answer for. But as loyal handyman Jensen is drawn deeper into the Perkins’ brutal “policies,” the truth behind the motel may be even more horrifying than the guests trapped inside it. Huge thanks to our sponsors: BetterHelp: Sign up now and get 10% off at ⁠betterhelp.com/dns⁠. Quince: Go to quince.com/dns for free shipping and 365-day returns. Shopify: Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at shopify.com/dns. Author: Jake Bible Check out Jake's latest collection of stories, They All Bleed: Ten NoSleep Stories, Volume Two https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G96H432Y * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The full three-part series, I work at a motel where no one ever checks out, is live on Patreon right now. Start your seven-day free trial of Dr. No Sleep Premium to listen to the full story now. No Waiting. Cancel any time. No commitment. Just go to patreon.com slash DR. No Sleep to sign up. The link is in the description below. That's patreon.com slash DR No Sleep. Part 1. Welcome to the Perkins. Jensen?

Jensen, go clean out room 24. We have a vacancy. Mrs. Plum yells as I wheel the almost full trash cart across the parking lot. On it, Mrs. P. I shout, turning the cart around and heading for the other side of the motel. Perkins Place Motel and Supper Club, a home away from home. Not that I have a home other than the Perkins. I live in one of the employee rooms connected to the main office.

Six of them are back there. Mine's the only one occupied. Not that I get lonely. Not at the Perkins. Nope. At the Perkins, we are always full. Always. Where's my room?

Mr. Robinson shouts at me from the middle of the parking lot. The old guy turns in a slow circle, shading his eyes from the noonday sun. Then he stops when he catches my eye. Hey, you kid. Where's my room? Not really a kid, Mr. Robinson. I say as I stopped the trash cart next to him. Been working here all my life.

That's so. You look like a kid to me. How old are you? Mr. Robinson and I have this conversation a lot. Probably three or four times a week. He's lived here at the Perkins longer than I've been working here. I just smile and play along. I am 57, Mr. Robinson, I say.

Do you want me to help you to your room, sir? Help. Why would I need help? help. I know where my damn room is. The old man swats at me, his palm slapping my shoulder. There's no strength or force in the slap. It's like an empty glove smacking my body. Okay then, you have a nice day, sir. And just in case you were wondering, you are in room 36. I am? Where the hell is that? Mr. Robinson turns in a slow circle again. All these damn rooms look the same. In his defense,

It can be a little confusing here at the Perkins. Well, it's right there, sir. I point at the two-story row of 20 rooms at the far end of the parking lot. The Perkins is a horseshoe, Mr. Robinson, and you live at the top of the horseshoe. Top of the horseshoe? What in the hell does that mean? Is there a four-leaf clove or two? A pot of gold? He leans in and sneers at me, looking me up and down. Are you a lepricon, son? You're going to grant me a horse?

wish? Because if you are, I wish to get the hell out of this horrible place. Can you make that happen, you short Irish bastard? Oh, I'm Swedish, sir. Jensen, it's Swedish. Like the meatballs? I suppose so, yeah, like the meatballs. Mr. Robinson's sneer increases, and I worry that it'll harm himself. Got lost in one of those Swedish furniture stores once, he says. His eyes wild and out. They never did find my body. I laugh. Mr. Robinson is a funny guy. I can walk you to your room if you'd like. His sneer drops and he looks about, suddenly fearful. Scratching at the three-day old stubble on his chin, he takes in the entire motel. I don't like this place. Where's my room? Where's room 36? Okay, Mr. Robinson. I'll go over it for you one more time. A chuckle,

knowing I'll go over it with him a lot more than that. The Perkins is a horseshoe. You already said that, damn it. Tell me something I don't know. All right. I clear my throat and launch right in. There are 20 rooms on the west side, including the second floor, 20 rooms on the east side including the second floor,

and 20 rooms at the horseshoe's end, including the second floor. Each has 10 rooms up and 10 rooms down. I take a breath and quickly continue before the old, gentlemen can start objecting. Now, most motels have a two in front of the room number because it's on the second floor. Not the Perkins, nope. We got ones on one side and twos on the other side, threes at the end. Upstairs has two ones or two twos or two threes. Took me a bit to figure out that room 11 is actually the first room on the bottom level of the west side, with room one 11 directly above it. Room 21 is the first room on the east side, with room 221 above that.

That's why we call them Building 1, Building 2, and Building 3. Why are you telling me this? I already know that. Mr. Robinson says and smacks the air. Go do your work, kid. That trash sticks. Oh, sorry about that, Mr. Robinson. I was going to the dumpsters when Mrs. Plum said there was a vacancy in room 24, so I'm heading there to clean it out for the next guest. Mr. Robinson stares at me so hard, I worry if he's having a seizure.

I heard once that people can have seizures without falling down and shaking all over. They just sort of go away for a moment. Have you ever heard of that, people in my head? Mr. Robinson snaps too and shakes his head. A vacancy. Here? At the Perkins? He's back to scratching his chin stubble. Can't quite remember the last time that happened. Six years ago next week, I say.

The Bertleby twins. Oh, right. Them. He wences. Damn shame what happened to them. Then he turns and wanders off, heading in the wrong direction. I'd correct him, but he can use the exercise. Got to keep those old bones and joints healthy.

You have a wonderful day, Mr. Robinson! He grunts and farts, but doesn't turn back. Such a character. We got a lot of those here at the Perkins. But you already know that, don't you? Whistling a tuneless little ditty, I get back to it and push the cart out of the parking lot and onto the cement walkway that runs the length of each motel section.

Vacancy, a vacancy. I mumble while pulling a key set for my belt, hunting for the motel's master room key. Vacancy, vacancy, vacancy. I have one of those super cool key chains with that retractable line thing. So if I drop my keys, they just zip back to my belt. It happens in the blink of an eye. It's really something.

Pull, drop, zip. Pull, drop, zip. Fun. What's this about a vacancy? See? Miss Wanamaker asks, sticking her head out of room 22. Hello, Miss Wanamaker. I wave, letting my keys drop. Zip, I laugh. Stop playing with yourself and tell me what happened, she says, but not unkindly. No, Miss Wanamaker is a nice lady. She was in her early 30s when she arrived here,

still looking fine in her 50s. I'd ask her out, since we're close in age, but Mrs. Plum says it's against Perkins' policy for employees to fraternize with the guests, which doesn't make sense, since she fraternizes with Mr. Grogan in room 117 every Thursday night. You're doing it again, Jensen, Miss Wanamaker says. Spacing off. Just talking to the people in my head, Miss Wanamaker. I glance at the door to Room 24. To be honest, I'm not fully sure what happened yet. Gonna have to go inside and check it all out. Mrs. Plum wants it cleaned up and ready immediately. Immediately? Is a new guest arriving today?

I shrug. Could be. You know how the Perkins can be. Always wanting the rooms to be full. Yes, I know how the Perkins can be. She pulls her head back into her room and closes the door. Bye, Miss Wanamaker. I call out. Then I pull on my keys, find the master room key, and slip it into Room 24's lock. Hey, Jensen. I let go of the key, leaving it in the lock, and turn to the familiar voice.

Oh, hi there, Mr. Caldwell. How's your day going so far? A young man, younger than me by a couple of decades, shakes his head. Jensen, man, come on. Call me Jerry. I keep telling you that. Right, yes. Sorry about that, Mr. Caldwell. But Mrs. Plum insists all employees call guests by their last name. It's the polite thing to do. Screw polite. We're all in this together, right? Call me Jerry. Okay, Jerry. I wince and scratch at the back of my neck.

Nope. Sorry, Mr. Caldwell. It just doesn't feel right coming out of my mouth. Okay, Jensen. You do you, man. He eyes room 24. I hear there's a vacancy. Any idea who the new guest might be?

Oh, no guest yet, Mr. Caldwell. I haven't even had a chance to clean the room up. Gotta get on that right away. I hope he gets the hint, but knowing Mr. Caldwell, he won't. Just like the people in my head. Mr. Caldwell always has his own agenda. Not that Mr. Caldwell is in my head.

Where would he even fit? I laugh. Something funny, Jensen? Oh, what? No, no, just thinking about the people. And which people are that, man? I tap my temple. Right.

He clears his throat and gives me a wink. Listen, Jensen, I need you to put in a good word for me with Mrs. Plum, okay? A good word, Mr. Caldwell? Yeah, a good word. He looks around and licks his lips. I'm not sure what he's looking for. He leans in. The folks here are.

Old. You know what I mean? I do. Yes, Mr. Caldwell. Except for Annie Freed. She's not old. And then there's... Yeah, yeah, I get it.

But still, it'd be great if maybe we got some more younger folks as guests. It'd be even greater if a young lady were to stay here. Are you catching what I'm throwing, Jensen? You haven't thrown anything, sir. Mr. Caldwell opens his mouth, then shuts it and shakes his head. Just ask Mrs. Plum as she'll let a hot young woman move in, okay? A little fresh blood. Fresh blood.

Okay. Got it. I nod. Mentioning blood makes me glance at room 24. Anything else, Mr. Caldwell? Uh, yeah. My toilet is clogged again. So can you swing by and help me out with that later?

Of course, Mr. Caldwell. Of course. Thanks, Jensen. You're the best. I appreciate that, Mr. Caldwell. Christ, Jensen. Would it be so hard to call me Jerry? I really, really despise being called Mr. Caldwell.

I'll ask permission for Mrs. Plum, sir. I'd hate to upset her. Mr. Caldwell gets a look on his face and nods. He glances around. Um, so how's she doing? After, you know. I don't know what you mean, Mr. Caldwell. But I can say that Mrs. Plum is a private person, so I'd rather not gossip.

Is she? Is she private? No, is she a person? I purse my lips and try to look pleasant. I've upset you. Sorry, Jensen, I'll drop it. You have a great day, okay? You too, Mr. Caldwell. He tries to smile and walks off, heading back to his room. I make a mental note to get my plunger after I'm done cleaning room 24. That Mr. Caldwell either eats too much fiber or not enough. This will be the third trip to his bathroom this week.

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guest. I pulled the key from the lock, let it zip back to my belt, then turn and grin. Hey there, Miss Belinda. I wave, and she jogs across the parking lot to me. You look lovely today, Miss Belinda. Well, thank you, Mr. Jensen, she says when she reaches me. She waves a hand in front of her face. A little warm to jog like that, don't you think? I'm not Annie Fried. No, she is not, but she sure is close. I look at the bright blue sky and think about it. Is it too warm to jog like that? I'm not sure. I don't jog, really. I'll ask Annie Friede what she thinks. So, I hear there's a vacancy, Miss Belinda says. She's a lot younger than me, maybe the same age as Mr. Caldwell, although the two do not get along. Miss Belinda is pretty like that lady on that old show,

Gilligan's Island. Not the movie star, but the farm girl. Pretty like that. There is, yes. I glance over my shoulder at the door to room 24. As soon as I get it cleaned up, well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. She looks around, but I'm not sure what for. Then she gets in closer, a little closer than I like with guests. Kind of makes me uncomfortable if I'm being honest. Her hand goes to my shoulder.

I was wondering, she says, then looks around again. I really need to ask Mrs. Plum what everyone is always looking around for. because they do it a lot. I was wondering if I could switch rooms. Is room 30 not to your liking, Miss Belinda? No, the room is great. It's just more looking around. That Jerry guy is in 229,

and sometimes I look out my front window and can see him up there staring down at me. Oh, dear. That's not very polite of him, is it? No, Mr. Jensen, it is not. If I could move to this one, well, he... and you know who I am referring to won't be able to see my room anymore

Yes, I know who you are referring to You just said it was Jerry, I mean Mr. Caldwell Did I? I suppose maybe I did Anyway, do you think I can switch? Oh, you really want this room? I ask and point back at room 24 I don't think it's as nice as yours, Miss Belinda That may be true

but it would make me feel a lot better. Do you want me to speak to Mr. Caldwell? I can ask him not to bother you no more, to stop looking down at your place. No, please don't say a word to him. That could cause some trouble, and I don't want that. She swallows hard. We all know how Mrs. Plum feels about trouble.

Boy, do we. I laugh, smacking my thigh. She hates trouble. Miss Belinda beams with that cute smile of hers. So, do you think you could ask you? Mrs. Plum for me? Me? Why not ask her yourself?

She likes you. She does? Huh. I always get the feeling that I annoy her. Oh, no, not at all. She likes you. And do you think I should ask her myself? Sure do.

She's in her office now. If you want to head that way, it'll take me a bit to get the room cleaned, so you two will have plenty of time to work it all out. Oh, that's wonderful to hear, Mr. Jensen. Jensen? Thank you. No, thank you, Miss Belinda. She gives my shoulder a squeeze, then hurries off toward the office. I sigh and watch her go. What a lovely woman. Then I return my attention to room 24. Time to get to work. Jensen! Oh, oh dear me. I look for a place to hide.

I actually think of jumping into my trash cart, even with all the refuse rotting in there. But he'll still find me. He always finds me. I take a deep. breath and look to my right toward room 21. Johnson! Mr. Amalfi bellows. The large man stomps toward me. His face is all red and splotchy. It gets that way when he's angry.

And he's always angry. His big, meaty hands bunch into fists. Hi, Mr. Amalfi! I say and take a step behind my trash cart, putting it between us. A sausage-sized finger aims at me. What did I say about the damn television? He roars. Even though I can hear him just fine if he used a

normal inside voice, despite us being outside. Huh? What did I say, Jensen? Make sure that housekeeping doesn't change the channel even if the TV is off, I say, reciting back one of his many rules he has about his room. I told them, sir. Well, I mean, I left a note. You know how it is with housekeeping. They left a note back though and said they never touched the television. That's the damn problem. Those useless women haven't dusted my TV in weeks! Weak! Jensen. Right, but she said not to...

Not to change the channel. I never said don't dust the damn thing. How will I watch my Colombo reruns with six inches of dust in my way? Six inches? That's a lot of dust. Are you sassing me, boy? He moves quickly and grabs the opposite side of my trash card. People who sass me pay the price, Jensen. You better not be sassing me. No, sir. I don't sass. And sass is against Perkins' policy. Plus, sass is not my nature. Not your nature? Boy, the only nature you have is stupid.

That's your nature. I give him a polite smile and nod. His glare could melt steel. I just keep smiling and nodding. Cut that out. He barks. Then glances at room 24. Who's moving in?

I don't know, sir. I haven't had a chance to clean it out yet. You don't know? Bullshit. You know but refuse to tell me. I'm going to have a word about this. with Mrs. Plum. What do you think about that? Oh, she's probably talking to Miss Belinda, so you might want to wait.

Wait? Renaldo Amalfi never waits. He shoves the trash cart against me, then turns on his heel and stops off. That Mr. Amalfi is not a pleasant man, that's for sure. All right, let's clean a room. Finally, I am able to unlock the door and let myself into room 24. It's a mess, like usual. When Mrs. Plum creates a vacancy, she doesn't hold back. Nope.

She makes sure the guest is fully dispatched. That's what she calls it. Dispatching the guest? I don't really like the phrase. It feels mean? Well, maybe not mean because Mrs. Plum is a very decent person. But it's not kind. Oh well, such is the way here at the Perkins.

The first thing I see is the great splashes of blood coating the wall above the bed. The bed itself is a little drippy too. Not sure we can salvage the bedspread, but it was probably time for it to be replaced anyway. This particular guest had been here for several decades, so a new bedspread isn't out of the question. I'll have to ask Mrs. Plum about that after I remove everything and take it to the dumpsters. A chair is in the corner, one leg broken, and one of the side lamps is shattered, its fragments resting at the bottom of the wall by the bathroom. Mrs. Plum certainly went all in on the dispatching. The television has a crack in the screen, and the alarm clock is nothing but plastic and metal bits. I sigh. This doesn't look like

the guest wanted to leave. I mean, they never want to check out of the Perkins. Who would? But the guest here was obviously quite difficult about it. Guests should know better. This guest seemed nice and smart. I can't say his name because we never say the names of the dispatched. Never. It's not how it works. But he was a good guy from what I could tell. I stripped the bed and wad up the soiled bedspread and tossing them out into the trash can. Hey, Jensen.

Annie Fried, my absolute favorite guest, calls from the parking lot. She has her running shoes on and that bright pink and blue outfit she wears when she jogs. Getting my laps in. Hey, Annie Freed, got a vacancy. I call back. Oh, wow. Bit a while. Then she's gone, jogging out of sight.

A very nice young lady that Annie Freed lives in room 113, always so nice and friendly, and is really into physical fitness, loves to jog, which reminds me that I'm supposed to ask her something. What was it? Do you know, people in my head? It had to do with... Hold on. What was that? Did the toilet just flush? No, that couldn't be. Who would flush it? I'm the only one in this room, other than the people. people in my head, but you don't ever need to use the facilities, do you? Water runs in the bathroom sink and I freeze. Oh dear, Mrs. Plum is not going to be happy. Vacancies are taken very seriously at the Perkins. For someone to come into room 24 before I've had a chance to clean it and make it presentable for the new guest, well, that's not how it's done. I dread having to tell Mrs. Plum, just plain dread it.

Hello? I call. Who's in here? The water shuts off and a shadow darkens the bathroom doorway. Oh, hey there, Jensen. How's it going? I blink a few times. Jensen? You okay, buddy? My mouth goes dry as I stare at the man. He's as much of a mess as the room is. All sliced up and bloody, strips of skin hanging off him like vines.

I can even see a few teeth missing when he smiles at me. Jensen? What's wrong? I start to speak, but all that comes to. comes out as a quiet croak. Coughing hard, I clear my throat. Um, hey there, Mr. Sparks, I managed to finally say. Um, you look. He waits, then asks. Yes, I look. Um, Mr. Sparks, can I ask you a question? You bet, buddy. Shoot. I, uh, I'm just wondering. Um, what are you doing here? My eyes go to the splashes of blood coating the wall, then return to him.

You know, because of, uh, getting dispatched? Mr. Sparks, chuckles. Oh, Jensen, I won't let a little violent mutilation drive me off. I love the Perkins and plan on staying here for eternity. The Perkins is the best, don't you agree, Jensen? Oh, I certainly do, Mr. Sparks, I certainly do. Everyone knows that the Perkins is the best, yes, sir. I shuffle my feet.

Um, it's just that, well, once you are disembarked, Dispatch, you sort of have to leave. Mrs. Plum might be checking in a new guest right now. If not, I know that Miss Belinda is talking to her about maybe switching rooms. Either way, I have to clean this room, and then I need to unclog Mr. Caldwell's toilet. And after that, we have the buffet, and I... Hold on, hold on, Jensen, relax! Mr. Sparks holds up the hand. It's missing two fingers.

Calm down, buddy. Mrs. Plum can still check that new guest in. They just won't be able to stay in this room. And I'm sorry for Miss Belinda, because that Caldwell is an ass. But I'm not going anywhere. He waves his three-fingered hand at the bed. Be a pal and get me some new betting, will you? Mrs. Plum really did a number on me and, well, you saw what happened.

I shake my head back and forth, back and forth. No, sir, I'm sorry, Mr. Sparks. But you have to leave. You've been dispatched. There's a vacancy. Nope to the dispatching. Yupp to the vacancy. Tell that Mrs. Plum to use room 33.

It's been vacant for over a century, right? I gasp and put my hand to my chest. Room 33? Oh, no, no, no. That room is never to be occupied. You know that, Mr. Sparks? He shrugs. Then I don't know what to tell you, buddy.

I'm not leaving. But, but, but. I stammer. Then I turn on my heels and run out of the room screaming. Mrs. P! Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan.

I'll see you in the next one.