Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I Work the Night Shift at a Motel, and a Vampire Family Keeps Booking the Same Room

Episode Date: July 11, 2025

A motel clerk obediently serves a charming vampire family—but when a rival creature checks in and a noisy guest gets curious, his dark loyalty pushes him to bloody extremes in the name of hospitality. Author: Jake Bible * * * 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 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

to nicely. The motel door opens and the first thing I notice is the blood splatter on the wall. Oh, Keith. Hello. Hello, sir. I'm sorry to bother you, but it's the noises, isn't it? The man before me, a tall, dapper gentleman with slipped back hair and very long, pointy incisors, frowns, forcing those incisors to stick out on each side over his bottom lip. It's the children, I'm afraid. Mother and I brought home a plaything and, well, They got a tad enthusiastic. He looks over his shoulder at the mess, dripping down the wall. Of course, we'll have it cleaned up shortly.

And you'll ask them to keep it down? Of course, Keith. Great. Thanks, sir. My pleasure. Will you be needing a menu later? Looks like you may have already eaten. The children have. Although, I'd call it more of a snack,

since they wasted so much drinkable blood during their recreational activities. Could you bring the menu by, say, around one or two? Any idea what you may want this evening, sir? Hmm, that is an excellent question. I know what I want, but the children can be so finicky. Too bad chicken nuggets don't bleed, right? I'm sorry, chicken nuggets. What on earth are you talking about, Keith?

It was a joke. Was it? Yeah, because you know how kids are known to only eat chicken nuggets? It's like that, but, you know, your kids, well, they only drink blood, so, you know, I thought it'd be funny. Are you quite done, Keith? Yes, sir, I think so. Wonderful. Don't forget to bring the menu by.

One o'clock, got it. Between one and two, no need to be punctual. I know, sir. It's just the earlier I get the order, the more time there is for it to be procured and delivered. Procured and delivered. Listen to you, Keith. I believe my cultured tongue is beginning to have some influence on you. Well, sir, you do sort of have me under mind control. Yes, yes, there's that. But only from sundown to sunrise. The rest of that abysmal daytime is all yours.

He looks me up and down. No, no. What I am speaking of is how your diction, your turn of phrase, your vocabulary itself, it's becoming more refined. I applaud you on your efforts, Keith. Yeah, cool. No problem, sir. I have sheets and towels in the washer and dryer right now, but that should be done by midnight. 12.30 at the latest. I'll have the menu to you at one.

Or around there. But not earlier. No, no, not earlier. I'm on it, sir. Wonderful. As always, you are just a gift to this establishment. I do hope they are compensating you appropriately. I could use a bump in pay, but the owner say it's not the right time.

I suppose it's never the right time for people of their ilk. Their ilk? Cheapskates. We both pause, then laugh. Oh, self-deprecating humor is the best. He got to pause. Don't you think, Keith? Yes, sir.

That was a funny joke because you own the motel. I don't need it explain to me, Keith. Of course not, sir. Sorry, sir. Is there anything else, Keith? No, no. Just try to keep the blood-curdling screams contained if you could, sir. We will strive to do our best, Keith.

See you in a few hours. See you, sir. He closes the door. I smile and take a deep breath. What a lovely gentleman. And such a lovely family. Other than the fact, I have to remove several bloodless corpses from their room each and every night. They really are low maintenance as guests and as my bosses.

You tell those weirdos to shut the fuck up. A man barks as I pass room six. I pause, back up a few steps, and stare in through the room's front window. The man, the barker, has the window open and is smoking a cigarette, not even bothering to blow the smoke towards the open window. This is a no-smoking motel, I say and glance at his cigarette. Then I lock eyes with him and smile. Please put that out.

Thank you. No smoking. In this shit hole? When was the last time these curtains were replaced? Or these fucking walls were painted? I can fucking smell the palm malls from 1958, asshole. No smoking my ass. I continue walking.

I fucking heard screaming, you know? They weren't no sex screaming either. He shouts after me. Thank you. I reply and head for the front office and hurry inside. Excuse me? Do you have a room available? Her voice takes me by surprise, and I jump a little as I step aside and let the front office

door close behind me. The glass panes and dented aluminum handle all rattle in their frames and I place my hand on the door to still the noise. Hello, I say to her. Brown hair bordering on almost black. Brown eyes that seem to sink into her face, yet stand out as if they are all I'm supposed to look at. Her skin is everything. All races. and regions, except it's not. It's porcelain. It's obsidian. It's agate. I shake my head and pound a fist against my leg. Please don't do that, I say politely to myself and make my way behind the front desk. Now, how may I help you? A room? Yes. Is there one available? Your sign-out front isn't fully lit, so I wasn't sure. Um, yes, we do have a room available.

Great. However... However... However... ...there is already a vampire family staying here. So, what does that matter? Does this shithole have a one-vampire at a time rule or something? I wish everyone would stop calling it a shithole. You got a better description, pal?

Her eyes turn bright red into searing pain stabs through my left temple. Please, ma'am. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. The pain grows, and I feel... and I feel warmth in my left ear. I am sure I can make this workout. You'd better fucking hope you can make this workout, Bal.

Or I swear to all the shit that is unholy, I'll take you by the arms, twist, and then pull as... Is there a problem here? What the shit, man? The woman shouts as she jumps to the side. The tall, dark, dapper gentleman whose name is... Um... His name is...

Ah, we have not met, he says, and holds out his hands. to the woman. I'm Count Blahblah. I just heard him say his name, but I can't. I don't remember what he, I mean. Really? The Count Blah Blah? The woman asks. What was that? I didn't catch that, sir. I say and wipe it my ear. It comes away sticky. Never mind you, Keith, the gentleman says and waves me off. And please go in the back and clean yourself up, will you? A man such as I can only be expected to exert so much energy toward self-control. Yes, sir. Sorry.

I say and hurry through the door behind the front desk and into a short hallway. I pass the office door, then the storage room that smells like cat piss, and arrive at the restroom door. I open it and freeze. Lisa? She slumped against the wall, head twisted at a wrong angle, eyes glassy. That's Lisa from the day shift. Definitely dead.

I step inside. On the mirror, scrawled and jagged blood. I am not a slave to monsters. Just one exclamation point, maybe two. Blood makes it hard to tell. Dramatic, I mutter, and immediately regret it. Jesus, I'm starting to sound like the gentleman. I grab a contractor bag from the storage closet.

She's not heavy. Fits easily into the double bag routine. She must have come back after her shift. Maybe forgot something. Maybe saw something she wasn't supposed to. She'd been asking questions lately, muttering about how the guest in room 20 gave her headaches. I warned her to mind her own business.

Now she's in the trash. After cleanup, I head back to the front desk. I'm not even sure why I left it in the first place. No one is in the office lobby when I peek through the small peephole in the back hallway door. I ease it open and take a seat on the stool behind the desk. Then the alarm on my phone goes off and I remember, Duh, that I have laundry to do.

The sheets and towels won't wash, dry, and fold themselves now, will they? Back through the hallway door, I passed the office with the safe and the storage room that smells of cat piss, to the bathroom where I found Lisa dead. Pass that, to the last door on the right. The laundry room. I spend a lot of time in the laundry room. When you have a family of, um, a family of, I snap my fingers, trying to get the word to come to me.

They're a family of, a family of... Mormons! I shout to no one as I step into the laundry room. Mormons? I scream and jump and turn to flee, but I hit my forehead smack on the side of the door and stumble back, where I feel two cold hands grab me and hold me up, and they are very cold. And they grab me and... Shh!

She says, and I go silent instantly. I hadn't realized I was saying all of that out loud. But... Was I saying it out loud? Sorry. I say. Interesting, she says, and pushes me away from her. I avoid hitting the door again.

Ma'am? I ask as I turn, rubbing at the spot of my forehead where quite a goose egg is already forming. Funny word, that... I say. Funny word. word? What are you talking about? Gooseeg. Although I suppose it's two words. So a funny name that. I smile at her as her deep, dark, brown eyes cut into my brain and try to get it my soul. He really fucked you up in the head. I mean, I've seen some messed up mind control before,

and I've done some messed up mind control before. But this is next level shit. Count Blot-Bla-Bah. This guy ain't fucking around. He tends not to fuck around, no. I feel warmth in my left ear. Wasn't I supposed to do something with my ear? You are locked down, she says, and presses her hands to my chest as she goes up on her tiptoes and puts her left cheek against mine.

Poor thing. Her cold tongue darts into my ear, and the warmth becomes frigid. An icy stab shoots for my ear and directly into my brain. And for a brief moment, I know that my full name is Keith Arlo Gardner. Then that moment is gone, and I'm on my knees screaming. My hands pounded my ears over and over and over again.

The pain. The pain is more than, more than I can. I try to jab my index fingers all the way inside each of my ears, hoping I can get through the flesh and bone and cartilage and dig into gray matter and end all of this hell that I am forced. Hey, she whispers, and I feel her cold darkness envelop me like a comforting blanket made of graveyard dirt. Picture this.

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Her whispers get past my stabbing fingers and caress the irritated flesh. I stop my tunneling and lower my hands to my sides. After a few deep breaths, I look up into her deep, dark, brown, endless, but not empty eyes. Work's been hard lately, I say. You know how it is. He can be a little demanding. You mean Count Blahfl. I twitch and snort.

Oh shit. You don't know his name, do you? I shake my head. Wow, that fucker. He's got you working your ass off for him. He's a guest. The family are all guests. It's my job to take care of the guests.

I stand up, and she gently takes me by the shoulders. Her whispers get louder, but softer at the same time. Insistent Velvet. What's so funny? She asks as her whispers fondle my brain. Insistent Velvet, I say. Her brow furrows. Inside my head, joke, I laugh.

She laughs. Her whispers laugh with us both. I'm going to ask you some questions about Count Ravdh. The gentleman staying with his family in the room at the end. Oh, they're lovely people, are they? Are they what? People. Of course they are.

We're all people. Her brow furrows again. It's a cute little furrow. I want to put the pad of my index finger on it and make booping noises. Or lick it. I could lick it. Why are you staring at me like that? She asks.

Her whispers come back doubly strong, and I grimace. Sorry, she said. and the really loud whispers dial back to just loud whispers, which I guess is better. You know what I am, right? I nod. And you know what they are? I nod, but I'm not as sure about this nod. Then the truth hits me, and I do know what the family is because, duh, they hired me to run this motel for them because, well, vampires can't do everything.

And you still think we're people? them? Me? All of us, I say and shrug. We're all people, and all people deserve great hospitality. I snap my fingers. I need to get these sheets folded and put away while the towel's dry, so I'm not late getting the gentleman his menu.

Menu? Yes, of the evening's dinner. The brow furrows again. Oh, man, I could just suck on that furrow. Nibble some of those eyebrow hairs that she hasn't plucked. Mmm. Dinner? What do you mean? Dinner? I say and act like I'm eating with a fork.

Dinner. I let my hand fall away. Although, I suppose he and the family don't use forks now, do they? Not fork people. See, you called yourself people. She laughs. I guess I did. She smiles at me. You're a weird one, Keith Arlo Gardner. Takes one to no one. I say and laugh too. Menu, she says.

menu i respond now what's up at the menu do the guests have access to it oh no never guests are off limits as the gentleman says do not defecate where you take your nourishment which i think is a very good policy to have don't shit where you eat if you want to be crude about it yes then what's the menu where do the meals come from i cock my head and study her the whispers are still inside my brain, but they're weakening, not as loud or persistent. Why are you asking so many questions? I ask her. Why are you here? Oh, now the whispers are loud, really fucking loud. What was the question? She replies, and the whispers die down to a manageable roar.

I had two, I say, maybe shouting a little. I swallow hard and fan my face. Sorry. You did have two questions, and you can ask one, so choose wisely. You'll answer it? Yes. Honestly? Honestly. When I say honestly, I mean you'll be truthful in your answer. I wasn't saying honestly like I was confirming your commitment. Just want that clear. Yeah, I know what you meant. Cool, cool. You're going to ask the question or what? Right. Yes, yes. Um, this is a tough one. If I ask about why she's asking so many questions, then I'll understand her motivations. But if I ask her why she's here, then I might have a chance at knowing her entire plan if she has one. Why are you asking so many questions, I decide to say?

Because I've been around a long, long time, and have pretty much traveled to every damn nook and cranny this planet has to offer. I wouldn't mind settling down, staying put. And this motel is as good as any. You want to stop traveling and move in here? Well, I suppose we can work that out. I mean, the gentleman and his family are the only permanent residence. But it is a good-sized motel. Two floors, 20 rooms altogether. I know we could set you up in...

No, Keith, I don't want to move in. I want to own the motel. Own the motel? Yes. This motel? Yes. I don't think it's for sale. I didn't say buy it.

I said, own it. Yes, cool, right. And I'm the real estate expert, but I am pretty sure from what I've seen on HGTV that you have to buy a place before you can own it. But that's houses. I've only seen house sales. Maybe it's different with motels.

It's different with this motel. It is? How's that? Because with this motel, I'm going to rip Count Blah and his family apart, limb by limb, then sit them outside in the sun all day, until they are crispy as southern fried chicken.

Oh, um, the pool is closed right now, so they can't lay out there. But you could put them in the loading zone outside the front office. Not me. You, Keith, you can set them out there. I'll be staying away from the sun, thank you. Nesting the daylight away while you clean things up and get ready for our nightly meetings.

Nightly meetings? What nightly meetings? Well, if I'm the owner, then I'm going to want a nightly meeting with my motel's new head manager one time. I'm already the head manager, I say, and glance toward the washer and dryer. I kind of really need to get to the laundry, or I'll be late taking the gentleman his menu. The whispers stop. Well, I'll be damned. It's not just his control over you, is it? You like working for Count Babel, though, don't you?

This job is satisfying. Is that the word? Hmm, I suppose it is. I am satisfied with this job. Why? That's a very good question. It could be that before I met the gentleman and his family, when I was just a desk clerk, not manager yet,

I had a certain life that required a lot of extra work. So much extra work. Then the gentleman arrived one night, and all that extra work went away. Loose threads could be trimmed right off. Any loopholes could be closed. He's very convincing when he needs to be, and smooths all wrinkles over.

Shit, that's quite an endorsement. Count Ratnlou has always had a reputation. But I gotta say, hearing how you talk about him, he's living up to that reputation. Not really. Oh, why not? Because he's not living, is he? She pauses, then bursts out laughing.

You take care of your sheets and shit, Keith, I'll be out in the lobby, reading those old magazines. When you're done, you can check me in, no hurry. And you're no longer thinking of trying to take this motel away from the gentleman? Nah, like you said, too much work. She pats my shoulder and slips out of the laundry room, one last whisper caressing my thoughts as she goes. An interesting woman, those whispers, wow, kind of turned me on.

and I don't usually get those kinds of feelings. No time for romance when you have a motel to run. With the laundry all sorted, I return to the front desk and the woman, true to her word, is sitting in one of the stained and slightly mildewed armchairs shoved into the corner. She waves an old and faded magazine at me.

Fifteen years old, Keith, come on, you can do better. She slaps the magazine down on the overcrowded end table, sending a stack of periodicals cascading to the floor. I am pretty sure that half those periodicals don't even exist anymore. I wonder what I could get for them on eBay. If I was the new owner of this place, we could have iPads out here. I'm pretty up on all the new tech.

Not like Count Rap... No, that guy is stuck in the past. Would you like a room, ma'am? I ask, ignoring her little push. She is trying to ease those whispers back inside. me, but it won't work. Nothing like that works in the front office, unless it comes from the gentleman himself. Frustrated at her lack of results, she huffs and throws her hands in the air. Fine, yes, a room, please. It's too late to travel tonight. Don't want to get caught out when the sun comes up, now, do I, Keith? Probably not the best idea, no. She laughs and sighs.

I like you, Keith. Too bad this can't become a permanent relationship. Yes, ma'am, you seem like a wonderful person. But you're spoken for. But I am spoken for. Got it. I reached behind me and grabbed the brass key off the wall rack. You're in room 18, not quite the far end, but close. Are the other two rooms occupied?

Yes. Will that be a problem? Why would it be? Are the guests like myself in Count Back? No. No. So should I just be on my best behavior? Is that it? We hope all guests are on their best behavior, ma'am. Oh, Keith, we could have had so much fun working together. We're having fun now, ma'am. She laughs.

Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone. I blink, and she's standing across the desk for me. Not even a flinch, Keith? Damn, he has got you trained. I hand her the key. She takes it. Would you like me to show you to your room, ma'am? No, I think I can find it. And this roadside abomination doesn't really warrant the bellhop treatment, does it? I live to serve, ma'am. Her brow furrows, and I have to press my arms to my side

to keep myself from grabbing her by the side of the head and just kissing and kissing and kissing that furrow over and over again. She's staring at me, saying something. No, I don't think so. I think you live for something else. I just can't figure it out. I shrug. Good night, Keith.

Maybe I'll see you tomorrow night when I check out. I'm always here, ma'am. You sure are. You sure are. The second she leaves, two thoughts hit me at once. The laundry and the menu. I glance at the wall clock, but it's been stuck on 3.15 for about two weeks now. I really need to pick up some batteries when I'm out stocking the pantry.

I should set a reminder on my phone, so I do it first thing in the morning when I get off shift. Batteries first, pantry second. Pulling my phone out, I see that I have plenty of time. So I take care of all that laundry first. Gotta get the boring out of the way. Sheets and towels, sheets and towels. I hummed the words over and over as I get those sheets and towels all squared away. Then on to the fun part.

The menu. On my way out of the front office, I grabbed my clipboard off the desk and saunter out the lobby door. I got a little extra skip in my step, lift to my stride. Or is it a lift in my step and a skip in my stride? Doesn't matter. It's menu time. Up the stairs I go. I'm at the opposite end of the motel, so I ease down the walkway until I reach room 19. I open the door and step inside.

Ah, my room. The bed is done up all neat and tidy, just as I left it before sunset. I place my hand on the comforter and smoothed down a wrinkle. Then I focus on my life's real work. My true pride and joy. The one-way mirror on the wall across from my bed. I stepped closer, getting that tingling sensation at the back of my head that I get when I know I can see them, but they can't see me.

Eight of them. Too fresh since yesterday. I got lucky. Most of them have tears still streaming down their faces. A couple, the ones who have been here the longest, stare right at me. I get chills, even though I know all they see on the other side is a reflection of themselves. The young Asian woman was a tough one to procure. I found her with a flat tire by the side of the road.

It took me 15 minutes of chit-chat before I could get close enough to her so I could put that rag over her mouth. night night the blonde guy in only shorts and snakers he was easy he was out running showing off his sweaty pecks i pulled in front of him shouted some insult and when he tried to get in my face i shoved the rag in his he literally fell into the trunk the twins are they twins they look identical but maybe they're only sisters neither speak a word of english made no difference when i flash in the wad of hundreds I keep in my pocket as bait. A roll of Franklin's to a prostitute is like a ringing bell to one of Pavlov's dogs. The mom and her college-aged daughter, a super easy chat outside a coffee shop, follow them until they get home, knock on the door,

see surprised face, apply rag to surprised face, rinse and repeat with mom. The gay couple. These two I feel sort of sorry for, but only sort of. The hairs they have in the centers of their brows was just too much to resist. It's kind of their fault, which is why I'm only sort of sorry. My lord, I could go in there right now and start sucking on eyebrows. I want to so much. Except they aren't for me. Yes, I hunt and pick them the exact way I did before I met the gentleman,

but my job is to serve him, not myself. My desires may be satisfied, sure, but my husband. My goal is for his happiness, not mine. I sigh and write down their ages, full physical descriptions, their state of mind, their level of cleanliness, and how long they have been chained to the wall in room 20. Yes, I could use the previous night's descriptions, but you'd be surprised at how quickly some of them go downhill once they realize that they won't be getting out of here alive. I do hope the gentleman and his family choose the twins.

After double-checking my list, I press a red button on the wall next to the one-way mirror. A slight hissing noise fills the room, and a pink mist descends from room 20 ceiling down onto the captives, filling the pantry in seconds. Can't have anyone putting up a fight for dinner, can we? I ask, then leave my room. I pause, then turned, and look at room 18, thinking about whether or not she heard my little muttering. Probably, considering what she is, I wonder what she made of my out-loud thought question. I shake it off and head downstairs, clipboard in hand, ready to deliver tonight's menu to the gentleman. Hey!

The guest in room six. Yes, sir? I ask as I stop at the open window. He's still smoking inside his room. Those weirdos down there, you tell them to shut up or what? Because if you did, they aren't exactly shutting up. Is that so? I haven't heard anything, personally.

Personally, I don't give three fucks what you have or have not heard. Tell those freaks to stop with the weird whistles. Weird whistles? Yeah. Weird fucking whistles. Like this squealing. It's all high-pitched and shit. Oh, yes.

I see. Those aren't whistles, sir. The fuck they ain't? No, they are bats, sir. What? Bats. Bats? That's what I said, sir.

You're saying there are bats in that room with that weirdo family? In a way, sir, yes. Bats? Bats, sir. How the fuck is that better than whistles? I didn't say it was, sir. I was simply correcting you, sir. Why are you speaking all funny?

You didn't speak like this when I checked in. You sound like some butler on one of those fruity BBC shows that are all over the streaming networks. Yes, speech patterns can be a little confusing at times, sir. I understand. Is there anything else I can help you with? You haven't helped me with shit. Of course, sir. Have a good evening. Whatever, psycho. He has no idea.

I should call the fucking cops. Or maybe he does. A thought hits me, and I get about three steps, then pause. No. No, it's not a good idea. Bad thought, bad thought. Yet, it would solve a problem. Not that there's a definitive issue, not yet, but there could be.

And I'm as much a protector of the gentleman and his family as I am the manager of this motel. I jot down a name and a quick description. Excited to see his reaction, I hurry my way down to the gentleman's room. He smiles at me when he opens the door. Keith, on time as usual. He holds his handout for the clipboard, and I hand it to him. What do we have here? A couple new ones.

But a couple of others I've had my eye on. He looks over his shoulder. Kids, stop flying around and tell me what you want for dinner. High-pitched squeaks, sting my ears. The gentleman rolls his eyes. They get their wings, and I can't get them down off the ceiling. He goes back to the menu. When his eyes widen, and I know he's gotten to the ninth name,

what's this? he asks. A surprise. It's quite a surprise. He looks over his shoulder then back to the clipboard. Taboo even. It does break a major rule. The major rule. It might be warranted, sir. He meets my gaze. My knees go weak, but I stiffen up and stay standing. Some nights he looks at me, and it's like I'm back at the very first time he took control of my mind. Yes, yes, I noticed the aggression. Could smell it in my mind. We avoid any future trouble this way. But it guessed, that makes it extra risky, Keith.

Yes, sir. The gentleman licks one of his long incisors. Then he smacks the clipboard and hands it back to me. Taboo or not, let's do it. Excellent choice, sir. Wow, what a treat. Hey, kids! He slams the door in my face.

I don't mind. I have work to do. Back in the front office, I extremely. I exchange the clipboard for my gear bag. I'm always prepared for meal time, even when it's a special occasion. I do rush back to the laundry room, though, and grab a few sheets and towels first, so I don't get the guest room too messy. Room 20 is easy to clean up. All it takes is a hose, but this is a regular guest room. I need to minimize the cleanup if there are any snags. When I get to the door, I knock, although I don't have to worry about needing to. to be invited in. That's more her problem.

Keith, hey, she says when she sees me. Change your mind about joining forces and taking this place from your master. I have a different proposal in mind, I reply and get to work. Rag with garlic infused holy water over her mouth and nose takes her to her knees. Before she can recover, I spin her around

and pound an iron and silver stake through the base of her neck and into her spine. She goes into quite the seizure. When she's done shaking, I wrap her in one of those sheets I bought and throw her over my shoulder. Not sure what I was so worried about. There was no mess at all. She weighs slightly more than a feather, but not much more. I'm always surprised how light they are, these creatures of the night.

The gentleman opens the door, peeks his head out, looks around like I'm dropping off a kilo of cocaine, then looks at the bundle over my shoulder. Is that her? Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Oh, I can't believe we are doing this. It's forbidden for vampires to feed on other vampires. Oh, but they taste so good. This is not like me. You know that, right, Keith? Of course not, sir. Should I bring her in for you? No, no, I'll take her. And then she's gone from my shoulder, and the door is closed in my face once again.

I turn and walk away. Just as I pass room six, a wailer. The feeling erupts from the gentleman's room. Then it stops abruptly and is followed by eerie laughter. I'm gonna fucking call the cops! The guy in room six shouts at me. I stop. I turned slowly. I lock eyes with the asshole.

Then I smile and nod. My mind made up. It's always so much easier the second time. You know what, sir? You deserve an upgrade to our finest room. Fucking ain't right I do. And a discount. I ain't paying full price for this shit.

Yes, well, I'm sure we can work out an appropriate price for you to pay. If you'll gather your things, I'll meet you at your new room. Damn, right? Which room is it? Room 20, sir. Our most outfitted room in the entire motel.