320-Pack: HELPS Organic Functional Herbal Teas
- They help you go
- They help you rest
- They help you breathe
- The help you digest
- They help you live
- Okay, they’re just herbal teas
- Made by Pharmadus in León, Spain
- You get 320 bags, 64 of each flavor
- Model: TH4T5-TH3-T34
Ghastly Comfort VI
Dearest mother,
When a letter written in delicate script beckoned for me to overtake the operation of this inn perched atop a cliff, set against always gray clouds, overlooking a forever tumultuous sea, I did not know much about hospitality. But I did have a goal in mind: keep things local.
And that is why I have worked with local farms to supply much of the food that we serve in the dining area.
There is Mr. Dodding, who supplies us with the bacon and sausage we serve for breakfast. He is a delightful little man with a scar just above his right eye from the night he last saw his wife. He says it is an interesting story, though he would rather not tell it as it is too painful for him to recount, and so all I know is that it involves the former Mrs. Dodding’s affair with a man who trained teams of “attack bats.”
Then there is Mrs. Welling, whose chickens lay the eggs we fry, poach, and scramble. Mrs. Welling, I must admit, is not as pleasant as Mr. Dodding. She is a paranoid woman, her eyes always darting this way and that, and if you take a step towards her, she will involuntarily jump slightly back. Hugo says her demeanor has to do with one day thirty years ago when she cracked one of her eggs into a bowl while baking, but instead of finding the expected white-and-yolk inside, there was a tiny snake that leapt forward and bit her above the eye (leaving, oddly enough, a scar in nearly the exact same place, and of the exact same size, as Mr. Dodding). The hen who laid it was taken away to a university where she was studied, but no amount of research could reveal how it happened. Since then, Mrs. Welling has been nervous and distrusting of the world.
The weak link is with my supplier of tea. Mr. Harrington (who also has a scar above his eye, though its story remains untold) grows all of his own herbs and packs them himself into tiny satchels. Only, he does a poor job, so that the satchels are always opening up in guests’ teacups, and the leaves are always rising to the surface, often in formations that appear to be words, such as “run,” or “evil lurks,” or “Whence I find my earthly form again, you shan’t have anywhere to hide.” (That last instance was very odd indeed! One or two words would come together, then disperse, then the next one or two would come together, and so on. Perhaps the water was too hot and still roiling.)
At any rate, I have found a wonderful solution: they are called Helps Functional Teas, and they are infused with herbal supplements to assist with breathing, rest, energy, and simply living. I tried some myself and think the guests will greatly enjoy them (as long as their leaves remain where they belong, in their little baggies)! And really, though it is a simple solution to a simple problem I feel it is illustrative of the progress I am making here. (Furthermore, I believe I am due for an easy solution, given there are still many unresolved issues with the squirrels in the attic, and the water, and the closet doors, and the hammock you gave me, and the recently discovered suite of rooms.)
I do hope one day soon you will come visit, mother, and see for yourself how far my knowledge of innkeeping has come!
And do tell father I am sorry I missed the memorial service for Constance, although between us I doubt I could handle seeing him in such emotional distress.
Sincerely,
Miranda Prillchisky
Proprietor
The Dread Inn at Death Rock
