Ghastly Comfort XVII

Dearest mother,

I must say, when I inherited, by way of unsigned letter, this inn upon a cliff, overlooking an ever-tumultuous sea and framed, every day, by unerring gray skies, the thing I was most excited about was living and working in a place replete with character.

This is not to disparage your and father’s home. I loved my early years at the ranch, especially the hallway lined with photographs and paintings of father’s favorite horses throughout history. But I yearned for vintage touches like exquisite built-ins and ornate trim. And, truly, the inn has provided all that I could have wished for and more. Even the stain of some ancient water damage on the ceiling in my office has its charm. It is like a Rorschach test. Sometimes, I swear it looks like a crow, and sometimes I swear it looks like two crows. Other times still it appears to be three, or five, or even twelve crows! I have passed more hours than I care to admit staring up at that stain, trying to discern some meaning from the flock of abstract crows above me! (Although, ‘flock’ does not seem to be the correct word. There is another word for a gathering of crows, I believe, but right now it escapes me.)

Still, there can be some drawbacks to a building as old as this: the need for constant polishing, the energy inefficiency, the way some of the floorboards creak so loudly you would almost mistake the noise for the squawk of a blackbird (especially in my office).

But recently, I have encountered another issue: the fragility of yesteryear’s technology when faced with today’s electricity. Namely, I lost at least six lamps this week due to surprise power surges. But it is really the manner in which I have lost them that frustrates me. They do not simply burn out; instead, the bulb will begin flickering rapidly before exploding in a sharp blast of light and emitting a small cloud of pink smoke that smells faintly of lilacs and that guests complain makes them sleepy.

Unfortunately, not a single electrician works in the nearby village. Apparently, there had been an electric company once, but their entire staff took an afternoon off some years ago to go spelunking together in one of the caves along the rocky beach at the base of the cliff as a team-building exercise and never returned. Because of this, I must rely on Hugo, my on-staff handyman, but he will not touch a single lamp, his excuse something incomprehensible about how it “sounds like the countess within the walls is back to her old trouble” and that “she does not abide by those who fiddle with her wires.”

At any rate, I have purchased a number of surge protectors, so I hope this will rectify the issue moving forward. They are quite nice, I should say, featuring multiple outlets and even a pair of USB ports. I even use one in my office, and it sure is nice to plug my phone in without needing the adapter. That way, it will always be charged, and I shall never miss the caw-like ding of an alert coming in! (I do not exactly remember setting the sound to that. Maybe it happened when I upgraded to the new iOS. An odd choice for a default, I should say.)

Speaking of alerts: I look forward to receiving one that you and father have planned a visit! Perhaps you could come for Thanksgiving? I know father would hate leaving the stable hands alone to give the horses their customary holiday meal, but I think it would do you both well to get away for a little while.

Do let me know!

Sincerely,
Miranda Prillchisky
Proprietor
The Dread Inn at Death Rock