Ghastly Comfort VIII

Dearest mother,

Since the anonymous bequeathment of this inn upon a cliff overlooking a forever tumultuous sea that meets a horizon of forever gray clouds, a fair number of the issues I have experienced have been brought to my attention by guests’ complaints. Such is true in the case of the showers. And the tea bags. And the closet doors. And the moving hammock.

And so, in some ways, it is quite refreshing that I be able to share with you a complaint that I have about one of my guests!

A Mr. Fendelton checked in last Thursday. He wore a top hat and an eye patch and when I kindly inquired into his reason for visiting, he said, gruffly, “exploration.” I told him about the path that winds down the craggy bluffs to the stony beach and the various trails running through the dark forest at the property’s edge, but Mr. Fendelton only grimaced and mumbled something about having no interest in “bland, earthbound destinations.”

About this he was being honest, as the apparent “explorer” retreated to his room and did not leave for the entirety of his stay! Furthermore, he placed the ‘do not disturb’ sign upon his door knob, so no housekeeping could be done, but then proceeded to disturb his neighbors plenty. The guests on either side of his room heard all manner of things through the wall: shrieks, chants, and what one of them could only describe as “a cross between a tornado and a banshee.”

I will admit that I did not investigate these claims immediately, as I found the gentleman quite off-putting. When, some days later, I finally did knock on his door, I received no response. Letting myself in, I found that he not only fled without properly checking out, but he left the room absolutely pillaged. All of the bulbs in the lamps had apparently been shattered, so I made my way across the room to the window, watching where I set my feet so as not to step upon the shards of the smashed vase or the splintering wood of the destroyed bureau.

Once I pulled back the curtain to let in some light–and opened the window for some fresh air; there was an awful smell hanging over everything–I saw that he had stripped the bed of its blankets and drawn something on the mattress: a chain of tied-together snakes surrounding a shape like an eight-pointed star with a feline eye in its center. There were nonsense words too, which I read to myself. (Hearing them in my mind made me feel slightly dizzy, but likely that had to do with the smell and the fact that I had not had my second cup of coffee yet that morning.)

We had to give the room an extensive clean. And I mean extensive! There was even a large orange stain on the ceiling directly above the bed (which we were prepared for, at least, but nonetheless: frustrating). When I showed it to Hugo and asked what he thought it might be, he went pale and said it was “the mark of a gateway opened and not fully closed.” I have no idea what that means, but I think it might have something to do with plumbing.

Needless to say, it will be costly to replace all the furniture (if not impossible; the furniture maker in the village went out on a hot air balloon tour of the area last year and never returned). But I have found one workaround: rather than replace the bed, I have opted to put a Cheer Collection Ultra Soft Mattress Topper on it. Unlike goose feather down fill this down alternative topper is hypoallergenic and its deep filled pockets provide a nice bit of cushion.

But do not worry! When you and father eventually visit, I will not make you sleep on it, as I know father prefers a firmer mattress from his youth spent sleeping in the box cars.

Sincerely,
Miranda Prillchisky
Proprietor
The Dread Inn at Death Rock