Ghastly Comfort V

Dearest Mother,

I remember what you said when I first received the unsigned letter written in delicate script summoning me to overtake the operations of this inn perched atop a cliff overlooking a forever tumultuous sea. After your confession that the entire ordeal gave you a bad feeling did nothing to dampen my excitement, you tried to speak practically, telling me that inn keeping is an undertaking of details, and details have never been my strong suit.

Well, I must admit that you were right on that count, mother. For I have quite the embarrassing story to tell. I was walking the halls, greeting all guests and ensuring they were pleased with their accommodations when I saw a door I had not noticed before. Thinking it would be a mere closet, I opened it and guess what I found? Another entire suite of rooms!

Can you believe that? Here I have been, presiding over this lavish (if not somewhat dreary) old hotel, patting myself on the back for keeping the rooms forever full and the patrons forever satisfied (aside from the closet issue, and the water issue, and the issue with the hammock, and a few other issues I may or may not have mentioned). And all the while, there have been seven whole rooms I not only failed to rent out, but whose very existence is news to me!

But worry not. I have begun preparing them for future bookings. Unfortunately, this has not been very easy as Hugo refuses to go in them, claiming the doorway to this suite is “a gateway to a different reality.” He speaks so sillily, does he not? So grandiose and odd!

And yet, there are some things I cannot explain about these new rooms. For example, I have yet to locate their windows on the building’s exterior. Furthermore, sometimes when cleaning one, I will look out the window and see a number of guests I do not recognize. They wear tuxedos and ball gowns and ornate masks, and one evening I saw them dancing around a bonfire wildly in a rotating circle that tightened and tightened as they stepped in closer and closer until it appeared they would waltz directly into the flames. Before they could, though, I awoke on the bare mattress. Checking outside, I found no embers or evidence whatsoever of a fire, so perhaps it had been a dream. As it likely was when I peered out another one of the new rooms’ windows and saw the surface of the sea suddenly calm, while, just below it floated an enormous eye. It seemed to turn to me, and then I found myself in my office. Checking the clock, several hours had passed.

(I mentioned this to Hugo and he became very pale before saying he feared “the old inn keeper may be making his return.” Again with the strange proclamations! I would be annoyed if I did not find them so funny!)

At any rate, I would like to honor the feeling of differentness that is so pervasive in these rooms. Thus, I have opted to make the beds with different sheets than the others. For these, I have selected sheet sets from Marquis by Waterford. They are available in several elegantly subdued colors and are made from brushed 144 thread count cotton. In other words, they exude comfort and style.

Perhaps you will enjoy them when you come for your eventual stay, mother! We really must make arrangements!

Give my love to father. And also my condolences regarding Constance. He loved that horse like a second daughter, and she deserved a better grave than that miserable gulch.

Sincerely,
Miranda Prillchisky
Proprietor
The Dread Inn at Death Rock