Ghastly Comfort XVI

Dearest Mother,

If the news is to be believed, staffing is an issue in many industries at present. Still, knowing that I am not alone in dealing with high turnover does not make the predicament less frustrating. Then again, I cannot complain too much. After all, turnover earned me my position. If the previous proprietor had not moved on and bequeathed to me via unsigned letter this inn upon a cliff overlooking an ever-tumultuous sea and framed by ever-gray skies, I might never have realized my penchant for hospitality.

Only, for the past few weeks, I have had to be a bit more hospitable than I might otherwise desire; Agnes, our front desk girl, is the most recent to vacate her position, and I have had no choice but to fill in for her. It is especially jarring as she was always a reliable worker and gave me no forewarning of her departure. One night, mid-shift, she simply left.

It was a particularly abysmal evening about a month ago. An unexpected thunderstorm had rolled in, and, as a result, the lobby was very teeming with soaked guests who had been enjoying the grounds at the time. I made my through the room, chatting, offering hot tea and coffee, and generally attempting to raise the mood. While I spoke to a young couple, a man came in through the front door looking surprisingly dry despite the weather outside. He wore a suit and a bowler cap and asked at the front desk attendant if we might have a room for him. Assuming he had been waylaid by the storm en route elsewhere and therefore likely to be frustrated and impatient, I made my way to the desk so that I could offer a warm welcome. To my surprise, though, he informed me that he was here because of the storm. I inquired if he was a meteorologist, but he only smiled and said that his “communion with the clouds” went “much deeper than science” (whatever that meant).

Seeing him to be in fine spirits, I left Agnes to it and continued on my rounds. Sometime later, I noticed the front desk was unmanned and, stepping behind it, found a note of resignation scrawled in dark red across a piece of printer paper. The letters were spaced oddly and it took me some time to understand the message, but I eventually put it together: she was to be married apparently! Or, to put it in her words, “Thesky has taken me as a bride.” Odd verbiage aside, I had not realized she was in a relationship of any kind and knew no one locally who went by the name of “Thesky.” At any rate, I did not see her again. Very unprofessional. (I did not set eyes on the guest in the bowler hat again either, though I do hope he enjoyed his stay.)

Which is all to say: I find myself behind the desk more than in my office these days. Hugo cannot help. He has an unbecoming tendency of prodding the guests when they are not looking to check if they are “within the realm.” Also, he complains that “standing still too long” is how “the voices get in.”

I assume he means that he fears his mind may wander, but I have had the opposite issue in practice. I can hardly get any thinking done at the desk! Not with the children constantly playing the same prank over and over again: ringing the service bell when my back is turned and disappearing by the time I have spun around. I do not know which of the youths staying here it is, but I suspect it to be the pale boy with the shaved head and the priest’s collar. After all, these are not his only hijinks. He also likes to stand directly behind me when I look in certain mirrors and then run swiftly (and soundlessly) away before I can look over my shoulder.

Still, it is nice to be on my feet. Especially with a great anti-fatigue mat to stand on. It provides all the comfort and support I need to make guests feel at home.

Perhaps I will be standing there when you and father finally visit! When might that be, by the way?

Sincerely,
Miranda Prillchisky
Proprietor
The Dread Inn at Death Rock