Ghastly Comfort XXII

Dearest Mother,

To manage an inn like mine–one bequeathed by unsigned letter, framed by ever-gray skies, and sitting atop a cliff that overlooks an ever-tumultuous sea–is, in some ways, like finding oneself at the front of a war between past and present. Your guests expect some level of modern comfort. But to fully modernize the hotel would be to rid it of its charm.

Hence, I find myself updating things sporadically and with a great deal of thought. The ornate trim, the wood floors, the chandeliers in the ballrooms–all of this must stay. But I did have to bring in an electrician to do a bit of rewiring to ensure the antique light fixtures stop flickering. And I did away with the keys, which were always getting lost, in favor of a keycard system. Moreover, in the interest of energy efficiency, I have replaced the original single pane windows (which, in winter, frosted over on the inside with intricate ice-patterns that looked, strangely, like crows) with double-paned windows (that only frost over on the outside, though, to my dismay, the frost still appears crow-like; it must be something about the sea air that makes it form this way).

Recently, though, I outfitted the rooms with something truly advanced: bluetooth speakers. The reason is quite simple; I grew tired of the noise complaints. While I do fear some of the complainers were shysters, looking to get their rooms comped, often raising impossible grievances (the echoing sound of someone weeping in the next room, which my ledger showed to be unoccupied, for example, or the old radiators clanging with a screeching sound, like that of a dying bird), many of the issues raised were valid. After all, it is an old building; it is bound to produce some unpleasant noises. It simply makes sense, then, to provide something so guests can drown out any unwanted sound.

Unfortunately, my first attempt to purchase such speakers turned out to be disastrous. As I have discussed previously, my only steadfast employee, Hugo, has a favorite online shopping site. It is a strangely-named affair that offers items at a great discount. Through them, I secured a number of speakers that Hugo assured me were essentially “the Sonos Ones of Denmark” or something like that. They came adorned with perplexing ornamental zippers, but seemed to work fine enough at first.

Then, a week or so after their purchase and setup, some glitch in their circuitry began powering them on at odd times, usually late at night. What they played, according to each guest who reported the issue, was an audio recording of Hamlet, as performed by the Ridgefield Regional Shakespeare Club. Or, I should say, the beginning of Hamlet; about a third of the way through the first act, the recording gave way to screams and crashing sounds.

A very odd thing to come through, indeed! Especially given that the club in question does not seem prominent enough to warrant a professional recording at all. In my research of them, all I could find were two articles: the first, a recent profile of the troupe’s founder, a controversial figure in the thespian world, apparently, due to his decision to call Macbeth by its name rather than “The Scottish Play” while performing in it; and another, previewing the company’s upcoming performance of Hamlet (which is to be their last such in their local theater, apparently, after they failed to raise the funds needed to repair their venue’s ancient roof).

At any rate, I have no interest in theater, especially not late at night. So, I have begun to replace each of these speakers with actual Sonos Ones. After all, you just cannot cut corners with these kinds of things.

I will be sure your’s and father’s room has one when you come to visit. I have even found an audio track titled “ASMR - Sounds of the Stable” to help father sleep when he is away from the horses.

Just give me a date and I will book the room for you!

Sincerely,
Miranda Prillchisky
Proprietor
The Dread Inn at Death Rock