Ghastly Comfort XXV

Dearest mother,

There are times when it can be beneficial for one to agree to things without the full picture. Consider this inn I find myself managing. At the outset, I might have asked: Why is the sky ever-gray? Or: Why is the sea at the base of the cliff upon which it sits ever-tumultuous? Or: Why was the letter bequeathing it to me unsigned? But to get tangled in such weeds might have driven me to turn down the offer. And really, I have been quite happy here.

There are other times, however, when one’s failure to get a clear idea of a situation results in a terribly frustrating ordeal.

Take what transpired just a few nights ago, for example. A man called and inquired if we would be willing to host an a cappella ‘tournament,’ claiming our hotel had just the right aura, and I replied, without further questions, of course. I will admit that I thought it would be something the other guests could watch. Additionally, I assumed the competitors would be children, and the inn is very child-friendly. Why, it is one of the things I hear most from people checking out, how they see well-dressed children everywhere: playing by the cliff in the rain, or running thirty paces in front of or behind them as they stroll the grounds on a foggy day. So pervasive are children that some see them where they cannot possibly be, such as in a condensation-clouded mirror after a shower! We have such imaginative guests!

But the event, it turned out, was not for children. Nor was it open to the public, as it would put (and these are the organizer’s own words) “the ahhh in a cappella.”

It was to take place, he informed me upon checking in, overnight. They would lock themselves in the conference room from 9pm and continue until there was one group left standing. As such, the participants and judges crowded the common spaces all afternoon, looking forlorn with anticipation. It made everything feel so gloomy, which is out of character for the inn.

But things only got worse at night when the contest started. They had packed some powerful audio equipment, so throughout the night, the entire inn filled with vocal music. The performances themselves were bad enough (amateurish, many of the voices quavering, as if fearful), but the avant-garde interludes were what really undid everyone’s nerves: throughout the evening the organizer could be heard saying, “Judges, thumbs up or thumbs down?” after which the same group would perform a “song” that amounted to little more than a series of discordant screams. I was up all night, as were many of the guests. Attempting to open the door, I found it locked, and, perplexingly, neither my key nor Hugo’s did anything to make it budge. At one point, I even called the police, but the dispatcher informed me that the organizer of the event had personally visited the station and told them to stand down. When I asked how this was possible, the line went silent for so long I thought they’d hung up. Finally, the dispatcher replied, “He showed us what he was capable of.” Whatever that means!

It was hard to stay too angry, however, as when finally the doors opened in the morning, I found the scene far more subdued than I expected. There stood only one a cappella group (the others must have left as they were eliminated), whose apparent victory had done little to improve their mood. The room, meanwhile, was very clean. It looked as though the carpet had been shampooed, and the walls had been scrubbed. How could I complain about that?

Many scented candles burned, creating a pleasing fragrance. I could pick up on something underneath that smelled not quite right, but could not place it, being tired as I was from lack of sleep. (Let me tell you, I was thankful that morning to have my Proper Wild Healthy Energy shots! With 100mg of caffeine for a pick-me-up and 120mg of L-Theanine to keep me calm and focused, they helped me get through the day when my reserves were low!)

At any rate, as his helpers removed garbage bag after garbage bag (a strange way to pack audio equipment) from the corner, the organizer thanked me, and so surprised by the orderliness of the scene, I replied, stupidly, “Any time!”

And mother, I extend the same invitation to you and father. Whenever you would like to visit (and father can get away from the stables), just let me know. I look forward to hosting you, and assure you there will be no screams in the night to keep you up. Or, at least, fewer. This is something you learn in the hospitality industry: there will be some screams.

Just give me a date, and I will set a room aside!

Sincerely,
Miranda Prillchisky
Proprietor
The Dread Inn at Death Rock