2020-08-23 - The Murder Motel

It's later in the afternoon on the boardwalk, though plenty of people are still out and about sampling food and gawking at various shops and stalls. The Sea View Suites lobby is sparsely populated at this time of day, most guests choosing to rest in their rooms or stay out near the pool on the grounds. Renata steps out from a back room and makes her way behind the counter, getting ready for any potential guests looking to check in for the evening. Her attire is neat and professonal, a black cardigan blazer worn over a white top with a deep purple pencil skirt and black heels. Despite recent rumors, everything looks fairly normal. Nothing jumps out as peculiar, other than the design perhaps, to anyone walking in off the street.

The fellow who wanders in eventually doesn't appear to be a regular; he's looking at his surroundings in that way of somebody who has not visited the location previously -- a bit warily, perhaps. He's a tall fellow, copper blond and dressed in black from top to toe -- jeans, boots, t-shirt, blazer, all of it -- rendering him an air that might identify him as an art director in New York or a Steve Jobs wannabe in Seattle. Gravitating towards the counter he eventually makes eye contact and wanders up, offering a light smile. He does have a slightly nervous air about him, like someone who knows they're doing something they absolutely should not be doing but they're going to do it anyway.

"Hello! My name is Ravn Abildgaard," he says, speaking with an accent that is not quite British though there is little doubt that whoever taught him this language wanted it to be. "I'm looking for somebody. It's a little -- it's a man who was found dead on the beach this week. I'm trying to find out who he is and I should probably be very up front and tell you, miss, that I'm not police or anything along those lines -- just a nosy citizen. I just wondered if he might have been staying here."

Renata offers a courteous smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes in return as Ravn introduces himself. Her eyes brighten slightly as he goes on to state his interesting business for being here however. "Well, Mr. Abildgaard," Her pronunciation isn't quite right but she tries anyway, "We've had quite a few guests check in lately so I'd need more details to go on." Her gaze lingers a bit longer than necessary now, almost like she's sizing him up for some reason. "If you're not with the police, are you a private investigator of some kind? Not really typical behavior for a tourist."

"I'm not," Ravn admits and looks a bit sheepish doing so. "But I'm one of the people who found the body. I'd probably get better results pretending to be some kind of private eye but I suspect you'd have me figured out in about ten minutes anyhow and I'm really not very comfortable lying to people. The bloke I'm looking for is Mr Henry Fitzgerald. He was a park ranger closing on forty years or so. And if he did check in here, I realise you're probably not allowed to tell me about it, miss, but the police probably should know about it."

He glances around, almost furtively. "I have to admit that I'm also curious about the place. I came into town two weeks ago and everyone warned me against staying here even a single night. Said the place is haunted..?"

Renata leans forward as Ravn goes into further detail about the body found on the beach, not doing anything to hide her interest in the story. The mention of possible police involvement causes her expression to dim noticeably. "Henry Fitzgerald. The name doesn't sound familiar. I don't recall anyone like that checking in recently," She says with a small shrug of her shoulders. She eagerly takes the opportunity to change the subject when it's presented. "Haunted? Oh, right. So you've heard about the infamous reputation of this place already." There's a touch of wry amusement to her tone, like perhaps she's had this conversation before. "I'm not really surprised by the recent rumors. It's not uncommon for people to make up ghost stories based on locations where tragic events have occurred. There's not much I can do about it." She raises her hands in a helpless gesture. "I can assure you, and other potential guests, that your comfort and safety is our top priority while you're staying here." Her expression is difficult to read as she wears another one of those pleasant smiles that seems more manufactured than friendly.

"I was told the place is cordially known as the murder motel, yes. I'll admit, I didn't ask a lot of questions at the time." The blond man accepts the mild rebuke with grace; his lip twitches lightly as he acknowledges the power of the rumour mill. "I don't suppose I ought to be now, either, if poor Ranger Fitzgerald wasn't staying here -- I'll admit, though, ghost stories interest me. I'm a folklorist -- I collect stories. Granted, my field of expertise is the 18th century but today's urban legend will be some other folklorist's field in three hundred years, you know? I'm often picturing how thrilled that guy, three hundred years from now, will be if somebody left him some good source material at least. Although, I shouldn't be pestering you --"

He's totally intending to pester. Tell him all the stories.

Renata visibly brightens, her smile turning more genuine when Ravn elaborates on his academic interests. She chuckles good-naturedly when he mentions not wanting to pester her. "No, I think I understand where you're coming from now. I thought you were just another tourist here to gawk or ask about the gory details of what happened to the previous owners. But I can respect your interests in pursuing knowledge and delving into mysteries for the sake of finding out if there's any truth to them." There's a spark in her eyes that wasn't there before as she speaks. "I'm not a folklorist but I like to think there's more to... all this than what we see at first glance. It's worth investigating. It's part of the reason I decided to stick around Gray Harbor for a while. For such a small town, there's a lot of strange stories circulating here. I suppose you'd know since you're here asking about the apparent haunting."

"It seems that we are very much on the same page, miss. I decided to stay here for a bit for the very same reason" Ravn's blue-grey eyes glitter with amusement. "Gray Harbor is really -- something else."

He wanders up to rest one gloved hand on the counter (black kidskin gloves in spite of the summer heat at that) and sneaks a closer look at the woman behind it. Ravn looks her over quite carefully in the fashion of someone who's not entirely certain what he's looking for. It's not a wow, women have boobs kind of stare; it's more along the lines of someone who is searching for something but no one actually gave him proper instructions of how to conduct such a search. And indeed, the look of someone who clearly thinks he's being very discreet about staring, nothing to notice here, no sir.

After a moment, Ravn murmurs, "How long have you been in town? Somebody did give you the whole... talk, right? About how the stories work. And how dangerous they can be. I don't mean to butt in and sound like I know everything. Just that you have that ... feeling about you, that Gray Harbor feeling, like you belong here. And you're saying the exact same thing I did -- the weirdness made you decide to stick around. But there are some -- well, rules is not really the word. Survival guides, maybe. Stop me if someone already sat you down for that speech because I have only figured out the tip of the iceberg myself, really."

Renata's lips twitch a little at Ravn's attempt to be low-key about looking her over. It's hard to pull off when he's standing right in front of her though. She doesn't seem to be bothered by it anyway, more interested in what he's saying. There's a look of recognition when he mentions a 'feeling' in particular. "It's hard to pin down, right? The feeling, it's like--" She pauses with a thoughtful frown. "Like goosebumps from a sudden chill or a shock running through your whole body. Sometimes it's in the background, easy enough to shake off. And sometimes..." Her expression darkens momentarily, a troubled look in her eyes. "I-It has a way of drawing you in, I guess. Kind of like how you've described Gray Harbor. You could say someone taught me a few things about survival." Renata wears a rueful grin as she speaks. "He turned out to be a pretty lousy teacher in the end. It's not just the stories that are dangerous, Mr. Abildgaard."

"Please, Ravn will do," the man murmurs with a smile. "Well, I suppose I should tell you what they all told me, then -- and still tell me. Get out while you can, don't look back, etcetera, but you never will, so settle in, buckle up, regret not going. Apparently, these things happen to a specific kind of people here -- those of us who have that... whatever the hell it is. A friend of mine says it's like a light that she can see around people. Another friend calls it a song. To me it's a -- feeling, that I am somehow connected to somebody. That we have something in common. Beyond that, though -- eh, I'm so new in town myself that I'm not the right person to ask, really. Anyone who's got that -- whatever you perceive it as -- can probably tell you a lot more than I can."

It's difficult to read Renata's expression as Ravn shares his experiences with others like them in the town. She's certainly intrigued but her body language brings across a sense of apprehension as well. She tries to school it back, offering a small but genuine smile. "Maybe. But it sounds like you've got some interesting stories to tell yourself, Ravn. I'm Renata, by the way. Renata Shaw. I was looking for answers to those kinds of questions myself when I ended up here. My car broke down on the side of the road and here we are. I might regret it at some point but for now, I've decided to see it through." She appears thoughtful for a moment, drumming her fingers on the counter in a nervous rhythm. "I've heard it referred to as the Gift. The catch is that it's got a hefty price tag attached, but not everyone's willing to pay. They try to find other ways around it." She pauses again, clearly trying to find the right words for whatever she's trying to get across. "Be careful of who you trust. Your connections won't always be positive. People like us can be just as vicious as the ghosts and monsters in your stories."

"Having this -- Gift -- doesn't turn you into a saint. Most true monsters in fairytales and folk talkes are people -- the monsters usually represent nature, or an animalistic side of a person." The Dane offers a gloved hand and a light smile. "Good to meet you -- Miss Shaw? Renata? I'm still learning when Americans use one or the other, I'm afraid. In my experience, people are fairly self-interest motivated though few actually go out of their way to hurt others unless you give them a reason. I've been pretty lucky so far -- people here gave me a very friendly reception after some trucker dropped me off in Main Street a few weeks back -- I was hitch-hiking for Portland but you know how it goes, here in Hotel California."

Having dismissed the topic of Henry Fitzgerald, headless park ranger found on the beach, Ravn's mind circles back to the rumour that caught his interest when people were indeed talking about 'the murder motel'. "I should probably say up front that I am in fact one of those crazy people who do believe in ghosts. As a starting point, I mean. I grew up -- in a very old family house. We had ghost stories of course -- the white lady, the headless carriage man, the black dog, all the usual. Never saw any of those. But every so often you might meet someone in a hallway or the yard or see them out of a corner of an eye. Might strike up a chat, talk about the weather and recent renovations, quite ordinary stuff. This mostly happened to me when I was a child, and I never really thought of it as something unusual until I grew older and started to realise that some of those 'visitor people' wore some rather remarkably old-fashioned outfits. I am of the firm impression that they were just keeping an eye on the place."

Renata's body language suggests that she might argue further concerning people's natures but she seems to think better of it. She appears to shrug it off, though her smile becomes a bit more strained. "Renata is fine, it's nice to meet you as well." She takes his hand, shaking it lightly. "I don't think you're crazy." She sounds sincere about it too. "I'm starting to question so many things now, it seems like a mistake to dismiss someone's experiences out of hand. That said, there have been no confirmed sightings of spirits or spectres of any kind roaming these halls." She makes a little gesture at the quiet lobby that's mostly empty except for them. "Nothing like what you've described anyway. I'll admit that some guests have come to me talking about things like doors opening on their own, dancing lights, and unexplained noises that could be knocks or footsteps. I've told them that we're still in the process of renovating and getting this place back into shape. It's an old building, there's bound to be a few creaking floorboards and uneven frames that we've missed."

"If your ghosts are anything like mine, they don't really advertise," the Dane agrees. "I don't think actual sightings are all that common, really. If they were -- we live in the age of cell phones, there'd be pictures. Or at least, there'd be a lot more people who believe in these kinds of things. For what it's worth, though, I'm sorry if people are giving you a hard time. Can't be easy, taking over a business when others go around warning tourists off the place."

The sympathy appears genuine enough. "Is everyone telling you to leave, too? Get out while you can, that sort of thing?" With a somewhat wry smile, Ravn adds, "I had someone tell me yesterday what it takes to be considered a proper townie in Grey Harbor. I'd tell you what she said but truth of the matter is that I didn't even understand what she was saying. Sounded along the lines of, when you've had Cthulhu over for tea a few times, maybe we'll consider you a regular."

"It's been a mixed bag for the most part. The motel's reputation with the locals is tough to shake but some tourists have been attracted by these recent rumors. Weird, right?" Renata allows herself a little smile of satisfaction at this turn of events. "And I've been told that word spreads fast around here. Small town mystique may be working in my favor." Talk of the 'haunted motel' has indeed been finding its way into more and more conversations amongst people on the boardwalk lately. "As for being warned off, I can't say that I have. The person I bought this motel from was more than willing to take my money and hand me the keys. Someone did tell me to change the locks-- Oh, that reminds me I still need to get on that." She reaches for a notebook on the counter and quickly jots something down inside. "But no, I'm sadly out of the loop when it comes to chats about enjoying tea with Great Old Ones. Just your luck, I guess."

"There's a few places in town that people with -- you know, the shine, the gift, whatever we call it -- seem to turn up all the time. The Espresso Yourself coffee house. The Two if By Sea bar. More places, I'm sure, but that's where I keep running into people. Might be worth checking out for you too -- if you want to get lectured on tea in Ry'leth, that sort of thing." Ravn's smile remains. He must be a pretty easy going nature. "Just -- be careful with anything that sounds a little too fantastic to be true. There's something awful screwy going on with people's perceptions. People who'll swear someone who's lived in town for years is a Russian spy, or that two people have broken up when they absolutely have not, some poor girl who has thirteen kids by two husbands -- not only would that girl have had to get started spawning at something like age twelve, but I'm pretty sure the US has laws against bigamy, too. I've started assuming that if something sounds like it ought to be on a front page of a morning paper, it probably is one of these -- communal fantasies."

Renata looks visibly confused when Ravn brings up changes in perception and strange stories cropping up about various townsfolk. She frowns thoughtfully as something in the back of her mind clicks with this new information. "I've had guests who seem to think I'm a member of the Hilton family here to turn this place into a luxury hotel. I wasn't sure how they got that idea but it must be connected to these fantasies. What could be causing it, I wonder?" There's a certain intensity to her eyes for a moment, much like when they were discussing their abilities.

"Thanks for letting me know anyway, I appreciate it. And I'll keep those places in mind to visit when I'm free. I might stop by just to see what kind of conversations come up." She pauses, mulling something over before speaking up again. "I can tell you one thing if you're looking into these potential hauntings. Most of the activity I've been told about happened at night." She takes a business card from a small stack nearby and offers it Ravn with a pleasant smile reserved for potential guests. "Feel free to check in some time if your curiosity gets the better of you."

"Renata Hilton." Ravn tastes the words and then shakes his head slowly while glancing at the card. "It's probably a good thing I didn't hear that one. Would have stayed away if I had -- famous people are a level of noise and spotlight I'm entirely uncomfortable with. Still, if it doesn't bother you, and the hotel gets a few extra customers because people want to rub elbows with a celebrity, I suppose there's no harm done. I'd offer you my card in return but I don't have one -- been living in a backpack for a couple of years. I can text you my number, though."

The man may wear black but his cell phone casing turns out to be a bright sparkly pink one, with a Hello Kitty motif -- very appropriate, if you're a thirteen year old girl who's still into shiny things. Tapping in the number on the card he sends his own number to it and then pockets the abomination and card alike. "The one thing a lot of people keep telling me here is to make friends. Get to know the other people who have this thing about them. Look out for each other. I'm somewhat of a mind to take that advice myself, so if you see me sitting around somewhere, feel absolutely welcome to pull up a chair and exchange mystery tales anytime. May I?" He swipes a brochure from the counter; it's late, pleasant summer now, but at some point later in the year he's going to need to pull his boat up out of the water for the winter and find somewhere else to stay. Murder Motel may not sound like the wisest option, but it certainly sounds like an interesting option.