lunarcompasscrafts

It's a dark, cold, teildrith, a homeless teenager on the search for a warm place to sleep, all of a sudden gets kidnapped by three ghosts and is put to work in a hotel for monsters and other anomalies. 
Hotel souls, was this random chance, or is Teildrith the key they had been seeking from a past life?
While a curious, sheltered Isabela makes a mistake, ventures far from their family's caravan camp and into the arms of a circus ring leader, owner of House of Madness, can she escape, or will she be consumed by the dark secrets that plague the entire circus?

Hotel Souls

It's a busy night at the hotel, but everyone seems preoccupied with one thing: the new hire. Everyone was whispering about it—especially the small group of humans who work here.

Downstairs in the kitchen, some waiters walk in and out, murmuring as they pass each other.

"Psst—did you see the scrubby one walk in? I haven't seen anyone in that bad since Andre."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up—but at least I didn't have to deal with Mydra first thing."

"No, they had to deal with—" the waiter pauses, glancing around before whispering, "Braudlin."

A shudder passes through the kitchen. Even the chefs, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop, grow nervous.

"Oi! You don't mention that name in here!" says the chef's apprentice, pointing up at the chef, who is upside down on the ceiling. With six human-like arms chopping and peeling, and another six long tentacles stirring and kneading below, he glares at everyone.

In a whisper, he says, "You say his name in here, he appears. And if he appears because one of you said his name, I'm giving all of you dish duty."

They all look back down at each other.

"Fine, so the new kid had to deal with that one and the Maestro," whispers another waiter.

That subtle, calm, but eerie voice cuts through.

"You see, instead of gossiping with humans, I thought you were making sushi for the chef. You know... doing your job."

You could hear the gulp in his throat. Phil returns to his station without another word.

Braudlin turns to the rest of the frozen waiters, who don't know what to do. He smiles.

"Why THE HELL are all of you just standing there?"

Still smiling—tone sharp enough to cut glass—he continues, "If I hear at least one complaint because the food is taking too long and it ends up cold, all of you, including the cook, are going to help the Maestro with the next music session. DO YOU WANT THAT?"

Everyone shakes their heads rapidly.

The staff scatters like madmen. When Braudlin turns his back, walking out of the kitchen, the chef whispers, "Dish duty for the next 5 weeks,k" and everyone groans

Braudlin walks slowly to his office. He checks the time on his black watch with green engravings, sighing in anguish.

"I'm so tired," he mutters, collapsing into his chair, staring blankly at the papers.

Kitchen Gossip