The Housekeeping Hotel has more doors than keys.

Some are heavy and ceremonial.
Others are worn smooth.
A few fit nothing at all, yet are taken out and returned to their hooks at the end of each day.

Sensible order does not abound.
601 is on the second floor.
708 is just off the lobby.

One door may open onto another without warning. A corridor might narrow, then widen again, depending on who is passing through it. Certain rooms are entered easily on a first visit and never again. Others resist familiarity, no matter how often they are approached.

Guests arrive with the feeling that something has already begun.

Societies meet at regular intervals, though their start dates are unknown. Clubs continue to operate long after their founding members have departed. Creatures are long-standing library card holders. Some customs appear older than the building itself.

Portraits refuse to stay where they have been placed.

No two are quite the same size, depending on the day of the week.

A few seem to have been rehung recently, though the concierge politely deflects this observation.

Housekeeping keeps the hotel running.

Beds are turned down.
Lamps are lit.

When something unusual occurs, notes are taken — which has been happening more often lately. All requests made to the kitchen after 3 a.m. are honored without question.

There are ledgers that guests may read, and ledgers that are sequestered and guarded.

Some guest names appear frequently.
Others never seem to stay solid in ink.

Over time, visitors may recognize patterns — not enough to explain them, but enough to sense when something is out of place. A room suddenly appearing. A chair added where no reservation was made. A door unlocked without being asked.

The Housekeeping Hotel does not require belief.

Only attention.

—
Maintained by Housekeeping