The Guest Book Novels & Stories

He stood up and moved to the window behind the chair and looked at the somber sky. "I ought to act tonight then." "I am sorry, sir," the concierge of the guest lodge said. "Yours was a last-minute booking. I am afraid we need some time to prepare your room." "How long?" Wes asked. "Not more than twenty minutes. Would you like to wait in the waiting room? Or would you like to wait outside with the rest of the guests?" "We'll wait outside. Thank you," Willow said immediately. The wooden guest house was built on the slope of a hill and was surrounded by towering trees. It was small compared to hotels but it was cozy and provided homely vibes.

I do not hear the notification that comes in at 11:23, the one from the institute's visitor access system logging a new credentialed guest for Thursday's wolf health initiative meeting. I do not see the name on it until morning.

I said, opened my purse, and showed her my ID. Seeing that I just turned 18 recently, she gave me a knowing look and punched some buttons on her intercom. "Hi, Mr Jonah, a guest is here to see you," she said into the receiver. "Let her in," I heard his voice filter out from the phone. "Yes, sir," she said and ended the call. She brought out a book and told me to fill in my details, when I did, she pulled out a red card and gave it to me.

"ARE you guys done?" asked Jack, who suddenly appeared. "Yes," I said as I stood up and prepared to leave. But before that, I walked over to the reception desk to return the GUEST card given by the maternity ward manager. While exchanging the ID card, my eyes caught a familiar name in the guest book. I focused my gaze again to make sure that the name I read was correct. Then I was shocked that I couldn't believe my eyes. I read it over and over again, the name and address listed in the guest book remained the same. The post was dated two days ago.

I finished up everything and went to bed. I pulled out records of our guests to see which people had to leave today. I work in one of the big hotels here in the United States, the MT Hotel. The telephone on my desk rang, and I picked it up. “Hello, this is the MT hotel. How can I help you?” “Winter, it's Frank.” “Yes, Frank?” “We're gonna be having an important guest tonight, and there is also going to be a party. You'll be in charge of the guest and make sure that the decorations are on point.”

An open floor plan with a sitting area and TV to the left, A small restaurant towards the back and a bar. The reception area is to the right with a long black desk holding four computers. There is a woman sitting behind the desk looking at her computer. When we walk up she looks up and gently smiles at us. “Welcome to the Grayden Hotel. My name is Amber. How can I help you gentleman?” She asked in a professional voice. “My name is Zayden Malachi. I have a reservation for the presidential suite.” I tell her. I watch as she looks back at her computer and starts typing somethings in.

I needed to take care of things before it got more complicated than it already has. “Of course, they are in room 011,” he replied. “They haven't checked out yet, they are booked for two nights,” He added. “Can I see your guest log? “Here it is,” He said, handing me the guest's notebook. I looked through the notebook and there was no one on the list registered as Emily. There was no record of her credit card and I figured she must have paid with cash. “Of course, she wouldn't be stupid enough to have checked in with her details”, I muttered to myself.

They checked each guest’s card carefully before allowing them inside. When I reached them, I handed over my invitation card just as I had seen the other guests do. They inspected it thoroughly before giving me a nod of approval and stepping aside as they gave the invitation card back to me, allowing me to pass. But as I walked past them, I caught the faint murmur of their voices. "Why does she have that card? Isn’t it supposed to be for the host's family? How does she have it?" one of them asked, confusion in his tone.

Ethan wanted the new campaign to include genuine stories from each Hale property, and the Seattle hotel would become our model. We spent the next several hours inside the library, searching through old photographs, letters, and guestbooks. Some of the records dated back almost a century. There were wedding photographs, handwritten notes from returning guests, and letters thanking the hotel employees for small kindnesses that had clearly meant much more to the people receiving them. Calvin left first, claiming he had another meeting. The second strategist followed shortly afterward, leaving me alone at the long wooden table with several open boxes and more history than I could organise in one

Ronan had put some work into preparing this date. “All right, that’s everything,” Ronan announced. “We just have to check in at the door.” “Check in?” I wrote. “It’s a security measure. Everyone who leaves signs the book, here,” Ronan held up a large, leather bound tome that had been tucked into a hidden nook next to the entrance. “You write your name and when you’re leaving. When you come back in, you mark through your entry, and initial it to show it’s you. Never, ever sign in for someone else. Even if they’re standing right behind you.”