The Hotel Gran Marquise loomed like a forgotten relic on the edge of Fortaleza, its polished facade hiding a dark underbelly where the whispers of long-gone guests seeped through the walls like the dampness of the sea air. In the hushed corridors, footsteps echoed in a rhythm that felt too deliberate, too watchful, while shadowy figures flickered at the periphery of vision, dissolving into the gloom before they could be fully recognized. Here, the air thickened with an oppressive silence, punctuated only by the unsettling sensation of unseen eyes tracing every movement, leaving each new arrival to wonder just who-or what-awaited them in the depths of the night.

In the faintly illuminated corridors of Hotel Oasis Atlantico, where the air hangs thick with history and the lingering scent of salt and decay, shadowy figures slither just beyond the reach of the flickering lights, their presence palpable yet elusive. Guests have awoken in the dead of night, chilled to the marrow by sudden cold spots that seep through the walls like forgotten memories, only to find dark silhouettes watching from the corners of their rooms, eyes glinting with a malevolence that sends shivers racing down their spines. Those who check out often carry with them an unsettling awareness that something unnatural still lingers in the darkened corners of the hotel, a whisper of dread echoing in their minds long after theyve escaped