The Virginia City Inn stands like a weary sentinel against the encroaching shadows of history, its once-vibrant halls now echoing with the distant laughter of those long departed. Guests have often whispered of the chill that creeps through the air, a suffocating reminder that the walls are thick with the whispers of the dead, their fleeting figures darting just out of sight. Those who choose to close their eyes at night find no refuge, only the prickle of unseen eyes boring into their dreams, leaving them to wonder who-or what-might be lurking just a breath away.

The Gold Hill Hotel looms like a shadow from the past, each creaking floorboard a whisper of long-forgotten stories, where Elizabeth's sorrowful wails echo through the dimly lit halls, chilling the air with an emptiness that clings to the skin. In the dead of night, when the cold spots hug your body like icy hands, you can hear the soft thud of footsteps trailing just behind you, as if the very walls remember the weight of those long departed. Guests often leave with a sense of something watching them-something that knows their secrets and hungers for their fear.