The Arlington Resort Hotel & Spa looms over Hot Springs like a forgotten relic, its once-grand facade now cloaked in the whispers of the past. Guests often speak in hushed tones of a ghostly woman in white, eternally wandering the dim hallways, her mournful sighs blending with the flicker of failing lights, while cold spots creep like unseen fingers along the walls. Yet, for every story told, there are countless others left untold, as those who linger too long often find themselves grappling with an inexplicable dread that settles in the shadows, tightening like a noose.

The Hotel Hale looms like a forgotten specter amid Hot Springs' steamy embrace, its once-grand facade now a portrait of decay, where echoes of laughter twist into disembodied whispers that drag from the cobwebbed corners of its shadowy hallways. Guests who dare to wander its dim-lit passages speak of a tightening chill against their skin, as if unseen eyes linger just beyond the reach of light, and fleeting glimpses of pale figures flicker in the periphery, leaving only the unsettling sensation that they are not alone, not ever. Those who linger too long inevitably find themselves haunted-not by the past, but by a lurking dread that wraps around their hearts, an insidious reminder that some doors should remain forever closed.