Hotel Wentzl loomed over the cobbled streets of Krakow like a sunken ship, its walls steeped in centuries of whispers and shadows. Guests often reported the sudden chill of an unseen presence brushing past them, while the air crackled with the memories of a woman in white, gliding silently through the halls, her mournful wails mingling with the distant echoes of laughter from long-forgotten revelries. As the night deepened, the echoes coiled tighter around the guests, urging them to leave, yet something unseen held them fast, a promise of terror wrapped in the allure of lingering history.

The Hotel Unicus loomed over Krakow like a shadow draped in history, its peeling wallpaper whispering secrets of the past to anyone who dared to listen. Guests often claimed to awaken drenched in sweat from vivid nightmares-terrifying tableaux of twisted faces and screaming shadows-while a creeping sensation of unseen eyes bore down on them from the corners of the room, as if the very walls pulsed with an ancient, malevolent hunger. And on quiet nights, when the wind howled just right, the inexplicable shuffle of objects could be heard, a grisly reminder that some spirits refuse to let the living rest, even when darkness descends.