In the shadowy halls of the Liverpool Marriott Hotel City Centre, the air is thick with the echoes of the past, where laughter-chaotic and unnerving-prances just out of sight, coaxing the living into a childlike delusion of joy. Guests have reported glimpses of a woman in white, her gaze lingering with a sorrow that chills the bone, while disembodied voices invite the curious to wander deeper into the hushed corridors. Yet, as night falls and the laughter fades into a haunting whisper, those who come seeking comfort must confront the chilling truth: not all guests check out.

The Adelphi Hotel stands like a weary monument to time, its faded grandeur whispering tales of glory dampened by the inexorable passage of years. In the dimly lit hallways, where the air chills inexplicably, the echo of footsteps lingers-lonesome and urgent-while whispers weave through the shadows, carrying the spectral essence of a long-departed employee whose sorrowful presence haunts the very walls. Guests retreat to their rooms, hoping for solace, yet often find themselves ensnared by an unsettling awareness, as if the hotel itself was a sentient being, intent on revealing the secrets it has buried deep.

The Hope Street Hotel looms like a weary sentinel amidst the historic ruins of Liverpool, its peeling wallpaper whispering tales of bygone guests whose laughter has morphed into unsettling echoes. Flickering lights cast ghostly shadows on the walls, while doors creak open as if beckoning the unwary to step into a realm where time itself seems to hold its breath; a weighty presence lingers in the air, thick as fog, leaving visitors with an inexplicable dread that once they settle in, they might never truly be alone again.