The Hotel Altos de la Vina loomed like a decaying sentinel over the ancient hills of San Salvador de Jujuy, its walls thick with the ghostly whispers of indigenous spirits and the heavy tread of colonial despair. In the dim light of dusk, guests often swore they heard the echoing footfalls of long-gone travelers pacing restlessly in the crooked hallways and felt the icy caress of doors that creaked open to reveal only shadows. Those brave enough to linger found themselves haunted not just by the past, but by the unsettling notion that some guests never truly checked out, their hollow eyes now flickering like candles in the dark.

In the hushed embrace of the Hotel Termas de Reyes, the ancient stone walls seem to whisper secrets soaked in steam, where the ghostly figures of long-departed patrons swirl just beyond the thermal baths shimmering surface. Guests, lulled into a false sense of serenity, find themselves ensnared by the soft susurrus of phantom laughter and the cold caress of unseen hands, an ever-present reminder that tranquility can be a guise, concealing the restless souls lurking in the depths. With every sigh of the water and every flicker of the lights, an unsettling truth unfolds: in this sanctuary of health and healing, some come seeking solace while others find only their own reckoning.