Beneath the sleek facade of the Grand Hotel Sofia, whispers of a bygone era curl like tendrils of smoke through its dim corridors, where the carpet seems to muffle not only footsteps but the muted cries of those long departed. The upper floors, with their sterile elegance, hold a biting chill that lingers like a breath against the skin, as if watched by unseen eyes; guests have reported glimpses of a spectral figure gliding past, leaving an unsettling cold in its wake, a reminder that some histories refuse to stay buried. Those who sleep beneath its roof often wake in the dead of night, hearts pounding, as they sense the shift in temperature-a harbinger of the restless souls that still roam, seeking the warmth of

Hotel Anel loomed in Sofia like a dark whisper, its modern facade betraying a restless spirit that lingered just beneath the surface. Guests spoke of flickering lights that danced with a malevolent glee, while the corridors echoed with the soft shuffles of unseen feet, leaving an oppressive weight of unease that clung to the air like a thick fog. Some claimed to glimpse spectral figures flitting between shadows, their hollow eyes watching with an unsettling hunger, as if the hotel craved new souls to join its ghostly repertoire of whispers and sighs, forever trapped in its unnerving embrace.

The Vitosha Hotel looms like a silent specter against Sofia's skyline, its once-grand facade marred by the weight of centuries, whispering tales of the Ottoman Empire and the shadows it spawned. Guests have reported chill-inducing encounters: disembodied whispers snaking through empty corridors, and shadowy figures flitting past the lobby's flickering lights, leaving an unsettling void where warmth once thrived. Each creak of the floorboards and echo of footsteps in the vacant hallways serves as a reminder that some spirits refuse to check out-watching, waiting, their presence lingering long after the lights go dim.