In the shadows of Hotel Luxe, where the ancient stone walls whisper secrets of centuries past, a suffocating unease festers, curling around guests like a shroud. Objects inexplicably shift from their places, a sinister ballet performed by unseen hands, while lingering whispers echo through the dim corridors, hinting at restless souls eternally entwined with the hotel's cursed history. Those who dare to dwell within its haunted embrace often retreat, their eyes wide with terror, haunted by the chilling certainty that something-or someone-has watched them from the corners of the room, waiting for just the right moment to reveal itself.

In the heart of Diocletian's Palace, Hotel Vestibul Palace sits like a tomb, its ancient stones whispering secrets of long-abandoned lives, the air thick with an oppressive silence that seems to pulse with the weight of forgotten sorrow. As night drapes its shroud over the hotel, guests have reported being watched by shadowy figures lurking just beyond the flickering candlelight, their whispers curling through the air like smoke, while disembodied footsteps shuffle along the cold, stone corridors, echoing the restless souls who refuse to leave. In this forsaken place, the sense of dread is palpable, and as the last vestiges of daylight fade, a haunting truth lingers: some visitors find that leaving is not always a guarantee