In the dimly lit corridors of Hotel Casa Higueras, shadows twist and shimmer like whispered secrets, while the air hangs heavy with an unsettling chill that wraps around the unwary like a lovers embrace gone wrong. Guests have felt the icy breath of something unseen brush against their skin as flickering lights dance in a morbid rhythm, and ominous doors creak open and shut with a malice that suggests they have a will of their own. Each night, as the moon bleeds into the fog, the hotel seems to breathe, as if it were alive and hungry for the souls of those brave-or foolish-enough to linger within its haunted heart.

Hotel Brighton loomed over Valparaiso like a forgotten relic, its once-refined corridors now draped in the chilling whispers of the past, where cold spots lingered like the ghosts of unremembered tragedies. Shadows flickered at the periphery, revealing specters dressed in early 20th-century finery, weaving through the heavy air that thickened around the rooms, pressing upon the chests of the unwary. Be wary, for those who dared to sleep within its walls often awoke to find the echoes of faded laughter turned to anguished sighs, the sinister grasp of the hotel inviting them deeper into its haunted embrace.

The Hotel Fauna looms over Valparaiso like a forgotten sentinel, its crumbling facade whispering tales of laughter that ripples through the hallways at night, echoing with a dissonant joy that feels entirely out of place. Guests often speak in hushed tones about the feeling of being watched, as shadowy figures seem to linger just at the edges of their vision, while the air grows heavy with the remnants of conversations that drift on the stale, cold breeze-a cacophony of the long departed whose unfinished business still tethers them to this world. In this place where the living tread lightly and the dead stir restlessly, it's said that the walls have ears, and you may find yourself not entirely alone when the lights go

Beneath the peeling paint and faded grandeur of Hotel Cielo de Chile, shadows twist like smoke and whispers echo through the creaking halls, where the ghostly figures of once-lively patrons flicker in and out of the dim light. Guests often find their belongings inexplicably rearranged, the air thickening with a palpable unease, as if the building itself breathes in a rhythmic, eldritch rhythm, urging them to look over their shoulders. And as night descends, the soft sounds of laughter-distorted and hollow-drift from vacant rooms, a chilling reminder that some spirits never left, and theyre far from welcoming.

Hotel La Blanca looms like a ghostly sentinel over the crumbling streets of Valparaiso, its grand facade whispering secrets of forgotten elegance. Within its shadowy corridors, cold drafts weave through the air like icy fingers, carrying with them the faint echoes of lives once lived, while flickering lights dance to an unseen rhythm, casting long, jittery shadows that seem to breathe at the edges of perception. Each creak of the floorboards announces the arrival of something sinister, and guests often awaken to find themselves not alone, ensnared in the suffocating embrace of an unseen presence that lingers just beyond the veil of their dreams.