In the hushed corridors of the Sapporo Excel Hotel Tokyu, whispers slither through the air like a chill wind, echoing untold secrets of its past. Shadows flit beyond the edges of vision, teasing the edge of sanity as guests find themselves caught between the warmth of their beds and the cold grip of unseen eyes watching from the dark. Those who stay too long inevitably leave with a chill in their bones, the unsettling sense that the hotel has woven them into its tapestry of forgotten souls, and not all who enter will ever truly leave.

As twilight drapes its shroud over the ornate wooden beams of Hana no Yado, the gardens whisper secrets to the encroaching darkness, where the air turns thick and frigid, brushing against your skin like an unseen hand. Each step along the winding pathways feels weighted, as though unseen eyes linger just beyond the rustle of leaves, watching with an intensity that gnaws at your sanity. Guests return from nocturnal strolls with hair-trigger nerves, recounting the breath of a chilling presence, a silent warning that the beauty they admired may hide something far more sinister beneath its petals.

In the shadowy halls of the Takayama Green Hotel, the air thickens with the weight of history, pulsating with whispers of a time long past. Flickering lights dance like restless spirits, casting fleeting glimpses of a figure in a tattered kimono gliding silently through the dim corridors, leaving a trail of icy drafts that slither around unsuspecting guests. Many who have come seeking tranquility have instead discovered that in this haunted haven, it is not the living who hold sway, but the memories of the dead, and the echoes of their mourning linger long after the lights have gone dark.

In the shadow of Hakodates towering hills, the Hotel Sunroute stands like a weary sentinel, its peeling paint and flickering lights whispering secrets of a bygone era. As night descends, the upper floors come alive with the disembodied echo of footsteps that seem to tread just beyond reach, merging with the soft, insidious murmurs of long-gone guests who never quite checked out. Those who dare to linger beneath its crumbling eaves often find their sleep interrupted by a chilling certainty: they are not alone, and the voices that haunt the halls may just be waiting for a reply.

In the dim glow of flickering lanterns, Kankaso looms like a spectral sentinel against the encroaching forest, its wooden beams creaking with the weight of untold stories and restless spirits. Guests often awaken to a bone-deep chill that seeps through the tatami mats, accompanied by whispers slithering just beyond the edge of sleep, a breath on the nape of their neck that suggests they are not alone as shadows lengthen and the night deepens. Many have fled in the early dawn, haunted by the inexplicable sounds that danced through their dreams-an echo of despair that lingers long after theyve checked out, like a ghost too stubborn to part.

Beneath the polished veneer of the Hakodate Kokusai Hotel lies a history steeped in whispers and shadows, where the chill of foreign traders lingers like a cursed echo in the air. Guests often awaken in the dead of night, enveloped in a frigid draft that speaks of long-gone souls, their silhouettes flitting past the edge of vision, while the walls seem to murmur secrets best left unspoken. Here, laughter is swallowed by the unsettling creaks and distant thuds that cascade through the halls, leaving those who dare to stay with a creeping dread that something, or someone, watches from the corners of their minds long after the lights have dimmed.

At Hotel Mystays Sapporo Nakajima Park, the chill of the northern breeze coils through the narrow halls like a whispering specter, slipping beneath doors to ruffle the curtains and send shivers down spines. Guests have reported a restless unease, where objects seem to dance in the dim light, inexplicably shifting from one place to another as if drawn by unseen hands, leaving behind a palpable sense of dread. Those who dare to linger find themselves haunted not just by the chill in the air but by the menacing silence that follows, as if the hotel itself is a watchful entity, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal its darkest secrets.

The Hotel Granvia Osaka looms like a specter from the late 19th century, its grand facade a thin veil over the whispers of restless souls that echo through its shadowy hallways. Guests have reported the unsettling caress of unseen fingers at their backs as they drift into uneasy slumber, accompanied by the soft, disembodied murmurs of long-gone travelers who seem to beckon from the corners of the dimly lit rooms. It is said that those who linger too long in the older sections of the hotel may find themselves haunted not just by memories, but by the chilling certainty that something-or someone-has taken a keen interest in their fragile existence.

The Shinjuku Granbell Hotel, though only a decade old, wears the weight of history like a shroud; its sleek corridors seem to exhale a breath of cold that seeps into the bones. Guests often find themselves swallowed by shadows that flit just beyond the periphery of vision, and the unsettling sense of being watched coils around them, tightening with each step. A night spent within those polished walls might promise luxury, but the lingering chill whispers of something far more sinister lurking just beneath the surface, waiting patiently for the moment of reckoning.

In the dimly lit corridors of The Park Front Hotel, where the echoes of cheerful laughter seem to hang in the air long after the last guest has turned in for the night, an unsettling chill permeates the silence. Shadows stretch ominously against the walls, twisting into grotesque shapes as disembodied giggles and murmurs snake through the empty hallways, weaving tales of joy long extinguished. Those who dared to linger after dusk often found themselves ensnared by an invisible audience, the air thick with the haunting reminder that some spirits don't check out.