We check in at 5:00. A brief staycation in a haunted hotel. The walls are mahogany, golden chandeliers creating shimmery reflections on the grain. Plush carpets absorb my wandering footsteps; I barely leave a trace. We sip cold martinis inside the bar, under clippings of presidents and starlets who graced the booths long before us. Their smiling faces practically beg us to order a Boston Cream Pie. Are there really ghosts here? Or just the glowing aura from over a hundred years of happy guests. It seems like a lovely place to spend eternity.
Wendy Schiller, 30 Years old,