At first glance, it offered everything one could hope for in a comfortable, affordable stay. The foyer was decorated for Christmas beautifully and though outdated and worn, the room was clean and comfortable with soft bedding and a thermostat and shower that actually worked.
Breakfast was a highlight; made to order fresh free breakfast served promptly was one of the best parts of the stay.
But…there was an undeniable something about the place. Perhaps it was the clientele—a peculiar mix of overly cheerful families, lone businessmen with fixed stares, and mysterious figures that seemed to haunt the lobby at odd hours. Conversations were hushed, as if everyone was guarding a secret, and the glances exchanged in the hallways and at breakfast had an edge of nervous anticipation. The staff were polite but…strangely formal, as though they’d memorized their greetings but couldnt quite make the smile reach their eyes. Then there was the elevator with the inspection certificate dated almost a year and a half ago. Riding it felt like a gamble, each groan of the cables sounding like a prelude to disaster. Traffic noise is loud with the occasional drag race on the highway behind the hotel.
Ultimately, this place is undeniably comfortable, but it’s a place that lingers with you because of some indefinable sense that you were staying somewhere where stories don’t always end well. Would I return? Maybe—but I’d bring my own ear plugs and stay on the ground floor.