The Auberge Saint-Gabriel loomed like a specter from the past, its weathered beams whispering secrets of the 17th century; a place where laughter once mingled with the clinking of glasses, now suffocated by the weight of lingering shadows. Guests often felt the chill of unseen eyes upon them, while echoes of laughter twisted into sorrowful sighs, and an unseen hand would send silverware skittering across worn tables as if the ghostly figure of its former owner sought to reclaim what had once been his domain. This was a hotel where the very air thickened with an unshakeable dread, reminding patrons that they were never truly alone, and the dead had an unsettling way of making their presence felt.

In the dimly lit halls of Hotel Le Priori, the air hangs heavy with secrets, thick as the fog that often cloaks its ancient stones. Guests have felt a cold breath skittering past them, and the weight of unseen eyes lurking in the shadows, while disembodied whispers curl around them like a shroud, murmuring tales of love and loss from centuries past. Yet, it is the overwhelming sense of being watched-by something that should not be there-that drives visitors from their rooms, hearts pounding, into the night, leaving behind only the echo of their fear.

The James Bay Inn, an imposing relic from 1911, looms over the cobblestone streets of Victoria like a forgotten specter, its walls echoing the whispers of time. Guests have recounted unsettling encounters with a ghostly woman in a flowing white dress, her mournful silhouette gliding through the dimly lit corridors, while the air crackles with the sounds of phantom footsteps and the flicker of lights that blink in and out like the lost souls trapped within its decaying embrace. Each night, as shadows deepen and the stillness creeps in, one cant help but feel that something-or someone-watches from the corners, waiting for the unsuspecting to surrender their warmth to the cold touch of the past.

The Delta Hotels by Marriott Saskatoon Downtown looms like a reluctant sentinel of the past, its concrete facade whispering secrets from the 1960s with every flicker of its weary fluorescent lights. Guests often find themselves enveloped in a chill that seeps through the walls, as if the very air holds onto the laughter of unseen children echoing through the empty hallways, their joy forever entwined with the sorrow of those who once passed through. In this place where shadows stretch into darkness and the lost echoes of a bygone era mingle with the living, every creak of the floorboards warns that some residents never really checked out.

In the hushed corridors of The Delta Hotels by Marriott Prince Edward, the weight of the 19th century coils uneasily in the air, as if the very walls are steeped in lingering regrets. Shadows dance beneath flickering lights that seem to pulse with a heartbeat of their own, while the whispers of long-gone guests echo through the drafts-a disembodied susurrus that freezes the blood and stirs the hair on the back of your neck. Here, in the dim corners and aged woodwork, the eerie sensation of being watched tightens like a noose, as if the past is not merely remembered, but waiting, ever so patiently, for its next visitor to succumb to the chilling embrace of the unseen.

The Fairmont Empress Hotel, a grand relic of 1908, looms like a forgotten specter over the mist-laden harbor, its opulent facade belying the sinister whispers of past guests lost within its walls. As the sun dips below the horizon, a ghostly woman in white glides through dimly lit corridors, her mournful sigh echoing against the flickering lights, while icy drafts seem to seek the warmth of the living, leaving cold spots that linger like a shiver down the spine. Those who dare to linger too long have learned that the past does not rest easy here; it curls around the unsuspecting like a shroud, whispering secrets that chill the marrow and ensnare the soul.

Beneath the grand chandeliers of The Fairmont Hotel Macdonald, the air hangs thick with a chill that coils around you like the fingers of the long-dead, and shadows flit just out of the corner of your eye, hinting at the presence of a woman in white, eternally searching. Guests have awoken to the creaking whispers of floorboards, the pulse of laughter that echoes through the silent halls, and the bone-deep cold that seeps through walls as if the building itself bleeds despair. In this opulent relic of 1915, every room seems to pulse with a heartbeat of its own, a reminder that not all who wander here have checked out.

The Calgary Inn looms like a forgotten sentinel from the 1970s, its stark facade concealing the icy fingers of dread that reach through its corridors, where the whisper of footsteps echoes in the dark. Guests have reported an unsettling chill that settles around them like an unwelcome embrace, while shadowy figures flit just beyond the periphery, taunting the living with ghostly reminders of lives long extinguished. Many have checked in for a night, only to discover that some doors lead nowhere-except deeper into a waking nightmare where the past refuses to rest peacefully.

In the dim, flickering light of The Lord Elgin Hotel's aged corridors, shadows stretch grotesquely as if reaching for the living, while doors creak open, whispering secrets only the walls have heard. Guests often feel an icy breath trailing behind them, a disquieting reminder that they are not alone; the ghostly figure of a woman in white glides silently, her mournful gaze lingering on their backs, as if counting the living before retreating into darkness. They say the hotel holds its breath at night, steeped in a silence so profound it hums with anticipation, leaving each visitor haunted by the suspicion that they are watched by invisible eyes yearning for something just beyond the veil of this world.

The Matrix Hotel looms in downtown Edmonton, its glass facade reflecting the restless spirits of those who never truly checked out. Guests speak in hushed tones of phantom whispers weaving through the hallways and the bone-chilling drafts that seep from nowhere, as if the very walls exhale the memories of sorrow and despair. With each nightfall, a spectral presence seems to awaken, wrapping itself around the unsuspecting, blurring the line between their dreams and the lingering echoes of a past best left untouched.