A few years back, some friends and I decided to try and spend an entire night in Hotel Hell of Maribell. Anxiety was running high, as we were all accustomed to the stories of haunts in that area. After sneaking through the woods and past a cluster of foreboding caves, we managed to slip into the abandoned brick building unnoticed by adjacent house, whose residents were alledgedly deemed caretakers and watchmen of the old hotel. Armed with flashlights and a sense of adventure, we crept from room to room with keen eyes. The rotting floors and ceilings proved to be detrimental, but we escaped harm (sometimes by mere inches). After locating a dry and stable seating area, we hunkered down and made ourselves at home among the debris. After a few hours of telling ghost stories in hushed voices, we decided to head to the windows and take a look outside. To our surprise, there was a single set of footprints visible in the dewy grass heading from the woods to the hotel. They were fresh tracks. Needless to say, we didn't stay there much longer--swearing under our breaths, we grabbed our flashlights and ran back through the woods to the sanctuary of our vehicles unscathed. Though I consider myself a skeptic, this was a night my rational mind cannot explain away.



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