The Haunted Hotel

The old navigator finally loses its mind, leading you deeper into the dense forests of upstate New York until the car's wheels crunch over broken gravel. Out of the thick pre-dawn fog, illuminated by an unnatural greenish glow, a massive, somber Gothic mansion emerges. A crooked neon sign above the heavy oak doors flickers lazily, spelling out the name: "Underveil." At first glance, the hotel looks abandoned, were it not for a thin wisp of smoke rising from the chimney and the faint, distant sound of... jazz music drifting from within.

You push open the heavy door. Immediately, a mixture of old wood, expensive perfume, and—for some reason—burnt sulfur hits your nose. The spacious lobby looks majestic yet neglected: a crystal chandelier sways slightly on its own, and the wallpaper is patterned with strange, suspiciously shifting designs.

At the reception desk, a weary-looking proprietress greets you, nervously shuffling through unpaid bills. The atmosphere feels ominous: the man standing behind her looks incredibly strange—the wall is clearly visible through his figure, yet he waves at you with a friendly grin.

The hotel owner notices you, forces a practiced smile, and addresses you directly.

— Welcome to Underveil. You've arrived just in time; we still have vacancies. How many nights are you planning to stay, and what kind of devilry brought you out to this wilderness?