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Left, a stairway at the base of Crescent Spring, one of the 62 mineral springs that began attracting health buffs and patients to the area in the 1880s. Right, is it a narwal tusk? A letter opener? An antique drill? It's a time capsule at the Crescent Hotel sculpted by Bob Rees and scheduled to be opened in 2100.
In the hotel, it’s the same. Every stairwell and landing is fraught, every empty hallway feels crowded, and every room you enter feels as if someone just left. You are alone but never alone here. And to the suggestible, to the willing, that’s the point of the place. To be a little frightened by the supernatural. To feel alive in the company of the dead. In the dark, everything is a ghost story.
But even the skeptical are moved here—if not to fear then to sadness. The sharp historical sense of dread
