The haunted hotel. It’s a definite thing, isn’t it? From Stanley Kubrick’s classic The Shining to the slightly less classic I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, the hotel with an unwanted and probably long-dead guest is a leitmotif in scary cinema. It can also be found in poems, plays, novels; possibly the first novel on the theme is literally called The Haunted Hotel, it’s by Wilkie Collins and it is set in, yes, Venice.
But here’s the thing about haunted hotels. They are actually a thing. That is to say, there are places to stay which invoke a definite frisson of doom, dread or deep unease. And I know this because 1) I am a travel writer and I’ve therefore been to a few of these places, and 2) as I write this, I am sitting in a haunted hotel.
It’s a big posh hotel in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. An hour ago I was loafing by its magnificent swimming pool, sipping my delicious pineapple-syrup and Samai Rum cocktail.
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