Nestled in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, just thirty miles from the small, picturesque town of Ivy Glenn, is one of the grandest hotels in the industry. It is an old hotel, built from 1854 to 1864 by Johnathan Ivy for his young bride, Clara.

The hotel has been the scene of many glorious weddings, films, and conferences. Families vacation in this resort hotel; lovers sneak off for a romantic weekend; husbands bring mistresses, wives bring boytoys. During the day, the hotel is a lively, bright establishment, the springs and summers bathing the old building in warmth and golden light.

But at night, and through the fall and winter, the hotel becomes something more ominous. It is a place where every member of the Ivy family has found their death in one manner or another. Gangsters, murderers, suicides, strange accidents -- these darker events can be found by just turning around a corner. On the third floor walks a weeping woman, ever looking for her daughter, calling out her name.

In room 134 there can be heard the sounds of frantic splashing, choking, and, if the moonlight hits the doorway just right, a sopping wet, bloated corpse of a young girl can be seen. She reaches out, trying to see through dead eyes, wanting the mother who held her under the water of her afternoon bath.

From the bowels of the hotel in the boiler room and laundry to the drafty eaves of the attic, the building harbours all manner of dark, sinister spirits. Some guests never see the ghosts that haunt the Forsythe, some guests run screaming from their rooms, and some guests never leave the hotel.

Welcome to the Forsythe Hotel. Stay a while.

Stay forever.