My True Ghost Story – Venice Hotel

No matter how many stars a hotel has, it doesn’t guarantee the room is truly “clean.” Behind closed doors, there may have been natural deaths, accidents, even tragedies. Some places carry stories long after guests have checked out. Have you ever stayed somewhere that felt… off?

In Chinese culture, we take extra precautions when entering a hotel room. There are rituals and small superstitions meant to avoid disturbing anything that might already be there. (If you’re curious, have a read of my post on Chinese superstitions when entering a hotel room.)

This experience took place in 2005, during my first trip to Venice. My boyfriend at the time—now my husband—planned the getaway to celebrate my birthday. We didn’t overthink the booking: just a flight, a hotel, and a rough idea of where we wanted to be. After browsing a few websites and holiday brochures, we settled on a modest three-star inn. It was affordable, well-located, and we assumed we’d barely spend time there anyway.

Finding the inn wasn’t straightforward. It was tucked away in a narrow alley, easy to miss unless you knew exactly where to look. Inside, everything felt old—beautiful, but aged. The décor had a vintage charm, yet the atmosphere was strangely heavy. Even in spring, the place felt cold and dim.

Our room was on the first floor. Oddly, it didn’t register at first that there were no windows. But something about the room felt wrong from the moment we stepped in—dark, enclosed, almost suffocating.

That night, as usual, I struggled to fall asleep. When I finally did, I was jolted awake by a sensation I couldn’t explain. It felt like someone was walking slowly around the bed.

The room was almost pitch black, except for a faint sliver of light seeping through the gap beneath the door. Through half-closed eyes, I saw it—a dark shadow, moving deliberately, circling us.

I froze.

My heart pounded, but I didn’t dare move. I told myself it was just my imagination, that I was overtired. But the presence felt too real. Too close. Mr C was fast asleep beside me, completely unaware. I lay there, forcing my eyes shut, trying to ignore it—willing myself back to sleep.

It was a long, restless night.

Strangely, the second night was completely different. No sounds, no shadows. Nothing. Perhaps I was too exhausted from a full day of exploring and fell asleep instantly. Or perhaps… whatever it was had lost interest.

Looking back, I’ve taken it as a lesson. I now avoid windowless rooms whenever possible. Without natural light, the space feels too “yin”—heavy, stagnant, and unbalanced. In feng shui, that kind of environment is far from ideal.

There are other things to watch out for too: rooms at the end of corridors, or directly facing staircases, are often considered less favourable. And a room without a window? Not only disorienting—but, for me, a little too unsettling.

As for the Hungry Ghost Festival, it typically falls between late July and late August, depending on the lunar calendar. During this period, many believe the spirit world is more active. If you’re interested, do check out my posts on what don’t during this festival and my Chinese Hungry Ghost Festival culture.

Some experiences stay with you—not because you understand them, but because you never quite can.