If you roll into Hot Springs, Arkansas, expecting nothing more than a steamy soak and mountain views, think again. Towering over the end of Bathhouse Row like a grand old dame with secrets in her bones, the Arlington Resort Hotel and Spa isn’t just a place to lay your head. It’s a place where history lingers… and sometimes, refuses to leave.
From the moment you step inside, the air changes. The echoes feel longer. The shadows hang just a little heavier. This isn’t your average night’s stay — it’s a step sideways into another time, and perhaps, into the company of those who never checked out.
A Legacy Too Loud for Silence
The Arlington’s story began in 1875, with rebirths in 1893 and 1924 after fire and fate brought down its earlier incarnations. Presidents slept here. Gangsters lounged here — none more infamous than Al Capone, who reportedly claimed an entire floor as his own. But the roll call of its past guests doesn’t end with the living.
Whispers follow you through the halls: voices when no one’s around, footsteps pacing above an empty ceiling, shadows that vanish when you blink. The seventh, eighth, and ninth floors are the true spine-tinglers, with Room 824 serving as the hotel’s crown jewel of hauntings.
Tip for the brave: If you’re a light sleeper, bring earplugs. They won’t keep the ghosts out, but they’ll muffle the whispers.
The Elevator That Groans Like It Knows
Before you even see your room, the elevator sets the tone. An antique tiny space of brass and wood, it shudders and sighs as it crawls upward. The door clangs shut with the weight of decades — you can almost picture a spectral bellhop sliding it closed, palm out for a tip that never comes.
And when you step off? That’s when things get interesting.
Low Ceilings, High Tension
Above the lobby, the ceilings dip to a claustrophobic eight feet, crowned with ceiling fans that look like they’ve been spinning since the Roaring Twenties. The lighting is dim, the carpet worn to a whisper.
Guests talk about walking these hallways at night as if moving through a film reel from another century. The air feels thick — like the building itself is leaning in to listen.
Keys That Unlock More Than Rooms
Forget plastic keycards. At the Arlington, you’re handed a weighty metal key, complete with a brass tag big enough to double as a paperweight. It dangles from your hand like a pendulum, daring you to turn it.
More than one guest has slipped the key into the lock only to feel resistance, as if someone inside would rather you stay out. Sometimes they open the door to find belongings shifted, lights on, or the faint scent of perfume hanging in the air — the kind worn a hundred years ago.
Room 824: The Crown Jewel of Chills
Room 824 has earned its reputation. Visitors have seen full-bodied apparitions, watched objects move of their own accord, and heard televisions click on and off in the middle of the night.
One woman woke to the sensation of someone sitting on her bed. When she flipped on the lamp, the mattress still bore the shape of a figure — though the room was empty.
Al Capone’s Fourth-Floor Hideaway
Room 443 was Al Capone’s personal domain, and legend has it he rented the whole floor for security. Guests claim to still catch the scent of cigar smoke drifting through the hallway, or hear faint jazz music playing from behind locked doors. Whether it’s Capone’s ghost or just the building breathing, no one can say for sure.
Ballroom Shadows and Basement Secrets
The Crystal Ballroom, once the pinnacle of Gilded Age glamour, now plays host to ghostly waltzes. Visitors have glimpsed shadow couples twirling under darkened chandeliers while soft music plays from nowhere.
And then there’s the basement. Today it houses the spa and fitness center, but some say the old service tunnels still hum with trapped energy. Flickering lights, sudden cold spots, and a sense of being watched are common here.
Would You Dare?
The Arlington isn’t just a hotel — it’s a living museum of elegance and eeriness. Each creak of the floorboards, each groan of the elevator, each click of an old brass key is a reminder: the past is never as far away as we think.
Book a night if you dare. Ask for a haunted floor. And when you turn the key, remember — you may not be the only one staying in your room.
The Guiding Traveler 
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