There are historic hotels, and then there are “historic” hotels — places where the only thing authentic is the mold creeping up the bathroom grout. The Silverveil Hotel proudly belongs to the second category.
Billed as “the most haunted establishment east of the river” — which, judging by the river in question, isn’t a particularly high bar — the Silverveil Hotel promises an unforgettable experience where “the spirits of the Jazz Age still roam the halls.”
What you actually get is a creaky elevator, a lobby that smells like damp enthusiasm, and a “haunted brunch” where waitstaff in dollar-store fedoras half-heartedly moan about prohibition-era heartbreaks while delivering lukewarm Eggs Benedict.
Upon check-in, I was handed a glossy brochure with a list of “known paranormal hotspots.”
Room 217, where a flapper allegedly threw herself out the window in 1929.
The grand staircase, where spectral laughter has been recorded (translation: plumbing noises).
The ballroom, where couples are “sometimes seen dancing” (translation: bad lighting and poor eyesight).
My room, The Gatsby Suite, was tastefully decorated in what I assume was intended to be “Roaring Twenties Elegance” but landed somewhere closer to “budget speakeasy cosplay.” Faux velvet curtains sagged dramatically from peeling rods, and a gold-framed sign on the nightstand warned that “The Spirits May Visit at Any Time.”
Spoiler alert: they didn’t.
But the room service guy did, and he looked about as haunted as I felt after reading the brunch menu.
Speaking of brunch: The “Haunted Bottomless Brunch Experience” was a buffet staged in the ballroom under the “supervision” of a ghost hostess named “Minnie,” represented by a floor lamp draped in lace. Between the stale croissants and the $18 mimosas, a man in suspenders would periodically wander through the tables, sighing heavily and muttering about “lost love” before sneaking outside for a cigarette.
The crowning moment came during the “spirit interaction demonstration,” where the hotel manager turned off the lights and dramatically waved around a broken EMF meter purchased, by my estimation, at a flea market somewhere between here and 1997.
We were assured the flashing red light indicated “active paranormal energy.”
It also flashed when someone adjusted their chair.
Ultimately, I confirmed that the Silverveil Hotel doesn’t offer a portal to the Jazz Age. It offers a portal to the grim realization that some buildings should be left to crumble quietly, without the indignity of being rebranded as budget horror attractions.
If you go, bring cash. They add a “spiritual energy maintenance fee” to your bill. And no, I’m not kidding.