One thing I love about big cities is the history.

This is the view from my hotel room in San Francisco.

It’s not much to look at, so I was disappointed for a moment. Then I looked closer at everything that is there, outside my window, and indeed everywhere in San Francisco: layers of history, starting at the street and stacking up to each level of the looming buildings.

One thing caught my attention: “Hotel Paisley,” in faded letters at the top of the building I’m facing, partially covered over by history. The windows below look like they’d crumble if anyone stared too hard through them. The hotel’s sorry state hints that it’s been there for a long time, and probably has stories to tell. Luckily, those stories are Googlable.

What I found didn’t disappoint. According to this article, the place is layered with entities that haunt it, from the woman who’s lived there for twenty years, to the man who sees skeletons over his bed and swears the hotel is full of spirits, to Florence Cushing.

In 1911, Florence flung herself from one of those old windows across from me and splattered on the barren concrete below—the view I’d considered so uninteresting a few minutes before.

I’m sure similar stories are all around me. It’s almost overwhelming. But I think it’s best to wait until after I leave to Google my own hotel’s name + “haunted.”