“Sir, there is no elevator,” the bellhop said.
“Impossible,” the man said. “I saw my wife and boy step in.” The bellhop pulled the man away from the lobby into a dark corner.
“Gone, sir, gone. My condolences.” The man grabbed the bellhop by his collar and threw him into the wall. “There was an elevator, sir. Unholy thing. They’d go in, and it would not appear again until they’d starved to death or dehydrated. Their fingers turned to stumps of dried blood from clawing at the door. We destroyed the elevator and dry walled over the doors.”
“I saw them step in.”
“I know, sir, I know.” The bellhop said. “My condolences.”