“Yes, sir,” he muttered, “every night.”
“And the reason?—there must, of course, be some reason. An elevator can’t start off unless someone or something starts it.” He was silent. “I see there’s some mystery attached to it,” I persisted. “What is it? Tell me.” He remained obdurate for some seconds, but eventually succumbed.
“For goodness sake, don’t let on, sir,” he said, “because the boss has forbidden any of the staff to mention it, and if he found out I’d told you, he’d sack me at once. This hotel is haunted. Several years ago, before my time, a visitor arrived here late one night and was found by the day porter dead in the lift. How he died was never exactly known; it was rumoured he had either committed suicide or been murdered. It was never found out who he was or where he came from, and, as he had no money on him, he was buried like a pauper. Well, sir, ever since then that elevator has taken it into its head to set itself in motion at the same time every night. Sometimes the gates clang just as if someone were getting in and out. At first I usedn’t to like it at all. You can imagine, perhaps, what it’s like to know that you are the only person about in a place of this sort—and then to hear the elevator suddenly beginning to descend. However, by degrees, I got accustomed to it, and if that was all that happened, I shouldn’t mind.”
“What else does happen?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you, sir. Would you like a bit of exercise?”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “Why?”
“Will you try the staircase, then, instead of the elevator? Count the stairs and note carefully when you come to the forty-first.”
I agreed. The stairs were narrow and tortuous, the light meagre, and soon I began to feel very, very far from my friend the porter, and very much alone in the building. This feeling increased the further I proceeded, until, at last, it became so unbearable that I involuntarily halted. I had conscientiously counted the steps. I was at the thirty-ninth. I looked around me. High over head was a kind of funnel formed of black, funereal, and apparently never-ending banisters; below me was a similarly constructed pit. The flickering gas-light brought into play innumerable shadows. I tried to look away from them, for their gambols were unpleasantly emphasized by the ominously oppressive silence, but they fascinated me to such an extent that I was forced to watch them, and, whilst I was thus engaged, I became suddenly aware of a presence. Something I could not see was standing on the staircase, a few steps ahead, barring my way. I advanced one step, and with a tremendous effort I struggled on to the next one. Then the most frightful, the most overwhelming, diabolical terror seized me, and turning round, I tore downstairs.
“Well,” the door porter said, “you’ve come back. Couldn’t pass it. No one who tries to do so at this time of night ever can.”
“What is it?” I gasped. “What is the beastly thing?”