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Posted January 25th, 2010 by Aaron Johnson in Fiction
There's a demon in the elevator of the hotel down the street. Every year exactly fourteen people are swallowed in darkness and forgotten. Last year, there were what's-his-name and what's-her-face, among others, completely ripped from the fabric of reality. This hotel exists just beyond the edge of oblivion. Roaches check in. They don't check out.
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