11:27 pm. Perfect. I was going to make it home just on time from the party in the honeymoon suite in the Hilton in Chicago. I was already in the elevator on the way down from the 9th floor.
The elevator suddenly slowed to a stop to let a man on from the 6th floor. Trench coat. Fedora. Wow, that’s really cheesy.

Once again, the elevator slowed, after almost 10 seconds of moving. I looked at the digits above the doors. It was still on floor six? hm, must be broken. The elevator did slow, but it didn’t stop, just cruised down the shaft very slowly.
After five minutes of the rediculous timing, i looked up at the digits. 66. Yes, it was broken.
At this rate, the elevator should have made it to the bottom of the shaft anyways. We were still moving down. One small glance at the stranger to see his reaction. Completely calm. Smiling, but his eyes were sheilded by his hat.
Another look at the digits. 666. I glanced at him again. Facing me, eye sockets completely empty, his pocket outlining a kitchen knife.