The security guard at the old hotel between Kuhio Avenue and the Ala Wai started his second sweep of the property at three in the morning. The security elevator would only activate with a special key that he kept on a separate key ring in his wallet. He pressed the button to the top floor, number thirty. From there he’d have to work his way down each floor until he got back to the lobby; from floor to floor it was quiet and uneventful. After, the elevator let him out to the lobby an hour or so later, he reached in to his pocket to retrieve the special key from his wallet, but there was already another hand in there. The security guard screamed and fumbled for a small knife in his other pocket but there was already another hand in there too. Reaching in to his breast pocket for his whistle proved to be even more frustrating because there also was another hand. The thing that sent him completely over the edge was when he felt the warm breath on his ear and heard a disembodied voice say,
“Thief,”
…
The next day the security guard called the main office and asked his supervisor to meet him at the front desk of the hotel. He also asked that the general manager be present. The guard arrived with a large box and two suitcases and confessed to stealing items from the lost and found and from the rooms when guests were either sleeping or away on tours during the day.
“Seems that the ghosts here didn’t like the idea of me stealing from the guests,” the security guard confessed.
“It’s not just any kind of ghost,” the general manager began. “The staff here runs on an honor system; the old security guard before you, he did too. You’re the one who filled his position after he died and the one thing he couldn’t stomach was a thief stealing from the guests of this hotel. Whenever he would bust somebody, the first thing he’d do was rifle through their pockets, and whisper the word, “Thief” in their ear,”
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