I was a bouncer on Whiskey Row in Prescott, AZ. I was working one fine night in October, 1994 or so, and the motion detectors on the second floor were going nuts. The 2nd floor had been locked up for quite a while. It was the floor that we know had been the scene of at least two murders in the 1800s.

We went into the kitchen, and it was a mess. There was no sign of forced entry. No doors or windows open. Whatever re-arranged the kitchen had done so from on that floor.

My fellow bouncers would often feel cold breezes in enclosed spaces (I did), and no one, NO ONE, wanted to ever go into the basement to change kegs or soft drink boxes.