The Elevator on the 13th Floor
August 15, 2025
Damien had a habit of taking the elevator in his new apartment building late at night. He liked the hum of the machinery and the soft chime when the doors opened.
But on the 13th floor, something always felt… off.
The first time he reached 13, the lights flickered. A cold draft swept through the small cabin of the elevator.
“Just the old wiring,” he muttered, pressing the button for his floor.
The doors opened. The hallway was empty. The carpet looked faded, worn—but that wasn’t what caught his attention.
There were footprints.
Deep, muddy footprints leading down the hallway toward the emergency stairwell.
The next night, he returned. 13th floor again.
The elevator stopped abruptly between floors. The lights went out.
“Hello?” Damien called.
A whisper from the dark: “Damien…”
The voice was soft, familiar, but… wrong.
“Who’s there?”
No answer, just a cold hand brushing his shoulder. He spun around. Empty.
On the third night, he met Mrs. Grayson, the elderly woman who lived in 1305.
“You ride the elevator too often, don’t you?” she said.
“I… I guess,” Damien said nervously.
She nodded. “Then you’ve seen it.”
“Seen what?”
She leaned in close. “The floor doesn’t exist.”
Damien laughed, but it died in his throat when he saw the elevator’s display. 12… 14… 15. No 13.
“And yet,” she whispered, “somehow it’s there.”
That night, he took the stairs. One floor at a time, heart hammering, until he reached the 12th. The next floor should have been 14, but the stairwell stretched into a darkness he had never seen before.
A corridor appeared, lined with doors numbered 1301, 1302… 1312. And then 1313.
The door at 1313 was ajar. Cold air spilled out. Damien approached. A faint glow came from inside.
“Hello?” he called.
A voice replied, from somewhere deep inside:
“Damien…”
He stepped inside. The room was empty, except for a mirror. His reflection stared back—but behind it, another figure stood. Pale, twisted, smiling.
Damien stumbled back. “Who are you?”
The figure stepped forward, dragging its fingers along the glass. “You keep riding… you keep noticing…”
“What do you want from me?”
“To join us,” it whispered.
He ran to the stairwell. The hallway had changed. Doors were all closed now, yet soft whispers followed him:
“Damien…”
“Damien…”
“Damien…”
He reached the elevator on the 12th floor. Pressed the button. Nothing. The doors remained closed.
Finally, after a long minute, they opened. The cabin was empty—but the floor indicator was blinking: 13.
He hesitated.
Then the voice:
“Come… Damien…”
He fled down the stairs instead, all the way to the lobby. The doors opened, but the building felt… wrong. Empty. Silent. He looked up. The elevators were gone.
From somewhere above, a whisper carried down:
“See you tonight…”
The next week, Damien moved out. He tried to put it behind him.
But at 2:13 a.m., his phone buzzed with a notification: a message from an unknown number.
“Don’t forget the 13th floor.”