Fourteen-year-old Jake hated elevators. The way the doors closed like a trap, the lurch in his stomach as it ascended—it all made his skin crawl. But tonight, there was no other choice. His mom had sent him to bring his sister Hailey's forgotten jacket to her friend's apartment, a towering building with 20 stories. The staircase was locked, leaving him staring at the elevator's dull metal doors.
Jake sighed and pressed the button. A faint ding echoed, and the doors slid open. The elevator was empty, just as he hoped. He stepped inside, clutching Hailey's jacket like a security blanket, and pressed the button for the 16th floor.
The ride was smooth at first, the hum of machinery filling the silence. But as the elevator passed the 7th floor, it shuddered and stopped.
"Great," Jake muttered, jabbing the buttons. Nothing worked. He pushed the emergency button, but instead of the operator's voice, he heard static. Then, faintly, a whisper.
"Thirteen... come to thirteen..."
Jake froze. The voice was soft, raspy, and unnatural, like wind scraping against stone. He glanced at the floor display. The elevator should have been stuck between 7 and 8, but the display read 13.
"Thirteen doesn't exist," Jake whispered to himself. The building had skipped that floor—like so many others—because of superstition.
The lights flickered, plunging the elevator into darkness for a split second before the dim bulbs sputtered back to life. Jake's heart pounded as the doors creaked open.
Beyond the threshold was no ordinary floor. The hallway was dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights, casting long, shifting shadows. The air smelled damp, like wet concrete and rust. The walls were lined with peeling, yellowed wallpaper, and the faint sound of a child's laughter echoed in the distance.
Jake stepped back. "Nope. Not doing this."
But the elevator doors wouldn't close. The button panel was unresponsive. Jake felt trapped, a fly caught in the web of something unseen.
Then he saw it.
At the far end of the hallway, a figure stood. It was small, maybe the size of a child, but its proportions were all wrong—its arms too long, its head tilted at an impossible angle. The figure twitched, jerking closer with each flicker of the lights.
Jake's breath caught in his throat. He clutched the jacket tighter, his hands trembling. "Stay back!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
The figure paused, tilting its head further, as if studying him. Then it raised one unnaturally long arm and pointed.
Behind you.
Jake spun around, but the elevator was empty. When he turned back, the figure was gone.
The hallway stretched endlessly now, the walls seeming to breathe as they pulsed and creaked. A low, guttural sound filled the air, growing louder. Jake bolted, running blindly down the corridor.
He didn't know how long he ran, but suddenly, the walls shifted. The hallway narrowed, forcing him to squeeze through. The rustling sound grew deafening, like a million whispers in unison. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw them.
Faces. Pressed against the peeling wallpaper, their mouths stretched wide in silent screams. Their eyes followed him, unblinking.
Jake stumbled and fell, scraping his hands on the rough floor. The jacket flew out of his grasp. He scrambled to his feet, only to see the long-armed figure standing inches away. Its face was a blank slate, smooth and pale, but Jake could feel its gaze piercing through him.
The figure reached out, its hand hovering just above his shoulder.
Jake screamed.
Suddenly, the elevator doors slammed shut, and the lights returned to normal. He was back in the elevator, lying on the cold floor. The button for the 16th floor glowed faintly, and the hum of movement resumed.
When the doors opened, Hailey stood there, looking annoyed. "What took you so long?"
Jake stared at her, his breath ragged. He looked down at the jacket, now back in his hands, and shuddered.
"Let's take the stairs back," he whispered.
Hailey rolled her eyes. "Whatever."
As they turned to leave, Jake glanced back at the elevator. The floor display glitched briefly, flashing 13 before returning to normal.
And from somewhere deep in the building, a whisper followed him:
"See you next time."