The Elevator That Went Nowhere

Fahad worked late nights at a corporate building downtown. Most nights, he left quietly, riding the elevator alone, appreciating the silence after the chaos of fluorescent-lit offices and endless meetings. That night, everything felt off. The building was unusually cold, and the elevator smelled faintly of damp concrete. He pressed the button for the lobby and waited.

When the doors slid open, nothing had changed—except the lights flickered once and the elevator hummed differently. He stepped in, pressing the lobby button. The elevator shuddered, then descended. But after a few seconds, the display panel showed a floor that didn’t exist—“B13.” Fahad frowned. There was no B13 on any floor plan. The hum of the elevator grew louder, almost like a voice vibrating through metal.

Before he could react, the doors opened. Darkness stretched endlessly, deeper than the basement floors could possibly reach. He stepped out cautiously, flashlight in hand, and the door shut behind him. The elevator disappeared. The air smelled of decay, and faint whispers echoed from the shadows. He called out but received no answer. The only sound was the distant, irregular tapping of footsteps.

As he explored, he found old corridors, peeling walls, and broken furniture scattered around. He noticed names scratched into the walls—dates spanning decades. The names were accompanied by desperate messages: “Do not go further,” “It waits,” “The elevator takes those who are curious.” Fahad’s pulse quickened, but a strange pull urged him onward, deeper into the darkness.

The shadows moved independently. Shapes darted across the edges of his vision. Every time he turned, the hallway seemed longer, corridors bending in ways that made no sense. A door appeared at the end, faintly lit, with a number above it: 13. He approached slowly, feeling eyes on him, though nothing was visible. As he reached the handle, the whispers grew louder, now intelligible. “Leave… or join us…”

Fahad hesitated, fear battling curiosity. He opened the door. Inside was an elevator, identical to the one he had ridden moments ago. But the interior was darker, colder. The panel lit up, showing floors beyond reason: B13, B14, B15… numbers continuing endlessly. He pressed “1,” hoping to escape. The elevator shuddered violently.

Voices whispered from inside the walls. He tried pressing the buttons randomly, but each pressed floor opened to corridors that led deeper into the darkness. Panic surged. The elevator no longer obeyed him. It carried him instead, floor after floor, each opening revealing corridors with more names scratched into the walls. Some of the names looked freshly carved.

Fahad realized the truth: the elevator didn’t move through the building—it moved through something else, a realm connected to curiosity, fear, and the trapped souls of those who had dared to ride alone. The whispers grew louder, some screaming his name, others beckoning him to join them. The shadows now had form, faint humanoid shapes crawling along the walls, faces distorted in permanent terror.

When he pressed “1” again, the doors opened to his office floor—but it wasn’t his office. The lights were dim, and the furniture was broken. The windows looked out to a black void. And in the reflection of the polished floor, he saw himself—but pale, hollow-eyed, and smiling in a way he never had.

The doors slammed shut. The elevator hummed, waiting for its next passenger.

When he pressed “1” again, the doors opened to his office floor—but it wasn’t his office. The lights were dim, and the furniture was broken. The windows looked out to a black void. And in the reflection of the polished floor, he saw himself—but pale, hollow-eyed, and smiling in a way he never had.