Every night I take the elevator to the basement… even though we don’t have one

Hey everyone. I work nights at a mid-range hotel off the highway. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean, quiet, and usually empty after midnight. I’m the night porter — basically, I clean up the lobby, restock towels, handle laundry, and do any random maintenance jobs that come up.

There’s something I need to talk about, though. Something I can’t explain.

The elevator in this hotel has started taking me to a floor that doesn’t exist.

The first time it happened

It was about three weeks ago. I was finishing my rounds on the fourth floor, getting ready to head back to the lobby. I hit the button for “L,” and the elevator started moving like normal — except it didn’t stop at the lobby.

It kept going.

At first, I thought maybe the system glitched. But then the display changed.

B.

We don’t have a basement.

The elevator slowed, then stopped. The doors opened with that usual chime, and I just stood there, staring.

The basement that isn’t

It looked like… an older version of the hotel. The same wallpaper, but yellowed and peeling. Old light fixtures, the kind that hum with that electric buzz when you get too close.

The air smelled like mold and copper.

There were rooms down there — doors labeled 001 through 018. The carpeting was water-stained, and the “Exit” sign flickered weakly at the end of the hallway.

No sound. No movement.

When I stepped out, my radio went to static.

After about thirty seconds, I panicked and got back in the elevator. The “B” button was gone. Just 1 through 4, and L.

The second time

Two nights later, it happened again. Same thing: I hit “L,” and it took me to B.

This time, I told myself I’d at least check one of the doors. Room 005 was slightly ajar. I pushed it open just enough to peek inside.

The air was heavy — like it hadn’t been moved in years.

There was a bed with no mattress, just rusty springs. A phone on the nightstand, old and dust-caked. I could swear I heard faint breathing, but the room was empty.

Then I heard it — a soft knock, from the next room over.

Three knocks.

Pause.

Three more.

I ran.

When the elevator doors closed, the display glitched between B and L for a few seconds before finally taking me back up.

Management doesn’t believe me

I told my supervisor the next morning. He said there’s no basement. There used to be an underground level back in the 1960s, but it was sealed after a flood damaged the foundation. “You must’ve just hit a maintenance mode or something,” he said.

He even opened the elevator panel for me — there’s no “B” button, no hidden switch, nothing.

But I know what I saw.

Last night

Around 3:00 a.m., I was restocking towels on the second floor when the elevator dinged.

It was empty.

Doors open.

Display flashing B.

It was inviting me.

I don’t even remember hitting the button, but suddenly I was back in that hallway. This time, it was darker. Only half the lights worked. The air was freezing.

I tried to take a picture with my phone, but the camera wouldn’t focus. The image kept warping, like the lens was underwater.

Then the knocking started again. Louder.

From multiple doors.

And a voice, hoarse and distant, called out:

“Can you let us out now?”

I dropped the towels and ran back to the elevator. I didn’t even press a button — the doors shut on their own and took me straight to the lobby.

When I looked back at the panel, “B” was gone again.

Tonight

I swear I’m not crazy. The elevator’s been fine all evening. But there’s something new now — every time the doors open, I smell that same metallic, damp air.

And a few minutes ago, while I was cleaning the mirrors near the lobby, I saw the reflection of the elevator panel behind me.

The display was lit up.

B.

But when I turned around, the elevator was empty, doors closed, light off.

I think it’s waiting for me to go back down.

And I think next time, if I do —

I might not come back up.

UPDATE: I went back down to the basement. I don’t think I was supposed to.

Hey,

This’ll probably be my last post.

After I wrote the first one, a lot of you told me not to go back down. You said to quit, to leave it alone. I wish I’d listened.

But the elevator wouldn’t stop calling.

The signs started small.

Every night this week, the “B” light flickered faintly behind the panel — like it was trying to burn its way through the plastic.

Sometimes, when I stood in the lobby, I could hear the elevator moving on its own.

Up.

Down.

Then that soft ding, like someone had arrived.

The camera feed would glitch every time — static, then a flash of the doors opening to nothing.

Except last night.

Last night

I came in for my shift around 10:45 p.m. The manager was already gone. No guests checked in.

The whole building was dead silent.

When I walked past the elevator, I heard something faint.

Knocking.

Not from the shaft — from behind the doors.

Rhythmic, slow, like someone trapped between floors.

I told myself it was just old machinery, but the sound followed me across the lobby.

Then my radio crackled.

“Basement level… please.”

It was a whisper.

My voice recorder picked it up, but the time stamp says 2:13 a.m., even though it was only 11:04.

The ride down

I don’t even remember pressing the button.

When the doors opened, I was already on B.

This time, the hallway looked different. Cleaner. Lit.

Like it had just been built — fresh wallpaper, shining floors, perfectly arranged furniture.

But all the room doors were slightly open. Every single one.

And inside each one… the lights were off, except for the faint blue glow of an old TV playing static.

The air was colder than before. I could see my breath.

The knocking again

I started walking, trying to convince myself it was just a dream. Then the knocking started again — this time behind every door, in perfect sync.

Knock.

Pause.

Knock.

Then voices. Not angry. Not loud. Just… pleading.

“We can’t check out.”

“Please tell them we’re still here.”

“It’s cold.”

The air felt heavy, pressing against me. My chest hurt.

When I turned back, the elevator doors were gone.

Just wall.

Room 009

There was a light under the door.

And a shadow moving.

I don’t know why, but I reached for the handle. It was warm — too warm, like it had been in sunlight.

When I pushed the door open, the knocking stopped.

Inside was a bed, perfectly made. A phone on the nightstand, off the hook.

And on the TV, an old black-and-white feed of the lobby camera.

I could see myself standing there, staring into the screen.

Then, on the footage, the elevator doors behind me opened.

And something stepped out.

The last thing I remember

I ran. Down the hall, past the doors, toward where the elevator should’ve been.

But the hallway just kept going. Every few steps, I’d pass the same door numbers. 007, 008, 009, over and over.

The knocking followed me.

Then I heard the elevator chime again.

I turned, and the doors were there.

Open.

I stepped inside and hit “L.”

The light blinked, then changed.

B.

The doors closed.

Posted by another employee

This account belongs to one of our night staff. He hasn’t shown up for three days.

Housekeeping found his radio and keycard in the lobby, right in front of the elevator.

Management says it’s a mental health thing, that he “walked off the job.”

But last night, the elevator started moving on its own again.

The display flickers between L and B, even though there’s still no basement on the blueprints.

And when it stops, the doors open to an empty shaft — except for one thing:

the sound of soft knocking.

From below.