The Elevator

John was an overworked office worker in New York, always staying late to finish up projects or handle last-minute tasks. It was another one of those nights when he found himself in an empty office, the sound of his typing echoing in the dimly lit space. The clock on the wall showed it was nearly midnight. He sighed, stretched, and decided it was time to head home.

He made his way to the elevator at the end of the hall. The elevator in this building had always felt a little unsettling—old, creaky, and with a flickering light overhead. But tonight, it almost seemed to groan as he approached. The numbers above the door flickered with a weak red glow.

John pressed the button and waited. He eyed the worn-out number pad on the wall, the paint on the buttons chipping away. He knew this elevator well; it was the only way down from the 13th floor. The stairs were blocked off for maintenance.

As the elevator doors slowly opened with a drawn-out squeal, John stepped inside. He pressed the ground floor button, but before the doors could close, he noticed something. Right below the familiar panel, there was an unfamiliar red button—a button that wasn’t there before.

It wasn’t a part of the worn-out keypad. This button was new, glossy, and unnervingly bright red.

Curiosity got the best of him, and he reached out to touch it. His fingers lingered in hesitation. “Maybe it’s some emergency thing,” he muttered. His pulse quickened as he gently pressed the button. To his relief, nothing seemed to happen at first. But then, a soft chime echoed within the elevator.

The doors stayed open, but the light overhead began flickering more intensely, casting sporadic shadows throughout the small, confined space. John felt his chest tighten as he heard a faint whisper. It was indistinct at first, like the rustling of leaves in the wind, but it gradually became clearer:

“Going down…”

The voice was dry and faint, as if it hadn’t been used in years. John's heart skipped a beat. He whipped around, expecting to find someone behind him, but there was no one—just the empty hallway outside and an unsettling stillness.

John pressed the button for the ground floor again, harder this time, as if forcing it would make the unease go away. The elevator doors finally closed with a metallic clang, sealing him in. But instead of the familiar hum of descending floors, there was only an oppressive silence. The elevator wasn’t moving.

And then, without warning, it began to shudder. It wasn’t the smooth motion John was used to. This felt more like something heavy was crawling inside the walls of the elevator, something struggling to break free.

The voice came again, louder this time:

“Going down…”

John’s eyes widened as he stared at the red button. It began to glow ominously, almost daring him to press it again.

His breathing grew shallow. The elevator remained stationary, yet the shuddering noises persisted, as if something was alive inside the walls. The overhead light flickered once more, each flash revealing fleeting shadows that seemed to move closer, inch by inch.

John jabbed at the button for the ground floor over and over, but it seemed the panel was no longer responsive. He took a deep breath and hit the emergency button, but all that came was a dull click. Nothing. It was as though the elevator had been severed entirely from the outside world.

The whispering voice returned, this time right behind him.

“Going down…”

John spun around in panic, his eyes darting to every corner of the elevator. But there was nothing there. Only the faint light and the suffocating silence. The walls felt closer than before, squeezing in on him.

Suddenly, the elevator lurched. It began to descend—not smoothly, but in erratic jerks. The floor numbers above the door started counting down, one by one: 13… 12… 11…

John’s stomach churned as the numbers rapidly decreased, each digit making a loud, ominous ding. His eyes were drawn again to the red button, which seemed to pulse in sync with the elevator’s uneasy movements.

“This can’t be real,” he muttered to himself. He pulled out his phone to call for help, but it only displayed a black screen and a reflection of his terrified face. He attempted to reboot it, but the screen remained lifeless.

His ears caught a noise above him—a scraping, like metal claws dragging across the ceiling. He tilted his head up, and his blood ran cold as he noticed thin, dark lines slowly spreading across the light panel. They twisted and branched out like veins, or cracks… or something alive.

The numbers kept counting down: 3… 2… 1…

“Where is it going?” John whispered, his voice trembling. The building didn’t have a basement, so how could the elevator be moving beyond the ground floor?

He was almost afraid to look at the display, but his curiosity overpowered his terror. When the elevator passed the ground floor and reached B1, John’s pulse spiked. He desperately pressed the button for the ground floor again, but the entire panel was dark, except for the red button, which seemed to absorb all the remaining light in the elevator, glowing brighter and brighter.

A whisper filled the elevator, louder this time, and unmistakably clear:

“Don’t look behind you.”

John froze. The voice was close—so close he could almost feel its breath on the back of his neck. He fought the urge to turn around, squeezing his eyes shut. Sweat dripped down his forehead. But even with his eyes closed, he felt it—a presence standing directly behind him.

“Going down…” the voice repeated, almost mockingly, like it was savoring his fear. John’s body stiffened. His legs felt like they were made of lead. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at the reflection in the elevator’s shiny metal wall.

Behind him, barely visible in the dim, flickering light, stood a shadowy figure. It was taller than him, its head bent at an unnatural angle, and its eyes were nothing but empty black holes, staring straight through him.

John’s throat tightened, and he turned around.

There was no one there.

The elevator reached B3 and the doors began to creak open.

John took a step back, eyes glued to the widening gap. All he could see beyond the doors was darkness—a cold, empty void that seemed to draw him in. He wanted to scream, to run, to do anything but stand there, paralyzed with fear.

The darkness appeared endless, swallowing the faint light inside the elevator. He felt as if something within the blackness was watching at him, waiting.

His body refused to move; his legs rooted in place. The open doors let in a rush of cold wind, and with it came the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing in the darkness. They were slow, deliberate, like someone—or something—was approaching.

John reached for the button panel, desperate to close the doors, but his fingers trembled so violently that he missed it completely. He forced himself to look down at the red button. Its once-glossy surface now seemed dull and cracked, as if it had aged decades in mere minutes. He hesitated, but with no other choice, he pressed it.

Nothing happened. The elevator refused to respond, as if it were no longer part of the world he knew. The only change was the silence that followed, almost as if the elevator itself was holding its breath.

Then, from the darkness, the voice returned, more insistent this time:

“Come out…”

John swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He glanced at the panel again, but the numbers above the doors were gone, replaced by a single pulsating B3 that seemed to throb in time with his racing heart.

The whispering continued—a chorus of dry, raspy voices urging him, tempting him to step into the void beyond. He felt as if unseen hands were reaching for him, pulling at his clothes.

The light inside the elevator began to dim further. Shadows gathered in the corners, pooling and stretching toward him. John knew he had to act quickly. He took a step forward but then stepped back, hesitating. He pressed his back against the wall, hoping the doors would close on their own. But they stayed open, welcoming the darkness.

He turned his head slightly to glance at the reflective metal wall. He wished he hadn’t.

The shadowy figure from before was back, but this time, it was closer. Its twisted head hovered just inches from his shoulder. The figure’s eyes—or the hollow spaces where its eyes should have been—bore into him, unblinking.

It whispered, its voice barely audible over the pounding of John’s heart:

“It’s waiting for you…”

John’s legs nearly gave out. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. The air around him felt thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe. He felt his knees buckle as he attempted to push himself away from the wall, but the elevator seemed to close in on him.

The light continued to fade. John could barely see his own hands.

In his panic, he fumbled for his phone, desperate for some light, some contact with reality. When he finally pulled it out, the screen lit up. But instead of the home screen, it showed a grainy, black-and-white video feed. The footage was shaky, and the angle suggested it was taken from somewhere inside the elevator shaft, looking down.

John’s eyes widened in horror as he saw himself on the screen. The video showed him standing inside the elevator, back against the wall, and then… something else.

In the feed, a dark silhouette emerged from one side of the screen, slowly moving toward him. John frantically glanced around, but no one was there. And yet, the figure on the screen kept getting closer, raising a bony hand to touch his shoulder.

The elevator suddenly jolted violently, and the phone slipped from John’s grasp. It clattered to the floor, the screen cracking, and the video feed went black.

John’s panic reached its peak. He lunged for the panel, pressing all the buttons frenetically, hoping something would respond. The elevator began to creak, as if mocking his efforts. He turned to face the open doorway, trying to convince himself to run out into the darkness, but the footsteps had stopped.

Everything was silent.

And then, slowly, the figure on the wall’s reflection began to move again, turning its head to look at him.

“Come out…” it whispered one last time, its voice layered with the echoes of countless others.

John’s instincts finally took over. He bolted toward the open doors, ready to leap into whatever lay beyond. But as he crossed the threshold, he felt a pair of cold hands clamp down on his shoulders, yanking him back inside.

The doors slammed shut with a crash, and the panel lit up once more. The number above the door changed from B3 to 13, and the elevator began to ascend.

John collapsed against the wall, gasping. His eyes darted nervously from side to side, but the figure had vanished. The light flickered and came back to life, and the elevator’s movements became smooth again, as if nothing had happened.

When it reached the 13th floor, the doors opened to reveal the familiar, empty hallway. John staggered out and took one last look inside the elevator.

The panel seemed old and worn once more, and the red button was no longer there.

The doors began to close slowly, and John thought he saw a pair of dark eyes watching him from the shadows inside the elevator. But before he could be sure, the doors shut completely.

John stood there, trembling uncontrollably.

“Calm down,” he muttered, forcing himself to breathe. His legs felt like jelly, but he didn’t let himself collapse. He needed to get out of the building, find people, light, and something solid to convince himself he wasn’t losing his mind.

The hallway was quiet, too quiet. John glanced down both ends, expecting to see his coworkers’ usual clutter or hear the distant hum of cleaning equipment, but there was only an eerie calm. He checked his watch—1:07 a.m. Was it possible he had been inside the elevator that long?

He reached the stairwell door, and to his relief, it wasn’t blocked. He swung it open and descended, each creaking step echoing through the dark, empty space. As he went down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him. The shadows seemed to stretch and contort at the corners of his vision, taunting him.

John’s mind replayed what had happened in the elevator over and over, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to slip away, like a nightmare that blurred with time. Yet, his shoulders still tingled where those icy hands had grabbed him. It was real. It had to be.

When he finally reached the lobby, the relief was overwhelming. The lights were on, and everything looked as it should—no creeping shadows, no whispers in the dark. Just the sterile, familiar emptiness of an office building after hours. But now that he thought about it, the place was almost too empty. Where were the security guards?

As he crossed the lobby toward the exit, he heard a ding behind him. It was a cheerful and familiar chime, nothing like the metallic groan from before. John froze, holding his breath, and forced himself to turn around.

The elevator doors were open again, with the dim interior light spilling into the lobby. It looked perfectly normal—no shadows, no whispers, just an empty elevator. John was about to turn away when he noticed something. The floor display above the door read: B3.

The elevator had gone back to that place, and now it was waiting.

John’s skin prickled, and he rushed toward the exit. He needed to get out—now. But just as he reached the door handle, he heard the whisper again.

“It’s waiting for you…”

John’s hand slipped off the handle, his breathing coming in shallow gasps.

He yanked at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic rising, he pulled harder, rattling the handle. Locked.

He turned to try another exit, but the ceiling lights in the lobby began to flicker, casting erratic shadows that danced along the walls. They buzzed and blinked once, twice, and then—

Total darkness.

John’s heart hammered in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, desperate for any source of light, but the screen remained stubbornly black. He was enveloped by a suffocating void, the silence pressing in around him.

Then, just as abruptly as they had gone out, the lights came back on. But something was wrong.

John wasn’t in the lobby anymore. He was inside the elevator.

Terror flooded him. He desperately tried to get out, but the elevator doors slammed shut, trapping him inside.

“No, no, no…!” John shouted, slamming his fists against the cold, unyielding metal. He tried to wedge his fingers into door gap, but just as he did, the lights overhead flickered.

And then he heard the voice—right next to his ear.

“Going down…”

John turned, and saw the shadowy figure standing beside him. It smiled, revealing rows of teeth that were too sharp, too many.

John screamed. He pressed himself against the wall, calling for help, hoping someone would hear him. But no one came. No one heard him.

The elevator shook violently and plummeted into darkness, and then—silence.

John was never seen again.