The Elevator That Skipped the Lobby

I’ve never been that person who refuses to take elevators. You know the type—the “I’ll take the stairs, thanks” folks. Honestly, I always thought they were being a little dramatic.

Sure, elevators creep me out a little sometimes, especially when you’re alone late at night. But who isn’t a little on edge when you’re trapped in a steel box with nowhere to go? I always told myself it was irrational, nothing more than a leftover childhood fear.

That’s what I believed.

Until that night.

It was one of those long, soul-sucking workdays that stretched into the night. I was the last one in the office, hunched over spreadsheets that should have been finished hours ago. When I finally packed up, it was nearly midnight. The building had that eerie after-hours silence, like the walls were listening.

Have you ever noticed how office buildings feel totally different after dark? The same cubicles, the same vending machines, but they feel... off. Hollow, almost.

Anyway, I hit the elevator button like I’d done a hundred times before. The doors opened.

Empty.

No big deal. I stepped in, pressed the lobby button, and leaned back, scrolling through my phone, trying to forget how dead-quiet the place was.

Except... the elevator didn’t move.

The doors just stayed open, like they were waiting for something.

I hit the close button. Nothing.

Pressed the lobby button again. Still nothing.

I was starting to get annoyed. I mean, I was tired, hungry, ready to go home. I didn’t have the energy for this.

Finally, the doors slid shut with a slow groan, and the elevator jerked like it always does—except instead of going down, the numbers started going up.

Wait... what?

Our building doesn’t have an 18th floor. It only goes up to 15. I’ve worked there for two years—I knew that for a fact.

But the numbers kept climbing.

I felt my stomach drop, that cold sweat panic creeping in. I kept pressing the lobby button, over and over, like maybe it was just some glitch.

But the elevator didn’t care.

The numbers stopped at 23.

The doors opened.

And... it was pitch black.

I mean, not dark like the lights were out. I mean nothing. Like, the space outside the elevator wasn’t even a hallway. No walls. No floors. Just... black.

I stood there, frozen, waiting for my eyes to adjust, but they never did.

And then—I swear on everything—I felt something.

Not saw. Not heard.

Felt.

Something out there. Watching me. Waiting for me to step out.

I slammed the close button, heart racing, palms slick. The doors finally creaked shut, but the elevator didn’t move.

The lights above flickered... then died completely.

And in that suffocating blackness, I heard it.

Breathing.

Not mine.

Right behind me.

I don’t remember what happened after that. Maybe I blacked out. Maybe my mind just couldn’t handle it.

All I know is, I woke up in the lobby, slumped against the wall. A security guard was shaking me awake like nothing had happened.

He joked, “Long night, huh?”

I wanted to tell him everything—the floor that shouldn’t exist, the darkness, the thing behind me—but when I looked back at the elevator panel?

Fifteen floors. That’s it.

No 23rd floor. No nothing.

It’s like it never happened.

Or maybe... it only happens to people like me, who think they’re too rational for silly fears.

I take the stairs now.

Every time.