The Elevator

A Paranormal Horror Novella by Gaspar A. Hernandez

Prologue

7 days later

They don’t believe anything I’m saying. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t believe me either.

Sheila, in her late twenties, was lying propped up in her hospital bed. The painkillers weren’t working. Well, they were. But only for the bullet wound in her lower left side. Not for the deep, raggedly torn wounds around her crushed left collarbone.

Her cell phone buzzed. She looked at it. It was a text message from that guy “Ted”, from the dating site—again. What a jerk. She did not make the date last Friday night, stuck in that elevator. All week he had been accusing her of being a flake, but he still wanted to meet. Go figure, she thought. He was trying to come across as a tough and sexy guy. Yeah, right.

“And you expect us to believe all that?” the detective with an outdated mustache said. There were two of them, standing at the foot of her bed. Smirks plastered across their faces. She wished they had been there. They would have pissed their pants before dying.

“That’s what happened,” she stated frankly. It’s the fourth time. Same details. Exactly the same, she said to herself. They were looking for holes in her story. But it was all true.

They would never believe her. No matter how many times she repeated it without flaw. Who would? They would have had to have been inside that elevator. But if they had, they’d be gone. She didn’t even know why she was alive.

“There was blood on you from everyone inside that elevator,” said the other detective, who looked as if he had swallowed a huge doughnut that had settled around his midsection.

“Also blood from people that were not even in there,” said the detective with the bygone mustache. He looked and dressed as if he were still living in the 80s.

“There’s no way. What really happened?” asked detective doughboy.

“I already told you both the truth.”

“Sure—you’re lying. You had some part in it.”

“Right, I shot myself, tore up my shoulder and crushed my collarbone as a cover-up.” Her smart mouth and wise cracks had saved her. Her life had changed, so she didn’t care how they took it.

Sheila winced. The wounds were burning. Deep into her torso. Throbbing. They were infusing antibiotics into her. It wasn’t working.

The detectives stood silently. Not knowing what else to ask or say, their tongues were tied.

It was all incomprehensible. The aftermath. They couldn’t believe it. Accepting the story would make them sound like idiots.

“You know,” said detective 80s, “DNA tests found blood on you from a victim months ago. Who wasn’t even in that elevator—or in this city.”

Well, that’s not surprising, she thought.

“Imagine that,” she said.

Let’s board.

Chapter 1

A brief, two-toned chime ending in an abrupt “ding-dong” announced the elevator. The inflection of the chime signaled its readiness to be boarded as the panels glided apart with a “whir”. The down arrow above the opening illuminated green. It was the corridor on the sixtieth floor of a commercial office building. The corridor had a stale, dusty smell.

Inside the elevator cab stood a diverse assortment of five occupants, patiently waiting. It was a large elevator cab that could hold three times as many people, but the five stood close to the front.

The bright rectangle of light from the cab, illuminating the threshold, cut into the dimly lit corridor. The cast of light appeared to have momentarily stirred shadows within the empty corridor. Dust motes danced and swirled within the shaft of light as the occupants stood silently waiting.

In the corridor, there was no one to be seen, no activity. It was clearly late. Past the end of a workday.

They waited.

A familiar Mozart symphony, almost imperceptible, was playing softly—the music drifting around within the surrounding space of the occupants and spilling into the emptiness of the corridor. Its theme weaving a soft gossamer of relaxation, just beneath the hum of the machinery. Lending some elegance to an otherwise mundane journey.

Cool recycled air drifted out of the elevator. They stood close together, Sheila in the back. The plumber fidgeted.

“Wait!” came a distant shout from somewhere within the darkness. It was clearly the voice of a young man.

The shout was unwavering, measured, and direct.

Chapter 2

Hanging in the air for a moment, the shout from the darkness reverberated off the corridor walls with an echo that was dying almost as quickly as it had begun.

The plumber, standing up front and in the middle of the occupants, leaned outward past the open elevator doors and searched into the darkness. His neck and shoulders extended past the threshold as he stretched to glance down the length of the corridor.

He saw no one.

He was wearing faded blue denim overalls with the words “Dependable Plumbing” stitched in large white font across the upper left chest. The overalls had smudges of greasy stains, with a mix of dirt patterns conveying many years of hard labor. He smelled of grease and sweat.

Built as his work demanded, the plumber was sturdy and strong. His back was solid. He had broad shoulders and thick arms. His receding hairline had a sprinkling of gray, and his belly hinted at the beginnings of too many cold beers. He looked like a man who had achieved a measure of success in his business. He appeared to be in his fifties.

Gazing down the length of the empty corridor, he scanned the shadows. He remained motionless, half cast into the elevator cab light, as he searched the stillness.

Still, no one was visible. He scoffed and slowly resumed his position to continue waiting.

After a moment, he rolled his eyes and leaned to his right. He extended his right arm as his calloused and nicked hand reached for the elevator button panel in front of a taller, suited man. He had work to do. He did not want to waste time waiting for anyone.

His index finger zeroed in on the “close” button.

The suited man tracked the plumber’s hand with narrowed eyes, as the index finger located the close button at the bottom of the panel.

The suited man was tall and lean, a commanding figure with broad shoulders. Standing just over six feet tall, he was the tallest of the occupants. He was wearing a sharply tailored, expensive suit with a white, fitted dress shirt. His muscular definition was clear beneath his dark blue suit.

But what stood out the most was a long, jagged, rope-like scar of fibrous tissue. It was darker than his skin, varied in width, and traveled from behind his left ear irregularly down the side of his neck, disappearing under his collar. It was a visual testament to an unpleasant, or perhaps violent, event in his past that had forged him. The scar enhanced his tough, hardened, and intense demeanor.

He looked like someone not to be reckoned with.

The plumber pointedly jabbed at the close button several times. Each jab a hard press, as if pressing hard was necessary to get the elevator to understand that it needed to close its doors and continue its descent. He made sure that each press was deliberate and purposeful.

The suited man’s eyes remained fixed on the plumber’s finger as it repeatedly jabbed at the button. He grew uncomfortable with the action. The plumber had intruded into his area in front of the button panel.

The suited man momentarily glanced at the ceiling, and the wall beside him, and returned his focus on the button panel.

Satisfied that he had sent an obvious message to the elevator—he did not want to wait any longer for an unseen person—the plumber returned to his position and waited for the doors to close.

The doors remained open. They all waited.

After stretched seconds, a low whirring started, which was followed by a double tone, and the elevator door panels closed slowly.

As the inner panels came to within inches of each other, as if out of nowhere, a young man inserted a hand into the narrowing gap and obstructed the closure.

The panels abruptly froze, reversed, and parted open, revealing a tall, scrawny teenager standing just outside the threshold, waiting in the cast of light.

The young teenager waited for the door panels to fully reopen. He then stepped into the cab, turned, giving all the occupants his back, and waited for the door panels to close.

The elevator hummed.

And the doors closed.

Descending.