The 13th Floor

By Priyansh Singh

I’m sure it’s happened to everyone before. You’re almost done writing that really long email you had to finish when- boop -your system shuts down because you thought the charger could wait. This had to be the fifth time today.

I sighed and looked at the clock above. Working overtime didn’t pay, but it was becoming a habit at this point. I supposed it was fine as Christmas was around the corner, although it had never looked farther.

The email wasn’t going to type itself, but my stomach’s vocabulary was limited to: dinner. Since that word doesn’t really fit in a work email, I decided to call it a day.

The hallway was empty, but that was no surprise. People spent the few weeks before Christmas getting into the Christmas spirit and leaving work early. My shoes squeaked on the marble floor. So, they could afford to make the entire building a marble walkway, but they couldn’t afford to give me a raise. I was going to have a long chat with my boss later. Oh, wait. My boss resigned last week.

When I got to the elevator, I checked my pockets. Had I left my employee card in the cafeteria again? Why couldn’t the big shots just create a thumbprint system? Where was a good punch in – punch out when you needed one?

Since the main entrance wouldn’t listen to my excuses, I had to go up to the cafeteria to get my card. When I stepped in the elevator, I immediately sensed something was wrong, but I didn’t understand what. I pressed the button for the thirteenth floor and let the annoying music envelop my ears.

When the doors opened, I stepped out and practically fainted at what I saw.

There was no cafeteria. No tables lining the hall smelling suspiciously of stale sandwiches. Only a dark, dank hallway that stretched out beyond my point of view.

I glanced around rapidly. There were similarities to the other floors in the building. The doors were in exact symmetry, and if that sounds strange to hear, try playing with numbers for seventeen years in a box and see where it gets you. There was ceiling – to – floor windows, only these were covered in black tarp. I ripped one off, with no concern for vandalization fines, but found myself staring into a hollow, empty void. I turned away before I could work up a fit abut what that was supposed to mean.

It was evident that this was a place where I was not supposed to be, possibly nobody was supposed to be. So, I turned back towards the elevator- only to acquaint myself with yet more wall.

Now, I was on the verge of having a panic attack. I slumped to the ground and tried my best to breathe. What was happening? Was I hallucinating? That was the only possible explanation.

After several face-plants into where I thought the elevator would be, that idea had to be scrapped. This was all real, not a sign of how much I needed dinner.

Crisp, meaty burger with steaming fries on the side. What I wouldn’t give for that right now.

After repeated slaps on one’s own face, I came to my senses. I got up and decided to look around for a bit.

As I wandered through the reclusive dungeons (completely my own take on the area), I felt an itch on the back of my neck, like someone had breathed on it. I frowned and brushed it away.

I paced to the end of the hallway and back several times before I actually dared to open one of the doors.

Inside was a very ordinary table along with some chairs. I felt like smacking myself again for being so afraid.

Though nothing was to be found on the table, one of the chairs did have something. There was a little black notebook, which I opened to find pages of writing so small that I wouldn’t dream of reading it. I stowed it away in case it would somehow be useful later.

I went into the next room, which was completely empty except for something in the middle of the room. I went over and picked it up. It was a piece of blue paper, on which was written one word: ‘have’.

I scratched my head. What was that supposed to mean?

In the next room, I found another piece of paper, saying ‘of’. And the next, ‘believe’.

I gathered pieces of paper until I ran out of rooms, each with a different word on blue paper.

The feeling was growing that someone was following me.

It came to my head that the words could be rearranged to form a sentence. I spent what felt like eons on it until I got a sentence:

I believe you have something of mine.

My vision swam as I pulled out the black notebook. Something cold settled on my shoulder. I looked, and saw a thin hand, white as bone. It was then that I remembered our building didn’t have a thirteenth floor.

Looks like I was being followed after all...

By Priyansh Singh