The Girl in the Elevator (ONC 2022)

1. Hair of Auburn

"Sam," his grandmother often told him, "there's things you should do, and then there's things you absolutely should not do."

Nine times out of ten, she'd follow that up with a stern, "And this is one of them."

Now, as Sam stared unabashedly at the girl on the other side of the elevator car, it never occurred to him that perhaps this was one of the situations his grandmother had warned him about.

From the moment she followed him into the elevator on the main floor, he'd been unable to tear his eyes away from her. He couldn't help it; she was the most breathtaking woman he'd ever seen.

She stood primly in the corner, head bowed with both hands gripping a cream-colored purse. It looked like she was afraid it might fly away, for she held it so tightly her knuckles had turned white. The delicate material of her sundress draped around her elegantly, while the tiny yellow flowers scattered across it appeared ready to flutter free like butterflies. Even more eye-catching was the rich auburn hair that fell to her elbows in a shimmering wave. It hid her face from view, but if he looked in the mirrored surface on the other side of the elevator, he could see smooth caramel skin and a gently pointed chin.

Even though he admired the entire vision, his attention kept gravitating to her hair. He liked that the best. It was so very shiny.

The elevator shuddered slightly. Above the control panel, the number on the display changed from 26 to 27.

The girl glanced his way. It was the first time she had paid any attention to him. She wore a frown, one deep enough to furrow her brow.

He waited eagerly for her to say something, because he really wanted to talk to her but didn't know how to start.

She said nothing. Instead, her lips pursed and she turned away. Now she observed the elevator doors intently, as if they were the most fascinating piece of art on the planet.

It left Sam disappointed, and he drooped like a wilted weed. Didn't she want to talk to him? Wasn't that why she had looked his way? Surely he was interesting and handsome enough to earn her favour.

Or maybe he wasn't. He watched her worriedly, anxiety fluttering in his belly.

Every morning, he rode this elevator up to the 96th floor of his office, where he and the other poor souls were subjected to eight hours of monotony before being sent back down the elevator shaft, significantly more drained and despairing than they had been in the morning. Sometimes, he had companions in the daily commute, but no one ever talked to him beyond a sigh or muttered greeting. He'd just figured that since they saw him every day, they'd gotten used to his inspiring presence.

But this girl was different. She was new. A stranger who he'd never met before. One look, and he'd already been swept away by that long, silky hair. Surely she'd been as intrigued by him as he was her, right?

He didn't understand why she'd choose to ignore him. It didn't make sense.

They passed floor 42.

Sam stepped closer to his side of the car, and gave his reflection a once over. Maybe he'd left egg on his face again, or forgotten to button up his shirt like he had two days ago. A quick check revealed that neither of those things was present, and he sighed in relief.

Oh, hang on! His dark hair stuck up in an awful rat's nest, which meant he'd forgotten to comb it this morning. That had to be why she spurned him.

He licked his hands and hurriedly smoothed down his hair. A second check confirmed that everything else was in order - shoes were matching today, shirt was buttoned, fly was zipped, and a quick sniff confirmed that he even remembered deodorant. He was in great form today, all things considered.

Floor 54 came and went.

He scratched his nose, feeling very pleased with himself. Now that he no longer had a disaster upon his head, he went back to admiring the girl. And her hair. With such lovely hair, no wonder she'd been so offended by his. She was a hair person.

As if sensing the return of his stare, her face flushed. It started with the edge of the ear peeking through her hair, before it spread down her neck and across her smooth cheek. He watched the entire process, fascinated.

Still, moments passed and she didn't look at him.

Sam found this puzzling. He had fixed his hair, so why wouldn't she give him another chance? What other reason could there be for her to not accept him?

A thought occurred to him, so sudden, so repulsive that he gasped. She didn't already have a husband, did she?

They passed floor 67.

No, no. That couldn't be the case. She wasn't wearing any rings; the fingers clutching her purse were bare. So she wasn't married.

But what about a boyfriend? Maybe she had one already. Maybe he was about to propose this very day and then tomorrow, when Sam met her in the elevator again, she'd be wearing the ring.

He chewed on his fingernails, glancing at her hands, then her hair. No, he was getting ahead of himself again.

Like his grandmother always reminded him, "Slow down, you oversized nitwit. It's better to think first, and then act. Make sure there are no cars coming to kill you before you try crossing the road."

Floor 68.

He nodded to himself, feeling relieved. His grandmother always had the best advice.

Ever since she'd taken him in after the tragic deaths of his parents, she'd been nothing but kind, considerate and compassionate. She was the best of grandmothers, really. He loved her to bits.

Floor 69.

He looked at the girl, and gave his best smile. This was it. He had to ask her. He had to tell her-

Floor 70.

The elevator slammed to a stop. Sam stumbled, and he fell against the wall. The lights went out.

Any words he might have uttered died before they were born. He clutched at the wall, found the railing, and clung to it, his eyes wide and unseeing in the absolute darkness.

Something gurgled. (And it definitely wasn't his stomach, because he had three bowls of oatmeal for breakfast that morning, thank you very much.)

"Oh," gasped the girl in the elevator. She sounded startled.

Then something popped. Warm fluid splattered all over Sam. It slid down his face, and dripped from his hair and the tip of his nose. Some of it even got in his open mouth. It tasted metallic and tangy, and he thought he felt a little zap of electricity dance over his tongue.

"Oh," said Sam. He touched his face. Chunky goo came off on his fingertips.

The elevator jerked and began to rise, but the lights didn't come on. He remained in the dark, while trying to figure out what exactly had been dumped all over him.

"Hair lady?"

There was no answer.

"Are you okay?"

Something fell from the ceiling and fell by his feet with a wet splat.

The elevator stopped, and its doors opened to the 96th floor. Light spilled into the elevator car from the hallway.

Sam blinked. Then his mouth fell open.

Every inch of the elevator's walls oozed with a fresh coat of gore. Crimson slime slid down the walls. It pooled around his feet, and more of it dribbled from the ceiling. There were pinker, fleshy bits stuck to walls and ceiling like obscene spit balls. As he gawked, one pulled free and plopped down onto his shoulder.

There was no sign of the girl in the elevator. Or her hair.