Crapshow Compendium

Floor 666

Ding.

"floor number 6."

The elevator doors hissed open, and yet another person stepped into the elevator.

Josh sighed. In another minute, he would be late for work. One disaster after another. First, his car broke down. Then the bus. Then he slipped in a puddle and landed on his back. Now, this tiny elevator car was packed with people. He was miserable. Maybe he could stop by the coffee sho

Flick.

Then the guy beside him disappeared.

Then the lights came back on, to which he saw that everyone but himself had disappeared. Blood soaked the dirty linoleum . He screamed. Then the intercom turned on, and some Japanese person (at least, that was what it sounded like) started rambling things he couldn't understand. 

 The woman continued speaking. Suddenly, the elevator began to jerk wildly, as the brakes began to give. The woman's speech started becoming low-pitched and distorted. Blood started coming out of the speaker. Then it just turned to shrieking. Pure, unhuman shrieking. The car began to fall, faster and faster and faster.

The gearbox screeched, in near perfect harmony with the woman.

The now-redundant brakes snapped off, and began to float in the air. The lights started to flicker.

Then they went out completely.

When Josh woke, he was in a dark hallway. The only sounds were his own heartbeat, and the steady dripping noise coming from somewhere ahead.

He got up and started walking toward the sound. He came into another hallway, this one lit by dim fluorescent lights. There was a large amount of chocolate bar wrappers on the floor, as though some spoiled rich kid had claimed the place as his own. Disgusting, he thought, as he walked down the hall. Then he came into a large stage, facing darkness. Then Spotlights above flashed on, revealing several rows of seats.

The seats were filled with cardboard cutouts of people. All of them were deformed, with bloodied, mutilated faces. Then he heard something behind him. He whirled around, and saw another cardboard cutout, this one a Japanese woman, wearing a school uniform. Then her mouth opened.

"Welcome to floor number 666."

Then she pushed him.

*Crack*

END

Author's note: I did not feel to put much effort into this story, so I reused the common elevator trope of the horror genre. This story plays on the subject of unreality, and the disorienting effects of not knowing if you're still real.