Ping
The steel elevator doors slide open slowly, revealing a red carpeted floor and a large mirror. The lone man inside is standing in the corner, his coat collar flipped up to bid away the November chill. The woman in the lobby beside you pushes her baby carriage forwards and into the elevator, making space for you to enter. The man does not acknowledge her. You wonder briefly why the woman has her child out at such a late hour. The woman gives you an impatient look and you realize they are waiting on you. You step inside as the doors slowly slide closed, sealing off the rest of the world. The woman presses a button; number 3. You reach out and illuminate your own floor; 14. The man in the corner hasn't pressed one, and you wonder if he rides the elevator all night for amusement. Perhaps he has a miserable wife upstairs and sometimes he just needs a break, perhaps he simply forgot his wallet and had to go back up, anything is plausible after midnight.
Ping
The elevator reaches the third floor and the woman positions her carriage at the door as it inches open.
"Goodnight." You call politely as she drags the stroller out into the hall. She says nothing in response, just ambles down the blue carpeted hallway as the doors roll to a close again. It's just you and the man in the trench coat. He stares at the ground quite intently, but doesn't seem to be looking at anything in particular.
"Lucky number 13, huh?" He asks suddenly, without raising his head.
"14." You correct. He laughs a slow and throaty laugh, the kind of laugh that sends chills up your spine.
"Just 'cause they don't call it the thirteenth floor, don't mean it ain't." He said softly. You nod once in acknowledgment, but he's still staring at the floor.
"Guess so." You say instead. You look down to where he's staring, the rust coloured carpet looks old and stained--salt, coffee, other indistinguishable substances... Suddenly you wish the elevator would hurry up; it seems to have almost stopped moving. The man starts clicking his teeth together softly and suddenly you feel very warm. Too warm. It's like the walls are closing in on you. You stare up at the fluorescent glowing numbers that tell you the elevator has reached floor 7. You turn and try to occupy yourself with your own reflection in the mirror. Your eyes are ringed with dark circles and you wish you were in bed sleeping, even though you know it's an impossible desire. The last time you had a proper sleep must have been months ago now; the insomnia has plagued you since September. As you're staring at your sunken eyes you notice a flash of movement in the reflection, you startle as you notice the man has taken his attention off the floor and is now watching you instead. As you lock eyes in the mirror you get a good look at his face. His eyes are dark, like the muddy colour water gets when you mix too many paintbrushes together. His jaw is lined with stubble, the scruffy kind that wasn't intentional. But by the looks of his expensive jacket and wrist watch you know it isn't for lack of resources. He isn't a happy looking man, there are crinkled lines next to his eyes and when he catches you staring his lip turns up in a half sneer that makes you cringe. You draw your eyes away quickly and stare at the buttons on the wall. The warmth hasn't gone away and you reach your hand up to rub at your cheeks, which feel burning hot to the touch. Your doctor warned you this would happen, but if you acknowledged that you were victim to this condition then you felt you couldn't control it.
You can still remember that fateful night in September; how could you forget? The way the knife glinted off the moonlight before being driven down into the man's flesh. The cry of anguish before he was silenced with another blow. You remember standing, just barely hidden in the shadows, not knowing what to do, frozen in panic. You watched the knife bury itself in the innocent for a third time, before being returned to the pocket of the murderer. You watched him kick the now lifeless body from the streets and walk towards you. You froze with your back against the cool brick wall and nothing more than a dull pocket knife and house keys to protect yourself. Your breathing came in shallow ragged strides, even as you try to keep quiet. You felt your jaw seize up and your eyes were frozen on the man in the darkness. But he didn't see you. At least you don't think he did; it was dark and all you saw was the tattoo that glinted on his forearm as he strode past. The initials JM in ink on his pale skin were the only thing you had to tell the cops that night. The only part of the nightmare that is consistent. The only letters you have been able to see clearly since.
Floor 10. The elevator was crawling. Or perhaps it was your over active imagination and sleep deprivation that made it so. You shuffle your feet against the ragged carpet and suddenly have the urge to lay down. The air seems heavy and you just want to sleep. Behind you you hear the man start to chuckle. Just a slow, quiet laugh that seems to fill the elevator and echo off every wall. Your heart starts to beat very fast and a tightness spreads across your chest. The panic seems to calm you though, in a way that sleep hasn't been able to. Then you catch a movement in your peripherals and glance at the mirror, heart leaping into your throat so fast you feel as if you might pass out. The man has moved closer to you, his breath is hot on your neck and you can smell his stench of cigarettes and pine. You don't feel surprise as the cold blade slides up under your jacket and grazes your skin, you feel strangely at ease. It digs in deeper and the man in the mirror smiles at you, showing a row of crooked yellow teeth. His eyes aren't just muddy, they are empty.
The elevator approaches the twelfth floor and you know what comes next. He pulls the blade away from your body and you watch, transfixed as the reflection threatens it above you. His sleeve falls back and you wait for what you knew was there, as the florescent lights illuminate the black ink on his forearm. The knife that had haunted your mind for months is here again, and this time it's going to put you to peace at last. A small cry escapes your lips as the blade penetrates the skin. You fall to the ground and let your blood mingle with the other stains on the dark carpet.
Ping
The elevator rolls to a stop and the doors slide open to let in a cold rush of air that you can hardly feel. The man sniffs once, as if to observe his work and steps over you to let himself out. The cold steel doors give a tired grinding sound as they slide closed for the last time, locking up murder, anguish and secrets inside. Your eyes drift closed and you slide into the first restful sleep you've had in so long.
-May /14
