The 13th Floor

As most of you know, many apartments and hotels in the United States do not have a thirteenth floor. The button is usually there in an elavator, but it always skips from twelve to fourteen. I always assumed it was because thirteen was unlucky, which I always found rather silly, until recently.

I was very excited when my best friend arrived for a visit. It had been so long since we last saw each other. She said mine and my dad's apartment was very quaint. After eating lunch, she and I played a card game. Soon, however, we became very bored. She suggested that we go play with her frisbee in Central Park. I agreed, and we grabbed our coats and headed out the door. Little did I know what horror awaited us.

Once inside the elavator, I pushed the button for the lobby. Since, we were on the top floor, it would take a minute. We were almost there (level six) when it suddenly stopped. The lights went out, and my friend told me that one of us should climb out of the elavator from the top vent and get help. I told her that it was a bad idea because one could be decapitated if it started up again. I was just about to hit the emergency button when the lights came back on and we started to move. However, we were moving up instead of down. 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, finally the elavator stopped at level 13. She and I looked at each other, confused. Then, to my horror and facination, the doors opened, revealing only dark, black nothingness.

As we both stared into the void of darkness, my friend started to step out. Suddenly, I began to fear very afraid, not for any particular reason. Then, I began to smell a horrible stench, like rotting death. My friend got close to me. I could tell that she was also afraid. We then heard a sound, like a wet washcloth hitting a wall. As a word, I could best describe it as, "squelch". We looked at each other with terror. Then, the sound came again, this time louder and closer; squelch. Every five seconds the sound came, each time louder; each time closer. She and I huddled in the corner of the elavator, crying. Then it got faster; squelch squelch squelch. It was terrifying, because we couldn't see anything, yet it sounded very close. Suddenly, the elavator made a whoosh would. We both screamed. Just as the doors closed, we heard something hit against the doors, and slide away.

The elavator went down to the lobby, and the doors opened. My dad, who had called the elavator down, was standing there. We ran out and hugged him, crying hysterically. After we told him what happened, I couldn't tell if he believed us or not. He was concerned that we were so upset, and he comforted us as best he could. I never go into elavators by myself. Some people tease me about it, but I really don't care. I just can't get over one fact: What would have happened if my dad hadn't pushed that button?