The Endless Elevator

Rising above the busy center of Tokyo, a shining new skyscraper with contemporary architectural mastery stood. Modern conveniences like a high-speed elevator system that promised to take its users to their locations in seconds were included into the skyscraper, often known as the Tsukuyomi Tower. But tucked within the innards of this technical wonder was a secret few ventured to share.

Just beginning her employment on the 35th floor, Aiko Tanaka was a young office worker. She was in awe of the building’s elegant architecture and felt privileged to be working for such a famous organization. Working late one evening, Aiko discovered she was alone herself at the office. Eager to go home, the clock showed 11:45 PM and she rushed to the elevator.

The doors of the elevator softly chimes closed as she entered. She leaned back, closed her eyes momentarily, hit the ground floor button. The elevator started down, the soft buzz of the equipment providing a consoling background noise. But a few seconds later the elevator did not stop. Uncertain, Aiko opened her eyes to see the floor display flying past: 34, 33, 32…

Nothing occurred when she punched the ground floor button once again and then the emergency stop button. The elevator continued down, faster and faster, the numbers blurring on the monitor merging. She furiously pressed every button on the panel, but the elevator disregarded her orders. Panic started. It descended into the subfloor, past the ground floor, and further into the structure.

As the elevator dropped floors she never knew existed — B1, B2, B3… Aiko’s pulse raced. The flickering lights created terrible shadows on the walls. The air became colder, and the cabin started to smell of a terrible blackness. As the exhibit went from B10 to B20 and ultimately B50, desperation tore at her brain. At B100, the elevator at last jerked to stop; the doors creaked slowly.

Aiko saw something she cannot understand. Rather of a contemporary cellar, she was faced by a large, enormous emptiness lit by an alien radiance. Old, magical symbols glowed with a terrible light on the walls. Whispers of lost conversations and the faint smell of decay carried with a chilly, musty air into the elevator.

Trembling, Aiko left, pulled by an irresistible force. Her floor was like the surface of some primeval cave — rough and uneven. Shadows moved around her creating nearly lifelike forms. She heard faint, detached voices becoming louder, more forceful. Calling her name, they encouraged her to descend more into the chasm.

Aiko sensed a presence following her as she strolled further, an invisible thing apparently seeping from the very walls. At the middle of the cavern, she came across a massive stone altar covered with odd, writhing patterns glowing in a sickly green light. The murmurs became louder, a chorus of old tongues and dark chants.

The shadows suddenly came together in a physical form — a hideous, monstrous creature with empty eyes and a mouth that extended into a terrifying smile. Its long, skeleton fingers snaking around Aiko like tendrils of smoke, it reached out to her. Fear paralyzing her, she could only see it draw her in, its grasp tightening.

Aiko ripped herself free and sprinted back toward the elevator with a last, desperate scream. She staggered in and pressed the buttons furiously. The elevator jerked higher, hurrying by the levels in reverse: B50, B20, B10… The doors closed.

At last the elevator stopped right on the bottom level. The familiar foyer emerged from the doors, now strangely quiet and empty. Aiko staggered out, her heart hammering and her breathing laboring. Running out the building, the flickering lobby lights created lengthy shadows that appeared to pursue her.

She never went back to Tsukuyomi Tower, and stress and overworking caused her coworkers to discount her claim. But whispered among the late-night cleaners and employees, the myth of the elevator that never stopped started to circulate. They spoke about the young lady who had strayed too far and came into a gloom hiding under the structure.

And every night when the clock struck midnight, the elevator would sometimes start down, the faint remnants of past whispers and Aiko’s panicked cry haunting Tsukuyomi Tower’s hallways.