Someone Knocked on the Elevator Door

Because the elevator at work is an old piece of junk, I didn't worry too much when it went down instead of up. Sure, I was annoyed, but what else had I expected? The thing rattles and lags and seems to have its own personality at times, of course it couldn't follow something as simple as a pressed button telling it to go up.

I pushed it again, not because I thought it would change anything, but because I needed to feel like I was doing something not to direct my anger at myself. I knew something like this was going to happen, but I had been too lazy to take the two flights of stairs back to my office. At least redirecting my frustration at the elevator would make the long ride bearable.

I tapped the files I had just photocopied and tried to think about the case at hand: an Iranian husband who wanted to sponsor his wife's permanent residency application, even though they hadn't seen each other in over three years. CIC was suspicious and the husband was reluctant to turn in his private correspondence to prove the relationship. Once I got back to my office, I'd have to call my client and convince him that modesty, in the face of immigration, was an overrated concept.

The arrow above the elevator door went from five to four to three... it was probably going to stop at the ground level then go back up. It’d done that before. I just had to be patient.

The elevator rattled once it reached the ground floor.

It stopped.

It rattled again.

It went down.

“For fuck's sake!” I said loudly to the slowest elevator in the world as I pushed the button to the seventh floor repeatedly. “Up! Up, you broken piece of shit!”

The building my partner and I had moved our new office to had large spaces that were in the “nice enough for the price range” category. It was clean, it had a security guard at the front, and the large windows let in enough sunlight to give the rooms the illusion of modernity. The elevator, however, was a relic from another time. Though the outside doors on each floor were solid, the inside still had one of those foldable cage doors that used to be manual once upon a time. Above it, the nine floors were indicated by a pointy arrow that described a semi-circle from 1 to 9. I can't say whether the elevator had been kept that way because its marble floor and mirrored walls held on to a certain early 20th-century charm, or because updating it would be too expensive and it was easier to simply wait for the old thing to die of natural causes.

The indicator bobbed lazily on the bottom number. I groaned loudly in my tiny, mirrored enclosure. There were two parking levels that didn’t show in the indicator. That piece of crap was going to take me all the way to the underground parking lot, then lag all the way up again.

I was wrong.

It did take me all the way down to parking – but then it continued down.

At that point, I was still more bothered than worried. I knew the underground wasn’t accessible past the second level, so that probably meant the old elevator was past the point of repair. Finally. Maybe now we could get something that functioned properly.

It continued to go down.

We’d be without an elevator for a few weeks, which would be a nuisance, but it would be worth it.

It continued to go down.

Perhaps once I got back to my office I’d call management and inform them of what had happened.

It continued to go down.

How many underground levels were there? I should ask management when I-

The elevator rattled one last time, like a moribund person offering its final breath.

And then it died.

I gasped at the complete darkness and dropped my files on the floor as I patted my pockets for the phone. Momentarily stunned, it took me a moment to locate it on the inside pocket of my jacket. I fumbled for a button and blinked blindly at the sudden light, being immediately greeted by infinite reflections of myself on the mirrored walls - all looking too pale under the cold, white light. I illuminated the small space, looking at the four dark corners like I expected someone to have popped in out of thin air. I can't lie and say the cramped room and the lack of lights weren't giving me an eerie feeling.

Nothing there, though. I was completely alone.

Right, I thought. No reason to panic. You’ve been here before. Moira is going to realize you’re gone and soon they’ll notice the elevator stopped working.

It was a busy Monday and lunchtime was almost over. Waiting for rescue wouldn’t be fun, but it could be worse. Last time, I’d been forced to wait nearly two hours in the dark while the men on the other side of the door assured me that everything was fine, that there had simply been an issue with the power. At least this time I had brought my phone downstairs, fully charged and with a handy flashlight app. Soon Moira would be back from lunch and put two and two together. Until then – and then could be at least another thirty minutes, possibly longer – I would have to entertain myself with-

The knock came out of nowhere. It wasn't loud. It didn't even startle me, but it definitely caught my attention.

Knockknockknock.

I wondered for a moment if the engine was restarting or maybe if something was banging against the sides of the elevator, but that didn't sound right.

Knockknockknock.

I frowned and turned my light to the doors. Past the foldable cage, the sound was so timid it was almost polite, as though someone was simply trying to get my attention but didn't want to inconvenience me too much.

Rescue already? Well, that was a good thing.

“Who's there?” I asked.

“Are you stuck?” someone asked back.

“Yeah, the elevator just died.”

“Oh, isn't that terrible?”

It was difficult to put my finger on what made me feel uncomfortable. The voice was soft and non-threatening, conveying an empathy that was nearly believable. I want to say it was male, but the pitch was gentle and difficult to place.

I said, “I thought this floor was closed.”

“Oh, no,” he answered immediately, as though the thought of it were a silly thing. “I have no idea where you've heard that. I am always here.”

“Are you with security?” I asked.

The voice simply repeated, “I am always here.”

That wasn’t an answer to my question, but I suppose it made sense that security would have someone patrolling that floor now and then. Come to think of it, I was lucky they did. That only meant I wouldn't have to stay in the dark for much longer.

“Can you call for help, please?”

“Certainly. Help me pry the door open.”

I hesitated. “That can’t be safe. I thought you could call the guys upstairs and get the elevator... I don't know, restarted?”

Silence.

Then, “Help me pry the door open.”

Same words.

Same tone.

The thing that was bothering me fell into place: the voice didn’t have an accent. I spent hours working with immigrants from all over the world every day and I’d gotten pretty good at deciphering the heaviest of dialects, but this voice was smooth and deprived of any identifying marks. I thought that maybe it was Brazilian - like myself - and that was why I couldn’t hear it. Or perhaps Canadian. But it wasn’t.

That voice was nothing. Like it had surfaced from a void and dropped into the darkness of the elevator shaft, waiting for its chance to speak for the very first time.

You’re being ridiculous, I thought. Clearly, he’s from a place you haven’t been to. Or perhaps he has some sort of speech impediment.

But I didn’t move from my spot in the center of the elevator.

For a third time, the voice asked, “Help me pry the door open.”

“Isn’t the floor locked?” I asked. “Do you have the keys?”

“Help me pry the door open. Miss.”

The title added at the end sounded so solemn it made it seem as though he was making an effort to sound polite.

Or human.

“I- just give me a moment to get my things.”

I lowered myself to the floor and started picking up my papers to buy time. If I didn’t answer anymore, they might leave me be. Besides, what could they do if I simply stopped answering and refused to help them open the door? If they could get to me without my help - and I knew this with a terrifying certainty - it would have gotten me already. I was safe inside my detestable metal box.

“Did you get your things?”

I startled and fell back on my ass. I’d expected that unsettling voice to have come from above, but I could tell it pressed right next to the floor.

I took a shaky breath and tried to project strength when I said, “I would rather wait for rescue.”

The thing huffed loudly. It breathed so forcefully that my papers went flying and I could feel its unpleasantly hot breath on my ankles. I scurried to my feet.

“Help me pry the door open. Please,” the thing insisted, once again on its feet.

I said, “I’d rather not.”

It slammed its fists on the metal door.

Two at the top.

Then two at the bottom.

I screamed.

Its voice was still soft and polite.

“Help me pry the door open.”

This time, I didn’t answer.

“Help me pry the door open.”

It didn’t scream. It never did. It didn’t slam against the door or try to force it open or do anything other than beg at my terrified face.

“Help me pry the door open.”

I breathed heavily and I waited, praying to god and whoever else was listening that Moira would just notice I was missing.

Please, god.

Let her notice I’m missing.

“Help me pry the d-”

The elevator shook alive. For a moment, I feared the thing had run out of patience and attacked me, but then the lights came back on and I could feel myself ascending. From the other side of the door, I could only hear a low growl and became quieter and quieter as I moved up.

I don’t remember much after the doors opened at the ground level. Moira told me I jumped out of the elevator and kept running the length of the atrium before I lost balance on my heels and fell on my knees, panting and sobbing and rambling about something trying to attack me. She was horrified. I wasn’t one to be easily shaken and for something to have gotten me in that state, it must have been serious.

The police were called, but it took me the rest of the afternoon to get past the shock and relay my story to them. Of course, they were unsurprisingly practical about the whole thing. The assumption was that someone had been playing a prank on me; the dark had only made it seem worse than it was. I insisted they checked the security cameras, but they showed nothing out of the ordinary in either parking level.

“That’s not where I stopped,” I said, barely coherent. Though I am fluent in English, I was so agitated I struggled to find the right words. “I was past that- I was deeper in the ground- the other parking lot.”

But there were no security cameras past the second underground level. In fact, there was no access to it whatsoever. According to the security guard who was on duty that morning, the car ramp to that floor had long been walled off and they didn’t have the keys to the stairway door.

“We don't go down to that basement level,” he said, looking just as pale as I did.

The conclusion was that I was confused and disoriented. A prank made sense. It was logical and easy to explain.

And yet… I refused to believe it, no matter how much I wanted to, but I didn’t insist either. I convinced Moira to change offices two weeks after that, and that entire time I walked up seven stories and avoided the elevator at any cost.

I wasn’t about to risk it, nor was I going to speculate. I don't want to know what lies under our building or just how far into the earth the elevator might have taken me.