The Elevator Game

"So, you see, in many ways the world is a lot easier and simpler than you realize," Mark Peterson surmised. He had them in the palm of his hand now and he smiled.

"Not our bodies and the way nature works, but the fact that life really works the way we see it. There's no God up there looking down and judging you. There's no Christ to whom you owe a debt. There's no ghosts, alternate dimensions, parallel worlds, UFOs, or vast conspiracies. If you have a naughty thought while in church about the girl in the pew next to you, you are not opening yourself up to Satan or demons. There are no angels. There is just what we have now and what we do here that matters."

He paused. The bookstore was amazingly silent. There were doubters out there, he had gotten used to that on both the lecture circuit, the college classes he taught, the cable news channels where he spoke, and on book tours like these. They always showed up, waiting to find ways to trip him up and admit that there was a power beyond what could be seen. They always thought they were more clever, had a question he had not heard before, and were going to show him a thing or two.

"I can see the worry in some of your faces," he said, looking around and making eye contact with anyone he could see that was questioning their entire lives and wondering. "This is good news. This means your life is not pointless! It is not some random exercise in banking up good deeds for something beyond this. It means that what you do here is what's important. It also means that you do good not because you think God is going to punish you, but because what you do down here matters. Do you want to be remembered for evil or for good? Plus, admit it, doing good for others feels a lot better than doing evil. If not, then please, there's the exit and I'd rather not meet you in a dark alley."

This usually brought on some laughter and it did this time, too. Now he could see their eyes lighting up. Those who were already there because they believed what he preached would soon start applauding and they were often more scary than the doubters. Acolytes were bad even if they were agreeing with your own philosophy.

"Our life is what we make it, not vague universal energies and forces," he continued, gesturing into the air above his head as if God were sitting there waiting for his chance to speak. "The other good news is that you don't like the way your life is going, you can change it. Rather than hoping for something after this, use the time you have to make the world better. Now, thank you for listening to me babble for so long, but I think we had better take some questions before our time is gone."

The hands shot up. Mark walked back to the lectern and started taking the questions. They were the usual ones. The same ones that every time he did this the audience always wanted to ask. It was like they all got together online and planned out what they were going to say, when, and who was going to be the good guys and the bad. There were the skeptics and believers. Often, as now, he did not have to say much, but let them fight it out when certain issues were raised.

It went on like that and he was starting to feel tired, getting ready to indicate just one more question, when the skinny kid with the black beard and glasses perched on the end of his nose stepped up. Mark had noticed him near the back at the room, twitchy and nervous, wearing a parka with a big hood fringed in fur - far too warm for this time of year.

"Yes, you young man," Mark said, putting on his best and most winning smile.

"Hello, Dr. Peterson," the young man said. "What about your brother?"

There was silence in the room. Mark was momentarily stunned and he blinked in surprise. This was not the first time Todd had been brought up, but it had been a while. Todd used the last name "Wilson" for his online activities and the books he wrote, but sometimes you got an enterprising young man, like this one, who dug a little deeper and connected the names. It had been a very long time since someone had mentioned his brother, though, and Mark wasn't prepared. It was always the little podunk college towns where this shit happened.

"What about him?" Mark happened.

"Well, your brother is Todd Wilson, right?" the young man was smiling now as if he smelled blood in the water. "The same Todd Wilson who's become an Internet celebrity by conducting investigations into the paranormal? I believe he's quite successful with his online podcast and YouTube channel and there's been talk of him having some kind of ghost-hunting show on cable."

"Yes, that is my brother," Mark replied. Whenever people brought up Todd they always did it like this. As if the fact that his brother believed and did things differently than him was somehow some kind of accusation about his own work. "What does this have to do with me?"

"How does it feel to have a brother known for investigating the very things you decry?" the young man asked. "Does it bring tension? I guess I want to know what Thanksgiving dinner is like at your house?"

Mark laughed. When he did, so did others in the audience.

"Tell me, young man, do you have uncles or aunts or cousins or siblings that you disagree with? Not about these things, but maybe about religion or politics or things like that?"

The young man shrugged. "Yeah."

"And yet you still get together with those people and you still love them, right? You still manage to have quiet holiday dinners and not come to blows?"

The young man looked a little sheepish. "Yeah, of course."

"Well, that's what happens when my brother and I get together," Mark concluded. "We disagree about how we view the universe, but how my brother chooses to make a living does not factor into my work. Actually, you should read some of his books, they're quite good. I just read them as fiction, whereas he would tell you that they were not."

The young man opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but Mark held up his hand.

"Now, I think that's all for tonight," he said. "The hour grows late and I know I'm tired, so let us get to the book signing portion of the evening before I’m up signing books until dawn."

The young man looked disappointed, but soon the rest of the audience was up and Mark was off to the signing table. The line seemed to stretch out to infinity beyond him, and he posed for photos and signed dozens of books. He was expecting that young man to show up and try to continue his conversation, but the fur-trimmed face seemed to have lost interest.

Hours later, when Mark met up with his publicist and they headed for the car that would take him back to the hotel, he ran his hands through his hair.

"I hate when they bring up Todd," Mark said as they settled into the back of the car. "I wonder if they bring up me at his signings?"

This tour his publicist was a young blond girl right out of college. She chewed gum and Mark though her name was Penny, but was never sure so he avoided using her name as much as possible.

"That wasn't too bad," she said, already on her phone, checking tomorrow's schedule. "And it's not too late."

Mark looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. For him, that was late. For this girl, it was probably the time when she only started making plans with her friends for a night on the town.

"Well, I'm exhausted," Mark said. "Get me to the hotel, so I can shower and fall sound asleep. Please tell me I can sleep in past seven."

"Just barely," she replied "We have to get on the train to Indianapolis at eleven."

Mark moaned and stretched. That would do nicely.

"So, your brother is some kind of ghost-hunting nut?" she asked. "I wish I had known that. I'm sure I could have spun that in some way to benefit you. Maybe a brother on brother debate or something."

"No thank you," Mark replied as he eased back and closed his eyes. "Yes, he is a bonafide YouTube celebrity. He films videos of him checking out haunted houses or forest and cemeteries where strange things have supposedly happened. He did it for years all on his own before YouTube made it so you could make money off your hobbies. Now he has a successful podcast and several books. He does his own tours and I have no interest in debating him publicly or privately. If he wants to spend his life chasing that nonsense, well, bully for him."

"Too bad, I'm telling you, we could make that a totally epic event," she said, snapping her gum and still scrolling through things on her phone. "Cable TV kind of stuff. Huge ratings."

"No thanks," Mark opened his eyes. "Are we almost there? I can barely keep my eyes open."

"Just about," she said without looking up. "Sure you don't want to get a drink or something before heading to bed?"

"Again, no thanks. The nighttime is for the young. I'm sure you have plans. My plans involve bed."

They fell into silence and stayed that way until they got to the hotel. Mark bid her farewell and Penny (or whatever her name was) crawled into the front seat with the driver and they headed off into the night. It didn't take long for Mark to find his room and strip off his clothes. He drew a bath and soaked in the hot water until it went cold.

Mark did love his brother. They had not been the best of friends growing up, but they had a large family and his brother was younger than he was. When Todd wants to do something, there is always risk and danger. He had to climb higher and jump off the tallest tree or the biggest rock. He had to skateboard down the steepest hills or attempt the hardest tricks. Todd was outgoing and always asking questions.

Mark was opposite. He was smart, did well in school, played by the rules and studied hard at the religious school that his parents sent all of their kids to. However, when he went on to college he began to question the religion he had been taught his entire life. When he looked at it too hard, he realized none of it made sense. He began to think that the world was not as complicated as people made it out to be. There were no vast conspiracies with shady government organizations. There were no ghosts lurking in the shadows. There was just what was here and, he learned, that was enough for him.

The brothers never actually sat around and debated their different views on life. Maybe a couple of vigorous discussions, but they did not have this rivalry that many envisioned. His brother had chosen his pseudonym because Mark had published first and he didn't want to cast this shadow on his brother. They loved each other, as brothers did, and Mark really did admire Toddy's pluck and determination. Mark just felt that he was chasing something he would never find. Todd wanted answers, Mark felt that the answers were already in front of them.

Mark dried himself, brushed his teeth, and walked into the room with the towel around his waist. He turned on the TV, found a news channel, then shut off the lights and got into bed. He was out soon after.

***

“What was that?”

Mark sat bolt upright in bed. He reached for the TV remote and for his glasses which had put somewhere on the table beside the bed. Funny how you could never find the fucking things once you needed them. He hit the UP volume button.

"That bulletin again, noted online sensation Todd Wilson was found wandering and dazed outside the Britling building in downtown Chicago. Wilson has become an online sensation and a bestselling author for his exploration of the paranormal. This is a developing story, but he was taken to Northwestern Hospital and is reportedly unresponsive. Witnesses say that he was outside the building ranting and raving, but fell silent as paramedics arrived and becoming unresponsive at that point. No further details, but as they come in, we'll let you know."

This was a dream, right? That was the first thought Mark had. He had been thinking about his brother and right now he was having a dream about him. Then he heard a weird rumble of a noise that frightened him until he realized it was his cell phone, plugged in and resting on the table next to his bed.

Mark had long ago dispensed with a smartphone. Although he hated the fact that going backwards and using a flip-phone was now a "thing" among hipsters who knew they had to carry a cell phone, but wanted to carry an old one. Ironically, the fact was he found it simplified things. It was harder to break and he was notoriously clumsy and if he lost it (which he had - many times) they were cheap and easy to replace. Plus, he found his life was much more relaxed if he could unplug. If he wanted to plug into the world, he had a laptop and tablet, but goddammit if he opened his phone he could make actual phone calls and text and not read the news.

He grabbed, flipped and held the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Penelope. Have you seen the news?"

That is her name, was the first thought he had. "Yeah, I fell asleep with the TV on and it actually woke me up. I need to get to Chicago."

"I figured you'd say that. I already booked you a flight tomorrow, leaving at noon."

"Flight?"

"I know you hate to fly, but come on. This is an emergency. We're so close that the flight will barely last an hour. Even you can handle that, right?"

He wasn't so sure about that, but he said, "Yeah. Sure. Penelope, have you been able to make calls and find out anything else about what happened?"

"At this hour, I'm not going to get much. Meet up with me for breakfast. Try to get back to sleep and not worry. He's alive. Did he do drugs?"

The thought hadn't even occurred to Mark until right now. He knew his brother had dabbled back in college, but he had never had a problem before. Had his new found celebrity led him down dark paths?

"I have no idea," he replied. "He never did when we were living in the same house, but I haven't really spoken to him in a while."

"OK, well, it may not matter. Sometimes people just go nuts. If it is drugs, I have the phone number of a really great place where he can dry out."

"Thanks." He had no idea what else to say.

"OK, get back to sleep. Try to rest. I imagine tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I know it will be for me, I'm going to have to cancel the next several stops on the tour and try to reschedule."

"Sorry." Again, nothing else popped into mind to say other than that.

"Family comes first. OK, talk in the morning."

Like that she was gone. Mark wanted to point out that it was, in fact, already morning. The clock next to the bed was telling him it was two in the morning, in fact. Penelope was probably still out at a bar somewhere, ignoring whatever young man she was flirting with or considering taking back to her room, to connect with him and he appreciated that.

Mark put the phone down and stared at the television for a while. They had gone on to international news, talking about the latest shenanigans happening in North Korea and then in the Middle East. Apparently, his brother was famous enough to warrant a mention, but not enough to warrant full coverage like they did for school and theater shootings.

He got out of bed and ran his hands through his hair. He walked to his laptop, flipped it open, and coaxed it to life. He began typing, looking for more information on the various spooky forums where his brother was particularly famous and often spent time chatting with his people. There were tons of conspiracy theories, most of them centered around the fact that his brother might have found something that the government or the Illuminati did not want him to reveal, so they had drugged him. Others were sure this had been an assassination attempt by those same groups that had gone wrong.

After a few minutes Mark closed his laptop in frustration. He wasn't going to find anything useful online. He had long ago decided that was the case and it was another reason that he had given up the smartphone.

What was he going to do now? Try to get back to sleep? Should he call Northwestern and see if he could find out anything? Their parents had shuffled off this mortal coil some time ago, as had their older brother Richard. For the first time he realized that his brother was really the only family he had left. That thought made him sad.

Just then his phone began vibrating again. Perhaps Penelope had learned something.

He sprang across the room and had the phone to his ear in seconds.

"Hello?"

There was a bit of static on the other end and the sound of a loudspeaker saying words that Mark could not understand. "Hey, is this Mark?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"This is Tommy."

Mark instantly knew who it was. Through thick and thin, Tommy and his brother had been close friends. They were skateboarders together when they were teens. They painted buildings with spray paint around the city when they were a bit older. When Todd had gone into his line of work crawling around in abandoned buildings or exploring the woods for aliens, it was usually Tommy who held the camera and did the exploring with him.

"Tommy, what the hell is going on? I just heard the news on TV. It woke me up. I'm coming home tomorrow. What the fuck?"

"Calm down. I don't know much. Todd went off on his own last night, but I have a theory. Look, I can't say much right now, you know how the government monitors these conversations. I'll be at the hospital tomorrow. We should talk."

Of course, another conspiracy. His brother and his friends were rife with them. Now was not the time to enter that debate.

"Right. I should be there early afternoon. Flying in."

"You're flying?"

"I know, but it's an emergency. Tommy, was Todd doing drugs?"

"No way, man," Tommy replied, managing to convey the fact he was insulted by the question just through his voice. "No fucking way. This is something else. I'll tell you more tomorrow."

Mark snapped his phone closed and lay back in bed. No more news on the TV. How was he going to get back to sleep?

Two minutes later and he was lost in his dreams

***

The next day Mark walked into the hospital and walked up to the nurse's station and asked to see his brother. The nurse told him where to go and a security guard made sure he had a sticker indicating he was a VISITOR on his lapel. With that settled, Mark found the elevator and headed up to the floor.

Todd was being held on on an observation floor. When Mark reached his room, there were doctors inside and they told Mark what they knew so far.

Todd had been found wandering outside Britling building. He was raving and drooling at the time, but was calmed down by the paramedics when brought into the ambulance. From that point forward he had been catatonic with his head down, eyes wide and staring seemingly at nothing. He was completely unresponsive to the doctors and nurses and despite all of their methods to revive him, had stayed in that state since.

"So, what the fuck is wrong with him?" Mark asked.

"Well, Mr. Robertson, the fact is that we are probably going to transfer him to the psych ward soon. You are going to have to look into having him committed. He's apparently had a mental breakdown and we can only do so much here."

"Shit."

"We have resources here that can help you find the right place. More than likely he'll be here for several weeks. I wish I had better news."

Mark thanked the doctors and when the left he got a good look at his brother.

Todd had always been the handsome one in the family. When they were kids and went on family vacations, it was Todd whom the waitresses at the truck stops or diner fawned over. Richard and Mark might as well have been invisible. Todd had a girlfriend earlier than his brothers and never seemed to have any trouble finding the next one.

He had always had a nice head of blond hair. But now there were bald patches and in this light the hair he had looked more white or gray. He had broken his nose when he was a kid, but the bump on the bridge had managed to enhance his looks. Mark studied that face, that bump. It was like he was looking at a wax dummy when he saw how gray Todd's skin appeared.

His brother's head was cocked to the right, looking down at the floor. Toddy's eyes were wide open, but there was an odd blankness about them. Whatever he was seeing was not there in the room, as if he were looking through the floor, all of the floors, right down into the bowels of the planet. Drool hung in a glistening string from his lower lip.

"Todd?"

Nothing. Not even a blink.

"Todd, it's Mark. Can you hear me?"

Still nothing. Not a twitch, not a sigh, nothing. Monitors beeped around him indicating that he had a pulse and there was brain activity, but something had switched off his brother's light.

"He won't respond."

The voice startled Mark and he whipped his head around to see who had snuck up on him. It was Tommy, of course. He should have known.

"Tommy, please, tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

"I will," Tommy said, "but let's get out of this room. He'll be fine. Let's go get some coffee."

Mark patted his brother's hand and whispered that he would be back. Mark stepped into the hall with Tommy. They walked down the hall to a room at the end of the hall with a coffee dispenser and some tables and chairs. Mark paid for the coffee and when he sat down he noticed just how exhausted Tommy looked.

"Jesus, you look like shit," he said. "You need to get home and get some sleep."

"I don't think I'll be sleeping anytime soon," Tommy said, sipping his coffee and grimacing at the acidic taste. "Not after all of this."

"Was this something you guys were doing for a video or a podcast? What the hell was it?"

Tommy shook his head. "Look, we'd better start from the beginning. We had been hearing rumors of this urban legend about some way to punch through into an alternate reality."

Mark rolled his eyes.

"Stick with me for a minute, OK?" Tommy asked. "I know you're a doubter, but let me tell the story. Anyway, it started a few months ago, and videos started popping up of people trying this game that was supposed to launch them into a new universe parallel to this one."

"What kind of game is that?" Mark asked.

"The elevator game."

"You have got to be kidding.."

Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled a couple of crumpled pieces of paper and handed them to Mark. When Mark looked at them he immediately recognized his brother's handwriting. There were instructions about playing this game. On the second piece of paper were directions to the Britling building.

"What is this nonsense?" Mark asked.

"That's how you play the game. We were focused on that building because, well, of all of the buildings tall enough to play the game in this town, the Britling building is the one that has an odd history. The architect was supposedly part of some cult that believed it would become a temple or something."

Mark laughed. "Come on! I saw the movie Ghostbusters."

"Well, those kind of tales end up in movies because they start somewhere, right?" Tommy replied. "Anyway, we were trying to figure out how to do this for the show. The videos that were already online didn't seem to show what you're supposed to actually see if you've punched through into Otherworld. Plus, the rules of the game say that the player has to go up and down the floors on their own. So, who was going to try it? What would we do if it didn't work? Could we find anyone who had had a weird experience when the did try it? We were working out the details."

"But my brother decided to give it a try on his own, is that what you're going to say?" Mark asked.

Tommy tilted his head and his trademark cocky smile crossed his face, then vanished.

"Yeah."

Mark sighed and sipped his coffee. "So, you're trying to tell me that my brother has snapped his hold on reality because he successfully played something called the elevator game? This game that you found on, what, the deep web or some internet forum?

"Yes."

"You realize that is completely insane, right?

Tommy shrugged. "You see him in there."

"Yeah, but there has to be some reasonable explanation," Mark replied. "I don't know what causes that, but I can guarantee you that it isn't some stupid game you find online."

Tommy yawned and stretched. "You can believe what you want. I just wanted you to know what we were up to. We were going to check this thing out and this particular building because of its supposed history. However, your brother, being the stubborn asshole he is, decided to go ahead and do it on his own. Now he's in there catatonic."

Mark didn't know what else to say to that and this was not the place to get into an argument. Tommy looked completely wrung out. He must have been sitting here by his brother's bedside since it happened.

"You should go home, Tommy," Mark said. "Go see your family for Christ's sake. I'll sit here with Todd."

Tommy looked like he was about to protest, but then yawned again. He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, you're probably right. Look, if anything happens, if he wakes up or there's any chance, call me."

"I will."

They exchanged numbers and then Tommy got up and walked away, looking beaten down and tired.

Mark sat there and read the instructions for the game.

“THE ELEVATOR GAME” was written at the top of the page. Below that were a bunch of instructions about the number of floors needed for it to work (at least 10). The person playing had to be there alone and on the elevator alone. There were a series of instructions about going up to one floor, down to another, then back up. Halfway through there was the bizarre warning that a mysterious young woman might enter the elevator, but the person playing was not to talk to her. Then, a final floor. When the participant stepped out the floor would be dark and they were supposedly in Otherworld, along with the strange woman.

"Nonsense," Mark said and nearly crumpled the paper and threw it away.

Something stopped him. Maybe a doctor who examined his brother down the road would need to know the extent of the delusions he was experiencing or something.

He drank the rest of his coffee and eventually made his way back down to his brother's room. When he entered, his brother was the same as he had left. His head was down, his eyes were open and staring, his vital signs were steady, but there was no one home.

"C'mon, Todd," Mark said quietly as he sat down next to the bed, "just wake up. Talk to me. Let's argue."

There was no response.

It was going to be a long night.

***

Tommy had been right. There was a series of videos online of people unsuccessfully trying the elevator game. Most of them looked like the type of people who showed up to his brother's book signings. They were young, eager, and hopeful, but they all concluded that it was bullshit. It was just an endless series of videos showing guys traveling up and down in elevators. No mysterious woman and no alternate dimensions.

The other thing that Tommy had been right about was the Britling building. The man who had designed and built the place had been a raving lunatic. He had been convinced that there were other worlds next to this one and that if he built just the right building with the right dimensions, then alternate dimensions would appear. The building had been erected in the mid-60s and the architect had eventually killed himself in some ritualistic fashion in his fancy apartment back in New York, surrounded by pentagrams and other symbols that no one could decipher. The building in Chicago had become home to a number of companies and not a single one had run into alternate dimensions or anything supernatural.

Mark was back in his hotel room. He had spent the night with his brother. He had spoken to the doctors and they had all agreed that they would move Toddy to the psychiatric ward later today. He was not in any physical distress, it seemed, but he was bye-bye mentally. Mark had a stack of pamphlets for various local mental institutions next to him and he had started out looking those up online. Before long, though, Mark had started looking up elevator game videos and rumors about the Britling building.

Mark closed his laptop and stretched. The sun was now up. He had never been a night owl and his whole body rhythm felt off. He needed to get some sleep.

Still, that building nagged at him. What if his brother had really seen something?

Not that Mark believed that Todd had entered some alternate dimension and whatever was there had pushed him over the edge, but what if people found out about what he had done? What if the rumors about the building and some discussion Todd had had online convinced him to try it out? Maybe someone met him there and they had done something to him. Of course, what other people could do to push a relatively sane man into a catatonic state was unknown by Mark. It made no sense and it was confirmed that there were no drugs in his brother's system. The doctors had told him that just before he came back to the hotel.

Mark finally crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin as he lay down. Sleep was just at the edge of his consciousness, eluding him for some time. In front of it was the image of the Britling building and pictures of elevators.

Just as he drifted off he decided that he was going to have to visit the building that night. He was going to play this stupid game and find out what happened to his brother. Maybe there would be evidence of some sort of foul play still there on the upper floors. Perhaps in the elevators themselves.

***

It was dark and late. The wind was blowing off the lake and it blew right through the coat that Mark wore, making him shiver. Then again, perhaps the shivering had more to do with the fact he was standing right outside the Britling building. In his right hand were the handwritten rules of the elevator game.

The building itself looked very retro, made mostly of stone. It was insanely tall for such a building, however. At the top were peaks and points that had no earthly business being set in a modern metropolitan city. There were hideous gargoyles all along the roof and rumor had it that several of them had the faces of known mystics or satanists that were popular at the time of its design and construction. Mark couldn't see their faces, he was just looking at the glass front door and wondering what he was going to do if the place were locked up.

It had to be locked. Every building this late at night was locked up.

Right?

The street was remarkably empty. Mark stood right in the middle of it, hearing the hiss and roar of traffic on other more busy streets. A train was blaring its horn as if it were an animal braying and dying in a tar pit.

"This is insane," he said and then looked around to make sure there wasn't a homeless person who might have heard him.

He was the skeptic. He should not have been so worried. Those were the entirely rational thoughts he was telling himself while trying to get his feet to move. He kept thinking about his brother, still drooling and lost in a hospital psych ward just a few blocks away.

He looked down at the rules of the game.

“THE ELEVATOR GAME” required that the building that had at least ten floors and the participant had to be alone. So far, check and check.

Summoning his courage, Mark walked across the street, up the short flight of stairs and then to the front door. He was certain that his nightly adventure would end with him tugging on the door and receiving no give from the lock.

Instead, the door swung open as if the building was waiting for him.

Mark's unease increased. He swallowed hard and entered the building.

The lobby was all marble and stone. There was a very small desk along one wall that would normally have contained a guard where Mark would have been required to sign in and probably wear a VISITOR badge. It was empty and the lights were mostly off, save for some safety lights near the wall that lent the entire lobby an eerie glow. The marble was reddish and the entire area glowed with a red that only conveyed menace. Perhaps rumors, and the weird lighting, were enough to stave off any potential burglars.

Just past the guard's desk were the elevators. There were four of them. The hallway in which they were contained was very dark.

How appropriate.

Mark studied the paper in his hand. He knew what the next step was, of course, it was the only one that made sense, but he was nervous. This entire place gave off waves of unease and menace.

"This is nonsense," he said and with that he marched past the guard's desk and into the shadowy elevator bank.

He hit the UP button.

He was sure that the elevators had been turned off for the night. Some buildings that did not contain condos actually did that after a certain time of night. The elevators would descend to the basement and stay there until some pre-determined time.

The one immediately to his right dinged and the light above it lit. The doors slid open with a soft rumble.

Mark half expected someone, perhaps Tommy, to jump right out and grab him. Instead, it was just an empty elevator. The walls were brown and there was a metal hand-rail around three of the walls. The building had relatively small elevators, compared to some of the truly huge towers, but it was still big enough to maybe fit fifteen people during a busy day.

The doors did not close.

Mark entered the elevator. He looked up at the metal ceiling and then down at the white tile on the floor. To his right was the bank of buttons.

He stepped back out and peered around the hallway. No one was there. It was dark, except for the redness of the lobby that leeched a bit into the elevator banks.

Mark stepped back in and hit the button for the fourth floor. The doors stood open for a bit. In fact, the doors hesitated a bit too long. The longer they stood open the more certain Mark was that someone was going to get in with him. Finally, they rumbled closed and the elevator began to ascend.

The elevator rose smoothly. The floors flashed on the number strip above the door. Mark moved to the back of the car and watched them. He had never been a particular fan of elevators. He had a touch of claustrophobia and he was always worried about them stalling between floors. Plus, there was the fact that anyone inside of one was basically dangling over a huge abyss by cables.

The fourth floor dinged. The doors opened.

Mark was looking at a white wall. The floor was similar to the white tile in the elevator. He consulted his paper.

Do not get out. Just push the button for the second floor.

Mark bent down and hit the button for the second floor.

Again there was that unnerving pause before the doors closed. For just a moment, right before they did finally rumble shut, he thought he heard footsteps on the tile in the hallway. He was so sure he gasped and immediately pressed against the side of the elevator, as if that would hide him. However, the doors closed and the elevator began to descend before anyone came around the edge.

The elevator seemed to be moving faster now. It reached the second floor and dinged. The doors opened and this time he was looking at a glass wall and door into some kind of office. Just past that was a reception desk, covered in shadow.

Mark peered out and gasp. He could hear it again. The footsteps. This time they were walking faster. He reached out and hit the next floor. This time they were going back up. Just as the doors closed, he saw a dim reflection in the glass door. There was a figure, moving fast, hard to make out.

The door closed and Mark leaned back against the back wall.

"This cannot be happening," he whispered. "This is just not happening."

He was terrified. Here he was, the skeptic, sure about the universe and his place in it, determined to find clues about what happened to his brother, and he was cowering in the elevator. If there was someone out there, shouldn't he confront them? His rational mind, the part of his brain that he had always relied on so heavily, said yes. But he was physically unable to do so.

The elevator chimed again. The doors open. It was another white wall. Immediately, he heard the footsteps. They were nearly jogging now. Instead of leaping from the elevator to confront the figure, he dove for the buttons and hit the next floor, back down the floor he had just left. This game was insane.

The doors closed, but just before they did, Mark saw a white hand reaching out, looking to grab it and stop it from shutting. He actually yelped and backed away.

"No!" he called out.

The doors closed. This time he was to go up high. Up to the tenth floor. He leaned against the wall. He felt sick. The world seemed to be tilting too far in its axis and if he let go of the handrail, he would fly up to the ceiling, through it, and right out into space.

This was all a joke. Some kind of joke perpetrated by those who wanted everyone to believe this building was some kind of doorway to another world. If he jumped out of the elevator, would Tommy be standing there and laugh at him?

He reached the tenth and the doors opened. This floor was just a nest of cubicles and desks. They were lit by exit lights and it looked eerie as hell. The entire floor must have been rented by one company and employees just stepped right off and into their working life.

There.

Over in the shadows.

Two glowing red eyes?

Something moved and moved fast, headed for the elevators, weaving around the desks and cubicles.

"No, stay away," Mark whispered.

He hit the button for the next floor. Back down again.

The game rules warned that this time a young woman might step onto the elevator. That was all it said. Nothing about what she looked like or who she was.

The paper warned “DO NOT LOOK AT HER. DO NOT SPEAK TO HER. SHE IS NOT WHAT SHE SEEMS.”

That warning was written in large block letters beneath the floor instruction. Mark was breathing hard now and felt nauseous. The doors closed and he barely noticed the figure that was nearly at the door.

Down they went. Everything seemed to become hyper-real and move in slow motion. The floors flashed past on the bar above the door. Mark pushed himself into the corner. The elevator reached the floor and the doors opened.

Mark held his breath. He heard footsteps, close this time. He felt his hold on reality slip as a slim, Asian-looking women appeared around the edge of the door and stepped into the elevator.

“Don't look at her.” Mark reminded himself.

He turned his head and looked at the wall. He felt her as she walked past him, an odd burning smell following her. She walked past him and leaned against the back wall. Mark looked down at the paper in his shaking hands and hit the button for the first floor.

Instead of going down, however, the elevator began to go up.

"Nice night, isn't it?" the woman said.

He nearly answered. Her voice seemed very normal. Sweet. Young. Instead he stared at the numbers flashing by above the door. He held on to the railing.

"Don't want to talk, eh? That's OK, it's always weird when someone talks to you in an elevator. What do you think will happen when you get to the floor, Mark? What do you think your brother saw?"

He nearly turned his head to confront her, but some instinctive part of him held his face forward firmly toward the numbers. The air inside the elevator had turned cold. He shivered and that feeling of nausea returned.

This could not be happening. This was not real. He was at home dreaming.

"You think this is a dream? You think this cannot be real. You are the avowed skeptic, right? If so, then what harm can come from talking to me? You must be curious about things. How did I know your name? Well, you're famous. How did I know about your brother? He's famous, too. Ah, we're almost here."

Nine. Ten.

Now would be the test. Now he was supposed to have crossed over into some alternate reality.

The door opened.

This time he was staring at the same nest of cubicles and desks.

Except something wasn't the same. There was no glowing light from the exit signs. It was dark.

Mark stepped out of the elevator. His feet whispered on the carpeting.

The darkness was nearly overwhelming and it felt alive, as if it were moving around him like shadows of things unseen. He held the paper up to his face.

You will be the only one there and it will be dark. The only thing you might see is a red cross out the windows in the distance.

Mark searched for the windows. There. Jesus. There.

Past the shadows of the office and the cubicles, Mark could see out the window. A red cross, that must have been hundreds of feet high, glowed into the night. There were no other buildings around. It was set high into a mountain and there were certainly none of those around Chicago.

"No," Mark whispered.

"Where are you going? What are you trying to find?"

The woman was still in the elevator. Mark had almost forgotten about her.

Mark shook his head. "I - I don't know," he responded. "Where am I? What the hell is this place?"

He looked back down at the paper.

DO NOT SPEAK TO THE WOMAN. IF SHE ASKS YOU A QUESTION, DO NOT RESPOND OR YOU WILL BECOME HER'S!

"Oh no," he whispered.

The sound that came from behind him was unlike anything he had heard in any sane part of the world. The woman's laughed was all over this dark room, where the shadows seemed to move and a weird red cross was all one could see in the distance. It was a laugh that started out human, but quickly got deeper and then began to change, becoming rougher and inhuman.

What followed were sounds that froze Mark to the bone. He wanted to run screaming down the hall. Perhaps he could jump right out the window and fall to the ground and be smashed to pieces. Anything would be better than the sounds he heard behind him.

Ripping sounds.

Tearing sounds.

Wet sounds.

The sound of bones snapping and breaking and skin being torn open and fluids released in a rush. Something wet and sticky splashed against his ankles.

"See me."

The voice was inside his head.

"You're mine now. Your soul. Your sanity. Just like your brother."

"Nononononononononono," Mark whispered.

His feet moved without him being aware that he was doing it. His movements did not belong to him. Inside his head he was screaming and the screams were like that of a child, like in the days when he was convinced some monster awaited him in the hallway to the bathroom and he would hide under the sheets and cry and pray for the evil to go away.

She was no longer human. She was no longer a she. What stood there was indescribable and Mark felt the last of his sanity snap.

It was eight feet tall and pulsed and bubbled as if whatever horrific things lurked beneath its skin were hot. Strange circular globes shot off in all directions and some of them had eyes, but most of them had mouths. In the center of the greenish horror was another mouth and this one was gigantic and lined with row upon row of teeth. The entire frame shuddered and changed shape like it was made of gelatin. It oozed and moved forward, toward him, the slime-covered tentacles reaching for him.

"NO!" Mark screamed and it was last coherent word that he was able to utter.

As it moved forward and reached for him, he felt fingers inside his brain, devouring his thoughts and unplugging his ability to think.

How had be doubted? How had he thought that what he could see every day was all there was? No, there was more to the universe.

He felt himself tilt over into insanity as the arms of this hideous entity embraced him and pulled him toward the mouth lined with hundreds of rows of sharp daggers. Mark Peterson opened his mouth and he began to scream and he screamed and screamed until he couldn't anymore.

***

"We have breaking news here. In a bizarre story, author Mark Peterson was found on the streets of Chicago this morning raving and ranting. The police say that he was found blocks from the hospital where his brother is currently receiving treatment after a similar incident. Todd Wilson, an Internet celebrity and author in his own right, was hospitalized two days ago. Peterson was ranting at first, but paramedics say once he was loaded into the ambulance and medicated, he slipped into a catatonic state and has not communicated again. Needless to say, authorities say they have no reasonable explanation for what happened to the brothers. Of course, we here at 24-Hour News will keep you update to date on any new developments.