Mystic Elevator
The Mystic Elevator, a slight return -or- Back the way you came
Lowering your shoulders, you burst into the break room, slamming open the doors. You charge past the tables and the vending machines, the lone occupant of the break room following you with her mouth agape. The door handle is soon in your grasp. With a quick turn of your wrist, you pull open the door to reveal the empty little white-walled room.
Your finger presses the button and the doors slide open. You step inside and turn around to stare dumbfounded at the control panel. The floor numbers on the buttons are worn beyond recognition. You wish you had remembered this from your last visit.
Quickly pressing the bottom button, you watch as the doors slide slowly shut. Staring back at you across the little room is the door, slightly ajar. A hand pushes it open and Michael stands before you, his white, pointed teeth gleaming at you like something out of a nightmare.
The doors close and there is silence.
The floor does not move, the elevator does not shake or shift. The bell dings above you and the doors start to open. You find yourself tensed, prepared to battle for your life with Michael, but when the doors slide open an old hallway lit by a single fluorescent bulb is before you, the first floor. At the end of the hall is the sky blue door that leads you to the main hall of the 1st floor.
You walk briskly, but nervously through the ground floor towards the old security guard at the desk. He looks at you with a big smile. The smile was comforting, most notably in the lack of needle pointed teeth like those freaks upstairs.
"Joe," you say to the old man. "Someone is trying to kill me."
"Hi," he says loudly with his big jolly smile. "Why you back so soon?" He asks.
You remember now that you must speak loudly in order for him to hear you. "Someone is trying to kill me, Joe," you practically shout to the man.
His smile never wavers. "Somebody tryin' to kill ya?"
"Yeah," you say with a few nods.
"Well what the hell you still doin' standin' around?" He asks.
Patience has never been a problem for you but you can feel it wearing thin real fast. "I thought maybe you could call the police," you say through gritted teeth.
"Yeah," he says, "Yeah I can do that." He opens a drawer in the desk and slowly pulls the phone out to put it on the desk. The phone is probably as old as he is, you think, it's a big heavy one that could easily double as a bludgeoning weapon.
He reaches back into the drawer and pulls out a big phone book. He opens it delicately and licks his fingers between flipping the pages.
"9-1-1," you say.
He stops searching the book and looks blankly up at you. "What's that you sayin?"
"9-1-1. That's the number."
"Oh," he says, gently closing the phone book and bending slowly down to return it to its drawer.
Behind you, in the distance, you hear the faint ding of a bell. "Just dial 9-1-1!!" You shout at him.
"I will, have some patience," he says with reproach.
"Did you hear what I fucking said?! I don't have patience! Someone is trying to kill me!!" You decide right then and there that if he says "what" again, you are going to punch him in the face.
"Alright," he says. His finger hits the 9. You look behind you and see Michaels' form running with a distinctly inhuman speed. He will be upon you in a few moments.
You turn back to the guard and wonder briefly if he was hitting the first or second '1' when he looks up at you with serious eyes and says "It's ringing."
A massive force hits you in your side and you go crashing to the ground with a heavy weight pressing down on you. Your body is still sliding on the linoleum floor when a flurry of brick-like fist come bashing into your face. You nose shatters almost instantly and two more punches take you on either cheek.
You try to fight back, but it's useless. Michael slams fist after fist into your swelling face, laughing with a mad joy-like glee all the while. Suddenly the onslaught of pain stops. You look up through blurred vision and see your murderous co-worker, his sharp and pointed teeth bared.
"You should have just stayed dead," he says to you. His open jaws start to descend on you with uncanny speed. Two loud and echoing booms sound and Michael stops his attack, arching back and looking up at the lights. He falls sideways as you struggle free of his mass. Blood pools under him, spreading into a puddle on the linoleum.
Standing over the dying form of your would be killer is the security guard, holding a gun in his nervous, shaky hands. "You okay?" He asks.
You don't answer him, just stare back in a stunned silence.
The police arrive soon after, followed by paramedics. The crowd around the crime scene grows as you and your savior, the deaf old man with the gun, are questioned about what happened. You are taken to the station and questioned more. You tell them of Michael and Gary's involvement in plotting your death. Eventually you are given leave to return to your home.
Once home, you drink a few beers and just kind of absorb everything that happened to you today. You distinctly recall having an ill feeling about going to work today and wonder why you didn't listen to your premonition. You wonder what will happen to Gary.
You take the rest of the week off.
A knock sounds at the door on Saturday. You open it to find Michael standing before you, his dark hair and dark eyes looking at you with intensity.
"What the hell happened?" He said.
"I'm hallucinating. How the fuck are you standing before me?" You say, taking a few slow and cautious steps back.
"Some kind of rumor goes around the office saying I got shot by the security guard in the lobby after I apparently attacked you. I get home to my wife to find her in tears, thinking I was dead. I go down to the morgue with her, to identify the body, and I find myself staring down on the dead form of myself," he explains. "What the hell happened?"
"I don't understand," you say, as much to yourself as to him.
"I don't either," he says. He laughs maniacally, his mouth opening to reveal normal human teeth.
"It wasn't you, then?" You say in surprise. "Did you see the teeth on the body?"
"No," he says.
"His teeth were different. And his tongue."
Michael looks at you quizzically.
"The teeth, they were filed to points like a carnivor. The tongue was forked. He- It wasn't human." You explain to him. It sounds crazy to your own ears, you can only imagine what he's thinking.
He nods in understanding, you almost wonder if he is just mocking you. "Well I don't understand it," he says. "They did some tests and our DNA's are different. That's all they would tell me."
He looks you square in the eye. "I don't believe in aliens." He turns around and leaves your doorway. You close the door and dwell on this encounter.
When you return to work, you find that the little hallway to the Mystic Elevator is no longer there. It doesn't appear to have ever been there. You ask around, but no one knows anything about it, several of them whisper of lunacy.
Your security guard friend no longer works there, having shot and killed a man-thing. Fired for doing his job.
You're not sure he would have been able to understand the whole Michael dead and alive thing anyway. You're not sure if you understand it yourself.
Life goes on as it always has, moments of bliss and ages of boredom.
Lowering your shoulders, you burst into the break room, slamming open the doors. You charge past the tables and the vending machines, the lone occupant of the break room following you with her mouth agape. The door handle is soon in your grasp. With a quick turn of your wrist, you pull open the door to reveal the empty little white-walled room.
Your finger presses the button and the doors slide open. You step inside and turn around to stare dumbfounded at the control panel. The floor numbers on the buttons are worn beyond recognition. You wish you had remembered this from your last visit.
Quickly pressing the bottom button, you watch as the doors slide slowly shut. Staring back at you across the little room is the door, slightly ajar. A hand pushes it open and Michael stands before you, his white, pointed teeth gleaming at you like something out of a nightmare.
The doors close and there is silence.
The floor does not move, the elevator does not shake or shift. The bell dings above you and the doors start to open. You find yourself tensed, prepared to battle for your life with Michael, but when the doors slide open an old hallway lit by a single fluorescent bulb is before you, the first floor. At the end of the hall is the sky blue door that leads you to the main hall of the 1st floor.
You walk briskly, but nervously through the ground floor towards the old security guard at the desk. He looks at you with a big smile. The smile was comforting, most notably in the lack of needle pointed teeth like those freaks upstairs.
"Joe," you say to the old man. "Someone is trying to kill me."
"Hi," he says loudly with his big jolly smile. "Why you back so soon?" He asks.
You remember now that you must speak loudly in order for him to hear you. "Someone is trying to kill me, Joe," you practically shout to the man.
His smile never wavers. "Somebody tryin' to kill ya?"
"Yeah," you say with a few nods.
"Well what the hell you still doin' standin' around?" He asks.
Patience has never been a problem for you but you can feel it wearing thin real fast. "I thought maybe you could call the police," you say through gritted teeth.
"Yeah," he says, "Yeah I can do that." He opens a drawer in the desk and slowly pulls the phone out to put it on the desk. The phone is probably as old as he is, you think, it's a big heavy one that could easily double as a bludgeoning weapon.
He reaches back into the drawer and pulls out a big phone book. He opens it delicately and licks his fingers between flipping the pages.
"9-1-1," you say.
He stops searching the book and looks blankly up at you. "What's that you sayin?"
"9-1-1. That's the number."
"Oh," he says, gently closing the phone book and bending slowly down to return it to its drawer.
Behind you, in the distance, you hear the faint ding of a bell. "Just dial 9-1-1!!" You shout at him.
"I will, have some patience," he says with reproach.
"Did you hear what I fucking said?! I don't have patience! Someone is trying to kill me!!" You decide right then and there that if he says "what" again, you are going to punch him in the face.
"Alright," he says. His finger hits the 9. You look behind you and see Michaels' form running with a distinctly inhuman speed. He will be upon you in a few moments.
You turn back to the guard and wonder briefly if he was hitting the first or second '1' when he looks up at you with serious eyes and says "It's ringing."
A massive force hits you in your side and you go crashing to the ground with a heavy weight pressing down on you. Your body is still sliding on the linoleum floor when a flurry of brick-like fist come bashing into your face. You nose shatters almost instantly and two more punches take you on either cheek.
You try to fight back, but it's useless. Michael slams fist after fist into your swelling face, laughing with a mad joy-like glee all the while. Suddenly the onslaught of pain stops. You look up through blurred vision and see your murderous co-worker, his sharp and pointed teeth bared.
"You should have just stayed dead," he says to you. His open jaws start to descend on you with uncanny speed. Two loud and echoing booms sound and Michael stops his attack, arching back and looking up at the lights. He falls sideways as you struggle free of his mass. Blood pools under him, spreading into a puddle on the linoleum.
Standing over the dying form of your would be killer is the security guard, holding a gun in his nervous, shaky hands. "You okay?" He asks.
You don't answer him, just stare back in a stunned silence.
The police arrive soon after, followed by paramedics. The crowd around the crime scene grows as you and your savior, the deaf old man with the gun, are questioned about what happened. You are taken to the station and questioned more. You tell them of Michael and Gary's involvement in plotting your death. Eventually you are given leave to return to your home.
Once home, you drink a few beers and just kind of absorb everything that happened to you today. You distinctly recall having an ill feeling about going to work today and wonder why you didn't listen to your premonition. You wonder what will happen to Gary.
You take the rest of the week off.
A knock sounds at the door on Saturday. You open it to find Michael standing before you, his dark hair and dark eyes looking at you with intensity.
"What the hell happened?" He said.
"I'm hallucinating. How the fuck are you standing before me?" You say, taking a few slow and cautious steps back.
"Some kind of rumor goes around the office saying I got shot by the security guard in the lobby after I apparently attacked you. I get home to my wife to find her in tears, thinking I was dead. I go down to the morgue with her, to identify the body, and I find myself staring down on the dead form of myself," he explains. "What the hell happened?"
"I don't understand," you say, as much to yourself as to him.
"I don't either," he says. He laughs maniacally, his mouth opening to reveal normal human teeth.
"It wasn't you, then?" You say in surprise. "Did you see the teeth on the body?"
"No," he says.
"His teeth were different. And his tongue."
Michael looks at you quizzically.
"The teeth, they were filed to points like a carnivor. The tongue was forked. He- It wasn't human." You explain to him. It sounds crazy to your own ears, you can only imagine what he's thinking.
He nods in understanding, you almost wonder if he is just mocking you. "Well I don't understand it," he says. "They did some tests and our DNA's are different. That's all they would tell me."
He looks you square in the eye. "I don't believe in aliens." He turns around and leaves your doorway. You close the door and dwell on this encounter.
When you return to work, you find that the little hallway to the Mystic Elevator is no longer there. It doesn't appear to have ever been there. You ask around, but no one knows anything about it, several of them whisper of lunacy.
Your security guard friend no longer works there, having shot and killed a man-thing. Fired for doing his job.
You're not sure he would have been able to understand the whole Michael dead and alive thing anyway. You're not sure if you understand it yourself.
Life goes on as it always has, moments of bliss and ages of boredom.
