The old office building on the edge of town had stood for over a century, its brick walls weathered by time and whispers. Most of the floors were empty, their windows dark, but the seventh floor remained occupied by a small tech startup that never seemed to grow. Employees came and went, but no one ever stayed long. The elevator, a rusted steel box with flickering lights, was the only way up. It was said that the elevator had once been part of a grand hotel, before it was dismantled and repurposed. No one could remember exactly when it was installed, but the workers who built it spoke in hushed tones about strange occurrences—lights turning on by themselves, the sound of footsteps in an empty shaft, and the faint echo of a woman's voice calling out in a language no one could understand. Lena, a new intern, was assigned to the seventh floor. She arrived early one morning, her backpack heavy with notebooks and coffee. The lobby was quiet, save for the hum of fluorescent lights. She stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the seventh floor, and watched as the metal doors closed with a slow, deliberate creak. The ride was smooth at first, but then the lights began to flicker. The numbers on the panel dimmed, and the air grew colder. Lena’s breath formed clouds in front of her. She glanced at the mirror, but there was no reflection. Her phone buzzed in her pocket—no signal, of course—but the screen lit up anyway. A message appeared: “Don’t go to the seventh floor.” She pressed the emergency button, but the call disconnected immediately. The elevator shuddered, and the temperature dropped further. Then, from the ceiling, a soft, melodic humming began. It wasn’t loud, but it filled the space like a lullaby. Lena felt her legs weaken, her mind slipping into something unfamiliar. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. When she opened her eyes, the elevator was still moving, but the numbers had changed. It wasn’t going up anymore—it was descending. The floor indicator read 4, then 3, then 2. She pounded on the door, shouting, but no one answered. The humming stopped, replaced by a low, rhythmic tapping. It was like someone was walking in the ceiling, slowly, deliberately. At the ground floor, the doors opened to an empty lobby. No one was there. The lights were off, and the building felt dead. Lena stumbled out, her heart pounding. She turned around, expecting to see the elevator still there, but it was gone. In its place was a blank wall, as if the elevator had never existed. The next day, Lena told her manager what had happened. He looked at her with concern, then sighed. “You’re not the first,” he said. “There are people who disappear every few years. They just… vanish. No trace. No body. No explanation.” Lena couldn’t sleep. Every night, she dreamed of the elevator. Sometimes it was empty, sometimes it was full of shadowy figures. Once, she saw a woman in a white dress, standing in the corner, watching her. The woman never moved, never spoke, but her eyes followed Lena everywhere. Weeks passed, and Lena began to notice strange things. A photo in her apartment showed her standing in front of the elevator, but she didn’t remember taking it. Her phone recorded a voice message that she hadn’t sent. And then, one morning, she found herself standing outside the building again, the elevator doors open, waiting. She hesitated, but something pulled her forward. As she stepped inside, the lights flickered, and the humming returned. The numbers climbed, higher and higher, until they reached the seventh floor. The doors opened, revealing a hallway she had never seen before. The walls were lined with photographs of people—some familiar, some not. All of them had been in the elevator. Lena turned to leave, but the doors slammed shut behind her. The hallway stretched endlessly, each door leading to a different version of the same room. In one, she saw herself sitting in the elevator, staring at the mirror. In another, she was already gone, her chair empty. She ran, but the hallway never ended. The hum grew louder, more insistent, until it became a whisper in her ear. “Stay with us,” it said. “You belong here now.” Lena tried to scream, but her voice was swallowed by the silence. The last thing she saw was the elevator doors closing, and the numbers slowly fading away, one by one.