The elevator was always silent. Not the kind of silence that came from a lack of sound, but the kind that pressed against your ears like a weight. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember in the old office building on the edge of town. No one knew who built it or why it was placed where it was, but it had never been used for its intended purpose. Instead, it sat in the basement, surrounded by rusted pipes and forgotten equipment, its doors sealed shut with a chain and padlock. Most people ignored it. The building had long since been abandoned, left to rot while the city moved on. But every so often, someone would find themselves drawn to the elevator. Usually, it was a curious child or a lost worker, but more often than not, they wouldn’t come out. Lena first heard about the elevator when she was eight. Her uncle, a construction worker, told her stories of people who vanished after stepping inside. He warned her not to go near it, but the stories were too intriguing to ignore. Years later, as a young woman working as a cleaner for the city’s maintenance crew, she found herself in the basement one rainy evening. She had been tasked with checking the utility meters, but the hallway leading to them was dark and empty. As she passed the old elevator, she noticed the chain was missing. She hesitated. The air felt colder here, and the walls seemed to close in. But curiosity won. She reached out and touched the door. It was warm, almost pulsing. Then, without warning, the doors slid open with a soft hum. Inside, the lights flickered on, revealing a polished steel cabin with a mirror-like floor. There was no control panel, just a single button labeled “1.” Lena stepped inside. The moment the doors closed behind her, the temperature dropped. A strange smell filled the air—like old paper and burning incense. She pressed the button. The elevator didn’t move. Instead, the mirror floor reflected not her face, but a shadowy figure standing behind her. When she turned around, the room was empty. A sudden jolt sent her to her knees. The elevator began to rise. She tried to press the button again, but it was gone. The lights dimmed, and the walls started to shift, changing from metal to wood, then to stone. The mirrors on the floor now showed different scenes—people walking through hallways, children laughing, a man in a suit staring directly at her. When the elevator finally stopped, the doors opened into what looked like an old library. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books that weren’t there before. A desk sat in the center, covered in dust. Lena stepped forward, but the moment she did, the doors slammed shut behind her. The books began to float, rearranging themselves into a pattern. One fell to the floor, opening to a page that read: “You are not alone.” She ran back to the elevator, but the door was locked. Panic set in as the library began to fade, replaced by a dark corridor. The walls whispered, voices overlapping in a language she didn’t understand. She stumbled into a room where a mirror showed her reflection, but her eyes were black. She screamed, and the mirror cracked. Then, everything went dark. Lena awoke in the basement, the elevator door wide open. She didn’t remember how she got there, only that the chain was back in place. She ran out, heart pounding, and never returned to the building. But the elevator wasn’t done with her. Weeks later, she saw a man in a suit standing outside the building. He smiled and waved, then disappeared into the shadows. That night, she dreamed of the elevator again, this time hearing a voice say, “You’re still here.” No one else remembered the elevator. Even the workers who had once spoken of it had no memory of it existing. But Lena knew it was real. And she wasn’t the only one who had seen it. Some said the elevator was a gateway to another world, a place where time folded in on itself. Others believed it was a prison for those who had been forgotten. But no one could agree on the truth. And still, every now and then, someone finds themselves in the basement, drawn to the old elevator. They hear the same whispers, see the same reflections, and feel the same cold breath on their neck. And when they step inside, the doors close, and the lights flicker. They never come out. Or do they?