The elevator was always silent, even when it was moving. That’s what Mira noticed first. She had just moved into the old apartment building on the edge of town, a place that seemed to have been forgotten by time itself. The building was tall, but not too tall—only seven floors. The elevator, though, was something else entirely. It was an old model, with a heavy steel door and a flickering light above the button panel. The buttons were labeled in faded numbers, and some of them didn’t work. No one ever used the elevator, except for the maintenance man who came once a month. But Mira didn’t mind. She preferred the stairs. They were quieter, and she liked the way the creaks and groans of the wooden steps echoed through the hallways like whispers from another time. But one night, after a long shift at the diner, she was exhausted. The stairs felt heavier than usual, and the wind howled through the cracks in the walls. She stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for her floor, and waited. The doors closed slowly, almost as if they were reluctant to move. The light flickered again, and then the elevator began its ascent. It didn’t stop on the second floor, which was odd because she knew someone lived there—a woman who always left her lights on late at night. The third floor also passed without a sound. Mira looked at the number on the panel. It was still showing 1, then 2, then 3. She frowned. The numbers weren’t changing. She pressed the button again, but nothing happened. The elevator was stuck. Then she heard it. A soft, humming voice, not loud, but close. It was speaking in a language she didn’t recognize, or maybe it wasn’t a language at all. It was more like a melody, a lullaby sung by something ancient and unseen. Mira’s breath caught in her throat. She turned around, expecting to see someone behind her, but the elevator was empty. The hum grew louder, and the light began to pulse, red and then blue, like the heartbeat of something alive. Mira pressed the emergency button, but no response. She tried to open the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow. Not a person, but something that moved like a person, only slower, more deliberate. It was standing near the back wall, facing away from her. She backed up against the far wall, heart pounding. The shadow turned slightly, and for a moment, she thought she saw a face—pale, elongated, with eyes that glowed faintly. Then it vanished, and the elevator jolted forward. The numbers on the panel began to change rapidly, skipping floors, jumping from 5 to 8, then back to 4. Mira clutched the railing, trying to steady herself. When the elevator finally stopped, the doors opened to a hallway she had never seen before. It was dimly lit, with peeling wallpaper and a strange smell—like old paper and mildew. There was a single door at the end of the corridor, slightly ajar. Mira hesitated, but curiosity pulled her forward. She reached for the door, and as she did, the elevator behind her closed with a soft thud. Inside, the room was empty except for a small desk and a chair. On the desk sat a dusty journal, its pages yellowed and brittle. Mira opened it carefully, and the words inside made her blood run cold. It was written in the same language she had heard in the elevator, but now, she could understand it. It told the story of a woman who had lived in the building decades ago. She had been a caretaker, and she had gone mad. She had believed the elevator was a portal to another world, a place where the dead could speak to the living. Mira closed the journal and ran back to the elevator, but when she got there, the doors were locked. She pounded on them, shouting, but no one answered. The hum returned, softer this time, almost like a farewell. She sat on the floor, trembling, waiting for someone to come. But no one did. Days later, the maintenance man found the elevator open, the doors unlocked, and the building strangely quiet. He checked the control panel, but everything seemed normal. No signs of anyone being trapped. No one remembered hearing any strange noises. The building continued to stand, as it always had, with its silent halls and its unspoken secrets. Mira never spoke about what happened. She moved out soon after, leaving behind the apartment and the elevator. But sometimes, when the wind blew just right, she could still hear the hum, low and distant, like a memory trying to reach her. And she wondered if the elevator was still waiting, ready to take someone else on a journey they would never remember.