The elevator in the old office building on the edge of town was never used by anyone who stayed for long. It had been installed decades ago, but no one could remember who had built it or why. The building itself was a relic, its walls covered in peeling paint and its floors creaking like a dying man's breath. Most people avoided the third floor entirely, where the elevator was located, though they couldn’t say exactly why. It wasn’t that the elevator was broken or unsafe. In fact, it worked perfectly—too perfectly. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, the buttons glowed faintly, and the mirror inside reflected not just the person standing before it, but something else, too. A flicker of movement, a shadow that didn’t match the body in front of it. No one ever saw it clearly, but they all felt it watching. One morning, a young intern named Clara arrived at the building early to start her first day. She had heard the stories, of course—whispers from other employees about the elevator, how it only appeared when you weren’t looking for it. But she dismissed them as urban legends. She was practical, logical, and had no time for superstition. She took the stairs to the third floor, but as she reached the top, she noticed the elevator doors were open. That was strange. No one else was there. She hesitated, then stepped inside. The moment the doors closed, the air turned colder. Her breath came out in visible puffs, and the lights above dimmed slightly. She pressed the button for the ground floor. The elevator began to descend, but the numbers on the panel moved too fast, skipping over some entirely. When it finally stopped, the doors opened into a hallway that wasn’t there before. The walls were darker, the lighting more artificial, and the air smelled of mildew and old paper. There was a door at the end of the corridor, and it was slightly ajar. Clara’s heart pounded, but curiosity pushed her forward. She stepped through the doorway and found herself in what looked like an abandoned office. Papers lay scattered across the floor, desks stood frozen in time, and a single desk chair faced a blank wall. On the wall, a small plaque read: “Office of Mr. V. Hargrove – 1973.” She turned around, expecting to see the elevator behind her, but it was gone. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay calm. She retraced her steps, but the hallway led nowhere. The door she had entered through was now locked, and the walls had begun to shift, stretching and contracting like a living thing. Suddenly, a voice echoed from somewhere deep within the building. “You shouldn’t have come here.” It was low, calm, and filled with something that wasn’t quite human. Clara spun around, but there was no one there. Then, the light overhead flickered and died. In the darkness, she heard footsteps. Not hers. They were slow, deliberate, and coming closer. She backed against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. The sound stopped. Then, a whisper: “You’re still here.” She didn’t know how long she waited, but eventually, the lights returned. The hallway was back to normal, the door was open, and the elevator was waiting. She rushed inside, slammed the button for the ground floor, and held her breath as the elevator groaned upward. When the doors opened, she stumbled into the lobby, gasping for air. No one was there. The building was empty, except for the silence that followed her. The next day, she asked the building manager about the third floor. He frowned and said, “There’s no third floor. The building only has two.” Clara froze. She had been on the third floor. She had seen the elevator. And she had seen the office of Mr. V. Hargrove. But no one else remembered it. No one had ever seen the elevator, and no one knew who Mr. Hargrove was. The building had been empty for years, and the only person who had ever lived there was a janitor who had disappeared without a trace. Clara never spoke of what happened. But sometimes, when the elevator doors opened at night, she would hear a voice calling her name. And she would wait, wondering if it was her, or someone else who had been trapped in the space between floors.