The elevator was never used. That’s what the building manager said, and he always spoke with a tight-lipped smile, as if he were hiding something. It sat at the end of a dimly lit hallway, its doors slightly ajar, like an open mouth waiting for a scream. No one had ever seen it in operation, yet the building had been standing for over a century, and the elevator had been there since the beginning. People whispered about it. Some claimed they heard voices from inside when the building was empty. Others swore they saw shadows moving behind the glass panels, even when no one was near. But no one dared to use it. Not until the day the janitor, a quiet man named Harold, found himself trapped in the elevator after a late shift. He had been cleaning the third floor when the power flickered. The lights went out, plunging the building into darkness. He reached for his flashlight, but the moment he pressed the button, the elevator doors slid open with a soft hum. It wasn’t supposed to work, but it did. The air inside smelled of old paper and mildew, and the buttons glowed faintly, as if they had been waiting for someone to come. Harold stepped in, unsure. The doors closed with a gentle *click*, and the elevator began to move. It didn’t go up or down—it just stopped, then started again, as if confused. The numbers on the panel changed erratically: 12, 7, 4, 10, then back to 3. Harold felt a chill crawl up his spine. He tried pressing the button for the ground floor, but nothing happened. The elevator continued its strange journey, stopping at floors that weren’t even part of the building. When it finally opened, he found himself in a long, narrow corridor that looked exactly like the one he had just left—except it was completely empty. No other floors, no signs of life. He ran back to the elevator, but it was gone. In its place stood a single door, painted in peeling green, with a small brass knob. He turned it slowly, expecting to find the hallway, but instead, he stepped into a room filled with old photographs. They were all of people who looked familiar, though he couldn’t place them. One photo showed a man in a suit standing outside the same elevator, his face blurred. Another showed a woman in a red dress, her eyes fixed on the camera with an unsettling gaze. Harold backed away, heart pounding. The room seemed to stretch infinitely, the walls closing in. He turned around, only to see the elevator door now open, leading back to the hallway. He ran through it, slamming the door behind him. When he finally reached the ground floor, the building was silent again, as if nothing had happened. The elevator was back where it belonged, its doors sealed shut. No one believed him. The manager just sighed and said, “That elevator doesn’t exist.” But Harold knew better. He kept an eye on it, watching for any sign of movement. Days passed, then weeks. Then one night, he heard a voice from inside. A child’s voice, whispering, “I’m not lost.” He didn’t go near it. But every night after that, he could hear the elevator humming, as if it were waiting. And sometimes, when he looked closely, he saw a reflection in the glass—a figure standing behind him, watching. Years later, a new tenant moved in. He was curious about the old elevator, and one evening, he decided to take a look. He found the door slightly open, just like before. The moment he stepped inside, the lights flickered, and the elevator began to move. It stopped at various floors, some of which didn’t exist. At one point, it opened onto a dark stairwell, and he saw a shadow walking up the steps. When he turned around, the elevator had vanished. The next morning, the tenant was found in the basement, muttering to himself. He claimed he had seen the elevator again, and that it had taken him somewhere else. No one could explain what happened. The building remained unchanged, the elevator still unused, but now, more people claimed to hear whispers from within. And so, the elevator became a legend. A place between worlds, a space where time didn’t flow the same way. Some say it waits for those who are lost, or those who are looking for something they can’t quite remember. Others say it’s just an old machine that never learned how to stop. But the truth is, no one really knows. And maybe, that’s why it still lingers, waiting for the next person to step inside.