The old building on 12th Street had always been a place of hushed whispers and curious glances. Its red brick facade was worn, its windows fogged with time, and the lobby smelled faintly of mildew and forgotten memories. Most people avoided it, but for those who lived in the upper floors, the elevator was a necessary evil. It was an old, wooden elevator, with a creaking mechanism that groaned like a tired man. The buttons were faded, some missing entirely, and the mirror inside reflected not just the riders, but strange shadows that moved when no one else did. No one could remember when the building was built, or how many lives had passed through its doors. But everyone knew the stories. One evening, a young woman named Clara stepped into the elevator, her heels clicking against the metal floor as she pressed the button for the 10th floor. The door closed with a soft hiss, and the lights flickered once before settling into a dim glow. She looked at her reflection in the mirror—her face pale, her eyes tired from a long day at work. She hummed to herself, trying to keep the silence from creeping in. As the elevator began to rise, the sound of the machinery changed. It was slower now, almost reluctant. The air felt heavier, as if something unseen was pressing down on her chest. She glanced at the floor numbers, which had stopped at 7. Then 8. Then 9. She frowned. She had only pressed 10. The numbers didn't move again. A sudden jolt made her stumble. The elevator shuddered, then came to a stop. The lights went out, plunging the small cabin into darkness. Clara’s breath caught in her throat. She reached for the emergency button, but it was gone. Or maybe it had never been there. Then, a voice. Not loud, but clear, like a whisper in her ear. “You shouldn’t have come.” Clara spun around, but the elevator was empty. Her own reflection stared back at her, unblinking. She tried to call out, but her voice wouldn’t come. The silence was thick, like a curtain drawn over reality. Then, the lights flickered back on. The numbers were still stuck at 9. The elevator didn’t move. A chill ran down her spine. She reached for the door handle, but it was locked. She pounded on the metal, shouting for help, but no one answered. The building was silent, as if it had been abandoned. She noticed something strange in the mirror. A figure standing behind her, tall and thin, with a face obscured by shadow. She turned, but there was nothing there. Just her own reflection, unchanged. She took a step back, heart pounding. The figure in the mirror moved slightly, just a flicker of motion. She turned again, but the elevator was empty. Then, the elevator began to move again. Slowly, steadily, rising. The numbers ticked up: 10, 11, 12. The doors opened onto the 12th floor. She stumbled out, gasping for air, her legs weak. The hallway was empty, the lights dim. She looked back, but the elevator was gone. The door had sealed shut, and the building seemed to breathe with a quiet, unnatural rhythm. The next day, she told her roommate about the incident. The roommate shook her head. “That elevator hasn’t worked in years. They say it only runs when someone needs it.” Clara didn’t believe in ghosts. But that night, she dreamed of the elevator again. This time, the mirror showed a different face—one she had never seen before, but somehow recognized. It was smiling. In the weeks that followed, more people reported strange occurrences. Some claimed to hear voices from within the elevator. Others saw the same shadowy figure in the mirror. The building remained untouched, its residents cautious, its history buried beneath layers of dust and silence. No one ever found out why the elevator existed, or where it truly went when it left the building. Some said it was a gateway to another time. Others believed it was a prison for something that should never have been disturbed. But the elevator still waits, hidden behind the old red doors, ready to take anyone who dares to press the wrong button. And sometimes, when the lights flicker and the silence deepens, you can almost hear the echo of a voice, saying, “You shouldn’t have come.”