The elevator in the old office building on 12th Street had always been a bit strange. It was one of those things people avoided talking about, like the flickering light in the basement or the creaking floorboards in the third-floor hallway. Most people just assumed it was an old building with old problems, but some claimed they had heard whispers when no one else was around. Lena worked as a receptionist at the building and had never paid much attention to the elevator until the day she found a note inside it. It was scrawled in red ink on a piece of paper that looked like it had been there for years. The message read: "Don't stop at the 13th floor." She laughed it off, thinking someone had left it as a joke, but the next day, she noticed something else—every time the elevator passed the 13th floor, the lights would dim for a second, and the temperature would drop slightly. She told her coworker, Mark, who shrugged and said, "Maybe the building is just old. You know how these things get." But Lena couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. She started taking the stairs more often, but the elevator still called to her, especially during late hours when the building was quiet. One night, she stayed late to finish a report. The building was empty except for her, and the elevator was the only way down. She stepped inside, pressed the button for the ground floor, and waited. The doors closed slowly, as if reluctant. As the elevator began its descent, Lena noticed the numbers on the panel flickering between 12 and 13. She frowned and reached out to press the button again, but the panel suddenly went dark. A cold wind swept through the cabin, though the doors were sealed. The lights flickered, then died completely. Lena's breath caught in her throat. Then, from the back corner of the elevator, a faint voice whispered, "You shouldn't have come." She spun around, heart pounding, but there was no one there. The silence that followed was deafening. Then, without warning, the elevator jolted to a stop. The emergency light came on, casting a pale glow over the walls. Lena’s hands trembled as she reached for her phone, but the screen was black. No signal. No power. Just her and the silence. Suddenly, the doors slid open. Not to the lobby, but to a hallway she had never seen before. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, and the air smelled of mildew and old paper. A single overhead light buzzed softly, casting long shadows across the floor. She took a step forward, then another, and realized she was standing in what looked like a forgotten part of the building—perhaps even a different building altogether. A door at the end of the hallway creaked open, revealing a small office with a desk, a chair, and a typewriter. On the desk sat a file labeled "Elevator Incident Report – 1987." Lena hesitated, then opened it. Inside were notes written in a shaky hand, describing strange occurrences in the same elevator. People who had taken it had reported hearing voices, seeing shadows, and sometimes vanishing without a trace. The final entry read: "We tried to shut it down, but the elevator won’t stop. It takes people where they don’t want to go. And once you’re inside, you can never leave the way you came." Lena slammed the file shut and backed away. The hallway seemed to stretch longer than it should, and the door behind her now led to a stairwell instead of the elevator. She ran, pushing past the door and into the darkness of the stairs. When she finally reached the lobby, the elevator was gone. Or maybe it had never been there at all. The next morning, Lena asked the building manager about the 13th floor. He looked at her strangely. "There is no 13th floor," he said. "This building only has 12 floors." She didn’t tell anyone what she had seen. But every time she passed the elevator, she felt the same chill, and sometimes, she swore she could hear a whisper in the silence. She wondered if the elevator was waiting for someone else, or if it had already found them.