The Missing Floor
Everyone in the building knew there was no fourteenth floor.
The elevators went from thirteen to fifteen.
The emergency stairwell did the same.
The blueprints showed nothing between them.
Nobody questioned it.
It was simply one of those things.
Then Martin Hale found the button.
Martin worked nights as a janitor.
He had been cleaning the building for almost eight years.
Most nights were uneventful.
Vacuum.
Empty trash.
Clean bathrooms.
Lock doors.
Go home.
One Tuesday night, at 2:14 a.m., Martin entered the elevator carrying a mop bucket.
He pressed thirteen.
The doors closed.
Then he noticed something.
Behind the panel of buttons was a thin line.
A seam.
Martin ran his finger along it.
The panel shifted.
Behind it was another button.
Martin stared at it.
He should have called security.
Instead, he pressed it.
The elevator moved upward.
The display changed.
Then stopped.
The doors opened.
There was an office floor.
Exactly like the others.
Gray carpet.
Fluorescent lights.
Cubicles.
Printers.
Computers.
People.
Hundreds of them.
Every desk was occupied.
Nobody looked at him.
Martin stood frozen.
A woman was typing at a computer.
A man was speaking on a telephone.
Another employee was reading a newspaper.
Everything looked normal.
Except for one thing.
Nobody made any sound.
No typing.
No phones.
No footsteps.
Nothing.
Martin walked toward the nearest desk.
The woman continued typing.
He looked at her monitor.
The screen was blank.
Every computer was blank.
Every newspaper was blank.
Every telephone had no cord.
Martin turned around.
The elevator doors were still open.
He stepped inside.
The doors closed.
He pressed the lobby.
Nothing happened.
The display remained on 14.
Then someone entered the elevator.
A man in a gray suit.
He looked directly at Martin.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Martin pressed the button repeatedly.
The man smiled.
"Nobody is."
The elevator began descending.
The man disappeared.
The doors opened onto the lobby.
Martin ran.
The next morning, he told security.
They checked the elevator.
There was no fourteenth-floor button.
They laughed.
Martin didn't.
The following week, he returned to the elevator with his phone recording.
At 2:14 a.m., he opened the panel.
The button was there again.
He pressed it.
The elevator rose.
The doors opened.
The office was waiting.
This time, everyone was looking at him.
Martin froze.
The man in the gray suit stood at the end of the corridor.
"You came back."
Martin ran for the elevator.
The doors closed.
The floor display showed fourteen.
Then thirteen.
Then fourteen again.
Then fifteen.
The doors opened onto the fifteenth floor.
Martin ran home.
He quit the next day.
Three months later, he received a letter.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed the fourteenth floor.
Martin was standing in the center.
Dozens of office workers stood behind him.
Everyone was staring at the camera.
Everyone except Martin.
He was looking toward something outside the frame.
On the back of the photograph was a date.
Tomorrow.
Martin called the police.
They told him it was probably a prank.
That night, he stayed home.
At 2:14 a.m., his apartment elevator stopped.
Martin lived on the eighth floor.
The doors opened.
Nobody was inside.
The display showed:
Martin didn't move.
The doors remained open.
A fluorescent light flickered somewhere inside the elevator.
Then a voice came through the speaker.
"Mr. Hale."
Martin backed away.
The voice continued.
"Your desk is waiting."
The doors closed.
The next morning, Martin's apartment was empty.
His keys were on the kitchen table.
His shoes were beside the door.
His wallet was in his bedroom.
He was never seen again.
The building still stands.
The fourteenth floor still doesn't appear on any official plans.
But some employees claim that if you stay late enough, you can sometimes hear typing between the thirteenth and fifteenth floors.
And occasionally, at exactly 2:14 a.m., the elevator display flickers.
If the doors open on fourteen, nobody who works there will step inside.
Because they know what happens when you do.
You get a desk.
And once you sit down, you never leave.
Some buildings have floors that don't appear on the plans.
The people who find them usually don't appear afterward either.
