Curiosity has a way of disguising itself as reason. I told myself I was only looking to satisfy a harmless question, but by the end of the week I had requested municipal blueprints, zoning maps, and inspection records for the building.According to every official document, the structure had twelve floors. No variances. No sealed levels. No retrofits.
But when I measured floor heights myself—counting steps, checking window alignment—I noticed something unsettling. The distance between the sixth and eighth floors was wrong. Almost double the height of the others.
I returned to the archives.
An original architectural cross-section revealed a faint outline between six and eight. Not labelled. Not erased. Just… obscured. As if someone had drawn over it repeatedly until the paper fibres tore.
I felt watched while I studied it.
The clerk at the records office leaned across the desk and whispered, “You shouldn’t be looking at that.”
When I asked why, she shook her head, refusing to meet my eyes.
That night, the elevator stalled again. Longer this time.
I was alone.
The lights dimmed. The air thickened. And then I heard it—breathing, unmistakably close, accompanied by a wet shifting sound, as if something immense were adjusting itself just beyond the walls.
I pressed the emergency button.
Nothing.
Then the elevator lurched upward and disgorged me onto the eighth floor.
The breathing followed me in my dreams.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
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