It became impossible to ignore the patterns once I noticed them. The elevator always hesitated at the same point. The vents always hummed louder after midnight. And sometimes, when I lay awake, I could feel vibrations beneath the floor, slow and rhythmic.I took the stairs one evening.
Between the sixth and eighth floors, there was no landing—just a longer stretch of stairwell, with walls that seemed closer together. The light flickered violently there, buzzing like it was under strain.
I touched the wall.
It was warm.
Too warm.
I pulled my hand back and noticed a faint residue on my fingers, slightly sticky, smelling faintly metallic.
Someone was crying on the sixth floor when I reached it—low, muffled sobbing coming from behind a door that everyone said had been vacant for years.
No one answered when I knocked.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
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