Whispers on The 12th Floor

By Aarushi Singh

“You’ll never believe what happened to me today.”

I slump on the barstool as my wife bustles around the kitchen; spices waft around and into my nose. My nostrils flare at their addictive scent and I close my eyes. For a minute I forget where I am, forget who I am, forget what I saw today.

Until my wife rudely jerks me back to reality with a light caress of my head. 

“What happened?” she questions, her back turned to me. I swallow. She won’t believe me. But, to be fair, who would?

I snatch and push as much air as I can into my already constricting lungs. I let go of that breath. 

“So you know, I went to fix that elevator in that new apartment.”

“Yeah, how careless are those people. They barely moved in a month ago! How could they break that lift already?” 

“Elevator,” I correct instinctively. She turns and mock-glares at me. I smile sheepishly and continue.

“We got there and we walked into the lobby. Nice new place by the way, very posh. But the funny thing was, soon as the lift doors opened, the chill ran through the lift. They had told us the AC was broken, so we didn’t think much of it, y’know?”

She bobs her head at me, absorbed in stirring her stew. I digress.

“So we turn off the elevator, try and figure out what’s wrong with it. Rob had the panel open in the back and was checking it out while I checked the buttons and AC. Just then these two residents walked past. You could tell they lived in this building just by their clothes. Those horrific little skimpy outfits that cost more than our food for a week?”

She tuts, rubbing my arm softly before turning back to the stove. 

“And they come up to us and start yelling! One was this whiny girl from America. I didn’t know they talked like that outside them TV shows. Real spoiled brat too. She left soon after, thank god. Her friend introduced himself and shook hands with us. I would have said he was alright, but after he shook our hands, he turned to leave and shook hands with the air. It was the oddest thing. Anyway, we got him to leave and I took a look at the AC. But guess what?”

“What?” 

“It was completely fine! Nothing wrong, prime condition. But there was still this draft going through the lift. Almost felt like it was going through you.” I shivered. “Then Rob started breathing down my neck. I got the feeling he was staring at me too, but when I looked up he was always working.”

“It couldn’t have been anyone else?”

“Just let me finish the story, would you?” I say dryly. She chuckles and gestures for me to continue. 

“Then something weird started happening. The lights started flickering and the lift started to move.”

“I thought you shut it off?”

“We did!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure,” I snap. “Anyway, it went all the way up to the 12th floor and started creaking, like it was trying to go even higher. Rob and I just sat there waiting for it to go back down, which it eventually did. By then we figured the people in the building were right, there was something really wrong with this lift. So, I swapped places with Rob and started working on the panel in the back. That man’s got remarkable reach too. Passed me all the tools from the other side of the lift without even needing to step away. 

We worked for about 20 minutes when that American girl came back with her friend. She apologised very nicely, though still managed to blame us in the apology.” I roll my eyes and my wife smirks at me.

“I told her it was all right, mostly to get her off of my back. She tried to hug me! Oh god, teenagers these days. I just moved away and dropped my screwdriver. We all bent down to get it, but just as we all reached out, it just floated into the air by itself!”

My wife turns toward me with a bemused look. 

“You told me all that, just as a joke?” she laughs, shaking her head. 

“I’m not making it up.”

“Well, screwdrivers can’t fly.”

“And you can’t cook,” I retort irritably.

She glowers at me. 

 “You want to make your own food?”

“No, no, I’m sorry. But just listen. I put my hand all around it and there were no strings, just that weird draft I told you about.”

“Oh, and I’m sure air currents can lift screwdrivers now,” she replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. I scowl at her back. I grab her arm and turn her towards me.

“This is the really freaky bit though. The screwdriver moved upwards towards the wall of the lift. And it wrote ‘help’ .”

I pause, watching her face for a reaction. I am disappointed; all I see is exhaustion and disbelief. She rubs her face tiredly. 

“I’m not sure what you saw, but this isn’t real.” Her voice bites into me. It knocks my newly awoken imagination out and I cannot protest. I know I’m right though. Something is very wrong with that lift. Some instinct tells me so. I sigh dejectedly. I don’t want to argue. So for the sake of peace, I say, “Well, I was a little tired. Might have dozed off. Still a good story though.” 

My words sound unconvincing to me but she lets it go. As I plate our food, I can’t resist adding one last thing.

“You know something funny, though? When I ran out of the lift, I swore I could hear a girl crying.”

Her knuckles tighten around her fork as she wordlessly passes over the green beans.

By Aarushi Singh