Lyrics
The elevator opened on a floor that wasn’t listed. No number above the doors. No arrow pointing up or down. Only a wide reception area filled with identical grey chairs, all facing the elevator. (As though they had been waiting.) She stayed inside and pressed the button for the lobby. Nothing lit up. Behind her, the elevator doors remained open with a patience that felt deliberate. Then one of the chairs creaked. There was nobody sitting in it. She stepped into the reception area. The carpet was warm beneath her shoes. Not heated. Warm like something had been lying there. Three corridors left the room. Each contained the same drinking fountain, the same fire extinguisher, the same framed photograph of an empty parking lot at night. But the cars changed whenever she looked away. (Mine wasn’t there before.) She chose the corridor on the left. After several minutes, she entered the reception area again. The elevator was gone. The chairs had turned toward her. She tried the middle corridor. The lights switched off behind her one at a time, matching the rhythm of her footsteps. She stopped. The darkness continued approaching. One fixture. Then another. Then another. She ran. At the next corner, she found a door marked: "YOU ARE CURRENTLY HERE." Beneath the words was a floor plan showing a single narrow room. Inside that room, a small red dot pulsed. Behind the red dot, someone had drawn another figure. Much taller. Standing close enough to share its outline. (Don’t turn around.) She didn’t. She watched the plastic-covered map instead. In its reflection, the corridor stretched behind her. Empty. Then the reflection smiled. Her own face did not. She opened the marked door. Beyond it was her apartment. Almost. The furniture stood several centimetres away from where it belonged. Every clock displayed a different time. Family photographs showed the correct rooms, but no people. Her bedroom door was open. She always kept it closed. Something beneath the blanket was shaped like a sleeping person. She backed away. The shape spoke without moving. It used her voice. “You took too long.” The elevator bell sounded behind her. She turned. The apartment was gone. The reception area had returned. Every chair was occupied now. The people sitting there had their backs to her. All except one. At the centre of the room, a woman wearing her clothes watched her from beneath the dead lights. The woman raised one finger to her lips. Then every seated figure stood. dozens of shoes contacting the carpet at once... She ran into the elevator. The doors closed just before the first hand reached through. The lobby button finally illuminated. The elevator descended. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Then lower. Past the parking garage. Past the building’s foundations. Past numbers that had no reason to exist. When the doors opened again, she saw the same reception area. The chairs were empty. The three corridors were waiting. And above the elevator, a new number had appeared. Her apartment number. From somewhere inside the middle corridor, she heard herself pounding on a locked door. Begging to be let out. (That isn’t me.) The voice stopped. Then whispered directly behind her: