Alex entered the lift to find her already there, pressed against the back wall, trembling. When he met her eye she managed a weak smile though she still looked ill.
“Going up?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’ve already selected my floor,” she said. Her voice cracked as she spoke, but she seemed determined to conquer it.
Lift etiquette demanded he turn his back to her, but he could still study her reflection in the mirrored doors. Young and pretty, dressed with a certain thirties style of dowdy glamour. She would have been cute in her tweeds but for the sweat prickling her face and her dull, lank hair. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, unlike most women who worked in the building, but it would have taken a shovelful to hide the purple bags under her eyes and the sallow sheen of her nervous skin. She clung to the walnut rail that ran around the lift and her breath came in deep, heavy pants like someone coming up for air after a long dive. Every now and then she would swallow hard, as though repressing the need to retch, and Alex had to stop himself from trying to edge further away.
“Claustrophobia?” he asked as sympathetically as he could. “My aunt has it too.”
The girl nodded, eyes on the plush carpet.
“You don’t need to worry in a lift of this age; it’s not even air tight,” he comforted her.
“It’s being trapped,” she said, voice shaking. “God, I hate being trapped!”
Alex floundered a little at the outburst and wondered if he ought to turn and place a reassuring hand on her shoulder or something.
“My aunt’s having CBT for it. That’s Cognitive - um - Behavioural Theory. Um. Therapy. Apparently it’s quite good.”
With a quiet ‘Ting’ he was saved from saying anything else. The door began to grumble open.
“This is my flo- hey.”
He turned to stare at her then.
She seemed even paler when he looked at her directly.
“When did you get on?” he demanded. “There’s nothing below the ground floor here, and you’d have had to wait with me there. Where did you come from?”
Her arms gave way and she sank to the floor. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she looked up at him with watery eyes. Alex, unsettled, glanced at the other walls for her familiar reflection. It was there, repeating into infinity, but there was something wrong with the angles.
Her resigned sigh drew his eyes back. “The doors will close if you don’t get out. You don’t want to get trapped, do you?” She shrugged, lowering her head.
Behind him the dawn sun rose over the city. The light from the windows behind him hit the mirrored walls of the lift and he lost sight of her in the unexpected glare. He moved to block it with his body, but he could see nothing but his own reflection.
“Go,” he heard her say. “Before you get trapped.”
Alex stumbled out of the lift, eyes turned to the blinding sun so he did not have to see anything else.
___
© 2008 N. K. Kingston
My penname is NKKingston, and my website is http://significantkinks.solelyfictional.org I am an English literature graduate with pieces previously appearing in the Diorama Hallowe’en Anthology and York University’s creative arts magazine.
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Tags: elevator, ghost, N. K. Kingston
January 23rd, 2009 at 1:24 pm
Good story! Eerie!
February 11th, 2009 at 11:36 am
Thanks!
February 13th, 2009 at 8:28 pm
Good read. An elevator from hell, wich a passenger from who knows where. Creepy.
May 18th, 2009 at 3:30 pm
[...] unrelated news, Trapped has appeared on Flashes in the Dark. Enjoy! This entry was posted in Recipes and tagged acceptances, FF:Tea, Foody Friday. Bookmark [...]
February 4th, 2010 at 2:26 am
That was intriguing . I admire your style that you put into your work. Please do move forward with more similar to this.