The Elevator | A Horror Story

-2-

I don't know how much time has passed by. Maybe an hour.

The elevator is still moving down.

Where is it going?

I try to calm down. I try to. . .

Think Laura. Think.

I need to figure out how I got here.

Was I hurt? Did someone do this to me?

I touch the back of my shoulder.

It's sore.

If only I could see. If only. . .

The mirror.

I can check myself out in the mirror.

I stand up.

I look into the mirrors.

My reflection is shown back to me an infinite number of times.

There is blood on me; thick sticky blood that trickles down my face and clothes.

Bile forces its way up my throat but I swallow it down.

Why am I covered in blood?

I move closer to the mirror. I try to inspect where the blood is coming from.

There's a small wound on the top of my head. My skin is pale, my mousey hair darkened with grease. There are dark black smudges underneath my eyes.

I look like I haven't slept or showered in weeks.

Panic starts to take over me.

How long have I been here? How can I. . .?

Breathe. Breathe Laura, breathe.

I turn slightly, angling my sore shoulder towards the mirrors.

The number eight is branded onto my skin.

Eight?

I touch it.

The skin is raw – burnt – the flesh around it melted.

Oh God.

Who did this to me?

I feel sick. I want to get out. I want to. . .

Breathe. Breathe Laura, breathe.

I need to think.

What am I wearing? Maybe there'll be a clue.

I bring my gaze back to the mirror – taking in my infinite reflections.

A tank top and skinny jeans; the kind of outfit I'd wear to meet friends, or to hang out at the mall.

The mall? That seems familiar somehow. Could I have been shopping at the mall?

I try to remember – staring at all the versions of myself reflected in the mirror.

Nothing.

Then my heart jolts in my chest.

One of the reflections.

It's not me.

I throw myself back across the elevator – my back slamming against the far wall. My skin crawls. My palms go clammy.

The reflection turns around slowly and smiles with a face that is not quite mine. With a sudden movement she touches the blood on her forehead. I'm unable to peel my eyes away as she writes something against her side of the mirror;

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

I think I see the face morph into a laugh.

That's when I start to scream.