Going down

Each number lights up in turn and travels along the row until they
reach the end, then the gleaming metal doors open. Dust particles dance
in the air and spiral downwards to be lost forever in the thick black
carpet.

She steps out into the darkness, singing softly to herself. Her gaze is
drawn to a simple wooden door at the end of the dull, opaque hallway. A
ray of orange light filters from beneath it and the door handle slowly
turns. She nods her head and begins to speak, as a smile tumbles across
her glowing white face. She stares at the door, and then as if in a
daze she moves towards it. Then she is gone.

People always walk right past the elevator's cold grey exterior, and
take the stairs. They are not ready for the ride they believe they will
experience beyond the flashing symbols and green fluorescent
buttons.

There was a woman once who had touched the elevator, saying that the
feeling was false, almost in a way&;#8230;.sad.

If one day you dared to glimpse your reflection in the doors, you would
see yourself distorted, dying, fading away until you weren't even there
at all. You may feel curious. The desire to press that button and step
inside so strong that it takes all your willpower to turn around and
walk away. Yes, sure you can look if you like, but don't
enter&;#8230;.never enter.

He was a short balding man, a tattered briefcase under his arm, leaky
pen in his pocket. Why he was one of those men who had once been the
kid you picked on in school. His name was Clarence. Clarence was not an
overly popular man, always being the butt of office jokes. He was also
always behind in his work, so he often stayed late in his office on the
7th floor. It was on one of these evenings that it happened. Why him,
you may rightly ask. Nobody knows.

Clarence was just about to finish up for the night. Everyone had gone
home and he was just a speck of man, in a strangely orange light at his
desk.

His hand scribbled furiously as he struggled to catch up with the work
he couldn't manage to handle. Now, Clarence wasn't a superstitious man.
He walked under ladders, mirrors littered his flat, why he even owned a
black cat. The one thing Clarence did believe in however was money, and
lots of it. He was determined to show his fellow employees that he
could make something out of himself, and for once be the triumphant
one.

"I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts" he sang under his breath as he
shuffled the papers on his desk and got ready to go home. Swiftly
grabbing his coat, he had just opened the door to the stairwell when he
heard the faint strumming of music behind him. Turning, he walked
towards it. The music grew louder, and he could just make out the notes
of "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts" coming from within the fenced
off elevator. Clarence noticed that the pieces of wood that usually
covered the elevator had been moved slightly, and various bolts had
become unattached. He returned to the stairs deep in thought, but this
time the door was locked.

"I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts" the music proclaimed once more.
Clarence shook his head firmly and returned to the elevator. Planks of
wood now lay scattered on the ground, and an orange light seemed to be
coming from within the heavy doors. Clarence pressed his hand to the
door and jumped back in surprise. The surface was freezing. Suddenly a
bolt snapped and pieces of wood started breaking away, hissing as they
fell.

Dropping his briefcase, Clarence ran to his office door, his mind
shuffling through possible explanations. Fumbling with his keys he
rushed inside and slammed the door shut, locking himself in.

The interior was silent and motionless, the only light a tiny spot of
green coming from a phone.
"I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts". His hand shook as he grabbed the
receiver and dialled a number.
Staring through the glass doors at the end of the office, Clarence
gasped as he saw the numbers on the elevator shooting upwards. 4, 5, 6,
7 DING!!

Now anyone who might have been looking through the window that cold
grey night would have seen a perfectly ordinary office, in a perfectly
ordinary building. If they peered even closer they might be able to
make out a phone receiver slowly swinging back and forth, illuminated
only by the light of a small orange dot on a perfectly ordinary
telephone.