I keep having recurring dreams, and I am glad about it
The snow surprised us all today; just two days ago we kept our windows opened and were glad about having a nice, sunny day after months of vitamin D deficiency. However, the temperature suddenly dropped, and now I cursed myself for having to go grocery shopping while wind hurt my face.
Finally, I entered my building and turned left towards stairs. Living on fourth floor is something I got used to, but today I decided to take an elevator, even though I hate the stomach drop feeling when stepping into one. My building is relatively small and so is the elevator - maximum four people are allowed in it, and luckily I was alone. For some unknown reason, I pressed the button leading to 13th floor instead of 4th.
Oh, you dumb fuck, I thought to myself, now you will have to wait and go on 13th and come back in this stupid, old, tiny death trap. I felt the usual stomach drop as the elevator started going up surprisingly fast. Too fast maybe. I put my bags on the floor and leaned for a quick rest. While trying to catch my breath, I got this nagging feeling, similar to one when you are trying to recall the thought you had just seconds ago. What was it, what did I forget? I started using the old reliable technique of tracking back the steps that lead me to my current thoughts, re-calculating how I got here and what I needed to do next.
Wait, how can I go on 13th floor when this building only has four floors? Suddenly I realized something is not right. Why were there so many buttons for just four floors? How is it possible the elevator is even going up now? Where the fuck is it going? Panic started to rise, and I found myself out of breath. I looked at the board and saw the lights blinking: 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13; 12, 11, 10, 9 and so on. The elevator kept going from first floor to the last one without stopping. Lights kept blinking frenetically while I pushed and pushed the stop button, but nothing happened. The air felt thinner and thinner by every second, and I could feel sweat dripping from my armpits to my waist. I started to feel dizzy as the motion of going up and down in a matter of seconds did not stop.
Finally, the elevator stopped. To my dismay, one of my worst fears came to life- I was stuck mid-floors. There was a small opening between floors and I started to scream for help. After a few moments I saw a man wearing suit and tie as he crouched and looked at me through the opening.
Quick, give me your hand, he said weirdly calmly.
I can’t fit through that, I replied desperately and angry at myself for eating too much during holidays.
-Wait here, I’m going to get some help, he said and disappeared, quickly as he appeared.
Great, now I have to wait here for God knows how long. In the elevator. Which is open. Between floors. The air felt damp and musty. It reminded me of exciting days when I was younger and enjoyed urban exploring. Except there was nothing exciting about this situation, and my claustrophobia was getting more severe with every second.
However, after no longer than a minute, the suit guy returned with a man who looked like your stereotypical handy man: stained uniform, gray hair, mustache, belt with tools and a red toolbox. Without any words, he pulled out some tools I have never seen in my life and started trying to completely open the elevator doors. I stood there quiet, nails clawing into my palms, and waited. You are fine, everything will be okay. He will open the doors, they will somehow pull you through the tiny opening, and you will continue to take stairs as always. Of course this is happening to me with my shitty luck, the first time in a year of living here you took the elevator and it broke. Huh, Alanis Morissette song at best.
Then there was a sound you never want to hear in this situation: the wires. I could feel the elevator is slowly starting to move and go down again. Eerily slowly, clunking and screeching of wires.
-Hurry up, I exclaimed in sheer panic that I never felt until this moment.
Before I managed to tell them to wait, the elevator suddenly dropped. I laid on the dirty floor in fetal position and just waited for what felt like forever. Well, this is how I die, I guess, was my last thought when I jerked and woke up in my bed.
Fucking hell. I was drenched in sweat as my cat was suffocating my with its fur furnace. I was in my room, in the dark, safe and sound and most importantly- away from the elevator and non-existing heights. How many times will I have this dream, I was wondering. With small variations, I could recall at least four times of having this particular dream, and it was always the same: same building, same elevator and floor plan. This time the handy man was a different one, but still the dream was more or less the same.
I was still in a half sitting position, I noticed something weird. At the end of my bed, where I usually put my bags and purse on the floor, something moved. My eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but I started to see shapes. There was something there: something squatting and looking at me. Its hands were very lanky and long, skinny as the rest of its body. They were just resting and hanging from its body, right next to its scrawny knees. Never in my entire life I felt so frightened, and yet I could not take my look away. I was not sleeping; I was not having sleep paralysis. I was completely and painfully awake.
The thing kept looking at me with its red dot of eyes, still in squatting position, still only inches from the tip of my toes. And just as I prepared to let out the loudest scream of my life, it said: