I Moved into the Thirteenth Floor That Didn’t Exist

On my first night after moving into Building 4 of Hawthorne Lane Apartments, the elevator stopped at the nonexistent thirteenth floor. My younger brother, who had been missing for three months, was kneeling outside the doors. An old apartment-number plaque hung around his neck. It read 1204. I was just about to call out to him when the red light above the elevator doors came on. A building manager in a blue uniform suddenly appeared behind me and pushed a report form into my hand. His lips lifted into a frozen smile. “No talking under the red light. If you want to live, write down a neighbor’s apartment number.” Only later did I learn the truth. The most terrifying thing about this building wasn’t the thirteenth floor. It was that behind every door lived someone waiting for me to speak. Chapter 1 The last place my younger brother, Daniel Smith, was seen before he disappeared was Hawthorne Lane Apartments, Building 4. I reported him missing, checked the surveillance footage, and questioned the landlord. I did everything I could. Yet the building seemed strangely cut off from the rest of the city. The surveillance camera at the entrance was broken. So was the elevator camera. Three lights in the corridors had gone out. Even the property management records had been altered. Daniel’s move-out date was changed to “voluntary departure.” The police questioned the neighbors several times, but they all gave the same answers. “He was a quiet young man.” “I never heard any arguing.” “He left dragging his suitcase.” But Daniel would never disappear without saying goodbye. He called me once before he vanished. The call lasted only seven seconds. I couldn’t hear his voice on the other end. There was only the elevator chime. Ding. The thirteenth floor had arrived. The elevator panel in Building 4 didn’t have a 13 at all. The building had fourteen floors, but the panel skipped from 12 to 14. The landlord said the number 13 was considered unlucky in old buildings, which was why it disappeared when the elevator was repaired. I rented Apartment 1204 under the alias Lena Taylor. It was the room Daniel had lived in before. On the day I signed the lease, the landlord simply crossed out the date on the old contract and wrote in a new one. William Jones, the property manager, stood beside him and kept staring at me. He was in his fifties and wore a blue uniform washed until it gleamed. His name badge had no photograph. I pointed to Daniel’s signature on the old page. “Did Daniel Smith still owe the property management any fees?” William shook his head. “We don’t have anyone by that name here.” Daniel’s name was clearly written on the old page. William lowered his eyes to it and smiled. The smile spread slowly, as if someone were pulling at his face from beneath the skin. “Young lady, you must have seen it wrong.” When I looked down again, the signature had dissolved into nothing but a watery smear. The landlord urged me to take the keys. I didn’t argue. Three neighbors squeezed into the elevator when I went upstairs. Ginny Moore from the second floor carried a bag of leafy greens. Alex Miller from the seventh floor wore earphones, and his face was pale, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Sam Parker from the tenth floor wore sharply pressed suit pants and held a thermos in one hand. None of them spoke. The elevator was so quiet on the way from the first floor to the twelfth that I could hear nothing but the cables pulling it upward. When we reached the twelfth floor, the elevator didn’t stop. It continued rising. A red number appeared in the blank space between 12 and 14 on the panel. 13. Ginny’s bag of vegetables slipped from her hand and hit the floor. Alex grabbed my wrist, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make a sound.” The red light above the elevator doors came on. The doors opened. There was no corridor outside. There was only a narrow hallway. The floor was covered in damp red tiles, and old door plaques hung along both walls. I saw Daniel there. He was kneeling outside a door with his head lowered, the plaque around his neck swaying gently. My throat tightened, and I almost called out his name. A cold hand reached from behind and clamped over my mouth. William stood inside the elevator and held out a sheet of paper. A single line was printed across it. “Temporary Resident Report Form—Hawthorne Lane Apartments, Building 4.” Chapter 2 That night, the elevator eventually stopped at the fourteenth floor. Ginny picked up her bag of vegetables. Alex released my wrist. Sam wiped the sweat from his forehead. They walked out one by one as if nothing had happened. I stood outside Apartment 1204, unable to put the key into the lock for a long time. A sheet of white paper had been shoved through the gap beneath the door. “Resident Rules—Hawthorne Lane Apartments, Building 4” 1. This building has no thirteenth floor. 2. Keep quiet when the elevator’s red light comes on. 3. If you hear a neighbor speaking while the red light is on, report them to property management within ten minutes. 4. Every household must submit one valid report each month. 5. After a resident receives three reports, property management will come to mediate. 6. If someone calls for help in the corridor after eleven at night, do not open your door. 7. Property staff wearing red uniforms do not belong to this building’s management. 8. If you discover the thirteenth floor, close your eyes and wait for the elevator doors to shut. The final line was handwritten. The writing was messy, but I recognized it as Daniel’s. “Don’t trust Rule 4.” I clenched the paper until it was covered in wrinkles. The apartment was spotless. It looked too clean for a place where anyone had ever lived. The mattress and curtains were new. Even the sealant around the bathroom glass had been freshly replaced. Only a small sticky note was attached to the side of the refrigerator. It read: “Dorothy, don’t turn on the lights.” I stood in the darkness and heard a faint crackle of electricity coming from inside the wall. It sounded like an old voice recorder that hadn’t been switched off properly. I followed the sound and eventually felt something small wrapped in tape behind the kitchen drainpipe. It was a voice recorder. The casing was cracked, but it still had a little power left. I pressed the play button, and Daniel’s hoarse voice came through. “Dorothy, if you’re hearing this, it means I didn’t make it out. The rules in this building aren’t meant to protect the residents. “They’re meant to screen us.” A frantic pounding sounded at the door in the recording. Daniel fell silent for two seconds, then lowered his voice even further. “They have to hand over one person every month. “Delivery drivers, repair workers, new tenants, people who walk into the wrong building. “Anyone who receives three reports gets sent to the thirteenth floor. “Don’t tell any of the neighbors the truth. They all know.” The recording ended there. The next second, someone knocked on my door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Ginny’s gentle voice came from outside. “You must have just moved in, dear. “I noticed you haven’t turned on the lights. I was worried something happened.” I held my breath. Ginny’s face was pressed close to the peephole. She held a bowl of soup, and a soaked report form floated on its surface. My apartment number was already written on it: 1204. I didn’t open the door. Ginny stood outside for three minutes. Her face remained pressed against the peephole, and her eyes nearly merged into a single black dot. At last, she sighed. “It’s good for young people to stay cautious.” Her footsteps faded into the distance. I leaned against the door, my palms slick with sweat. My phone lit up. The landlord had added me to a group chat. The group was called “Hawthorne Lane Apartments, Building 4 Mutual Aid Group.” There were fifty-seven people in it. The moment I joined, a string of welcome messages appeared. 401—Eris: “Welcome, new neighbor.” 703—Alex: “Don’t wander around.” 1001—Sam: “People in this building follow the rules.” 201—Ginny: “Contact property management if anything happens.” Property Management—William: “The new resident in 1204 has joined the group. Everyone, please keep an eye on her.” The words keep an eye on her sent a chill down my back. I set my phone to silent and continued listening to the files on the recorder. Daniel had left seven recordings in total. The first one explained the rules. The second one explained the neighbors. “201—Ginny Moore loves giving people things. Don’t accept anything from her. “401—Eris York is in charge of spreading messages in the group. “703—Alex Miller looks timid, but he was last month’s top reporter. “1001—Sam Parker is part of the residents’ committee. He was also among the earliest to sign the Mutual Aid Pact. “1401—Sean Hunt knows how to play the good guy, but don’t go anywhere alone with him. “William Jones isn’t human. At least, he isn’t normal. “He can’t hurt anyone on his own. He can only act on the report forms. “That’s why they need everyone to report on one another.” Chapter 3 Another sound came from outside the door. This time, it wasn’t a knock. Someone pushed an envelope through the gap beneath the door. Inside were three report forms. The first one read: Report against 1204 for secretly keeping unauthorized outside items at night. The second one read: Report against 1204 for attempting to speak while the elevator’s red light was on. The third one was blank. A line of tiny text appeared on the back: Before midnight, hand over one room number. Otherwise, all three reports will count against you. I stared at the three sheets and finally understood what Daniel meant by “screening people.” Silence wasn’t safety here. Silence simply meant allowing someone else to write the charges against you. I turned the blank report form over and examined the bottom. The paper was thin and carried a damp, musty smell. Two rules were printed so faintly that they were almost invisible. Reports had to be truthful. False reports made the reporter responsible. I took photos of them. At eleven thirty, a property management notice appeared in the group chat. Property Management—William: “Routine inspection tonight. All households, please remain quiet.” 401—Eris: “Received.” 1001—Sam: “Received.” 703—Alex: “Received.” Everyone replied within one minute. I was the only one who didn’t. At eleven fifty-seven, the corridor lights outside my apartment turned red. A very soft sob came from the stairwell. “Please help me… Is anyone there…” The voice sounded like a young woman’s. It broke off repeatedly, trembling with tears. I knew I couldn’t open the door. But the next second, she called me by my real name. “Dorothy Smith, your brother is with me.” I still opened the door a crack. I left the security chain fastened. It wasn’t because I believed her. It was because Daniel’s third recording had specifically included this sentence. “If someone calls your real name while the red light is on, don’t answer. “She didn’t get your name from the landlord’s records. “She saw what I left behind. “You can look, but don’t make a sound.” A girl in a white dress stood at the end of the corridor. Her hair was completely soaked, and a trail of wet footprints followed her. When she saw me, her lips moved. The red light above the elevator was still on. I didn’t make a sound. A look of urgency appeared in the girl’s eyes, and she raised a hand toward the stairwell. A red report box hung there. Half a photograph was clipped to the outside of the slot. I narrowed my eyes to make it out and nearly rushed outside. The photograph showed Daniel. He sat on the edge of the bed in Apartment 1204, holding an old door plaque. The girl in the white dress retreated into the shadows of the stairwell. I took out my phone, opened the camera, and pointed the screen outward. When I removed the security chain, the metal made a sound as faint as a needle hitting the floor. Under the red light, the entire floor was so quiet that it seemed as if someone had sucked all the air away. I walked barefoot to the report box and pulled out the photograph. A message was written on the back: If you want to find him, report 1001. That was Sam’s apartment number. I had just slipped the photograph into my pocket when the elevator doors opened behind me. William stood inside. He wore his blue uniform, but the name on his badge had changed to “Duty Officer.” He held a black ledger in one hand. “1204, you left your apartment while the red light was on.” I didn’t say a word. William smiled and opened the ledger. “First violation. Name recorded.” The tip of his pen had barely touched the paper when Ginny’s voice came from downstairs. “Mr. Jones, I’m reporting 1204!” I spun around. Ginny stood at the bend in the stairwell, her face bright with the excitement of someone who had been waiting for this moment. She held up her phone as if she had just captured evidence. “She came out while the red light was on!” William’s pen stopped. He looked at Ginny. “No one may speak while the red light is on.” Ginny’s expression froze. The corridor fell completely silent. She had spoken first while trying to report me. William wrote a few lines in the ledger. “201. Spoke voluntarily during the red-light silence period. First violation.” Ginny tried to explain, then clamped both hands over her mouth. I suddenly understood why Daniel said the rules could be used against the people who followed them. These neighbors survived by reporting one another. But they were also afraid of being caught by the rules. Before I went back inside and closed the door, I saw Ginny lower her head and walk slowly downstairs, one step at a time. At some point, a dripping-wet hand had appeared in her vegetable basket. Chapter 4 The next morning, Ginny acted as if nothing had happened as she hung her blankets out to dry downstairs. When she saw me, she smiled and waved. “Lena, did you get scared last night?” I didn’t answer. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Don’t blame me, dear. That’s just how things work in this building. Everyone has to watch out for one another so we can all stay safe.” Daniel’s name slipped from my lips, and the wrinkles on her face briefly froze. “The boy who used to live in 1204.” Ginny sighed. “You young people come and go from one rental to another. How could I possibly remember you all?” She turned and went upstairs. Her left hand stayed hidden inside her sleeve. There was blood on her cuff. I didn’t follow her. I went to the property management office. A small room on the right side of the first floor bore a sign that read “Hawthorne Property Management.” Old delivery boxes were stacked outside the door. Two people in blue uniforms sat inside. One was William. The other was younger, and his name badge read Tom. They looked completely different. But they lowered their heads and wrote in exactly the same way. I stood in front of the desk. “I want to see the tenant registration records.” William looked up. “Only property owners are allowed to see them.” “My brother is missing.” “Call the police.” “The police already came. You told them there was no Daniel Smith.” William put down his pen. Tom put down his pen as well. Both men looked at me at the same time. “There is no Daniel Smith in this building.” The words came from both mouths in precisely the same tone. My stomach clenched. A notice board hung on the back wall of the office. It displayed a list of the building’s outstanding residents for the month. First place for the most valid reports: 703—Alex Miller. Second place: 1001—Sam Parker. Third place: 401—Eris York. A faded group photograph was pinned at the bottom. All the residents of the building stood downstairs in the photograph, holding a red banner. It read: Hawthorne Lane Apartments, Building 4 Resident Safety Mutual Aid Pact Signing Ceremony. The date was five years ago. Beside the group photograph was another, newer picture with half of someone’s face torn away. The edges of the photograph had not yet yellowed. I recognized the coat. It was the coat Daniel wore on the day he disappeared. I reached out to take it down. Tom grabbed my wrist. His hand was cold, and his fingertips had no ridges. “You can report things you weren’t meant to see.” I stared at his name badge. “You’re not property management.” William smiled slowly. “Then what do you think we are?” Someone coughed outside. Sean stood in the doorway. He leaned on a cane, his back slightly hunched. “Mr. Jones, the pipes on the fourteenth floor are leaking again. I’ll take the girl upstairs to have a look.” William stared at him. Sean stared back. After a long moment, William released my wrist. “Go ahead.” Once we left the office, Sean didn’t look at me. He only tossed out one sentence. “If you want to survive this month, stop digging into your brother.” I stopped at the foot of the stairs. Sean’s cane struck the concrete floor with a dull, heavy thud. “Everyone in this building knows him.” Sean took me to the fourteenth floor. He said the pipes were leaking. But the floor up there was dry and pale. There wasn’t even a water stain. He didn’t enter my apartment. He only stood by the corridor window and smoked. The window wouldn’t open. The smoke remained trapped in the narrow space. The tip of his cigarette glowed once, and his voice came out rough. “Daniel was a good kid.” A sharp ache spread through my chest. For the past three months, everyone had tried to make me accept that Daniel was gone. Only this old man admitted that Daniel had been here. Sean told me what happened five years ago. Hawthorne Lane Apartments, Building 4, had nearly been condemned. The building was developing cracks, and the elevator frequently plunged. The residents had protested again and again. Then a new property management company arrived and promised to keep the building safe. The condition was that everyone sign a Mutual Aid Pact. At first, no one took it seriously. Then one resident cursed at the property managers in the elevator. That same night, he fell down the stairwell. The next day, the cracks sealed themselves. The day after that, the elevator was working again. From then on, one person disappeared from the building every month. Sean’s hand trembled around his cigarette. “They were afraid at first. Later, they realized that as long as they handed over an outsider, life could go on as usual.” I looked at him. Sean avoided my eyes. “My son was bedridden back then, and his hospital bills cost hundreds a day. Property management said the building would provide financial assistance as long as I signed.” The rest of his sentence caught in his throat. I understood. Not everyone who became an accomplice to this building was born evil. But every one of them made a choice. After the first choice, all that remained was covering it up. I held out Daniel’s photograph. “Where did this come from?” Sean stared at the photograph, his face turning grim. “An offering portrait.” “What does that mean?” “Before choosing someone each month, they take a photograph first. It proves that the building has taken notice of them.” My fingertips went numb. “Who chose Daniel?” Sean remained silent for a long time. “Everyone.” The elevator chimed. The red light came on. Sean immediately snuffed out his cigarette and gestured for me to stay still. The elevator doors opened. There was no one inside. An old voice recorder sat on the floor. It began playing by itself. Daniel’s voice came from the recorder. “Dorothy, don’t trust Sean.” Sean’s expression changed dramatically. I stumbled backward. The next second, soft laughter came from behind every door in the corridor.