First submission to r/nosleep and I wanted to get some opinions and honest critique before I go for it. Story included.

The 13th Floor

I've never really been the biggest fan of hotels. Travel was always a huge part of my job, and every time I go somewhere I always try to find the quietest hotel in the area to stay in. I don’t know if it’s just me, but something about the constant commotion of a hundred people all sharing a roof would always irritate me and put me on edge. I guess I could tolerate it to an extent. Considering how much I traveled I probably spent at least a fifth of my nights each year cooped up in one somewhere or another. Away from my wife and daughter. But to me, hotels are just beds to sleep in at night. If I had any other work to do or anything that needed to be done I would use just about any excuse to get out of those tiny rooms with paper thin walls. But after my most recent hotel experience, my general dislike for them has turned into cold, white knuckled fear. I never considered myself to be a very superstitious man. To me, a black cat was just another cat and a broken mirror meant nothing more than a bill to replace it. But the one superstition that I really couldn’t stand was some people's obsession and fear of the number 13. I mean honestly. The measures that some people would go to in order to avoid a number was bewildering. But believe me now when I say that the Chandler Hotel in Queens has made a superstitious man out of me.

Last week my boss had a meeting planned with some clients in New York to discuss a new advertisement design that our company was producing for them. However, as he traditionally did so often, he decided at the last minute to send me instead. Not wanting to lose my job I reluctantly accepting barring my usual request for the quietest and most low key place to stay. When I arrived at the Chandler my first impression was that this place was going to be perfect for me. It was in a fairly run down section of town which meant reduced foot traffic, and the outside of the hotel itself looked as if it hadnt been renovated in close to 70 years. But if having to deal with some chipped paint and rusty pipes was the price to pay for some peace and quiet, hell I’d have taken that offer any day. The inside of the hotel, while refurbished enough to be functional, had obviously withstood the test of time. Walking into the lobby was like walking through a time machine as the ornate interior wrapped around me as I moved closer to the check in desk. The bell hop at the desk looked like an ordinary kid, and spoke with a tone that was neither excited nor bored.

“Hello,” he said as I approached the desk. “Are you here to check in.”

“Yes I am,” I replied. It had been a long flight into the city and my bags were beginning to feel heavier and heavier in my fatigued arms. “I should be in room uhh…” I trailed off as I searched my pockets of the reservation info my boss had written down. “Room 1356. On the thirteenth floor.”

The look on the boy’s went from his flat, emotionless expression to that of confusion as he looked up from the desk and right at me. “That must be a mistake. The Chandler has no thirteenth floor.”

I stopped fumbling with my luggage and asked him to clarify what he meant. “How can there not be a thirteen floors in this building? From the outside it looks like there are at least 25.”

“24 actually. The architect however opted to skip the thirteenth floor during the construction of the hotel. Religious reasons I think.”

Now for those of you reading that may think that sounds crazy, it actually was a fairly common practice in the past to skip over the thirteenth floor when constructing hotels. The more superstitious of the architects at the time thought that it would be bad luck for anyone to stay on a thirteenth floor. Instead of a true floor thirteen, there would often be a floor 12B or a 14A. But in the case of the Chandler, it just straight skipped from floor 12 to floor 14 with nothing in between.

“That’s gotta be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” I replied with a roll of my eyes. “Well where does that leave me then? It says right here that I’m on the thirteenth floor.” I said, pointing at the small piece of paper that my boss had given me.

“You must be on floor fourteen. It’s technically still the thirteenth floor of the building it just isn’t named as such. Here is your key and enjoy your stay.” The kids tone had shifted and it seemed as if he just wanted me gone so he could go about doing nothing again. So I grabbed my key, picked up my bags, and headed for the one and only elevator that the hotel had.

Ignoring the fact that it had been designed by a superstitious nut-job, the Chandler actually was quite a nice place. It was made even better by the fact that at any moment I couldn’t see more than three other guests moving about and everyone more or less kept to themselves.

As I approached the elevator I noticed that it was open but closing so I yelled out “Hold the door please!” and picked up my pace. All I wanted was some sleep and considering there was only one elevator I did not want to have to wait for it to come back down. Just before the doors closed a hand outstretched between them and the sliding doors bounced back open revealing the face of an elderly woman standing there holding the door for me. “Thank you,” I exclaimed still struggling with my bags and briefcase.

She looked up at me with a friendly smile. “Of course hon I wouldn’t want you to have to wait down here on account of me being impatient.” She said in a warm and comforting tone.

As I was pulling by bags through the door I heard yet another voice from around the corner call out in a raspy voice that sounded like it was coming from someone who had smoke for the first 60 or so years of their life. “Would you mind holding the elevator for me please.”

As the source of the voice came into view I was shocked to see a very well dressed and ordinary enough looking man, no older than in his mid 30s, walk calmly past me and into the elevator to stand next to the woman who had held the door for me. “Thank you friend.” He said once again in that raspy smoker's voice while he assumed a straight, almost at-attention like posture in the back of the small compartment. I decided not to reply as I finally got my bags into the elevator with us. The door closed in front of the three of us and the elevator sat there waiting for us to punch in our floors.

I was looking down at the panel of numbers trying to locate the “14” that would take me to my room so I could rest when I noticed that, low and behold, there was no “13” button after all.

The elderly woman selected floor 18.

I selected my floor 14.

The strange man in the suit just stood there.

As the elevator started to move I noticed that the woman next to me had grown rigid. She no longer had that elderly, friendly charm that she seemed to have when holding the door for me. I figured that she wasn’t a huge fan of elevators. I knew that was a pretty common fear to have similar to a fear of flying or heights. As the elevator slowly ascended, the age and wear of the building become very noticeable. The carriage rattled and squeaked as the big metal cables pulled us up into building. No one was talking at this point so I just watched as the screen displaying what floor we were on ticked up. 9… 10.. 11… 12…

And then it went blank.

While at the time I will admit it was a little strange I didn’t really think too much of it. The building was old and it was reasonable enough to think the elevator simply had some electrical issues. But I had felt the elevator rise from when the screen had displayed floor 12 so I figured I had reached my floor. As the doors struggled to open up, I grabbed my bags and prepared to exit the compartment. But as I was about to take a step, I felt a hand rest itself on my shoulder and I immediately froze.

I didn’t feel uncomfortable by the touch. In a way it was almost pleasant. Reassuring. But even so I couldn't move a muscle.

“Oh you don’t want to get off here just yet friend.” That raspy, broken voice told me. “This is just our stop.”

He placed his other hand on my new elderly friend and it was only then that I realized how strange this man really looked. The elevator itself had a high ceiling but he to some extent still had to slouch. The easily 7 foot tall man had arms that seemed impossibly long, extending almost all the way down to his knees. The hands that he had placed on us looked horribly disfigured with fingers that were practically pencil thin yet almost as long as my whole hand by itself. His suit, which had looked so well kept down in the lobby, all of the sudden seemed to show signs of age and wear. His outfit looked faded in some places and torn in some others, but still managed to fit his skinny frame like a glove.

He removed his hand from my shoulder and then he and the woman, who had still not said a word since the elevator began moving, exited the carriage and began making their way down the dimly lit hall in front of us.

Before they got too far down the hall, and before the doors of the elevator had fully closed, the strange looking man turned around to face me. Now up until this point I had chalked up his odd appearance to nothing more than some wacky genetics and an odd fashion sense.

But those eyes.

As he turned and made direct eye contact with me, the rest of the world faded away, and all I could focus on was those eyes. They seemed too large for his skinny head and slightly more separated than your average person. But the strangest part about them was that they had absolutely no color. Both of his eyes were just a solid milky white the whole way until it met with his black, obsidian pupils. He seemed to stare right through me.

“Have a top-notch evening friend.” He exclaimed as his mouth produced and ear to ear grin of yellow teeth. “Enjoy your stay here at the Chandler.”

The doors closed and just like that they were gone. My feeling of paralysis that had been instigated by the man in the suit subsided and I could once again move. A little shaken up by what I had just witnessed, I looked back over to the panel of buttons and frantically pressed the 14 again and again just wanted to get to my room to rest. But my button wasn’t the only one lit up.

The number 18 was still lit. Why did that woman press the 18th floor button if she was just going to get off early with that man?

All of the sudden the doors squeaked open once again, revealing, according to the screen that displayed the elevators current level, the 14th floor. But I could have sworn that the elevator didn’t move an inch. It seemed as if the doors had closed on the floor were the two of them exited, and just opened up again on a different floor.

The only thing I could manage to think was “wow I really must need some sleep.” So I gathered my things and made my way to my room, running into only a handful of other, quite pleasant guests.

Over the next three days of my stay, I saw the man in the suit only on a couple occasions and always in the main lobby. I figured I must have been severely sleep deprived that first night because every time I had seen him since then, he just looked like your average guy. He seemed of average height, normal hands and arms, a well kept suit and slacks, and piercing blue eyes. In fact, the only strange thing about him was that whenever I saw him, he was always leading someone or another over to the elevator, a reassuring and guiding hand placed on their shoulder. Even though I had seen this mystery man a few times, It occurred to me on the last day of my stay that ever since that first day on the elevator, I hadn’t run into the kind elderly woman I had met. To be honest I’m not entirely sure what compelled me to investigate but for some reason I was curious to know where she had gone. Figuring that she may have just checked out and left I went over to the bellhop, the same bored kid I had met the first day.

“Hey. Did that kind elderly woman already check out of the hotel?” I inquired. “Never got the chance to thank her for helping me out that first day.”

I immediately knew something was wrong judging by the confused and shocked expression that unfolded over the young man's face. “Do you mean Mrs. Timmet? Just awful what happened to her. A real tragedy.”

I assume that he noticed the same confused and shocked expression emerge on my face because he then continued. “You didn’t hear? She passed away three days ago. Heart attack. Right here in the hotel.”

Immediately taken aback by this news, I followed up by saying “Oh my God that’s horrible!” I could barely stand to live in a hotel for more than a few days, I couldn’t imagine dying in one. Alone and away from your family.

“I know. Police found her body in the elevator. They tried to resuscitate her but she was long gone by the time they arrived.” I froze.

“I… in the elevator you said?”

“Yeah. Condolences if you two were close.”

My mind instantly went back to the strange encounter with Mrs. Timmet and the strange suited man. The way he seemed to change from an average looking guy into a what seemed like a disfigured monster. If she passed away three days ago on the elevator, that meant that she died the same day I arrived, and in the same place I had first met her.

Now some of you reading may think that this should have been an immediate and obvious red flag that something strange was going on. But let me remind you, I am not, or at least was not, a superstitious man. At the time I simply chalked it up to a tragic coincidence, expressed my condolences to the bellhop, and proceeded to check out. As I was about to exit the old Chandler building I realized that I had forgotten my cell phone back in my room. I explained my dilemma to the young man at the counter, he gave me the key to the room, and I headed over to the elevator to retrieve my forgotten phone. I entered the carriage, pressed the “14” button, and waited for the doors to close so I could be on my way.

“Could you hold the door please friend?’

Before I could even react to the request, a pale hand grabbed hold of one of the doors and they opened back up. “Whew, thank you. Almost thought I was gonna miss this one,” said the cracked voice of the suited stranger as he made his way past me and into the elevator.

Now based on what I had seen during my first day at the Chandler, I was pretty on edge by the sudden appearance of this mystery man. But as I looked him over, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about his appearance. As the doors to the elevator closed, he took his position in the back of the compartment, and stood in the same at-attention like stance he had that first day. The doors finally slid closed and I once again pressed the “14” hoping, to no avail, that repeatedly pressing it would somehow speed up this whole process.

One again my suited companion neglected to choose a floor.

The elevator finally began to move and I once again fixed my gaze on the floor display. For some reason as the carriage rose higher and higher, the room seemed to get progressively colder.

10… 11… 12… Blank…

The elevator stopped.

The creaky old doors reluctantly slid open, revealing that same dimly lit hallway that I had seen Mrs. Timmet walked down with this stranger.

“Well friend. Looks like this is our stop,” said the raspy voice from behind me. I felt a hand rest itself on my shoulder and give me a small nudge forward off of the elevator. I looked down to my right, ready to ask what this guy thought he was doing, and then fear took over.

The hand on my shoulder was most definitely not human. The long, pencil thin fingers wrapped themselves over me, practically extending from my shoulder to my sternum. I didn’t want to get off the elevator with this strange disfigured man, but something was compelling me to comply. As I stepped out of the carriage and into the hall, I slowly turned my head to see what my escort looked like. I had to bend my neck back in order to look up at him. His mouth once again was contorted into that ear to ear, yellow toothed grin. His milky white eyes looking down right at me.

I couldn’t speak. I was petrified yet able to slowly walk down the hall with this monster of a man keeping his hand firmly on my shoulder.

“Now friend listen up. There’s really no need to be afraid. It happens to everyone but you were lucking enough to go while in the hotel so I could save you.” As he spoke I felt a slight warmth inside of me. All of the sudden my fear of this man turned into comfort. The hand on my shoulder no longer felt cold and malicious, but warm and reassuring.

“Wh… where are we?” I finally managed to press through my glued lips.

“The thirteenth floor of the Chandler of course, friend! Shame you had to go the way you did though. The cables in that old elevator were bound to snap one of these days.”

“Sn… snapped? What cables snapped?” I asked. Visibly confused.

“I’m sorry friend I know this must be difficult for you. Here let me show you.” He stopped leading me forward and turned around to face the elevator once again, all while keeping his hand firmly on my shoulder. We walked back over to the now closed doors and he extended a spidery finger out to press the button that calls the carriage. The doors slid open to reveal no carriage but instead an empty elevator shaft. “Take a look”

I peered over the ledge into the shaft and looked down. It was dark and hard to make out but there was clear signs of wreckage at the bottom of the shaft. As if the cables had indeed snapped and the carriage had plummeted down into the earth below.

“You’re down there unfortunately.” said the stranger with a noticeably apologetic tone. “Such a shame. But at least I was around to help you out huh.”

“Wh...whats going on here?” I asked with a mixture confusion and fear. “Who are you? Where is this place?”

“This here is your sanctuary friend. The thirteenth floor of the Chandler is especially reserved for departed souls who lose themselves here in the hotel,” my strange escort explained. “Here i'll take you to your room. I already took the liberty of gathering your things.”

I can’t describe in words the mixture of emotions and questions that flooded over me. I was terrified and calm at the same time. Confused and accepting. Was I dead then? Was this what it was like to die? I had so many questions I needed answers to but somehow the presence of the stranger kept me calm and clear headed. I accepted what had happened as if I had seen it coming for years.

Unable to speak due to the shock of this realization, I simply walked through the halls with my suited acquaintance on our way to what was presumably my new room for eternity. As we turned another corner I was once again shocked to see all of my luggage, the luggage I had left in the lobby when I went back to get my phone, waiting for me outside one of the rooms.

“Well this is you friend.” he said, releasing his hand from my shoulder. “I’ll give you some time to settle in.”

Just then another door further down the hall opened and none other than Mrs Timmet, my elderly friend, walked out into the hallway. She glanced over at me with an angry scowl, very different from how she behaved toward me before, then turned and walked away.

“I wouldn’t bother old Mrs. Timmet if I was you.” the stranger said. “She still quite upset over your first meeting.”

“Why would she be angry with me? What did I do to her?” I asked once again confused. “Well friend. I’ve got nothing against you because, well, I’m just not the judgemental kind of guy. But in all fairness you did just stand by in that elevator as poor Mrs. Timmet’s heart gave out.” he explained. “Any way go ahead and get settled. I think you’re really gonna like it here.” As he finished speaking his mouth once again bent itself up into that ghoulish grin. He gave me a firm pat on the back and turned to walk back toward where we had come from. I watched as his tall, skinny, misshapen form disappear into the dim halls of the thirteenth floor.

So that where I am right now everyone. Stuck somewhere that I’m not sure even exists. Dead to the world outside the Chandler but very much alive to my fellow spirits residing on the thirteenth floor. I guess it isn’t all bad up here. It’s quiet enough for me and there is never any commotion in the halls. I’ve made some attempts to reconcile with Mrs. Timmet but she is still noticeably upset with me for apparently letting her die, which I guess is fair. In any case I spend most of my days now writing in my room. Luckily enough for me the dead up here on the thirteenth still get the Chandler’s wifi so I’m able to tell you all my story. The stranger visits every so often and whenever he is around I feel content with my situation. Every few months or so he brings in someone new for us all to meet. So i guess life as a dead man really isn’t that horrible. Just a little boring at times. Well anyway I hope you all understand now why I’m a superstitious man, and why I think you all should be too.