In the bustling city, there was a hotel that seemed ordinary at first glance. Its exterior was sleek, its lobby polished, and its elevators silent and efficient. But whispers among staff and long-time visitors spoke of something strange—a floor that did not exist on any map, a floor that only appeared to certain people at certain times. Those who entered it were never the same again, often disappearing entirely, or returning hollow-eyed and silent. The hotel had a reputation for horror, for creepy occurrences, and for ghostly manifestations that defied explanation.
This is the story of Daniel, a business traveler who checked into the hotel one rainy evening, unaware of the terror that awaited him in the depths of its elevator.
Daniel arrived just as the storm broke outside. Rain pelted the windows, and the hotel’s neon lights flickered in the wet streets. He checked in quickly, eager to escape the weather, and made his way to the elevator. The lobby was unusually quiet, the air heavy with a faint chill that seemed out of place in the otherwise modern hotel. As he pressed the button for the 10th floor, he noticed a small, faded button labeled “13,” though the elevator panel only went up to 12. Thinking it a mistake, he ignored it.
The elevator doors closed smoothly, and Daniel felt the usual hum of the motor. But as he ascended, something strange happened: the elevator passed floor 12, continued upward, and stopped at a floor that was not on any hotel map. The lights flickered dimly, and a cold draft spilled out when the doors opened. A narrow, dimly lit hallway stretched before him, walls lined with faded wallpaper, cracked and peeling. The air smelled of damp wood and something else he could not identify—a faint metallic tang that made his stomach churn.
Curiosity overcame fear, and Daniel stepped out. The floor was eerily silent. No other guests were present, no staff in sight. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, and the carpeted floor seemed to absorb the light from the dim ceiling fixtures. Shadows moved at the edges of his vision, twisting unnaturally. He heard whispers—soft, indistinct, and far too close. The horror of the realization struck him: he had entered a place that should not exist.
As he walked down the corridor, he saw doors on either side. Some were cracked open, revealing empty rooms filled with antique furniture, covered in dust. Ghostly figures occasionally appeared inside, pale and hollow-eyed, moving slowly as if trapped in a perpetual loop. Daniel felt a creeping sense of dread, the kind that made his heart pound and his breath quicken. The floor was alive with ghostly energy, a place of horror, creepy apparitions, and ghostly whispers that seemed to reach into his mind.
He tried to return to the elevator, only to find that it had vanished. The hallway stretched endlessly, twisting impossibly, doors appearing and disappearing as he moved. The ghostly figures followed him silently, their hollow eyes fixed, their presence chilling. The whispers grew louder, forming almost coherent sentences:
“Stay… don’t leave… join us…”
The horror was overwhelming. Daniel realized that the elevator had brought him to a supernatural floor, a liminal space between reality and the ghostly realm. The floor was haunted, a trap for those curious or unlucky enough to stumble upon it.
As he explored further, Daniel found a large room at the end of the hallway. Inside, ghostly figures were frozen mid-motion, as if performing tasks from their past lives. Some were dressed in hotel staff uniforms, others in old-fashioned clothing, and all had hollow eyes that seemed to pierce through him. Shadows moved independently of any light source, stretching along walls, floor, and ceiling, and whispers filled the air with a chorus of warning and fear.
He tried knocking on doors, opening windows, anything to escape, but the floor seemed to respond to his movements, twisting corridors, stretching hallways, and blocking exits. The horror was not just in the ghosts, but in the very architecture. The floor itself was alive, a supernatural entity, ensuring that no one left easily.
Time lost meaning. Hours, minutes, or perhaps days passed as Daniel wandered the endless corridors. Each turn revealed new horrors: ghostly figures performing mundane tasks with lifeless expressions, shadows twisting into impossible forms, and whispers that seemed to echo his own thoughts back at him. The floor was a living nightmare, a manifestation of horror and creepiness that trapped souls in a loop of ghostly torment.
At one point, he saw a mirror on the wall. In it, his reflection moved independently, smiling hollowly as the room around him twisted. Pale, ghostly hands reached toward him from the mirror’s surface. The realization was chilling: this floor was not only haunted—it was conscious, feeding on fear and trapping anyone who entered its space.
Desperate, Daniel tried to remember how he had arrived. He recalled the elevator button labeled “13,” the one he had ignored. The floor seemed to have drawn him in deliberately, a predator choosing its prey. The horror intensified as he realized that this place collected souls, feeding on their fear, keeping them trapped in a ghostly loop for eternity.
He heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw pale, hollow-eyed figures moving in perfect silence, following his every step. The whispers became voices, insistent and seductive:
“Join us… forever…”
Daniel ran, trying doors and corridors, but the floor shifted around him, impossible angles and endless hallways ensuring he could never leave. The horror of his situation sank in fully: he was trapped, caught between the living world and a ghostly dimension that existed only on this supernatural floor.
Eventually, he found what looked like a lobby, dimly lit and abandoned. Ghostly staff moved silently behind the front desk, checking invisible registers, their eyes hollow and fixed. Shadows flickered across the walls, and faint ghostly lights illuminated the room in an unnatural glow. Daniel realized that the floor was replicating the hotel, but in a warped, ghostly version, where the horror of the trapped spirits was amplified by the supernatural architecture.
He understood that the elevator was not a transport mechanism but a portal, allowing the hotel to claim souls at its discretion. Horror, creepiness, and ghostly terror infused every inch of the space. Each ghostly figure he saw had once been a traveler like him, drawn in by curiosity or fate, now trapped in a cycle of endless haunting.
As night fell, the floor grew darker, colder, and more oppressive. Shadows reached out from the walls, wrapping around him like living entities. Ghostly hands brushed against his arms, and whispers grew into a deafening chorus, pressing into his mind. The horror of the supernatural presence was overwhelming. Daniel realized that any attempt to escape was futile; the floor had already claimed him, and the ghostly entities would not let him leave.
The final moments were a blur. He felt himself drawn toward a shadowy elevator at the center of the floor, its doors opening into impenetrable darkness. Pale, hollow-eyed figures surrounded him, whispering, guiding him toward the unknown. The horror, creepiness, and ghostly presence enveloped him completely.
By morning, the elevator doors on the hotel’s 12th floor opened normally. Daniel was never seen again. Staff noted the faint smell of cold air and metallic tang in the elevator shaft, and some guests reported seeing a pale, hollow-eyed figure inside the elevator at night, silently staring, waiting for the next traveler to press the forbidden button labeled “13.”
The hotel still stands, ordinary by day, yet the elevator continues its supernatural work. Horror, creepiness, and ghostly presences lurk within its metal walls. The nonexistent floor waits patiently for new visitors, a place where the curious and unlucky become part of the ghostly realm, trapped forever in an endless, haunting cycle.