A terrible smell, like rotting food mixed

Do I have a ghost at work? Well, my story starts when my cousin Lisa and I decided to start a small cleaning business for office buildings. It was tough work, but we took on a contract for a three-story office complex. Lisa eventually had to leave the job due to family issues, so I hired another worker, Mike, to help with the workload.

At first, everything seemed normal. Lisa had always asked me if I was calling her, even when I hadn’t said a word. She would turn around, expecting to see me, but I’d be across the room. I thought she was just hearing things. But after she left, that eerie feeling grew stronger.

One night, Mike and I went to clean the second floor. A terrible smell, like rotting food mixed with something metallic, filled the hallway near the kitchen. It was so strong we had to cover our noses. But before we could investigate further, the sound of rattling glass doors echoed through the floor.

I thought maybe someone had arrived late to work, but when I checked, no one was there. A few minutes later, it happened again. This time, we were sure we were alone. The tension in the air was thick, and we both felt a chill run down our spines. We quickly finished the floor and stuck together for the rest of the night.

Downstairs, I left our keyring—about ten keys—on a table near the front entrance while we emptied trash bins. When we returned, the keys were gone. We searched everywhere, overturning chairs and checking every room, but they had vanished. Terrified, we called security to walk us to our cars.

The next morning, staff found the keys neatly placed in the men’s restroom—one of the first places we had searched. That was just the beginning.

Over the following weeks, more strange things happened. Cleaning supplies would disappear, only to be found later in rooms we hadn’t entered. Office phones would start playing music by themselves, stopping the moment we walked away.

But the worst night came when Mike called me in a panic, saying he heard a woman whisper, “Hello,” when he was alone on the top floor. He refused to go back up. I rushed to the building with my uncle, who sometimes helped out. We searched every corner, but the place was empty. Nothing else happened—until we were ready to leave.

As I stepped out of the elevator on the first floor, I heard laughter behind me. It was a soft, mocking chuckle. My blood turned to ice. When I spun around, there was no one there. Mike and my uncle were in front of me, looking confused.

Moments later, we went back up to find a missing mop. When we got into the elevator to return to the first floor, I glanced at the reflection in the metal doors. My heart nearly stopped. There were four people in the elevator.

But only three of us had entered.

It was only a flash, a flicker of something standing in the corner, but I saw it. A shadowy figure, just out of focus, with no face.

I didn’t say a word until we reached the ground floor. We hurried to the cleaning room, trying to shake the fear. But just as we sat down, the overhead light—one of those long tube lights hanging by chains—began to swing violently.

Kerry, my uncle, reached up and steadied it. We tested the door, the vents—anything that could have caused it to move. But nothing did, except forcefully pushing it.

That was my last night in that building. I turned in my resignation the next morning. I don’t know who—or what—was there with us, but I knew one thing for sure.

We weren’t alone.