The 14th Floor Hollow

My name is Elias Vance, and I’d like to think I’ve outgrown the spectral nonsense of my teenage years. I’d buried those memories deep, under years of logic and routine, so when I landed this desk job at the Meridian Tower, I thought my days of looking over my shoulder were done. The tower was a steel and glass statement of corporate ambition, and I was just a cog on the 29th floor. As one of the junior receptionists, my task was simple: greet clients in the lobby, escort them down to the meeting rooms on the 14th floor, and return. The building’s layout was a grid of elevators in the core, with hallways branching off to offices on either side. Our company occupied the entire 14th floor, but there was a strange quirk: a long-abandoned office space across from the elevators, sealed off with a frosted glass door that no one ever spoke about.

It was my third week, and I was already falling into a rhythm. The elevators hummed their mechanical lullabies, the fluorescent lights buzzed their monotonous tune, and the occasional clatter of a keyboard was the only soundtrack. That day, I had to escort a nervous-looking accountant to a meeting on the 14th floor. We rode down in silence, the elevator dinging with the passing floors. I led him down the hallway, past our own glass-walled offices, to the conference room at the far end. After he was settled, I turned to head back. The corridor stretched before me, empty, the only sound being the soft thrum of the building’s ventilation.

As I approached the elevator lobby, I noticed that the lights in the empty office across the way were on, which was odd, because I’d always seen them off. The office was a land of dust and forgotten furniture, a few desks and chairs ghost-like in their stillness. I averted my gaze, focusing on the elevator display. That’s when I heard it—a soft, sibilant ‘Psst!’ from behind me. It was so clear, so intimate, as if someone were just over my shoulder. I spun around, my heart thudding against my ribs. The hallway behind me was empty. The offices on either side were darkened, the blinds half-drawn. But the empty office across the way now seemed darker, as if a shadow had passed over its lights.

I told myself it was just the building’s air conditioning making those odd noises, a quirk of the old ducts. But as the elevator doors slid open with a sigh, I glanced back at the empty office. The frosted glass door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of darkness where the seal had been broken. I hadn’t noticed that before. I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for 29 with a trembling finger. I didn’t look back as the doors closed.

The next few days, I avoided the 14th floor as much as my duties allowed. But I couldn’t shirk my job forever. On the Friday of that week, someone had to escort a large group of clients to a seminar in the main conference room on 14. I was the only one available. I rode down, my palms sweating. The elevator doors opened to the familiar cold corridor. The lights in the empty office were blazing, and the door was now wide open, revealing a room full of shadows that seemed to writhe at the edges of the light. I tried to walk past it as quickly as possible, my eyes fixed on the meeting room door.

After the clients were settled, I made my way back, my steps quickening. As I approached the elevator, I heard the ‘Psst’ again, but this time it was followed by a whisper so faint it was almost a breath: ‘Elias.’ My blood turned to ice. I froze, my gaze locked on the open doorway of the empty office. The lights flickered, and I caught a glimpse of a figure inside—a silhouette, dark and formless, standing behind one of the dusty desks. It seemed to be waiting. The whisper came again, more insistent: ‘Elias, don’t you remember?’

A memory surged up, unbidden: when I was sixteen, in my hometown, there was an abandoned factory where kids dared each other to go. I had gone, and in the gloom, I had heard the same ‘Psst’ from behind a rusted machine. I had run, and nothing had followed me. But now, it was as if that voice had been waiting, carrying across the years, finding me again in this sterile tower. The lights in the empty office went out completely, plunging the room into darkness, but I could still see the shape, its head tilting as if curious.

I backed away, my hand finding the elevator button, pressing it repeatedly. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open behind me. I scrambled inside, jabbing the button for 29. As the doors closed, I saw the figure step forward, and the whisper trailed after me, ‘You’ll come back, Elias. You always come back.’ The doors sealed, cutting off the sound, and I stood there, shaking, as the elevator rose.

I reported the incident to my supervisor, but they dismissed it as a prank or a trick of the light. Security checked the office and found nothing, just dust and old furniture. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that the voice was not done with me. Over the next few days, I began to notice small things: my name appearing on the visitor’s log in a handwriting I didn’t recognize, the elevator sometimes stopping on 14 without my pressing the button, and the lights in the empty office flickering on and off in the corner of my eye.

One evening, as I was leaving, the building mostly empty, I felt an irresistible pull toward the 14th floor. My body moved on its own, walking to the elevators, pressing the button. The ride down was silent, the air heavy. When the doors opened, the hallway was dark except for the lights in the empty office, which were now the only lights on the floor. They buzzed like old fluorescents, casting a sickly yellow glow. The door was wide open, and I could see a figure seated at the desk, waiting for me.

I stepped out, drawn by a force I couldn’t name. The figure remained still, its face hidden in shadow. As I crossed the threshold, the lights flickered, and the door slammed shut behind me. The room was filled with a cold that seeped into my bones. The figure spoke, in the same whisper, ‘You brought me back from the dark, Elias. Now you’ll keep me company.’

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The figure raised a hand, and I saw that its fingers were long and black, like shadows given form. The lights went out, and I felt something cold wrap around my wrist. The last thing I remembered was the elevator doors opening, and I was standing in the hallway again, as if I’d just stepped out. The office door was closed, the lights off.

I don’t remember how I got home that night. But the next day, when I walked into the building, the receptionist at the front desk gave me a strange look. She said, ‘Hey, you’re the new guy on 29? The security guard said he saw you coming out of the 14th floor office at 3 a.m. last night. But that office has been sealed for ten years. No one has keys to it.’ I felt a chill run down my spine. I looked at my reflection in the elevator doors, and for a split second, I saw the shadowy figure standing behind me, its hand on my shoulder. When I spun around, nothing was there.

Now, I spend my days exuding emptiness, haunted by a presence that attaches to me, drawn by something I cannot remember. I avoid the 14th floor, but it calls to me, a whisper in the back of my mind, ‘Elias, come back. You belong here.’ And I fear that one day, I will answer.

That was the last week I worked there. I quit without notice, left the city, but even now, in this new place, I hear the ‘Psst’ in the quiet moments, and I know it’s never truly gone. It’s waiting, in the empty office of my mind, watching. And I know that one day, it will pull me back to the 14th floor, to the hollow at the heart of the tower, where I will finally understand, and where I will never leave again.