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My heart sinks.

I push the button again.

"What. . .what do you mean you're stuck in an elevator too?"

A pause.

"I MEAN I'M STUCK IN AN ELEVATOR," the boy on the other side screams. "I'M STUCK IN AN ELEVATOR TOO"

I hear a pummelling sound through the speakers entwined with primal, sobbing shrieks. The sounds rattle through me and I feel enveloped in despair.

I put my head in my hands and wait for the noise to stop.

When the speaker finally goes silent I move back to the button.

"What's your name?"

Crackle.

"Chad." Pause.  "You?"

His voice is croaky, vulnerable. He sounds around my age; seventeen.

"Laura, I reply. "How. . .how long have you been in there?"

There's a pause.

"I'm not sure," he says. "It feels. . . it feels like a while. I feel like I've been going down for a while."

My throat feels tight.

So his elevator is going down as well?

"There's. . .there's weird stuff going on in here," he says. "I thought I saw something. In the mirror."

I gulp down my fear as I recall the reflection.

Abandon all hope, ye who enters here.

"And my shoulder hurts," he says.

Shoulder?

"Check your shoulder," I say. "Is there a number burnt into your shoulder?"

There's silence for a few moments. My heartbeat thumps against my chest.

"Yes. Oh god, yes," says Chad.

"What number?"

"Eight."

What does it mean? What is the significance of eight?

My stomach turns.

Who has done this to us?

Panic starts to take over.

I swallow it and. . .

Breathe. Breathe Laura. Breathe.

"Do you remember why you're in the elevator? Who put you there?" I ask.

Crackle.

"No. I can't remember." His voice is flat. "But every time I close my eyes I get the same images flickering through my mind."

My breathing quickens

I think back to my dream.

"White tiled floor. An escalator. And a sign in a window?"

"Yes," he replies.

I take in a gulp of the thick air.

"What does the sign say?" I blurt. "What does it say?"

There's a long pause.

"I don't know," he replies softly.

We fall into silence.

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