The Elevator

The Elevator is a scary short story about a young boy who has a morbid fear of elevators, especially the creaky old elevator in his apartment building. It is based on a horror tale by William Sleator. There was a 12-year old boy named Martin who lived in an old apartment building. The elevator in the building was also very old and very small. A sign on the wall read: 'Maximum capacity: 3 persons'. Ever since his family moved into the apartment building, Martin had been nervous about using the elevator. Something about it scared him. Maybe it was the dim, flickering flourescent light in the ceiling. Maybe it was the dirty brown walls. Maybe it was the door which opened slowly with an ominous screech and slammed shut with a loud clang. Maybe it was the way it shuddered and creaked as it ascended, making a dull bang as it passed each floor. Martin was always afraid that something would go wrong. He imagined the elevator cord suddenly snapping and causing him to plunge to his death or the elevator getting stuck between floors, trapping him inside and causing him to starve to death before anyone noticed. Martin usually took the stairs. They were safer. The only problem was that he lived on the 17th floor. By the time he got home from school in the evening, he was completely exhausted. 'Why didn't you take the elevator?' his father would ask. Martin never answered. He was embarrassed to let his father know he was scared. Sometimes, he would force himself to take the elevator. He just had to get used to it, he told himself. But it was no use. He didn't get used to it. He hated being alone on the elevator. He had an irrational dread of being trapped in it for hours by himself. But it wasn't much better when there were other passengers. The elevator was so small that it felt unbearably crowded and claustrophobic. One day, as he was taking the elevator, it stopped at the fourteenth floor. The doors opened with a metallic screech and a fat woman was standing there. She was enormous. As she waddled on, Martin was sure he felt the elevator groaning under her weight. She was so fat that she pinned him into the corner and he couldn't move. He folds of flab pressed up against his face. He felt like he couldn't breathe. The fat woman stared down at him with beady eyes. Martin tried to avoid eye contact, but she kept glaring at him. It made him very uneasy. The elevator creaked and banged as it slowly made its way down... Twelve... Eleven... Ten... Martin looked at his watch and wondered how much longer he could stand it. Nine... Eight... Seven... The fat woman was still staring at him. Eventually, they reached the lobby. The doors opened with a screech. Martin squeezed past the fat woman and got out. Finally he could breathe again. He was so relieved, he ran all the way to school. He thought about her all day. Did she live in the building? He had never seen her before, and the building wasn't very big - only four apartments on each floor. It seemed likely that she didn't live there, and had only been visiting somebody. But if she were only visiting somebody, why was she leaving the building at seven thirty in the morning? People didn't make visits at that time of day. Did that mean she did live in the building? Of so, it was likely - it was certainty - that sometime he would be riding with her on the elevator again. He was apprehensive as he approached the building after school. Why should he be afraid of an old lady? If he was afraid of her, if he let it control him, then he was worse than all the names they called him at school. He pressed the button; he stepped into the empty elevator. He stared at the lights, urging the elevator on. It stopped at three. At least it's not fourteen, he told himself; the person she was visiting lives on fourteen. He watched the door slide open - revealing a green coat, a piggish face, blue eyes already fixed on him as though she knew he'd be there. It wasn't possible. It was like a nightmare. But there she was, massively real. 'Going up!' he said, his voice a humiliating squeak. She nodded, her flesh qu