The first few times Garret graced the tower everything was copacetic. That all changed abruptly the day he was assigned to Elevator 12. Garret’s fateful fourth trip was the last time he ever stepped foot inside the skyscraper.
          Elevator 12 screams boring and unremarkable to the average eye. Its golden doors are framed using the standard marble crown molding, uniformity permeating all the way down to the angelic details. It resides exactly halfway down the dimly lit elevator bank, flanked on either side by illuminated buttons. It is only when passengers enter the elevator that peculiar things begin occurring. The compartment doesn’t whiz along a vertical plane. Instead, the chamber slips through the seams of reality, transcending the barriers of time and space. By the time the passengers register what’s happening, the doors have already slid shut and it’s far too late.
          It was Thursday the 29th of February, and Garret was running terribly behind schedule. His new SUV was in for repairs, leaving him with no choice but to take the subway. From the moment he shoved his arm into the revolving door, to the second his loafers hit the marble floor, Garret was a man on a mission. This skyscraper had been touted to him by investors as a “perfect property,” a capacious establishment ensconced in the heart of downtown. But all he saw was too much gold, too much marble, and too much of everything else he despised. What was the value in gold if fake veneers were spread over everything like stucco?
          The security guard glanced up at the small man entering the lobby. The face didn’t ring a bell. Sighing, the officer hoisted himself out from behind the desk and marched to intercept the newcomer. 
          “Sir, this office building is not open to the public,” the guard pronounced, crossing both burly arms against his chest. 
          “Who do you think you are?” Garret spat, rolling his eyes upwards. He cursed at the ostentatious chandeliers. Must everything in this building be so garish?
          “Security, sir.” The guard flashed his badge. “Now if you’ll kindly follow me—”
          How was it possible for someone to be so benighted?                                                             “Are you kidding me? Look at this watch and tell me what you see.” Garret shoved his wrist into the man’s face, proffering the delicate timepiece which clung to a thick platinum band.
          “Uh,” the security guard ran a finger through his beard. “Just an ordinary watch.”
          “Ahhhh!” Garret’s fists clenched involuntarily, as if he had been physically pained. “There is nothing ordinary about my precious collector-grade watch! And if you’ll excuse me, I have an extremely important meeting to get to.”
          The guard recoiled. How had he misunderstood? “I’m very sorry. Do you work here?”
“Oh please. I own this building, you fool.” Garret brushed by the man, a smirk crawling up his cheek as he threw an elbow. Thrusting his shoulders back in his best imitation of confidence, Garret strutted into the elevator bank. 
          He jammed his index finger into the up button, which blinked yellow in response. Immediately, an arrow lit up for an elevator down the hall. At least something in this building worked properly. Garret scampered into the vessel, still fuming about the security guard mishap. The doors slid closed. 
          “Come on, come on,” Garret muttered under his breath, tapping his foot against the floor. Still, the elevator did not ascend. It took Garret a couple of seconds to realize that the floor of the elevator was black, not the lustrous black of his SUV but a matte black that absorbed all light, a black so dark and utterly flat that it sucked all dimensions from the space around it. His first thought was relief. Finally, something not constructed from gilded marble. His second thought was terror.
          Garret looked around the compartment. There were no buttons. He spun around in a circle. The elevator doors had disappeared. Instead, there were just mirrors. Thousands of Garrets blinked back at him, each face skewed like in a funhouse. In some walls he hovered upside down, in others his neck grotesquely melted. His nose profusely bled in one, two gleaming crimson rivulets dripping down his chin. In a different version a waxy scar ran over the area where he should’ve had a mouth. A larger-than-life reflection mechanically waved to him. It was Garret, except his features had been sculpted into the face of a creepy, unblinking doll. Thousands of Garrets screamed.
          There was no sound.
          The elevator was not moving. Beads of sweat dripped from Garret’s brow, rolling down his pale face. A hurricane of nausea boiled and convected, spinning round and round inside his stomach. Panic seized every tendon of his body. He cried out in shock. Thousands of contorted faces echoed his anguished movements. It was like falling through quicksand, the more he flailed the further and further he drowned, suffocating in his own fear. The fight or flight response engulfed him, but there was no one to fight, save for the coterie of creepy Garrets surrounding him. There was no help button. He fumbled around his back pocket for his phone, but the stupid device was dead. There was no one to save him. He would die here, atrophying away into nothing. 
          As if reading his thoughts, a shadow passed over the faces of all the reflections. First a vagary in one rendition, then the change became inexorable. Slowly, deep furrows were carved into the flesh of each forehead. Liver spots planted themselves in the furrows, sprouting across his face. His hair turned gray, then silver, then white as snow. The skin melted off his cheeks and coalesced into sallow droplets hanging from his bones. His reflections wailed, jaws agape in excruciating detail. Was time speeding up? Had he been trapped in the elevator for years, decades even? Garret clutched his face, expecting his fingertips to scrape against the papery texture the mirrors displayed. Thankfully, his skin remained infused with the plumpness of youth. It was horrifically fascinating. 
          The tops and sides of the elevator spilled together in a sea of distorted reflections, the stark walls bereft of edges. The solid black floor was the only thing keeping Garret anchored to some semblance of reality. Garret checked his watch, only to find that the machinery had frozen. All three spindly hands pointed to midnight. 
          Garret teetered the tightrope of sanity, the lone acrobat stuck in the void of surrealism. But the odds were against him. All it took was one misplaced thought to send him spiraling into the abyss. Fear swept him away in its liberating embrace. He longed to blink, but some sinister force kept his eyelids peeled open. A shriveled reflection glared at him over bloodshot eyes. It embodied the scariest fear of all—the primordial fear of oneself. 
          He collapsed to the ground. Every reflection tumbled downwards. Flashes of white swam across his vision as his shaking elbows struggled to lift his body back up. With a trembling finger Garret lurched forward. His elderly reflection mimicked him. Their fingers reached for each other, drifting closer and closer to the glassy pane separating them. Garret’s finger brushed the cold metal surface. 
          Instantly all the mirrors vanished in the space of a blink. 
          The elevator walls were once again clad in deep mahogany wood. 
          Garret ran his palm over the bumpy surface. He feebly scanned the space. There was the familiar crack between the doors—thank goodness—and right next to it the panel of buttons adorning the wall. 
          The transient eternity was over.
          The raw horror desisted. 
          Convinced that it had all been a fever dream, Garret slumped against the floor, relishing the cold marble that enveloped him. A cathartic scream erupted from him. With both hands he clutched the golden railing. He really was losing it. 
          The doors slid open. Two businesswomen stood in front of the elevator’s opening. They stared at their boss, who lay in the fetal position on the ground. Garret couldn’t care less. His cavalier facade long gone, he sprinted out of that wretched compartment, disappearing around the corner. Garret desperately wanted the security guard to escort him down the stairs, but alas, he had burnt the wrong bridges. 
          The businesswomen glanced at each other and shrugged. 
          Their high heels crossed the threshold. The doors folded together. One woman started laughing.
          “I mean, can you believe that? I swear, he’s going to be fired any day now.”
She turned to her colleague, whose face had grown slack, enlarged pupils overtaking the whites of her eyes. 
          The elevator had transformed. 
          The floor was black. A writhing mass of snakes now inhabited the space where the walls once stood. Tangles upon tangles of gleaming scales, all glinting in the harsh light. A sickly yellow snake, eyes the color of nightmares, swung from the ceiling. Its forked tongue sputtered and hissed as it taunted its prey. The passengers ducked. They screamed. The wails died inside their throats. The snake’s venomous jaws snapped together, whispering against the surface of the skin.
          When the women finally reached the lobby, neither colleague made eye contact with the other. 
          And that was the thing about Elevator 12. It was a living entity, who feasted on panic and inhaled screams. The elevator doors were the mouth, the gateway to the portal. Every time the golden doors snapped closed, the lift would mutate and transmogrify, metal organs rearranging to create the next scene. At the next stop, the elevator would change again. It was never the same terror, and never the same occupants.
          There was only one report ever filed about Elevator 12. The elevator mechanic took one glance at the document, and laughed her head off. Seriously, she didn’t have time for these pranks. Elevator walls, covered in needles, that slowly compressed inwards? Sounded like a bad case of claustrophobia.