THE SEVENTH FLOOR 🖤

Chapter 1 — The New Apartment

By the time Mara Bennett saw the building, the rain had already turned the car windows into sheets of gray. She wiped a clear circle onto the glass with the sleeve of her sweater and looked through it. The building stood at the end of a narrow street, taller than everything around it, its old brick walls darkened by rain. Six rows of windows stretched across the front, some glowing warmly behind curtains while others remained completely black. A narrow strip of roof ran above the highest windows, barely visible beneath the heavy clouds. Mara counted the floors twice.

Six.

She leaned back against the seat. “That’s it?”

Her mother glanced at the building and then back at the road. “That’s it.”

“It looks older than the pictures.”

“Everything looks better in pictures.”

Mara sighed. “That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

From the back seat, her younger brother Noah leaned forward between the front seats. “I like it.”

“You haven’t even seen the inside.”

“I like the building.”

Mara turned around. “You also said you liked the dentist.”

“I was eight.”

“You were twelve.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I don’t remember.”

Their mother laughed quietly from behind the steering wheel. It was a small laugh, but Mara noticed it because she had barely heard her mother laugh during the last few weeks. The move had been stressful. Packing had taken days. Their old house had been filled with boxes, half-empty rooms, and the strange feeling that everything familiar was slowly becoming someone else’s.

Mara looked at her mother.

She didn’t say anything.

There were things neither of them wanted to talk about.

The separation.

The money.

The new job.

The old house.

The fact that they were starting over.

Instead, Mara turned back toward the building.

A man stood beneath the small covered entrance, holding a black umbrella. He looked to be in his sixties, perhaps older. He was thin, with narrow shoulders and gray hair combed neatly to one side. His dark raincoat was buttoned to his neck despite the mild weather.

Their mother slowed the car.

“Mr. Hale?”

The man stepped closer to the driver’s window.

“Mrs. Bennett?”

“Yes.”

His face relaxed into a polite smile. “Welcome.”

He stepped aside as their mother parked.

Mara watched him through the windshield.

There was something about him she couldn’t explain. Not frightening. Not exactly. He simply looked like someone who had been waiting for them.

Noah opened the car door.

Mara caught his sleeve.

“Wait.”

He looked at her. “What?”

“Let Mom get out first.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re twelve and have no survival instincts.”

“I have survival instincts.”

“You once tried to eat a candle.”

“It smelled like vanilla.”

Their mother turned around. “Both of you. Out.”

The rain had weakened by the time Mara stepped onto the pavement. The air smelled of wet leaves, concrete, and something metallic. She pulled her hood over her head and opened the trunk.

Mr. Hale walked toward them.

“Long drive?” he asked.

“Almost three hours,” Mara’s mother replied.

“Then you’ll be glad to hear your apartment is ready.”

He picked up one of the smaller boxes before Mara could stop him.

“You must be Mara.”

She nodded.

“And Noah.”

Noah raised one hand.

Mr. Hale smiled at him. “Fourth floor.”

Mara looked toward the entrance. “Good.”

Mr. Hale glanced at her. “Why good?”

“Because I hate elevators.”

It was a lie.

Mara didn’t hate elevators. She simply disliked being trapped inside small spaces with strangers.

Mr. Hale gave a quiet laugh. “That’s convenient.”

“Why?”

“Ours has been acting up.”

Her mother frowned. “Acting up?”

“Nothing serious. It stops properly.”

He paused.

“Mostly.”

Mara stared at him.

“Mostly?”

Mr. Hale’s smile remained, but something in his expression changed.

“Old buildings have their moods.”

He carried the box inside.

Mara looked at Noah.

He whispered, “I don’t like him.”

She nodded seriously. “See? Survival instincts.”

The entrance hall was warmer than outside. The first thing Mara noticed was the smell. Dust, damp stone, old wood, and something sweet she couldn’t identify. The floor was covered in brown tiles, worn smooth in the middle from years of people walking across them. A large wooden desk stood against one wall, with a brass lamp on top.

Behind it hung an old framed photograph of the building.

Mara stopped.

The photograph was black and white.

The building looked almost exactly the same, except the street outside was filled with older cars and the trees were much smaller. A group of residents stood outside the entrance.

Men in coats.

Women holding bags.

Children sitting near the pavement.

Mara stepped closer.

“How old is that?”

“About thirty years,” Mr. Hale answered.

She looked at him.

He was already watching the photograph.

“Who took it?”

“Someone who lived here.”

“Do you know who?”

“Not anymore.”

Mara frowned. “How do you not know?”

Mr. Hale looked at her for a moment.

Then he shrugged.

“People leave.”

He walked toward the elevator.

Mara looked back at the photograph.

Something had caught her attention.

Near the right edge, partly hidden behind a tree, stood a teenage girl.

Mara leaned closer.

The girl’s face was difficult to see because of the quality of the photograph, but her body was turned toward the camera. She wasn’t smiling like the other people.

She looked serious.

Almost uncomfortable.

Mara wondered why.

“Mara.”

Her mother’s voice pulled her away.

She followed them.

The elevator doors were scratched and faded, but the inside looked surprisingly clean. Silver panels covered the walls, and a narrow mirror stretched from the floor to Mara’s shoulders.

Mr. Hale pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again.

A low mechanical sound came from somewhere behind the wall.

Then the doors opened.

Everyone stepped inside.

Mara looked at the control panel.

G.

She counted them automatically.

Seven buttons.

Including G.

That was normal.

She pressed four.

The elevator began to rise.

The doors closed.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Mara watched the numbers above the door.

The light flickered.

Just once.

Then the elevator continued.

The doors opened.

The fourth-floor hallway was narrow and strangely quiet. The carpet was dark blue, and the walls were painted an old cream color. Four apartment doors were visible.

Then 405.

Mara stepped out.

She looked at the numbers again.

She turned around.

“Mom?”

Her mother was already unlocking their apartment.

“What?”

“Where’s 404?”

Her mother looked at the hallway.

“Oh.”

Mara pointed.

“There are only four apartments.”

“Apparently.”

“But the numbers skip 404.”

Mr. Hale had stepped out of the elevator. He looked at Mara.

“Some buildings skip numbers.”

“Why?”

“Superstition.”

“About the number four?”

“Sometimes.”

Mara looked at the empty section between 403 and 405.

There wasn’t even an outline where a door might have been. Just a plain wall.

She wasn’t satisfied.

“What kind of superstition?”

Mr. Hale’s expression became serious.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

That answer made Mara more curious, not less.

Noah walked past her with a box in his arms.

“Maybe someone stole the apartment.”

Mara laughed.

Mr. Hale didn’t.

The door to 405 opened.

Their mother stepped inside.

“Come on.”

The apartment was larger than Mara expected.

The living room had two wide windows overlooking the street. The walls had been freshly painted, and sunlight would probably make the rooms brighter when the weather improved. The wooden floors were scratched in places, but they were clean.

There were three bedrooms.

Mara’s was at the end of the hallway.

She opened the door.

A plain bed stood against one wall. A small desk sat beneath the window, and a built-in wardrobe occupied the corner near the entrance.

It wasn’t fancy.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was hers.

Mara walked toward the window.

From the fourth floor, she could see the street below. A bus moved through the intersection. People hurried along the pavement with umbrellas. Across the street stood a row of small shops, most of them closed because of the weather.

For the first time that day, Mara felt something close to relief.

Maybe this would be okay.

Her mother appeared in the doorway.

“You like it?”

Mara nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Her mother’s shoulders relaxed.

“Good.”

Mara smiled.

“Now go find your own room.”

Her mother laughed.

The next few hours passed in a blur of boxes.

Books went onto shelves.

Clothes went into drawers.

Noah complained about the position of his desk.

Their mother told him to stop complaining.

He continued complaining.

By evening, the apartment finally looked less like a storage room and more like a home.

Mara sat on the floor beside her bed, surrounded by books, when someone knocked on the front door.

Noah immediately ran toward it.

“Don’t open it,” Mara called.

He stopped with his hand on the handle.

“Why?”

“Because Mom told you not to open the door without asking.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t.”

He opened it anyway.

Mr. Hale stood outside.

He looked past Noah toward Mara.

“Your mother home?”

“She went downstairs,” Mara said.

“I see.”

Mara stood.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I wanted to give you the building rules.”

He handed her a folded sheet of paper.

She opened it.

Most of the rules were ordinary.

Quiet hours.

Garbage collection.

Laundry schedule.

Emergency exits.

No smoking.

No pets without permission.

At the bottom, however, three handwritten lines had been added beneath the printed rules.

Do not use the elevator during electrical storms.

Do not enter the basement after midnight.

And:

If you ever see the number 7, do not get out.

Mara read the last sentence twice.

Then she looked at Mr. Hale.

“What does this mean?”

He didn’t answer.

Her mother returned at that exact moment.

“Mr. Hale?”

He turned.

“Just giving Mara the rules.”

Her mother looked at the paper.

For less than a second, her expression changed.

Mara noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You looked worried.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

Her mother took the paper from her.

Mr. Hale cleared his throat.

“I should mention something.”

Mara waited.

“If the elevator ever shows seven, don’t worry.”

She stared at him.

“You just told me not to get out.”

“Yes.”

“Then why wouldn’t I worry?”

His expression remained serious.

“Because worrying won’t help.”

Noah appeared in the hallway.

“What happens if we get out?”

Mr. Hale looked at him.

“Don’t.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It is the only one you need.”

Mara crossed her arms.

“Is there actually a seventh floor?”

“No.”

The answer was immediate.

Too immediate.

Mara noticed.

“Then why is there a rule about it?”

Mr. Hale glanced toward the ceiling.

“Old buildings have old stories.”

“What story?”

He looked at Mara’s mother.

“Ask your mother.”

Then he walked away.

Mara watched him disappear down the hallway.

She turned toward her mother.

“What does he mean?”

Her mother didn’t answer.

She stared toward the elevator.

“Mum?”

“Nothing happened here.”

Mara frowned.

“I didn’t ask what happened.”

Her mother looked at her.

“Good.”

Then she walked inside.

Mara remained in the hallway.

She looked at the elevator.

The doors were closed.

She pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

She pressed it again.

The light came on.

The doors opened.

Mara stared inside.

Everything looked normal.

The same silver walls.

The same mirror.

The same buttons.

G.

She counted them.

Then she blinked.

For one brief moment, she thought she saw another button beneath 6.

A dark rectangle.

No number.

She leaned closer.

The elevator lights flickered.

The rectangle disappeared.

Mara stepped back.

The doors closed.

She stood there, staring at the metal.

Maybe she was tired.

That was all.

She had spent the entire day moving boxes.

She needed sleep.

That night, the apartment became quiet around midnight.

Noah fell asleep first.

Her mother went to bed shortly afterward.

Mara stayed awake, scrolling through her phone while rain tapped lightly against her bedroom window.

The unfamiliar apartment made small noises.

Pipes clicked inside the walls.

The refrigerator hummed.

Something rattled in the kitchen.

Mara put her phone down.

She was just beginning to relax when she heard a sound above her.

A footstep.

She opened her eyes.

Another.

Slow.

Heavy.

Directly above her ceiling.

Mara sat up.

She stared upward.

The building had six floors.

Their apartment was on the fourth.

There should be two floors above her.

She listened.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Someone was walking across the floor above.

Mara got out of bed.

She stood beneath the sound.

The footsteps moved from one side of the ceiling to the other.

Then they stopped.

She waited.

Nothing.

Mara let out a slow breath.

Probably the fifth floor.

Or the sixth.

Sound traveled strangely through old buildings.

That had to be it.

She returned to bed.

Five minutes later, the footsteps started again.

This time they were slower.

Step.

Pause.

Step.

Pause.

Then they stopped directly above her.

Mara stared at the ceiling.

A soft knock followed.

Three times.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

She didn’t move.

Another minute passed.

Nothing.

She checked her phone.

12:47 AM.

Mara pulled the blanket over herself and closed her eyes.

She told herself it was nothing.

Old pipes.

A neighbor.

Furniture.

Anything.

Just not what her mind was suggesting.

She almost fell asleep.

Then she heard the elevator.

Ding.

Mara’s eyes opened.

The sound came from the hallway.

She looked at her phone.

The time was 3:17 AM.

Her room suddenly felt colder.

She sat up.

Another sound came from outside.

The elevator doors opening.

Mara got out of bed.

She walked quietly toward her bedroom door.

Her mother and Noah were asleep.

Mara stepped into the hallway.

The apartment was dark except for a faint light from the kitchen.

At the far end of the hallway, the elevator doors stood open.

Mara couldn’t see inside.

She took one step forward.

Then another.

She stopped.

Something was wrong.

The elevator’s display was glowing.

A single number appeared above the doors.

7

Mara stared at it.

Her first thought was that the display was broken.

Her second was that Mr. Hale had been telling the truth.

Her third was much worse.

The elevator had not come from another floor.

It had come from somewhere above them.

Somewhere that didn’t exist.

Mara stood completely still.

The doors remained open.

Inside the elevator, the lights flickered.

For a moment, she thought she saw someone standing in the back.

A girl.

Mara blinked.

The elevator was empty.

She stepped backward.

The doors began to close.

Then a voice came from inside.

“Mara?”

Her entire body went still.

It was a girl’s voice.

Young.

Soft.

Familiar.

But Mara didn’t know anyone in this building.

She didn’t answer.

The doors closed.

The display changed.

6

Then 5.

Then 4.

The elevator began descending.

Mara watched until the numbers disappeared.

She turned around.

Her bedroom door was open.

She was certain she had left it closed.

Mara slowly walked toward it.

She reached the doorway.

Nothing was inside.

Her bed.

Her desk.

Her books.

Everything looked exactly as it had before.

Then she noticed something on the desk.

A photograph.

Mara stepped closer.

She didn’t remember putting a photograph there.

She picked it up.

It was old.

Black and white.

The building stood in the background.

The same building.

The same entrance.

The same group of people.

Mara recognized the photograph immediately.

It was the one from downstairs.

But there was something different.

The teenage girl who had been partly hidden behind the tree was now standing clearly in the photograph.

And Mara could see her face.

The girl was looking directly at the camera.

Directly at Mara.

On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date.

October 14, 1996.

Below it was a name.

Mara read it once.

Then again.

ELENA VALE.

She didn’t know the name.

But somehow, the moment she read it, she felt as if she had heard it before.

A sound came from the hallway.

Three slow knocks.

Mara turned.

Nobody was there.

She looked down at the photograph again.

The girl’s expression had changed.

Mara dropped it.

It landed face-up on the floor.

The photograph was still.

The girl was no longer looking at the camera.

She was looking toward the elevator.

Mara’s breath caught.

From somewhere above the apartment came another sound.

A footstep.

Then another.

Someone was walking across the ceiling.

But this time, the footsteps weren’t moving away.

They were coming closer.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Until they stopped directly above Mara’s bedroom.

She stared at the ceiling.

A long silence followed.

Then came three knocks.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Mara didn’t move.

Her phone buzzed on the bed.

She nearly screamed.

She grabbed it.

One new notification.

No name.

No number.

Just a message.

YOU FORGOT ME.

Mara stared at the screen.

Another message appeared.

DON’T LET HER TAKE YOU TO SEVEN.

Mara’s hands went cold.

She looked toward the hallway.

The elevator display was visible from her bedroom.

It had changed again.

7

And beneath the number, in the faint reflection of the metal doors, stood a girl.

Mara slowly looked toward the elevator.

There was nobody there.

She looked back at the reflection.

The girl remained.

Then the elevator doors opened by themselves.

Mara couldn’t breathe.

A voice came from inside.

This time, she recognized it.

It was her mother’s voice.

“Mara?”

The voice sounded exactly like her.

“Mara, come here.”

Mara took one step backward.

Her mother’s bedroom door opened behind her.

Mara turned.

Her mother stood in the doorway, half asleep.

“Mara?”

Mara stared at her.

Then at the elevator.

Then back at her mother.

Her mother looked toward the open elevator.

The moment she saw the number 7, all the sleep disappeared from her face.

She grabbed Mara’s wrist.

“Don’t look at it.”

Mara stared at her.

“You knew.”

Her mother tightened her grip.

“Come inside.”

“But—”

“Now.”

There was fear in her mother’s voice.

Real fear.

Not confusion.

Not surprise.

Fear.

Mara allowed herself to be pulled back into the apartment.

Her mother shut the bedroom door.

Then she locked it.

Mara stared at her.

“What is the seventh floor?”

Her mother didn’t answer.

“Mom.”

Nothing.

“You told me nothing happened here.”

Her mother looked down.

“I said you didn’t need to worry.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Her mother closed her eyes.

For several seconds, the apartment was silent.

Then, from above them, came another slow footstep.

Her mother looked toward the ceiling.

Mara watched her face.

She knew then that whatever was happening wasn’t new.

Her mother had heard those footsteps before.

Her mother knew about the number seven.

And somehow, she knew the girl.

The elevator doors closed in the hallway.

The building became quiet again.

Mara looked at the photograph lying on the floor outside her room.

Elena Vale.

She didn’t know who Elena was.

She didn’t know why her photograph had appeared in her bedroom.

She didn’t know why a girl she had never met had called her name.

But one thing was certain.

The building had six floors.

Mara had counted them herself.

And yet, at exactly 3:17 AM, something had opened a door to a seventh.

Something that knew her name.

Something her mother was afraid of.

And something that had been waiting for her long before Mara ever arrived.