DRASTIC

“Who are you?” Beth asked a strange man sitting in the foyer of her apartment building.

He lowered his head to look over the top frames of his glasses,

“Sorry; I’m waiting on the super.”

He lifted his wrist, checking his watch,

“He said he’d have my room ready this evening.”

“Do you need to call him?” she questioned in less concern than paranoia.

“It is getting late,” the man responded, “You don’t suppose it’d be reasonable to just head on up without his saying so, do you?”

Beth began towards the stairs,and shrugged, with her arms full of groceries,

“I wouldn’t know.”

The stranger got up to offer help, but Beth refused with a slight turn of her head.

He stopped and pointed at the closed, steel doors in the center of the room,

“Would you like to share the lift?”

“That thing has never worked,” Beth sighed in annoyance.

The man pressed the call button, which glowed with an unfamiliar light. Immediately after, the tightly sealed doors parted open with a high-pitched ting.

“Seems to be working for me,” he said, poking his ear-muffed head into the elevator.

Beth froze in confusion.

“Now, my dear,” began the man again, “could I interest you in a quicker trip up?”

She stood warily; completely unsure about this phenomenon. She knew, from her first day of residence in the old complex--two years ago--that the shaft had never run or even opened its doors. She hesitated a moment longer until the bell from the elevator sounded again.

“Come, now,” called the man from inside with the back of his hand keeping the sliders from closing, “this thing won’t wait forever.”

There’s just something thrillingly nostalgic about an elevator ride, she thought as she felt herself being pulled closer to it. She stepped over the threshold, overlooking the one-inch step-down, inside. Beth lost her footing; but the man caught her around her stomach. A can of beans popped out of her paper grocery sack and rolled to the back of the metal chamber. Beth adjusted herself, thanking the man. His only reply was that of a gap-toothed grin before leaning down to recover the escaped tin can.

“What floor?” he asked as the doors finally closed.

“Oh,” Beth now felt foolish for being less than hospitable, earlier, “uh--five. Please.”

Beth thanked him again to no response besides that goofy, old man grin.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “what is your name again?”

“Spencer,” he returned in a chipper tone, “Donald Spencer. Hopeful new resident of apartment 3-1-6.”

Beth was thrown off by this man’s excitement.

“And ‘who are you?’’ Spencer replied, mimicking Beth’s previously less than polite query.

She understood his imitation, and pulled her bag back into herself,

“Beth--Elizabeth--Warren,” she glanced down at the floor, then returned her stare at the strange man.

“I’m sorry about how that came out, Mr. Spencer.” she followed up, “It’s just late. I’ve been working all day; then I had to go pick up food so my cats and I don’t starve. And there have just been some really sketchy people hanging around here, lately.” She rambled.

“Don’t apologize, Ms. Warren,” assured the man, “I completely understand.”

The bell rang again, indicating their arrival on floor 3. The doors opened and Donald Spencer stepped out.

“I hope your room is ready for you,” Beth called out of the lift, frazzled from the day and the surprising interaction with the new tenant.

Spencer turned back to face Beth, “I’m sure it is, Ms. Warren.” he softly saluted her in a farewell, “Thanks for the ride. “

“Just Beth,” she said as the doors closed.

Beth continued upward. She reached level five, and stepped out, into the dimly lit corridor.

“Well,” she exhaled, blowing the dangling hair from her face, “that was a first.”

She turned back to watch the doors close, but found they had already been sealed…behind yellow caution tape…and a dusty sign which read:

“TEMPORARILY OUT OF SERVICE.

PLEASE USE STAIRS.

SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.

--Super Josh Crane--”

She shivered in a fearful curiosity; but decided to go home, where she might get some rest, instead of overthinking it.

That night, she dreamed of many strange and terrible things, such as flesh-eating blobs, and giant three-headed creatures roaming the hallways; she dreamed of her neighbors, some she had known for her whole time in the apartment, with glowing, cat-like eyes; then their skin sliding down to the ankles of a sickening vulture-faced beast, like they were stripping out of their clothes. Try as she did, a sort of paralysis kept Beth Warren from waking. Eventually, her dreams slipped her into a more euphoric place, where the colors were much more vibrant, but unfamiliar to her. The old man, Donald Spencer, was the only other one there. They spoke, incomprehensibly. This became apparent to Beth, when her ears could hear and her tongue could move, but unknown words flowed between them.

However, one phrase from Spencer did ring in English for Beth:

“Would you like to go to dinner sometime?”

“What?” she asked, confused but flattered, and even considered saying yes. “How old are you, Mr. Spencer?”

“What does that matter, Ms. Warren?” he began to turn away from her.

“Or maybe,” his voice began heightening, “you’d like to go to dinner with me.”

He turned back to reveal a much younger, and very handsome man, with a still slightly-raspy voice, but more inviting; though Donald Spencer’s voice was soothing, it contained a sense of harshness.

The colors shown vividly behind the new, young man, silhouetting, and almost obscuring his figure. The lighting brightly flashed, finally waking sleeping Beth.…