Dark Hallways, Volume 2

By Rosey Frost

"I remain aboard this mess. I will stay aboard this mess. Peace shows the way to live: With war comes pain and death. Never learning or understanding what I have planned, they will build my residence as I commanded. Dwelling high above the inhabitants of the Earth in the Tower, I will be vigilant and oversee all I have created. Until I find it displeasing, it will be my home. Then, I will leave. I will tear down the Tower and overfill the ground with water. Foul incarnation and virgin conception will follow, replacing me in my earthly absence." The God of Ziggurat.

When someone is all alone surrounded in darkness or has a unique type of fear, it is often the case they have subverted to misunderstanding something even to the point of madness. A society based on super-ego has no room for those who do not fit the mold.

In the insanity of lonesome isolation, people tend to rely on a false syndrome their minds develop to replace this desolate feeling of being detached with something of substance. It does not matter what the substitute reality is, as long as it helps to alleviate or assuage the pain. Myths and legends are born from a need to replace the unknown with a grandiose scheme or plan meant to explain the unexplainable. Urban legends have come and gone, but are also part of the genre of the bizarre.

In some cases, however, there is no alternative reality to be found and there is no fantastic story to sensationalize. Documented proof cannot be replaced by conjecture. There is no trick of the mind that can cure harsh facts. But what if the facts themselves only lead the mystery seeker to a further dilemma? What if the facts are outside the norm or strange?

When the outcome goes against all logical inquiry, it leads one back into the stagnant light of solo darkness. It is at this point, it would be better to keep the mind from wandering down these corridors. It may threaten to redefine your understanding of eternal love. Do not dare to fall asleep in the macabre, dark hallway. You may never wake up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosey Frost
• Release date: Nov 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005450861

Rosey Frost

"Rosey" Ian Frost is an author of vision. He was involved in the first war in Iraq. Before the time he spent in service to his country, he was a professional journalist in western America. He now resides in Europe. See Rosey on YouTube at https://youtu.be/leA6yWPTpyM (Copy and Paste to Browser).

Book preview

The 13th Floor

by Rosey Frost

In the Belly of the Beast

(The Most Horrible Poem Ever Written)

Yeah, I am but of impartial decision; only one time befallen and wrongly; I choose to enter the cave where I fell, seemingly forever into darkness; Suddenly realizing the extent of my fate, I find myself lying on a mound of already devoured flesh; Although unaware at first, through the method of later examination, its red hue becomes known to me; Moribund, my own blood flowing through my veins! Feels not unlike, that of the vessels that once carried living plasma through the meat on the mound of dead flesh, on which I now lay; It presses me down. The punishment of this hopelessness is lifeless, barren darkness; Unknowingly, they are now The harbingers of my present destiny; The stink of the future grows even stronger.

The Author: Sometimes love can be horrible, not unlike a story from the worst of all our nightmares. We see red in the darkness.

The stage has been set for the story that is hidden in the outer reaches of imagination, on the unnoticed level of the mind known as The 13th Floor. Once entering on The 13th Floor, the elevator occupant may never get back as the doors are closed permanently.

Introduction

A skyscraper is a tall, continuous structure meant to be inhabited. The size of such a structure depends largely upon the imagination of the engineers that initially planned its construction.

More often than not, the developers of such an endeavor have acquired a nasty disdain for the supernatural. It follows, this is an acquired belief in some wives' tale and for some vague reason, many of the best architects have decidedly omitted the presence of a 13th floor from the blueprints. The syndrome is also present on some jet airliners which have no 13th row for passenger seating. Such an overt exclusion can be attributed only to the human psyche. In many modern high rises, if the absence of the ominous floor is noticed at all is also sometimes just a trick of the mind.

In the case of Mark Johnson, he was one of the foremost up-and-coming premiere new talents in the world of superstructure design. Johnson was an Avant-guard, Inc. renaissance thinker but with a flair for modern ecological, artistic impressionism. He chose Avant-guard, Inc. as the company name to attract the attention of engineers, architects, and investors. Even many of his building sketches were beginning to be considered works of art, some selling for ridiculous sums to clients preferring to remain anonymous.

His quick rise to the 'top', left most previous skeptics in awe of the young man's abilities, but there was a remaining holdout old school block who claimed he had 'sold his soul to the devil'. They expressed this belief even while ignoring the fact the young architect never used the 13th floor in his diagrams, a would-be sure sign of the mark denoting the dark evil demon of bad luck or calamity if present. This undue provocation by the conservatives soon was nurtured into something like a haunting reminder on the whispers of some malevolent presence looming in waiting to be unleashed at some unsuspecting public forum. It was not in any way the fault of Johnson, however, the enigma stuck with him throughout his entire career.

Chapter 1 Urban Renewal Plan

Urban renewal is a great thing. It can benefit many by lifting them up from the ranks of poverty. In many cases, however, the lifting up is not enough to cleanse the bad spirits induced by years of needless and corrupt repression.

Although the people of the community knew him, he was viewed as somewhat of an elite puritan. Even though he was responsible for their better situation, they grew to dislike his callous mannerisms. He considered the lower classes to be vile. Johnson had lost his youthful presence of mind and replaced it with a bourgeois naiveté he directed against the masses.

Yes, that will be fine. I am sure the idea is well worth looking into but we need to draw up some form of a formal contract. I am sure we can come to a mutual agreement. I would like to discuss the matter with you in further detail in my office. I particularly like the facade sketch. Call my secretary and make an appointment, said Mark Johnson talking to one of his many associates on his mobile phone as he entered his headquarters. It was just one of many clients he had online. It was a normal fresh start of a fresh new business day for the building architect.

He stood before the elevator where he had been at least one hundred times before. Mark Johnson loved his job. The tall building centered in the middle of the development project became his corporate central headquarters. He fancied to think of himself as governor of all he surveyed while sitting high above in his office at the top. The building was his life's work masterpiece and was the result of the pro bono work he had conducted for the city under a massive urban renewal project to provide housing and jobs for the community. The tall structure stood proudly direct in the middle of the newly-renovated neighborhood that was all state-sponsored and billed as the solution to eliminating the poor conditions offered previously available in the public sector. It was a mess before the young designer stepped in to help with the planned development. Now the work was finally complete after five years in the making. Everything even smelled new.

Johnson, who conducted all the work personally, was there to oversee its proper completion from the advent of the project. It was not an easy task to renovate the surrounding structures, most of which had to be completely demolished and replaced. He remembered the area as it looked before; a ghetto proliferated by dirt and trash. The old, barren lot was now replenished with a sprawling community center, new apartment houses, and lively garden greenery. He was proud of his work. It was all still not enough to earn him the endearment of the people now living under his indirect authority.

Chapter 2 The Elevator

Waiting for the elevator alongside him on this day was a black man dressed raggedly and looking unshaven.

Ain't no way in the world, I'm goin' to the 13th floor. You can bet your mamma's sweet peas on that! he said to Johnson as he depressed the already depressed button to call the elevator back down. Johnson had just pushed it as he first walked up and the light of the button was illuminated the entire time. The elevator call was directed to the 15th floor where the indicator light showed it was at rest and the sound of its return descent was noticeable. The man ignored the indicator light on his own accord. They both now were waiting patiently for the elevator's return to the ground floor.

I already pressed it, he noted while quietly clutching his briefcase with both hands referring to the elevator landing operating panel button.

It is better to be safe than sorry, responded the stranger.

What makes you think there is a 13th floor in this building? asked Johnson, wondering where he got the idea in an effort to pass the time. He was certain the man must have been intoxicated while they were waiting because he knew there was no such level included in the structure. I designed the place myself and I had no such floor included in the plans. You could not have been there because there is no 13th floor?

I was not personally there but I know it is there. I have heard the stories from those who miss their loved ones. You have to look closely at the floor buttons. Oh, so you know so much! You know nothing of the pain, he responded loudly.

No, actually I have no clue as to where you got the idea there is the 13th floor, Johnson responded in a calm tone. He was certain the man must have been suffering from some schizophrenia in addition to being drunk but did not wish to call attention to it.

You will see it only if you want to see. You may be forced to see it, responded the man in a vague, almost induced mystic voice.

Mark looked at the nebulous figure standing by him as he watched the movement of the floor number display of the elevator as it declined, marking the elevator's progressive approach to the ground floor. But there is no 13th floor, asserted Johnson once again. Then he burst out and screamed loudly, I built the damned building and there is no 13th floor! When he turned back to look the foyer was vacant, empty of any activity. The black man had vanished. Mark just rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Although he should have felt relief in the man's disappearance, the strange conversation would not leave him in peace. As he looked down to collect his thoughts, he noticed a folded piece of paper on the ground. He picked it up, unfolded it, and began to read.

The note appeared to be a list of inventory items, but this was no ordinary stock issue catalog. The heading on the paper was Things that can be found on the 13th floor, and the items listed were all very strange including socks that regenerate themselves even after getting a hole in them, many odd dice that rolled only odd numbers, the severed heads and necks of embryonic flamingos not fully developed, the severed members of a variety of horses fully developed, incomplete services of silverware, and just anything that a person may wish for but just once. There was a code phrase listed as a type of password used to gain access to the 13th floor: I will take just one, of each. It sounded all so absurd.

Mark shook his head in utter disbelief at what had just transpired. If it were not for the note in his hand, he would not have believed his eyes. He then surmised it was all some sort of practical joke intended to throw him off guard. As he got in as the elevator doors opened, he experienced a minor dizzy spell. For an instance, he could not manage to find the floor button to his office on the 15th floor. Strangely enough, he thought for the first time to have seen the circular knob for the disputed floor from the conversation he had just entertained with the mysterious black man.

In this realm of unclear origin, the vague semblance of reality was the illusion. It was a misty sentiment that ignited spontaneous interest in the surreal world of tempting inquisition: It was mostly left up to discovery. The intrigue of the unknown acted like some magnet or impetus to spur the outpouring of bodily hormones that burned with energy in every living joint. It was an ecstasy experienced between the short moment of breathlessness and inhalation. The mind was intoxicated by an allure of false promises. Once the initial rush subsided, and then followed the hard crashing to the ground; the crashing down to the basement.

Chapter 3 He's Not There

Mark Johnson had ceased to exist. His secretary noticed his absence for far too long from his office on the 15th floor and decided to take action into her own hands. He had been missing for quite some time before the authorities were called in.

Susan Day reported his absence from work shortly after lunch and was greeted on the telephone by local police.

How long has your boss been missing, Ms. Day? asked the concerned officer who took the call, Maybe he is just on vacation and we need at least 48 hours before we can list him as a 'missing' person.

Well, it has been more than a week since the last time I have seen him at his desk, she quickly responded.

You are sure he has not just gone away for a trip? Have you contacted his relatives? continued the policeman as he asked a series of routine questions.

You see, it is not like him to be away from the office for so long without saying anything or without calling in. He did not say anything to me about a business or pleasure trip. He would have mentioned something like that to me. He usually provides me with a complete list of all the appointments, business contacts, and persons of interest he plans to meet, she answered.

As for the family, his parents are dead. He only has his ex, Gloria, and she lives somewhere in Nova Scotia. He has not seen her in years, continued Susan. So the initial report was filed and would be reviewed in due process. Mark Johnson, 38, medium build, brown hair, with brown eyes was officially listed as missing.

Chapter 4 The Security Video

Susan Day was not an unattractive woman. She secretly collected out of her vanity mementos of Mark's life. She sought to think of him as her own. Susan was more than a secretary; she was for quite some time Mark's silent stalker. She was long-term in love with him but he seldom even noticed her. When this is the case, the ignored party becomes disillusioned with their subject of enamoring. No matter how sincere they are, the unfulfilled desire becomes too great a burden to bear.

Although the law enforcement officials did not take the matter seriously at first, they came to regard the matter over time as a case of a missing person. The required 48 hours was long passed as the issue of Johnson's disappearance began to attract public interest. It had been several weeks since he was last heard from.

As a matter of protocol, a detective was assigned to investigate the matter. After all, Mark Johnson was a man of wealth and prominence. It could not be ignored and the detective, Ray Gregory, quickly developed his own theory about Mr. Johnson's sudden disappearance. He suspected Susan Day of foul play. She had, however, cooperated with his investigation and offered him an appointment to review the security tapes on the supposed day of Johnson's disappearance. The material was stored on the office computer and it was not really an issue. He could have confiscated the computer but decided to trust the woman as to not arouse any suspicion of her being his primary suspect. It was all just preliminary actions, as there was no real proof a crime had been committed. It would seem too arbitrary to begin to make wild accusations.

Gregory was a seasoned professional. Although he had no real evidence, his gut instinct had always served him well in matters such as this. He considered Ms. Day not to be sunny nor fair, but she was shady at best. He was certain he would find something, and it had nothing to do with the weather.

He made his way over to the central building headquarters of the disappeared entrepreneur and stood in the alcove waiting on the elevator just like Johnson had done some weeks before. The sleek, modern design of the structure was unquestionably the first thing that struck him as the detective stood alone in the foyer. He also noticed there was no security or check-in desk, no presence of any security personnel.

This struck him as strange, but he had heard the young, missing designer had no real enemies to speak of. Gregory had studied the architect's history and knew he also did not have many friends. As far as Johnson's philosophy, Gregory was certain he attempted to offer an element of transparency over the course of the project. Gregory was sure he decided not to include any overbearing controls, such as a security force. He was interested only in providing the public with housing and to some extent trusted public opinion. This came at a high price, even when the public was not always so receptive to Johnson's ideas.

The elevator arrived and Gregory got in. He pressed the 15th-floor button en route to the office level. He felt an unusual tingle in his bones as he began his ascent, but dismissed it as normal. It was not often he used an elevator, so he hardly noticed this strange feeling. The matter at hand was much more important and distracted him from his personal views. Only the facts were of primary concern and at present, there were few. He hoped to shed some light on the incident and on Ms. Day. He hoped there would be a simple explanation, but never placed credence in things ever being simple. Perhaps, the video would be helpful, he thought. She was the only one with anything to say, so it just followed she should be the one he contacted. Gregory was still waiting on a return on his message to Johnson's ex.

As he arrived, he observed the secretary at her desk in the reception room. Her head was down and she was working diligently on the papers under her nose. She was taking notes while reviewing what Gregory thought to be the day's correspondences. He noticed a mail cart left in the hall in front of the door leading to the toilet.

He could see the woman through the glass entrance doors leading to the office. She was so engrossed in her paperwork and did not notice his presence in the alcove. He opened the door and introduced himself as detective Raymond Gregory.

She lifted her head calmly and looked him in the eye. Ah yes, Mr. Gregory from the police, I have been expecting you. I believe you would like to see the security videos.

Detective Gregory, he responded, emphasizing his title.

So, let us get right to it. Please follow me and I will take you to the security area, she said as she got up from her desk and led him out of the office, through the glass doors, and down the hall. Here we are, she said as she struggled to find the key to the lock on the door labeled 'Security'.

I just have to find the right key. I haven't been in here for a while. Mr. Johnson was not big on security and the cameras are motion-activated. I normally do not have anything to do with it. He changed out the disks periodically, depending on the usage, she added.

The detective listened intently as she finally managed to find the right key and opened the door. The system was on standby. Gregory immediately recognized the ins and outs of how to use the footage. He sat down on the swivel chair and began to start up the player. He then turned to Ms. Day and said, This will be fine. I can handle it from here. You can go about your normal business if you wish. This may take a while and I do not see any sense in both of us working on it. We would only get in each other's way. If I have any questions, I will come and find you.

Okay, responded Ms. Day with a brief moment of hesitation in her voice, I'll go back to the office.

As she left, Gregory found himself on the tape where he was just a short while before. He watched himself get into the elevator and noticed a minor glitch in the image quality, but he quickly dismissed it. He was more interested in finding an image with Johnson as the subject.

Hours had passed as he began to get bored with the detail. As he rubbed his weary eyes, he looked at his wristwatch and determined the end of the business day was at hand. His first impression of the secretary was not what he had anticipated. He was fairly certain she did not tamper with the footage as everything was recorded down to the second in a good orderly fashion.

He wished he had found some evidence of tampering, but he could not. Then in a stroke of luck and shortly before the close of business, his prayers were answered. He found Johnson arriving in the foyer on Monday, three weeks ago. The timestamps showed Mark Johnson stepping into the camera at approximately 9:05 in the morning. About two minutes later, the mysterious black man appeared alongside him.

The contact between the two men was short and the second man exited the camera's visual field almost as abruptly as he entered it. The next thing was the part where Johnson picked up the note and got into the vacant elevator. Gregory surmised the man simply could have been out of the camera's range, but this was only a theory. Johnson could be seen looking around for the black man, but it seemed to the detective he was not able to locate him.

At least the detective now had a person of interest and quickly made a still copy of the face of the mystery man. He packed up shop and headed back to the office to show Ms. Day the photograph he printed out.

Upon returning to the office, he noticed the secretary was making preparations to leave for the day. He caught up with her as she was locking the glass doors. She had her coat on and her intentions were obvious.

Hello, Ms. Day, he called out to get her attention. I would like to show you something. It will only take a moment.

He approached her and asked if she recognized the man in the picture?

No, never seen him before in my life, she answered.

I am sure he was the last person to see Johnson. I checked all the footage and I found where he got on the elevator, but there is no evidence he ever got off. I cannot explain it. The elevator stopped on the 12th floor, but no one got off. It is really strange. The only way I can think of is that he exited through the elevator's shaft itself, he said.

Do you remember anything like that in the past three weeks? he asked without really hoping she would be able to give him any useful information.

No, I must say this all sounds strange. To say it's always the black guy would not be appropriate but it looks like you have a hint there, she noted. They walked a short while together toward the elevator.

Yes, but this does not prove anything. I would really like to find this man and ask him a few questions, Gregory asserted.

I'm sure you would, detective. I hope you will be able to find him, she added as she was now standing waiting for the doors to open. I will anxiously await your results.

Would you mind if I stayed a little while and look around? Perhaps, there is something missing, especially in Mr. Johnson's office, he asked.

I am not sure what you hope to find but if it helps, be my guest. I only want to cooperate and hopefully get to the bottom of this, responded Ms. Day. Have a pleasant evening, detective Gregory. I hope you won't be too long. You look like you could use a rest.

The elevator doors opened and the secretary stepped in and was soon going down. There is an extra key under the floor rug in front of the office. Good luck, she screamed over the noise made by the closing doors.

Gregory could not rule out the shaft idea, but the overhead panel opening was found to be intact. He theorized Johnson may have replaced it when he climbed down the elevator's cable works. It was, nonetheless, a very weak theory.

Why would Johnson even need to perform such a rigorous feat? Gregory could only deduce, if this was the case, Johnson was not missing but in hiding. He could not, however, arrive at any logical reason supporting the entrepreneur's sudden need to simply drop off the grid. He conjectured it may be it was a matter of relationship, one of passion. Ms. Day could have been Johnson's mistress or more than just a secretary. Gregory made a mental note of this possibility.

Chapter 5 Strange Office Evidence

Gregory was left with an even bigger puzzle that seemed to be growing while having fewer and fewer pieces to fill in the blanks. His experience told him this was a sure indicator of something criminal. He walked back through the hall and quickly found the spare key under the rug.

He unlocked the door and went directly into the office of the missing millionaire. He flipped the light switch. Looking around at first glance, everything appeared to be in place. On the desk was a framed picture of the estranged wife. The two were not officially divorced, just separated. Gregory had located in the public archives the final divorce filing that required only their signatures to make it official just the day before while running his initial background check.

Gregory decided to look through the file cabinets without having any clue of what he was looking for. He reverted to the simple principle of reverse deduction. If something looked strange or out-of-place, it had to carry greater evidential weight than the normal standard.

Johnson seemed to be an avid record-keeper, even maintaining a large file on his expenditures for city services. It was odd that a man of his wealth was concerned with the average yearly cost of garbage pickup. He also had public transportation receipts from the last ten years, including a list of private cab fares he had paid out.

Although this was unusual, it was proof enough to conclude Johnson was not prone to misuse the city funds he was granted for his development project. He did not seem to fit into any pattern of criminal intent. The idea he may be running from something could also quickly be dismissed.

Then there was the oldest appearing file. The one on the enormous amount of private real estate he had accumulated over the years. Gregory supposed it was just part of Johnson's branch of work. The land that he had gained was clearly a result of normal recourse through his many associates as it just came along naturally with his job as an architect.

He made a few copies at random to have something tangible to put in his investigation file which up to this point was empty. After replacing everything to its proper place, he then shut the opened file drawers.

The detective turned on Johnson's laptop computer in a halfhearted attempt to find suspicious emails, but he did not have the password. He did not want to disturb any fingerprints that were left behind on the keyboard, so he quickly shut it down. He wrote a note to Ms. Day explaining he would require the laptop for a few days and that he would call back if he needed the password.

Before he could get to the desk to place the note, however, he noticed a strange stain on the rug in Johnson's office. He took out a plastic evidence bag he had in his pocket and collected some of the moist material that was still present. After placing it in the bag, he held it up to the light. This is a job for the lab boys, he said to himself, wondering out loud what it could be.

Chapter 6 Gothic Hell (Purgatory)

Time seemed to be standing still and Mark was frozen much the same in place. He was attracted to the light panel floor indicators as he watched; a 13th floor was now showing where none had been before. It only added to the confusion because he still believed he had stopped in the basement.

As the bell rang and the doors sprung open, Mark found himself confronted by an area of seemingly unending darkness. Blinded by the pitch darkness ahead of him, he was afraid to step out of the elevator as he was uncertain if there was a solid surface beyond the confines of the elevator. He had no desire to fall down some misplaced shaft in the building's construction. While holding firmly with both hands halfway up the opened doors, he tested it by placing a foot outside of the elevator's frame. There appeared to be a solid floor beneath his foot; and he decided it was 'safe' to get out to inspect the strange area of the structure, the structure he designed. He had no knowledge of such a floor and had never before even seen the stop designated on the elevator's floor panel.

The area almost looked to be vast and expansive, at least that part of it he could discern in his immediate vicinity. He wandered around with no purpose for what seemed to be hours but actually was only minutes. He had only one desire; to find a way back to the place he once was. He began to panic while searching for an emergency exit or stairway to no avail. There appeared to be no way out.

Much to his surprise, there appeared to be a sign of life on this level. Mark could see what he thought to be another man. The man was standing in place and still as Mark approached. He did not see him at first because of the darkness, but the apparition took on a clearer shape as he neared.

Who are you? asked Mark quite openly upon seeing the stranger for the first time.

You don't know me, sugar? responded the dark slender figure who stood before him with another question. I know you. I remember you, he added. There was no delay in his response, which was strange as the meeting of the two was quite unexpected. There was also no sign of surprise in the stranger's voice.

No, I am sorry. I cannot recall ever having the pleasure, answered Mark, unable to place the man.

I was working in the 5th Floor Mailroom before I...died, retorted the dark, ghostly figure.

Mark now observed the presence of multiple facial sores the phantom that stood before him as he went on to explain he had died of AIDS (Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome). Mark then realized he could be experiencing some delusion caused by the stress. AIDS was ancient history, and he thought for a moment it could all be the result of some coronavirus disease (COVID-19) attack. He remembered he was not wearing his mask as he got on the elevator, but this was not the case.

Oh yes, I remember you. You were a cutie and you had always placed on the hotplate in your office a designer pink skillet. I used to think a lot about you and your pink skillet when I came up to deliver your mail. Nobody with a pink skillet and no girlfriend, like you, could have been straight. A man of your age and status must have had a dozen girls lined up, but there were none. I figured you were gay, with your pink skillet and all, but then I passed. Now I am here. he explained. It seems you are here too, added the supposed past mailroom clerk.

After hearing the words of the nebulous entity, Mark quickly began to realize the extent of his hopeless situation. He wondered in what strange state of existence he had now found himself; and what his final fate eventually would be. He wanted to ask; how he had gotten there and why he was there?

He attempted to find out more from the mysterious personage he had been talking to, but his efforts were proven again to be in vain.