The Thirteenth Floor

      Peyton sighed dejectedly and scratched her nose. She spent an hour lying in an armchair, monotonously tapping on the keyboard, in a desperate attempt to finish the evening news column. Sitting in the office until all hours did her no good, only a desire to leave as soon as possible and never come back. After seven months of daily work, she was so tired of staring at the monitor that she was ready to go to a roadside cafe. But there was always so much to do that even at night she could not afford to close her eyes once again, let alone look for a new way of earning money.       Perhaps the whole point was that she misallocated time, was constantly distracted by the phone and checking email, and that’s why she had to sacrifice free time and sleep. However, she did not want to change — the rhythm of life, mired in routine, was so ingrained in her habits that, as a result, she was unable to leave it.       Her stomach rumbled unpleasantly, and she winced. She had already endured hunger for an hour and a half, hoping to finish the last page as fast as she could, and only then go to the kitchen with a clear conscience. But every minute the desire to eat something grew stronger, and soon she had to give up after all. She reluctantly put down her laptop and walked to the fridge. And there another disappointment awaited her: there was not a crumb of bread left.       Slapping her forehead, she pulled on a sweatshirt that was lying on a chair, hid her not completely dried dark hair with dull purple tips, and, having laced up her sneakers well, left the apartment. If Peyton hadn’t forgotten to stop by the store on her way home, she definitely wouldn’t have had to leave such a warm and cozy apartment in the middle of the night.       She slowly entered the elevator and, reflexively poking the thirteenth floor button, began to wait. At first, the doors gently slammed shut, but then, a couple of seconds later, they opened again in a friendly manner. She would not have noticed anything unusual, continuing to stand still, if the internet and cellular communication had not gone at once.       “The problem?” she muttered irritably, trying to figure out how she would pay for her night snack now.       Nevertheless, glad of her own inattention, Peyton got out of the elevator, simultaneously pulling the keys out of the back pocket of her jeans, and in three steps reached the apartment. Her feet glued to the floor when the key suddenly refused to click in the keyhole.       “What the hell is that?” The irritation caused by fatigue was gradually replaced by real anger.       A minute and a half ago, she easily locked the apartment with these same keys, and everything was in perfect order. Now, for some reason, the door stubbornly refused to give in, and soon Peyton began to give up little by little.       Sobbing from impotence, she sat down at the threshold of her own apartment, hoping that the connection would soon be restored and she would be able to call the master, as it suddenly dawned on her. Perhaps she won’t even have to change the door, which cost her a tidy sum not so long ago.       Jumping to her feet, she rushed to Cassandra, a neighbor in the stairwell, to whom she left a duplicate of the keys to her apartment, just in case.       “Maybe at least it will work out with them,” she thought enthusiastically.       Out of habit, Peyton reached for the bell, but when she didn’t find it, she was completely confused. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice the sudden changes on her storey.       And there were enough of them. Only now she realized that her neighbor’s door looked completely different: from an ordinary metal one installed in almost any city apartment, it turned into a large carved and, probably, extremely heavy oak gate, which rather belonged to Count Dracula than to an overly sociable and comely middle-aged lady.       There were no ordinary light bulbs on the floor either, so Peyton had to look at the dusty walls and ceiling for a long time to finally notice the true light sources. The barely discernible outlines of small spiders running from side to side at first slightly frightened her, but then took her breath away. Dim light continuously streamed from the hundreds of striped bellies. The web turned out to be a kind of mirror stretched everywhere.       “Have to quit,” she concluded, trying to figure out if she had fallen asleep at work again. “I can’t live like this anymore.”       But no matter how much she pinched her hands and even her cheeks, the result remained sadly deplorable: she did not wake up. Resigned, Peyton straightened her hair, thinking to take off the hood, and knocked on the door after all.       After a couple of seconds, the massive structure creaked, triggering some mechanism unusual for such an ordinary object, and a curly resin head poked out of the apartment.       “Peyton?” The woman stared at her with three large green eyes that blinked drowsily. “Honey, what’s wrong?”       Cassandra slowly crawled out of the dwelling, rubbing her swollen eyelids, and prepared to listen. Peyton staggered back, dumbfounded:       “Cassandra, what—” she broke off, not knowing what to say or how to. “Are you good?”       She, of course, had heard about the tales about complete enlightenment, but she could never have imagined that her roommate would do this. Yes, and will achieve such success! The third eye, located in the area of the bridge of the nose between the two eyebrows, was practically no different from the others, but this did not negate the fact that with it the face did not look the best. That was just the tip of the iceberg: her tanned face was completely covered with small pores, from which insects, similar to ants, crawled out every now and then. They scurried back and forth, going about their business and seemingly oblivious to the fact that they did not belong to our world. At the same moment, a large Madagascar cockroach appeared from Cassandra’s neat reddish nose, causing the woman to sneeze loudly and then cough. The creature plopped down on the concrete floor and quickly recovered, immediately running under the long colorful skirt of the hostess.       That day, for the first time, Peyton felt the ground slowly moving away from under her feet.       “That’s a handful,” Cassandra grinned as if nothing had happened. “Kids will be kids. So how may I help you?”       Peyton frantically tried to steadied herself, but her sweaty hands treacherously slipped off the walls, causing the corridor to be filled with chilling sounds for a couple of seconds. The spiders randomly ran in different directions out of fear, colliding with each other.       Fortunately, Cassandra kept her from falling. She looked her over carefully from head to toe and gasped:       “Honey, you’re not from here! And I still can’t figure out what’s wrong with you today. What did you forget here, huh?” she chattered sympathetically, helping Peyton get back on her feet.       If Peyton had the strength at that moment, she would definitely have run away. Unfortunately, she was completely devastated both mentally and physically.       “I don’t know. I just got out of the elevator, that’s all.”       The neighbor scratched her chin thoughtfully, accidentally crushing several ants.       “Suppose I got it. Didn’t you press the thirteenth floor button twice?” What is it?” she finally asked after a moment of thought.       “I don’t remember, not sure. I was checking the messages at that moment.” Peyton shyly lowered her eyes to the floor, like a guilty child, and held out her phone.       Cassandra fixed all three sparkling eyes on the unusual device, but quickly lost all interest.       “Lovely but useless here, dear. Throw it away and come here,” she beckoned for Peyton to follow her, “let’s try to bring you back.”       However, no matter how many attempts they made to bring Peyton back to her world, nothing seemed to work.       “It seems like the elevator is broken.”