The Thirteenth Floor

      Exactly two and a half weeks have passed since Peyton, by the will of mighty Fates, got into a second realm. Mixed feelings took her at the very moment when she fell powerlessly on the bed and could not sleep for a long time. Common sense and the instinct of self-preservation struggled with the thirst to finally change something in her boring and extremely tedious life. She turned over from side to side, remembering the details of her amazing journey, contemplating a trip to a therapist, a welcome dismissal from the morning newspaper, to work in which she spent a lot of time without hope of any promotion.       Gloomy cloudy days monotonously followed cool nights, marking the imminent approach of a harsh autumn. Juicy greens ceased to please in the morning, and a light haze constantly clouded my eyes. It seemed as if the world had lost all its colors.       It happened to her at the end of every September, but this one was special. For the first time, she was haunted day and night by the desire to change her surroundings and change herself, to become a little bolder, to do as her soul desires.       And surprisingly, she began to act. Seriously interested in loopholes to other worlds, she turned to the archive of the newspaper — the prudent owner did not spare money for a museum-reading room, assuming that he could not only quickly recoup the invested funds, but also make decent money on regular excursions. After reading almost all the issues over the past few years, she came across a column about a missing young man — Leslie Parker, who left home one rainy evening and never returned. According to the landlord, from whom he rented an apartment for as much as four years, the concierge as usual left for work around nine o’clock in the evening, and she did not pay any attention to it. “And why? I’m not an overseer,” Mrs. Colls always replied. It wasn’t until he didn’t show up the next morning that she felt a little uneasy.       The police sluggishly investigated such a murky case, referring to the fact that every month people mysteriously disappear around the world, leaving no trace, and nothing, and the management of the Plaza hired a new employee a week later and just shrugged. No one cared about the evaporated Leslie Parker, and no one could think about the possible existence of other universes that functioned almost exactly like ours, but from which it was difficult to return.       And Peyton was lucky, she could really be called a favorite of fortune: meeting Cassandra so simplified her life and understanding of that reality that she almost without much difficulty, except for the shift at the cafe, which brought her only pleasure, got back. And every day she wanted to be there again more and more: curiosity was bursting from the inside.       When Saturday came, which meant the appearance of two days free from worldly worries, the girl seriously thought about visiting the “second reality”, as she now liked to say. She talked, of course, mostly to herself, since she assumed that others would not understand her, but still.       Riddles haunted her, and so, after dressing warmly, Peyton turned off all the lights in the apartment, locked it with a key and, reaching the elevator in an instant, pressed the call button.       A pleasant excitement, as if from an imminent meeting with a good friend after several months of sluggish communication, gripped her: her fingertips turned cold, her palms sweated, and goosebumps ran down her back. She cringed and began tapping her foot nervously on the concrete.       The elevator arrived a few seconds later. Peyton hesitantly entered, pressed the number thirteen, as last time, and waited. The doors closed smoothly, before notifying that she had come too close to the exit, and then opened again. But nothing happened: the familiar gray floor appeared in front of her, forcing her to open her eyes wide. Her heart fluttered in her chest, giving in her ears, and she began to shift from one foot to the other, unable to stand still. Exclaiming in hearts, “How so!”, she confidently pressed the button — she was not used to giving up. And this time it worked out.       In the blink of an eye, a familiar corridor appeared in front of her, hidden in the semi-darkness, with strange doors, animals and even a smell. The persistent aroma of basement mold mixed with bittersweet citrus fruits remained from the last time and became even more assertive.       Peyton breathed a sigh of relief and, getting out of the elevator, walked to the bright pink door with the sign “Winla Grizzly’s apartment and Non-stop Cafe.” Grinning, she pulled the handle and walked inside unhindered.       During her first visit to Winla’s apartment, she paid little attention to the surrounding environment, but now her eyes themselves rushed from corner to corner, eagerly catching every detail. On the walls with loose plaster hung expensive paintings-photographs, people, animals, monsters and landscapes on which changed for a few seconds, and then froze again; small spiders crawled along the walls, acting as sources of live lighting, as well as in the stairwell. There was a constantly changing calendar in the hallway: it showed the temperature of water, air, some saturation, date and exact time. And at the very bottom of it, a strip of fresh news continuously ran.       “I need to buy the same one.”       In front was the entrance to a roadside eatery, and on the side was a slightly open door, which was tightly closed last time. Unable to resist, Peyton peeked through the crack. In a richly furnished room with columns, which looked more like the hall of some English palace, Winla was rocking steadily in an armchair and talking with a porcelain teapot and a cup.       Without distracting the old lady, Peyton went into the cafe, where she intended to get from the very beginning. Lunch was approaching, and she expected to see crowds of hungry creatures waiting patiently for their turn, but the diner turned out to be half empty. Only a few customers sat at the tables slowly spinning in a circle, listlessly eating the dish of the day. A huge shaggy spider, Sam’s cousin, was swinging on the ceiling in the very center of the room, Wolf was counting the proceeds, dancing at the cash register, and Fox was licking his fluffed fur.       “Good morning,” Peyton said cheerfully, approaching the counter.       “Good night I say,” Fox drawled.       “Huh,” Wolf put down another bundle of bills and began to count further anxiously.       She sat down at the bar.       “And where did all the people go?”       “How do you mean where? They’ve fallen asleep already, of course. It is late,” the cat-cook took out several large packages and began to fold them neatly. “Didn’t Cassandra tell you?”       Wolf gave his brother a distant assent. It seems that he was much more interested in money than in communicating with real and normal people. Although Peyton noticed more than once that even in the familiar world he was very attracted to money and managed to pull a few dollars out of her purse at every opportunity.       “Pey-Pey,” Fox suddenly stared at her slyly. “Don’t you wanna help me? I was just about to roll down for provisions, and here you are with your thin skinny hands.”       Payton looked at him questioningly.       “Yup!” She really wanted to see the streets of this city with her own eyes now.       The cat nodded approvingly.       “Then let’s go, my beloved rabbit Ray has been waiting for us.”       She decided not to specify who Fox was talking about. And she didn’t have to puzzle for a long time: after leaving the restaurant to the parking lot, they went to the very end, and a car appeared in front of them, which looked more like a truck with huge dark eyes, snow-white fur, long ears and a pimple tail. For some reason, Payton was sure that such fancy vehicles were chosen here only by those who had to travel around the world for months. But she was wrong.