Blind Story Studios giving Story a voice. Welcome to the Lift, Get ready
to take a ride? Tweet tweet Are you a birdie? Do you like
to Twitter and tweet? Come find us on Twitter at Victoria's List. Tweet
tweet Hello. I'm Daniel Foytech and I thank you for joining us for a
special episode of Victoria's Lift. Today, in celebration of Pride Month, we
present a fresh take on one of our favorite stories from season one. Not
only was Why I Take the Lift a PARSEC Award finalist, but it's one
of my personal all time favorite stories of the show. Now, it always
felt like this one deserved a better production than I had the ability, experience,
or resources to give it so early in the show. If you create
things, anything, you'll know what I mean. When you start on the
path of making arts, you know what you want it to be, and
you do your best to realize that. But because you know you're inexperienced and
eventually you do improve, part of you always wants to go back and make
it better. So today, in celebration of Pride Month, this story gets
it to do. The episode has been completely redone with new narration by the
incomparable David Alt, fresh sound designed by an amazingly talented new sound designer,
Davis Walden, and an all new custom score buying me of Iteze, and
the fact that the new narration and sound design were both done by gay men
makes this episode even more special. I sincerely hope you'll find this episode as
beautiful as I do. A big thank you to our author Mark Nixon for
agreeing to allow this story to appear again. Mark would no doubt tell you
that he's become a more experienced and more talented writer since this was written,
but I feel it's one of the earliest indications of what a great writer Mark
would become, and I feel it's just as beautiful all these years later.
Speaking of Mark, I'd recommend you listen and subscribe to Shadows at the Door,
a fantastic audio drama podcast by Mark Shadows at the Door. The podcast
artfully showcases the unsettling, the unearthly, and the uncanny with new telling of
beloved ghost stories and spectral yarns created exclusively for the podcast by some of the
most exciting writers in modern horror. You can find the show at Shadows at
the Door dot com, or you can subscribe to it wherever you get your
podcasts. Now, one last thank you before we get started today to those
who are supporting Victoria and her Lift. Those supporting the show at the five
dollars a month level and above will get to hear our special ten part mini
series by Christopher Long To those who thrive in the Dark. This series will
dive deep into the mythos of Victoria's world and will feature Victoria facing ancient gods,
fay folk, ghosts, monsters, old enemies, and a certain little
brother with ulterior motives. This series will also be released as a novella at
the end of the run, with an expanded story that takes you deeper into
our world. Now, hold on tight, and let's go for a ride
on Victoria's Lift. Why I take the Lift? By Mark Nixon. My
office cubicle is only on the second floor, but every day I take the
lift, and more often than not, I hear a noise of disapproval from
those destined for the higher floors when I get off. It's not that I'm
lazy. Sure, I don't jog the length of Central Park every other day
like everybody else in Manhattan seems to which, if you ask me, as
a little too much like posing anyway, especially John in marketing, who insists
on completing his jog's top Plus, It's just that I like taking lifts whenever
I can. On the few occasions when someone has asked why I insist on
taking the lift, I usually tell them it's so I can steal a few
precious moments on Twitter. But today, just for you, the truth.
I once had my life saved in a lift. Well, okay, that's
maybe a tad dramatic. I wasn't in any physical danger, but my mental
health that was very suddenly on the verge of collapse. It had just finished
raining when I stormed out of the office all those months ago. It was
around ten pm. The streets of New York were typically brimming with activity.
The office is on the corner at East forty second Street on Madison Avenue,
so only a short walk from the public Library. And I love reading.
I can't tell you how that particular love started, because it's always been there.
So when I left the office in great distress, it would come as
no surprise to those who know me that I unconsciously gravitated to the library.
And that's when you consider the wealth of bars that surround the office alone.
Of course, that late at night, the library was closed and I hadn't
really expected to go inside, so I simply sat by one of the marble
lions and stared at the cabs passed by. Without much warning, I broke
down in tears and buried my face into the palms of my hands. See,
I worked, and still do work in an office full of thirty somethings,
most with kids, and they spend their lives waiting for the next episode
of The Bachelor or The Voice to start. So a little gossip is the
closest they get to excitement between nine to five, and the events that transpired
were sure to be the talk of the town and impossible to ignore. That
night had been the going away party for our deputy department manager, Scott,
and rather than go down to the bars or meet up for a meal,
we simply stayed back after the shift ended, armed with a couple of kegs,
some bottles, a large order of pizza, and a bluetooth speaker which
we all fought over. I'd always admired Scott, and honestly I was sad
to see him go, even if it was for a well deserved promotion.
I'd been waiting for a quiet moment to wish him a sincere goodbye, and
as he went to leave for the toilet, I saw my opportunity. Through
slurred speech, I was able to tell him that I'd miss him, that
I always thought he was fantastic, and while before I knew it, I
was kissing him. Yeah. First, a little background info. At age
thirteen, I first kissed a girl named Darcy. Her lip gloss tasted like
cherries, and I even dared to put my hand on her hip. At
fifteen, I received my first blowjob from Kirsty Potter, after dating her for
more than a year, but following a spot of locker room bragging that got
loose. Thank you very much, Stephen Adams. I was soon at the
dumping end of a very public breakup, and I deserved it. And so
it wouldn't be until I was nineteen when I lost my virginity to Emily Curtis
upstairs at a house party. They say romance is dead. More girls followed,
not as many as I'd have liked at the time, but there were
a few more. Nonetheless, So to find myself kissing a man passionately kissing
a man at an office party was as much a surprise to me at that
moment as it would have been to my childhood friends. And there was nothing
especially special about Scott, who was about as plain looking as me, just
another face in the crowd passing by, albeit in a moderately fashionable suit.
But under the glow of the dimmed office lights, he looked incredible. The
shadows casting down his face seemed to strengthen his features, his jaw line,
his perfectly straight nose, and his large, glistening brown eyes. Suddenly nothing
made sense the excessive admiration I had harbored for Scott's unflappable professionalism, the way
he calmly dealt with stressful situations, his fantastic sense of humor. Had it
been something more? The kiss was over before I had time to realize what
was happening. I don't know if the delay was due to alcohol or sheer
shark or hey, maybe it was just both. It was me who stopped
the kiss. Strangely enough, Scott elevated his eyebrows in a combination of shark
and an expression I was about to realize was pleasure when we were interrupted by
the dead pan voice of Vicky from reception, attempting to surpass her utter glee.
Oh, she said, barely containing her smile. Vicky, I gasped,
looking at the small tubby receptionist. Panic gripped me. Now, that
may be a phrase people overused, but I seemed to feel a giant hand
grab my heart and squeeze it out. Seemed to flow only adrenaline, and
my instincts told me No. Screamed at me to run. I should go,
I finally said, to nobody in particular. I practically ran from the
two of them and the gossip that was surely about to break out. I
could swear that I heard Scott call after me as I stormed down the hallway,
but who could be sure with the thumping base in the background. Before
long, I was out of the doors of the building by fear, and
I'm sorry to admit by shame. It seems strange to admit that now,
but sadly it's the truth. I crossed the road, avoiding the brutal drivers
you come to expect, and headed toward the library. As you already know,
there after a good cry, I vomited. I'd like to tell you
it was down to nerves, but somehow, I don't think you'll believe me.
A cold breeze shook some amber leaves along the steps, wrapping themselves around
my feet. I reached for one and examined it for no reason at all,
before I was startled by the opening of the library doors. Behind me.
There in the dead of night, I saw a little girl walking out.
She was clinging onto a stack of books that almost reached her nose.
She couldn't have been older than ten, and was dressed in an old frock
the kind you force on kids for those vintage photo shoots. Bemused. I
waited for a parent or anyone to follow her, but she seemed to be
alone. I sniffed to clear my throat, not realizing I somehow had some
vomit in my nose, and after that moment of unpleasantness, I shifted to
speak to the girl. Be careful on those stairs, I offered. She
stretched her head to look down and seemed to agree with my sentiment. Thanks,
she said, you should be careful too. You wouldn't understanding that sick,
I looked down, embarrassed. I also didn't register how unusual her voice
seemed. There was an accent that reminded me of home, But that wasn't
it. The voice seemed to echo, and as such, her words seemed
to linger in my head. After she'd spoken, she could have told me
that I was the President of the United States, and it had taken me
a few minutes to realize that I wasn't. Yeah, gross, right,
I answered, yep. I stood up and navigated around the mess on the
steps, wiping my eyes. Do you want a hand with those books?
Oh? Yes, please? I leaned over and took the pile from some
of the forward facing spines. I could see quite an eclectic mix. One
flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, a somewhat inappropriate choice, I thought, A
Brief History of Time, Little Women, the God Delusion, amongst others.
Quite the mix you have here, I noted. I'd like to think so,
she replied, I've read some of them before. Actually, whatever really
could? Yeah? We reached the bottom of the stairs, and at this
point no one else had left the long since darkened doors of the library.
So who are you with exactly? Not only was I concerned as to why
there was a young child in the middle of Manhattan unattended, but I was
also aware of how my interest in her might seem to the average passer by.
Luckily, New Yorkers tend to keep their head down at night for better
or worse. Just me and don't worry, she replied. Most people don't
see me unless they need to, or I want them to beg pardon.
People see me when they need to, she repeated, almost annoyed. I
got the impression she'd had this conversation more times than she could remember. Like
you you need some help right now, you think, well, evidently,
but this is good. It means you get to come and take a ride
on my lift, your lift, yes, but don't worry about it,
and we'll be there soon anyway. And she was right. Only a few
blocks walked down Fifth Avenue when we reached a building that seemed to be our
destination. I hadn't seen it before myself, and I'd worked in the area
for close to four years by this point. We walked into the reception,
which was strangely empty, and waited for the lift to arrive at the ground
floor. I'd placed the books on the reception desk as instructed, and as
I did, the last of the alcohols seemed to leave my system. We
waited for a few moments in silence, and I felt strangely at ease with
the situation, which, looking back and telling you right now, seems completely
bizarre, but at the time it felt entirely normal. I felt totally compliant
with the girl's plan. She felt like a force of nature, like a
sudden rainstorm. You can't stop the rain. All you can do is choose
how you react to it. The lift finally arrived and we stepped in.
It was gorgeous inside and reminded me very much like the ones in the plaza.
It took us up standing off a bell as we passed each floor until
we reached the eighth floor. Then a strange thing happened. Wealth was strange
within the context of this whole thing. The doors opened, but almost immediately
they closed together and the lift descended quite suddenly with a stomach lurching jerk.
Weird, I said, for some reason, not phased by an elevator that
seemed to work on its own, I was worried about this, She replied,
The lift doesn't know what floor to take you to your issue. Let's
call it has more consequences than you realize. We felt the lift slow as
it approached the sixth floor again, the doors opened, but again closed,
and lurched us upward once more. Thankfully, by this point I was completely
sober. Okay, so let me explain, she started again. Each floor
has a speciality. She stopped talking and leaned against the side of the lift,
putting her ear to the wall that was the sixth floor, for example,
where we deal with denial, uncertainty, and fear. She smiled as
if someone were whispering in her ear, and joined me at my side once
more. Okay, so the lift has things sussed out. Now wait back
to floor eight. And what do you deal with on floor eight? I
asked, a little scared, dishonesty, sacrisy. She rolled off, and
then she locked her eyes with mine and lies lies afraid. So the lift
then arrived at the eighth floor. Though I hardly noticed. You may not
realize it, but when you were sitting by the library, you already knew
how you felt. Maybe you always have. In fact, I did to
say, deep down, you already know who you are. You just need
to stop lying to yourself. Those words hit me like a ton of bricks.
She was right, I knew how I felt before I even walked after
Scott. After all, it's possible to lie to yourself so adamantly and so
completely that you start to believe it. Yes there'd been girls, and yes
they've been good times. But looking back now, right now, I see
that I'd gone through the motions, done what was expected of a lad growing
up. You know, we go from telling kids to ask for permission to
use the toilet one moment to telling them to decide what their entire future will
be the next. No wonder, some young people can't figure themselves out,
No wonder, so many repress do what they can to feel like they belong
somewhere anywhere. I stood and experienced an eternity within seconds, and then,
looking outside of the lift doors, I could see the corridors of my own
office building. Don't ask me how, That's just how it was. The
lights were low, but the music was still playing. Clearly the party was
still going in full swing. I turned to the girl, whose name I
never caught, and thanked her. I knelt and gave her a hug,
which she returned warmly. Again, looking back, this all seems so bizarre,
and I almost wish I'd spoken to her some more, because when I
stepped out and turned back to say goodbye. She was gone. All I
saw was the door to the supply cupboard. I took a deep breath and
walked back into the party, ignoring the hushed giggles of some of my colleagues.
I picked up two bottles of beer, found Scott and sat next to
him. He took the drink and repaid me with a handsome smile. Hey
you, he said, Hey, I replied, and no, we didn't
dance the slow song at the end of the party, but we did share
a few more drinks, a lot of laughs, and we're actually still in
touch. Just friends, but a friendship I'm glad to have. It hadn't
been a quick journey to fully understand who I am. Hell, it still
isn't sometimes, but thanks to the girl and her lift, it's been a
much easier one. And now we come to the point of this little tale.
Some wise, if unusual words of advice, If you ever come across
a young English girl, dressed out of time and probably acting it too,
then give her a little smile and let her know that you can see her.
She might just save your life. Today's episode featured David Alt as the
narrator and Amber Collins as Victoria. Our author was Mark Nixon. You can
find more of his work at Shadows at thedoor dot com. Today's custom score
and our intro and ultro theme songs were created by our resident composer, Niko
Vites of We Talk of Dreams. Find Nico at We Talk of Dreams dot
com and streaming on Twitch. Artwork is by Janette Andromeda, illustrator, artist,
YouTuber and all around amazing human. Find her being creative at Janette Creations
dot com. Sound design was created by Davis Walden, our new sound designer
and the creator of the Veridian Wild podcast. You can find the show at
the Veridian Wild dot com. That's Veridian spelled v I r I d I
A N, or you can subscribe to it wherever you get your podcasts.
Victoria's Lift creator and producer is Daniel Foitzec of Ninth Story Studios. That's Me,
Don't Forget. Chapter two of our miniseries To Those Who Thrive in the
Dark will be posted on Patreon in July and return to the free show this
December. Season five is coming soon. M Do you like me and my
Lift? Please tell me by writing a short review of the show in the
iTunes and leaving me some gold stars. It helps others to find their way
here too. I like gold stars. Can I have lots? Pretty?
Please leave me stars and reviews at iTunes dot Victoria's lift dot com.