Speaker 1: I had just finished a long day of work and
decided to order food from my favorite sushi place. I
was still adjusting to life without Brock, my fiancee, who
passed away under mysterious circumstances six months ago. He was
stuck deep into ritualistic practices ever since he lost his
mom and seeked a way to contact her spirit. His
absence left avoid in my life that nothing could fill.
When the delivery guy arrived that night, he held onto the
bag for a moment longer than usual, staring at me
with an unsettling intensity. His eyes were dark and piercing,
and his demeanor made my skin crawl. He handed me
the bag and left without a word. As I closed
the door, a note fell out from the bag. It read,
Brock is alive. My heart raced, Could it be true?
I rushed outside, but the delivery guy had vanished into
the night. I felt a mixture of hope and dread.
I had to find out more. Over the next thirteen days,
I ordered the same meal from the same restaurant, hoping
to see that delivery guy again. Each night a different
person showed up at my door, and each night I
was left disappointed. On the thirteenth day, he finally arrived.
Speaker 2: What did you mean when you said Brock is alive?
Speaker 1: The delivery guy looked puzzled. I'm sorry, I don't know
what you're talking about. This is my first time delivering
to you.
Speaker 2: Is this a joke, ma'am? I'm just here to deliver
your food. How do you know Brock?
Speaker 1: I don't know any Brock. Look, miss, I'm not looking
for any trouble. The food is twelve fifty. I felt
a wave of confusion.
Speaker 2: Was he lying?
Speaker 1: He left, and I opened the food parcel to find
another note, Brock, can hear us? Please meet me under
the bridge on Mount Boulevard tomorrow evening. At six the
next evening, I stood under the bridge, feeling the cold
wind whipped through my hair. I waited for an hour,
but no one came. Disheartened, I returned home, but to
my shock, my apartment looked like it had been hit
by a hurricane. The wall art was gone, the TV missing,
litter everywhere, and my bedroom drawers were ransacked. I was
in a state of panic, and that is when I
put two and two together. The delivery guy was a scamster.
He probably looked up that I had lost my fiance
and planned the whole thing to get me out of
the house and ransack it. I called nine to one one,
my hands trembling as I dialed. Two cops arrived quickly.
They sat with me, calmed me down, and started talking
the details. They called another unit with the information, who
arrived and brought a news that shook us all. They
found a van in the parking lot of my building
containing all my stolen items. The thief hadn't left with
the loot. Damn, we might still have the thief inside.
Did you check all the rooms? No?
Speaker 2: I never looked into the guest bedroom. The police barged
into the guest room.
Speaker 1: I heard a gasp from one of the officers while
the other rushed out urgently and started speaking something on
his radio. I peeked in and saw the thief lying
dead on the floor, covered in blood and surrounded by
shards of glass.
Speaker 2: What happened here? I was horrified.
Speaker 1: The police looked at me with suspicion, but then they
noticed the mirror in the corner.
Speaker 2: Written in blood were the words it was brock. I
was in shock.
Speaker 1: Was his spirit somehow involved in all this? That night
I fell into a restless sleep at my sister's house
since my place was sealed, my mind swirling with fear
and confusion. All the pain which I had finally started
to avoid surfacing. But in my dream I saw Brock.
He looked just like he did before he died, handsome,
with a gentle smile that always made me feel safe.
Speaker 2: He reached out to me, but before I could touch it,
he vanished.
Speaker 1: When I woke up, I felt a strange sense of peace,
as if Brock had given me a message. I got
out of the bed and went to the bathroom, where
I saw a faint reflection of Brock in the mirror,
smiling at me. Tears streamed down my face as I
whispered to his reflection.
Speaker 2: I miss you so much.
Speaker 1: Brook. His reflection slowly faded, but the warmth in my
heart remained. I knew that Brock was somehow still with me,
protecting me. I didn't understand the supernatural events that had unfolded,
but I felt a deep connection to Brock's spirit. I've
been the manager of Harrow Apartments for over a decade.
The building, with its tarnished reputation, is known among delivery
drivers as a place where strange things often happen in
the elevator. Some call it haunted, others say it's curse.
Whatever it is, it's my job to keep things running smoothly,
or at least as smoothly as they can in a
place like this. The rumors started years ago, but the
incidents that cemented Harrow's infamy was hard to dismiss.
Speaker 2: The first one was the most shocking.
Speaker 1: A young delivery guy, maybe in his early twenties, entered
the elevator with a bag of food. The CCTV footage
showed him looking around nervously. As soon as the doors closed,
he seemed to hear something. Then his eyes widened and horror,
without warning, he burst into flames. Spontaneous combustion, they call it.
One moment he was there, the next gone in a blaze.
How does someone just burst into flames? The second incident
wasn't any easier to explain. Another delivery person, an older
man this time, entered the elevator.
Speaker 2: The footage showed him clutching his chest.
Speaker 1: As soon as the door shut, he stumbled, gasping for
air and collapsed a stroke. The doctor said, but the
timing was uncanny. Then there was a thought a woman
delivering groceries. She entered the elevator, and as soon as
the doors closed, she started screaming, her eyes fixed on
something invisible in the corner. She banged on the doors,
begging to be let out, then fell to the floor
dead from a heart attack. These incidents never happened to residence,
only to delivery people, and not every delivery person, just some.
And then came Bruce. Bruce was young and care free,
an extrovert. He'd give me a high five whenever he'd
be delivering to one of the residents. We had spoken
about the infamy of the elevators before, but Bruce was
one of those who didn't believe in the stories. Young
and brash, he dismissed the warnings as superstitions. It's just
an old building. Nothing's gonna happen to me. Unless the
elevator wiresnap. Then you'd go to jail, buddy. That day,
he entered the elevator with a bag of takeout. I
wasn't at the reception, but saw these later through the
CCTV record. He pressed the button for the tenth floor,
but the elevator stopped after a few seconds of going up. Confused,
he pressed more buttons rapidly, but nothing happened.
Speaker 2: The CCTV footage showed him.
Speaker 1: Standing there, perplexed when he suddenly went limp, but remained standing,
kind of like sleeping while being up.
Speaker 2: What I saw next?
Speaker 1: I mean, I don't believe in all the spirits and shit,
but I saw him suddenly levitate in the air for
a few seconds before collapsing. Bruce woke up and frantically
pressed the buttons again. His eyes widened in terror as
he turned towards a corner of the elevator. He started
screaming and banging on the doors. His face twisted in fear,
and then, for a fraction of a second, the footage
showed a shadowy, almost invisible figure in the corner. Bruce
saw it too and froze. Then the camera glitched and
the screen went black. When the footage resumed, Bruce was gone.
He had entered the elevator but never left it. He
vanished without a trace. What is happening in that elevator?
Speaker 2: Oh?
Speaker 1: The legend goes back to the building's construction During the
Great Depression. Work halted at the twenty first floor when
funds dried up. The construction workers suddenly jobless, faced hunger
and despair, One worker, in his desperation, jumped from the
twenty first floor into the elevator shaft. His body was
never found, and when the construction resumed two years later,
no one bothered to check for a body at the
bottom of the rubble in the shaft. I've come to
believe that the worker's spirits haunt the elevator. Maybe it's revenge,
or maybe it's something more sinister. The spirit seems to
target only those who are carrying food, perhaps a cruel
reminder of his own hunger and despair. I've tried to
get the elevator inspected, but every time the technicians come,
they find nothing wrong. It's as if whatever haunts the
elevator knows when it's being watched. The residents have their theories.
Some say the worker's spirit is trapped, freeliving his last
moments over and over. Others think it's a curse that
anyone who enters the elevator with food is doomed. I
don't know what to believe, but I do know this.
The elevator isn't safe. I've thought about quitting, but something
keeps me here. Maybe it's the hope that I'll find
a way to end the curse, to put the spirit
to rest or. Maybe it's the fear that if I leave,
I'll never know what really happened. I used to work
for door Dash a few years back. This incident happened
during my last food delivery. I was riding my scooter
into another Saturday night of dodging puddles and shady characters,
all for a few extra bucks. If surviving in this
world was tough, it was tougher in NYC. I stopped
by the restaurant, which was an old Chinese takeout place
I never came across before. A short, bald man came
out from the kitchen hole a parcel. The place reeked
of rotten meat, and I seriously questioned their hygiene and
food quality. Handing me over the parcel, the man said
it was to be delivered to an address named the
Myers House. The old man looked at me with a
blank stare and said, deliver it promptly before midnight. Do
not knock leave it on the doorstep. So should I
make a call or something to let the customer know
that I've you wouldn't want to disturb missus Myers Trust me,
it's for your own good. The man returned to the kitchen,
and I couldn't help but think how weird everything was
about this delivery. The GPS led me down an abandoned road.
Soon a dark shape materialized from the murk, a dilapidated
house with its windows boarded up, staring back like lifeless eyes.
Despite the thick, humid air, I felt a shiver run
down my spine.
Speaker 2: I rechecked the address. It matched.
Speaker 1: A faint light illuminated the dark porch. There was no doorbell.
I hesitated for a moment, then knocked on the heavy
oak door. The sound cut through the thick silence, but
there was no reply. I tried a few more times,
growing more frustrated. Just as I was about to give up,
the door creaked open. An old woman's partial face appeared
in the crack. Her blue eyes glowed in the dark.
In a raspy voice, she.
Speaker 2: Whispered, didn't he tell you not to knock?
Speaker 1: He did, but it's so dark out here. I didn't
want to leave your food unattended.
Speaker 2: Seems like you're different than the others.
Speaker 1: I handed her the package, and her bony fingers brushed
in my hands while taking it her touch was cold
and creepy. Just then, a loud thunder cracked outside and
heavy rain started. I murmured to myself in a low voice,
damn it. Now I have to drive back.
Speaker 2: In this weather. Well, you can wait here, maybe have
a glass of wine till the rain slows down. A
glass of wine wouldn't hurt, so I stepped in.
Speaker 1: The Inside was a complete turnaround from the creepy exterior.
A roaring fire crackled warmly in a grand stone hearth,
casting a cozy glow over a luxurious living room. Eleanor
introduced herself with an apology and asked me to have
dinner with her. While I ate, Eleanor talked about the
weather and the town. Her eyes, the only part of
her face lit up by the fire, glowed with an
unsettingly bright amber. An eerie sensation started to crawl up
my spine. After finishing the last bite, a strange emptiness
settled in my stomach. Thank you, I said, pushing the
plate away. That was deliciously different. I had no idea
this restaurant served.
Speaker 2: Was this good?
Speaker 1: Eleanor chuckled, letting out her crooked teeth, and.
Speaker 2: Said, yeah, people often judge by the physical appearance. Anyways,
it's time for it.
Speaker 1: I raned my hand over my full stomach and told
her I didn't have a place left for dessert. And
that's when her face changed. She grinned and picked up
a sharp steak knife, saying.
Speaker 2: The dessert is for me, dear. I'm happy the restaurant
sent a wide guy after such a long time, and
I'm even happier that you knocked on the door. A
sudden wave of dizziness hit me.
Speaker 1: My head spun, and the warmth from the fire turned
into an overwhelming heat. Panics surged up my throat. I
tried to stand, but my legs felt like lead. Eleanor
moved towards me with an unsettling hunger and a cruel smile.
Speaker 2: She was no longer frail. I'll enjoy slowly.
Speaker 1: I promise this wasn't just a bad takeout, this was
something far more sinister. With a jolt of adrenaline, I
grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from a nearby table. As
Illinois lunged, I swung the candlestick, hitting her with a
sickening crack. When she collapsed to the floor, a low
inhuman growl escaped her lips. She still tried to reach
out to me. Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve, I
stumbled towards the door, vision blurry, my hands fumbled for
the handle. Finally finding purchase, I slammed the door open
and dashed into the rain, lung screaming for air. I
didn't look back. I didn't stop until the ragged outline
of civilization reappeared, shimmering like a mirage in the distance.
I saw a car coming, and with all my strength,
I waved my arms and then fainted on the muddy road.
Later at the hospital, the doctors were baffled by my
incoherent ramblings about an old woman who tried to eat me.
They told me they found Roofi's in my stomach, and
I think it came from the wine, because Eleanor and
I ate the same food. What's even more surprise is
that the restaurant from where I picked up Eleanor's order
vanished from the face of the earth.
Speaker 2: It was nowhere in the GPS.
Speaker 1: I'm certain that underground restaurants are scattered through NYC that
are secretly filling these cannibals.
Speaker 2: Midnight craves