Terror at Eighty Feet *
by Carla Walker
The Communicopian
Vol. 2, No. 2, February 2002
* Any similarity to any incident or any persons living or dead is purely coincidental
It was a cold but sunny winter afternoon. A group of unsuspecting coworkers were returning from a pleasant celebration of one of their own, when the unthinkable happened.
All seemed well. Having arrived at their place of employ they stepped into the elevator.
"All aboard!" came the call; "There's always room for more."
As the doors closed behind them, little did they sense that this would be one elevator ride they would not soon forget. The elevator rose and stopped at its first destination - the second floor. Unbeknownst to the passengers the elevator now stood two feet above the floor.
The doors opened. In the split-second that the disembarking second floor passenger noticed something amiss, the doors had closed again and the elevator continued on to its next destination, the breathless scream of the second floor witness unheard by the occupants inside.
The elevator continued its journey and stopped on the third floor. Before the riders could make good their escape the doors summarily closed and continued upwards; the captives standing stunned inside. As the runaway conveyance reached the sixth floor, it once again opened its doors but one of its prisoners, being fleet of foot, vaulted through the narrow opening to freedom.
The crazy contraption continued its upward climb oblivious as only a machine could be to the despair of its captives.
Suddenly the mechanical menace came to a jarring halt 80 feet in the air, having run out of floors. There was a moment of nervous laughter and discussion in the elevator as the prisoners assessed their precarious position. Then with imperceptibly shaking hands one of the confinees reached for their lifeline to the outside world and called for rescue.
"I'll call the elevator company!" the voice on the other end of the line said. At first there was much jeering and jocularity as the riders came to grips with their situation. "Let's send someone up through the ceiling," said some.
"We'll be fine as long as we don't hear the 'snap' 'snap' of cables," said one. "Let's jump up and down," said another. This suggestion was met with a resounding 'no'. "Let's talk about something else. Let's talk about puppies."
The detainees nervously chattered away and waited for their liberators. Some banged on the doors, some pushed buttons, some laughed with an edge of hysteria in their voices, some giggled quietly and some stood in stony silence.
Wrapped in an aura of barely suppressed panic, a tomb-like silence began to fall as one by one the captives began silent prayers to their respective gods. Suddenly from beyond the double doors of their steel prison came a voice, a savior.
"My name is Guillermo," proclaimed the hallowed voice.
With a desperate strength, they pried open the inner and then the outer doors of their steel cage and with sighs of relief and whispered prayers of thanksgiving, they leapt from their prison to sweet, sweet freedom.
© carla walker 2004. all rights reserved.