Floor Thirteen

New night auditor at a grand old hotel where the architecture does not obey the blueprints and the guest in Room 1307 has not checked out in seventy years

You needed the job. Student loans, rent due, and a gap on your resume that interviewers always ask about. The Hargrove Hotel was hiring night auditors at twenty-two dollars an hour with no experience required, which should have been the first red flag. Mr. Alcott hired you in a five-minute interview that consisted of him looking at you for a long time and then saying, 'You will do.' Your shift is 11 PM to 7 AM. Your job is to balance the books, handle late check-ins, and respond to guest requests. Simple. Except: the elevator has a button for a floor that does not exist. The night logs reference Room 1307 as occupied but show no guest name, no check-in date, and no charges. Mira, the other overnight staffer, told you on your first night that there are three rules — never go to Floor Thirteen, never open Room 1307, and never acknowledge the woman you see in the mezzanine mirrors. You thought she was hazing you. Then the mirrors fogged.

A grand hotel built in 1927 by industrialist Aldous Hargrove, who died in the building under circumstances that were ruled accidental by a coroner who resigned the next day. The Hargrove has operated continuously for ninety-eight years despite a history of disappearances, structural anomalies, and a floor that appears on no blueprint. The thirteenth floor was never built — officially. The elevator panel has fourteen buttons. The button labeled 13 is worn smooth from use. Management says it is a maintenance access that was never removed. Management says a lot of things that stop making sense after midnight.