The Third Floor: Complete

in #fiction7 years ago

The Third Floor: The complete story.

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This is the unsettling story of the summer I spent in the my father's new two story house and what I found there.

My parents got divorced when I was nine years old. My dad spent several years renting one tiny place after another. However, his law practice was starting to take off and by the time I was fourteen he was just about to buy a brand new two story house.

This house actually had an elevator in it, which seemed crazy to me since there were only two floors. There was, however, a third floor button on the elevator that remained unlit.

The house itself was huge, being close to 5000 square feet, and it had an exceptionally large downstairs living room. There was a bathroom and a small study on either side of the front door, and a little farther down the hallway was the dull grey entrance to the elevator.

There were two downstairs bedrooms in the back. Upstairs was the master bedroom , a large bathroom with a bidet in it, and a small TV room. There were also a myriad of closets wherever you looked.

I would often get into fights with my dad and stepmom. They thought I was irresponsible, and I thought they were a couple of jerks. I had always wished that my mom hadn't divorced my dad and it was easy to blame him for it. So I spent a lot of time walking around the house in my own world, and exploring one part or another.

One day while exploring a random closet in the master bedroom I noticed that stuffed behind the rack of old winter coats that the previous owner had left was a rather conspicuous stack of cardboard boxes.

They were stacked almost head high, and upon moving them I noticed a small handle to what appeared to be another closet door. Another closet door hidden behind a stack of boxes behind a rack of coats inside the closet in the master bedroom.

"What is this doing here?" I scratched my head. Turning the handle did nothing. It wouldn't budge. It must be painted shut. I went out in search of a screwdriver and found one in a drawer in the kitchen.

Starting at the top of the stubborn door I crammed the screwdriver into a small opening and sliced down the line of the doorway, hoping to remove the offending paint.

This time I tried the handle again and pulled hard. With a loud snap and a creek the door swung open. Inside was a carpeted winding staircase leading up. It wasn't just the staircase that was carpeted but also the walls and ceiling. It was a shaggy green material.

Taking my first step I was overwhelmed by a very dank musky smell descending heavily from above the staircase.

I ascended the narrow green staircase, placing my right hand against the carpeted wall and brushing absentmindedly along it's side as I walked.

The staircase turned left very sharply and I became certain that if I were just a bit taller or of slightly larger girth that I could quite possibly get stuck. I was thinking these things when I had the sudden overwhelming desire to yank my hand away from the wall.

Gone was the somehow pleasantly rough feel of the carpet, now replaced by a disgustingly wet and slimy surface. It was as if I was touching the cold sullen dankness of long buried seaweed pulled relentlessly from the ocean floor and placed against its will upon the wall of this staircase.

That feeling only lasted for a second though because it was at that moment that I came to the top of the staircase and entered the third floor. What greeted me there was a large rectangular room looking very much like the inside of a log cabin. The walls were composed of a very dark wood that looked quite expensive, perhaps mahogany.

I couldn't tell where the previous heavy musky smell had been coming from because the third floor smelled very much like cedar and it was quite lovely. I walked around inspecting the walls and found that they were surprisingly cold to the touch. On one side of the room was a closet with no door, the inside of which was also made of wood but of a very different type.

In stark contrast to the dark mahogany it appeared to be unfinished particle board. It was a very light and unpleasant color, as if the closet itself was an afterthought somehow slapped on and then placed within the rectangular room. The other side of the third floor was mostly concerned with a tiny square window bursting with light. It held quite an interesting view of the backyard.

I walked over and sat by the window staring at it for some time. The glass was dull, misty, and hard to see through. The view was of the backyard but it wasn't like how I'd last seen it.

There were children's toys spread all throughout. There was a jungle gym and a rocking horse and several colorful balls laid out in the grass. I didn't remember any of these things being in our backyard and why should they be? My dad and stepmom had talked about having children but they didn't have any yet, and there were no little kids around here.

So what exactly was I seeing through this window? Was this really our backyard?

I'm not sure how long I stood staring out the third floor window but when I suddenly snapped back to my senses it was getting dark outside so it must have been at least a couple of hours.

I realized quickly then that my dad would be home soon so I needed to hurry and get out of this room. It was, most assuredly, in my parents closet after all. There'd be no explaining that. So I bolted down the woolen stairs and jerked open the painted door, quite neatly crashing into a stack of old dirty cardboard boxes.

Upon noticing this interruption one of the boxes coughed out a small photograph, a rather beautiful picture of an innocent looking young girl. Seeing as I had no time to dawdle, I grabbed said picture and stuffed it in my front shirt pocket then made a hasty retreat to my own bedroom downstairs.

I particularly liked this room because it was big, drafty, and very dark. The curtains appeared to be nothing more than giant thick rugs. Very heavy, very colorful, and very ugly.

They were just kind of flung over the large box windows, ensuring that, once in place, not an ounce of light could come in. I laid down on the quilt of my queen sized bed and stretched out comfortably, turning on a light blue lamp nestled close by on a dark brown end table.

Taking the picture from my top shirt pocket I gazed at it thoughtfully. It was a black and white photo of young brunette. A teenage girl aged perhaps 16 years. She had a half smile on her face and a little flower in her hair. Her hands were resting softly against her right cheek.

Instinctively I turned the picture over to look at the back and found some writing there. Etched in dull grey pencil was a tiny epitaph. "My dearest Sara, the world is a travesty. You were a lighthouse and now my life is dark. I find myself no longer knowing which way to go. Perhaps I will join you shortly. " There was a name underneath the writing which I could not make out.

I slowly walked over to one of the giant carpets draped over my windows and pulled it aside. I had a pretty good view of the backyard from here.

There was a stone walkway on the left side by the over sized fence, next to a veranda of sorts consisting of a small glass table with folding chairs. The middle of the yard was nothing but freshly mowed grass as far as the eye could see. Along the right hand side was a small red lawnmower and several planks of wood where a Jacuzzi project was left abandoned.

Looking out the window for a few more minutes I compared the view from upstairs to this one and noted the differences. What a bland backyard. I pulled the picture back out and looked at it once more. I would have to do some investigating tomorrow.

The next day I walked into the kitchen with what must have been a rather expressionless look on my face. I was usually a very chipper guy but today I was feeling pretty somber.

My dad was sitting cross legged by a small table near the tiny window, his face hidden by an open newspaper. In his left hand was a steaming cup of coffee.

Tossed haphazardly on the kitchen counter was a colorful bag labeled "Ellinikos Kafes". My stepmom was Greek and I sometimes wondered how much that country paid her to advertise the fact.

"Anything interesting in the news today Dad?" I yawned, already bored from the effort. He lowered the paper just a touch to cock his eyebrow at me. "Your stepmother thinks you were rooting around in our room yesterday."

I laughed and grabbed a piece of baklava from a gleaming white platter by the toaster oven. "Why would I be in your room? She's crazy." Gobbling down the sweet confection, I walked casually out of the kitchen and strolled through the hallway towards the front door of the house and in the direction of that villainous metal elevator.

Coming to the outside of the unit I jammed my index finger on a piece of metal that said "call" on it. I listened to the unsettling rattling grind of the metal box coming down to meet me. Entering it at once I took a good look at the little circular white buttons.

There were four buttons total in two rows of two. Where the fifth button would have been was a spot to insert a small key. The buttons were labeled one, two, three, and open. I pressed the number three button as hard as I could but nothing happened, so I settled for the number two. The large doors slammed shut behind me and soon I was rumbling upwards.

On the way up I couldn't help but look towards the elevator ceiling. At the top of the elevator was an emergency hatch. I could just imagine scrambling hastily out through the emergency hatch in the middle of the night. Looking closely I could see scratches all around the opening at the top.

Suddenly the elevator came to a stop with a grunt and I was on the second floor. I looked closely again at the buttons and noticed that the button number three also had scratches all around it. My mind was trying to connect the hatch and the button.

Leaving the elevator momentarily I walked briskly over to a nearby closet and grabbed a green handled broom. I headed back over to the elevator and shoved to the broom up to the edge of the hatch, deftly knocking it over just a bit. I expected to see wires and then maybe the ceiling, and nothing more.

I did see wires but also something that appeared to be another spot for the elevator to land. Was there a third floor up here after all? I was going to find out.

The garage was huge, housing a big blue late model Suburban, a creamy white BMW, and a cherry red Porsche Carrera. There were spots for three more cars but they were desperately oil stained and empty. Racks upon racks of tools, boxes, crates and all other manner of clutter lined the back checkerboard walls.

I was looking for a ladder. So far I had found both a small square two step ladder and a huge twelve foot monstrosity that would probably be great for getting up on the roof. What I couldn't find was the five or six foot ladder I needed to carry into the house and cram into that obstreperous elevator.

I was just giving up when I noticed a silver gleam from the back of the Suburban. It had recently been used to drive to Galveston for some trout fishing and, undoubtedly, some quiet but heavy handed drinking. I had declined to go on that trip because it would have meant forced bonding with my father and I didn't really like to be around him once he'd had a few beers in him.

I crept into the kitchen and fished around in the front drawer where I knew that the keys to the cars were usually kept and, after flipping through several layers of rubber bands, paper clips, and various other kitchen drawer type items, I succeeded in finding them.

The Suburban had two tackle boxes in the back, along with two fishing rods, a couple of floats, and what appeared to be several pairs of men's pants. What had really caught my eye though was a greyish item jammed between the floats. It was a very thin and rickety looking metal ladder that looked to be about four or five feet high.

It was a good thing that there was no one here to hide my giddiness from because I was absolutely overflowing. I grabbed the tarnished metal ladder and ran inside the house, quickly heading into the elevator.

The ladder was a good fit for the elevator coming in just under the scratchy wooden hatch. Setting it against the side wall I pressed the second floor button and braced myself for the jolt upward. Arriving on the second floor I briskly shoved the ladder underneath the upward aperture and climbed to the top rung.

There was just a few feet of space between me and the wooden opening so I reached out my right hand and pressed gently but firmly upward on the closest corner. "Crack", "Creak", the ceiling complained fiercely but ultimately started to give way. It was obvious that no one had opened this hatch in quite a long time.

A bit more negotiating and some serious elbow grease meant I was able to slam it up and over just a few feet, creating a narrow pathway.

Carefully climbing on top of the ladder and teetering on the flat square at the top, I placed both hands at the edge of the hatch and pulled myself up. I slid my head through the newly created hole.

I really didn't expect to see much. Maybe some wires and a typical kind of attic space that didn't hold anything special save for some insulation and the random occasional critter. I didn't think I would see what I was seeing now. I didn't think I would see a nightmare world.

I pulled myself fully on top of the elevator and stared into the abyss, trying hard not to let it stare into me.

I stood precariously atop the dusty elevator, gently rubbing my aching palms. They were still red and sore from the effort of climbing. A trickle of light from some unknown source illuminated the darkness, perhaps revealing truths best not told. My feet felt unsure of this hard dusty surface, but with head perched towards the sunshine I was feeling confident.

I could see a rectangular hole in the wall which was clearly a stopping point for the elevator. It seemed as though that rickety metal box was once capable of getting there on its own, but for whatever reason it had lost it's full capabilities.

Knowing this, someone had installed little metal handles on the nearby partition to form a makeshift ladder. With some effort it was possible to reach the lowest point and climb up.

The walls were clearly once white but now they were covered in dust and black grime. The surface almost looked like tar. It took real inner strength not to imagine it as a bed of gnarly flies.

Everything here was dark and sticky. I groped for each rough handle using the small gleam of light to guide me. It was difficult going but I made my way up the cold metal handles and into the small rectangular entrance that was meant for the boxcar. Soon I was standing on the floor itself.

The first thing I noticed was a horrific smell. It was like blood and dust had a son, a child who had never learned to bath. I was standing on a hardwood floor that was scratched all to hell.

Yellow tattered papers covered almost the entire surface. Several old paintings with large wooden frames leaned lazily against the left side wall. The other wall was barren. A large white framed window stood ajar in the back of the room. It was the cause of the meager light.

Gingerly I walked all around the perimeter. It was quite a large room and the air seemed barely breathable...... but there wasn't much in it.

I was reminded of the attic in some old movie, unused for years, and then rediscovered by someone's plucky nephew. Bending down I grabbed the nearest rumpled parchment.

Words were written in the scrawl of a madman.

"Not I. Not I. Not I. Not I".

I grabbed another sheet and was greeted by a similar message. The light now shone against the rotten wooden beams which sagged and creaked gloomily. There was writing on them as well.

"Sara. Travesty. Horribly. Terribly."

I had a sick feeling in my stomach. This was like being in an insane asylum.

At that point a small gust of wind sent a icy chill down the nape of my neck. I clenched my sweater tightly. I didn't remember wearing a sweater before I came up here. It was old, grey, and quite scratchy. It smelled like mold and seemed like it hadn't been washed in ages. When did I put this on?

An odd gleam then struck the corner of my eye. A gigantic mirror was leaning lazily near the abandoned paintings. It was quite ornate with a decorative gold rim. Seeing it made me think of a some old castle. There were no mirrors in my bathroom downstairs. Why didn't my bathroom have a mirror in it?

I inched slowly towards the mirror with great trepidation, each step seeming to take an hour. Using a disgusting old rag I found laying on the floor nearby I wiped the gunk off the mostly decorative piece, thereby giving me a reflective surface. I then rubbed my eyes and glared at my own image.

The person staring back at me was unrecognizable. An old man, what little hair he had left was stringy and grey. Yellow liver spots dotted half of his face. Yellow eyes drooped heavily like a patient with jaundice very near the end. His complexion was wrinkled, saggy, haggard.

This isn't me. This doesn't make any sense. I'm a teenaged boy. Just a while ago I was in the kitchen talking to my dad. Wasn't that earlier today? It seemed far away to me now. Or did that happen another time?

I stumbled backwards away from the mirror and walked over to the safety of the window. Why had I come up here? Hadn't I locked this room away? Wasn't this room off limits to everyone? But I'm not everyone. Who am I?

I don't want to remember. The past is a travesty. Not I. Sara. Travesty. Horribly. Terribly. I'm just a high school kid with my whole life ahead of me.

I felt the tears flowing from my ancient eyes. Limping over to the window I pulled up the pane as far as it would go. It opened easily, slamming to the top with a bang. Below me was the concrete area surrounding the deck and patio.

"She was a lighthouse." I whispered softly.

With that I took my final step.

Thank you for reading my story "The Third Floor."

Follow me @jeezzle

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this sorta reminds me of your Stone Fish story!!!!!

but... i'm confused.

she was a lighthouse.
?

Yeah she was tall, round, and her milkshake brought all of the boats to the pier.

No. She was a lighthouse in that she grounded him and made him find his way home. Without her Guiding Light he was unable to so much as remember who he had been.

so now i'm confused about the first parts.... that was just all in his mind?

So now i'm confused
About the first parts.... that was
Just all in his mind?

                 - dreemsteem


I'm a bot. I detect haiku.

haikubot! you sneaky little devil you!!!!

Psychological.

The story took place inside

The poor old man's head.

are you trying to get a visit from haiku bot too???? copycat!

He never visits me anymore. Where the heck are you haiku bot?

you're coming across as desperate.... needy. He doesn't like that.

He prefers to come when you least expect him.

come on now. you're rep is 67. you're way past rookie stage ;)

I guess you are right. Who needs that bot anyway? Certainly not me.

Excellent work dear friend @jeezzle very interesting and entertaining, you are very talented, I admire people who can write in this way, a work of fiction, and can keep the reader entertained from the beginning to the end, congratulations for this good work, many thanks for sharing

Thank you for posting that. I appreciate your comments.

Great story!!
I recommend splitting longer stories into multiple posts -
This way you will reach a wider audience and have readers wanting more, plus more rewards $$$
Good job, I followed you

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