Just Don't Get In

Lee Do looked down at his hands. They were there. Of course they were—his right hand gripping his smartphone, the sleeve of his black hoodie, his sneakers. Everything was perfectly intact. Beside him, the informant stood just as real as ever.

Yet neither of them appeared in the mirror. The glass reflected only the hollow, empty cabin of the elevator.

"Wait."

Lee Do shifted his smartphone. He aimed the lens at the mirror. Nothing. He aimed it back toward his own face. There he was. Back to the mirror. Gone.

From beside him came the informant's trembling voice. "You can't see me either?"

"Nope."

"For real?"

"See for yourself."

The informant slipped past Lee Do, stepping toward the open elevator doors. The mirror remained completely blank. As if entranced, the man stepped into the cabin and reached out to touch the glass. His fingertips made contact with the surface. Yet inside the reflection, not even a finger appeared.

"What the hell is this..."

The instant he pulled his hand away, he scrambled backward out of the elevator. And right then, something emerged in the mirror.

Lee Do's gaze whipped between the man who had just stumbled out and the glass reflection.

A person. It was the exact same figure they had seen earlier. Head slumped deep onto his chest, standing motionless in the far corner of the cabin. Only this time, he was alone.

Lee Do peered directly into the physical elevator cabin. Outside the mirror, the interior was dead empty. He glanced back at the glass. The figure remained standing right where it was.

"We just don't get in."

Only then did the informant look toward Lee Do. "Pardon?"

"That thing." Lee Do pointed at the elevator. "We just don't get in. There's no reason to ride it anyway."

"Leveled up my ass," Lee Do scoffed, taking a step backward. "Why the hell would I get on that?"

The informant nodded vigorously in agreement. "I'm not getting on either."

"Then that's that."

It was simple. There was a bizarre elevator. The solution was simply not to ride it. Lee Do glanced down the hallway. "Where are the stairs?"

"Over that way."

"Let's head down."

"Right."

The two of them turned and walked. Behind them came a chime—ting—and the elevator doors slid shut. Lee Do didn't look back.

"Just keep moving."

"Got it."

They hurried down the corridor toward the heavy fire door guarding the stairwell. The informant gripped the lever handle. Clank. It didn't budge. He threw his weight into it again. Clank.

"Why won't it open?" The man yanked hard, rattling the metal. Clank. Clank.

"Is it usually locked?"

"Of course not! It's an emergency stairwell!"

Lee Do stepped forward. "Move aside."

He clamped his hand onto the handle. Pushed. Wouldn't budge. Pulled. Exactly the same. "Is it locked?"

"They're legally not allowed to lock this door."

"Call the management office," Lee Do said.

The informant pulled out his phone and hit dial. He squinted at the screen, his brow furrowing deep. "It's not working."

"No signal?"

"None at all."

Lee Do checked his own device. The livestream was broadcasting without a hitch, and chat messages scrolled past in real time. "Mine works fine."

"Let me try from mine."

Lee Do searched for the building's management office number and pressed call. Ring— Ring— The dial tone buzzed in his ear. "See? It's connecting."

The informant stared down at his own screen in bewilderment. Ring— Ring—

The tone cut off abruptly. The call connected. Lee Do spoke into the receiver. "Hello?"

Dead silence answered him. "Hello?"

"Is this the management office?"

The receiver stayed eerily still for a breath. Then, a sound filtered through the speaker.

Lee Do pulled the phone an inch from his ear. An elevator arrival chime had just rung out directly from the other end of the line. He slowly turned his eyes down the corridor toward the elevator. The floor indicator read 17. The doors remained closed tight.

Over the phone line, metal ground against metal—screeech—as doors parted, followed by a flat, mechanical announcement. The doors are opening.

Lee Do severed the connection instantly. Click.

"Hey," Lee Do said, his voice tightening as he locked eyes with the informant. "Is this really the management office number?"

"Yes."

"Are you positive?"

"It's the exact number printed on my monthly maintenance bills."

Lee Do glanced back at the locked fire door. Unyielding. Then toward the elevator. No chance in hell. "Where are the other stairs?"

"There's another stairwell on the opposite end."

"Let's move."

They hurried toward the far end of the hallway. Lee Do kept his phone camera rolling as they moved: standard apartment corridor, uniform entrance doors, fire hydrants, motion-sensor lights flickering on overhead. Everything appeared completely mundane.

"Here."

The second fire door stood before them. The informant pushed down on the handle, and with a clean clank, it swung outward.

"It opened!"

Lee Do crossed the threshold without hesitation. A concrete stairwell spiraled downward into the lower levels. "Let's go."

They began descending the concrete flights.

16th floor.

15th floor.

14th floor.

"The stairs seem normal enough."

13th floor.

12th floor.

11th floor.

Lee Do's footsteps began to slow. A prickle of wrongness crept up his spine. The informant noticed and stopped on the landing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing..." Lee Do glanced back up the stairwell. There was nothing visibly amiss. "Let's keep going."

10th floor.

9th floor.

8th floor.

And then the 7th floor. Stenciled cleanly on the concrete wall was 7F. But as the informant went to brush past the fire door to take the next flight down, Lee Do shot his arm out, blocking his chest.

"Hold on."

"What is it?"

"Look at that."

Right beside the fire door, the brass floor plaque read:

The informant's eyes darted between the wall and the door plaque in disbelief. "What the..."

Lee Do spun around, looking back up the flight they had just trodden.

On the concrete landing just above them: 18F.

And higher still: 19F.

Lee Do's jaw clenched tight. "No way."

They had walked down. They had started at 17, counting every single landing: 16, 15, 14... checking the numbers with their own eyes. Yet right now, the landing beneath their feet was 17F once again. And the flight leading upward led to the 18th floor.

"...Did we climb up?" the informant muttered under his breath, voice trembling. "We were heading down the whole time..."

Lee Do leaned over the metal railing to peer into the stairwell below. One flight down, painted on the wall, was a number: 16F.

"We're going down."

They took off again, racing down the steps. 16. 15. 14. 13. Neither of them spoke a word, eyes glued only to the numerals stenciled into the concrete. 12. 11. 10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.

"We did it!" The informant's voice burst with relief.

The 1st-floor fire door stood right before them. Lee Do seized the handle. Clack. He shoved it open.

It was the 17th-floor hallway.

"...Fuck."

Directly across from the exit sat the elevator. Its digital indicator glowed steady: 17.

Lee Do whipped his head back toward the stairwell behind him. Painted plainly on the concrete beside the door frame was 1F. Yet stepping across that single threshold dumped them straight onto the 17th floor. He shoved the door shut, then swung it open again. The 17th-floor corridor remained.

"Haaah..." Lee Do dragged a rough hand through his hair. "I really hate this kind of shit."

The informant looked back and forth between the row of apartment doors and the elevator. "What do we do?"

"Give me a second to think."

Lee Do leaned back against the corridor wall. Just don't ride the elevator. That was what he had assumed. But now they couldn't leave via the stairs either. "What about your apartment?"

"Pardon?"

"You live on this floor, right?"

"Ah." The informant pointed toward the end of the hall. "Over that way."

"Let's head into your place for now."

"...Will we be okay in there?"

"It's a hell of a lot better than standing around out here."

Staying exposed in this corridor was the worst option available. The two hurried toward the informant's unit.

"Which unit?"

"Room 1704."

1701.

1702.

1703.

Both men came to a dead halt. There was no 1704. Immediately following 1703 was... 1801.

"What the..."

The informant sprinted ahead. 1801. 1802. 1803. 1804.

"No..." The man's voice began to crack. "This is my place."

Where his unit should have stood, an entire row of 18th-floor apartments occupied the wall.

"Are you certain you're Room 1704?"

"Yes!"

"Are you completely sure?"

"I've lived here for three years!"

The man stood frozen before the door of Room 1804: the digital keypad, a small sticker peeled at the edge, a plastic parcel delivery bin set to the side. Before his hand even reached for the lock, his fingers touched the sticker. "This..." He pointed a trembling finger. "This is mine."

"What?"

"I put this here myself."

It was a faded travel souvenir sticker: JEJU, with one corner torn away. "This is definitely my front door."

"Then why does it say 1804?"

"...I don't know."

Lee Do turned to look down the corridor. The wall plaque near the landing now read: 18F.

"We were on the 17th floor just a second ago."

Lee Do looked back toward the elevator twenty meters away. The digital display shone with an unmistakable number: 18.

The informant stared between the corridor walls and the elevator. "It went up."

"What did?"

"The floor."

Ting.

The elevator doors slid open in the distance. Even from here, the lit interior was visibly vacant. Lee Do watched the open cabin, not moving an inch closer. The doors slid shut once more, and the indicator ticked over: 19.

At that exact moment, a motion-sensor light on the ceiling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠went out.

Click.

Beginning from the farthest end of the hall.

Click.

Then the next.

A wall of total darkness was marching steadily toward them.

"Get inside!"

The informant scrambled to punch his passcode into the door lock.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Chime.

The deadbolt retracted. "Hurry!"

They tumbled through the doorway. SLAM! The door bolted shut behind them.

Lee Do leaned against the wall, catching his breath. Inside, it looked like an ordinary, lived-in apartment: scattered shoes in the entryway, cardboard parcel boxes stacked by the wall, a small kitchen table, a sofa.

"Is this really your home?"

"Yes," the informant answered without a moment's hesitation. "It is."

"Even though the outside says 1804?"

Both men fell silent. Chat messages streamed relentlessly across the screen.

Lee Do surveyed the space. "Do you live alone?"

"Yes."

"Mind if I check the window?"

"Go ahead."

Lee Do stepped into the living room and drew back the curtains. The city nightscape sprawled below, the apartment complex spread out beneath the dark sky. He tried to gauge their altitude. "Can't tell whether this is seventeen or eighteen floors up from here."

The informant pulled out his phone again. "Should I try the management office once more?"

"Don't use mine."

"Why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not?"

"You heard what happened earlier."

"Ah..."

Lee Do debated his options. Call the police? How would he even begin to explain this?

'We walked all the way down the emergency stairs to the first floor, but stepped back out onto the seventeenth floor. My informant's apartment was 1704, but it turned into 1804.'

Would calling the authorities actually help?

Right then—ting.

A chime echoed. Lee Do and the informant froze, their eyes locking as the same elevator arrival chime rang out a second time.

"Why is that coming from in here?"

The sound hadn't originated out in the hall. It had come from deep inside the apartment. At the end of the short hallway. Behind a closed door.

Lee Do pointed toward the end of the hall. "What's in there?"

The informant's eyes were glued to the wood. "The bedroom."

Ting.

A third time. Unmistakably emanating from inside the bedroom.

"I have no intention of opening it," Lee Do muttered under his breath, answering the chat.

The informant nodded fervently. "Me neither."

Both men backed slowly toward the front entrance. The bedroom door stayed firmly shut. They pressed themselves against the wall by the entryway, waiting in agonizing silence, but no further sound came from the room.

Lee Do dropped his voice to a faint murmur. "Let's just hold out right here until morning—"

Ting.

This time, it came from outside the front door.

Both of them snapped their heads toward the entryway. An elevator had just arrived on their floor. A moment later, footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Clack.

Clack.

They were slow.

Clack.

Step by step, the sound drew nearer. The informant held his breath. Then, right outside the front door, the footsteps stopped. Dead silence blanketed the hall once more.

Lee Do raised his smartphone, aiming the lens directly at the steel door. In the chat, viewers who had been counting the footfalls frantically warned him not to open up.

Knock, knock.

Two raps echoed through the metal. Neither man dared to breathe. Then, a voice drifted through from the other side.

"Excuse me?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

It was an entirely ordinary man's voice.

"Is someone inside?"

The informant mouthed silently, looking to Lee Do for guidance. Lee Do raised a single finger to his lips. Quiet.

"Excuse me?"

Knock, knock.

"Do you... happen to know..." A beat of hesitation. "...how to get to the seventeenth floor?"

The informant parted his lips to answer, but choked the sound down when he caught Lee Do's stern glare. Right now, from the outside, this apartment was marked as 1804. The voice spoke again.

"I can't seem to find my place."

Knock, knock.

"I live in Room 1704."

The informant's jaw went slack. Lee Do slowly turned his eyes toward him.

Outside, the voice muttered to itself, dropping into a bewildered murmur. "Strange... It was definitely right here."

The informant frantically mouthed two words: That's me.

Lee Do watched the frantic gestures, but gave no nod of acknowledgment. The informant pressed a hand to his own chest, mouthing again: 1704.

Knock, knock.

"Is anybody in there?"

Lee Do looked down at his screen. The chat was violently divided over who was standing in the hall.

Lee Do panned the camera slightly to the side. The screen caught the lower half of the informant's face. Black hoodie. Face mask. The informant was undeniably standing right beside him.

As the frantic chat momentarily slowed in collective dread, a comment from Bangguseok Kim floated to the top.

Lee Do read Kim's words off the screen.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at the man beside him. The informant's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hoodie was black. And in that instant, the memory flared in his mind.

The elevator mirror. The figure standing behind him and the informant. The head slumped low onto its chest. Wearing a black hoodie.

The informant had no idea why Lee Do was staring at him with such hollow intensity. "What? What is it?"

Lee Do couldn't tear his eyes away from the black fabric, his mind superimposing it over the silhouette from the reflection.

The voice from the corridor called out again. "Excuse me!" This time, an edge of frantic desperation bled into the tone. "Someone's in there, right?!"

THUD!

A heavy blow rattled the steel door. "Please open the door!"

THUD!

"This is my house!"

The informant beside Lee Do shrank backward, shaking his head in terror. "...No. No it isn't."

From outside: "Room 1704!"

From inside: "It's not..."

From outside: "I said it's my house!"

The informant grabbed at his own chest, desperate to deny the voice. "That's not me out there! That's not me!"

Lee Do looked at him.

"I'm the real one!" the informant cried, his voice cracking with sheer hysteria. "I'm the real one!"

Ting.

From deep within the bedroom, the elevator arrival chime rang out once more. And beneath the shut bedroom door, a sliver of light spilled across the floorboards.

Red light. Glowing numerals cast across the dark floor.

The number flickered.

Outside, the fists hammered relentlessly against the front door.

BANG!

BANG!

Beneath the bedroom door, the crimson digits raced upward.

And then—

It stopped.

Lee Do stared at the bedroom door.

Click.

From inside the bedroom, the door handle began to turn.