The power had gone out in the building, and I was stuck in the elevator. Alone. In the dark. With no means of contacting anyone.
Voices from outside the elevator reached me. I pounded on the metal door and called out for help. My efforts must have startled a woman who, after voicing a string of religious expletives, replied that she’d go get the building manager right away.
Time dragged on. I wondered if more people were stuck in the other elevator cars. Why didn’t the building have emergency power to get passengers to the next floor during a power blackout? Was there enough air in the elevator for an hour or—heaven forbid—longer?
I thought of my family, my friends. I didn’t want to die. My heart beat faster. I reached into my handbag for a tissue and wiped the sweat from my brow. Relax, I told myself. Help is bound to arrive soon.
An hour passed before the elevator lit up and the doors slid open. I rushed out. No one was around to greet me or ask if I were okay, but I didn’t care. I was free. I flew down three flights of stairs to the lobby and dashed out into the fresh air.
My unnerving experience was not forgotten. I used the feelings it generated to write a chilling passage in my mystery novel, Icy Silence. It involves ghostwriter Megan Scott, one of my main characters. That’s all I’m going to say about it.
Enjoy the thrills!