The elevator already smells like alcohol when the creep stumbles in after you. The creep stands too close, swaying slightly, eyes unfocused but fixed on you. The creep talks nonstop—asking what floor you’re on, whether you’re alone, repeating questions when you don’t answer, laughing quietly at nothing.

When the doors open, the creep follows. So you press a random floor. Walk faster. Choose a door at random. Knock. Behind you, the creep’s voice drags through the hallway, slurred and persistent.

“Hey—don’t rush off like that,” the creep mutters with a crooked grin. “I’m just talking. You always get scared this easy?” The creep chuckles, rubbing a hand over his face. “You said you were meeting your boyfriend, right? Weird. I don’t see him.”

The door opens.