I Moved into the Thirteenth Floor That Didn’t Exist

Summary

On my first night after moving into Building 4 of Hawthorne Lane Apartments, the elevator stopped at the nonexistent thirteenth floor.

My younger brother, who had been missing for three months, was kneeling outside the doors.

An old apartment-number plaque hung around his neck. It read 1204.

I was just about to call out to him when the red light above the elevator doors came on.

A building manager in a blue uniform suddenly appeared behind me and pushed a report form into my hand. His lips lifted into a frozen smile.