The Thirteenth-Floor Delivery

the pizza delivery guy waits on the 13th floor, the setting perfectly captures the short scary story

Jake, a diligent food delivery rider, got an order for a pizza late one night. The address directed him to a flat on the 13th floor of an old apartment building. Upon arriving, he discovered that the button for the 13th floor in the lift was malfunctioning. He sighed, pressed the button for the 14th floor instead, and figured it would be easier to walk down one flight of stairs.

When he reached the 14th floor and took the stairs to the 13th, an eerie feeling crept over him. The entire floor was shrouded in darkness, with not a single light flickering on. Goosebumps prickled his skin as he cautiously descended the steps, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jake fumbled with his phone, using its dim light to search for the right flat number. The darkness seemed to swallow the light, making everything appear more sinister. He dialed the customer’s number, and the ringing of the phone echoed eerily through the empty hallway. The call was answered by a voice that sounded inhumanly deep and heavy.

“Put the pizza down where you are and leave,” the voice commanded. “I have paid upfront.”

Jake’s pulse quickened as the door to the flat creaked open. A shadowy figure emerged, darker than the surrounding gloom. He felt a wave of terror wash over him as he saw the figure, its presence suffocating and menacing. Without another thought, he placed the pizza on the ground, his hands trembling. He felt the urge to leave a tip and hurriedly placed some coins beside the box.

Without looking back, Jake sprinted down the hallway, his breath coming in ragged gasps. As he exited the building, he saw the night security guard patrolling near the gate. Desperate for some explanation, Jake stopped him and asked, “Why is the 13th floor so dark? It felt like no one lives there.”

The security guard gave him a puzzled look. “No one does. That floor has been abandoned for years. No one orders food from there.”

Jake’s blood ran cold. He turned back to the building, his mind racing with the implications of what had just happened. The pizza delivery was a task he would never forget, one that left him questioning the boundary between the living and the dead.

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The whisper came again, clearer this time, and her heart skipped a beat. It sounded like someone was calling her name. "Emily..." She spun around, the flashlight beam dancing wildly. "This isn't funny," she said, more to herself than to any potential prankster. "If someone is here, show yourself!" The only response was silence. After a few moments, Emily convinced herself that it was just the wind playing tricks on her. She turned to leave, but a sudden cold draft made her stop in her tracks. The temperature had dropped noticeably, and she could see her breath in the air. She took another step, and that's when she saw it—a figure standing in the corner, shrouded in shadow. "Who are you?" Emily demanded, trying to keep her voice steady. The figure didn't move, didn't speak. It was as if it was made of darkness itself. Emily felt a chill run down her spine as she took a cautious step closer. The figure seemed to dissolve into the shadows, leaving behind an eerie silence. Shaken, Emily hurried back downstairs and locked herself in her bedroom. She tried to convince herself that it was just her imagination, that the old house was playing tricks on her. But deep down, she knew that something was very wrong. The next few days were a blur of restless nights and unsettling noises. Emily heard whispers in the hallways, footsteps on the stairs, and strange knocking sounds that seemed to come from within the walls. She tried to ignore it, tried to go about her daily routine, but the sense of being watched never left her. Desperate for answers, Emily began researching the history of the house. She learned that it had been built in the late 1800s by a wealthy family, the Thompsons. The house had been their pride and joy until tragedy struck. One stormy night, much like the one when Emily first heard the whispers, the youngest daughter, Isabella, had disappeared without a trace. Her body was never found, and the family was devastated. They eventually moved away, and the house fell into disrepair. Emily couldn't shake the feeling that Isabella's spirit was still in the house, trapped and restless. Determined to help, she decided to hold a séance, hoping to communicate with the ghost and put her to rest. She gathered candles, a Ouija board, and a few personal items that had belonged to Isabella, which she had found in the attic. As night fell, Emily set up the séance in the living room. The candles flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. She placed her hands on the Ouija board and closed her eyes, focusing on the spirit of Isabella. "Isabella, if you can hear me, please give me a sign," she said softly. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of her own breathing. Then, the planchette began to move, slowly spelling out a message. H-E-L-P M-E Emily's heart raced as she watched the planchette glide across the board. "What do you need?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The planchette moved again, spelling out another message. F-I-N-D M-E "Where are you?" Emily asked, her eyes scanning the room. The planchette stopped moving, and the candles flickered wildly. Emily felt a cold breeze sweep through the room, and the whispers grew louder, more insistent. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "Isabella, I'm here to help you. Please show me where you are," she said, her voice steady. The whispers seemed to coalesce into a single voice, a soft, pleading cry. Emily followed the sound, her feet carrying her to the base of the stairs. She climbed the steps, the whispers guiding her to the attic door. The attic was cold and dark, the air thick with dust and the smell of decay. Emily's flashlight flickered as she swept it across the room. In the far corner, she saw something that made her blood run cold—a small, wooden trunk, its lid slightly ajar. With trembling hands, Emily approached the trunk and opened it. Inside, she found a collection of old toys, dresses, and a small, faded photograph of a young girl. But it was the diary that caught her attention. She opened it and began to read, her eyes widening with each entry. Isabella had written about the strange occurrences in the house, the whispers and the shadows that seemed to follow her. She had been terrified, convinced that something was trying to take her away. The final entry was the most chilling of all—a description of a dark figure that had appeared in her room, calling her name. Emily felt a sudden rush of understanding. Isabella hadn't disappeared; she had been taken by the same dark force that now haunted the house. Determined to put the spirit to rest, Emily gathered the diary and the photograph and made her way back downstairs. She placed the items on the Ouija board and closed her eyes, focusing all her energy on Isabella's spirit. "Isabella, I found your diary. I know what happened to you. I'm here to help you find peace," she said. The air grew colder, and the whispers became a chorus of voices, all pleading for release. Emily took a deep breath and began to recite a prayer, asking for the spirit to be freed from its torment. As she spoke, the candles flickered and then went out, plunging the room into darkness. Emily felt a presence beside her, a cold hand resting on her shoulder. She kept her eyes closed, focusing on the prayer, until she felt the presence begin to fade. When she opened her eyes, the room was silent. The oppressive weight had lifted, and the air felt lighter. Emily let out a sigh of relief, knowing that Isabella's spirit had finally found peace. She spent the rest of the night cleaning up the séance and packing away the Ouija board. As she climbed into bed, she felt a sense of calm that she hadn't experienced since moving into the house. The whispers were gone, and the shadows no longer seemed threatening. Emily knew that she had done the right thing, and as she drifted off to sleep, she felt a gentle breeze brush against her cheek, like a whisper of thanks from the other side.

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