Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I investigate URBAN LEGENDS. This is my scariest one | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 30, 2024

Do not play the Elevator Game... Scary Story exclusively written for the channel by Lighthouse Horror Team Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts         Original YouTube link: I investigate URBAN LEGENDS. This is my scariest one       Merch: lighthousehorror.shop For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

Never play the up-down game. I never thought my career would hit rock bottom like this. I used to be a great reporter, the kind who would deal with mob bosses and dirty politicians. But here I was chasing a ghost story. Teenagers, they call it the up-down game. It sounded more like a failed reality show than an urban legend. But whatever it was, it was. It made kids break into this building to play it.

So, I was going to interview the owner about what made his elevator so damn special. I parked my beat-up Honda in front of darling dealers. The place looked so old and neglected. It could have starred in a horror movie all by itself. Graffiti covered the walls, and a lot of the windows were smashed up. I adjusted my tie out of habit. It was a cheap silk number that screamed has been. Not that Darling or his spooky elevator cared what I wore,

but old habits die hard. Appearances were everything when I was at the top of the investigative food chain. They still should be, if anyone cared about real journalism anymore. The building lobby was noticeably colder. Musty air clung to my clothes. It smelled like dust and despair. Probably like the stupid kids who snuck in here for their cheap thrills. Mr. Darling met me in the lobby on the first floor.

He was a thin man, with a wary smile. Mr. Lewis, I presume, he said. Yep, that's me, Artie Lewis. I replied. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. Of course, he nodded, leading me towards the elevator. It's this way, I must admit, it's unusual to get interest from the press about the up-down game. Usually, it's just local kids looking for a scare.

The elevator in question looked ordinary enough. Sure, it looked new, but it certainly didn't look special. Huh, these kids think the elevator's haunted, huh? I asked. Something like that, he began. They say if you press the up button four times, you enter another world, but the real kicker. Lie during the game. And it kills you. Huh, kills you, really, I said.

I hated everything about this already. Yes, that's the legend. Teenagers have been sneaking in for years to try it out. We've had a few incidents. Nothing deadly, mind you, but enough to keep the story alive. And the questions? What about those? I asked.

referring to the game rules I read online. Ah, yes. Well, the game asks you true or false questions. You answer by pressing either up for true or down for false. Simple enough, right? But they say the elevator knows when you're lying. I leaned against the metal doors and folded my arms. Huh.

Well, you know, there's only four. four floors in this building, including this one, I began, and no basement. So, what happens if I press up four times? Mr. Darling's eyes darted away for a second. Then I suppose you'll find out, won't you? Ah, yes, and one more detail. The game must be played at night. It doesn't work, otherwise.

eyes. It's why I asked you to come over at this hour. Ah, yeah, of course, right? It's got to be played at night. Because spooky things only happen in the dark, right? I said. Dear God, I hated my job. Mr. Darling pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to me. Here, lock up when you're done. You can bring them back in the morning. Now, I had a few feeling the old man wasn't telling me everything, but I wasn't going to ask more questions. This story was already taking up enough of my time. The sun was setting. The light cast long shadows through the cracked windows. I watched as Mr. Darling waved goodbye before disappearing through the entrance doors.

It was so quiet in here. I could hear the building pipes groan in the background. I looked around the lobby. Place was a dump. Riding carpets under my shoes. Smelled like mildew. Every step I took, it kicked up a cloud of dust. The walls were bare, stripped of anything that had value. It was clear why the local teens chose this spot for their ghost hunting games.

There was something strange, though. What really stood out to me, it was the elevator. Unlike everything else around it, the elevator looked brand new. The steel doors were so shiny that I could see my reflection. It made me wonder why he kept this elevator looking so good, even though the rest of the place was falling apart. I pulled out my notebook, flipping through recent police reports about this place. Mostly break-ins and other wild stunts teenagers would do.

I sighed. My job used to be more than chasing urban legends like this. Back in the day, I was all about reporting corruption scandals, you know, the things that truly mattered to society. This case about kids sneaking around in a haunted elevator seemed pretty minor in comparison. But I couldn't help but do my homework, old habits die hard. I spent the day going through police reports to dig up anything I could find on this elevator.

Trusspassing cases dated back as far as ten years ago. Started right around the time darling dealers closed up shop here and moved downtown. From what I read, a break-in would happen every couple months or so. Most of them were standard stuff. Some kids got busted for underage drinking, you know, things like that. But some cases did stick out to me. One report claimed that a boy had been trapped in the elevator for three days. Another was about a missing girl who was found in the elevator, but with no memory of how she got there.

And there were at least a few disappearances connected to this place. Back in 2004, two brothers went missing, their last known location. was this building. The police conducted a search, but all they found was a sweater and a few fingerprints. The break-in stopped for a year after that. It started up again when a whole gang of kids got busted for vandalism. The report said they were spray painting the elevator doors. I looked up, and I saw my reflections staring back at me. The doors were polished. to a shine. Not a stain anywhere.

Kids, huh? They don't have enough to do. That's why they were all out there. Making up stories to scare each other. Or make themselves sound cooler than they actually were. If you ask me, kids these days need a hobby. Or a job. You know, we've got a world full of liars out there.

Sometimes sure, they're necessary. You got to sprinkle in something extra to make a new thing. new story click. You got to get people's attention, get them to care about it all. But these kids, all they were doing was wasting people's time. And right now, worse, they were wasting my time. So the faster I played this stupid game, the faster I could get home. I figured I'd snap a few photos of the elevator for the article, more out of habit than anything. I pulled out my phone, and I aimed it at the steel doors. I tapped the screen to capture the image.

The first photo, it showed the elevator clearly enough, but my reflection ruined it. Great, I muttered. I deleted the photo. But just as it disappeared, I caught a glimpse of something else. it looked like another reflection on the other door. And it wasn't mine. Eh, probably just a glitch, cheap piece of crap. I couldn't always afford to upgrade my phone.

I took another photo from a different angle. This time, a big flash appeared right in the middle, completely covered up the elevator. I didn't even have my flash on. So I tried again, aiming carefully before pressing the button. But nothing happened. My phone just refused to take another shot.

No matter how many times I tapped, the camera wouldn't go. I pressed the button so hard, I almost broke my screen. Fed up, I shoved the phone back into my pocket. Forget it, I said to the empty lobby. Maybe it was the universe telling me something, but I was not in the mood to listen. With nothing else to do, I pressed the button on the elevator. It glowed blue before the door dinged open. All right, it was time to see what this elevator game was really about.

Photos or no photos. I stepped inside, and I was taken about. at how nice it was, especially for a building that had been abandoned for who knows how long. It was this old-school kind of fancy. The floor was covered in a deep red carpet. There was a faint smell of nicotine and perfume in the air. The walls had gold-framed mirrors that made the space feel bigger than it was. Under the mirrors was carved wood paneling that reached the floor.

I knocked on one, and I realized it was solid oak. This was the kind of elevator a mob boss would have. I would know I've seen them. The entire thing sparkled and shined, thanks to the yellow light from above. Next to the door was the panel. It had a modern-looking LCD screen. It was completely out of place in the middle of all the fancy decorations. I looked over it, and I saw there were four.

buttons, one for each floor of the building. Just like he said, of course. But then, there were two extra buttons with arrows pointing up and down. Now that I thought about it, it was weird to have something like that in an elevator. Who'd want to go one floor at a time? I stood still, unsure of what was supposed to happen next. After a few seconds of silence, a soft ding echoed through the small space. The door slid shut with a gentle wush. My eyes shifted to the LCD screen where a message appeared. It blinked in a plain digital font.

Ready to play? It read. I shrugged. I pressed. the up button, and I felt the elevator lurched gently. It began to move slowly upwards, but I noticed that none of the buttons lit up to tell me what floor I was on. I figured this was the reason why people thought it was a portal to another world or whatever. Typical. A broken light turned into a ghost story. The elevator stopped, but the doors remained closed. The LCD screen

flickered to life with another question. Is your name Artie Lewis? It read. I pressed the up button without a second thought. Just two more times, I told myself. The elevator moved again, going up to the third floor. The moment it stopped, another message was on screen. Were you once a respected investigative journalist?

My teeth clenched. I pressed the up button harder than I meant to. This had to be a joke. Mr. Darling was messing with me. That asshole was probably typing the messages and watching me through a hidden camera. This entire thing was a joke. I scanned the polished walls of the elevator. This isn't funny, darling, I said.

Just one more button, and I could get out of this stupid game. I'd write the whole damn article in 30 minutes and I'd have a beer. The elevator started up again, and soon it came to an abrupt stop. I figured we had to be on the fourth floor now. If the stories were real, answering true on the next one would take me to another world. But I wasn't here to find that. I just wanted to finish the story. shit. The next question came up on screen.

Was Mr. Oliver real? It read. Without hesitating, I hit the up button for true. Instantly, the elevator started shaking. The mirrors on the walls rattled in their frames. The lights overhead flickered wildly. It was like an earthquake. A loud grinding and tearing sound filled my eyes. ears. The floor seemed to drop from under me. My stomach lurched with a free fall, and then everything

stopped, and I fell to the floor. I lay there for a moment, dazed. Did a cable just break? I groaned in pain, and I pushed myself up to look at the screen again. It displayed a new message. Two lies left, it read. I looked for any hidden cameras. It's called an alias, darling. It was to protect the whistleblower, I said. But how the hell would he know something like that? Mr. Oliver was a source I used for an article,

some embezzlement scandal at the school board. It was one of those fancy colleges where the parents could bribe their way in. This was my first big story. But the problem was, my actual lead chickened out last minute. Without him, I had nothing. So I made up Mr. Oliver, who saw the treasurer messing with the funds. A, it was technically the truth. I never wrote anything the source himself wouldn't have said.

And in the end, the treasurer was found to be skimming money to fund her next cruise. It all worked out. I looked up at the screen, and I saw a new question appeared. Do you enjoy your current job? It read. Yeah, be kidding me. Okay, enough is enough. I pulled out my phone and tried to call for help.

But of course, there was no signal. I jabbed at the other elevator buttons to open the doors, but nothing happened. There wasn't even a way to climb out. The ceiling was sealed tight. No escape hatch. Hey, darling, let me out. You want a kidnapping charge? I said as I kick the door. Then suddenly, the sound of shattering glass exploded behind me. Shards flew through the air, a long piece slicing my cheek. I put my hand up to my face, and I felt blood. That son of a bitch.

I spun around to check out the damage, but then I stopped. The mirror. It was perfectly intact. No cracks? No signs of damage. In fact, every single one was fine, but broken shards were everywhere. I moved closer to the back mirror. There was something wrong with my reflection.

I touched my face. I could feel the cut. It was much deeper than I thought. But my reflection didn't have one. The skin looked completely smooth. Behind me, I saw another question. It looked like there was only one way out of here. I needed to keep playing this messed up game.

I decided that once I was out, I would have this whole place condemned. I hit the down button to answer the question. No, I didn't like my job. Who the hell would? And right away, the elevator moved back to the second floor. But this ride was anything but smooth. The whole thing shook violently.

It groaned like it was falling apart. The noises were so bad. It sounded like it was. barely holding together. The next question popped up on screen. Have you always reported the truth? It asked. I scoffed, and I hit the up button for true.

That was my whole job. Or at least it used to be. Almost instantly, a horrifying sound filled the space. A tearing noise that sounded like chords snapping apart. The elevator shuddered, and it lurched to one side, throwing me off balance. I slammed against one of the wooden panels. Pain exploded on my shoulder. I reached up, and I felt a thick splinter stuck in my skin.

It was about three inches long. I had no idea where it came from, but it was made of the same polished oak as the wooden paneling. I grit my teeth and I pulled it out. Blood started to stain my shirt. I looked up, furious, and I saw that the panel had a new message. One lie left, it said. I've always reported the truth. I yelled out.

The details didn't matter. They never did. But the stories, in essence, were always true. The little things they shouldn't matter. So what if some quotes were fudged or I named the wrong source? Who cares? The truth

still got out in the end? And it wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me breaking a story. I did everyone a service. You're welcome. I tried to steady my breathing. In the background, I could hear the elevator groan beneath

my weight. I needed to get out of here. I looked around for something to force the doors open, and that's when I saw something was wrong with the mirrors. It was subtle at first. The reflections in them looked wavy, like looking through water. And then they started warping. I could see my face drooping and twisting.

It took me a second to realize what was happening. The mirrors. It was like they were melting. The glass sagged like candle wax. I reached out to touch one. It was hard and solid, like how it should be. But it still dripped down the oak panels like ice cream on a hot day. I stepped back, and I felt something sharp poking me. I turned around, and I saw another wood. wooden splinter, about half a foot long, sticking out of a panel. And I don't mean a piece had broken off. No, this one, it looked like it was made to be like that. Like it had always been there. I ran my hand along the panel. There were sharp little bumps everywhere. If I kept my hand in

one spot, I could actually feel the spikes growing through the wood. This wasn't Mr. Darling. There was no way he could be doing this. I looked back up at the screen as a new message came. Did you endanger Officer Nelson's life? It read. He was safe as far as I knew. He was in witness protection.

My finger hovered over the down button. Officer Nelson had been my main lead on a story about a major drug bust. He was deep undercover with a local gang, the kind he wouldn't want to cross. I was the first to report on it when the raid happened. It was some of my best work. I had the whole thing written around Officer Nelson going undercover, figured it was a good way to make the story more compelling, you know. A story about a real-life hero.

People loved that sort of thing. I didn't mention Officer Nelson. and by name, of course, but the gang knew they had a rat as soon as the paper hit the streets. They figured out pretty quickly who it was. Threats started pouring in, and he became a target. Him and his family had to go into witness protection. I thought about it before pressing the up button. The elevator jerked up to the second floor.

I could hear the machinery struggle. the whole thing shook violently. I'd end up skewered on one of the spikes if I wasn't careful. There were more of them in the walls now. Each point, it was as sharp as a knife. The next question came up. Did you know the cure-all was fake? It read. That was the story I wrote years ago.

Curall. It was supposed to be a game-changer. a miracle pill that could cure arthritis in the elderly. That was what the manufacturer told me anyway. When I got hold of the scoop, I didn't hesitate. I wrote it up using the company's own reports. Fact-checking. It seemed unnecessary at the time.

I knew the story was going to be a hit. The pill hit the market. And thanks to my article, people everywhere rushed to buy it. But it wasn't long before the truth came out. The drug wasn't the miracle it was made out to be. Not only did it fail to deliver on its promises, but it made arthritis much worse for a lot of people. The drug was finally recalled when an old lady died from a seizure.

I told myself I was just the messenger. I reported what the manufacturer told me. How was I supposed to know they were faking these results? But even before the article went to print, I did have my doubts. Any good reporter, we have a finely-tuned bullshit detector, and mine was going off as soon as I met with a pharma rep.

Even as I read their clinical reports, some things they just didn't add up. The graphs were off, and the trials did seem to. rushed. And the testimonials. They felt a bit too perfect. But the story was too good to pass up. I had no choice but to take it. I mean, who wouldn't? I pressed the up button. Yeah, I guess you could say I knew it wasn't a miracle drug. But what happens after a story gets printed shouldn't be on me? The elevator lurched upward.

All right, just two more times and I was out. The ride was jerky. The cabin shuddering with every inch climbed. I reached out to steady myself, and I felt something cut into me, and I pulled my hand back. Blood oozed from my palm. The wooden spikes were getting longer. It was like being in one of those medieval tides. torture devices.

What is it called? The Iron Maiden? Where they locked you in a coffin full of nails? I could barely move without brushing against one. And then I noticed how small the space was,

not just because of the spikes, but I felt like the walls were closing in. I stood still, and I focused on a single wall. It was slow, but there was no doubt about it. The elevator was shrinking, inch by inch. And yet, I could hear the cabin scrape

against the shaft outside as it moved upwards. I braced myself against the door as the elevator tossed me around. It was the only place that didn't have anything growing out of it. Finally, the whole thing stopped as we reached the next floor. A new question popped up. Was Robert Silva innocent? It read. Without hesitation, I pressed the up button. True.

Robert Silva was the center of my most controversial story. He was a schoolteacher, and he knew all the victims in a series of disappearances that shook the city. The public was furious when the first body turned up. They wanted answers that the police, didn't have. So, I did a little investigating on my own, and I landed on Silver. My police contact said they thought he was a person of interest. So I jumped the gun. I published the article. I laid out the few bits of evidence I had. I made connections and assumptions that sounded

right at the time. I swear they made sense back then. The consequences were immediate. Robert Silva was fired, and his house kept getting vandalized. He moved out of state when someone left a pig head on his doorstep. The police caught the real killer eventually. But Silva never got his job back, and I lost mine. The elevator gave a sudden, rough jerk upwards. I braced my.

myself against the metal doors. They were the only thing not covered in wooden spikes, but as I leaned back, I could feel the doors changing. The texture shifted under my palms. It started to feel less metal, more wood, polished, and smooth. I turned around, and I watched as the doors disappeared under the same wood paneling. I slammed a fist against what was left of them. What more did this game want for me? I was pressing the up buttons. I was telling the truth.

Whatever happens after a story gets out, it's not on me. None of it was my fault. The walls of the elevator continued to close in. The space grew tighter by the second. I couldn't even know. move my feet anymore without a sharp spike jabbing into May. On either side of May, I could see shiny puddles on the carpet, as the mirrors continued to melt. I could barely feel the doors anymore. Above May, the lights turned up bright. The bulbs made a high-pitched whirring noise,

like they were about to explode. They never did, though. The lights just kept getting brighter and brighter until it was blinding. I squinted and shielded my eyes. Through the glare, I struggled to read the final question. Are you a bad person? It read. Are you a bad person? The question bounced around my head.

I thought back to all those people. Robert Silva, Officer Nelson. The cure of you. all victims. I ruined their lives, and they weren't the only ones I screwed over. I knew that. I'd always known that. The light above me. It was now so bright I couldn't keep my eyes open. It seared through my eyelids. My head was pounding from the pain. I could feel my arm getting cut as I brushed against the spikes. I thought about my life again.

I was so tired of lying. With a deep breath, I pushed the up button. I heard a loud ding in a soft wush, the familiar sound of elevator doors sliding open. I blinked away the glare of the lights, and I looked around. Everything had changed.

I was in a plain office elevator. It was old and dingy. The fancy decor was gone. No more framed mirrors or red carpet. There weren't any wood panels or golden mirrors. Now, I was standing on a floor made of dirty, cracked tiles. The walls were just bare metal. And the mirrors were stained and blurry.

I stepped out under the first floor of darling dealers. Morning sunlight hit my face. It was the lobby I was in last night. I could see a clock on the wall. It was almost 7 a.m. Behind me, I could hear the elevator doors closing. I looked back one last time. I saw my reflection, covered in cuts and bruises.

and it smiled, raised a hand, and waved goodbye. I had never seen myself that happy.