Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Floor 13 Some Doors Should Never Be Opened #38

Episode Date: July 14, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #floor13 #forbiddendoors #urbanlegend #darksecrets #unsolvedmystery  "Floor 13" is a chilling urban legend about a mysterious floor in a building where some doors hide unspeakable horrors. This story explores the terror of crossing forbidden thresholds and the dark secrets lurking just beyond the edge of everyday reality. Once opened, some doors unleash nightmares that refuse to be forgotten.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, urbanlegend, forbiddenplaces, mysteryfloor, darksecrets, hauntedbuilding, supernaturalencounter, eerieplaces, unexplainedphenomenon, fearoftheunknown, chillingtales, nightmarefuel, hauntedfloor, mysteriousdoors, shadowrealm

The Wellington Tower wasn't just another skyscraper in Manhattan. No, it was one of those monsters that scraped the sky, all steel and glass, practically glowing with the dreams and anxiety of the thousands of suits running in and out every day. With 55 stories of office space and a reputation for being the place where finance careers either bloomed or burned, the Wellington Tower was the beating heart of a lot of high-stakes ambition. But if you ever took one of those stiff, mirrored elevators up through its guts, you might notice something weird. There was no button for the 13th floor.

Skipped right over it. Went from 12 to 14. Creepy. Maybe. But everyone just brushed it off as superstition. Except it wasn't. Everyone knew about floor 13. Nobody talked about it.

Daniel Carter lands the gig. Daniel Carter, 22, fresh out of business school, landed a dream internship. at Everton and Blake Financial, one of the top firms in the building. For a guy who grew up reading about stocks and hedge funds like other kids read comics, this was his golden ticket. On day one, he strutted into the lobby in a brand new suit that still smelled like the department store, full of hope and caffeine. A sharp-looking woman named Margaret Wilkins greeted him at reception. She was pale as chalk and had the kind of stare that made you feel like you owed her money.

Welcome, Daniel. You need to know the rules. Without another word, she handed him a folded, crumpled piece of paper. He opened it, thinking it was a standard onboarding form. Instead, it looked like a mix between an HR memo and a horror story. Rules for Everton and Blake employees, the elevator will never stop on the 13th floor. If it does, press any other button immediately and look down. If the Doors open and someone calls your name, do not answer. If you receive an email from someone on the 13th floor, delete it immediately. Don't read it. Don't reply. Just delete it. No one who opened those emails ever made it home. If someone mentions the 13th floor in conversation, look at their hands. If their fingers seem just a bit too long, that's not the person you think it is.

Do not shake hands. On Fridays, if a strange door appears in the hallway, stay away. If it's open even a crack, run. Ignore voices. Especially if they sound familiar. Never come to work on the last day of the month. If you do and realize you're the only one there, leave before 9 a.m. If the clock strikes 9 and you're still inside, you won't be getting out.

Is this a prank? Daniel chuckled nervously. Margaret didn't blink. Read it again. It might save your life. Elevator hell. For the first week, everything seemed fine. The work was intense, sure, but the people were cool, the coffee was endless, and Daniel was

already picking up tips from senior analysts. Then Wednesday hit. Coming back from a late lunch, Daniel hopped into the elevator. He was checking his phone when the elevator jerked to a halt. The display flicked. Then again. He froze. The doors creaked open with that drawn-out groan that felt too slow. He dropped his phone. As he knelt to pick it up, he remembered the rule. Don't look. He kept his eyes on the floor, heart pounding like a jackhammer. His finger jabbed at random buttons. Nothing. Then, a voice. Hey, you dropped something. Female. Sweet. Almost musical. But there was something off. It sounded like it was playing through a busted cassette tape. Daniel. His heart seized. That was his name. But he hadn't told anyone on that floor. Eyes shut tight, he held his breath. Finally, after what felt like a year, the elevator moved. Doors closed. Fourteen lit up. He stumbled out sweating in gasping. The email, two days later, he opened his inbox. Among the usual spreadsheets and

team updates, one stood out like a bloodstain. Edward Langley, 13th floor department. He almost laughed. Almost. His hand moved the cursor to the delete button. But before he could click, he accidentally read the preview. We've seen you, Daniel. We're waiting. He nuked the email. Emptied the trash, cleared the cache, powered off his computer, didn't help. He felt eyes on him for the rest of the day. The wrong door, that Friday night, working late again, rookie mistake, he noticed something new. A door. It hadn't been there before. It wasn't one of the fire exits. It looked ancient, worn out, like it had been ripped from an old cathedral. The door nodded. The door not. glowed faintly. And it was slightly open. From the crack spilled cold air and a smell like rust and rotten copper. Then, a voice. Daniel, help me, please. Untrapped. Margaret. Except, no. She was fine. He'd just seen her earlier that day. The voice came again. Desperate. Pleading. He backed up. The door creaked, inching wider.

Inside. Pitch black. He bolted. Didn't even wait for the elevator this time. Hit the stairs and ran like hell. Outside, the air felt like freedom. He didn't look back. Month's end.

The last day of the month rolled around. Daniel called in sick. Good choice. Margaret never came back after that week. Nobody said anything. It was like she'd never worked there. Later that day, Daniel heard that a new intern, Ethan Moore, ignored the rules. Thought it was all corporate hazing BS.

Showed up that day. At exactly 9.01 a.m., his company email was accessed. The message he sent. What is that in the hallway? The final message. Next morning, everyone in the office got a new email. From Ethan Moore. One line, what is that in the hallway?

Some deleted it on site. Others stared at it too long. Daniel didn't open it. Didn't need to. He spent that night tossing and turning. Dreams swirling like a storm. At 3 a.m., his phone rang. Three times.

Then silence. When sleep finally came, it brought a nightmare. Ethan, on the 13th floor. Face blank, eyes gone. Just empty sockets, pulsing with something trying to grow inside. Then Ethan whispered, they made me look. Daniel shot awake, soaked in sweat. 8.57 a.m.

Three minutes before whatever took Ethan. The promotion, that Friday, Daniel decided to quit. But just before he could march into HR, a new email arrived. 13th floor department, promotion invitation, he didn't open it. But he saw the preview, congratulations, Daniel. You've been chosen to move up. You already know which door to use. He didn't hesitate. Grabbed his stuff and headed for the exit. As he reached the elevator, the light above it pinged. The doors opened. Something waited inside. Daniel turned and ran. Epilogue, Daniel never went back. He changed his number. Burned the suit. Started working at a small

bookstore on the edge of town. But every once in a while, his email pings. No sender. No way to reply. Just one line. We still have a position for you. The end.