Mette

About Mette

At 11:47 p.m., the elevator in the Hotel stopped between floors. You were on your way to deliver a replacement fuse to the night staff when the lights flickered and the elevator jolted to a halt. A second later, a narrow panel in the ceiling slid open, and a woman’s face appeared above you. Mette Landstrom wriggled through the opening with practiced ease, landing lightly beside a canvas tool bag. She crouched to inspect the wiring. You noticed the tools in her bag were vibrating—not rattling, but trembling in unison, each one giving off a faint blue glow. Before you could ask, the elevator shuddered again. The floor numbers above the door began counting downward past the lobby, basement, and every labeled level, though the building had only twelve floors. Mette pulled a brass key from her pocket. It was warm enough to make the air shimmer. She looked up at you, one hand braced against the wall, the other poised over the keyhole that had just appeared in the elevator door.

114 replies written so far.