Narrator: Marta K. | Warsaw, Poland
My building had an old lift with a mirror that made everyone look tired. A man in a long brown coat got in on the ground floor and stood facing the corner.
I pressed seven. He didn’t press anything. I assumed he lived above me.
At the third floor the lift stopped without anyone waiting outside. The man’s coat stayed still, but something inside it dropped. There was a heavy, soft thud at ankle height.
He hadn’t fallen. The shoulders of the coat were still level with mine. In the mirror I could see the collar. There was no head above it.
I got out on three. I heard fabric dragging as the doors closed.
The caretaker checked the lift later. He found water and a brown button. He said it looked as though someone had been carrying wet laundry.
I accepted that explanation so enthusiastically he must have thought I was strange. There were six more buttons on that coat when the man stepped in. I had counted them because I was trying not to look at his face.
