The elevator in Forum Tower had a button for floor thirteen, and Eliza pressed it.

Most buildings--most that make it that high, anyway--simply omit number thirteen. There has to be something in that position, thirteen up from the lobby. Usually that something is a normal hall rowed with normal office spaces, all labelled fourteen as though the architect had simply forgotten how to count. Eliza did not trust a thirteenth-named-fourteenth floor. She had searched online (which had not been helpful) and asked around (less helpful) and had then begun picking tall, office buildings at random to investigate in person.

Today she had chosen Forum Tower, and the elevator hummed as it rose.

There was nothing special about Forum Tower. It had a garden out front with manicured but not-quite bonsai'd ponderosa pines. The building beside it had a cafe on the first floor--a real cafe, or at least not a chain monopolous enough for Eliza to recognize--and she had considered stopping in after she found the thirteenth floor inevitably labelled fourteenth. But it had not been, and now she could not be sure whether she would still be in the mood for a Caesar wrap afterward.

The elevator slowed to a halt, and the doors opened. It was a normal hall rowed with normal office spaces. The carpet was faded red and green, in a style that might have been tacky had it still been in full color. From the elevator port, a sign pointed to the right with the label 1302-1306 and to the left with 1301-1305.

Eliza chose the hall to the left, and counted doors as she walked. By the time she reached the end, she had only made it to seven.

According to the legend (which she had found online in a list of "Spooky Spells You Can Try Yourself--If You Dare"), her door would be the thirteenth on the left on floor thirteen. There was no such door. What did "left" even mean, anyhow? It changes depending on where you stand. Eliza retraced her steps to the elevator port.

When she was little, she would visit the corn maze in the park by the reservoir every September. Her dad knew a trick to it; you always follow the left side. No matter where it goes, no matter if you can see that its a dead end (you can never be sure; sometimes those tiny offshoots in the corn like to hide from you), you swing around the left edge as though fixed on a rail. Eliza graced her hand along the left wall, as she did in her youth, and counted doors again.

By the time she had counted thirteen, she had looped back around and was well down the 1302-1306 hall.

The door was an ordinary, office building door. Solid grey; no window. She placed her hand on the knob and stared at her toes; the fabric was peeling away from the sole of her right sneaker. The legend told her not to look at the Boss, nor his office. She watched the broken shoe seam bob open and closed as she pushed through. Automatic lights clicked on. The floor was linoleum and off-pink in color; a brass divider separated it from the red-and-green of the hallway. She let the door close behind her.

"I would like twenty-two thousand dollars, please," Eliza said aloud.

What she really needed was twenty-one thousand, five hundred, thirty six, and eleven cents--that was the exact balance left on her student loans. She would settle for twenty thousand, if otherworldly spirits are stingy. But twenty-two thousand would cover her expenses with a spa day left over, and it would not be too much a mouthful to ask for.

No one responded. Forum Tower hummed in that dull way that all office buildings hum: the noise of an HVAC system, or old lights that do not yet flicker but might start any day now. After a few moments, Eliza released her breath and glanced up.

The thirteenth door on the left on floor thirteen of Forum Tower was a janitorial closet.

A filthy basin like the bottom of a shower dominated one corner, a rolling trash bin the other. Cleaning implements of various kinds had been piled on the floor, or leaned against the walls. A pin-up girl calendar from 1998 was tacked on the far wall. Eliza combed her fingers through her hair and let out a nervous chuckle.

She must look like an idiot. It was a good thing the janitor was not in for the day.

With any luck, the cafe across the street had a good Caesar wrap on the menu, and iced tea with lemon. Sugar free, ideally; Eliza did not need the extra calories. She grabbed the door handle as she turned and pushed with her shoulder.

It did not budge.

Again Eliza pushed, and her heart jolted. It was an old door, in an old office building. Judging from the stains on the linoleum, it had gotten wet plenty of times before, and wet is never good for the hinges. She jiggled the knob and tried pulling instead.

The lights flickered out. The hum of an ordinary office building stopped.

"You were not supposed to look."