A Short Story: The Ascent of Sarah Douglas

15 Oct 2025

The Ascent of Sarah Douglas

Sarah Douglas decided that today was the day. She had been waiting for a long time. Sarah pushed her way through the heavy doors of her eight-story apartment. The lobby was quiet and empty, so as she walked towards the elevator, the only noise that could be heard was the clicking of her shoes against the cold tile floor. The elevator doors moved sideways, knocking into place. Sarah stood looking out of the elevator as the doors slowly closed, narrowing her view of the lobby until the doors finally locked together with a heavy thud, shutting her off from the outside world completely, the up arrow now glowing under her index finger.

Sarah took a breath. There was no music. The air was heavy, like the walls of the elevator were being pressed in by cold, damp earth. The sound of metal cables stretching assured her that the elevator was in fact moving, but fast? How slow? How long has it been since the doors closed? Minutes, hours, days? She couldn’t tell, and neither can we, as we wait with Sarah for the elevator to reach the top floor.

As the electrical buzz of the artificial lighting filled Sarahs head, her mind drifted upwards to the roof were she would see the city lights sparkle against the fog, maybe the moon would be there to great her as she approached the edge of the roof, the wind blowing upwards against the buildings walls, imitating the rush of wind that would assault her as she- the doors opened. The keypad read “2”. Sarah was worried this would happen; she even prepared herself in the event that her well-constructed plan was interrupted. Sarah took a step towards the door, which seemed narrower than before, much narrower, so it almost made sense when she felt herself pushed backwards by the heavy figure of a man. His presence filled the space between her and the exit, but even then, there was still an exit, an escape.

Hope is an interesting thing, a quality of the soul, an intuition, an expectation of the future. Despite her more than modest appearance, Sarah was not a stranger to hope; hope was her greatest companion. It was this very hope that she carried that lay the foundation for the doubt she would construct all throughout her life around. Piece by piece, the tower of doubt grew inside her, day after day, until she became the perfect vessel for fear that inhabited her body. The fear moved inside her. She could feel it twisting and turning as it settled into its place. Some days it would be in her stomach, crawling up and into her chest, its long fingers decorated by yellow, overgrown nails scratching at the walls of her rib cage.

The worst of it was when it made its way to her throat, the fingers would be the first, the wrist, then the arm, all of it pushing its way up and into the back of her mouth, gagging while its arm stretched the walls of her throat in every direction, she would scream if only she could breathe. Even as the doors closed behind the stranger who blocked her escape, Sarah hoped that she could not scream.

The elevator was moving now. She could tell because as each floor passed, the keypad would beep and a new button would glow. They seemed lighter now, the elevator growing darker and darker yet, as she lay against the carpeted floor, they looked like Christmas lights. Pretty Christmas lights, signalling the warmth and safety of a house that is well-loved and furnished against the unfeeling cold of winter.

Sarah, up on the roof, was looking down at the cars and streets. The wind is pushing up from underneath her. I’ll support you, it seemed to say. She leaned further in; the city lights were so pretty. Dazzling to look at, to be a part of, to be surrounded by, like a canoe on still water, the stars above and below reflecting in the water. Sarah had never seen the stars, at least not in person; the lights of the city, like so many things in her life, would have to do, after all, it was all she had ever known. Further still, she reached, just a bit further now, and she could touch them, and then suddenly, she did.

But Sarah was not on the roof of her eight-story apartment; she could not see the city stars, and the wind did not support her; in fact, she was lying on the carpeted floor of an elevator, being crushed by a man who was twice her size. She understood, now. The walls of the elevator were the sides of her coffin, and the pressure against the walls was the weight of the earth entombing her for all of eternity. Eternity would not last long for Sarah, as she moved steadily towards the ground, the wind rushing towards her. She could feel that small spark of hope leaving her soul, and the tower of doubt that she had constructed over the years began to crumble.

The fear that had made its home inside her began to scream. Sarah screamed. Writhing inside her, the creature moved through her organs, clawing and grabbing whatever it could, trying to take hold of what remained. Her legs locked, arms held down by the weight above her, her stomach clenched and contorting, as if she was giving birth to the thing that had been gestating inside her for as long as she could remember.

The hope, the doubt, the fear, all gone. But what remained of Sarah? Poor Sarah, poor anxious Sarah, lonely Sarah, loving Sarah, hopeful Sarah. What remained of her now was a silent, naked body, lying on the carpeted floor of an elevator.

Sarah never got to see the roof of her eight-story apartment building, to see the city lights dancing, to hear the wind beckoning to her, but she didn’t need to. She never needed to.