The Elevator by William Sleator

The Elevator by William Sleator

In 'The Elevator,' William Sleator tells the unsettling story of Martin, a twelve-year-old boy who grapples with his fear of elevators in an old building. The plot unfolds as Martin encounters a mysterious, overweight woman in the elevator who fixates on him, intensifying his anxiety and dread. Themes of fear, isolation, and the psychological impact of bullying are prevalent throughout the narrative. This chilling tale is perfect for young adult readers who enjoy suspenseful fiction and psychological horror. The story explores Martin's internal struggles as he confronts his fears in a confined space.

Key Points

  • Explores themes of fear and isolation through Martin's experiences in a small elevator.
  • Features a mysterious fat lady who intensifies Martin's anxiety during their encounters.
  • Highlights the psychological impact of bullying and social anxiety faced by the protagonist.
  • Set in an old building with a claustrophobic elevator that symbolizes Martin's fears.
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“The Elevator” by William Sleator
It was an old building with an old elevator—a very small elevator, with a maximum capacity of three people.
Martin, a thin twelve-year-old, felt nervous in it from the first day he and his father moved into the apartment.
Of course, he was always uncomfortable in elevators, afraid they would fall, but there was something especially
unpleasant about this one. Perhaps it was its baleful atmosphere due to the light from the single fluorescent
ceiling strip, bleak and dim on the dirty walls. Perhaps the problem was the door, which never stayed open quite
long enough, and slammed shut with such ominous, clanging finality. Perhaps it was the way the mechanism
shuddered in a kind of exhaustion each time it left a floor, as though it might never reach the next one. Maybe it
was simply the dimensions of the contraption that bothered him, so small that it felt uncomfortably crowded,
even when there was only one other person in it.
Coming home from school the day after they moved in, Martin tried the stairs. But they were almost as bad,
windowless, shadowy, with several dark landings where the light bulbs had burned out. His footsteps echoed
behind him like slaps on the cement, as though there was another person climbing, getting closer. By the time
he reached the seventeenth floor, which seemed to take forever, he was winded and gasping.
His father, who worked at home, wanted to know why he was so out of breath. “But why didn’t you take the
elevator?” he asked, frowning at Martin when he explained the stairs. Not only are you skinny and weak, his
expression seemed to say, but you’re also a coward. After that, Martin forced himself to take the elevator. He
would have to get used to it, he told himself, just the way he got used to be being bullied at school, and always
picked last when they chose teams. The elevator was an undeniable fact of life.
He didn’t get used to it. He remained tense in the trembling little box, his eyes fixed on the numbers over the
door that blinked on and off so haltingly, as if any moment they might simply give up. Sometimes, he forced
himself to look away from them, to the Emergency Stop button or the red Alarm button. What would happen if
he pushed one of them? Would a bell ring? Would the elevator stop between floors? And if it did, how would
they get him out?
That was what he hated about being alone in the thing—the fear of being trapped in there for hours by himself.
But it wasn’t much better when there were other passengers. He felt too close to any rider, too intimate. And he
was always very conscious of the effort people make not to look at one another, staring fixatedly at nothing.
Being short, in this situation, was an advantage, since his face was below eye level of adults, and after a brief
glance, they ignored him.
Until the morning, the elevator stopped at the fourteenth floor, and the fat lady got on. She wore a threadbare
green coat that ballooned around her; her ankles bulged above dirty sneakers. As she waddled in the elevator,
Martin was sure he felt it sink under her weight. She was so big that she filled the cubicle; her coat brushed
against him, and he had to squeeze into the corner to make room for her—there certainly wouldn’t have been
room for another passenger. The door slammed quickly behind her. And then, unlike everyone else, she did not
stand facing the door. She stood with her back to the door, wheezing, staring directly at Martin.
For a moment, he met her gaze. Her features seemed very small, squashed together by the loose fleshy mounds
of her cheeks. She had no chin, only a great swollen mass of neck, barely contained by the collar of her coat.
Her sparse red hair was pinned in the back by a plastic barrette. And her blue eyes, though tiny, were sharp and
penetrating, boring into Martin’s face.
Abruptly, he looked away to the numbers over the door. She didn’t turn around. Was she still looking at him?
His eyes slipped back to hers, then quickly away. She was still watching him. He wanted to close his eyes; he
wanted to turn around and stare into the corner, but how could he? The elevator creaked down to twelve, down
to eleven. Martin looked at his watched; he looked at the numbers again. They weren’t even down to nine yet.
And then, against his will, his eyes slipped back to her face. She was still watching him. Her nose tilted up;
there was a large space between her nostrils and her upper lip, giving her a piggish look. He looked away again,
clenching his teeth, fighting the impulse to squeeze his eyes shut against her.
She had to be crazy. Why else would she stare at him this way? What was she going to do next?
She did nothing. She only watched him, breathing audibly, until the elevator reached the first floor at last.
Martin would have rushed past to her get out, but there was no room. He could only wait as she turned—
reluctantly it seemed to him—and moved slowly out into the lobby. And they he ran. He didn’t care what she
thought. He ran past her, outside into the fresh air, and then he ran almost all the way to school. He had never
felt such relief in his life.
He thought about her all day. Did she live in the building? He had never seen her before, and the building
wasn’t very big—only four apartments on each floor. It seemed likely that she didn’t live there and had only
been visiting somebody.
But if she were only visiting somebody, why was she leaving the building at seven thirty in the morning?
People didn’t make visits at that time of day. Did that mean she did live in the building? If so, it was likely—it
was a certainty—that sometime he would be riding on the elevator with her again.
He was apprehensive as he approached the building after school. In the lobby, he considered the stairs. But that
was ridiculous. Why should he be afraid of an old lady? If he was afraid of her, if he let it control him, then he
was worse than all the names they called him at school. He pressed the button; he stepped into the empty
elevator. He stared at the lights, urging the elevator in. It stopped on three.
At least it’s not fourteen, he told himself; the person she was visiting lives on fourteen. He watched the door
slide open—revealing a green coat, a piggish face, blue eyes already fixed on him as though she knew he’d be
there.
It wasn’t possible. It was like a nightmare. But there she was, massively real. “Going up!” he said, his voice a
humiliating squeak.
She nodded, her flesh quivering, and stepped on. The door slammed. He watched her pudgy hand move toward
the buttons. She pressed not fourteen, but eighteen, the top floor, one floor above his own. The elevator
trembled and began its ascent. The fat lady watched him.
He knew she had gotten on at fourteen this morning. So why was she on three, going up to eighteen now? The
only floors he ever went on were seventeen and one. What was she doing? Had she been waiting for him? Was
she riding with him on purpose?
But that was crazy. Maybe she had lots of friends in the building. Or else she was a cleaning lady who worked
in different apartments. That had to be it. He felt her eyes on him as he stared at the numbers slowly blinking on
and off—slower than usual it seemed to him. Maybe the elevator was having trouble because of how heavy she
was. It was supposed to carry three adults, but it was old. What if got stuck between floors? What if it fell?
They were on five now. It occurred to him to press seven, get off there, and walk the rest of the way. And he
would have done it, if he could reach the buttons. But there was no room to past her without squeezing against
her, and he could not bear the thought of any physical contact with her. He concentrated on being in his room.
He would be home soon, only another minute or so. He could stand anything for a minute, even this crazy lady
watching him.
Unless the elevator got stuck between floors. Then what would he do? He tried to push the thought away, but it
kept coming back. He looked at her. She was still staring at him, no expression at all on her squashed little
features.
When the elevator stopped on his floor, she barely moved out of the way. He had to inch past her, rubbing
against her horrible scratchy coat, terrified the door would close before he made it through. She quickly turned
and watched him as the door slammed shut. And he thought, Now she knows I live on seventeen.
“Did you ever notice a strange fat lady on the elevator?” he asked his father that evening.
“Can’t say as I have,” he said, not looking away from the television.
He knew he was probably making a mistake, but he had to tell somebody. “Well, she was on the elevator with
me twice today. And the funny thing is, she just kept staring at me, she never stopped looking at me for a
minute. You think…you know anybody that has a weird cleaning lady or anything?”
“What are you so worked up about now?” his father said turning impatiently away from the television.
“I’m not worked up. It was just funny the she kept staring at me. You know how people never look at each other
in the elevator. Well, she just kept looking at me.”
“What am I going to do with you, Martin?” his father said. He sighed and shook his head. “Now, you’re afraid
of some poor old lady.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You’re afraid,” his father said, with total assurance. “When are you going to grow up and act like a man? Are
you going to be timid all your life?”
He managed not cry until he got to his room—but his father probably knew he way crying anyway. He slept
very little.
And in the morning, when the elevator door opened, the fat lady was waiting for him.
She was expecting him. She knew he lived on seventeen. He stood there, unable to move, and then backed
away. And as he did so, her expression changed. She smiled as the door slammed.
He ran for the stairs. Luckily, the unlit flight on which he fell was between sixteen and fifteen. He only had to
drag himself up one and a half flights with the terrible pain in his leg, His father was silent on the way to
hospital, disappointed and annoyed at him for being such a coward and a fool.
It was a simple fracture. He didn’t need a wheelchair, only a cast and crutches. But he was condemned to the
elevator now. Was that why the fat lady had smiled? Had she known it would happen this way?
At least his father was with him on the elevator on the way back from the hospital. There was no room for the
fat lady to get on. And even if she did, his father would see her, he would realize how peculiar she was, and
then maybe he would understand. And once they got home, he could stay in the apartment for a few days—the
doctor said he should use the leg as little as possible. A week, maybe—a whole week without getting in the
elevator. Riding up with his father, leaning on his crutches, he looked around the little cubicle and felt a kind of
triumph. He had beaten the elevator, and the fat lady, for the time being. And the rest of the week was very far
away.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” his father reached out his hand and pressed nine.
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FAQs of The Elevator by William Sleator

What is the main conflict in 'The Elevator'?
'The Elevator' centers on Martin, a young boy who is terrified of elevators. His fear escalates when he encounters a strange, overweight woman who stares at him during their rides. This conflict between Martin's anxiety and the unsettling presence of the woman drives the tension throughout the story, culminating in a climactic moment that forces Martin to confront his fears.
How does the setting contribute to the story's themes?
The setting of an old building with a small, rickety elevator amplifies the story's themes of fear and isolation. The claustrophobic environment mirrors Martin's internal struggles, making the reader feel his anxiety as he navigates the confined space. The dimly lit stairwells and the oppressive atmosphere of the building further enhance the sense of dread, emphasizing Martin's feelings of entrapment.
What role does the fat lady play in Martin's development?
The fat lady serves as a catalyst for Martin's character development, embodying his deepest fears. Her relentless gaze and unexpected presence in the elevator force Martin to confront his anxieties head-on. As he grapples with her attention, he learns about the nature of fear and the importance of facing it, ultimately leading to a pivotal moment of self-discovery.
What themes are explored in 'The Elevator'?
'The Elevator' delves into themes of fear, isolation, and the psychological effects of bullying. Martin's experiences in the elevator highlight how fear can manifest in various forms, affecting one's mental state and interactions with others. The story also examines the impact of social anxiety, as Martin struggles to navigate his feelings of vulnerability and the judgment of those around him.
What is the significance of the elevator in the story?
The elevator in 'The Elevator' symbolizes Martin's fears and insecurities. Its small, cramped space represents the limitations he feels in his life, both socially and emotionally. As a recurring setting, the elevator becomes a focal point for Martin's internal conflict, illustrating how he must confront his fears in order to grow and overcome his anxieties.

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