Welcome to the March creative showcase – we hope you brought a towel AND are ready to ride the ups and downs of this month’s selections! What are we talking about? Well, allow us to remind you of the prompts:

• Each story had to take place in EITHER of the following enclosed spaces: a lift/elevator OR a sauna/steam room.
• Each story had to include at least TWO characters.
• Each story had to include the words STICK, THUMP and VALUABLE.
  (Longer variations were acceptable.)

Once again, we received more than 600 submissions – from romantic trysts and revenge plots to undercover CEOs and surreal journeys, you brought quite the range considering the enclosed parameters.

Did elevators break down a lot (with a thump)? Well, yes. Were towels shamelessly removed in the sauna (exposing valuable sticks, ahem)? Also yes. But the variety was impressive and compiling the showcase was one of the trickiest to date! Congratulations if YOU submitted a story.

TIGHT SPACES CREATE DIAMONDS (or something like that)

Want to tell a story? Put at least two people in a confined space and see what happens! This month we gave participants a choice between an elevator and a sauna.

• We expected that lifts/elevators would be more popular, considering their ubiquity – but we were still surprised at the final breakdown. A whopping 85% of all stories received used the elevator setting. 
• If YOU wrote a sauna story (around 100 of you), well done on picking the path less travelled. We received some good ones, some of which are showcased below!
• We loved the clever ways that people interpreted the prompts, many having fun with different characters (or a couple that even made the elevator buttons themselves characters!). 
• For elevators, office buildings and apartments naturally featured heavily, while hospitals and even mine shafts added a new dimension. 
• Saunas predominantly popped up in gyms and health clubs, but there were also some home saunas.
• There were far fewer stories involving farting than we expected (THANK you!).
• Conflict is a big part of storytelling. So naturally, getting stuck in these places was a BIG one. As the showcase will reveal, there was everything from the sweet to the sad and the surreal! 
• Fun fact: TWELVE stories had the same title, “Going Down” – and four of those made our longlist! (Six also had the title “Going Up”.)
• Comedy stories did well with our judges this month – however there was still room for more serious fare, and even some horror. 

Special congratulations to this month’s Top Pick story from Michelle Oliver. You can read it below, along with other showcased stories and our longlist at the end. Enjoy!

MARCH TOP PICK:

A TABLE FOR ONE by Michelle Oliver, WA

The staccato clip of heels ringing through the foyer sends my hand flying for the elevator doors, preventing them from closing. As they bounce open again, she’s there, breathless and grateful. Our eyes meet and my heart thumps, leaping into my throat.

She smiles her thanks at me, a breathy murmur, and I manage a strangled reply that I hope resembles actual words. She presses the button one floor above my own, sticking to her corner. I stand stoically to the other side, two strangers watching numbers light up above a door. I side-eye her, sliding my gaze along her profile, past long lashes and tip-tilted nose before venturing further downward. Could she be single? No ring, at least nothing valuable, just a silver geometric band around her middle finger.

‘Hi, I’m Adrian,’ I don’t say, but wish I could, because then she would smile, and reply, ‘Hi, I’m…’ I don’t know her name. Mary? Susan? I think I’ll call her Eleanor, like the Beatles song. We’re all lonely people here, aren’t we? ‘I’m Eleanor,’ she’d say.

‘Running late today?’ I’d ask.

‘Traffic,’ she’d explain. Her voice would be husky, I think, but I don’t know. It might be breathy or high pitched. In my head, it’s a warm, throaty sound reminiscent of Scarlett Johansson.

The numbers count up the floors, just as they count down the seconds we have together.

‘Have you worked here long?’ I’d ask.

‘I’ve worked for…’ where would she work? Woodside is one floor up from mine. ‘I’ve worked for Woodside for ten years.’

No way is she old enough to have worked here that long. She appears to be no older than twenty.

‘I’ve worked for Woodside for five years.’

That’s better. She must be about twenty-five.

‘I work at Deveres on the twenty-second floor,’ I would tell her, just so she would know where to find me, should she be interested. ‘I’ve been there for three years.’

Another side glance and I see her head moving slightly, nodding to the beat of music that only she can hear in her AirPods. It’s entrancing as if she is in her own private world and I am viewing her through a window.

‘What are you listening to?’ I would ask. She’s so cute that she would be listening to something cool and hip. Perhaps an artist I’ve never heard of, or something jazzy, or classical.

‘Miles Davis,’ she’d say. Of course I’m a big Miles Davis fan and I ask which album. ‘Kind of Blue.’ Yep, she would be listening to my favourite album.

Perhaps I could ask her out after work? The Duke is a cool jazz place not too far from here. I wonder who’s playing tonight? I get my phone out, checking the website to book a table.

The ding of the elevator halts the conversation we’re not having. Stepping out, still focused on my screen, the silver doors slide shut unnoticed, while I reserve a table tonight for one.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

From the opening exchange of a ‘breathy murmur’ and ‘strangled reply’, it’s clear that we have two characters who aren’t in sync. So rather than force an awkward cheese-flavoured meet-cute, this story takes us into the (arguably more realistic) hypothetical world! From the outside, this is two people stoically watching elevator numbers in silence. But we have the pleasure of witnessing the fairground and fireworks of fantasy inside Adrian’s head – a mix of stealthy-yet-sweet observations and musing on what he would have said to the stranger of his dreams. Everything from where she works to what music she likes, even her name and what her voice sounds like. And so, as the pinging elevator halts the conversation that never happened, Adrian is left with reservations … for one. Beautifully simple and yet sublimely executed – managing to capture the kind of oh-so-relatable silent lift ride thoughts we have ALL experienced!

---

ETERNAL HOLDINGS INC. by John McParland, NSW

The office elevator doors opened, gilded wrought iron gates serenely parting, to allow soft choir music to drift out upon the landing.

The General strode across the threshold, impeccably cut ivory suit fringed in gold, while a long cape of dove feathers hung majestically down his back. A gloved hand gently selected the desired floor.

Standing tall in the centre of the elevator, the General stared out of the transparent walls at the vista below. Omnipresent, prismatic light streamed in through stained glass panels around the upper portions, bathing the interior in a rainbow brilliance. Gaudy in any other office, here in this building those kaleidoscopic windows held true splendour.

A melodic tone chimed as the elevator arrived at another floor within the sprawling complex.

In stalked the Prince, clothed in robes of burgundy and carmine. Tanned leather boots adorned his feet, while a simple circlet of polished horn carved in a pattern of intricate scales rested upon his brow.

“Brother!” called the General, turning. “What brings you over this early in the morning?”

“Quotas, what else?” sighed the Prince, thumping the basement button. “Those idiots in Retention keep letting people off the hook. Mostly they run to you and yours, which, I might add, isn’t exactly sporting with that whole ‘redemption’ clause you make me put in all their contracts. Hardly seems fair that they can simply convert their entitlements and leave me, just because they’ve ‘seen the light’ as they say.”

The General chuckled. “What my department offers is practically paradise compared to the benefits you provide. Maybe you should try a little more carrot and a little less stick?”

“Please. What I need is to light a fire under my team’s arses so we start pulling up our numbers. I know my area’s small potatoes compared to the rest of the family business, but I do have my pride! Anyway, what are you up to?”

“Our Head of Global Marketing is suffering some respiratory issues and will likely retire soon. All the other divisional leads will be meeting in Italy later to elect a successor. I’m off to organise the host for the incumbent’s party.”

“Ah, I did read about that. My sympathies brother, I know how important that old man is,” consoled the Prince. “Speaking of old men, how’s our father going?”

“Same as always, sitting up in the almighty tower reading his correspondence.”

“Dad does love his fan mail. Though honestly, he responds to so few of them these days, the real miracle is that people still keep reaching out to him.”

“You know he finds those interactions invaluable,” the General replied. “Actually, dad wanted me to invite you to a lunch he’s hosting next Sunday in the garden. The week’s nearly done and we all need a good rest. Could you make that hot and spicy curry we all love?”

“Yeah sure.” Arriving at his desired floor, the Prince turned to farewell his brother. “Have a great day Michael.”

“You too Lucifer.”

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

First, a slow clap to the sartorial descriptions here – the General’s ivory and gold suit with feather cape and gloves; the Prince’s burgundy and carmine robes, leather boots and horny accessories. Wow! In fact, the ‘set design’ across the board here is so much fun – painting a very clear picture while never explicitly saying where we are. The fun office speak and heaven/hell wordplay (“practically paradise” and “light a fire under my team”) works effortlessly as does the general elevator concept (up in the clouds or down in the underworld) for this kind of story. And while it wasn’t the only story to have fun with this idea, it stood out for its corporate ‘synergy’. The story sets everything up so well that when we do finally hear their first names, it’s more satisfying than surprise. A fun ride!

---

THE ELEVATOR RIDE by Katie Ess, USA

I stepped onto the hospital elevator at the main floor. There was already an elderly man standing there, arms crossed. I gave him a nod of acknowledgement as I hit the button for the top floor. The doors closed behind me with a soft thump, display changing from “M” to “1” before we stopped again.

Before the doors opened, the man spoke with a raspy voice. “Just watch. Some idiot wearing pajama pants is going to get in and wander to the back like she’s never seen one of these in her life. She won’t even select a floor.”

A disheveled woman, skinny as a stick, entered. She wore pajama pants with pictures of the Grinch on them, and a pink T-shirt. She wandered to the back, standing next to the man.

Smirking, I turned to her. “What floor did you need?”

“Pardon?” she said, eyes wide as though I had just spoken to her in a foreign language.

“Floor?” I suppressed a grin as the man rolled his eyes behind her.

“Two,” she said, and I pressed the button.

When the doors opened again, she didn’t get out. After a moment, I said, “Is this your floor?”

She jumped, mumbled, “I guess it is,” and exited.

Once she left, I giggled and looked at the man. “How’d you know she’d do that?”

“I come here a lot,” he said. “My wife’s been in the hospital for months.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s all right,” he said, and his demeanor cheered. “I’m here to pick her up. My childhood sweetheart with the twinkling eyes. I’ve hated being apart from her.”

I gave him a sad smile.

“Don’t be sad,” he said. “Now that I’ve got her back, I won’t let her go again.”

I nodded at him, trying to brighten my smile. Judging from the look on his face, I failed.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said. “What brings you today?”

“I’m visiting a friend. She’s been here a long time too.”

“But you’re just coming for the first time today?”

“I don’t like hospitals,” I said. “Too many ghosts.”

The man nodded thoughtfully. “That’s fair. Though I’m sure you’ll be welcome. Especially if she knows you don’t like hospitals – it makes your visit more valuable.”

There was a soft ding, and the doors opened up for floor ten. The man glided out of the elevator, skin shimmering in the fluorescent light of the medical ward. A young woman in the hall talked on a cell phone, tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe mom’s gone,” she wept.

An elderly woman was hugging her, but as the man departed the elevator, she released her embrace and floated toward him. Her eyes twinkled as they held hands, and I saw him lean in for a kiss before the doors slid shut again.

“Make sure you don’t let her go,” I called to him before the door closed, and the elevator continued on its way up.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

We change gears a little now – with a hospital setting and a couple of visitors sharing the space. As the two bond over the confused wanderer, we learn that the older gentleman is a regular visitor to his wife. A few well placed sentences later (“now I’ve got her back”; “too many ghosts”; “the man glided out…”) and we have confirmation that he has indeed come to take his wife “home” – a new home for her. Of course, the ‘elevator’ in the room here is whether our narrator can SEE ghosts or is also one himself! (It works either way.) We thought this was a simple but clever idea and appreciated the quiet way it was brought to ‘life’. 

---

TEAM BONDING by Melanie Hawkes, WA

Tas: Wow, it's so nice in here. I forgot what it feels like to be hot.

ACT: Yeah, so warm. My toes might actually defrost!

NT: No way. It's the same as home. I'm out of here, back to the air-conditioned car.

Qld: Not so fast. We agreed to do at least ten minutes, remember? Team bonding.

NT: Yeah, but I don't like it. I'm sweating more now than I do getting ready for work.

WA: Stick your complaining up your ass. This is the worst for me. We only get a –

All: DRY HEAT.

WA: Yeah. So steamy in here. It's dreadful.

NSW: I don't know what you're complaining about. Just another day's weather in our beautiful Sydney.

Vic: Yeah, have to agree. Better than four seasons in one day.

SA: I haven't been this wet since the floods of 2016.

Qld: You wouldn't know what a flood was.

SA: Hey, you picking a fight?

Qld: No.

WA: My time is too valuable to stay in here listening to you lot bicker.

NSW: You still filthy that we get some of your GST share?

WA: Gets up to strangle NSW.

All others: Hey, hey, cut it out!

Vic: Save the debate for the parliament. It's the job of us premiers to argue in front of the media, not kill each other in here.

NT: Coughs. Chief Minister, thank you.

ACT: Yeah, what she said.

Tas: Was that a thump on the door?

SA: This place has a limit of eight. Can't let anyone else in.

NZ: Opens the door. Hey bros, got room for one more? So chully on our mountains. Let me join you, please!

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Apologies to our friends from other parts of the world – as this little story is somewhat indulgent! It’s also our first showcased ‘sauna’ story, although we’re playing with the surreal somewhat as Australia’s six states and two territories are personified and bundled into a team bonding steam session! What ensues is a script-style back and forth that plays on some of the fun inter-region stereotypes – with highlights being “DRY HEAT” (WA won’t shut up about that one, haha), comparing floods and NSW taking bigger shares. The final line of New Zealand wanting in was also very cute (extra apology to author Melanie, as we couldn’t resist changing “chilly” to “chully”!). 

---

HER LITTLE SECRET by Trudi Slavin, NSW

Jasmine thought she was the only one to find the secret lift. The one at the back of the old high-rise. Up the first flight of stairs, along the corridor, tucked into the strange little alcove like it was hiding.

She felt very clever when she found it. Clever that she could bypass the crowds lined up for the lifts in the foyer – little worker ants on their way to their desks. Little worker ants sticking with their chrome and mirrored and brightly lit elevators, all crowded and miserable.

Instead, she travelled to her floor in glorious isolation. It was quicker, her time was valuable. Yes, the lift swayed, it was small and lit by a single flickering bulb trapped behind yellowed perspex. But it was a small price to pay.

Then the woman showed up.

She was there when the doors rattled open, the jaundiced light barely illuminating grey hair, watery eyes, thin bloodless lips. Must have come from the sub basement Jasmine assumed – the only other entry point.

The first day, Jasmine gave her a sour little smile, then stepped in, turning her back. She didn’t look at her when she exited at her floor, the woman still inside. Merely hoped it was an aberration.

It wasn’t.

The second day, the woman didn’t even look at Jasmine. Instead, she kept her eyes raised to the numbers above the doors, her face tight and still.

The third day, the woman ignored her again. Her pale hands clasped in front of her skirt, the knuckles white. Was she annoyed Jasmine was in her lift? Well, stuff you, lady, she thought. It was my lift first.

The fourth day, she got onto the elevator and deliberately uttered a bright, ‘Good morning!’. That’d teach her – she couldn’t just take Jasmine’s lift then act all aggrieved by her presence.

The woman’s eyes flickered and dropped down to look at her before Jasmine once again faced the doors. As the lift rattled upwards, she was suddenly unnerved that her back was turned – like she could feel eyes on her skin.

On the final day, Jasmine said another bright ‘Good morning!’ then turned away again as the lift doors closed.

All was silent, until a dry whisper shivered through the air towards her, ‘Good morning,’ the woman said, slow and resentful. The lift halted with a thump. The light flickered to darkness.

Jasmine gasped, then felt something caress the back of her neck, something cold, like pale fingers trying to grasp her skin. A grasp that was somehow sharp and insectile.

No-one heard the short, biting scream. No-one saw the numbers above the door descend to the sub basement. No-one even knew the lift was there. That was as it should be, as it had long been.

Slowly, the secret little lift rattled back down to the sub basement, to the darkness and glorious isolation, untroubled once more by the worker ants it so despised.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS

There is something about the scene-setting details in this one that feel so authentic to the maze of older building layouts. The location of the lift itself, up a flight of stairs and along a corridor at the back of the building and the suggestion of it tucked into the alcove “like it was hiding” – we loved this! The ‘jaundiced’ light and flickering bulb behind yellowed perspex also created the right atmosphere for the next stage of the story – silent spooky woman! By having each day play out, it ratchets up the tension nicely, and without any fanfare whatsoever, we are told it is “the final day”. Ominous, but delivered matter-of-factly to continue the mystery. The use of “sharp and insectile” with the “biting scream” says so much in the story’s climax, while the unseen descent and the clever repeat of the ‘worker ants’ description now has more venom! Chilling stuff.

---

THIRTY-TWO & THIRTY-THREE by Georgina Maxine, QLD

She jabs number thirty-two and bursts into tears. If she’d suffocated her feelings a fraction longer, she’d have realised it’s a slow ascent.

The elevator stops. A man steps in and presses number thirty-three.

Thirty-Two stifles a sob and shuffles into a corner with her chin tucked.

Thirty-Three looks up from his phone. “Are you okay?” he asks. “I mean, you’re obviously not, but if there’s anything I can do—”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

Thirty-three lowers his gaze to his phone. His lock screen is a picture of himself and another man crouched next to a child at the beach. All three beam at the camera.

“Actually, I’m not fine, but there’s nothing you can do,” Thirty-Two says.

Thirty-Three glances at her.

“These are valuable shoes, you know.” She does a little kick, drawing attention to a red high-heel, toe smeared in brown. “I stepped in dog shit walking home.”

“Oh. I’m sure it’ll wash off?”

“I lost my job too. Not that I was gonna stick with it, but still.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m more worried about the shoes.”

He laughs. Her red-rimmed eyes grow, and then she laughs too.

The elevator stops at level thirty-two.

“Thanks for listening,” she says. As she exits, she glances back and gestures at his phone. “You have a beautiful family.”

A family of three, arms around each other, smiling. He sees it as she does. Flushes red. Splutters, “They’re— well, I—” The doors are closing. “Thank you.”

*

A week later, Thirty-Two is taking her trash out in sweatpants and Thirty-Three is there, in the elevator, arm draped around a brunette woman. Thirty-Two drops her trash bag on the floor with a *thump*.

*

It’s a month before they meet again. Thirty-Two barrels into the elevator and prods the ground button five times.

“Running late?” There’s a slight hunch to Thirty-Three’s shoulders.

“A little,” she says and stands stiffly facing forward.

“New job?”

“Interview, actually. Pretty sure I’ve missed my bus though.”

“Ack.”

They glide into the twenties.

“How’s the family?” Not quite an accusation, but there’s still bite, as if there’s a version of him in her mind that she’s waiting for him to validate.

His grimace deepens. A light tap of his phone brings up the beach photo. “They’re not my family. Just my best friend and his kid.”

“And the woman?”

“Casual.”

Down into the teens.

“Are you in love with him?” she asks.

He inhales sharply. There’s quiet. The lift stops at level four.

“Maybe.” Thirty-Three says softly as he steps out but uses a hand to keep the doors open. “I could give you a ride, if you want? To the interview.”

She stares.

“I don’t mind taking a detour to the gym. Plus, you’re kinda the only person who knows about my friend. It’d be nice to… talk about it.”

A warning beep signals the doors about to close. Her gleaming red heels step out.

“Alright,” she says.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Do you always need to name your characters? No, not necessarily – but make them distinct and memorable. Here, we do essentially give them names and fittingly they match their identities in the story, as people who live on those respective floors. It’s such a simple detail, but by carrying it throughout the whole story, it’s one that truly ‘elevates’ the piece – providing the framework of two strangers as we witness their budding friendship (the drawn out time period was also nice). In the context of an apartment building, this story somehow captures that essence of the way people can live alongside each other for years and only see snippets of their lives. (This of course happens in suburban streets too.) Add authentic dialogue and some circular plot points and it’s a satisfying story/storey.

---

CHET IS COOKED by Dead Carcosa, USA

Chet was curled up on the bench in the corner of the sauna, likely close to death. He had been trapped alone inside the sweltering chamber for what seemed like hours. He couldn’t be sure, he had dropped his phone earlier and broke it for good. All he knew was that the gym was closed for the holiday and he was locked in. His goose was cooked.

He had gotten a bad feeling right away. The door had thumped closed behind him on his way inside the sauna. This was weird, because the door usually clunked closed. He immediately turned and tried to open it. He couldn’t do it. He panicked immediately. He tried the door again and again with increasing strength before falling back onto the wooden floor. He was already sweating like a pig. He got back up and tried again. These attempts went on for some time.

Finally, in desperation, Chet planted his feet on either side of the door and yanked at the metal bar with all his strength. In mere moments his sweaty hands slipped off and he fell back down on the hard wood.

Chet tried yelling next. He cupped his hands against the frosted glass and hollered whatever came to mind. Nobody came running. It looked dark out there. He must have totally lost track of time.

He paced awhile after that, just cooking in his own juices. With each drop of sweat it became harder to think. How could he get out? Could he break through the window? Could he at least break the furnace in the middle of the room?

He thought he might have tried to break the furnace. He remembered using the towel he brought in and maybe stomping on the furnace. He was pretty sure he burned his feet and he thought there might have been a fire. But then, in his more lucid moments, could see neither the burns on his feet nor the charred towel. It was all some trick of the imagination.

And so, at last, Chet had collapsed onto the bench in the corner. There, he wallowed and baked.

Until he noticed a pale figure standing over him.

“Chet, you never change.”

It was, somehow, his mother—gone three years, now.

“It’s good to see you, Ma. How you been?”

She smiled sadly down at him.

“Chet, do you remember when you were nine years old and you tried to run away? You gathered up some valuables and a sandwich in a handkerchief on the end of a stick and headed out the door. Out west, you said. Whatever that meant.

“You got yourself so lost that all you could think to do was sit down in some bushes and wait. When we found you, it turned out you had only made it two streets over.

“My precious boy, bless your heart. Do you know why I’m telling you all this?“

“No, Ma. Why?”

“It’s a push door, Chet.”

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Poor Chet. The door thumped when it should have clunked and this silly goose is indeed going to be cooked if he cannot find a way out. We join him hours into the ordeal, conserving energy and no doubt reflecting on his life choices. Luckily as a reader, we get to revisit some of these, including his earlier attempts of escape. In fact, halfway through, this story is delicately poised – Chet potentially heading the way of Jasmine and her secret elevator in terms of a gruesome death. But then Obi-Mom turns up from beyond the grave and we sense that things might be looking up. The final line is brilliantly simple in its execution, with shades of the classic Gary Larson ‘School for the Gifted’ cartoon – and the whole story a celebration of the ‘Chet’ we all have in our lives. (If you can’t think of one, it’s probably you!)

---

ME, THE ELEVATOR & MACAULAY CULKIN by Madeleine Coyle, VIC

There is a thump behind me and I turn to find myself staring squarely in the eyes of Macaulay Culkin. No, no, this was a mistake.

“You chose me? Of all the people in the world, ever?” Macaulay says with a proud sort of disbelief.

“I blurted your name out, I couldn’t think of anyone else. I only had thirty seconds!”

I’m panicking. I have nothing against Macaulay Culkin. He was a decent kid actor, and I really think Party Monster is a hidden gem. But this isn’t who I want to be stuck in The Elevator with!

“That’s cold, dude. I’m having a comeback right now, and you’re telling me I’m only here because you couldn’t think of anyone else?”

I sense Macaulay is offended.

“It’s not that… it’s just… this time is valuable! I only get one hour, and I just blanked!”

“That’s brutal.. Christ.”

Macaulay is sizing me up, trying to decide if I really am a jerk. He leans back against The Elevator wall and takes his time moving his eyes over the space.

Finally, “It’s not what I expected,” he says. “I thought it’d be swankier. This is… sub-par.”

“It’s not about aesthetics,” I begin. “It’s about the experience! You can pick anyone and can see them, speak to them, be right there in the moment with them!”

Macaulay still looks unimpressed, arms now folded.

“I left a dinner party for… this,” he says, deadpan.

“Uh, sorry. I… was it a nice dinner?” I ask. I’m not good at smalltalk at the best of times.

“Better than being stuck in this shithole with someone who didn’t even mean to summon me,” he says, with a subtle-but-I-caught-it eyeroll.

“Look, I really am sorry. I reckon you’re a solid actor, it’s… it is nice to meet you,” I say, doing my utmost best to look sincere.

“So,” Macaulay says, seeming to relax a little, “If you could have your pick again, who would you go for?”

I don’t want to make matters worse but he nods encouragingly.

“Well, I guess my late mum…” I say, but he raises his eyebrows so I go on with, “But if I’m honest, it would be a real thrill to meet someone like Tesla, or Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a bit pretentious.”

“You’re right. And I probably wouldn’t know what to say, I’d be starstruck.”

“Aren’t you starstruck now?”

“I…”

“I’m just messing with you! It’s OK, I get it. Look… I don’t think I’m meant to do this but I can probably swing a favour and get you another shot, just stick with me for a sec…”

He turns his back to make a brief hushed call.

“It was… nice to meet you,” Macaulay says, and quite encouragingly, “Choose wisely this time. You have thirty seconds.”

My mind is blank. And then it’s too late so I blurt out a name.

There is a thump behind me and I turn to find myself staring squarely in the eyes of Macaulay Culkin.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Okay, so THIS is how you do celebrity encounters in elevators! Are we told anything about what The Elevator is and how this “one hour with whoever you like” wish is granted? No, of course not – and the story is wise enough not to deal with such fripperies. Because when you go absurd, you need to lean fully into it and never look back. The shift from pride to dismay and finally acceptance for “kid actor Macaulay Culkin” is wonderful to witness, as is our narrator’s half-hearted attempts at both small talk and diplomacy. The idea that Macaulay had whisked away from a dinner party for this is hilarious and the back-and-forth dialogue (and inner thoughts) are top notch. As for the final line – comedy gold, and proof that this narrator should never have left home alone.

---

GENIE IN A SAUNA by Karen Peradon, WA

I lurched through the door of the sauna and slumped on the lower bench; my quads unable to catapult me to the preferred upper seating. My heart thumped an unhealthy volume of blood through my body. I felt sick. Who decided a spin class was a good idea? Thank God there was no one to witness my impersonation of a limp plastic bag.

I slid along to the heating unit and scooped water onto the rocks. An aromatic waft of steam shuddered up. Dusky rose and a hint of cedar. My body flopped on the hot wood and inhaled.

“I am Löyly, the genie of the sauna.”

I sat up so quickly that stars danced a cabaret across my eyeballs. There was an ancient crone sitting next to the rocks. Naked bar a pair of silver silk undies, her slick skin wrinkled in folds. Her baps lay like envelope flaps.

“Huh?” I coughed.

“I am Löyly, the genie of the sauna, and I grant you three questions. I’ll let the ‘huh’ slide. Let’s just say you were clearing phlegm.”

“Don’t you mean three wishes?”

She hissed a sigh. “No. So stereotypical! You got two left.” She nodded to the rocks as she evaporated.

I chucked on another spoon of water. She reappeared blowing a stream of steam from her mouth, eyes closed and head tilted back.

“Two valuable questions,” she said, exhaling in a cracked voice. “Don’t waste ‘em, girlfriend,”

“Um…”

“And you’re on a time limit. This fresh bod only lasts as long as I can hold the water molecules together, babe.” She shimmied her igneous rock-ringed fingers up and down her withered body.

Two questions. I racked my addled brain. Damn! Wishes were much easier. I had a million questions running through my mind. Like, was I going crazy? Did I want to know how to make a million dollars? How to cure cancer? What is the meaning of life? And where did I put my tweezers? (That was really weighing on me.)

Löyly hissed and tapped her wrist with three bejewelled fingers.

“Wh… what would be the most useful thing for me to know?” I smiled. My muscles weren’t working, but at least my brain was.

“Your tweezers slipped down the back of the vanity.”

Her words dissipated with her wrinkles, and she was gone, leaving a waft of hempy steam.

I re-sloshed the rocks. Löyly resumed her position and blew smoky rings out of her mouth.

“That wasn’t fair!”

“One left. Ask!”

I stood up on wobbly knees.

“We get born, grow up, grow old and die. Is it worth it?”

“Ha! A spiritual seeker; I knew it. The answer is… Yes!”

I waited for the seer to impart wisdom to the seeker. Löyly leant back with upturned palms and breathed deeply.

“This shit is good!” she murmured.

“Well?”

“Out of questions. Now shush.”

I leant over and turned off the rock heater. “Fraud! There! Stick that in your hot rocks and smoke it, lady!”

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

From a wishing elevator to a wishing sauna! Yes, “Löyly” is indeed a thing – well, not a genie per se, but the Finnish word for the steam that rises when you splash water on the sauna stove. It does have spiritual significance in that culture, and in THIS competition, it has definite comedic significance! We adored the character voice of Löyly in this story, with the dialogue once more very strong (we hope you’re seeing a pattern with good stories!). The three questions banter definitely has a touch of Robin Williams’ genie to it, and the answers along with the body language are delightfully hilarious (including the sass-laden “now shush” line!). As for who decided spin classes were good ideas – the jury is well-and-truly still out on that one.

---

FIRST SHIFT by Jane Hodgkinson, QLD

The cage lurched as it started its descent, a slow, grinding crawl into the Earth. The walls pressed in tight, and the faint glow of headlamps caught the sheen of sweat on foreheads and the rust clinging to the metal grates.

Elliot gripped his harness strap with white-knuckled fingers, his heart thumping – too fast. It was his first underground shift, and the elevator felt like a coffin. His mum had cried when he left this morning.

“Relax.” muttered Callum, scratching at his grey beard, “you’ll get used to it.”

Elliot nodded stiffly.

“Storm rolling in topside,” said Callum, “saw lightning on the ridge.”

“Great! Hope they take us back up. We’ll get the day off,” said Tom. A few of them chuckled, low and tired. The cage shuddered, and everyone went quiet. The cables creaked above, taut as nerves.

“How deep we going?” Elliot asked, voice barely audible over grinding metal.

“Level 6,” Tom said, cracking his knuckles. “Takes about fifteen minutes. Longest ride of your life first time down!”

Jacob nudged Elliot playfully. “Least we ain't going to Level 7.”

“What’s wrong with Level 7?” Elliot asked, his voice cracking.

Callum shot Jacob a warning look, but the men laughed.

“Haunted, some say!” Jacob leaned in just enough for his headlamp to touch Elliot’s, making him squint. “Collapsed years back. They pulled most of ‘em out. Sometimes you hear tapping.”

The air in the cage felt tighter.

“They sealed it off after the collapse. Some bloke swears he saw light down there but when he called out, the light just…went out.”

“That’s bollocks,” Callum muttered, “Probably a reflection off some quartz.”

“Or they’re still digging.”

“Shut it, Jake,” Callum snapped.

He patted their valuable new-starter’s shoulder. The cage jolted suddenly, stopping for a breathless second before resuming its descent. They listened to the rhythmic clank of the rollers and the distant hum of the ventilation system.

“Almost there,” Tom muttered.

Metal shrieked as it dropped a little faster. Elliot’s breath caught, and the others instinctively grabbed onto the side rails. He did the same, waiting to see if the elevator would stabilize. It did. The cage kept sinking. His headlamp beam shook as he adjusted his helmet. Then he saw it. A name scratched into the rusted cage wall. “Doug Matthews.” His father's name. His knees buckled, and he caught himself on the rail, chest heaving.

“You all right?” Callum asked, steadying him with one hand.

“My dad,” Elliot whispered, tapping the name. “He…worked here. He died. That must have been Level 7. I was only four. Mum never told me the details.”

The miners exchanged glances, silent.

Elliot straightened up, dust sticking to his damp face. His pulse hammered, but he clenched his jaw tight.

“I’m finishing the shift,” he said, voice certain, “For my dad.”

The elevator rattled, sinking deeper, carrying him closer to whatever waited in the dark.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

We mentioned up top that we’d had a few stories (all very good) that took us down a mine shaft elevator this month – and this one stood out from the pack in its cinematic approach to (under) world-building and characters. Elliot is our protagonist, descending into the darkness for the first time. We also hear from Callum, Tom and Jacob – used sparingly to illuminate the miner mentality and fill out the space. However, the real strength lies in the non-verbal here – e.g. “The cage shuddered, and everyone went quiet”, “the rhythmic clank of the rollers” and “distant hum of the ventilation system”. These well-drawn sounds accompany the men as they approach Level 6, as does the legend of the level below – one with special meaning for Elliot. This story isn’t about solving some years-old mystery, but rather deftly portraying the confines of this brutal workplace right through to its final rattling line.

---

HEAD OVER HEELS by Rananda Rich, NSW

As is typical of transport interchanges, it’s busy here in the mornings before work. Pappy alights and spots Vera amongst the bustling foot traffic.

“Hey!”

“Hi, Vera!”

“We should stop bumping into each other like this!”

“Yes, we should! No! Erm… I mean… maybe we should keep bumping into each other! Gah, no! That didn’t quite come out right!” Pappy says, mortified.

Vera is so gorgeous. He hopes she doesn’t realise the steps he takes to make their encounters happen.

Despite feeling transparent, he notices Vera flush. Emboldened, Pappy takes hold of his nerve.

“How do you feel about hanging out together, you know, getting to know each other a bit better…?”

“Not here, though! It’s like a callithump parade every morning,” she laughs, as she waves to her friend Kera who’s just arrived.

Pappy, too, acknowledges his friend Seb, who’s passing by. Sharing pleasantries, they all agree it’s been hotter than ever, then Kera and Seb get itchy feet and they’re off.

Sticking close together, Pappy and Vera make their way over to a wooden bench to wait for a ride.

Pappy smiles shyly. She’s keeping him on his toes, that’s for sure.

He rummages around, looking for something in his coat.

“It’s not valuable or anything, but I’d like to give you this,” he says, fumbling around.

“Wow, this is so unexpected. You really are sweeping me off my feet today!” Vera responds with a smile as he hands her a beautiful bunch of dermal papillae.

“C’mon, let’s go before we get cold feet!” he says, when the next verruca bus arrives.

And so, the two little viruses fall in love a little bit more as they leave the sauna’s hot floor and hotfoot it out of there.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

At the foot of our showcase this month, rather fittingly, is a tale loaded with foot references! It’s actually a story that appears innocent at first glance, only revealing its clever layers the more you read. In this case, our characters are in a sauna – but rather than being people, they’re the cornucopia of conditions that one might pick up in a warm MOIST (say it loud, everyone) environment such as this! The character names are clever, conjuring up papilloma, verruca, keratolysis and sebaceous conditions along with a conveyor belt of foot-related punnage! We’ll never look at saunas quite the same way again…

---

THIS MONTH’S ‘LONGLIST’

Each month, we include an extra LONGLIST (approx top 10%) of stories that stood out from the submitted hundreds, were considered for the showcase (some were very close) and deserve an ‘honourable mention’. Remember, all creativity is subjective, but if your name is here, take a moment to celebrate! 

THIS MONTH’S LONGLIST (in no particular order):

• FOR ALL THE FLAWS HIDDEN IN PLAIN SITE by Dean Gaudoin, VIC
• DAGGERS AND STEAM by Hannah Southcott, NSW
• ROTUND NEIGHBOURS by Richard Diss, WA
• STELLA’S STEAMY ENCOUNTER by G.Lynn Brown, USA
• THE LIFT by Sigrid Isabelle Del Rosario, UAE
• GOING DOWN by Jenny Lynch, WA
• GOING DOWN? by Andrew Brown, NSW
• GOING DOWN by Brett Elliott, QLD
• GOING DOWN by Rachel Howden, NSW
• THE OPERATOR by Alexa Blakley, USA
• UNLUCKY NUMBER 4 by Alfindy Agyputri, WA
• EVERYONE’S GONE… by Tim O Tee, UK
• THE LIFT by Marie Low, NSW
• HE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU by Teodora Vamvu, Romania
• THE FLOOR IS PISS by Sarah Johnstone, QLD
• THE ARSONISTS by Eliza Pope, USA
• DARKNESS BECKONS by Stephen Martin, VIC
• THE MISCHIEF OF MAGPIES by Zara Nelson, UK
• HOW TO TALK TO A DOG by Miriam Drori, Israel
• THE ARK? by Bill Boyd, NSW
• BUTTONS by Gale Deitch, USA
• FOUR HOURS LATER by Craig Goddard, VIC
• DIVINE INTERVENTION REQUIRED by Claudia Nicholson, Greece
• IT’S TIME THEY WERE TAKEN DOWN by Rhonda Valentine Dixon, QLD
• LOVE IN AN ELEVATOR by Del Griffith, USA
• DEATH IN AN ELEVATOR by Sally Eberhardt, QLD
• NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT by Anne Freeman, VIC
• SOME STATISTICS FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION by Diane Giombetti Clue, USA
• CAGED by Paul Freeman, Mauritania
• OBSESSED by Mary B. Olson, USA
• THE 42nd FLOOR by Clara Von Holtzmann, NSW
• BUTTONS by Ebony Adams, SA
• 39 FLOORS by LaHémy Noir, USA
• ANYTHING FOR MRS APPELBAUM by Robyn Knibb, QLD
• TWENTY MINUTES IN THE BADSTUGA by Lisa H. Owens, USA
• LIFTED by Tatia Power, QLD
• CEASAR AND I by Suma Jayachandar, India
• SOMEONE ELSE’S SKIN by Isla Fisher, NSW
• THE SMART ELEVATOR by Atan Solp, USA
• SHAFTED by John Minnery, QLD
• SWEAT, LIES, AND LEO by Julie Souter, NSW
• GOING UP: AN ELEVATOR OPERATOR’S HOW-TO GUIDE by Freya King, QLD
• THE FACTORY by Tom Waldie, VIC
• FORTY FIVE SECONDS by Amanda Fisher, NSW
• ELEVATOR PITCH by Ardemus, USA
• THE BORING LIFE OF AN ELEVATOR BUTTON by Zara Lawrence, QLD
• RISE TO THE CHALLENGE by Sascha Mac, NSW
• CLAWS FOR CONCERN by Trina High, USA
• PUSHING BUTTONS by Danielle Barker, NSW
• #SAUNALIFE by Immy Mohr, NSW
• ALL OF US TOGETHER by Bernie, VIC
• SACRED ‘ME TIME’ FOR BERNARD by Athena Law, QLD
• SEVEN FLOORS by Jeannae Bierstedt, NSW
• DIRECTION OF TRAVEL by Angela McCrann, UK
• SAUNA INTERRUPTED: A STEAMY LOVE STORY by Brenda Foger, USA
• WHEN THE COMPLAINING STOPS by Candice Tan, NSW