“It was just chance encounters at first, stoned kids wandering through the hallways between one place to chill or another. When you’re in an altered state, it’s much more comfortable to get off the elevator on the second floor and walk down to the exits. It avoids the problem where the elevator doors open in the lobby and there’s a mixture of people ranging from disapproving elders from more traditionalist cultures to the overbearing and imposing Spanish woman who runs the rental office. Kids looking to avoid that scene, then, almost always pass through the hallway outside 114. One night, closer to the witching hour than not, a trio came out of the elevator and were halfway down the shabby hall when they saw the little girl standing in the middle of the dirty carpet. She didn’t notice them, and they edged by her with wide eyes and disbelieving expressions on their faces. They could have lied to themselves later about the appearance just being some weird kid, but the side of the girl’s head was stoved in and her eyes flickered. Even then, when her corporeal hold on reality was strongest, her eyes phased in and out of being. The old chestnut about the eyes being the window to the soul never supposed those windows being shattered with a brick.” 

Trevor James Zaple, “The Girl In 114”