[ WP ] A hidden elevator is found behind a fake wall in a basement .

Instead of giving me the satisfying feeling of crumbling drywall, the sledgehammer bounced back from the wall with an ear-shattering clang. I stuck my flashlight into the hole and clicked it on; bright metal reflected back. Copper, maybe? 
 
 I tore down the rest of the wall more carefully, knocking first to find the limits of the metal frame. I checked the old blueprints of the house; it just showed a plain rectangular basement. Whatever it led to, it was n't recorded on the plans. 
 
 The door was, quite simply, beautiful. It had been preserved under a thin layer of stucco or something; I'm not sure exactly what it was. The beautiful, pure copper had n't been exposed to air enough to green yet, leaving that pristine, rustic brown color. The craftsmanship was absolutely fantastic; some sort of swooping art deco pattern that intertwined like some obscure mathematical formula to form beautifully detailed flowers. I was so hypnotized as I traced the delicate lines that I'd forgotten all about opening it. 
 
 I grabbed the metal handles in the center and tugged; no luck. I was worried it was rusted shut, so I focused instead just on the left one. To my surprise, it slid inward easily like it had just been greased up yesterday. I was greeted by a pleasant `` Ding!'' sound and a soft, soothing light. 
 
 The interior was n't large. Maybe a large closet? Beautifully smooth wooden panels lined every side, shining and polished till the wood grain stood out clearly. The bottom of it, however, was a solid slab of marble, also perfectly unblemished. Delicate traces of grey stood out from the stone like veins under skin. This thing was beautiful! I would have to get some sort of antiques appraiser to come in and look at it! 
 
 I was so distracted by this stunning work of art buried behind my basement wall that it took me at least ten minutes to notice the panel of buttons on the interior right side. *An elevator*, I suddenly realized. The numbers went from 0 to 9, made of carved ebony and marked with delicate calligraphy. *God, this thing would be worth a fortune*, I thought. *I wonder what it is from, and how it made it to the basement... * 
 
 I recalled something about the real estate agent's spiel about the house. How it had been owned at one point by a Prohibition-era scientist with a gambling problem and had been forced to work as a brewer for some gangster. I was a sucker for history and loved the look of the place, but I never thought there might be more to it than a little bit of trivia. Could there be a whole speakeasy or something under here? 
 
 I reached out and pressed the `` 1'' button, without stopping to consider whether I should. Shit, if it was working, the rope and everything would surely be rotten by now. I'll plummet to my death! Too late; the button had already dinged, and the door slid closed silently. But nothing moved, thank god. I waited, but the doors stayed closed. I pressed the 9, thinking that maybe I was at the top floor and that 1 would be all the way deep underground. It dinged too, but the doors remained closed. Hmmmm.... 0, maybe? Another ding, but still no movement. I tried 1 again. Nothing. 
 
 Finally, I noticed another button at the very top. All it said was `` GO.'' Maybe it needed to power on, or something? I gave it a shot and pressed the button. 
 
 Around me, motors whirred and gears clunked. The marble floor beneath me rattled, and I gripped the copper railing nervously, worried the whole thing might collapse. Just as I was getting ready to kick the door in and jump out of this death trap, everything stopped moving. The elevator dinged pleasantly again, and the ornate doors opened. 
 
 It took me a second to notice the difference. Candles lined the basement walls. The washer and dryer had been replaced by a metal washbasin and clothing line. The linoleum floor was now rough brick. My new energy efficient windows had been replaced with soot-stained foggy glass. The elevator door closed behind me and disappeared into rough brick walls. 
 
 I headed up the stairs, where similar changes had affected the kitchen. No oven or dishwasher; just a wood stove and a bucket. I went out the door so fast that I did n't even stop to take in my surroundings until I was out in the street. A wooden carriage practically ran me over as I stood in the middle of the cobblestone street, staring around at the classic buildings of my town that I only recognized from having seen paintings from the turn of the century. 
 
 *Not an elevator*, I realized. *Time machine*.
