Short story | The shadow of the labyrinth.

His movement was incessant and his gaze lacerante.

Douglas ran after every passageway that opened before his path, but there he was, no matter where he looked, no matter how much he ran, the damned old man watched him at every step, appearing and disappearing like a wandering ghost, a soul brought from hell itself to disturb his life.

"The way out! He thought with joy as he looked at a small faint light fleeing at the crossroads of a new wall, "I'm close, I just have to...". »

Very late, in a blink the man was in front of him, he felt his gaze even though he could see nothing in his empty bowls, but there it was, an unpleasant feeling that penetrated him, he knew that the old man could still see him without eyes, that disturbed him even more than the fact of being in that strange labyrinth.

—Neither you nor anyone else would lock me up again! - He then shouted to the old man, who in turn raised on his face an eccentric smile that crackled Douglas' hair,

He tried to turn, looked to one side, then to the other, and just as he looked back at the front the old man had disappeared, slowly he took steps towards the threshold "Just a little" He thought again, but something stopped him. A dripping sound was heard at his back.

—Next stop... the home.

A cry resounded through the darkness of that place, then another one, increasingly fainter, further and further away, in the end, only the silence remained in that old labyrinth of moldy walls. The silence of darkness and the sense that even there, at night, no matter how clear this or how pure the person may be, their empty bowls captured your attention, in that hotel in that forgotten place.... that mountain that was once a dream, now lethargic by skeptics who, looking for a paranormal history, find themselves lost in the labyrinth of its walls gnawed by time."