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Tarcísio felt his ears ringing, his expression furrowed as he smelled the putrid odor emanating from the air. It was that place, always that damned place. No matter how much he distracted his mind, how much he tried to forget, the dark, worn walls of that house always returned to his brain, haunting him.
He took a slow step towards the corner, coming face to face with a long corridor. Besides the echo of his footsteps, he heard incessant whispers overlapping each other, voices that seemed to know too much. He had the impression that the walls aged with each step, a black slurry dripped from the walls and deteriorated them even more. The lights flickered wildly, making it difficult to see the end of the corridor, but it didn't matter because he already knew what was at the end. A door, the door that had always been closed to him, that always dripped blood from the cracks, as if it had nowhere else to go.
Even though he didn't want to, Tarcísio's body moved, each slow step making his heart beat faster in his chest. He knew what was behind that door, a truth he never wanted to see. He tried to move his legs, but it only made the whispers louder, the walls rot, the lights shine, and the blood coagulate. A crash was heard behind the wood, again and again; something wanted to get out.
He didn't want to see, he didn't want to know anything about what was behind that door. He preferred to remain in the simplicity of his life and stay ignorant. The door disagreed; the knocks grew louder and louder, calling his name. He felt every part of his body trembling as his arm rose toward the doorknob.
He wanted to run away, run from the knocks, the blood, the light, the slurry, and the whispers, but he couldn't. He was paralyzed, only able to watch his own life about to end before his eyes. He felt anger, powerlessness, but what prevailed was what he least wanted: fear. Because you can't run from fear, not when it comes from within you. Feeling the cold doorknob between his fingers, Tarcísio felt a chill down his spine; against his will, he had learned a lesson, and of all the knowledge he could possibly have, this was the worst knowledge a desperate person could possess.
The fear, the same fear he felt at that moment and throughout his life... It was endless.
The fear is infinite.