The Maze The Lost Labyrinth - By Jason Brannon Page 0,11

that I had fallen asleep on the couch---or in a hospital bed hooked up to life support. A blast of air that stank of decomposing hay and rotten flesh, however, quickly made me reconsider the whole notion of dreams. I wrinkled my nose and listened to the clap-clap-clap of hooves. Something was still coming toward me.

Something big.

For a split second all I could think about was getting ripped apart by some ancient monstrosity before I could figure a way out of this place, before I could make amends with Amy and hug Peter tightly one last time. I couldn’t bear the thought of dying this way, in such a sad state of circumstances. This was what my life had been reduced to, and I didn’t want it to end like this.

I didn’t want to die as Jamie Burroughs, the man who had almost cheated on his wife with an old girlfriend. If death was in the cards for me, I wanted to die as Jamie Burroughs, loving husband and father. It would make for a much better epitaph.

I’d heard it said before that there were no true deathbed atheists, and the wisdom in that statement was more apparent now than it had ever been. I wasn’t an atheist. Despite all my shortcomings, I believed in God, but now, faced with the unbelievable, I regretted not living a more devout life. There wasn’t time, however, to make amends for that mistake.

The smack of hooves on cobblestones was louder now. The deafening cadence of approaching steps echoed off of the walls, the ceiling, and the floor like ricocheting bullets. Something was coming, and I was very afraid.

‘Please God,” I said. “Please. I don‘t want to die this way.”

The minotaur was coming. The pastoral stench of a bull preceded the creature, announcing its presence as effectively as a trumpet blast.

“Help me, God.”

It was only as I wallowed in self-pity and stared blankly at the walls that a certain string of numbers stood out from the millions of other digits: 04071976. My birthday. Of course, that particular series was surely coincidental and had nothing to do with me. Still, it was the only thing I could make any kind of sense out of. I traced the numbers with my index finger and was surprised to hear a sonorous humming coming from behind the wall. It was like being stuck in the middle of a great machine that was running at full-throttle. The maze rattled so much that I felt my teeth chattering, and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, fully expecting something horrible to happen. Then the vibrations stopped. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw a doorway where one hadn’t been before.

From the opposite direction came a long, mournful, inhuman lament. I needed to move quickly. The minotaur was almost upon me; and if the note was correct, he was hungry for transgression.

I stepped through the doorway, hoping I was doing the right thing. A panel abruptly slid shut, sealing off the passageway behind me.

I stood there for a moment, waiting for my heart to stop racing. My shirt was stuck to me with a thin glue of perspiration, and I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. I exhaled loudly and took a deep breath, enjoying the cool air in my lungs. Gradually, my trip hammering pulse slowed to a moderate gallop and then a trot. I wasn’t as nervous now as before. That probably had something to do with the fact that I was going to live, if only for a little while longer.

I was dismayed, however, to find myself in another room that had no doors or windows.

This room was nothing like the previous room. For starters, the walls were a different color, emerald this time instead of cyan. The numbers, symbols, and pictures were still there, but they weren’t the focus. The grand dining table spread out before me was the focal point. Each place setting was an intricate mixture of Italian china, highly polished silverware, ornately embroidered napkins, scented candles, and a fancy covered serving platter. It was the kind of setup that demanded appetizers and cocktails and multiple courses, followed by desserts so elaborate that the average person couldn’t spell them.

I felt even more out of place here than I had before.

It was like the dining hall of a four-star restaurant had been dropped into the middle of a nightmare. I didn’t know whether to be comforted by the sight of something familiar or horrified