He traveled far, through hostile lands for days, hoping to locate and solve the mystery of the maze, which ancient legends say a treasure lurks dating back to another day, when the giants of the earth held sway…
When he saw the opening in a wall of granite it was so huge it made him feel small, but he stepped inside and discovered a great hall, that stretched as far as he could see lined with marble pillars and blocks of ebony…
he trod on the polished serpentine floor, listening to the voices of those who lived no more, who, like him where once an explorer, until something terribly happened and unleashed a nameless horror…
the music of the spheres assaulted his ears, and magnified his fears, so that to gain his sanity and harmony he plunged blindly into the darkening maw screaming at everything he saw…
until a light ahead lessened his dread, and the more he looked ahead the brighter it got until it appeared he found what he sought, a golden corridor and door… he grinned happily and opened what was a dimensional door, becoming part of the Maze’s lore.
They crossed over to the Texas border on a moonless night. Six immigrants hailing from Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador bearing backpacks. The coyote, who name was Carlos, urged them to move faster.
“Estoy exenuado!” a young man from Guatemala complained.
“Seguier avanzando!” Carlos warned him not to stop.
The four men and two women who followed Carlos were silent after that, not wanting to anger the coyote and be left to die in the Rio Grande Valley’s harsh environment.
Just before daylight Carlos led them to a wooden shack that was almost entirely concealed by clusters of small barrel cactus and honey mesquite. The one room shack was just big enough for the tiny group.
“Descansa y duerme,” he advised the immigrants, knowing they would need all the rest they could get, because the next night was the most perilous part of the journey.
The next night the moon crept up over the horizon like a silver ball as Carlos looked out the one window in the shack. A full moon. How could that be, he wondered? He checked the almanac, and the national weather service. It was supposed to be a quarter moon tonight!
His perfect record of delivering his cargo to a safe haven on the other side of the border was going to be ruined. He hoped he wouldn’t get a bad reputation. There weren’t too many jobs for werewolves these days.
As his body morphed into a mass of muscle and hair he briefly felt sorry for the group. Then he let out a howl!