SHADOWS OF THE SEVENTH

It was a rainy Tuesday night. The Bogotá sky was tinged with dark gray clouds, making the night seem darker than usual. Juan walked along the Seventh Avenue, his jacket hood covering part of his face, protecting him from both the wind and the raindrops pelting him. His body was tense, as if something was squeezing him from within. He couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but there was something in the air that made him uneasy.

He walked quickly, glancing to the sides at every intersection, hoping no car would pass by and ignoring the red light of the pedestrian signal. Around him, the last street vendors who had animated the avenue hours before were quickly packing up. He wanted to get home as soon as possible; he had stayed late at the university library, working on his thesis, and he felt exhausted.

—Hey, young man, got anything to eat or a coin to spare? —Said a man with gray, disheveled hair and beard. His black eyes stared intently at him as water dripped from his worn clothes.

Juan kept walking, without replying or looking back. The man watched him walk away, smiling, exposing his empty gums before mumbling words that were drowned out by the rain hitting the ground.

Along the way, the San Francisco Church rose on one side of the street. The gargoyles on its facade seemed to follow him with their eyes as he waited to cross Jiménez Avenue. He quickened his pace when the light turned red, trying to ignore the sensation of being watched. But that feeling didn’t fade. The lights of the idling buses and the roar of their engines provided him, however, with some sense of comfort.

When he reached the alley he always took as a shortcut, the sound of the cars faded in the distance, while the rain lessened. The lamps along the narrow street flickered. The alley seemed darker than usual. Juan stopped, feeling a stir in his stomach for no apparent reason.

"I’ve crossed here thousands of times," he thought. But something held him back, as if a part of him knew he shouldn’t proceed.

He sighed, adjusted his hood, and rubbed his hands together. With determination, he took the first step. The alley was as deserted as ever, but the pressure of the darkness made him shrink into his jacket. The brick walls, covered in moss, seemed to shift at the edges of his vision, and the echo of his footsteps resonated in the silence, as if someone were following him. The sense of normalcy was fading, and his heart pounded so strongly that he could hear his pulse in his ears.

He passed an old house. The wooden door, which had always been closed, was slightly ajar. The wind moved it gently, and Juan felt drawn to the subtle sway, as if something inside were calling to him. It was a disturbing temptation, a feeling urging him to come closer. He approached, as if an invisible force were enticing him forward, and just as he was about to touch the door handle, the door swung open abruptly, revealing a dark interior that seemed to absorb all the light around it.

A chill ran through his body. He wanted to step back but couldn’t look away. In the back, a mirror reflected the flickering light from the alley. Juan noticed he wasn’t alone; he glimpsed shadows moving back and forth, and behind him was one of them, dark and dense, staring at him through the reflection with an intensity that froze him.

He turned around quickly. There was nothing there. The alley was empty, but the sensation of being watched persisted, like a haze in his mind. Something, or someone, was observing him, scrutinizing him in detail. His breath quickened; the air grew heavy, and his heart pounded so fiercely he felt it would burst. His hands were clammy, and the cold wind tightened his skin. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to obey. In the reflections of the puddles and windows, the shadow, with a human shape, seemed to draw nearer, dark and menacing.

Suddenly, the street lamps went out one by one, revealing the shadow emerging before his eyes. Juan said nothing; he only swallowed hard, feeling his throat close up. The alley was plunged into complete darkness. The figure, darker than the night itself, moved toward him slowly, as if savoring his fear, as if feeding off his terror.

Juan felt the air grow colder and heard children’s laughter coming from inside the house, making him turn around. The door creaked as it moved slowly until the latch clicked shut. His body froze completely. He tried to move, but it was useless. The shadow was about to consume him, and he could do nothing.

Then, without warning, the lamps all came back on simultaneously. The alley, seemingly as it had always been, was empty. Juan stepped back, his breath still ragged. He didn’t understand what had just happened; he looked around, but everything was in place.

Juan stopped in the middle of the alley, trying to process what had happened. With each gasp, the air that had once felt laden with terror now felt strange, almost oppressive. He forced himself to move forward, dragging his feet due to the weight he felt, as the lamps flickered again, as if the darkness itself were about to return. He began to walk faster.

Each step echoed in his mind, reminding him of the shadow he had felt behind him. The feeling of being watched hadn’t completely faded. It lingered, like a whisper tangled in his thoughts, like a cold breath on his neck. He decided to ignore it. With each step toward the exit of the alley, the idea of returning to normalcy seemed closer.

When he reached Sixth Avenue, the rain had stopped, and under a waning moon, the night seemed less threatening. The car lights illuminated the street, and people walked by, oblivious to what he had experienced. However, the relief felt deceptive, still uncertain. He looked back one last time. The alley looked ordinary, as always, though the churning in his stomach didn’t disappear.