Amigos de @hispapro que idea tan genial, el relato me atrapó y aquí, presento mi final. Para los amigos que me leen les dejo el enlace a esta creativa actividad.Un final para un relato (RETO) / An ending for a story (CHALLENGE)

Sinopsis del primer capítulo

Poe ha cautivado a un pueblo con sus relatos, a tal punto que la gente espera a las afuera de su casa, que caiga la noche para escuchar sus estremecedores cuentos. El escritor va ganando espacio en la mente y las almas de quien lo escucha conociendo de ellos sus verdades y misterios. La creación viendo tanto poder entra en ira y, crea un monstruo que amenaza con acabar el mundo.

La historia trascendía las fronteras y cada día el mundo estaba más impactado con lo que sucedía. Algunos acudían a escuchar el canto de sirena, otros, horrorizados por los hechos, se preguntaban cómo terminar con la locura y los eternos incrédulos se negaban a creer en esos cuentos de camino y ante noticias, fotos, videos alegaban que todo era un montaje para deslumbrar a la población y criticaban a Poe por activar esa maquinaria para alimentar ese ego que la inmortalidad no le satisfacía.

Un viejo y famoso escritor del género, también reconocido a nivel mundial a través de su extensa obra, se sintió atacado en lo personal y vio en el actuar de Poe una estrategia para eclipsar a todos los escritores y quedar en el colectivo humano, como el único e insuperable.

Con estos pensamientos, King, pasaba el día preguntándose cómo podía destruir el monstruo amorfo en el que Poe se había convertido, porque estaba seguro que era Poe y no la creación quien estaba detrás de todo ello.

Sabía que no podía acercarse, pues conocía la fuerza de este hombre, la habilidad y el poder de su palabra mostrada a través de su obra, el asunto no era juego y quizás porque sentía que Poe fue su gran maestro, presentía que no tendría la forma de hacerlo cambiar de parecer solo con palabras. Sin embargo, se sentía responsable, estaba convencido que si había una persona que pudiera detener a Poe era él.

Con un cigarrillo entre los dedos, el café humeante sobre la baranda y con la mirada perdida en el juguetón amanecer, una idea, que parecía espontánea, comenzó a germinar. ¡Sí, en su libro 22/11/63 tenía la clave! El portal, tenía que existir un portal. Eufórico y con un baile que desmentía sus setenta y pico de años se sentía triunfante.

***

Con los audífonos puesto, mezclado entre la muchedumbre, comenzó a caminar bordeando la colina. Sabía lo que buscaba, con su mirada chequeaba cada palmo, el recorrido era lento, a medida que pasaban las horas su inquietud crecía, no daba con su búsqueda, pero estaba convencido que allí, en esa colina, estaba la puerta que lo conduciría a la inmortalidad.

A ratos, el monstruo se giraba, era lento en su movimiento, pero fulminante. King veía en la falda de la colina como los cuerpos se desplomaban, presuroso y temblando, corría a esconderse entre los altos monolitos y la neblina que cubría la zona. En una de estas corridas, al apoyarse contra la alta piedra, esta se movió.

Fue un momento estremecedor, había encontrado la entrada, sintió vértigo, el nudo en la boca del estómago no lo dejaba respirar y podía sentir el latido en sus sienes, asustado, se sentó a respirar, necesitaba calmarse para entrar en esa oscuridad profunda que escondía todos los misterios.

En lo que pudo se levantó decidido a entrar, al apoyar el pie en el borde del abismo fue succionado con fuerza y en fracciones de segundo se encontró parado en medio de una calle de lo que parecía una antigua ciudad. Se sentó en la acera a fin de calmarse para pensar. Sus pensamientos estaban descontrolados, trataba de poner orden pero no atinaba. Se recostó a la pared, hasta calmarse, poco a poco la sangre fue dejando su alocada carrera.

Al poco rato escucho unos suaves pasos, era un viejo caminante, al acercarse, presuroso se puso en pie y le preguntó qué día era hoy y en qué ciudad estaban. El hombre con un gesto de extrañeza le aclaró que se encontraban en Baltimore, que era el 6 de octubre de 1849.

King, en lo que fue un lapsus, se encontró perdido, pero casi inmediatamente se dio cuenta que era el lugar donde murió Poe y un día antes de que ocurriera su muerte. En lo que recordaba de la historia sobre la muerte Poe, se comentaba que apareció de repente en Baltimore. Al darse cuenta del significado de esta revelación comenzó lo que puede llamarse una búsqueda desesperada, ya casi iba a anochecer.

Corriendo por las calles de la ciudad, entraba en los bares, en los burdeles, preguntaba, lo describía, nadie sabía darle alguna señal, ya cercana la madrugada lo encontró tirado semiinconsciente en la puerta de un parque.

Viéndolo tan indefenso, y desvalido su amor por ese hombre, que fue su maestro a través del tiempo, recordando los Premios Poe que había recibido a lo largo de su carrera y mucho antes de eso, las largas horas que disfrutó bebiendo sus letras, la admiración y el respeto surgieron de nuevo.

Con cariño se sentó a su lado, sabía que su muerte era inevitable, lo que podía hacer era acompañarlo en esa triste hora de abandono. Con delicadeza colocó su cabeza sobre sus muslos y allí comenzó a narrarle una historia. Poe lentamente abrió los ojos y mirándolo con infinito afecto, solo balbució un ¡Gracias!

Afuera, el monstruo se desvanecía entre la niebla.

In English

The Hill of Poe

Friends of @hispapro what a great idea, as soon as I read the story I got caught and here, very hot, I present my final.

Synopsis of the first chapter

Poe has captivated a town with his stories, to such an extent that people wait outside his house for nightfall to listen to his thrilling tales. The writer is gaining space in the minds and souls of those who listen to him, knowing their truths and mysteries. Creation, seeing so much power, becomes angry and creates a monster that threatens to end the world.

The story transcended borders and every day the world was more and more shocked with what was happening. Some came to listen to the siren song, others, horrified by the facts, wondered how to end the madness and the eternal disbelievers refused to believe in those tales of the way and before news, photos, videos claimed that everything was a montage to dazzle the population and criticized Poe for activating that machinery to feed that ego that immortality did not satisfy him.

An old and famous writer of the genre, also recognized worldwide through his extensive work, felt personally attacked and saw in Poe's actions a strategy to eclipse all writers and remain in the human collective as unique and unsurpassable.

With these thoughts, King spent the day wondering how he could destroy the amorphous monster that Poe had become, because he was sure that it was Poe and not creation that was behind it all.

He knew he could not get close, for he knew the strength of this man, the skill and power of his word shown through his work, the matter was no game and perhaps because he felt that Poe was his great teacher, he sensed that he would have no way to change his mind with words alone. However, he felt responsible, he was convinced that if there was one person who could stop Poe it was him.

With a cigarette between his fingers, coffee steaming over the railing and his eyes lost in the playful dawn, an idea, which seemed spontaneous, began to germinate. Yes, in his book 11/22/63 he had the key! The portal, there had to be a portal. Euphoric and with a dance that belied his seventy-something years he felt triumphant.

***

With his headphones on, blending in with the crowd, he began to walk along the hillside. He knew what he was looking for, with his eyes he checked every inch, the walk was slow, as the hours went by his restlessness grew, he was not finding what he was looking for, but he was convinced that there, on that hill, was the door that would lead him to immortality.

At times, the monster would turn around, slow in its movement, but with lightning speed. King saw on the hillside how the bodies collapsed, hurriedly and trembling, he ran to hide among the tall monoliths and the mist that covered the area. In one of these runs, as he leaned against the tall stone, it moved.

It was a shocking moment, he had found the entrance, he felt dizzy, the knot in the pit of his stomach did not let him breathe and he could feel the throbbing in his temples, scared, he sat down to breathe, he needed to calm down to enter that deep darkness that hid all the mysteries.

As soon as he could he stood up determined to enter, as he put his foot on the edge of the abyss he was sucked in with force and in fractions of a second he found himself standing in the middle of a street in what looked like an ancient city. He sat down on the sidewalk in order to calm himself to think. His thoughts were out of control, he was trying to put them in order but he couldn't get it together. He leaned against the wall, until he calmed down, little by little the blood left his crazy race.

After a while he heard soft footsteps, it was an old walker, as he approached, he hurriedly stood up and asked him what day it was today and what city they were in. The man, with a strange gesture, told him that they were in Baltimore, that it was October 6, 1849.

King, in what was a slip of the tongue, found himself lost, but almost immediately realized that it was the place where Poe died and a day before his death occurred. In what he remembered of the story about Poe's death, it was remarked that he suddenly appeared in Baltimore. Realizing the significance of this revelation he began what can be called a desperate search, it was almost dusk.

Running through the streets of the city, he entered bars, brothels, asked questions, described him, no one knew how to give him any sign, and near dawn he found him lying semi-conscious in the doorway of a park.

Seeing him so helpless, and helpless her love for that man, who was her teacher through time, remembering the Poe Awards he had received throughout his career and long before that, the long hours she enjoyed drinking his lyrics, admiration and respect arose again.

Seeing him so helpless, and helpless his love for that man, who was his teacher through time, remembering the Poe Awards he had received throughout his career and long before that, the long hours he enjoyed drinking his lyrics, admiration and respect arose again.

Lovingly she sat by his side, she knew that his death was inevitable, what she could do was to accompany him in that sad hour of abandonment. Gently she placed his head on her thighs and there she began to tell him a story. Poe slowly opened his eyes and, looking at him with infinite affection, only stammered a Thank you!

Outside, the monster vanished into the mist.