John Connolly - The Gates

“But we grow weak,” said Mrs. Renfield. Her breath smelled bad, as if something inside her was festering.

“You grow weak,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “You are here only to serve my needs. Your energy will fuel me, and when the portal opens once more, you will be renewed.”

This was not entirely true. Mrs. Abernathy was a more extraordinary demon than her three companions, older and wiser and more powerful than ever they could have imagined. The portal had not closed, not entirely. Mrs. Abernathy’s great will and strength were keeping it open just a crack. Nevertheless, she was content to suck energy from the others as required, and to use the portal only when necessary. She would be the one to explore this new world in advance of her master’s coming, and it was important that she blend in without attracting attention. After so long in the darkness, she wanted to experience something of the Earth before it was turned to ash and fire.

SAMUEL AWOKE SHORTLY AFTER eight to the sound of plates banging in the kitchen. He dressed quickly, then went downstairs. Boswell was waiting expectantly for scraps from the breakfast table. He glanced at Samuel, wagged his tail in greeting, then went back to gazing intently at Mrs. Johnson and the remains of the bacon on her plate.

“Mum-,” Samuel began, but he was immediately cut off.

“Stephanie says that you came in late last night,” said his mother.

“I know, and I’m sorry, but-”

“No ‘buts.’ You know I don’t like you being out late by yourself.”

“But-”

“What did I just say? No ‘buts.’ Now sit down and eat your cereal.”

Samuel wondered if he would ever be allowed to complete a sentence again. First Stephanie, and now his mother. If this continued, he’d be forced to communicate entirely through sign language, or notes scribbled on pieces of paper, like someone in solitary confinement.

“Mum,” said Samuel, in his most serious and grown-up of tones. “I have something important to tell you.”

“Uh-huh.” His mother stood and carried her plate to the sink, disappointing Boswell considerably.

“Mother, please.”

Samuel almost never called his mum “mother.” It always sounded wrong, but it had the effect, on this occasion, of attracting her attention. She turned round and folded her arms.

“Well?”

Samuel gestured at the kitchen chair opposite him, the way he saw grown-ups on television do when they invited people into their office to tell them they were about to be fired.

“Please, take a seat.”

Mrs. Johnson gave a long-suffering sigh, but did as she was asked.

“It’s about the Abernathys,” said Samuel.

“The Abernathys? The people at number 666?”

“Yes, and their friends.”

“What friends?”

“Well, I don’t know their friends’ names, but they were a man and a woman, and they were both fat.”

“And?”

“They are no more,” said Samuel, solemnly. He had read that phrase somewhere, and had always fancied using it.

“What does that mean?”

“They’ve been taken.”

“Taken where?”

“To Hell.”

“Oh, Samuel!” His mother rose and returned to the sink. “You had me worried there for a minute. I thought you were being serious. Where do you get these ideas from? I really will have to keep a closer eye on what you’re watching on television.”

“But it’s true, Mum,” said Samuel. “They were all in the Abernathys’ basement dressed in robes, and then there was a blue light and a hole in the air, and a big claw reached out and pulled Mrs. Abernathy inside, and then she appeared again except it wasn’t her but something that looked like her. Then spiderwebs took their fat friends and, finally, Mr. Abernathy was yanked in by a big tongue, and when it was all over there were four of them again, but it wasn’t them, not really.

“And,” he finished, playing his trump card, “they’re trying to open the gates of Hell. I heard Mrs. Abernathy say so, or the thing that looks like Mrs. Abernathy.”

He took a deep breath and waited for a response.

“And that’s why you were half an hour late coming back last night?” asked his mother.

“Yes.”

“You know that you’re not supposed to be out past eight, especially now that the evenings are getting dark.”

“Mum, they’re trying to open the gates of Hell. You know: Hell. Demons, and stuff. Monsters.” He paused for effect, then added: “The Devil!”

“And you didn’t eat your dinner,” said his mum.

“What?” Samuel was floored. He knew that his mother tended to ignore a lot of what he said, but he had never lied to her. Well, hardly ever. There were some things she didn’t need to know, such as where her private stash of chocolate kept disappearing to, or how the rug in the living room had been moved slightly to cover some nasty burn marks after an experiment involving match heads.

“Don’t say ‘what,’ say ‘pardon,’” his mother corrected. “I said you didn’t eat your dinner.”

“That’s because Stephanie sent me to bed early, but that’s not the point.”

“Excuse me, Samuel Johnson, but that’s precisely the point. You came in so late that you couldn’t eat your dinner. There was spinach. I know you don’t like it a lot, but it’s very healthy. And you annoyed Stephanie, and it’s hard to get good babysitters these days.”

Samuel was by now completely bewildered. His mother could be very strange. According to her, this was how the world worked:

THINGS THAT ARE BAD

1. Coming in late.

2. Not eating spinach.

3. Annoying Stephanie.

4. Trying to confuse Mr. Hume with talk of angels and pins.

5. Not wearing the hat his grandmother had knit for him, even if it was purple and made him look like he had a swollen head.

6-99.Lots of other stuff.

100. Trying to open the gates of Hell.

“Mum, haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?” asked Samuel.

“I’ve heard everything that you’ve said, Samuel, and it’s more than enough. Now eat your breakfast. I have a lot to do today. If you want to, you can help me with the shopping later. Otherwise you can just stay here, but no television and no video games. I want you to read a book, or do something useful with your time. It’s all those cartoons and monster-killing games that have given you these ideas. Honestly, dear, you live in a world of your own sometimes.”

And then she did something completely unexpected. Having spent the last five minutes complaining about him, and not believing anything that he’d told her, she came over and hugged him, and kissed his hair.

“You do make me laugh though,” she said. She looked into his eyes, and her face grew sad. “Samuel, all this stuff-these stories, the angels on the pin-it’s not to do with your dad, is it? I know you miss him, and things have been a bit difficult since he left. You know I love you, don’t you? You don’t need to go looking for attention from me. I’m here, and you’re the most important person in my world. You will remember that, won’t you?”

Samuel nodded. His eyes felt hot. They always did when his mum talked about his dad. He’d been gone for two months and three days now. Samuel wished that he’d come back, but at the same time he was angry with him. He wasn’t sure what had happened between his mum and dad, but his dad was now living up north, and Samuel had only seen him twice since the break-up. From a whispered but angry phone conversation that he’d overheard between his mum and dad, someone called Elaine was involved. Samuel’s mum had called Elaine a very bad name during the conversation, and then had hung up the phone and started crying. Samuel was sometimes angry at his mum too, because he wondered if she might have done something to drive his dad away. And, on occasion, when he was feeling particularly sad, Samuel would wonder if he himself had done anything to make his dad leave, if he’d been bad, or mean to him, or had let his dad down in some way. For the most part, though, he sensed that his dad was the one who was most to blame, and he hated the fact that his dad made his mum cry.