Robert Duperre - The Gate 2 - 13 Tales of Isolation and Despair

“I need fire,” Katie said.

“You need therapy,” Matt said, not looking up.

“Shut up and help me, Matthew! We haven’t got time.”

“Time for what , exactly?” He stared at her, defiant. The red apple rolled to a stop before him like a heart that had ceased beating. “Are you in on this prank—trying to creep me out, scare me?”

“It’s not a goddamn prank,” she said, crossing the kitchen to stand before him. She softened her voice, hoping to calm his nerves. “The thing on the lawn, the child, it’s here to protect us—they’re here to protect everyone.”

“Oh, right. Of course!” He slapped the tabletop. “It all makes sense now.”

Katie ignored him. She told him of her vision, the black things, her father, everything, and when she finished she had to admit it sounded downright nutso.

“And you think it’s real,” he said.

She nodded, ignoring his derisive tone. Crazy-sounding or not, Katie didn’t think anything. She knew . Her father had come to her from a place beyond this world, free of disease, free of pain, happy. The children were some sort of avatars or manifest protectors, sent by her father and by the recently-passed family members of Matt’s neighbors. She knew it with all her heart.

As if reading her thoughts and intent on shattering them, Matt asked: “But what about the Samsons? They’re both dead now.”

Katie’s confidence deflated. He was right. Mr. Samson died two days ago after a short bout with pneumonia; his funeral was being held Tuesday afternoon. Her theory had a gaping hole from which reason bled freely. Matt hadn’t lost any family members, either.

Despite her faith, her desire to believe, skepticism of an afterlife—Heaven and Hell, and all that religious hoo-ha—slammed against her newfound hope.

But she was here, and her father had passed. There was that. She wanted to— had to—believe it was possible that her sweet, gentle father was somehow still looking out for her.

Her mind raced and her thoughts ricocheted through her head in a tangled mess of self-doubt.

Matt’s smug smile hurt.

“Molly,” she said, grasping for an answer. But it made sense. Sort of.

“Really. A dog?”

“Yeah, a dog. A dog that’s alive !” Molly was still living in the Samson’s home. Paula Bell, their neighbor, had been feeding and walking her since Mr. Samson was admitted to the hospital. It was a stretch, but could the Samsons be protecting their dog? Of course they could. Molly had been like a child to them.

Or maybe it wasn’t so simple. Goddamn! If only she could put the pieces together…

“You’re nuts.” Matt laughed, a good old guffaw . “Crazy-looking midget angels descend from Heaven to protect…wait for it—” he held up a finger “—a dog.”

And us , she wanted to shout. She had the urge to smack him right across his smirking face. She loved his sense of humor, his ability to turn even the most mundane circumstances into an adventure, but sometimes he just didn’t listen. Usually it was over something so trivial it didn’t matter.

But this mattered. Now mattered.

So she reached across the table and smacked him, the sharp crack echoing through the kitchen. Matt’s head jerked to the side and a splotch of red spread across his cheek like a five-fingered disease. He turned back toward her, jaw muscles twitching, tears twinkling in his eyes. He blinked to keep the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. But you have to listen to me.”

“You hit me,” he said in barely a whisper, as if in shock.

“I’m really sorry.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “But you need to listen. You saw that thing move. You saw it with your own eyes. I’m not crazy. I’m not! We’re in danger, Matthew. From what, I don’t know, but it’s not good. Trust me, please.”

He remained quiet for a long time, and it took all that Katie had not to prod him along. “Fine,” he said, his voice like a soft breeze.

“Thank you.” She pulled him to his feet. “We need a lighter, and quickly.”

Moving zombielike, he pulled a barbecue lighter from the kitchen drawer and followed Katie outside. She found the candle a few feet away from the child. It smelled of old copper. A tender kind of warmth flowed into her when she held it, and she smiled.

“Lift it,” she said, pointing to the body at Matt’s feet.

He hesitated. “For what?”

“Stop asking questions, will you? Just do it.” She was running on adrenaline and instinct.

Grabbing hold of the child, Matt inhaled sharply, groaned as if he’d been punched in the stomach. His body stiffened, twitched. The green of his eyes disappeared, his pupils stretching into sightless black orbs. Drool slithered from the corner of his mouth like a glass snake and shattered on the grass below. He lurched upright, gasping for air, flailing his arms to find his balance.

“Christ,” he said. “Holy fuckersucks!”

“What happened?” Katie said.

“Wow.”

Matt stared down the street, wide-eyed. Katie thought about slapping him a second time. “Matt, focus! What happened? What did you see?”

“Too much,” he said, turning toward her. His eyes were still wide with fear, but finally focused. “They’ve seen us.”

“Oh no.” Hands shaking, Katie flicked the lighter. The flame sputtered. She kept at it, and it caught on the third try. She held it to the candle.

There was no wick.

She placed the flame directly to the candle’s tip. Nothing happened. It wouldn’t catch.

“Here,” Matt said. “Try this.”

Kneeling, he hoisted the child to a sitting position. The child’s body hung limply, its head bowed. Grabbing its hands, Matt placed them together, palms up, as if accepting sacramental bread.

Katie stood there, staring into the sky, waiting for the blood-red raindrops to fall, like they had in her vision. But again, nothing happened.

Her heart plummeted.

“Give it the candle,” Matt said. “Hurry.”

She silently cursed herself. This wasn’t your everyday candle. She should have known better. Instantly the child reacted when she placed the candle in its palms. Its body stiffened as if air were being blown into a balloon. With Matt’s help, it stood. Eyes shifted from white to black.

Matt let go and stepped back.

Flee…now…

The voice was weaker, but the urgency still clear.

Matt grabbed Kate’s arm. “Let’s go!”

They ran the short distance to the house. Once inside, Matt slammed the door shut, locked it, and turned out the lights. Through the window they watched a single drop of fire descend from the sky like a dying firefly.

As if praying, the ghostly sentinel bowed its head.

The air around them seemed to gasp. A fiery glow pulsed within the child, growing brighter, stronger, hungrier, the air shimmering and blurring like waves of heat over a desert highway until all was bathed in a dazzling orange hue.

Matt went to the kitchen sink and splashed water on his face. “Holy crap,” he said. “Katie, come check this out.”

He had moved the curtain aside and was looking out the window that faced the back yard. There, too, stood one of the strange children, surrounded by the beautiful orange sheen. Two more stood silently on the other sides of the house, four in total, all afire from within, a protective dome encapsulating the house.

They moved to the front window again and watched the street beyond. Though they couldn’t see the wormlike shadows, nor truly fathom the danger, they knew where they were by the way the firelight dimmed as the dark things repeatedly tried to break through the near invisible walls that kept them at bay.