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

Matt pulled Katie close and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She embraced him, not sure what to say. The kiss, innocent as it might have been, had sent her heart aflutter. “It’s okay,” she said quietly.

“So now what do we do?”

“I don’t know.” Katie hadn’t had time to process what had already happened, let alone figure out what they should do next. Halloween had come alive in ways more real than she could ever have imagined, shattering the fictional barrier that usually separated her world from that of the dark. “We wait, I guess.”

She rested her head on Matt’s shoulder.

He hugged her a little tighter.

The minutes ticked by and they watched their little corner of the world through the unbelievable orange sphere.

Again Katie thought of her father. She’d felt lost since his death, but had tried to remain strong. Her mother had dealt with the loss in a completely different way—isolation, denial, anger—and Katie’s relationship with her had suffered greatly.

But maybe her father was still here with them. Perhaps, with Katie’s help, her mother would soon emerge from the darkness in which she had descended.

Perhaps.

Katie had always wanted to trust in what the religious folk preached, but it had always seemed so hokey. Now, however, it seemed wonderful. The possibilities warmed her heart. And even if it weren’t entirely true, could believing in some higher power, having faith in it, be so terrible?

Beyond the window, past the strange child and the enchanting sphere, there lurked a darkness more menacing than Katie could ever have imagined.

She closed her eyes, thought of her father, found hope for her mother, and dared to believe.

—

K. Allen Wood’s fiction has appeared in 52 Stitches, Vol. 2 , The Zombie Feed, Vol. 1 , and Epitaphs: The Journal of New England Horror Writers . He is also the editor/publisher of Shock Totem , a bi-annual horror fiction magazine. He lives and plots in Massachusetts.

For more info, visit him at http://www.kallenwood.com.

The other girl, she has eyes like oil. They’re dark and black and slick. They widen like holes and one day they’ll swallow me completely.

I tell her this. She smiles, just a little.

“Maybe.”

I go outside to drag some heavy wood to the house. I wear a large pair of men’s boots that I tie as tightly as I can, but I still step out of them. I’m not allowed to have a pair that fits.

The wood is running low and this worries me. I remember the first nights here, the howling of the wolves in the freezing darkness, venturing from the forest that looms on the edge of the fields. The dank little house doesn’t have windows that fully shut. There’s no way to keep the wind out.

“If you bring me an axe, I’ll chop my own wood,” I had told him. I stood there in bare feet, hugging my arms around my torn dress. “You won’t have to do anything. I’ll do all the work for you.”

He hit me then, once, hard enough that it knocked me to the ground and I couldn’t get up right away. Black Mary crouched over me like a cat, hissing at him. He didn’t seem to notice her.

Later he took me to his bed, gently rubbing my freezing arms and legs. The black-haired girl stood in the doorway, silently. I met her eyes over his greasy shoulder.

“Little girls aren’t meant to use axes, honey,” he said. “What if you hurt yourself? Nobody is here to help you, not for miles. It isn’t safe. Do you understand?”

I wanted to tell him that I would be careful, that I was almost eleven years old, but I only nodded, my hands clasped between my knees.

“Tell ya what I’ll do. I’ll bring in wood when I come, okay? Lots of it. Will that make you happy?”

I nodded, and the gentle caress on my arm turned into something different. The girl turned away and I squeezed my eyes shut.

That was two days ago. Now the black-eyed girl stands behind me, brushing my hair. “He wears a wedding ring,” she says. “That means he has a wife. Maybe some kids. Maybe his kids are the same age you are.”

I turn my head to the side and throw up. “Sorry,” I say, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

She steps in front of me and crouches until we’re eye level. “Don’t you ever apologize to me, get it? I’m your friend. I love you, real love, nothing like what he says love is.” Her eyes burn, scorch, like watching fire rush across oil. “I’d like to kill him.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Black Mary was fierce. “I would. He knows it. Why doesn’t he leave an axe here, huh? Because he knows I’d kill him one day. I’d take it and swipe at his head when he wasn’t looking. Or even when he is. Either way.”

I back up a little. She snorts.

“What, I’m too harsh for you? Are you scared, sweet little thing?” She stands up, tossing her hair back. “This is why he takes you, you know. You and not me. Because you give in. Because you’re so good and quiet, and men love little girls who are quiet. Me?” She shrugs. “Nobody loves me. Not anymore.”

She turns and walks away. It hurts me to see her go, but I have other things to tend to. I still have bruises inside and out. I still have the nightmares.

Black Mary is gone for several days. I look for her on the horizon, but there isn’t anything besides fields of weeds. The food is almost gone. I’m hungry and sick and almost want the man to come again so that I can have something to eat. Almost.

“That’s what he wants, you know,” Black Mary says to me. She’s sitting on a large rock out in the field. Her pointed nose and shiny hair remind me of a raven. A crow. Something that could simply fly away.

“Why did you come back?” I ask her.

“Didn’t you miss me?” She tilts her head, again like a bird. I wonder if she sheds her skin at night and there are feathers underneath.

“Of course I missed you. I missed you so much. But weren’t you free? Didn’t you get away? Why would you come back?”

She reaches for my hand but I pull it away.

“Do you remember your mother?”

I freeze. “Why?”

My mother wore yellow dresses and grew lavender in the front yard. Her eyes were brown, like mine. Or maybe they were blue.

“Do you think she’s out there looking for you?”

I sit down, my back against the rock. My stomach is hurting.

She isn’t letting it go. “Do you?”

I want to think so. But it’s been so long. She’s probably given up by now. I wipe my face with my sleeve.

“Know what I think?”

I shake my head.

She slides off the rock and grabs my wrists. She’s careful of the bruises. She always has been. “I think moms never stop looking for their kids. Not ever. No matter how long it has been.”

“I don’t look the same anymore.”

“No, you don’t. You’ve grown a lot in the last few years.”

“What if she doesn’t recognize me?”

“I think she would.”

I cough and the black-eyed girl pulls away. “Come on. We need to get you inside. You’re getting sick and you remember what that’s like. Maybe when he comes back, he’ll bring more wood.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t bring much food, either, just a cheeseburger from a fast food place and a shopping bag full of apples.

“Is…is there anything else?” I ask, and I pay for it. The girl with the black hair helps me up and stands behind me while I wash the blood from my dress. I meet her eyes in the mirror.