The First Gate
The night air was heavy as the two parties met again where the trees thinned near the road. Lanterns bobbed between them, pale halos cutting swaths through the dark. James was at the front, his Bible tucked under one arm, Millie trailing behind like a shadow in her simple calico dress. Isaac scribbled furiously even while walking, and Ruth, bright-eyed despite the hour, helpfully lifted a lantern to illuminate his commonplace book. When she spotted Harry and the carnies, she looked relieved.
“Well,” James said, “Providence has a way of aligning paths. We prayed before moving forward, and lo, here you are.”
Edward muttered around his cigarette, “Providence, coincidence, six of one, half a dozen of the other…”
Clara gave her brother a sharp nudge, though her lips twitched as she fought a smirk. Harry smothered a grin into his collar and said, “I suppose the Lord’s been leading all of us straight into the same thicket. I guess it’s true that He works in mysterious ways.”
But when they pressed deeper into the woods together, the laughter waned. The path sloped and twisted until the air grew damp again, and there, looming up from the ground like a blackened tooth, was the First Gate.
Same as before. Rusted iron arch, skeletal and half-eaten by vines. The doorless hinges creaked in the night air, though it was still and without even a light breeze. Dragging her eyes across the forest, Clara found herself searching for that woman in the old-fashioned hospital gown.
When she looked back at the gate, there was a fence surrounding it, and a swinging gate door hung between the arches.
Ruth gasped. “Did you all see that?”
“No,” Isaac said firmly, though his voice cracked. “But I certainly see now. What in God’s name…?”
Edward puffed smoke and leaned against a tree, running his green eyes over the structure. “I don’t suspect this has anything to do with God, unfortunately. Ain’t that something? No sound, no motion, just blink and it’s there. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
A chill crept down Clara’s spine as she turned from her brother to face the First Gate. The air here wasn’t just cold. It pressed against her chest, heavy and uncomfortable. Shapes flickered just out of her vision, like faces peering between the trees. They were gone when she turned to examine them.
Harry caught her staring. He moved to her side and lowered his voice. “You feel it again, don’t you?”
Clara swallowed, tearing her eyes away from him. “We all do, Harry. Look what just happened right before our eyes.” Though it was a true statement, she knew it wasn’t enough to satisfy Harry, and she could sense him staring down at her.
James raised his voice. “We’ll head forward. We have prayers to say and ground to consecrate.”
Millie placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder and muttered, “Best to leave doubters behind anyway.”
Walter tipped his hat at them. “Best of luck. I’m sure we’ll catch up before the night is over.”
He watched as the first group traipsed through the First Gate, taking extra care to shut the wicket carefully so it didn’t slam against the aging arch. As they walked on, it was almost like the night and forest swallowed them. They didn’t, of course, but it was a dark, nearly moonless night, and the group easily disappeared from view.
And then there was a smell. It was so faint that Clara thought she imagined it at first. Sulfur, acrid and sour, wafted in from nowhere. The lanterns sputtered in the same breath, their flames guttering low.
Something shifted above them. A whisper of wings, not birdlike, heavier. The sound drew all eyes upward, but the canopy was thick, black against a darker sky.
Harry muttered, “That wasn’t a crow.”
Edward tried to laugh it off, but his voice was too high. “Probably just an owl. They get pretty big, you know.”
But Clara was trembling. She didn’t know why. She only knew every instinct screamed at her to drag her companions back to the road. Nevertheless, she dropped to her knees and started fishing through her suitcase. Her clothes had been left back at the hotel, but she’d brought a few supplies to assist with possibly making contact with the other side. Gingerly, she unwrapped her tarot set and closed the suitcase so she could use it as a table.
“Wait,” Walter said. “Harry, I do believe we had a deal. You owe us the second half of our pay.”
Harry tore his eyes from Clara and, with a frown, dug in his pocket. He counted a few bills out and stepped to Walter, then Edward. While each counted their cash – a measly twelve dollars, since thirteen had been paid upfront – he took the time to settle across from Clara. Carefully, he reached forward to offer her the cash.
She stared at it in surprise, as if she’d forgotten it. She slowly reached out for it, popped her suitcase open, and slipped it inside. When she looked back up and met his gaze, he softly said, “You still comfortably going through with this, Claire?”
“You paid us. I might as well deliver.”
“If you’re scared, it’s okay. Seeing that gate appear in the arch… It’s more than I expected, to be honest. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Honestly,” she said, dropping her voice to a near-whisper, “I’m sensing them, Harry. Like my mother said she could. I can feel them. If some of the people here were institutionalized mediums, maybe I’ll get the answer I need.”
Harry nodded and stood, stepping back as Walter came closer to watch Clara shuffle her deck.
The shadows seemed to curl at the edges of her lanternlight, reaching like fingers, as she closed her eyes. Clara caught a flash in the dark between the trees – two burning points, low and far apart, like eyes set too wide in a skull. For a mere instant they glowed red, then vanished when she blinked.
“Spirits of the former asylum… I’m a medium, hoping to speak with you. Please. Give me a message.”
After a brief pause, she drew the first card and declared, “Let this represent the lingering energy of the asylum. Next, who answers my call. Then, the path to find answers. What we’ll find beyond the threshold, if we go beyond the First Gate. And lastly, what they’ll ask of me as their vessel.”
Her eyes scanned the spread of cards. Five of Cups, The Hanged Man, The Moon, The Tower reversed, and Page of Cups. As she stared at the cards, Walter inched closer, drinking in the spread with wide, curious eyes.
“What does it say?” he asked apprehensively. Clara almost smiled. He seldom ever watched her work, and she’d never had any indication he believed in her craft. Instead of poking fun at him, she met his gaze reassuringly before she looked down at the spread.
“Sorrow lingers here – the loss of life when the asylum burned is very, very potent. They feel it still, as we all do. The Hanged Man represents a suspension between worlds, so it’s confirmation that we’re speaking to the dead rather than, say, the Devil. But the others… The Moon is a card of deception, so this path won’t be easy, and we should expect to be tricked. To face a heavy task. And The Tower being upside down just reinforces that. But Page of Cups encourages me to be open, to be a vessel of intuition. To let childlike wonder lead the way.”
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Edward stated, which earned him a glare. He stomped out his cigarette and approached his sister. “Please. If the spirits wanted to help us, they’d do more than say, ‘this journey will be difficult.’ We know. We’re stumbling through the dark near magical fuckin’ gates.”
While Harry jumped to her defense and started yelling at Edward, she lifted a hand to silence the men. Pursing her lips, she gathered her cards and returned them to her suitcase. Selecting a piece of paper and a pen, she offered them to Walter with a nod. He took the items, freeing her hands to collect her suitcase and lantern.
As she rose, the distant voices of their peers floated to them, carrying scripture across the wind like a hymn gone sour. But above it all, Clara thought she heard something else – low and hungry, a rasping breath that vibrated through the trees.
“Let’s go in,” she said definitively. “I’ll see if I can channel them beyond the First Gate.”
Edward immediately grabbed her sleeve. “Ya sure about this one, Lari? I mean… Magical gate appears out of nowhere… Pretty girl walks in… Lovecraft woulda called this fiction, but I’m not so sure anymore.”
“They’re here, Eddy. I feel it. But we need to get closer. Don’t you wanna see what I can do?”
With his lips drawn into a tight line, he let go of her sleeve. When she stepped forward, Harry’s hand slipped into hers. Hand-in-hand, they stepped through the First Gate.
***
The instant their feet crossed the threshold, the air changed again. It was like they’d stepped beneath the surface of a pond – murky, thick, and disorienting. The light of Clara’s lantern dulled, its halo shrinking until even the trees seemed to draw closer, bark slick and black like wet bone. Somewhere in the dark, a single wingbeat thudded. Then another.
Harry tensed at once, unintentionally drawing Clara close. “There’s that sound again.”
Clara glanced up. The canopy was too thick to see through. “It’s probably just – “
“Don’t say owl.” His grip tightened on her hooked arm as he shot a look over his shoulder at her brother. “Because I’m still not buying it.”
Edward snorted, an unexpectedly loud sound that echoed off the tight trees. “What, you scared, Harry-boy?”
“Not scared.” Harry pulled away from Clara and thumbed back the hammer on his pistol as he glanced into the trees. “Just cautious. Last time I was here, it was ominous, but I didn’t see a gate appear out of nowhere. I didn’t feel like I was being hunted.”
Walter snorted. “Hunted? Bears don’t fly, Harry, and they’re the only threat out here. Hell, if we encounter anything alive out here, I’ll buy it a drink when we’re done.” He adjusted his coat, lantern swinging. “Come now. If the legends are true, Clara will break through to the other side and help us find a massive fortune. What’s a little midnight stroll compared to that?”
Clara gave him a flat look. “If we die, I expect you’ll still be counting coins in the afterlife.”
Walter smiled thinly. “And you’ll thank me for it when we’re rich.”
When Clara fell back to walk with her brother, Harry wasn’t far behind. “You two alright?”
Edward offered a cigarette to his sister. “Never better.” He struck a match against his boot, the flare reflecting in his green eyes as he leaned forward to light her smoke. “What’s the plan, clairvoyant extraordinaire?”
She exhaled smoke. “You’ll know when I do.”
“Comforting.” At his sarcastic tone, she shot her brother a smirk.
But after a few more steps, Clara stopped. Her breath fogged in the air, white against the dark. “Here,” she murmured. “This is the spot.”
Walter ran his dark eyes around the ground, searching for any sign that confirmed Clara’s intuition. “How can you tell?”
She shrugged, raising her cigarette to her lips lazily. She took a few more hits before she dropped it and crushed it beneath lattice pumps – low-heeled, but still not the most ideal footwear for a trek through the forest.
Clara set down her suitcase and accepted her pen and paper from Walter. She brushed leaves aside with her sleeve and sat cross-legged on the damp ground. Harry crouched near her shoulder, taking her lantern and moving it close enough to throw the flickering amber light across her paper. Edward sank down beside her, his hot breath fogging up the space while Walter stayed back with his arms crossed, already impatient.
“Spirits of the departed,” Clara said softly, setting the nib of the pen to paper, “and mediums condemned to the asylum here. If you hear me, use my hand as your own. Let your words guide us.”
The forest hushed. The only sounds were the crackle of bated breath and the faint, steady drip of water from the branches. Her hand began to twitch. Then it moved, slow at first, forming looping, deliberate letters that weren’t hers.
Walter leaned forward. “Is that real?”
Harry shot him a glare. “Of course it is. I hired her for a reason, didn’t I?”
“I guess,” Walter muttered, though he didn’t look convinced.
The pen scrawled across the page: Be still. Be open. Wonder guides, not fear.
Edward squinted. “That’s it? The childlike wonder message again?” He snorted. “I feel like I could have told ya that, and I’m not even sensitive.”
Clara hushed him, her eyes fixed on the words. She could feel a soft pulse behind her ribs, like the beat of a second heart. Warm. Welcoming. Foreign, but familiar. “It’s not nonsense, Eddy. It’s a reminder. I can do this.”
She closed her eyes. The words echoed in her head. Be still. Be open. She drew in a deep breath and let the forest settle into quiet around her. Cicadas called and birds chirped at first, but their call faded into silence.
And then, she realized, time itself began to slow. She peeled her eyelids open.
The lanternlight near her suitcase stretched into long ribbons of gold. Edward’s smoke hung in the air like frozen silk. Harry’s hand, halfway to his revolver, hovered motionless. Only the sound of her breathing remained.
“Harry?” she whispered.
She took a few steps closer to him, moving close enough to see his eyelids moving ever so slowly, like they were suspended in a slow motion blink.
When Clara turned, the world around her shimmered, the forest rippling with movement like flimsy cellophane hung suspended in the air. When it stilled again, a woman stood just beyond the circle of light.
She wore a patient’s gown, scorched and smeared with soot, the lace on the hem charred. Her hair hung in limp, uneven brown curls, and her bare feet sank into the moss. For a moment, brief as a heartbeat, Clara thought she was another illusion until the woman smiled, faint and terribly human.
“Clara. It’s nice to finally speak with you.” The voice was gentle, like the whisper of paper unfurling from a roll.
A chill rippled down Clara’s spine as she realized the woman was not quite solid, see-through and wispy where her form ended. “Who are you?”
“Tabitha. I was here during the fire. Like you, I had an affinity that allowed me to speak to the dead. Unlike you, I couldn’t tell that they weren’t of the same plane. I was diagnosed with dementia praecox and institutionalized.”
Clara shivered, rubbing her arms for comfort. “Then it’s true. There was an asylum here.”
“There was.” Tabitha’s gaze drifted toward the trees. “A place for the gifted and the forgotten. We were silenced. When the fire came, it ensured we remained silent.” She looked down at her gown, brushing at a smear of soot that didn’t lift. “Some of us still burn.”
Clara swallowed hard. “The fire… Was it caused by the Gates? I don’t understand what they are.”
Tabitha’s expression darkened. “Caused by the Gates? No. They’re bindings. The doctors thought they could contain what my more adventurous peers summoned, but the thing they called forth was no spirit. It had wings, teeth, and hunger. The Gates did originally contain it, to a degree, but the chaos shattered the Seventh back by the old asylum. When the flames spread, it broke loose and spilled into the woods. We bound it again… with our lives, unfortunately. The Gates contain it to the woods. And here, it still hunts. Here I, now the Seventh Gate, stand before you.”
Clara recalled the flap of massive wings her brother had thought was an owl. “It… ended you, Tabitha?”
The spirit’s transparent eyes bored into her. “It did. And it likes those like us – spiritually sensitive – best. You must leave before it hunts you.”
“I can’t,” Clara said definitively. “That group we came in with? They wish to destroy what they believe is a hellmouth.”
“So they’ll break the binds,” Tabitha said dryly, “and free it from the forest.”
Clara’s stomach twisted as she realized, “I have to stop them.”
Tabitha stepped closer, her presence radiating a cold that pricked Clara’s skin. For a long moment, neither woman, alive nor dead, spoke. The forest hummed, slow and distant as the shared understanding of the weight of her mission settled in.
Finally, Clara said, “Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course.”
“I’m helping a man named Harry find something that belonged to his family. I told him I’d speak to his mother. I don’t know how.”
Tabitha tilted her head. Then, she shook it slowly. “You do. You already know how.”
The words echoed strangely, overlapping like multiple voices speaking through one mouth. It was the back of Clara’s mind repeating the message, she realized. And she did know… she’d found a way to reach Tabitha, after all.
“He’s handsome,” Tabitha said, forwardly reminding Clara that she was still human despite the otherworldly fog that clung to her. “If he’d have been there during the fire, I’d have felt safe.”
Clara chuckled and gestured to the firearm he was reaching for. “Yeah, I do. If I live through this… I don’t know. Maybe.”
Tabitha smiled before she reached forward and pressed a hand against Clara’s chest, light as a moth’s wing and as cold as ice. “Remember that wonder guides, not fear.”
The contact burned even colder, spreading through Clara’s ribs, down her arms, into her fingertips. She gasped. The world tilted, so she leaned against Harry to steady herself.
Suddenly, everything snapped back. The sound of crickets returned. The lantern flickered. Edward’s cigarette smoke drifted upward. Time flowed normally again.
Harry jumped when he noticed her, the hand reaching for his gun falling as he spun to her in shock. “How… You were just…”
“I know,” she said, nodding toward the suitcase. “I think I stepped into… I don’t know, a space between the worlds.”
Walter crouched near the paper, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What the hell happened?”
“I received a message,” she said, her pulse quickening. “There’s something demonic in these woods, something of flesh and bone that’s hungry. The Gates keep it in the woods. If James and his friends manage to ‘close’ them or whatever he’s striving to do, this thing will get out into the world.”
Walter frowned. “And why’s that our problem?”
“Because it eats people, Walter. There’s no profit to be made for our circus if there aren’t people to attend it.”
He considered that as Harry finally drew his gun. Edward took a concerned toke as he studied his sister. “Lovely. Straight into hell it is, then. So we follow in the footsteps of the demons before us, find them before it’s too late?”
“I think so,” Clara admitted as she hiked her skirt up and felt for her thigh holster. Producing her gun, she nodded at Harry. “Let’s lead the way. Walter, can you grab the suitcase for me? And Eddy, the lantern?”
As they gathered their things, Clara looked once more toward the trees. Between the trunks, a shadow moved… massive, winged, and far too fast to be an illusion. Two ember-bright eyes met hers for a moment before vanishing into the dark. She cocked her gun.
Beside her, Harry’s eyes instantly went to her firearm. “You saw something?”
“I think it saw me,” she said quietly.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “Walter, Eddy, stay close. Let’s go find those dumbasses.”