Ignition
James could no longer tell how long he’d been walking. It felt like ages. The forest had thinned, yet the air had grown thicker, warmer, as though he were breathing through cloth. The mist glowed faintly around him, barely illuminated by the moon that wove in and out of clouds. His boots left dark impressions in the soil, but when he glanced back, they filled themselves in, as though the earth had never known his weight. As though it didn’t want him to remember his path.
He should have been afraid.
He wasn’t, oddly enough.
Each step came with an almost-holy state of calm. The woods didn’t feel like they were resisting him now. The thorns that had clawed his sleeves before lay smooth against the path, wet with dew. The air no longer stank of rot and sulfur. The silence pressed close but not cruelly – like an audience waiting for the sermon’s end. And James was very much at peace with the journey ahead.
“I am thy servant, Lord,” James murmured, clutching Millie’s rosary close to his heart. “Let me be the hand that seals what Hell has opened.”
The prayer came easy. Every word found rhythm. Every pause was answered by a distant rustle, like breath through leaves. He thought it was the wind, but deep down, some part of him knew he was being accompanied.
And he was okay with that. He had the Lord on his side.
Ahead, the mist parted.
The Fifth Gate stood waiting. Just two more to go. According to the legends, nobody had ever gone further than the Fifth Gate, and James honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to himself.
It was wider than the others, and older, it seemed. The first Gate to bear a different design. Iron vines curled around it like veins, their metallic thorns glossy with dew that shimmered in the lamplight. Beneath it, the ground had cracked open in a circle, and from its depths rose a faint, slow exhale of heat that lifted in lazy, curling tendrils. When James stepped closer, his lantern flickered, its flame stretching toward the gate as if pulled by invisible threads.
He stopped at the threshold, awestruck.
The air here hummed. It was plain to see why people didn’t venture further than this.
When he’d first started preaching, he had done so not just to carry on a family legacy, but to carry the family torch in championing a better world. Being Protestant, he was not just encouraged to marry, but to also start a family. And one day, he’d always planned to.
Though Millie was gone, and her absence made his chest ache, he was still building a better world for their children, in his mind. Closing a hellmouth would be the first step toward a brighter tomorrow.
A deep vibration rolled through the soles of his boots and up his spine, filling his chest with warmth that felt uncomfortably like reverence.
“This is it,” he whispered. “I’ve gone far enough. Here, I can sense the grasp of Hell. It’s near. But not for long.”
He knelt, resting the lantern beside him. The rosary beads slipped between his fingers, clicking softly in rhythm to his words. “I rebuke you, Satan. In the name of –”
A voice interrupted, quiet and resonant, carrying from somewhere further in the woods beyond the gate.
“Do you? You know as well as I that this is an earthly realm, far outside the grasp of God or the Devil.”
James froze. “Who’s there?”
“The only one who listens,” came the reply. It wasn’t loud, but it filled the clearing, a low harmony that made his bones ache. “So many prayers. So many words that never reach the heavens. And your peers abandoned you because they also didn’t listen. Isn’t that right?”
He rose slowly, scanning the fog for signs of another presence.
A laugh rolled through the mist. It wasn’t cruel, exactly. Just old, like something that had laughed through centuries as humans evolved and suffered at the hands of their own undoing. “All alone, but you came to shut the door, didn’t you? I wish you luck. It takes a man of great faith to accomplish such a task. I don’t believe you’re that holy.”
James swallowed, gripping the rosary so tightly the cross seemed to cut into his palm. “You cannot scare me. The Lord protects His own.”
“I don’t see Him. I don’t believe you can close the hellmouth.”
The mist shifted. Something vast moved just beyond James’s sight.
“Why did your flock scatter? Why did your wife cry out His name, and He did not answer?”
James flinched. “Silence! You’ll not disrespect Him or my dearly departed wife. God rest her soul.”
“Faith is silence,” the voice mused. “It’s the silent belief that carries us, isn’t it? And you’re so faithful. But here you are, muttering prayers that will never be heard.”
The preacher’s breathing quickened as his eyes darted across the gate’s dark latticework. On instinct, he drew a small silver flask from his coat – holy water, blessed by his own trembling hands before the expedition took off. He uncorked it and splashed it across the iron. It hissed. The ground beneath him shuddered.
“Begone,” he cried. “I seal this Gate by the blood of the Lamb!”
Seal, of course, was the exact opposite of what happened. In attempting to create a new one, the old binds came undone. Iron twisted, the metal arch groaning like a cry dragged from a dying throat. The metallic vines slithered, uncoiling, snapping their thorns like fingers. His lantern glass cracked, the flame flaring and dying in the same breath as he was plunged into darkness.
Despite the dying light and very light rain, his eyes adjusted enough to see the gate collapse in on itself, writhing in a pile of dust and twisted metal. For one bright instant, James believed he’d succeeded. The wind rose around him, the air bursting outward, and he fell to his knees, laughing, sobbing.
“Thank you, Lord,” he choked. “Thank you.”
Then came the sound.
A heartbeat. Or, rather, something like one. Low. Massive. Felt more than heard, an infrasonic sensation that pulsed in his muscles.
As he stood in shock, the fog began to clear, revealing a gaping opening where the gate had once stood. There, heat and motion and colorless smoke twisted in a spiral. From within it, something began to rise.
Wings unfolded first, leathery and dripping with rainwater that sizzled when it met the ground. Then came the head, curling kudu horns glinting in the darkness, eyes like twin embers rolling open to meet the air and drink in the sight of the man who’d destroyed the binding that once confined it.
James scrambled backward, dropping the rosary. “No… no, that’s not possible… I was closing it –”
“You opened it,” the thing said. Its voice was calm. Human, even. But beneath it hummed the chorus of every scream ever swallowed by this place. “You freed me. I suppose I should thank you.”
It stepped forward, talons sinking into the earth, dragging up mud that steamed where it fell. Its chest rose and fell in a steady, anticipatory rhythm.
James scrambled to grab and lift the rosary, pressing the cross against the creature’s skin when it came close. Smoke rose where metal met flesh. The thing recoiled slightly, hissing, but then it laughed. A slow, delighted sound as it leaned forward and gripped the rosary and James’s hand.
The rosary glowed white-hot from the contact with something so unholy. James screamed as it burned into his palm. The beads snapped, scattering into the dirt like spilled teeth. The demon’s hand closed down on his wrist – huge, cold, impossibly strong – and lifted him from the ground like a rag doll.
James met its eyes, tears streaming. “If I die, I die in His light.”
The creature tilted its head before a smile tore across its face. “As you wish.”
It brought him close. Its breath smelled of rust and sulfur and centuries. For one brief moment, James saw what lay reflected in those eyes: not flame, not torment, but the same darkness that had been waiting in his own prayers all along. The certainty that no one was listening.
Then the thing bit down.
A wet crunch filled the air, the distinct rip of fabric and sinew. The forest trembled as James’s scream burst through the trees and cut off mid-breath. When the thing lifted its head again, blood slicked its jaw. The rosary’s broken cross lay nearby, still faintly glowing before the rain hissed it out.
The creature paused, licking its teeth. Above the canopy, the horizon was just barely paling, the first threads of dawn threading through the black sky. It looked up, squinting against that growing light, and its wings shuddered.
Sunrise would be here soon.
A hiss slipped through its teeth, half fear, half frustration. Then it turned toward the mouth of the woods, toward the distant echo of human hearts still beating.
There were others.
But it had time. There was a whole world awaiting it, ripe for the taking. And it had been so long since demons hunted humans that his prey wouldn’t even know how to hide.
With one sweep of its wings, it vanished into the trees, leaving behind only the open wound of the Fifth Gate and the smell of sulfur, slowly being washed away by the rain.
***
Clara was walking toward the front of her group, her gun drawn high, when a scream echoed throughout the forest around them. Behind her, all footfall halted.
“James,” Isaac muttered. “My God. The beast got him, too.”
But before Clara could respond, the world around her froze, branches pausing mid-motion. She blinked before she realized she was, once again, in that strange space beyond time.
When she turned her head, she spotted the spirit of Tabitha just beyond Eddy’s lantern.
“Hello,” the ghost stated. “And, if you’re wise, goodbye. You must leave. The bonds have been broken, so the beast is about to escape. He can’t come after you… Sunlight is approaching, and it must find shelter, lest it burn.”
Clara blinked. “Sunlight can kill it?”
“No,” Tabitha stated. “Alas, it cannot be killed. We would not have bound it here if that was the case. You must go.”
Between the next flutter of her lids, the branches were moving again, and the echo of James’s scream was fading out. She spun on her heel, meeting her brother’s gaze first before she took in the group surrounding her.
“James released it,” she said. “We have to go. That thing will burn in the sunlight, so it has to seek shelter. We have to move before it changes its course.”
Without a word, Harry’s arm was on hers, pulling her along, making her heels sink into and drag across the moist earth. She caught her footing and trotted to keep pace. When she glanced back, Ruth was also struggling to keep up in her heels.
“We failed,” Edward said quietly, fishing in his pocket for another cigarette. After pausing to light it, he continued. “My God. We had an actual meaningful mission here, and we failed.”
“I’m not so sure,” Clara said quietly. “What are the odds that fate would have us here at the same time as James? I think we learned everything we need to.”
Harry side-eyed her. “We learned that bullets don’t kill it.”
“Nothing kills it,” she said quietly.
They walked in silence after that, paired with a distinct absence of bird and insect song. The only sound was the occasional crunch of leaves underfoot and the rasp of Edward’s smokey exhales behind them. The sky ahead was paling to a washed-out gray, not quite at sunrise, but slowly letting go of the blackness of night.
The world felt like it was holding its breath.
When they reached the edge of the forest, the trees thinned to reveal the road. Clara breathed a sigh of relief as she gazed at the two cars parked in waiting. She almost thought, at one point, that she’d never see the world beyond the woods again.
They walked toward the cars, eyes sparkling as escape promised reprieve. Isaac and Ruth led the group, and they came to stand beside James’s car first.
Isaac drew a deep breath when he saw the keys in the ignition. It was unlocked. “Suppose James won’t be needing this. Ruth, honey, come on.”
Ruth crossed herself before she shot a brief wave to the others and climbed in beside him. The motor sputtered, then caught, coughing black smoke.
Clara was crawling into the car as the red glow of their tail lights vanished into mist. Beside her, straight-lipped, Harry started the car. “We’ll head back to town. If it won’t be traveling by day, we’d better rest before we make any more mistakes.”
Clara was silent as their trek unfolded, her eyes locked on the road beyond the dashboard as civilization again approached. Unbeknownst to her at the time, Edward managed to doze off in the rumble seat behind them.
Eventually, the ruts and bumps of the dirt road gave way to asphalt. Then, the last of the stars faded as dawn lazily unfurled, stretching sleepy golden rays across the sky.
When they reached the inn, the world felt almost ordinary again. The scent of coffee drifted faintly from the kitchen. A bell rang somewhere. Outside, the fog was already thinning as it drifted off the Susquehanna River.
Edward mumbled a goodnight – or good morning, Clara couldn’t tell which – and vanished into his room down the hall.
Clara and Harry kept walking. Their shoes made soft, hollow thuds on the worn runner carpet. The oil lamps along the corridor burned low, their flames dancing with each draft.
At her door, Clara stopped. Her key hovered near the lock, her hand shaking just slightly.
Harry noticed. He waited, not pressing, just present.
“I’m not sure I want to be alone after that,” she admitted, her eyes wide above a voice that was barely more than a whisper.
Harry studied her. The lamplight caught on the fine ash still streaked along her cheek, perhaps a remnant of dealing with the lanterns. There was dirt in her hair. Tired shadows beneath her eyes. Though her features were taut with fatigue, she looked scared.
He reached up – slow, careful not to startle her – to pluck a leaf from the tangles of her dark hair. “You don’t have to be.”
She searched his face, looking for pity and finding only weariness that mirrored her own. Her lips parted, but she quickly averted her eyes, not sure if she’d have the courage to speak if she was looking at him. “Harry, I –”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything, Claire. We made it. We’re alive. That’s enough.”
For a long moment, they simply stood there. The space between them felt charged, heavier than all the words they hadn’t said. Their eyes were locked until Clara leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. His folded around her, holding her close with a steady warmth that made her throat ache.
When she finally pulled back, his hand lingered at the small of her back before falling away. He cleared his throat. “Grab some pajamas. We should probably get cleaned up before we go to bed. I’ll wait outside while you bathe so you’re not wholly alone.”
“Thank you,” she said. She slipped in her room, then paused before she could close the door. “You can come in, you know.”
He smiled and stepped in after her, closing the door gently behind him. She hoisted her suitcase on the bed and ruffled through it until she produced a nightgown. She paused, shot a glance at Harry, and then hoisted her skirt just enough to unhook the holster on her thigh.
Harry gestured at the gun as she stowed it in her suitcase. “You never told me you carry.”
“I work in a carnival,” she said. “I’m alone when I do readings, remember? A girl has to be prepared.”
“You ever had to use it?”
Slipping her shoes and stockings off, she shrugged. “To threaten the occasional drunk, sure. Never fired it except to practice, though. Thank God.”
They made their way to the hall to head to the shared bathroom as, outside, the first rays of sunrise broke across the horizon. While the world soaked up the early rush of gold, Clara paused again outside the lavatory.
“You know,” she said timidly. “Depending on how they heat their water, I could use up the warm water before you get to it. Maybe we should… share it?”
Harry blinked. For a moment, she thought he might make a joke, something to defuse the tension that hung between them. But he only nodded, slow and serious. “Alright. If that’ll keep you from jumping at every creak. Let me grab some pajamas.”
After a brief trip to his room to fetch a change of clothes, they found themselves with eyes politely averted in a narrow, tiled room. When Clara turned the faucet handle, pipes moaned, at first from the rush of water and then from the slow creep of heat. As the tub filled with steaming water, carrying the subtle scent of iron from either the groundwater or pipes, Clara rolled her sleeves up and dipped a finger in.
With her nomadic lifestyle, hot baths were a rarity. Heck, a non-portable tub was a luxury. And the water was slightly hotter than expected, deliciously inviting. She shot a look at Harry and cleared her throat, so he averted his eyes as she stripped and sank into the tub with a sigh.
Once she settled in, the warm water relaxed her muscles, and all sense of shame suddenly faded away. She threw her head back and laughed in absolute relief – every demonic encounter deserved to end with a hot bath.
Harry sat on the edge of the tub for a moment, his back to her as he leaned forward to pull off his boots and socks. Her eyes locked on the back of his neck where flecks of dried mud coated his skin. She glanced down at her mud-spattered wrists and reached for a wrapped bar of lye soap with a sudden self-consciousness.
While she focused on scrubbing, Harry climbed in opposite her, careful to keep the porcelain between them as neutral ground. When he relaxed, a contented sigh escaped his lips as he threw his head back and closed his eyes. In the hot water, there was no tension or awkwardness, just a mutually relieved thaw after intense shock.
“We don’t have hot water on the road,” she finally said, breaking their shared silence. “Hell, we bathe from wells pretty often. Naturally cool. I’m not used to this.”
“The heat, or sharing your bath with someone?”
Despite her exhaustion, she laughed.
“You ever thought about leaving, Claire? I know it’s not my place to say, but you seem better than a carnie. You seem like a working woman, like my mom, but built for a career like typing, not pulling con jobs.”
Clara ran the bar of soap through her hair, then thoughtfully handed it over. After a pause, she said, “I won’t leave until Eddy does. Now that Walter’s gone, that may finally happen, but I can’t leave him alone in that world. He drinks enough that without my intervention, I fear what would happen to him.”
As he scrubbed, he asked, “You ever think about, I don’t know, settling down one day?”
Dunking the end of her tresses in the water, a small smile graced her lips. “If I live to experience those ‘one day’ moments, then perhaps. Did you think, at any point tonight, that maybe we weren’t supposed to survive that?”
Harry set the soap down and leaned back, his eyes half-closed as he exhaled. “Not for a second. I was getting you out of those woods if it was the last thing I did. And if I managed to survive, I was planning on trying my best to convince you to leave the circus.”
The early rays of dawn, drifting through a small window, flickered on the water’s surface, cutting across her cheekbones and a small bruise forming along her jaw. She studied him through the rising steam, her voice quieter now. “And how would you do that?”
Rather than immediately answering, he reached for a washcloth and leaned forward to scrub a missed line of soot from her shoulder. His touch was brief and careful, but her eyes widened as he said, “I don’t know. Acts of service until you agreed to come home with me? I didn’t think about Eddy being part of the deal, but I suppose we could put him in the basement or something.”
Chuckling, she laid her head back and yawned. For a few precious moments, they said nothing at all. There was only the sound of the pipes cooling and popping, of two people relearning what it meant to breathe in peace again.
“We should probably go to bed soon,” she said absentmindedly. “Rest up for a few hours until we… Figure out what’s next, I guess.”
“I agree,” Harry said. “And I do have an idea of where we might go.”
“You do?”
“I do. But for now, I’m going to appreciate the here and now.” Harry leaned forward to kiss her very briefly before he reached for a towel. He offered it to her, and she accepted it with a timid smile.Meanwhile, deeper in the forest they’d fled, something ancient shifted uneasily in its burrow of shade, watching the light creep closer and waiting patiently for its next opportunity to explore a whole new world.