Destiny's Gate

by Lee Bice-Matheson

  “Go on, Paige, continue with your thought,” Allan prodded.

  Against my better judgement, I volunteered, “You seem to have the same eyes, as…no, you can’t be. It’s too bizarre.”

  “The same eyes as who?” he provoked.

  “As the wolf...the one who protected me in the basement hallway from the black dogs. It cannot be!” I blurted, as I dropped to the ground. Before my eyes, Allan shapeshifted. His body shuddered, and then suddenly a blue-eyed wolf stared me down. I blacked out from the shock.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Oh Wise One and Grey Owl

  Everything appeared crystal clear upon awakening, as if the clarity notch had been turned up ten times. I could see for miles in all directions, sensing what was behind me without looking, as I navigated my way twisting and turning along riverbanks, past waterfalls, and through the forests. The refreshing wind on my face was liberating. My vantage point was low to the ground and I observed nature as I had never seen it before. Rabbits peeped out of their burrows and mice scampered across fields hoping to escape their predators as they swooped down from the endless sky. I ran effortlessly. It was exhilarating and I hoped it would last forever. My senses had increased dramatically. I became aware of a vaguely familiar scent; the friend next to me, who had been there all along. Gazing over my right shoulder, Blue-Eyes ran alongside of me and I realized this was my friend.

  Bang! Another startling sound awoke me from my perfect slumber. It seemed to happen more often, lately. I lay awake with my left ear attuned trying to decipher what it was without success. I slipped back into dreamland once again.

  A man’s face appeared before me in mid-air — it was round with lots of wrinkles, a kind and wise looking face with sparkling eyes. He had long, braided, white hair draped over each shoulder and a white feather behind his left ear. He welcomed me to this place, of which I did not know, and said he had been expecting me. Then he showed me many First Nation peoples working diligently in the heat of the day on granite rock, wearing nothing but loin cloths, bent over fishing nets. It was of a time long ago when humans, animals and nature were in harmony. Fish were caught for means of feeding; their oils extracted for medicinal purposes. There were no power boats or yachts; the waters were clear, undisturbed and pure. This man announced Grey Owl would soon visit me. And that I must listen to what he has to say. It was very important. But before that could happen he instructed, I must be healed in order to speak to him. Though I wondered, healed from what, I asked where? He said, by the babbling brook that draws you there behind your family’s dwelling. It is a sacred place from long ago.

  The second dream ended unexpectedly. Leaping out of bed, I dressed and ran down the darkened hallway out through the east entrance, along the path, across the stone bridge, and continued past the guest house through the portal to the forest. I stopped dead in my tracks as I gazed upon a light by the brook, so bright, it forced me to shield my eyes to adjust to it. I saw the man’s face again. He spoke without moving his lips, asking me to bend down to the brook and put my head under for a short time. The frigidity of the water was a shock at first, yet felt cleansing and while submerged, I vaguely heard drumming. I stayed under until I thought my lungs would burst and was grateful when I felt a slight tap on my shoulder. Drawing my head up, I gasped for air and inhaled the biggest breath I could.

  There stood a man before me in tan, fringed clothing, with long black hair tied in two braids, dark brown eyes, and sun-kissed skin, talking to me telepathically. He held my gaze and I was in a trance as he introduced himself as Grey Owl. I am the one with whom you must connect. I will help you on this path you are to take. Still kneeling, I listened intently to his tale and role in my life. He was to be one of my mentors; to help teach me how to handle the gift that I have. It is a gift from Creator. Every person has the ability, though only the chosen ones receive messages straight from the Source. It belongs to those who have pureness of heart, mental toughness and great courage. He said I had displayed all of these attributes in the past. He also acknowledged the series of bad events happening at O’Brien Manor. They were tied to my grandfather and his family, who had a history of wealth and power which can sometimes be accompanied with secrets and guilt. I was chosen to protect grandpa, and Grey Owl assured me I could do this as evident by the events of last summer with Conall. He recommended that I return to the brook three times in the oncoming week and while placing his hand on a rock, he instructed me to do the same on each visit while kneeling next to the brook. This rock was similar to one that I had used to mark the path leading to the cemetery — it had red, white and black striping that glistened in the bright sunlight. I promised Grey Owl I would do just that. He turned to leave and waved goodbye over his shoulder.

  I sat for hours after this encounter and digested the events that had transpired. A heavy state of exhaustion set in. Gradually, my energy began to return and as it did, I felt peaceful and relieved to have such a knowledgeable mentor. Some things were understood, without question, right down to one’s soul. I knew I was in for a supernatural fight as warned by my helpers but why me? Will the wise man’s healing, Grey Owl’s guidance, and Peggy’s, be enough to help me battle the evil on the O’Brien Estate?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Devil’s Night, Hallowfire and Sam...what?

  Exactly four nights before All Hallows’ Eve, I heard a voice as I struggled to fall asleep. The voice was authoritative and acknowledged that I was doing my protection prayers very well. And that now was the time for me to start saying the following prayer each night, and as many times throughout the days ahead as I could, I am praying for the lost souls that walk this earth to transition through the white light for the goodness of humankind. I answered back: Might I add — and for the goodness of themselves? And the reply was: Of course. Without hesitation, I prayed hard each night and day for the spirits that walk this earth, lost souls, to join the spirits of the light.

  On devil’s night, I tossed and turned in bed and could not quieten my mind. I felt excitement in the air as energy swirled around me. In fact, I had sensed the energy growing in the past few days although I could not detect where it was coming from. I was agitated to say the least. I tried to focus on a centering thought, the moment when mom and I hugged on the stairwell leading down from the attic; the day she shared her favourite childhood memories of her hideaway and the porcelain dolls stored in the attic at O’Brien Manor. Then my mind wandered back to our arrival at the estate. Upon first glimpse of the grounds, I remembered a sensation of mystery, mixed with glory and anticipation, in meeting my grandparents and discovering my heritage at O’Brien Manor. It seemed so very long ago. There was an air now of excited energy whirling around my bedroom; it was so distracting, I could not stand it any longer and bolted from my room to the kitchen. I found grandpa seated at the breakfast nook staring into space. Not wanting to scare him upon my approach, I cleared my throat to announce he had company.

  Grandpa jumped and demanded, “Paige, what are you doing up at this time of night?”

  “I might ask you the same thing? You haven’t been well, grandpa. Does this mean you’re feeling better? Or is it because your birthday’s tomorrow, on Halloween?” I smiled broadly. “Hanna told me.”

  Grandpa chuckled, “Well, I’m glad we have some alone time. Come here and sit with me awhile.” He patted the bench seat next to him and I hurriedly sat down. Grandpa continued, “Not because of my birthday, Paige. I don’t like to celebrate it. Chappy’s coming.” Grandpa looked at me quizzically, then continued, “You know...nicky nicky nine door? Samhainn?”

  “Sam...what?” I responded, my left eyebrow arched.

  “Oh, I should have guessed you wouldn’t know what that is. Of course! It saddens me that through the estrangement with your mom and grandma and I, our heritage was never shared with you. My fault....” he said as his voice trailed off. Grandpa snapped out of it and proceeded, “Samhainn is a Gaelic word f
or the biggest of Celtic festivals. It was believed on the last day of the old Celtic calendar, when it grows dark at sunset, time is neither of the old year ending on Halloween or the new year which starts November 1st. It is also a time where interactions between humans and the spirit world, or the Otherworld, are at their peak. Samhainn means hallow tide or season, the feast of all-souls. The souls of the dead are said to be free on the new day of the year called All Souls’ Day, November 2nd..In Celtic history, November 1st was All Saints’ Day, celebrating all saints, and November 2nd was All Souls’ Day which involved praying for those souls stuck in purgatory and asking for their release to Heaven. It was on this day that my ancestors believed the sins of the evil dead could be atoned for with gifts and sacrifices to the Otherworld. These included offerings of food, religious rituals, and entertainment... But on Samhainn many folks believed people were highly influenced by forces of the Otherworld. Divination was performed so predictions or omens of the future could be achieved. Sacrifices were offered.” Grandpa stopped talking and shivered, before carrying on. “Bonfires were built atop hills to rejuvenate the sun and to guide the good spirits on their journey and to banish the evil ones. Feasts were prepared to feed their ancestors’ souls, to appease them, and spells were sometimes invoked during this time. Afterwards, people would wear scary masks they thought protected them from evil but what also reflected the evil spirits milling about in the darkness...the evil invisible to the naked eye. The masks and costumes you see today have been passed down from my Scottish ancestors, generation to generation. This custom was called galoshans and children in Scotland had to perform a song, a joke, or sometimes a card trick to receive coins, apples or nuts. It eventually became known as the Eve of all Hallows or All Saints and the more modern term Hallowe’en. Anyway...that is why I am up tonight. I’m dreading what may come tomorrow night.” Grandpa retrieved his hanky from his flannel pyjama top pocket and wiped his sweat drenched brow.

  “You don’t really believe old superstitions like that, do you, grandpa?” I inquired.

  “Sorry, child, I do. I’ve seen too many unexplained events happen in my lifetime not to.” Grandpa lowered his head and I absent-mindedly noticed where he was starting to lose the hair at his crown.

  “So what do we do to protect ourselves?” I felt a slight, unseen nudge on my left shoulder.

  “Tomorrow night at five, Hanna will light a Hallowfire...a bonfire, out past the rose garden, which will take her all day to prepare. It’s to scare the emerging souls away from entering our home.” Grandpa stared deeply into my eyes. “And then, Hanna will quietly make me a special brew of Drambuie, cinnamon, egg yolks and nutmeg, for ole time’s sake.”

  “What is that for?” I asked.

  “Scottish folk like me drink it to ward off spirits that may sneak by the fire and come into our homes. Children played a game, dooking fur aiples, your modern day bobbing for apples, where they bite into apples floating in a water basin to retrieve them. Sometimes the surface was spread with flour to make it more challenging, but I believe the white flour was placed there to enhance protection.”

  “I’m glad you shared this with me, grandpa. I love hearing about your life and our heritage like this. You seem like quite the spiritual person.” I gazed into his weary eyes looking for confirmation.

  “Yes, as are you. I knew it from the minute I laid eyes upon you. You are so much like your mother, in a good way.” He smiled for the first time in a long time; his big chestnut brown eyes now sparkled brightly.

  Tears filled my eyes. I had not thought about mom or dad in a few days and now had a pang of guilt. Note to self: text and see how they are doing.

  Grandpa continued, “The O’Brien’s have a gift, or a curse, depending on how you look at it. Beware, Paige. We must be careful what spirits we listen or pay attention to. Not every spirit that wants to speak to us, should. And I know you’ve been receiving Peggy’s guidance. I will make sure you can speak to her tomorrow. Your grandmother means well, she’s just afraid of that which she cannot perceive nor understand, and feels if a person is gifted, they will bring something bad into the manor again.” Grandpa stopped talking as Hanna entered the room.

  “Well, I see you two have finally had a meeting of the minds,” Hanna said, her hazel eyes lit up. “It’s about time! Poor Paige has probably been scared out of her mind and feeling awfully alone.” Her face softened and Hanna’s grey hair tied back in a bun exposed her pale, round face.

  As Hanna spoke, I thought, what stopped you from telling me the truth — that you, grandpa and mom all share this gift? Apparently grandma is one of the lucky ones that did not have to deal with the Otherworld.

  And in my mind I heard, Paige, dear, I couldn’t tell you myself. It had to come from your grandfather. I looked at Hanna and she smiled at me. She continued, I’ve been distraught over this since the day you arrived on the O’Brien Estate.

  “Well, the good news is that the majority of the time, the gift is wonderful,” declared grandpa, interrupting our telepathic conversation. “Every now and then, however, evil spirits bump into us and that is what we need to prepare for tomorrow night. I’m glad you couldn’t sleep, Paige, although I’m hoping it’s not a premonition of things to come. Perhaps you could help Hanna light the bonfire tomorrow night?” He smiled at me and squeezed my hand. I could see love and kindness in his eyes.

  I nodded then assured him, “I would love to help Hanna.”

  Grandpa arose and escorted Hanna from the room. I remained behind, staring out the bay window overlooking the rose garden, into the darkness. Smiling to myself, I thought, at last, I am not alone!

  Distracted, I was stunned to observe Grey Owl’s reflection in the window as he stood inside the locked kitchen door. He reminded me telepathically, go back to the brook to perform your cleansing. I wondered, how could Grey Owl be in our kitchen? He responded, do not worry about that. I explained, I cannot escape from my grandma and her postcard project, and he suggested, your grandfather will take care of it.

  Aloud, Grey Owl continued, “Make sure you go to the brook tomorrow morning and connect with the rock. It represents a conduit between nature, our Creator and our ancestors — the spirits from the light. You will be cleansed before tomorrow night. It’s necessary.”

  Nodding in agreement, Grey Owl disappeared. Again, cleanse me from what, crossed my mind but there was no response. Things were becoming increasingly stranger by the day.

  Apprehension set in as I brazenly headed along the darkened corridor to my room. I felt a cold breeze wash over me and goosebumps reared their ugly heads. Frightened, I ran and jumped into bed, pulling the covers over my head. Then I remembered the only prayer I could, and recited it aloud, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, may angels watch me through the night and wake me with the morning light.”

  Hopeful I would get a good night’s sleep after prayers were recited, I also felt somewhat relieved from the discussion with grandpa and Hanna. In reality, quite the opposite occurred. I felt tormented all night long and did not sleep but a few spells here and there. I lay on my back, hands at my sides and listened as energy whirled around me. It was torture, pure torture. I heard phrases whispered like you’re wicked, or who do you think you are, or you’re stronger than we thought. It frightened me and yet, I knew to lay still and ignore whatever it was. I managed to recite the prayer for lost souls: I am praying for the lost souls that walk this earth to transition through the white light for the goodness of humankind and for the goodness of themselves. I repeated it over and over and was thankful when the sunrise projected rays of sunshine into the room, filtered by the silly polka-dotted curtains. The prayers helped, whether it was from a place of positive chanting, wanting to help lost souls, or perhaps from the strength that was growing inside of me. I giggled, knowing, although it was the longest night I had ever spent in bed, morning had arrived and I was still alive. Hallelu
jah!

  Jumping out of bed and dressing quickly before anyone figured out I was up, I exited the manor through the rose garden patio doors. The dew was fresh; it was cold but the sunshine promised warmth as the day progressed. I pulled up my hoodie and sprinted to the brook in my dependable lime green converse shoes. The sun’s rays shimmered through the trees and I could see funnels of white light, as many as seven; it was glorious. I knelt by the brook as instructed and placed my hand delicately on the special rock. I have to admit I felt foolish at first. Then telepathically I heard the following, welcome, Paige. We’ve been expecting you. Happy you are here. Now close your eyes and you will feel the healing in a few minutes. Whatever you do, don’t take your hand off the rock. Talk yourself through it and reassure yourself it will all be okay. Take slow, deep breaths. You might feel...strange. Remember, do not take your hand off the rock!

  As soon as the voice stopped, I did feel weird at first, experiencing a swirling sensation inside my body, head to toe; after several minutes, it felt like something escaped, perhaps a release of energy. I was overwhelmingly dizzy but remembered not to take my hand from the rock and pushed through it. Nauseated, I pleaded, when will this end?

  I heard the voice again, okay, Paige, you are healed.

  Healed from what?

  There was no response.

  As I started towards the manor, I heard loud noises ahead and was petrified, what am I walking into now? Overjoyed to see it was Hanna, I watched as she organized her four foot tall bonfire like she’d been doing it all of her life. She jumped when she heard the twigs snap below my feet, and I laughed as I cleared the forest. “It is Halloween today, isn’t it Hanna? The day of pop-outs,” I said wiggling my eyebrows.

  Hanna shot me a stern look and ignored me as she continued building the hallow fire. She looked out of character in the drab tent-like apron she adorned with khaki pants and beige jacket, considering the floral dresses and aprons she normally wore. Mind you, Halloween temperatures in Camlachie were cold, probably fifty degrees Fahrenheit. I walked past her towards the manor. My thoughts drifted to, how did I miss the fire pit before? It was constructed of stone and as high as my waist.