Gateway

by David C. Cassidy

  “What in God’s name is going on?” Marisa demanded. “What—oh my God!”

  Jared hesitated. He didn’t realize she hadn’t seen the .38; didn’t realize it was still poised to fire. When he did a quick scan of the room, he felt no menace about them, sensed no monster lurking. He lowered the gun.

  Marisa wrapped Kit in her arms. She was still staring at the .38. “W-why do you have a gun?”

  Jared put up a calming hand. “Easy, Mar.” Slowly, he emptied the remaining rounds from the cylinder and slipped them into his pocket. “Are you all right, Kit?”

  Kit nodded anxiously. He was staring at the gun.

  “It’s okay,” Jared said. He knelt down and set the gun on the floor. “See? It’s all good.”

  “Why do you have a gun?” Marisa repeated. She barely sounded out the words as she held her child closer.

  “That’s not important right now,” Jared said. “I’m just glad your son is all right.”

  “Why do you have a gun?” she shouted. “Why did you bring it down here?”

  “Please calm down,” Jared said. “I need you to.”

  Marisa sniffled and fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.

  Jared spoke calmly. “It’s for protection. And I didn’t bring it downstairs.” When he saw she didn’t understand, he looked at her son.

  “What are you talking about?” she said.

  “Kit found it in my study. It was in one of my boxes.”

  “Kit? Is that true?”

  Kit didn’t answer.

  “Tell Mommy the truth. Did you go through Jared’s things?”

  Kit seemed just as puzzled now as when he emerged from his seizure. He seemed to struggle for an answer.

  “I heard a noise,” Jared said. “Kit wasn’t in his room. I checked the study and found another box had been opened. I forgot that I’d packed the gun in there. When I came down, I found Kit standing here in the dark. He—” He stopped himself.

  “What?” Marisa said. “He what.”

  “He was just standing there,” Jared said. “He was talking … but not to me.”

  “What?” She started to look about the room.

  “There was no one there,” Jared said, trying to calm her. “There’s no one here.” He gave Kit a glance. “He was kind of out of it. I don’t really know how else to describe it.”

  Marisa nodded. “Sleepwalking.”

  “What? Really?” Jared had never seen such a thing. The experience had been surreal. Disturbing.

  “It’s been a while,” she said. “Maybe six, seven months.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kit said.

  “No, no,” Jared said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t know you we’re doing it.” He looked at Marisa, his eyes asking for confirmation.

  “No, he didn’t,” she said. “For him, it’s like a dream. One he forgets the second he wakes up.”

  “And the seizure? Did the sleepwalking cause that?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe the fright of the gunshot. Who knows.”

  “Kit,” Jared said, “do you remember any of this?”

  Kit shook his head.

  “We’d better get you back to bed,” Marisa said, and helped Kit to his feet. She spotted the stone and picked it up. “What’s this doing here?”

  Kit looked at her gravely. He paused with a strange look in his eye as he glanced toward the hearth. Above the mantel.

  A jagged hole ruined the painting. The bullet had missed the eagle by several inches, clipping part of the frame before it entered the wall.

  “It was here,” Kit said darkly. “The monster was here.”

  ~ 95

  After they put Kit back to bed—and made certain that no monster lurked in his closet, not entirely to the boy’s satisfaction—Jared lay in his bed, waiting for Marisa. She finally emerged from the en-suite bath, and when she approached the bed, she knelt down and took a peek below the bed frame.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Jared said, not admitting that he had considered doing the very same thing when she was in the bathroom. The only thing that had stopped him from doing so was that he feared getting caught by Marisa, more than he feared what might be hiding beneath the bed.

  She crawled in beside him. “Just messin’ with ya, hombre. But can you really blame me?”

  “I’m kinda freaked out myself. I’ve never seen anyone sleepwalk before.”

  “I guess I should have mentioned it. It’s been such a long time, so I never gave it a thought.”

  “I’m sorry about this, Mar. It’s my fault. I should have unpacked that thing when I moved in. At the very least, I should have had the brains to unload it.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why do you have it? I mean, why did you get it in the first place?”

  “I lived in New York.”

  “I thought you said the people were nice,” she said, mildly sarcastic.

  “They are. But ever hear of a guy named John Lennon?”

  She laughed out loud and quickly covered her mouth to deaden the sound. Jared was clearly unimpressed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, with a bit of a chuckle. “But John Lennon?”

  “There’s a lot of kooks in New York. I’d like to think I’m kook-worthy.”

  She patted him on the arm. “Sure you are.”

  He shook his head. “Thanks.”

  She sighed. “This whole thing’s been a little too much, you know? When I think of what could have happened—”

  “I know. I’m so sorry. If it’s any consolation, I put the gun and the bullets in my desk drawer. It’s locked up.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed him, then turned off her bed lamp and drew him close in a spoon. “Goodnight, baby.”

  “Sweet dreams.” He kissed her on the shoulder, and she was fast asleep.

  Sleep did not come easy for Jared. Another thunderstorm swept in from the north, the sudden change in pressure dizzying. Worse, the fever returned, and after he got some water to quench his insatiable thirst, the throbbing pain that struck his hands nearly made him drop his glass. His legs ached, too, and he barely made it back to bed.

  He lay still in the darkness, the gloom interrupted by flashes of lightning. He wondered if Kit had seen something after all—some dark shape, some clawed thing with the eyes of a demon. His reaction to the painting had been unusual. He seemed distant and disturbed, and while his mother may not have picked up on that, he had. Perhaps the sight of those eyes triggered his sleepwalk in some way, worming their way into his subconscious. All he really knew was that the boy had seen something. Had heard something.

  And he also knew this: Something was there in the room, watching.

  ~ 96

  Kit opened his eyes at the subtle click of the bedroom door as his mother closed it behind her. He had pretended to be asleep after she had tucked him in, but sleep wasn’t going to come. She had tried her best to assure him that no monster was near, but the fact was, monsters hid where they couldn’t be found. They weren’t always under the bed, they weren’t always in the closet—she had proven that on both counts—because monsters could hide anywhere. Sometimes, they hid in your head.

  Slowly, he slid a hand out from beneath his covers. He paused, certain that something would snatch him. He drew a breath, then scooped up his glasses from the night stand and slipped them on. If something was there in the shadows of this boundless room, he wanted to see it before it saw him.

  Something’s here. It’s watching me.

  He waited before making his next move, before he risked his life. Outside the arched window, a tall Douglas fir swayed in the storm. It seemed to reach for him, one of its huge limbs scratching against the glass. As the lightning grew more frequent and more intense, he turned away to avoid a seizure.

  He kept his eyes on the shifting tree shadows that crept along the closet door. The monster wasn’t in the closet when Mom had turned the lights on, but that
was their game. When the lights went out, they came out.

  He needed his stone, and he needed it now. He reached for it on the table, but it slipped from his fingers and spun away until it slid off the edge. It struck the hardwood with a thunk. His pulse pounded when he heard it roll under the bed.

  He shifted to the edge of the mattress, away from the window, away from the shadows and sounds. The dim light beneath the bedroom door drew his attention. It held the same sapphire glow as it always did, but being farther from his room than it was at home, it wasn’t as bright. Not nearly as comforting.

  He tried to blot out the scratching at the window, tried to ignore the thunder. Instead, he tried to focus on more particular sounds.

  Monster thoughts. Breathing.

  Nothing.

  Still, he sensed something there, like the creepy stir he felt when someone was standing behind him. Like at school, when he stiffened at the snickers and grins of the other kids making fun of him behind his back. Mostly Parker Brooks and his stupid friends. Mostly.

  He braved a glance at the foot of the bed. He did feel something. It was as if the monster was standing right there, sheltered by shadow. A cold finger slid up his back, just as it had when he had first set foot in Jared’s living room. It was that same crippling chill that had gripped him in his bedroom, that pierce of watchful eyes. And when Jared had shown him the painting, it was as if the eyes of that eagle were the eyes of something more. Something scary. Something clawed.

  Something close.

  And it wanted to get him.

  He had tried to kill it with the gun.

  The gun—

  He didn’t know how he had found it. All he really knew was that its location had come to him. Like Gramma’s lottery win. Like Sarah’s puppy.

  But no. Not like those.

  Not like those.

  Those things had always come to him during an event. Simple, harmless words that just popped into his head. Like the colored lights he sometimes saw. Like the shapes.

  But this? This was something else.

  This was a voice, soft and warm, whispering in his ear. It was like being hugged by a best friend. Or Mom.

  And, like those simple words—in English—this too, had been simple.

  Weather the storm.

  He had been asleep. Dreaming of the shape. Dreaming of the monster.

  In his dream, surrounded by thick woods, only the random dance of lightning guided him. Thunder cracked above. Hard rain drove against him, smearing his lenses. As he hurried along a muddied path, the sound of rushing water rose with every bend. He stopped just long enough to hear the growing thud of footfalls closing, the rapid snap of breaking branches. Darkness seemed to fold in on him, suffocating him. Only when he reached the edge of a waterfall did he catch his breath.

  Cautiously, he made his way down a steep rocky slope to the foot of a rope bridge. It was old, with broken deck boards and frayed strands of rope hanging and twisting in the wind. He was certain that if he trusted it, the ropes would snap and he’d fall to his death.

  The noise of his pursuer grew louder; he had nowhere to run. He called for his mommy, cried and cried, his terror so raw that he inched closer to the bridge. A flash of lightning made him turn, and at the sight of that first claw rising from the gloom, he whirled about and nearly leapt for the bridge.

  Only that voice had stopped him.

  Only those words.

  Weather the storm.

  Somehow, he had understood, had found the courage to fight. And somehow, he had found himself rummaging through that box in Jared’s study.

  He had to protect his mom. Had to kill the beast.

  Had to weather the storm.

  ~ 97

  Kit slipped out from his covers and sat up slowly. The bed was much higher than his bed at home. All that extra space beneath the mattress was more than enough for a monster, maybe two. He didn’t dare let a bare foot dangle, didn’t dare let some bloodied claw drag him screaming into the dark.

  He should take a peek first. He lay on his stomach and lowered himself head first, an inch—a breath—at a time. If he was lucky, he could reach the stone.

  He peered under the bed. He could barely see. With one hand steadying him, he felt around with the other, reaching as far as he could. His fingers teased the cold floor, coming up empty.

  A flash of lightning revealed the dim shape of the stone. He waited for another burst of light, and when it came he made his move. The stone was just out of reach.

  Thunder struck. The light from the corridor flickered. It died as the power failed.

  He dug his fingers into the mattress, barely clinging to it. He thought he heard something. Something beyond that pounding in his chest.

  Breathing.

  Panic swept him. He swung his hand blindly under the bed, praying that whatever was under there couldn’t see—couldn’t grab him—yet he knew in his heart that monsters could see in the dark. Dark was their light.

  He inched down as far as he could, teetering on the edge of the mattress. He peered below the bed frame, guided by the rolling flashes of light. Slowly, he extended his arm. As his hand drew close to the stone, he froze.

  The stone had shifted to the right.

  He hadn’t touched it. Hadn’t imagined it.

  Something had moved it.

  He tried to back up, but his sudden movement tipped him forward. He flipped off the bed, crumpling in a heap on the floor.

  Now in utter darkness, he had no bearings. He found the bed with his hand, and just as he started to rise, lightning revealed the stone. He tried to snatch it, but again it moved away.

  A scream nearly spilled from his lips. Eyes of evil hovered beneath the bed, crimson pits of horror. They were gone in a breath, but their glow lasted long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the stone, and he snatched it. He rose to his feet and dove for the bed, but it was higher than he realized, and he bounced off of it. He hit the floor hard, flat on his back.

  Lightning lit up the room, and he rolled over and got to his knees. Thunder growled. He scrambled on all fours for the door, only to scream as an ice-cold claw snared his ankle. Before he knew it he was on his stomach, being dragged toward the bed.

  He dropped the stone and it rolled away. His fingers slid along the hardwood floor as he clawed at it, and he wailed as his feet went under the bed. “Mommy! Mommeeeeeeee!”

  The thing had him. Thunder rocked the house. Footfalls pounded beyond the door, and when it swung open amid bursts of lightning, he screamed. “It’s got me! It’s got meeeeeee!”

  Jared rushed to him and grabbed his hand. Jared’s grasp slipped, and he slid farther beneath the bed. “Help meeeee!”

  Jared snatched him again and dragged him clear. The storm lit up the room again as Marisa took him into her arms.

  He struggled to free himself, trying desperately to get away from the thing under the bed. “It’s there! It’s there!”

  “It’s okay, baby! It’s okay! Everything’s okay—”

  Kit broke free and started for the door on his hands and knees. Jared got down and threw his arms around him, making him wail again.

  “Kit!” Jared cried. “It’s okay! It’s me! It’s just me.”

  Lightning flickered. Kit struggled a moment longer, only to succumb to tears. Marisa cradled him away from Jared.

  “It—it was here,” Kit sobbed. “It grabbed me. It tried to pull me under the bed.”

  “You just had a bad dream,” Marisa said. Thunder rolled outside.

  “It wasn’t a dream!”

  Marisa stroked his hair and held him closer. “Easy, baby. It’s all right now.” She kissed him on the crown of his head.

  “I’ll get a light,” Jared said. He left them, returning with the glow from his smartphone. He scanned the room and discovered the stone at his feet. He handed it to Kit, then got down beside the bed. He aimed the light beneath it. “You see?” he said reassuringly. “There’s nothing there.”


  “It’s hiding,” Kit said. “It’ll be back.”

  “That’s enough,” Marisa said.

  “I’m not crazy, Mom. Something moved my stone under the bed.”

  “I said that’s enough, okay? Whatever you saw, or think you saw, it—”

  “It grabbed my leg! It had claws!”

  “Take it easy,” Jared said. “Let’s have a look.” He brought the light close to Kit.

  Marisa gasped, and Jared steadied her.

  Kit grimaced. There were dark purplish bruises on his ankle. Scrapes where something had clawed him.

  He looked at his mother and saw fear in the muted glow of the light. Jared was little more than a formless shape.

  “I told you,” he said. “The monster was here.”

  ~ 98

  Kit insisted that Jared and Marisa stay in his room until the power returned, and when it finally did, insisted they stay until the storm passed. Marisa tucked him in, and Jared followed her down the corridor to the master bedroom. He took a long glance at Kit’s door, wondering just what the hell had happened in there. Just what the hell was happening, period.

  In the bathroom, he downed three glasses of cold water. He splashed some on his face. The fever was running wild.

  His tooth ached. It had been slightly numb before bed, but in the last hour it had begun to throb. He opened his mouth to the mirror. The abscess had returned. It was darker than before. Redder.

  He rolled the tip of his finger over it. It was hard, like a small marble. He put some pressure on it and winced. Pressing gently on the top of his tooth made him wince again. He groaned.

  “You okay in there?” Marisa said beyond the door.

  He heard the concern in her voice, but he knew it wasn’t only for him. She had nearly lost it in Kit’s bedroom, and she wanted him near.

  She prompted him again.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be right out.” He fingered the abscess again, applying a lighter touch. It wouldn’t pop.

  Fuck it, he thought. He pressed hard until it popped and squirmed at the raw pain that shot through his jaw. The tooth had come loose, and he worked it free with his fingers. He drew it from his mouth, and now he stood staring at it as he held it between his thumb and forefinger.