Chapter One: Brad

Something new slips into town under the cover of night and The Gate begins to maneuver pieces into play.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

BRAD

( I )

            Evil was sneaking into Morte under the cover of night. It was just after eleven thirty when the fog started to roll over town and by midnight visibility was none. If there was one moment to pinpoint as the start of when everything went to hell in Morte, this would be the quiet, unassuming one; the big one would come later. Headlights cut through the dense fog. They belonged to a small, black car that looked like a hybrid between a station wagon and a hearse. The car had tinted windows that hid the driver from view (not that there was anyone up this late to see him anyway) and it moved with a smooth quickness that was eerie and unnatural. Almost as if the car was gliding inches above the pavement instead of driving on it. The car was coming north from Reagan County, and it was moving with a purpose. There wasn’t much to see out on this side of town but still, it had changed considerably since the last time he had been through. He passed a golf course about a mile back, and then the road curved left taking him past an ice cream shop and a movie store before coming down a hill to a stop light. As the car approached the light it turned red (and anyone in town would tell you that it would stay red for another five minutes) the light quickly turned green again as if it was willed to do so. The car continued on past a small bar and rounded another bend. The road climbed into another hill and about half way up he arrived at his destination. This definitely hadn’t been here before, but he knew that he was in the right place because he could see the house. He sat outside the black, iron, gate and looked at the all the tombstones inside. A moment later the gate opened inward by itself with a long, drawn out squeal. The car drove through and the gate slammed itself shut behind him and there was a click as the lock slid into place.

            A strong breeze sprang up as seventeen year old Bradley Cooper finished another beer and crumpled up the can. He didn’t know where Collin was tonight, but it was looking more and more like he was going to have to finish the whole six pack by himself.  A lot of teenagers came up to the cemetery to drink, but they always came in groups because as legend had it the house that sat up here was haunted as hell, as he liked to put it. Prior to fifty nine Morte didn’t even have a cemetery. There was a cemetery across the county line in Reagan and both towns were small enough that they just shared it. That all changed in fifty nine though. If he could remember the story correctly some guy named Bill or Bobby or something that began with a B rolled up into a party being held in the house and owned everyone in attendance, including the house owners with a shotgun. Knowing that they would never be able to sell the place after that they turned the field into a cemetery and buried all the people that had been killed that night right out front of the house.  The legend also said that sometimes if you were out here late at night you would hear gunshots and screaming. Brad had been sneaking up here to drink for over a year now, and he hadn’t heard a damn thing. Still, there was something unsettling about the place, about the whole town actually but everyone knew what that was even if they didn’t like to talk about it, and it had nothing to do with what had happened out here that night. Although, there were some people in town that would say that it did have a hand in causing the murder spree. He was about to open another can when a set of headlights came into view. He stopped what he was doing and hit the ground, his heart pounding in his ears. He had been caught up here by the caretaker once before, but it was after midnight, so he didn’t think it was him this time. No, he figured this time it was Sheriff Parker. Either way it didn’t matter who it was, He had a nice buzz on, so there was no way that he was trying to outrun someone in this fog. Brad laid still as the headlights passed him, and he caught a glimpse of the car. He watched it go until he could no longer see it through the fog. He rolled over on to his back and took a deep breath; he hadn’t ever realized that he had been holding it in. He started to relax and without meaning to fell asleep. Then he dreamed.

            It was spring time and dusk was just starting to cast its shadow over everything. Brad had just turned sixteen, and he had used that fact to talk a guy into scoring him a six pack to celebrate his birthday. He leaned back against a tombstone and had just opened the first can when the caretaker’s voice came from behind him.

 “Hey kid, what do you think you are doing?” He asked.

Brad sat there and did nothing, a million thoughts running through his mind at once in the span of a minute as he scanned the cemetery for an escape route. When he found one he dropped the can, sprang to his feet and took off running. He weaved in and out of the tombstones in a serpentine pattern as the caretaker gave chase. The caretaker wasn’t a young man but he wasn’t exactly old either, he still had some get up and go left in those legs. Brad looked over his shoulder to see the caretaker gaining on him. He pushed himself on harder; he couldn’t be caught. If he was, it was a one way ticket to probation maybe even juvie. He was running past the old house now and there was a path that started at the edge of the backyard and lead into the woods. The woods weren’t too deep, but there was fence on the other side, and if he could beat the caretaker there he would be home free. Brad hit the path, not slowing at all. Soon after he heard twigs snapping under the caretaker’s feet as he hit the path too. He could see the small chain link fence up ahead. It had probably been green and shiny once upon a time, but now it was rusted and covered with moss and weeds. It wasn’t very tall; it only came up to about his chest, but there was a steep drop off on the other side that lead down into the housing development he lived in. Brad hit the fence at full speed, planted his foot in the middle, grabbed the top of the fence and tried not to think about how much it was going to hurt as he flung himself over. He hit the drop off awkwardly and went tumbling end over end all the way to the bottom of the hill. He heard the caretaker screaming at him from the fence as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. He looked up and gave him a small wave as he turned around and started limping the rest of the way home.

( II )

            Gavin Crowley sat in a small booth, and it seemed even smaller given his huge girth, and looked out the window at his rig as he finished up his breakfast. In between bites he motioned his waitress over and ordered another cup of coffee. It was his fifth cup, he was trying to keep sleep away already this morning. He knew he shouldn’t have pulled an almost all-nighter. Any other time he would have just climbed into his cab and took an hour or two of sack time, but not this time. He was getting close now. He had crossed the Colorado state line an hour or so ago from the west. He would get his cargo to Denver and then he would catch up on sleep before heading back out, but first things first. He had to pass through Morte on his way into Meeker. Gavin hated going into Morte. The town gave him the creeps. The town actually gave everybody the creeps; all the truckers talked about it as well as the people that worked at the diner. There was something wrong with that town. He had been doing this run for years now, and he kept telling himself that he was going to stop cutting through Morte and just take the long way into Meeker but he never did. Everyone knew the stories about that little town. Gavin wasn’t a man that bought into supernatural nonsense, and that was easy to say when you weren’t in Morte, but the line on that subject had a way of blurring as soon as you crossed the town line. The real b*****d thing about it though was how that change was almost imperceptible. One minute you were perfectly fine and the next minute you were creeped right the hell out. It had happened to him many times. Gavin started feeling cold and detached just thinking about it. He pushed the thoughts away and focused on finishing up his breakfast. Ten minutes and three additional cups of coffee later he emerged from the diner. He looked off to the east as he walked across the gravel parking lot, listening to the tiny stones shifting under his considerable weight. Everything was covered in a soft yellowish tint as the sun was peeking over the horizon. Gavin exhaled and watched his breath rise towards the sky in a tiny plume of vapor as he rubbed his hands together. It was starting to get cold. The first snowfall would be coming soon. He climbed into his cab and started the truck. It roared to life loudly and then settled into what sounded like a deep guttural purr as he let it idle for a moment. Again he told himself that today would be that last time he ever cut through Morte and he felt better. Gavin put on his turn signal, checked to make sure his rig was in first gear, and pulled out of the diner parking lot.

****

            Mary Clarke opened her back door and shivered as she sat her trash bag down on the back porch. It could stay there for now. She would have Alexander run it down to the curb when he went out to practice his basketball. It was another chilly morning in Morte, but that was to be expected. It was mid-October and, while that was still fall for most people, in this town that meant that winter was coming. She went into the house and returned to the porch a moment later wearing a light blue sweater. Mary took a breath, enjoying the morning air, and looked off into the distance. Her house sat atop the highest point in town so she could see quite a ways in every direction, especially on a clear morning like this one. It also helped that there weren’t any leaves on the trees. She stood there on the porch, arms crossed over her chest and took in the beautiful morning. The sky was a clear, light, blue and there were hardly any clouds. The sun was just starting to show over the horizon. She felt like everything was right, like the oncoming day was full of possibilities, all of them good, because nothing could possibly go wrong on a morning like this. She knew that was a lie though. She smiled and turned her attention to the west, and the smiled died on her lips because that is when she saw it. The Gate.

            The Gate stood by itself in the middle of King’s field. No one knew who built it or why. It had always been here. It was here when the first settlers arrived in Morte over two hundred years ago. It was a big stone archway made out of the blackest stone that anyone had ever seen, and across the bottom half was a black, wrought iron gate. It looked like an ornate entryway. The only problem was that there was nothing else; there never had been. There was no fencing that came out of either side of the archway and there was nothing on either side of The Gate itself. It literally lead nowhere that is unless you believed the stories that had been handed down through the generations. According to the stories it lead to the land of the dead and for a price you could open the doorway to ask for a favor. Just looking at it gave her the creeps. Mary hugged herself and visibly shuddered as a chill ran down her spine. She turned her back on it and tried to put it out of her mind as she headed back into the house. She had to get breakfast started, Alexander would be getting up soon.

            Mary pulled the back door closed behind her and crossed the kitchen, the last of the creeps she felt from looking at The Gate were already melting away. She looked at the family portrait that hung on the wall and felt the overwhelming wave of sadness wash over her and start to pull her down. She looked at their three smiling faces and felt the familiar sting as her eyes began to well up. She blinked and felt warm tears run down her face. She closed her eyes and gripped the refrigerator door handle as she could as she took a steadying breath.

 “Keep it together Mary,” She chastised herself. “It’s been three years now.” She continued through gritted teeth.

            She opened her eyes and looked at the picture again. Looked at the smiling face of her husband, Graham, he was dressed in his Marine blues. She remembered the day the picture was taken so clearly that it could have been yesterday. They had argued that morning about him wearing his blues. She had just wanted everyone dressed nice for a nice family portrait. She didn’t see why he had to wear the uniform. It was a family picture, not a military picture. He had countered that his dress blues were the nicest clothes he had. A month later he was deployed to Iraq, a young infantry man eager to prove himself and defend his country. Two weeks later he was dead, killed in action during an insurgent raid. Her whole world had been torn apart. Alexander was six.

            Mary wiped her eyes and opened the refrigerator door. It was always bad in the morning but it was even worse at night, even after three years. If she just got through it now, she would be fine for the rest of the day. She cracked the first egg and listened to it sizzle when it hit the hot skillet. Now the day had officially started, and she only had two goals. It was the same two goals she had every day. Make Alexander breakfast and then make it through another day.

****

The coffee had done its thing, and Gavin had been wide awake until fifteen minutes ago. One minute he was flying high and the next he could barely keep his eyes open. He crossed into the Morte town limits fifteen minutes ago, but he was still a good twenty minutes outside of the town itself. He could pull off and get some sleep; no one would bother him out here. His skin crawled at the thought of it. Pull off to the side of the road and go to sleep in Morte, he didn’t think so. He was already trying to suppress the creeping surge of utter dread and he thought if he stopped driving he might go crazy. At that moment he actually believed that, and he didn’t know why, but he could see himself just blubbering and muttering incoherently in his truck for days until someone found him. He shook at the thought of it and downshifted his rig into first gear and started the climb up the steep winding hill in front of him. The road was lined with trees on both sides, but the leaves had already fallen off so he could still look up and see the sky. The summertime was a different story though. In the summer the dense foliage came together to form a lush canopy that completely blocked out the sky and sun, it was almost like driving through a tunnel. The early morning sun illuminated his cab, but it did nothing to warm him. Gavin noticed for the first time just how cold he felt, and that the feeling of dread he had experienced earlier had returned with a vengeance, and tied itself in a knot in his stomach. The knot got tighter and tighter as the truck climbed the hill. At the top of the hill the road leveled out and he shifted up through his trucks gears and stayed in fourth once he was doing a comfortable forty five miles an hour. He, however, was the furthest thing from comfortable. Gavin noticed now that he was clammy. He could feel the sweat sticking to his skin, almost forming a second layer even though he was cold. His heartbeat doubled it rhythm while his breath came in short, ragged bursts. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He was suddenly very aware of just how alone he was out here, and was terrified. It’s a good thing it is morning because if this had happened at night I would probably have a heart attack. He thought to himself. He came out of the trees, and that was when he saw it. Standing alone in the middle of a field no more than fifty yards from where he was now, The Gate. Gavin stared at it and thought he could hear whispering voices. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. It sounded like hundreds of voices all whispering different things, all at the same time. They rose in volume getting louder and louder until he couldn’t focus on anything else, and suddenly they all went silent but one.

 “Sssslleeeeeeeeeeep,” it whispered.

Gavin turned his attention back to the road and drove on, his eyelids feeling as heavy as lead.

Author's Note

Any constructive reviews welcome. Especially on plot, dialogue and character development.