The Seventh Door

by Bryan Davis

  With the convertible’s top down, a warm, moist breeze blew across Matt’s hair. The storm they had passed through was catching up, as if giving chase, and a distant rumble of thunder sounded like a dire warning to check this place out and move on.

  Darcy straightened in her seat and looked over the windshield. “What is that thing?”

  Mom leaned between them from the backseat, still breathing heavily from a recent flight. “It looks like a cocoon, like an enormous caterpillar spun silk around a church building.”

  Matt put the convertible top back in place and shut off the engine. “Let’s see what’s going on.” He slid the cell phone into his pocket, opened the door, and stepped onto the lot’s blacktop. Now on the east side of the violent cold front, warmth from the pavement radiated across his body. It felt good, but it wouldn’t last.

  After Mom and Darcy exited the car, Matt led the way to the portico and pushed the sac’s fibers to one side, revealing a dark mahogany door with a welcome mat at the foot. When he stepped back, a few cottony strands stuck to his fingers, but the rest of the mass stayed where he had pushed it.

  He grasped a brass doorknob and looked at his mother and Darcy, both standing behind him. “Ready?”

  Mom nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Matt turned the knob and pushed the door open. A draft passed through the gap—moist air saturated with the odor of mildew. About twenty feet above the floor, several leaded-crystal light fixtures hung from a domed ceiling, all lit dimly.

  He took three steps inside and stood on a carpeted aisle leading to a raised platform. A piano stood on the left side of the stage, a set of drums at the back, and a pulpit near the front. People sat in dozens of aligned pews, but only the backs of their heads were in view. They stayed motionless, as if entranced.

  On a table near the stage’s front edge, red pear-shaped fruit lay piled in three pyramids, each fruit about the size of a large apple. A huge spider perched atop the table, though he bore a man’s clean-shaven face. In each of eight hairy appendages, he carried one of the fruits, clutched in a dragon-like claw. With his legs spread over the pyramids, he appeared to be protecting the fruit.

  Matt steeled himself. With all the crazy happenings of late, he could handle this newest bizarre scene. “That explains the cocoon,” he whispered to Mom as she and Darcy joined him. “I guess it’s a spider’s egg sac.”

  “Be bold,” Mom said. “Let’s walk straight toward the spider.”

  With Mom and Darcy following, Matt walked slowly along the aisle, dodging fruit cores strewn across the carpet. Men and women wearing dressy-casual attire sat on long cushions in each row, some with Styrofoam cups raised as if ready to drink. One woman with long red hair sat with a pen poised over an open three-ring binder, apparently ready to jot down a note.

  Matt grasped the shoulder of a man sitting at the aisle and gave him a shake. He moved with the force, but his stare remained locked on the spider. He didn’t even blink.

  As Matt continued walking toward the front, Mom picked up a Bible from a space between two seated women, both undisturbed by her reach. Wrapped in a fabric carrying case, the Bible was like many others dotting the seats and sitting on the floor at the congregants’ feet—all closed, all out of their motionless owners’ view as they gawked at the spider.

  “Interesting,” Mom said as she returned the Bible to its place. “I’ve never heard of mass hypnosis this powerful. And where are the children? I don’t see any, not even a baby.”

  “A nursery?” Matt asked. “A separate service for kids?”

  “I suppose so, but usually some children stay with their parents.”

  A hissing voice slid from between the spider’s lips. “Welcome, friends.”

  Matt halted in front of the stage, his head even with the table-top. “How do you know we’re friends?”

  The spider set an “apple” on top of a pyramid. “Because you have entered my church. I consider all who enter this sanctuary to be my friends.”

  Mom strode forward, Darcy a step behind her. “Who are you?” Mom asked.

  “I am the pastor of this church.” The spider bowed his head. “And who are you?”

  “An inquisitive visitor.” She gestured toward the congregants. “Why is everyone sitting like they’re frozen?”

  The spider skittered a foot or so to the side and looked past Mom. “Their state is a temporary reaction to the fruit I provided. They will recover soon, and they will find that they have received everlasting life.”

  Mom nodded at one of the pyramids. “That fruit looks very familiar.”

  “It is from the tree of life.” The spider extended one in a clawed hand. “Do you wish to receive eternal life?”

  “The tree of life, you say.” Mom bent her brow. “How long do you plan to continue this charade?”

  “Charade?” The spider let out a hissing chuckle. “My dear woman, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?” Mom set her hands on her hips. “I encountered similar fruit in the first circle of Hades, and this is Tamiel’s first door. Someone offered me fruit there, and now you offer fruit here. I’m not as stupid as you suppose.”

  “Are you not?” A leathery tongue darted from the spider’s mouth, then zipped back in. “Then why are you taking the time to speak to me?”

  “So I can do this.” She flew up to the stage and shoved the table. It flipped over, sending the fruit flying. The spider hopped up, shot a silky strand to the ceiling, and hung from it. As he swayed, the fruit and cores vanished.

  The spider grinned. “You are not quite as predictable as I was told. Yet I think I know you well enough. You will make an attempt to revive these fools, so I will amuse myself by watching your vain efforts.” He rode the thread to the ceiling, crawled to a corner, and clung to the rafters.

  Matt looked at his mother. “Now what?”

  “We find the key.” Mom pushed the table to the side. A finger-length key, silvery but lacking a glow, lay on the stage floor. She picked it up and handed it to Matt. “We’ll see if it flashes when we leave this place, but first we have to try to wake the people.”

  Matt slid the key onto the ring at his belt. “But that’s exactly what the spider wants you to do. The longer we stay, the more damage to your song, especially if we can’t wake them.”

  “We have to take that chance.” Mom glared at the spider. “Let’s look around for clues. If the fruit put them to sleep, maybe something else will wake them.”

  “I’m on it.” Matt climbed the stairs to the stage, stood next to the pulpit, and picked up a small stack of typewritten notes. A title said, The Gates of Hell Shall Not Prevail! A subtitle in small letters spelled out, The Church Triumphant.

  Darcy joined him on the stage and strolled across it, her head swiveling from side to side. “This is like Sleeping Beauty. Everyone was frozen until Prince Charming kissed her.”

  “Or some twisted version of Sleeping Beauty.” Mom walked up the aisle and eyed a few of the mannequin-like faces. “They have a purplish residue around their lips.”

  “Probably from eating the fruit,” Matt said.

  “Most likely.” Mom stopped next to a pew and wiped a bit of the residue from a woman’s cheek. The woman didn’t flinch. “I don’t think a kiss is going to work. It’s like they’re in a coma.”

  “Music, maybe?” Darcy walked to the piano, sat on the bench, and began playing “Amazing Grace,” complete with scale runs and other embellishments. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. With every vibrant chord, furrows dug deeply into her brow. Her body swayed in time with the rhythm.

  Matt stepped closer. Darcy mentioned playing for nightclubs, and she had played piano while they lived as brother and sister, but never like this. She seemed enraptured by her own performance. But was it real emotion or just show?

  The lights above flickered for a moment, then continued burning dimly.

  “I learned this w
hile working at a bar,” Darcy said as she continued at a quieter volume. “I played drinking songs and rock mostly, but one day a street preacher came in and put one of those gospel tracts on the piano, then he sat next to me and taught me ‘Amazing Grace.’” She ended with a soft chord and laid her hands in her lap. “But when we finished, I made a dirty comment about his anatomy, and when his cheeks turned as red as a beet, the customers laughed him out of the bar.” A tear sparkled in her eye. “I wish I could take it back and tell him I’m sorry.”

  A man fell from the end of a pew and rolled into the aisle, spilling coffee on the carpet.

  Mom rushed to him and helped him rise.

  Still carrying the pulpit notes, Matt hurried off the stage and joined them.

  When the man stood upright, Mom let him go. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I think so.” The man stared at the empty cup in his hand, then at the floor. “Pastor will be furious.”

  “No, he won’t. It was an accident.” Mom brushed a coffee droplet from the man’s white sleeve. “What’s your name?”

  “Stan.” He glanced around the sanctuary. “What’s going on here? Why is everyone like a statue?”

  “I was going to ask you that,” Matt said.

  “I have no idea.” Stan laid a hand on his forehead. “The last thing I remember was Pastor beginning his sermon, but I can’t remember what he said.”

  “Maybe this will help.” Matt read the first line of the notes out loud. “Decision of the board of elders concerning the Enforcers.”

  “Oh, yes, yes. I remember.” Stan looked around again, now smiling. “This is a dream, right? Things like this don’t happen except in dreams.”

  “Stay focused.” Matt rattled the pages. “What’s this decision about the Enforcers? Are they still trying to find dragon children?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard the news. The Enforcers have expanded their net. They’re now rounding up all children who fall below minimum standards.”

  “Minimum standards?” Mom asked, anger rising in her tone. “What standards?”

  “Strength and intelligence standards. If children are physically weak or are, shall we say, significantly behind in intellectual development, the Enforcers take them to a training camp where they will be brought up to the standards. Obviously the parents aren’t capable of providing what these children need.”

  “Aren’t the parents protesting?”

  “Some are, but they have no legal recourse. That’s where the decision by the board of elders comes in. A few church members say that we should hide the neglected children from the Enforcers, and even from their parents if those parents are willing to turn their children over to surrogates.”

  “Good,” Mom said. “That’s courageous. The Enforcers are evil, and we have to protect the children.”

  Stan tilted his head slightly upward. “Be that as it may, the Enforcers are still our authority. We have to obey them. That’s why the board decided that we will not support hiding the children or the parents, and we will expose any who do.”

  Mom’s eyes seemed to flame. “What? Expose them? That’s the devil’s work!”

  “Stay cool, Mom,” Matt whispered. “Tamiel wants you to get worked up.”

  She took in a deep breath and nodded. “Good reminder.”

  “Yes, we must always use gracious words.” Stan smiled in a condescending way. “Some in our church forgot to follow that rule. They actually accused Pastor of being like those who turned the Jews over to the Nazis. Fortunately those rebels are probably gone for good. They walked out and took their children with them.”

  “So there was some sanity here.” Mom scanned the congregation. “Speaking of children, I don’t see any.”

  “They’re downstairs.” He nodded toward a door to the left of the stage. “They have more fun in their own services.”

  “I’ll check on them.” Darcy hurried toward the door.

  “People who prefer being away from their own children.” Mom crossed her arms. “It’s no wonder everyone is in a coma.”

  “They do look that way,” Stan said. “All the more reason to believe this is just a vivid dream. I’m sure I’ll wake up soon and have a good laugh.”

  Mom’s eyes flickered again. “Those parents and children you’re persecuting won’t be laughing.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not persecuting them. We’re just not hiding them from the authorities.” Stan curled his hand and looked at his fingernails. “Besides, these children need help. Those parents, as loving as they might be, aren’t capable of providing what their children need. We are doing them a service.”

  Mom’s cheeks flamed. She closed her eyes and took in a couple of deep breaths. Soon, the color faded. “Stan, maybe you’re better off thinking you’re asleep. Just stand here and snooze with the rest of them.”

  Stan grinned. “It’s amazing what my brain comes up with. I am imagining my own opposition. It’s quite entertaining.”

  “If delusion is entertaining.” Mom turned to Matt and whispered, “I’m not sure there’s any hope for these people. It sounds like the only ones with any sanity already left.”

  Darcy jogged through the doorway and joined them again. “I found cribs and toys in one room and a bigger room with drums and guitars on a stage, but I didn’t see anyone, not even nursery workers.” She lifted a fragment of black leather pinched in her fingers. “But these were all over the place.”

  Matt touched the fragment. It looked exactly like a scale from the drone that attacked him at the motel. Could drones have abducted the children? “Very strange. Maybe—” The cell phone chimed in his pocket. He drew it out and answered. “This is Matt.”

  “According to the tracking devices,” Tamiel said, his tone cocky, “you are parked in the church lot. I congratulate you on arriving on time in spite of the storm, but I am disappointed that Bonnie decided to make a spectacle of herself. It was a clever ploy, but you should have known that I would have noticed the Internet chatter about her antics. You may tell her for me that her little stunt will cost her husband some pain. Nothing more than a broken toe or two, because I did not specifically warn her about flying above the car, but she now must travel with her wings always hidden in her backpack. I won’t be so merciful the next time you pull any tricks to thwart my will. Do you understand?”

  Matt looked straight at his mother. It wouldn’t do any good to pass along the news about Dad’s suffering. That would just warp her song further. “Got it, Tamiel. No more tricks. She’ll hide her wings.”

  “Now turn on the speaker and allow everyone to hear my next comments.”

  “Mom, he wants you to listen.” As she stepped closer, Matt looked at the screen, found the speaker option, and toggled it. “Okay. You’re on.”

  “Bonnie Bannister . . .” Tamiel’s voice came through tinny though clear enough. “Now that you are inside this exquisite example of God’s house of love, drink in its bounty of generosity. Take note of its crystal, its marble, its fine woods. Surely the people here give and give to their noble cause.” He laughed. “The cause of building an ecclesiastical empire out of expensive finery. Surely this vine has borne plenty of delicious fruit.”

  “What is this fool talking about?” Stan crossed his arms tightly. “We have charitable funds. Lots of them.”

  “Who is that?” Tamiel’s voice turned harsh. “Who has joined you?”

  “His name’s Stan,” Matt said. “He was sitting in the church and woke up from a trance.”

  “He woke up?” A deep sigh filtered through the speaker. “This is unexpected. We will have to take corrective action.”

  The lamps above flickered. Still clinging to the ceiling, the spider crawled closer until he perched overhead. He lowered himself on a silk line, dropped onto Stan’s shoulder, and wrapped his legs completely around his torso.

  Stan screamed and tried to pry the hairy legs off to no avail.


  “Let him go!” Matt punched the spider’s head, but the blow didn’t faze him. Fangs protruded from his mouth and, like a striking serpent, he dug them into Stan’s neck. Instantly, he collapsed. More silk shot from the spider’s abdomen. With his legs acting like high-speed knitting needles, he began spinning a web around his victim.

  “Your time here is finished,” the spider said as the sac thickened. “You must now travel to your next destination or else Billy Bannister will suffer the consequences.”

  In a flash of legs and white webbing, he ascended toward the ceiling, Stan’s sac in his grasp.

  The lights brightened. Silence descended. Matt sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. The air felt thick and heavy.

  “Well,” Darcy whispered, “that was . . . strange.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” Matt read the phone’s destinations. “And this is just the first address. We have six more to go.”

  Mom scanned the room. “We’d better not risk waking anyone else.”

  “Right. No more arachnoid abductions.” Matt grasped his mother’s arm and began guiding her toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait!” Darcy stepped in front of a pew, opened a woman’s purse, and began fishing through it.

  Matt stopped and glared at her. “Now you’re stealing from sleeping churchgoers? Didn’t you make enough money turning tricks?”

  “Matt!” Mom said. “Don’t!”

  Darcy’s lips tightened. She threw the purse down to the pew, though she kept something partially hidden. Her arms rigid, she stalked up to Matt and held out her hand. “Give me your phone,” she said, her tone firm.

  Matt raised it in his palm. “Why?”

  Darcy snatched it, resumed her tight-fisted march, and stormed out the door without bothering to push the webbing to the side.

  When she disappeared, Mom grabbed Matt’s sleeve, her jaw tight as she whisper shouted, “What were you thinking, insulting Darcy like that?”

  “You saw her go through that purse.” Matt pointed at the door. “Mom, she’s a prostitute! A hooker! She sells herself to anyone with a heartbeat and a twenty-dollar bill.”