Destiny's Gate

by Lee Bice-Matheson

  Paralyzed with fear, I found myself experiencing hearing loss and the world moving in slow motion. I was cognizant of the fact that Carole’s face was in front of mine, and wondered not only how she opened a locked door, more importantly, what was she saying. Next, Hanna appeared, standing aloof in the background, while grandma pushed past her with a cold cloth and placed it on my forehead. It was entertaining, in a strange way, as they fussed over me. Something drew my attention towards the doorway and as I looked past Hanna, a pang exploded in my heart. I watched as grandpa entered. He had a dismal frown, and his dark brown eyes looked enlarged against his rusty complexion, white hair and beard. He looked so sad, and I knew this was serious. Carole must have helped me onto the bed, so it was surprising when grandma took charge and judging by her flailing arms, demanded that everyone leave the room. They left in a hurry, and she sat next to me on the edge of the bed, gently stroking my long, auburn, curly hair. I watched as she retrieved a brush from my nightstand and began to brush my hair rhythmically. It reminded me of something mom would do for me when I was quite young. As touched as I was, all I could do was stare off into space as if in a trance. I could not snap out of it, so I remained calm, hoping it would soon be over. In times of trouble, dad had often said, this too shall pass.

  Shadows danced across the bedroom walls, and judging by the shapes, they mimicked the dance of the branches blown about outside my window. I knew on some level that the sun was setting and was disheartened I could not break from this spell. Eventually, grandma grew tired and grandpa stepped in to watch over me. It was so kind of him after all he had been through. He pulled up a rocking chair next to me and began to read the newspaper. I was comforted by his presence.

  When I awoke in the wee morning hours, Carole was seated in the same chair grandpa had last been seen in. My eyes fluttered and then blinked open, one by one. Carole smiled at me not saying a word. She grabbed my hand and tapped it twice. I wondered what she was doing and then Kyle entered the room. He was dressed in a costume of sorts, with a rainbow coloured vest, tan suede pants with fringe and matching moccasins. Carole rose and let her uncle sit in the chair. He laid out a multi-coloured bag next to me on the bed. Both Carole and Kyle began to dance to the sound of drums which I knew must be in my head. Kyle raised his arms upwards on several occasions and Carole would follow. Then he touched my forehead with some sort of marking. I fell back to sleep and when I awoke, Carole was sitting on the ground next to me with her eyes closed, surrounded by granola bar wrappers. The sound of my giggling roused her.

  Startled, Carole cried out, “Oh, thank goodness you are awake. Uncle Kyle did it. He had the medicine bundle urgently created and blessed and came over two days ago to present it to you. When we arrived, you were catatonic and he gave you a healing blessing. How are you feeling?” Carole jumped onto the bed and hugged me tightly.

  “How, how...many days have I been like this?” I asked, hesitantly, overjoyed I could hear again. “My mouth is dry.” I studied Carole’s face awaiting an answer. Her brown eyes appeared soulful, against her tanned face and slight frown.

  “Since it began, you mean? Uhhh...three days, I think,” Carole responded, while lifting a glass of water to my lips. I took a huge gulp then hurled it across the duvet. I was so embarrassed. Carole’s trim body shook as she laughed and picked up the duvet, running it into the bathtub. I heard the squeaky sound of the taps as she yelled, “Finally! My uncle said you would throw up, as part of the healing process. It’s the negative energy leaving your body.”

  “Well, I feel okay...I guess. I won’t be running a marathon. My grandparents, where are they? The last thing I remember...” I stopped talking. I had a flashback to Hanna speaking to someone in the kitchen, but whom? And the banging on my door! That was the key to this episode. Carole sat gingerly on the bed next to me. Grabbing her hand, I asked, “Have you noticed anything off about Hanna?”

  She nodded her head from side to side and her shoulder-length black tresses tickled my face as she leaned over to whisper, “Why? Tell me, Paige. What is going on? Hanna’s acting like a soldier guarding you...she’s just down the hall.”

  “Quick, lock the door,” I gasped.

  Carole jumped up and tried just as Hanna barged into the room to ask how I was doing. I pretended that I was still sleeping. Carole made up an excuse — she thought she saw me wake up, and apparently was mistaken. My heart raced as I tried not to move my eyes. Hanna started for my bedside until she heard grandma’s voice calling her name. Thankfully, she turned on her heels and disappeared.

  Carole locked the bedroom door and turned on the music on my alarm clock radio. “Now we can talk. What’s up with Hanna?”

  “I don’t know. All I remember is entering the kitchen and she was talking to someone I could not see...and when I tried to listen in, I knocked a candy dish off the counter that shattered on the floor. She stared at me — and her eyes. Oh, no! Her eyes were black before returning to normal. Carole, is she possessed?!” I threw my hands up and fell back against the pillows.

  Carole hesitated before she spoke, “Uncle Kyle told me that someone close to you is going to harm you. I didn’t believe it at first, but, now I’m thinking he’s right. First it was Dexter, now Hanna? Oh no, Paige. What are we going to do?” Carole held my hand tightly.

  The fear binding me to the bed dissipated. I sat upright and declared, “We’re going to fool this evil that’s haunting me! I will play the victim and stand up and fight when the time is right!” Then I collapsed back against the pillows and drifted off to sleep.

  Tossing and turning, I had a recurring nightmare. Yellow eyes surrounded me and I heard the low guttural growl that made my skin crawl. I was semi-conscious when my arm fell over the side of the bed. I snatched it back in case what I assumed was a nightmare was actually reality.

  * * *

  My soul arose from my body; I felt weightless and peaceful. Looking down, I saw the hellhounds had surrounded my bed. They revealed their serrated teeth, saliva dripping from the sides of their mouths as it cascaded to the floor. It looked like they were waiting for something or was I actually dead? I was unsure what was happening until I saw a bright light appear, next to the window, and watched as an angel floated over top of my bedridden, physical being. Light descended towards my body. It looked surreal and as the light hit — a rainbow of colours projected onto the bedroom walls. It was a breathtaking sight and what seemed more amazing, the hellhounds bowed, as a sign of respect, as the angel floated over each one of them. I could not believe my eyes as the hellhounds were no more, one by one they became human spirits.

  I knew in my soul, in this instance, the hellhounds were enlisted to help me. Instead of feeling comforted, I obsessed about what had these ferocious beasts so upset that they had to join forces with me, my spirit wolf, Journey, and the spirits from the Light?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The Haunting of Paige

  Much to my delight, the wolves and the hellhounds fell off my radar screen over the next few weeks. As time drew on, I found it hard to believe I had ever been in contact with these profound beings at all. My mind was working its magic: distorting and blocking memories that I need not retain so I could continue living my life without despair.

  One day, I walked along the snow-clad path towards the guest house, and there, standing on the bridge ahead, was Dexter. He seemed to be waving at me, and as I neared, he disappeared. I stood on the spot where I believed he had been. I looked down on the wooden railing and there was the angel charm that kept disappearing. I picked it up; it felt warm. Beaming, I held her close to my heart as I was reminded once again; the spiritual realm was not all in my imagination. Here was something solid; a physical object I could hold in the palm of my hand.

  My pace quickened as I approached the guest house, like many times before. Allan’s commanding voice echoed through an open window and I watched as Trixie stood in the shadows,
in mom’s former writing studio, seemingly hidden from her stepfather. I remembered when we had first moved into the guest house, and dad came in search of me to bring me back to the manor for dinner, and I jumped out from behind my bedroom door to scare him. Smiling, I was jerked back into the present moment as Trixie stood beside me and put her index finger to her mouth, motioning me to follow her behind the bushes. I looked at her and wrinkled my face wondering what she was up to. Again, she put her finger to her mouth as we spied on her stepfather; Allan walked outside calling her name over and over. Deeply puzzled as to what game Trixie was playing, I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, ‘what’s up?’ As Allan sniffed the air, he walked in our direction; Trixie’s eyes widened — her pupils dilated. Now, the game seemed to become one of fear, and I broke out into goosebumps, trembling. Here were the two souls I thought I could count on, and if this was not the case, I was not certain what I would do. Allan retreated as a loud bang caught his attention. He walked away, hesitating at the mammoth door, and then continued inside, slamming it shut behind him.

  “Paige, I’m sorry about the cloak-and-dagger routine but when daddy woke up this morning...well, there was something weird about him. I don’t know how to put it into words for you, but his scent is off. It smells nasty, like garbage that’s rotted in the sun. Not like his usual. He’s always taught me to trust my gut and that’s exactly what I’m doing. For now, we are going to have to remain quiet and see what happens next.” Trixie put her hand on mine, hoping for my understanding.

  “Your dad is strong spiritually. You don’t think someone’s possessed him, do you Trixie?” I could see fear in her eyes.

  Trixie ignored my question and stood watch. I sat statue-like on a stump and could not hazard a guess as to what Trixie was thinking. That was a first for me. Normally, I could at least detect an emotion from who I was with. There was nothing, only darkness, no light at all. I began to wonder, was it Allan or Trixie who had the problem?

  A chill seeped into my bones and I made an excuse that I had to return to the manor and check on my grandparents. Trixie grasped my hand and I recoiled. Her hand was stone cold and her eyes were dull and pitch-black. “So great to see you again, Paige,” Trixie said in a low, commanding voice; the one voice that made me want to flee in panic. I tried to wrench my arm loose but she tightened her grasp. Then I remembered a taekwondo move from dad, and dropped my arm down forcefully, breaking Trixie’s firm hold. I ran like the wind, without looking back. When I reached the kitchen door at the manor, I took a minute, and doubled over to catch my breath sensing the manor was still.

  As I traipsed through the screen door, with its storm windows, the overhead lights in the kitchen flickered on and off for several seconds. I knew it was not a good sign. Then the wall sconces began to turn on, one light at a time, in a circle surrounding me — going faster and faster, as if trying to give me a warning. A sudden crash in the hallway was the final straw. Angered by whatever was trying to frighten me, I strode into the dining room to find one of the twelve chairs was missing. When I entered the living room, things seemed to appear normal, until I spied a water glass leaning over the edge of a side table, with droplets of water dripping onto the floor. Suddenly, everything appeared in slow motion, and I watched, captivated, as a man wearing a black tuxedo and an elegant woman, dressed in a full length, red silky gown, began to waltz. They swayed back and forth reminding me of an old movie mom used to watch called Gone with the Wind: starring Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh. It was hypnotizing. I forgot that this should be freaking me out, not engaging to watch. I began to relax and swayed from side to side. Soon I was joined by a boy. He had a black robe pulled over his head concealing his identify. We began to dance together until I heard someone off in the distance calling my name. Everything came to a dead halt, and I swung around to see Carole staring at me, with a bewildered look upon her face. I could not hear what she was saying at first, as I was still caught up in the waltz, but when she clapped her hands together, reality came crashing back.

  “Carole, I don’t know what’s happening to me! Help,” I whispered as I passed out.

  I found myself back in bed, with Carole sitting next to me, and grandma standing behind her with a frown on her face. “She’s awake, Mrs. O’Brien. She’s awake!” Carole said rather excitedly as she shook my hand, beaming from ear to ear.

  “Paige, dear, are you okay now?” grandma asked, agitated. “You’ve been out cold for an hour and I’m concerned you’re having another episode. I’ll get your grandfather. I think it’s time we call the doctor to come and see you, Paige.”

  “No,” I cried. “Please, I don’t need a doctor. Carole, can’t you ask your Uncle Kyle to come back over and help me? Please!” My hopes were dashed as she looked away.

  Although I could see she was reluctant to honour my wishes, I was relieved when Carole said, “Okay.” She stood up as she texted for help.

  Kyle texted he was out of town for a few days but would send healing prayers to me. It comforted me to know he was such a kind soul.

  Grandma notified the principal that I would be off school for a few days and she insisted that I stay close to home. Needing a project that would capture my attention, I began to work on my photography. I gathered a few items together to make a collage: an old hand-written love letter from grandpa to grandma during their long-distance dating years; a single red rose in a slim, hand cut glass vase; some purple and yellow lace found in a dining room drawer; pebbles collected by mom when she was a teen; and shiny black, red and white stones and black skippers that I used to collect while on vacations. One afternoon, I arranged them all together on a sturdy plant stand and took photos from varying angles. I created a myriad of collages and was happy to have my focus back on my favourite hobby.

  Anxious to see the results of my artistic endeavours, I dressed warmly for the basement deep-freeze, and slung my camera around my neck. I found my worn, red fleece slippers and wool socks as I flashbacked to the day I had collapsed to the frigid cement floor, with the family photo barely within reach. I soundlessly steered my way down the hall to the three quarter door leading to the basement stairs, inserting the skeleton key to unlock it. I felt safe, ambling down the steps, clutching my camera to my chest with one hand and holding onto the wall with the other, protecting myself against any misstep. I had perfected the art of forgetting anything bad had happened to me in the manor and now looked upon life as full of intrigue. It was also comforting to know I was never alone. A momentary recollection of the hellhounds that swarmed me at the bottom of the stairs the last time I was here, returned, and I purposely wiped it away. After all, they had turned into human spirits and goodness knows where they were now. On that thought, my stomach churned.

  Snapping myself out of it, I continued down the hallway to the photo lab and entered the room, slamming the camera down on the rectangular wooden tabletop. It was constructed from an old barn door and refinished by Dexter. My mind wandered to memories of him again with his green eyes and blond hair and goatee. I pushed past this onto the task of developing my collage photos. I loved the process of shifting the film on spindles from the developer, bleach, wash, fix, wash, and stabilizer tanks and then reminded myself to make sure the water bath was one hundred degrees. Total darkness was needed to process the photos, as colour materials were sensitive to almost all wavelengths of light. The film was agitated in each bath with precision. How I developed the knack for this was beyond me. As I moved through my spiritual journey, perhaps a lifetime ago, this may have been my craft. It seemed like no time at all before the negatives were developed in the tanks. Printing the film was easy, with the help of a small, tabletop, rotary drum paper processor. Dexter had found it for me at an antique shop. Ventilation in the room was absolutely necessary or the fumes would become toxic to me. It was an expensive hobby. I was grateful my grandparents fuelled the funding for my labour of love; it was almost an extinct art by hand.

&nb
sp; By the time I finished processing the photos, I noticed the partially blooming rose appeared to be in full bloom, a brilliant, eye-catching red. Now, how could that be possible? Nevertheless, it looked beautiful. Another photo of fruit, arranged in a gilded bowl painted with butterflies, had one orange with a tiny green bud atop. Magically, the photos were enhanced, or so it seemed, through the developing process. I shook my head. Anything can happen in the O’Brien Manor. If I thought positively, things were beautiful and happy, if I thought negatively, watch out; food for thought.

  Just then, I heard a tiny rap on the door. Knowing the red light in the hall was on to warn visitors not to disturb, I became worried. The last time that happened, back in Scarborough at my high school photo lab, I saw Mackenzie and then a whole host of ghostly experiences began, some that I would rather forget! I remained silent in hopes that whoever it was would walk away. Not so — there was another rap at the door, followed by scratching. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I began to shake, dropping my last photo on the floor. I noiselessly approached the door, as if compelled, and leaned against it, listening to shallow breathing on the other side. I remained silent, aware that opening the door would be unwise and glanced down at the photo with the orange; the tiny green leaf had wilted. That was not a good sign. Another light rap on the door, then another, becoming louder until the whole door shook. It took a lot of power to shake the heavy door Dexter had built. I threw my weight against the door and slid the cast iron victorian style slide bolt into place, locking it.