3 Gates of the Dead (The 3 Gates of the Dead Series)

by Ryan, Jonathan

  Something heavy landed on my back, grabbed my hair, and pulled my head up. As I fought to free myself from whatever was gripping me, I felt something cutting into my forehead. I cried out in pain and punched at the air, but I hit nothing. I kicked into the darkness, but none of my kicks connected.

  “P.A.? Are you okay?”

  I looked up and saw Darrin silhouetted in the kitchen door, peering down with his flashlight. At the sound of his voice, whatever held me released its grip, and I fell forward with a thud. Darrin gasped.

  “Help me up,” I croaked.

  He rushed down the stairs, and the scraping on my forehead stopped. Darrin’s hand, illuminated by the faint light from the basement door, grabbed me and pulled me up. “Come on, let’s get you outside.”

  “No, I’m okay. Let’s keep going.”

  “Rules, preacher, when someone is attacked.”

  I didn’t feel like arguing with him. My whole body felt like I had gone fifteen rounds with Rocky Balboa.

  As we walked through the dining room, a glass flew past my face and smashed against the wall. “Darrin, did you see that?”

  “No, but I heard it, did a glass…”

  The rest of the glasses from the opened china cabinet began to fly toward our heads, some hitting us, and some hitting the wall beside us. Glass shattered and flew in all directions. “Holy shit!” Darrin was frozen to the spot, his eyes huge even in the dark.

  “Dude, run!” I yelled.

  We ran and dove out the door as other dishes flew toward us. They crashed against the screen door, bouncing onto the floor and breaking into pieces. The sound of faint, manic laughter came from the dining room, and lights began to switch on and off all over the house.

  “Well,” Darrin gasped. “So much for the wedding china.”

  I laughed and then groaned. I had no doubt there would be a bruise on my chest. “Don’t make me laugh … hurts too much,” I panted.

  Father Neal’s voice stopped our horseplay. “What happened?”

  We related the story to the group as we sat on the stairs leading to the house. Darrin had a slight cut on his head, and a few on his arms. I didn’t have any cuts that I could tell, but my forehead burned like it had been lit on fire. “Father Neal, am I cut on my forehead?”

  He bent down and took my face in his hands. “There is something scraped into your head, a letter of some sort. Flashlight, Darrin, if you please.”

  Darrin gave him his flashlight and then lit his cigarette without shame. My body began to tremble, and I almost asked Darrin for one myself, even though I had never smoked. Father Neal shined the light on my forehead and traced the cut with his fingers. His cool touch eased the fiery pain somewhat.

  “Hebrew.”

  “What?”

  “The Hebrew letter nun has been scratched into your forehead,” Father Neal said.

  I sat on the stairs at a loss for words as the shakes began in full force.

  “Aidan, are you okay?” Zoe and Kate asked in unison as they walked up and sat down next to me.

  “I gue … guess,” I said, through chattering teeth.

  They both wrapped their arms around me, warming me a bit with their bodies. It felt nice, homey and comforting. Kate put a washcloth up to my bleeding forehead.

  Father Neal stood by us and peered down at me. He looked very grave, face pale and raised a shaking hand to me. “Aidan, I’m sorry. I should not have brought you along. It was foolish of me.”

  I didn’t say anything and stared out into the snow that had begun to fall again.

  Father Neal turned toward Zoe. “It appears we have a house possession, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, Father Neal, I would say.” She continued to rub my back.

  “Then we must pack everyone up and leave right now,” he said. “I will contact some other priests to do an exorcism soon. Something is here that will take more than me to handle. Something that has … been released.”

  “And the family?” Zoe asked.

  “They must not, under any circumstances, stay in the house until we are done.”

  “Yes, Father Neal.” Zoe raised her voice. “Let’s pack it up. No delays. Move it.”

  “Wait, Zoe,” Father Neal said, holding up his cane. “Allow me to pray inside for a few moments.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, Zoe, alone.”

  “That breaks our rules, Father,” she said, standing up.

  “Nevertheless, I must insist.” He drew himself up and stood at his full height. I couldn’t help being reminded of Merlin, the magician in King Arthur’s court.

  I could tell Zoe didn’t like it, but Father Neal was too powerful of a presence to debate. He stepped behind us and went up the stairs, leaning on his cane. He closed the door right away. Kate stood up to face the house, but I stayed seated on the steps, not yet ready to move.

  Upon seeing Father Neal go inside, everyone came out from the van and joined us. We strained to hear what was going on in the house. At first, only a faint whisper of Father Neal’s voice, low and commanding, filtered outside, but we couldn’t make out anything that he said.

  “What is he doing?” I asked, slowly raising myself from the stairs to stand with the others.

  “I believe he is binding the spirit from hurting any of us,” Zoe said, not taking her eyes away from the door.

  I nodded, feeling empty. All my life experience, all my seminary training and ministry dealings had been exposed as a fraud.

  “Bound in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. You are bound and will do no more harm until you are cast from this place.” Father Neal’s voice had risen to the decibel level of a thunderstorm. A flash of light filled the entire inside of the house and then it was dark again.

  I blinked furiously, trying to restore my night vision.

  “Whoa,” Darrin said, his arm tight around Kate, who clung to him like he was her personal teddy bear.

  Father Neal came out of the front door, hunched over a bit. His face was pale, but he smiled at us. “Okay, Zoe, everyone can go in.”

  The group just stared at him, not moving. The silence stretched, and no one said a word.

  “Is anyone there?” he said, still smiling.

  Zoe pulled herself into action. “Okay, everyone, let’s pack up our stuff.” Everybody started moving at once, taking deep breaths as they stepped inside.

  Father Neal came down the stairs and walked up to me. He smiled, but there was concern in his eyes. “Will you be kind enough to take me home, Aidan?”

  “Of course,” I said, looking at the ground.

  “Are you alright, lad?”

  “Not really. I don’t know what to do with all of this. Amanda’s murder. The footprints. Attacks in the dark. And not to mention, my lost faith…” The last words escaped my lips before I realized.

  Father Neal didn’t seem surprised and nodded. “We will talk about these things. All of them.” He looked back at the house. “But first, I want you to take me to the cemetery where Amanda was murdered.”

  “Tonight?” I asked with a growing sense of unease.

  “Yes, my son, tonight.”

  “I don’t know if we can. The police have it blocked off.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be able to get us permission.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We drove in silence along High Street with my mind in a blur. The swirling colors and buildings barely registered as I made my way through the deserted roads of early morning Columbus. I wanted to start the conversation with Father Neal but couldn’t form the words.

  I dialed Jennifer and a sleepy voice answered. “Hey, how did the ghost hunt go?” she asked.

  “Fine. Sorry to wake you up, but I need a favor. I need to get into the cemetery.”

  “In the morning?” she said, confused.

  “No, I mean right now.”

  Silence on the other end. “Jennifer?”

  “What are you up to, Aidan?”

&nbs
p; “I have someone here who might be able to help us figure some things out.”

  “Who?”

  “A priest, an Anglican priest, who, uh, well, specializes in these sorts of things.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” she said, awake and alert.

  “No, Jennifer, you don’t have to…”

  “Actually, yeah, I do. I have to be on sight. I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”

  I hung up.

  “She’s coming, isn’t she?” Father Neal said.

  “Yeah, she’s a bit hard to stop.”

  He gave me a half smile. “I know the type.”

  We pulled up to the cemetery and found a parking space across the street. I sighed as I sat back in the seat.

  “Aidan? Are you all right?”

  I grunted. “No, Father Neal, I’m not all right.”

  “An eventful night,” he said, staring ahead.

  I snorted. “Yeah, you could say that. So, you want to try and explain all of this to me? Who are you, might be a good place to start.”

  He turned his head to stare out of the passenger side window. “Who am I? I’m just an old priest in an older parish.” His breath fogged the window as he spoke.

  “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  Father Neal turned to me with an eyebrow raised. “And why do you say that?”

  “You’re kidding, right? After tonight?”

  “As I said, a simple old priest.”

  “Yeah, okay. Fine, then tell me about the Bone Masters or whatever you want to call them.”

  Father Neal sighed. “No, not yet. You are not ready for that conversation.”

  “Why not? That’s why I came to see you. That’s why I went on this whole stupid thing in the first place. I want answers, and I want them now.” I banged my hands on the steering wheel.

  He gripped his cane with his liver-spotted hands. “I’m not used to being shouted at, Aidan.”

  The tone of his voice took me by surprise. It no longer had the soothing sound of an upper class professor, but a tone of command like a military officer.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have shouted, but I need answers, Father Neal. Please.”

  “And I’ll give them to you ... I promise. However, I can’t give you what I don’t have. Why do you think I asked you to bring me here?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Whatever you saw in that house scared you enough to come here, am I right?”

  He gripped his cane again. “Yes, there’s no doubt.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know, not yet.”

  “You like that phrase a lot, and it’s pissing me off.”

  “Get used to it. I never give information until I’m sure. But I will tell you one thing. What I saw in that house, well, let’s just say it wasn’t a normal haunted house. The demon that’s scratching that child is only a small part of the problem.”

  “A demon?”

  “Yes and something else.” He corrected me.

  “What something else?” I pressed.

  Father Neal shook his head. “Something or someone I’ve felt before.”

  Jennifer pulled up behind us. She wore a long coat and her black hair had been tucked into a Columbus Clippers baseball hat. She got out, and we joined her.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  Father Neal bowed. “Detective, my name is Father John Neal.”

  She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Father. Detective Jennifer Brown. You think you can help us?”

  He shrugged. “That was Aidan’s statement, my dear. Maybe I can. Maybe I can’t. I make no promises.”

  Jennifer frowned at me, not amused by my little white lie. “Let’s go to the cemetery.”

  We walked across the street, and Jennifer showed her badge to the cop on duty.

  “How’s your night, Patrolman?”

  “Fine, ma’am. Quiet. Not even a Grand Larcenist about.”

  She chuckled. “Thanks.”

  We went inside, and Father Neal held up his hand. “Please allow me to go alone. Wait here.” He limped off toward the cross as the snow began to fall.

  “He’s an interesting guy,” Jennifer said.

  I nodded, bracing my body against the cold. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “Are you going to tell me about the ghost hunt? And what on earth happened to your forehead?”

  I shook my head. “Not now. Not here. And don’t worry, I’m fine.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that?”

  “When I’ll tell you, you’ll understand.”

  Father Neal walked around the cross three times and stopped each time behind it. On his third circle, he stopped and raised his hands. His lips moved, but I couldn’t make out any words.

  “What is he…” Jennifer broke off as Father Neal doubled over with a cry of pain. As we rushed toward him, he backed up as if something pushed him. He kept stumbling back until he reached the pavilion with the grinning face.

  Jennifer ran ahead of me and bent down over him. “Father? Are you okay?”

  Father Neal grimaced. “Yes, my dear. Just didn’t quite expect that reaction. Should’ve been more careful.”

  “Reaction to what?” I asked.

  He waved me away. “Not now, Aidan.”

  The ripping cloth sound I’d heard earlier filled the air around us. Jennifer looked around. “I wish I knew what that sound was.”

  Father Neal stood, pale, but seemed otherwise okay as he walked to the left of the cross. “It’s the ripping of the veil. Violent and dangerous.”

  Jennifer looked at me, and I shrugged.

  He turned to her. “I believe we’re done here, my dear.” Walking to the gate, he looked back at me. “Aidan, are you coming?”

  Jennifer ran up to him. “Can you tell me anything else, Father?”

  He smiled. “In due time, my dear, I promise. Come, Aidan.”

  Jennifer looked at me and mouthed, “Call me in the morning.”

  I nodded and walked back to the car with Father Neal. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?”

  “Drive, Aidan,” he commanded.

  I sighed, and worked the car into the street. Father Neal stared forward not saying a word.

  “Okay, look, Father, I want some answers, especially since I got a Columbus policewoman up early in the morning for seemingly no reason.”

  He smirked. “Somehow, I don’t think you minded seeing Detective Brown.”

  Heat rose to my cheeks. “Whatever, priest. Are you going to explain things to me?”

  “Yes, I will. I don’t keep people in the dark any longer than I have to except for … well, until I have more information. But, we can start now.”

  I squirmed in my seat, ready to finally get some answers.

  “Tell me when you lost your faith and why.”

  I gripped the steering wheel. “I don’t know if I want to talk about that right now.”

  “It’s a must, Aidan. Without discussing that, nothing else I have to say to you will make sense. You’ll not understand the Bone Masters if we don’t, nor will you understand what happened tonight. Or why Amanda died.”

  I touched my forehead. The blood had stopped flowing, but I still felt a sticky ooze come from the deeper scratches. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  “How did you lose it? Tell me the story”

  I chuckled as I quoted Brian’s words. “Apparently, I read too much.”

  Father Neal looked at me with a half smile. “My dear boy, no one loses his faith by reading too much. It’s usually lost by not reading enough.”

  “I did.”

  He waved his hand. “Explain that process to me.”

  “I guess the best way is to start with my education. I was raised in a home where theology was all we talked about. My dad was a seminary professor. We had Luther for breakfast and Calvin for dinner.”

  “Seasoned with a dash of St. Augusti
ne?” Father Neal said as I stopped at a red light.

  “Yes, exactly. We talked a lot about God, Jesus, all of it. By fourteen, I was reading thousand page systematic theologies for fun. I had all the information I needed to convince everyone of my intellectual belief in God, and I thought that was enough. At least for a while, until I realized I had no feelings for God or deep commitment to Him. I always kept telling myself that just because I couldn’t feel God didn’t mean He wasn’t there. My faith was all rational, logical, and in order. I guess that’s why I chose science as my major.”

  Father Neal scratched his five o’clock shadow. “You felt you could get away from the theology.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Anyway, I graduated with a degree in biology. I knew all of the arguments for God’s existence from a scientific point of view. At least, I thought I did. I thought that was enough to fill the emotional void I felt. But it wasn’t. So I did the only thing I knew to try and fill that … more knowledge, more understanding, and this time through the ministry. I thought I would be able to find Him in seminary by pursuing ministry.”

  I couldn’t believe I was just throwing all of this out there. I hadn’t told anyone, not even Brian. I shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat.

  “If you didn’t take Him with you, you wouldn’t find Him there,” Father Neal said, turning to look right at me.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Father Neal nodded. His facial lines deeply grooved from fatigue. “I don’t guess, I know. Aidan, I’ve seen it happen too many times. Young people go to seminary desperate to cling to God, thinking ministry is the way to do that. Really, it’s the last reason you should enter ministry, and the most dangerous.”

  I turned into the church parking lot and pulled into a spot. “You’re right, of course,” I said. “But I didn’t accept that at the time. I thought if I launched myself into ministry, what I missed in seminary would find me. Didn’t happen. Instead, my emotional disconnect suffered when I experienced the worst in Christian lives. The elders want the pastor fired, people backstab, destroy other’s characters, and still I searched for God. I had almost given up.”