Seven Gates of Hell
By Tib Dunncan
©2011


Erik shivered. The room was kept cold to counteract the fact that the occupants were packed like sardines, though he felt they overdid it with the air conditioning that night - it had to be sixty degrees in there. He pulled the coat closer around his chest as he looked up at Agent K, who was readying to make her announcement. Erik stood at the front of the crowd because he was so small, hardly half the height of the next shortest Agent there. But then again, he was only eleven. He still had a lot of growing to do, and his fellow Agents understood that, looking past youth and seeing him for his true talent and ambition. Here, he wasn't Erik, local outcast; he was an Agent, a respected paranormal investigator.
"Welcome, fellow agents." K addressed the crowd. Though the light was low, as usual, Erik could see her oversized sunglasses under her long, bubblegum pink hair. She always looked exactly the same at every meeting. "Among the devout and the inquisitive, there are a few theories that share many characteristics in both fields - fields which rarely share any notions due to a small rivalry in belief. As I'm sure many of you are aware, the most prominent of these stories tells of the Seven Gates of Hell; entrances on the Earth Plane that lead to the land of the damned. The research shows that five of the seven Gates have been discovered, with two Gates left for the taking. A small task force of Agents now believes that they have successfully located the sixth entrance. However, there is a potentially problematic issue: It is reported that those who have ignored the warning tales have simply..." Her voice faded off as she searched the faces of the crowd, though how she could see them was a mystery to all. A small smile came to her lips as she pulled the right term from her word bank. "...disappeared. And whatever did it didn't leave so much as a trace. Due to this interesting observation, we've found that we cannot send the Agents who have discovered this, as they are merely Research Agents. On the contrary, each and every one of you are Field Agents, and therefore are permitted to volunteer your time to investigate the interesting paranormal phenomena that takes place at this house."
Erik gaped. "A house? The sixth Gate of Hell is a house?"
"Precisely, Agent E," K said, looking down on him with a smile. "A house; one that's been the center of many campfire ghost stories for some time, that resides at the end of a lost dirt road that leads just north of here."
"A haunted house, one of the Gates of Hell? You said it yourself, it's the center of campfire ghost stories! You can't be taking it seriously."
"Quite the contrary, Agent. Some of our best have thoroughly investigated the matter, and I assure you, we're quite certain that this is the sixth entrance." K repeated calmly.
"What proof is there?" he asked, unrelenting.
"No proof, Agent, other than shrewd conclusions and the disappearances of a college couple who were feuding at the time."
"Disappearances? People are disappearing in this town every day! And they were fighting! They could've easily finished each other off!"
K's voice betrayed her composed features with a tone of annoyance. "Perhaps you would like to be given the assignment, Agent E?" she asked. This boy, as bright as he could be, was far too opinionated. A fine dose of intimidation would shut him up.
Immediately, the boy's face lit up. "Really?" he asked, his voice brimming with excitement. "Yes! I accept the assignment, Agent K, and I'll prove that it's nothing more than a Campfire story!" Without hesitation, he ran up the steps and across the stage to take the case file from his superior. She handed them to him in a stunned silence, her mouth hanging open slightly at the event that just took place. She couldn't be handing this case to the youngest member of the society... it went against all logic. Not only were there more deserving agents, Agents who had been with the Society longer, but there were far more experienced Agent. Not to say that Erik was incompetent, but surly there were far more competent Agents who would be more suitable for the case. But she'd offered him the job. She'd handed him the case - metaphorically and physically, as she felt the manila folder slip from her fingertips.
K's voice was hesitant, as she was still recovering from the shock of her mistake. "Agent E... are you sure you want to accept this case? Take into consideration the possibility that you're wrong about the house. Perhaps it truly is one of the Gates of Hell. Are you sure you're up to the challenge?" she asked, interrupting Erik's happy, "This is a dream come true!" He turned on the spot and looked Agent K in the lens. "Without a doubt." he said sternly. He was eager to redeem him name, eager to prove himself to his superiors.
The Agent at the Podium merely nodded. "If you require assistance, alert me, Agent E, and I'll have a backup team at your beck and call."
Erik gave a perfunctory nod before darting back off of the stage, gathering his things as Agent K addressed the crowd. "Well..." she started, the tone of ease still apparent in her voice. “Well, everyone, wish Agent E luck. We'll see you all at the Halloween Party...That is all. Drive safely. Goodnight." She sad, dazed, before retreating from the stage herself, though not before giving him a single offhand warning: "Agent: I tried to warn you. I swear I did."
The Agents all filed out of the convention room out into the parking lot, where all but Erik started their drive home. The young agent hailed a taxi cab, since his father was too busy that night to come pick him up. It was like that most nights, but he didn't mind. Moreover, he was used to it. So long as his father administered the correct amount of allowance each week, Erik was more than capable of taking care of himself.
In hindsight, it was actually fortunate that his father didn't keep tabs on him. Otherwise, Erik was certain, he would not be able to go to half the meetings the Society held, nor would he be able to take up the case he'd just been assigned.
Now, granted, he would have to wait until the weekend to perform his duties, but it gave him something to look forward to during the school day. Something besides his main objective of survival, of course. That week, his classmates had taken to throwing rocks at him while he studied. Some had even gotten brave and begun throwing live animals at him. He'd returned home quite often, lately, with an angry lizard attached to him, or claw marks on his face. Yesterday, one even threw a snake at him. What it would be today, he thought as he sat alone on the brick wall fence on the playground, was a mystery. It couldn't possibly get worse than the snake. A sick smile twisted his lips at this.
It was Friday. Finally, beautiful Friday. After the next two hours in this prison, school would be out for the weekend. Agent H was picking him up straight from school and driving him and his equipment to the property formerly belonging to a small family that had been murdered in the home some time ago, the Mythes. In two hours, he would once again be Agent E. But for now, he was just Erik.
He sat at his desk, sitting up straight, hands folded neatly in front of him on the marked-up laminate wood-substitute; The only thing that snapped him out of his thoughts was the harsh buzzing of the school bell and the noisy scramble of children making a break for it - crawling out of every orifice of the building and screaming as if it were on fire. He, however, took up his backpack and walked calmly to the car-rider zone, where Agent H's small blue car was waiting, just as she'd promised.
He got in, quickly, wanting to get out of there before anyone had the chance to notice him there. Normally, he and his sister would walk home and avoid most people. Today, however, he was surrounded by so many people who made him feel so out of place. The two Agents exchanged quick greetings, Agent K telling Erik to buckle up before taking off out of the parking lot, finally headed towards his assignment.
E and K sat in the small car together in complete silence. What bothered him the most, though, was that he couldn't even see her face - he couldn't tell what she was thinking. It was that way the entire trip, which eventually brought them away from the bustling city that both of them lived in, to the wild, overgrown countryside. The car pulled into a blind dirt driveway enclosed by mossed-over trees and thickets, which, after driving another couple of miles into the untamed property, gave way to a large clearing, in the foreground of which stood a monumental house that looked like its Victorian architecture had seen better days. Moss and other unidentifiable greens seemed to be strangling the wooden structure, which in itself didn't seem all too stable.
Erik jumped out of Agent H's car, pulling the tote of equipment after him. He looked up to thank the Agent, only to be met with a concerned look. Under her gaze, he muttered a thanks, more timid than he'd wanted. He was afraid he'd seemed ungrateful for the ride. After all, she'd just driven him twenty miles from his school to the Mythe's. The boy heaved the bag over his shoulder and stared at his feet. Her look was making him extremely uncomfortable. With effort, he forced out a much more audible "Thank you, Agent." before looking her in the eye: that same disconcerting look. A small frown had set itself on her lips, at this point. Erik couldn't take it. "What?" he blurted, immediate guilt following.
H only smiled weakly. "Just be careful, Agent. You're never one to let your guard down, but this isn't like your research on that ‘vampire’ you keep telling us about. Unlike him, this might actually be dangerous." she said.
Erik fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was nothing but an old decrepit house. That's what he was there to prove, that night. And we would prove it. He would prove that he was right about the house, he'd prove that it was nothing more than a heap of rotting wood from centuries ago, and he would prove that he was a true, adept paranormal investigator. He broke into a grin so wide that it made H's small ghost of a smile disappear, an even more haunting look on her already worried face. "E..." she started. At this, his grin only grew wider and, with one or two more reassurances of his ability, he was able to convince her to take a safe drive back to her apartment. He watched as her small blue car disappeared back into the overgrowth of the driveway.
This left him alone in the dark shadow of the Mythe's house. The sidewalk was missing chunks, which caused him to have to hop from piece to piece. Along the way, he noticed a small pond on the side of the house that looked as if it had been filled with oil, the water was so black and filthy.
The porch was in no better condition than the front yard. When he put his weight on the first discolored wooden step, his foot broke through, lurching him forward. It was all he could do to catch himself on the steps in front of him - and he was lucky that those supported his weight better than the first step had. He wretched his foot from the splintered wooden enclosure, noticing a dull pain. Laughing inwardly, he realized that he hadn't been there for more than a few minutes and he'd already managed to sprain his ankle. He disregarded the nuisance. He'd been in worse condition, suffered more serious injuries before, and always kept on. Perseverance was a part of who he was.
He'd walk it off in time. He had to scout the whole house and set up his equipment, anyway. He reached the front door, searching for the skeleton key K had included in the File. He reasoned that there were probably a lot of doors in the house. Who knew? The key might even unlock the Sixth Gate of Hell. He chuckled. What a ridiculous thought. This rickety old place having anything to do with Hell? Erik found it hard to believe that Satan lived in this overgrowth-covered house in the middle of nowhere.
The key rattled in the lock for a moment before the mechanism finally clicked, allowing the door to swing open with the slightest touch. The door groaned against its hinges dutifully. Erik stopped mid step and gaped at the ancient floorboards just inside the threshold. Painted messily, as if someone had done it half-asleep, was a message to whoever stood on the other side of the door.
"ABANDON HOPE ALL WHO ENTER HERE."
Erik looked at the message for a moment before taking the key out of the lock and taking care to step on the painted floorboards as he entered the house, closing the door behind him.
The inside of the house, he noted, was no better than the outside. Tacky, floral printed wallpaper was peeling off the walls, the air was humid and stale and smelled strongly of cat urine, and everything that was still standing was covered with a visible layer of dust.
Erik set up the first camera and EVP recorder before he'd taken more than six steps into the house. He placed one of each in each room. In total, he'd set up thirteen units (provided by the Society.) before settling in the drawing room, no matter how uncomfortable, and taking out his logbook.

"Case: Mythe
Agent E
2100 hours

Arrival uneventful. House is decrepit. Thirteen stations set up around designated area. The only oddity found thus far is a crudely painted warning to those who enter the house. Suspected to be the work of troublesome locals."

With this, he closed the book and set it on the cushion of the chair he'd previously been sitting on. If he was going to be confined to the property all night, there was no sense in sitting around the whole time. Despite the residence being completely unkempt, it was full of interesting baubles and antiques.
He froze. Every muscle in his body became rigid as he strained his ears to hear the faintest sound - what he had thought were footsteps coming from above his head, on the second floor. They diminished into non-existence. Erik's muscles slowly relaxed. Whatever it was, was gone. It didn't matter. If there had been anything, it would have been recorded on the EVP. The anxious feeling in his chest disappeared faster than the footsteps had as he realized that he was letting the ghost stories get to him. Judging from the condition of the house, there was a good chance that whatever had been up there had been an animal... Judging from the smell in the house, a cat.
The boy shook his head and sat down to write in his log. He mentally scorned himself for not bringing something to keep his entertainment... His book, or maybe even one of his dad’s medical journals. But no. He had the log.
"What are you doing in my drawing room?"
Erik looked up to see a young woman, possibly no older than her mid-twenties, standing in the doorway.
"Your drawing room?" He asked skeptically, rising. "You don't fool me, no one's lived in this house for nearly a century!"
"No, I assure you, this is my home and I do live here." she said, coolly, sweeping into the room.
Erik merely scoffed. "Who would live in a place like this?" he asked, gesturing to the wall to his left, which had the hind legs of a chair protruding from it.
She shrugged. "You learn to embrace it. Now, if you're going to insult my home, you very may as well leave," she barked. Erik backtracked himself. While he found it highly unlikely, if this woman did in fact live there, he had just insulted her home.
"S-sorry." he stammered. "Who are you?"
She looked him over, clearly displeased. "I do believe I should be asking you that, since it is you who is trespassing on my property. But you seem harmless enough." her expression lightened upon these words, and she drew nearer to the boy. "My name is Veronica. I've lived in this house for the last three years. And yourself?"
"Erik, paranormal investigator." he said, sitting back down with perfect posture. The small amount of pride in his chest vanished instantly when he saw her sigh and turn away. "What's wrong with that?" he asked, defensively.
“You wouldn't believe how many nut-cases I get around here. Ghost hunters, thrill junkies, downright morons, all disappointed."
“I'm not a thrill junkie, and I'm not a moron. Ghost hunter is only half right. I'm actually investigating a series of disappearances involving this house."
"Disappearances?" she asked, her demeanor unchanging, unsurprised. "No doubt they've gone further into the woods - it's undeveloped back there, pure wilderness - and gotten themselves eaten by a bear or something. In my book, your believing that stupid fairytale makes you no better than the other loons that come around here trying to prove-"
"I'm not a loon! I'm not like the other people who've shown up, no matter what's happened to them!" he shouted.
The woman stopped mid sentence at his outburst, looking him over, sizing him up once again. He became very uncomfortable with all the scrutiny. Suddenly, she spoke. "You want to make every one believe you, you want to prove yourself?" Her head was slightly tilted as she looked at the boy, whose head snapped up to meet her gaze, staring as if she'd just slapped him. Taking this as his answer, she went on. "I'm in the field of mental health. I specialize in disorders and behavior associated with the paranormal."
Erik broke his gaze, staring now at the old floorboards. "Wow. I didn't know such a thing existed." he said, pointedly.
The woman nodded. "Yep. I've come across a lot of people like you. I've found you all tend to fall into pretty much the same category..." she trailed off.
"And what category is that?" He asked, irritated.
A small smile curved the woman's thin, pale lips. Her words were spoken coldly and razor sharp, each syllable cutting into Erik ash she spoke. "Overzealous, self-righteous fanatic."
Erik winced as he forced the words out. "That's a category?"
She moved closer to him, until at last she was leaning forward on to the arm of the chair he was sitting on. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she leaned in closer to him, who sat rigid, unmoving. "You think you’re one of a kind, but you're antisocial, obsessive…Simply put, you have all the traits of a potential nutcase. Perhaps you've already crossed that line," she said, standing erect, looking down on him with her arms folded across her chest.
Erik rubbed his eyes and leaned back into the armchair. "Now who’s being rude?" he asked, tiredly. “I’m not like that.”
"Oh, really? Raving like a lunatic about ghosts and demons?" she asked, possibly more exasperated than he was. She tutted and turned away from the boy, making her way across the room as she sighed. "You're probably convinced you’re protecting us from Vampires, are you? You know why you think you see the things you do?"
"Because I have seen them!" Erik said aggressively. His teeth were gritted, his fists clenched.
"No..." she said, softly, as if she was thinking it over. "It's because you're a lonely boy. A lonely boy chasing fantasies that you think will bring you the acceptance which your pathetic social awkwardness makes impossible for you to find elsewhere. You probably consider yourself a misunderstood visionary. A savior to mankind. Am I right?”
"Pathetic?" He asked, weakly.
"My bet is, most people would rather be electrocuted than spend a minute with you!" The woman laughed. Again, Erik rubbed his eyes tiredly. "That's why they sent you here." she said, suddenly solemn. "They knew it was 'haunted', and they gave you the case so you'd end up like all the others. Dead. And yet you defend them! For what? The good of Humanity? Or self-satisfaction? You're vindictive, Erik, and delusional if you think you're a righteous being." she scoffed. "Nobody wants you."
Silence enveloped the pair, Erik left to his thoughts in the lack of conversation. She was right. The kids at school hated him, as did most of the town; his fellow agents, though he found it hard to admit, simply thought him a nuisance. The emptiness that had taken residence in his chest was immediately filled with fear as he came to the only logical conclusion...
"That's right." Veronica said softly, "You don't know how often they both wished you never even existed. Your own family thinks you're a waste of space, Erik."
The boy looked up at her, nearing a desperation loud enough to be heard from the opposite side of the house. His face was etched with surprise. At this, the woman's thin lips curved up in a sickeningly sweet smile. "Inside of this place, there's no hiding from us. We know everything about you. Your hopes and dreams, and your darkest fears." Erik sat rigid in the chair as Veronica merely backed away, out of the drawing room, before turning her back on the boy. He gasped when he saw the large crimson stain on the back of her white nightgown. He imagined it must be the same on the front, cleverly hidden by the folds of the wrap she was wearing. Before Erik could recover from the shock, Veronica had left the room, closing the door behind her.
With a sudden jolt of energy, Erik shot up from the chair and raced to the door, throwing it open in an attempt to follow the mysterious woman, only to be faced with an empty hallway; the walls seemed to drip with the hopelessness of a lost chase. The boy's shoulder's sagged as he huffed, rubbing his forehead and retreating into the room. Surely, he was going mad.
Still, what that woman had said to him left a boring hole in his chest that deepened with every thought. Of course he was lonely. No one ever bothered to give him the time of day, they all thought he was a raving lunatic... just as she had. Another sigh escaped the boy's lips. He was not crazy. He was a misunderstood visionary. After everything he'd seen and done, no one was going to make him question that.
Erik grabbed his log and made for the door. Perhaps it was time for some fresh air... or, at the very least, the backyard. On the way down, he checked each and every station that he passed to make sure that they were all still running. And sure enough, everything checked out.
Once he located the back door, he found that it was jammed tightly shut. He took a running start and battered the door open with his shoulder, falling headlong into the long grass that was threatening to invade the house. Erik looked up at the man who's feet he'd fallen at. He was tall and clean looking. "Another tenant?" Erik asked bitterly.
The man's composure was gloomy and cold. "Hardly," he sneered back, not offering to help as Erik hauled himself to his feet. "Nothing more than a memory, if you insist on knowing." he said curtly as he saw Erik open his mouth to speak. The man's coal black eyes bore into the boy's. "Care to take a walk? As if that wasn't what you intended to do out here in the first place." The man turned and walked off without Erik, who quickly followed.
"Who are you?" he asked, still wishing to push further into the matter.
The man didn't even bother to turn to look at Erik. "I don't know. Not that I suppose it matters, anymore. And you?" he asked, obviously eager to change the subject.
"Erik, studying paranormal phenomena. In this case, the house." he said, gesturing back to the building. Erik stepped over a large overgrown shrub that had grown out into the walkway. He hopped over it right foot first, his left foot getting snagged on the weed, bringing him to the pavement. He felt a hand grab the back of his coat. The man, being much older than Erik, was easily able to haul him to his feet. Even more so, drag him across the pavement.
"I can't tell you how many people have come to this house to test its legend," The man said, his voice close and frighteningly dark. "Each and every one of them have had the life ripped from their bodies."
He had hardly a second to realize what was happening before the man rammed Erik into the side of a crumbling concrete fountain, the water as polluted as the pond water in the front, the structure even deeper. He sputtered as the wind was knocked out of him, and he felt the man's other hand push down on the back of his head, forcing him forward, headfirst into the water. His eyes flew open as he gasped for breath, sucking in the black ice water. He struggled against the man's grip, pushing against the concrete he was able to get a grasp on, made slippery by the mold and algae that had grown underwater. He kicked out in hopes of forcing a release, but was unable to connect with the man's body. He felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into the fountain, the water clouding his vision.
He wished he'd gone blind. A mass of bubbles erupted into Erik's face as a figure floated up to him. As it neared, he saw three decaying digits, mangled and, at one time, he thought, probably bloody. But it was all too apparent that the blood had drained completely from this figure long ago. Following the fingers was an arm, half a torso, and the gaping, decaying face of the man who held him underwater. Erik tried to scream; all he was able to accomplish was to expel the water from his aching lungs. He tried to push himself back up, to fight back, but his limbs, protesting against the lack of oxygen, went limp and numb. His wild thrashing was nothing more than half-hearted flopping by now, and spots obscured his vision as he slipped out of consciousness, grateful for the fact that he could no longer see the decomposing, waterlogged human body that was threatening to entangle its half-eaten limbs with his own.
With a loud gasp, Erik shot up rather violently, feeling the soft, overgrown grass underneath his fingers. He grasped madly at the ground as he closed his eyes, trying to expel the image he'd been forced to endure. His body shook from shock, as opposed to inevitable hypothermia one would experience after being drenched to the waist, fully clothed, in the dead of night in October. However, Erik noticed that he was not drenched to the waist. He was, in fact, perfectly dry. Shakily, he stood, taking in his surroundings for the first time upon regaining his senses. He was standing in front of the house, just outside the door he'd broken down. On the other side of the small section of the yard that he stood in, there was a dainty concrete fountain that was almost completely green with algae. Without taking his eyes off of it, he slowly retreated back into the house.
He could go to the fountain, to make sure that what he'd experienced had just been a dream, or a hallucination. It was an option. But Erik backed into the house, not turning his back on the yard until he had turned a corner, leaving the floating mass of rotting flesh staring slack jawed at the pitch black night sky.
Erik found himself running through the house, franticly fighting the voices that were now encroaching on the edges of his thoughts. They simply repeated the same thing over and over. The surreal chanting of "It’s too late" was all he could hear. All of his equipment would be left in the house until tomorrow afternoon, when the agents were able to come back with him and collect it. He wasn't staying another moment in this house. Gate to Hell or not, there was something terrible about it - even the air had a sense of malevolence about it. The voices grew louder with every bounding step he took, the cacophony rising to a fortissimo as he reached the foyer.
In his rush, the boy's ankles locked together, sending him flying towards the front door. He thudded to the old wooden floor, his face merely inches from the painted floorboards. As the dust from the impact cleared, his stomach turned sour. For the first time, he was getting a good look at the message. Veronica's soiled nightgown flashed briefly through his mind as he realized that the chipping and peeling paint on the floor was a sick crimson-brown, like the color of blood left to dry. His heart rate nearly tripled as he scrambled to his feet. The demonic chanting had ceased, replaced by one haunting voice more terrible than the symphony of demon's he'd endured since his departure from the garden. It was crisp and clear in its message.
"Handpicked fate, you will die slowly."
Erik's fingers fumbled at the knob on the front door as he desperately tried to escape the Sixth Gate of Hell. Nothing mattered anymore. Not the Society, not the vampires, not his family; all that mattered to the young paranormal investigator was that he get out of the house. The door flew open.
A sudden cold came over his body as he looked out the front door. He swallowed hard and simply stared as the voice cackled with twisted laughter. Staring back at him from the other side of the door was an image of himself but, like everything else about the house, it was sick and twisted. Hallow black eye sockets gaped at him from behind mangled wire frame glasses. His shirt was torn to shreds on his body, exposing more of the green-grey flesh. The reflection lacked hands, and one side of its jaw was completely devoid of flesh.
Erik didn't speak, he didn't move, as the terrible laugh he'd been hearing all night issued from the monster's jaws. He knew, now. He'd been given a chance to run. He'd been scared out of his wits for his own benefit. And he'd blown it. He'd returned to the house. That was the fatal mistake; now, there was no way out. And yet, he felt strangely calm. Somehow, he'd known from the very moment he'd stepped foot in the house, that this was what would happen. He stepped back calmly from the mirror; in return, the monster stepped forward from the mirror, its legs bent back behind it in a crouch.
The creature's voice was barely masked within his own as it spoke in tongues, its words, though horrible in their own way, didn't phase Erik. The thing took a few more menacing steps forward. "Welcome to Hell."