The Eighth Gate

13 | A Series of Unfortunate Events

Noah and Tamara hadn’t at all noticed Mary’s interaction with the glowing red object hidden inside the empty wardrobe. They did not pick up on the clattering sound it made when it slipped from her numb grasp; they did not notice the way Mary’s body jolted into awareness as if she had just woken up from a dream, the glassiness layered over her eyes melting away so that fear and anxiety could filter back into the crystalized blue of her irises.

Suddenly Mary had no idea why she was standing in front of a wardrobe, or why her entire arm bared a prickling pain, as if it were numb with disuse. She didn’t question it, either—right now she had bigger things to worry about, like the fact that when she whipped around to the glorious window she had been heading towards, she quickly managed to determine three things:

First, she noticed that Noah was speaking words in Latin, the twitch of his lips and curl of his tongue working expertly pronounce the ancient language smoothly and easily, as if it were native to him.

“…in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus,” he said, his voice shaky yet powerful, “domini et Judicis nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti, ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei…”

Second, she saw that Tamara was beside him, a black silhouette with a gleaming head of red hair as she stood beneath the glow of the lights outside the window. She was chanting familiar verses from the Bible while a hand struggled with something behind her—the window’s lock. The murderer’s ghost had locked the window, just as it had locked the door to the master bedroom when they first walked in.

“…most glorious Prince of the Heavenly Armies,

Saint Michael the Archangel…”

Mary then realized why nobody had bothered to ask her why she was simply standing there like an idiot beside an unimportant piece of furniture. It was because their attention was entirely focused on a large, roiling cloud of black mist that occupied the center of the room. It had a pair of narrow, glowing red eyes that shone like two stones of ruby buried in pitch black dirt. It seemed to be facing in the direction of the window, where Noah and Tamara stood with wide, frantic eyes, clearly attempting to ward it away. They weren’t doing a very good job at it; the foggy, shapeless figure would jerk backwards as if stung before advancing towards them again. Tamara held a cross in her hand, extended out towards it.

“…defend us in our battle against principalities and powers…”

“…quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum suum vocare dignatus est, ut fiat templum Dei vivi, et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo…”

Mary’s breath got caught in her throat at the horrifying sight. She attempted to run to their side to help but found that her limbs were not complying with her wishes, instead stubbornly insisting that she remain in her place. Her leg muscles went numb like her right arm, threatening to give way beneath her weight. The spirit of the angry murderer was gone, replaced by something more sinister. She hadn’t ever seen a demon before, but Mary knew beyond a shred of doubt that that was exactly what they were dealing with. It would explain why the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, and why she felt sick to her stomach—the sinister aura dominating the atmosphere was nauseating. This was what Mary and her friends had always feared would happen one day. This was their worst nightmare come to life.

“…against the rulers of this world of darkness,

against the spirits of wickedness in the high places…"

 

“…Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum, qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem…”