The Eighth Gate

4 | Revelations and Sirens

“Well,” Noah began after a few moments of motionless silence, “here we are.”

Mary and Tamara remained silent, caught by the sight of the structure sprawled out before them. The three best friends stood together on the empty sidewalk, the heavy equipment in their hands momentarily forgotten as the house’s familiarity struck them—especially Mary, who had once lived across the street from this supposedly haunted venue back when she was a child. 

The abandoned townhouse on 49th street was small old thing. It was layered with faded blue paint and streaks of grime; its front yard was a gnarled mess of wild, untamed trees, overgrown bushes and waist-high blades of grass. It was perfectly reasonable for one to completely overlook its presence, because it blended into its rural surroundings as if it were hiding from something, occasionally peeking over the puffs of foliage and that chain-linked fence to watch its neighbors as they passed by. Some of them would glance at the empty one-story structure and nearly trip over a rock, swearing that they witnessed something moving from behind the rusty, white iron-barred window; other’s would comment on how the government really ought to do something about the place— the sky blue tarp clinging to the shingled roof came closer and closer to flying off with every gust of sea breeze that blew.

And still, others did not spare it a glance.

Mary had never been one of them.

She did anything but spare it a glance. When Mary was growing up, she would find herself staring at it from across the street at her usual spot on the front porch in between the two stately columns; it hooked her eyes the moment it appeared into her field of view as she walked to her local elementary school, the act eliciting an annoyed tug forwards from where her now-deceased grandma’s shriveled hand firmly held hers. Mary would crane her neck as they passed the house, caught by its presence despite the fact that it far from spectacular, almost invisible. But it had a sense of secrecy about it, that house. An aura that warned logical people away yet attracted the curious minds—lured them to the secret that was the abandoned house on 49th street.

Perhaps there was nothing to hide but a dirty old home in dire need of TLC. Mary used to tell herself that sometimes, right before she would make the decision to rip her eyes away from its scratched wooden door and match her small steps with her grandma’s long strides, or before she turned away from it in her place on the porch and went back inside after hearing her mom declare that dinner was ready for a third time.

It was only until now, after fully immersing herself in research dedicated to uncovering some of Cullis Port’s most unnerving historical incidents in order to fuel her paranormal investigations, did Mary know the truth about the gruesome murder that had been committed there. After moving a few blocks away at the age of twelve, the abandoned house and the mystery it radiated seemed to slip away from her mind, and soon it was completely forgotten. Even two years later, when Mary suddenly took a keen interest in ghost hunting, the house never appeared on her list of possible haunted areas. Cullis Port was teeming with paranormal activity, and Mary had jumped to the most obvious places first. Now that these hotspots were dwindling--a result of Mary and her friend’s efforts to help the restless spirits find peace—, the house on 49th street had caught Mary’s interest again.

“This does not look haunted,” Tamara commented with a huff. “Dirty, abandoned, pretty ugly—but not haunted.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Noah reminded her, and Mary had a feeling he was trying to be optimistic for her sake. She was the one who had pushed for the three of them to visit this house in the first place. “Besides, what can you really see, anyway? It's pitch black beyond that fence. Not even the streetlights help.”