The Eighth Gate

5 | Façade

 "It’s locked,” Tamara declared after trying the rusted doorknob.

Noah was at her side, a screwdriver twirling between his fingers. “I can fix that.” The planks of wood that made up the rotting porch shifted and creaked as Tamara took a step away from the door so that Noah could work his magic. “Shine the flashlight over here. I can hardly see my own hands.”

Breaking into private venues such as this house on 49th street was common protocol for Tamara, Noah, and Mary. Typically, Noah worked the lock while Tamara helped in some way. Meanwhile Mary would simply stand to the side and do something she probably shouldn’t be doing, as was the case now.

“Almost got it…” Noah murmured, the doorknob jiggling urgently. Then, a satisfying click and a faint squeak were carried over to Mary by the wind. “There we go.”

“Ladies first,” sang Tamara as she skipped inside, lugging her equipment with her. “Get the rest of the stuff I set down on the floor, will you Noah?” she called out, her highly pitched voice echoing from inside the house.

Noah groaned. “What do I look like, a bellhop?”

“Mmm, something like that, yeah.”

“Whatever. C’mon Mary.” When Mary didn’t answer, Noah hesitantly repeated, “Mary?”

As if pulled out of some sort of trance, Mary yanked her eyes away from the window she had been peering into and briefly glanced at Noah. “Huh?”

“I unlocked the door. We’re going in now.” He cocked his head at her, his dark brown fringe falling into his gleaming eyes. “What are you doing over there?”

“I just… I thought I saw something…” Mary trailed off, distractedly reaching out to touch the window. There it was again, just like when she was younger: that magnetic feeling that injected Mary with the inexplicable urge to be near the house, except now she felt that pull towards that specific window. Before her fingers touched its surface, Noah was at her side. He clasped his hand in hers and gently yet firmly tugged her away, towards the door.

“We’ll check that room out once we set everything up inside,” he promised. “Now come on, Tamara’s probably at the other side of the house by now—if the ghosts haven’t gotten her, that is.”

“O… kay…” Mary replied, once again occupied in her own thoughts. She craned her neck to peer over her shoulder as Noah dragged her away, the action vaguely reminding her of her childhood walks with her grandmother. She thought she saw a faint red glow brighten for a few brief seconds on the other side of the dark window, like a pulsating starburst, before giving out.

“Whoa,” Noah breathed the moment they crossed the threshold into the house’s foyer. “It’s cold in here.”

“That’s because we’re in the middle of December,” Tamara said flatly, casually emerging from the shadows with her LED flashlight. “I still don’t think this place is haunted. And hey, what took you guys so lo—“ She abruptly cut off her words the moment the bright flashlight landed on Mary and Noah, making them wince and lift their free hands up to shield their eyes.

A brief spell of confusion came over Mary before she realized why Tamara was staring at the two of them with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Noah,” Mary piped up quickly, “you can let go of my hand now.”

“Oh--crap, uh,” he spluttered, released his warm hold as if her hand were suddenly dripping acid. “I—sorry. I’m—um, I didn’t—I didn’t notice—“