The Eighth Gate

15 | Stairway To Hell

In that moment, Mary and Tamara were faced with a heavy, possibly life-threatening decision: stay and try to rid Noah of his demonic possession or run away to get help.

When they saw their best friend stop just behind the shattered window, bending down stiffly to pick up a wickedly sharp shard of glass before turning it on himself with a bone-chilling grin, neither Mary nor Tamara hesitated.

The demon wanted to harm Noah. There was no way they were going to let that happen without putting up a fight. And so they stayed.

                                                           †††

Mary wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see the moment she walked into Mr. Salazar’s rotting trailer, but it definitely wasn’t this.

As the trailer door shut closed behind her and Mason, the pair found themselves in a dark, chilly room that felt stuffy, as if the atmosphere were pressing down on them, squeezing them into a corner. The cool air smelled faintly of Pine Sol and dew. The trailer door had snuffed out the light from outside, as did the tired aluminum window shades, yet some sunlight managed to trickle through the gaps made by a few bent shades here and there, setting angular patterns amongst the shadows on the floor.

Mary heard the squeak of Salazar’s shoe from where he stood closely behind her, followed by the click of a light switch. The room brightened considerably, filled with a raw white glow given off by a panel of fluorescent lights in the center of the room’s ceiling; one of them kept flickering, its brightness meeker than the others.

Salazar slid past his visitors and set his suitcase down onto a nearby eating table, with a naked light bulb hanging over it, dangling from a cord. He was so tall the top of his head grazed the ceiling in spite of the slight hunch to his shoulders.

Mary and Mason stood at the trailer’s entrance for a moment, surveying the room before them. The first thing that struck Mary was how neat everything was, even despite the small amount of space available to place everything. All of the furniture was bare of any signs of life, like coffee stains or stacks of newspaper or unwashed dishes in the sink. The old trailer was quite narrow, and seemed to consist of three main segments, organized one after the other in a line: first was a small counter space with cabinets and kitchen appliances set along a wall opposite an eating area that resembled a booth at a restaurant. Next came an even narrower walkway framed by two walls, one of which held a sliding closet while the other had a door that Mary assumed led to a bathroom. The small, cramped-looking hallway ended at a closed door that presumably opened up to a bedroom.

The furniture was rather old, definitely from an era that came before Mary and Mason’s time. The trailer itself possessed an antique essence, from the pale peeling Formica that made up the kitchen counters to the small antennae television settled against the far right wall atop a small wooden table. The checkered pattern on the booth’s table; the colorful “retro-esque” pattern of the loveseat settled opposite the television, its back to the kitchen—all of it made Mary feel like she had travelled back in time.

There was only one thing Mary thought was quite peculiar considering the trailer’s old-fashioned looks. There were two rusty metal bowls settled on the floor on either side of the television, looking terribly out of place. Balanced precariously on a rod set over each of the bowls’ mouths was a wax candle with a lit flame, glowing so brightly it was as if Mary were staring into tiny twin suns.

Mason was the first to break the silence, whistling lowly. “Wow. This is a pretty neat place you’ve got here, Mr. S. It suits you.”

The ghost of a smile touched Salazar’s lips. Mary dimly wondered if he were capable of showcasing an exaggerated display of emotion—like pure, unbridled glee or terror—instead of the usual placid, composed countenance he always wore.