Where the Gates Lead

TW: Contains mentions of the death of a child.

His feet smacked against the ground as he ran, dirt and leaves flying upwards each time his heels lifted. His eyes refused to focus, swirls of green and brown and black hammering in his vision as he tripped over his feet, stumbling to the ground where soil clung to his face and tongue. He gagged, coughing and spluttering as he breathed in whatever wet, gritty substance was underneath him. He pressed his hands into the soil, pushing up onto his feet as he started forward once again, grabbing onto the surrounding trees to aid him on his way, his vision blurring more severely with each second. He was dizzy and his head was muddled, thoughts running wild, yet in his memory was nothing, like a spinning hamster ball with no hamster.

He gripped his hair tightly in both hands and groaned, desperately grasping for something, anything. What was his name? How old was he? Why was he here?

Nothing.

He couldn’t remember anything. Maybe there was nothing to remember. Maybe he just simply didn’t know anything. Maybe he was air-borne and spawned into this forest with no knowledge of anything other than his face was dirty and the taste in his mouth was vomit-inducing.

He lost his grip on a tree and staggered forward. Like magic, his vision cleared; he could see everything in front of him with a startling sharpness. The suddenness of the development momentarily stunned him, a splitting headache forming behind his eyes as the world became more vast, the bland darkness of his surroundings brighter than he could handle.

As he steadied himself, he realised that he was in what looked like a spacious clearing. Three large black gates were lined up in front of him. They were ancient-looking, as if from a time before. Before what, he didn’t know. He had the distinct feeling that this universe wasn’t real, wasn’t tangible despite his ability to touch whatever he chose. He figured that the laws of time, whatever they may be, didn’t apply there.

He noticed bright lights illuminating beyond the gate on the far left. He walked towards it, almost as if in a trance, and paused right before the entrance. From his closer position, he realised that, beyond the gate, was a theme park. The warm yellows, oranges, and reds danced in the night and, in that moment, he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful. He couldn’t think of anything at all.

He stumbled forward as if pushed and made his way through the entrance. As he passed the entryway, he abruptly spun around to face the gates. Something inside him, something he couldn’t quite understand or explain, knew that if he closed the gates behind him, it would all be over. He would remain here. And he had no idea what that meant.

He began walking through the theme park with clammy hands and a racing heart. It was deserted; there was everything you could want or desire - food stands, rides, music - but not a person in sight. The atmosphere was a paradox of vibrant life and eerie death. The wooden horses on the carousel grinned at him, lifeless, as they bobbed up and down aimlessly, like they were a part of a ritual he didn’t care to stick around to see. Or perhaps he was scared of what would happen if he stayed too long. He considered, for a moment, that they may be looking at him, scrutinising him, warning him.

As he approached the teacups, their glossy surfaces reflected in the moonlight, he noticed a woman sat in one to the far right. She had red wavy hair that flowed long down her back, and freckles decorating her cheeks and nose. Her icy blue eyes pierced his soul and he faltered under her gaze. Something about her looked vaguely familiar. He felt almost sorrowful as he looked at her, and he didn’t know why. Her stare didn’t waver as her mouth opened in a precise manner that made her resemble a puppet being controlled by a ventriloquist speaking her words for her.

“Why did you do it?”

Her words shocked him as he stumbled back. She was unmoving as she stared through him, almost as if he weren’t there at all.

“What?” He whispered, confusion and fear taking over his voice.

The woman remained quiet and unmoving. He wasn’t sure she’d even tip if he shoved her.

He tentatively turned away from the woman and continued on his way, fists clenching and unclenching, creating crescent-shaped indents on his palms. He turned his head to see if she was watching, but she was in the same position she had always been in.

The feeling inside of him was strange. His innate response to the atmosphere was cheerfulness and excitement, yet something deeper and more pressing was telling him that nothing about this was cheerful or exciting. The now dried-up soil began crumbling from his face and he spat out the chunks that fell to his lips as he walked.

Further down the park, he began to smell burning. The unmistakable stench of smoke abused his nostrils and he coughed, his fist flying to his mouth. The more he walked, the more intense the smell became; the smoke was now in view, engulfing him in its cloudy embrace. He was beginning to lose sight as his vision was completely overtaken, unable to see anything surrounding him. Right as he was beginning to think he couldn’t take anymore, the smoke was gone. He looked back to see a wall of grey behind him, almost as if he had stepped out of a portal, unaware of what was awaiting him on the other side.

Now that his vision had returned, he could see the source of the smoke - a bike. A once green plastic bike, presumably for a toddler, was lying on the ground, charred, the ribboned tassels on the handlebars ashes on the ground.

He gasped, startled. The bike was completely black all over. It was difficult to even make out what it was.

So how had he known what colour it was?

An overwhelming sadness filled him then. Confusion, grief, and sorrow hit him all at once as he fell to his knees, his vision becoming blurry as tears forcefully escaped his eyes. He let out a sob and fell sideways, curled up into a ball on the ground as he howled, uncaring that soil was getting in his mouth again. He groaned and gasped for air right before he blacked out.

When he woke up, he was back in the clearing. He momentarily forgot about everything that had happened, but the memories hit him like a truck when he sat upright. He grabbed his chest and sucked in a harsh breath. Who was that woman? How did he know what colour the bike was? How did he get back in the clearing? What did it all mean?

He could come up with nothing.

He had to get out of here. He didn’t know how, but he didn’t want to spend another minute in whatever this place was.

He frantically jumped up and began running in the opposite direction from which he had arrived. He ran forward, backward, left, right until his lungs burned and he legs gave out, and he slumped on the ground in defeat. He wheezed as he looked around. The place was endless. The forest seemed to continue on forever and the night sky was unchanging, a void of nothingness. The thought that he may be stuck here formed in his brain and panic set in instantly. That wasn’t an option.

He stood with a fierce determination and marched back towards the clearing. When he got there, he stared down the gate at the centre and, without thinking, he walked through it.

Beyond this gate was a market. The atmosphere was entirely different to that of the theme park. Whilst that had been bright, buoyant, and upbeat, this was eerie, cold, and gloomy. There were stalls for everything - clothes, food, jewellery, ornaments. But nothing looked exciting. Not just because he wasn’t the kind of guy to wear jewellery, but it truly just looked sad. The mood that radiated from the area left him with a horrible dreary ache in his bones. Like the theme park, the market appeared deserted, but he knew better by now than to believe that was true.

Just as he expected, as he approached a stand that looked to be selling books, a girl, no older than fourteen, stood behind the stall, that same far-away look in her eyes as the woman from before. Her hair was in a ponytail, a light blue bow perched on the crown of her head. He ran his eyes over each book. Children’s books, he realised, judging by the covers. He acknowledged with a start that there were a few names he recognised. He remembered The Gruffalo and Winnie-the-Pooh. Something inside him was tugged at the names. He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to weep. He felt like these books were important in some way, and he desperately racked his brain for even the smallest, most miniscule piece of information that could help him understand. Again, nothing.

He looked at the girl before him. He stared into her eyes like he was searching her soul for all of the answers he needed. She looked entranced, and something in him that he didn’t understand longed to hug her, feel her skin against his, keep her safe.

He didn’t know what to do, what to say, so he just stared. He needn’t have worried, as suddenly, the girl began to cry, a harsh, heart-breaking cry that consumed her entire body as she shook with the force of them. She wailed and moaned, unabashedly falling apart right in front of him, and all he could do was stare. She raised her eyes to him and snarled through gritted teeth, heaving in her growing anger. Her expression was terrifying, but what scared him more were the words she shrieked as she bawled.

“MY BROTHER!!,” She bellowed in anguish and fell to the ground in a broken heap.

His body shook as he backed away in shock. “What?!” He tried desperately, but unsurprisingly, she didn’t answer, just cried and cried and cried in a ball on the ground, much like he had earlier.

Suddenly, his headache from before returned full force and he grabbed his head, grunting in pain as a sharp ringing rose in his ears. He stumbled forward, searching for a way out. Everywhere he went, scattered across the ground, were bottles - alcohol bottles. Some smashed, some intact, none full. All of a sudden, his mouth felt sandpaper dry and something akin to a ravenous hunger overtook him. He fell to his knees and began crawling on the ground, picking up bottles, tipping them, and dropping them again. He had no idea what he was doing, like he had lost complete control over his body and something, something animalistic, something he didn’t like, had taken over. He punched and scratched and grabbed at the ground, frantically searching for an anchor or else he feared he would drift away. And somehow, that felt worse than staying.

His back slammed forcefully against the ground, and as he panted hysterically, he blacked out again.

Waking up in this god forsaken clearing had become familiar to him. He rubbed his eyes vigorously like they had been filled with sand and stood up, dizzy and exhausted. Wasting no time, his gaze locked on the final gate on the far left, and he walked slowly towards it, swaying side-to-side. He felt like he could close his eyes and sleep forever.

He didn’t allow himself to think about the things that he had heard and saw. He didn’t want to piece it all together, regardless of whether he could or not. Guilt and shame filled him to the brim; he didn’t think he was a good man. Had he had a life before this? He didn’t know. But what he did know was that if he did, whoever he was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back. He had done something horrible, he could feel it in his bones, and the knowledge burned him from the inside.

Through the final gate stood a drive-in cinema, cars littered around the parking lot, occupants nowhere to be found. The large screen was blank, the edges old and tattered. A heavy breeze smacked him in the face, and he shivered violently as he opened the door of a car to his right, getting inside and closing the door behind him.

Suddenly, the screen lit up, and he could hear the scratchy sounds of an old projector somewhere in the distance. On the screen was what looked like a scene from a movie, or maybe it was a home video. Maybe it was something else entirely, he didn’t know. On the screen lay a young boy in a hospital bed, no more than five years old. He had yellowing bruises all over his face, surrounded by cuts and scratches that left no patch of skin untouched. On one side of his bed was an older woman with red hair, on the other, a teenage girl with a blue bow in her hair. His heart raced and his palms began to sweat as he eyed the screen through the windshield of the car. He didn’t think he could look away even if he wanted to.

The woman and girl were both crying. They each held one of the boy’s hands in their own, their tears falling onto his skin in quick succession. His hands, in contrast to his face, were perfectly clear, pale, baby soft skin hanging from the bed. The boy was attached to a heart monitor that was beeping softly in even intervals.

The young girl spoke up without raising her head, her voice timid and scared. “Is he going to be okay, Mum?”

The red-headed woman blinked her eyes rapidly, clearly in a fruitless attempt to keep her tears from escaping. When she spoke, her voice sounded far-away, like she wasn’t present in the moment. “I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.”

The picture glitched and became blurry for half a second before returning back to normal.

“Dad,” was all the young girl managed before she broke down into a fit of sobs, dropping the boy’s hand as she did so.

At the word, the woman’s eyes turned hard and her jaw clenched, her grip on the boys hand tightening and her other fist clenched in her lap. “Don’t think about him, sweetie. He's nothing to us now.”

The door to the hospital room opened, and in walked an older man in a white coat, clipboard in hand. He had a solemn look on his face as he removed his glasses and sat in a chair at the corner of the room, placing his clipboard on the ground. He sighed, rubbing his hands against his trousers as he lifted his head, struggling to force the words out.

“I’m so sorry, but he’s not going to make it.”

In a flash, the screen went black. Everything was quiet for a few seconds, the only sound being his laboured breaths and the ruthless beating of his heart against his chest.

The screen lit back up again and the scene before him threatened to break him entirely.

The doctor was gone, and the heart monitor had settled into a long, continuous beep.

The girl was on the floor, curled up in a ball as she howled in pain. She opened her mouth and, in a fit of rage and grief, screamed until her lungs gave out.

“MY BROTHER!!”

Across from her, the woman sat, unmoving, as if she had managed to escape from her body to flee from the pain, leaving behind a shell of who she had once been.

She turned her head slowly and stared directly through the screen, it almost seemed as if she was looking directly at him. Maybe she was.

He knew what she was going to say before she said it, but it didn’t make the moment that she did hurt any less.

“Why did you do it?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, a scorching fire rose within him and he grabbed the handle of the car door harshly, throwing himself out and sprinting as fast as he could back towards the clearing.

As he entered the clearing once again, he let out a feral roar - sweat and tears mixing to slide down his face all at once. Memories were returning in flashes, the searing headache the worst it had ever been.

The woman.

The bike.

The girl.

The books.

The alcohol.

The boy.

He groaned and dragged his hands down his face, tripping over his own feet as he attempted to keep his balance. He opened his eyes and stared in front of him. The gates.

That feeling. That overwhelming feeling he had felt as he stood at the first gate. It had felt final. Like when he closed the gate, he would be making a decision. A decision that would change everything forever.

He knew there was no other way out. There was no other option. He wanted nothing more than to get out of this clearing, to escape the thoughts and the memories and the emotions that were plaguing him.

His eyes dragged over all three gates, the pain in his head increasing with each second. Which one?

After a moment, he decided, and stumbled on his way until he grabbed the ice-cold metal. His sweaty palm slipped down and he had to regain his grip. With one hand gripping his head and one holding the gate in a vice grip, he swung it closed with a shaky force of finality, completely and utterly unprepared for what awaited him on the other side.