Day 304 - The Devil's Gate

 The Devil’s Gate

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

Several children had gone missing. After seasons of dry weather, the rains had come. The river had returned and the rocks were obscured and the basin had turned to mud. There were fears that some calamity had ensued and young explorers had met their untimely demise because of unsure footing. What looked like a place to cross may have been a death trap in waiting. No one was sure. It would be weeks or months before the water receded. Impatient parents were simultaneously afraid of what might be found.

Decades earlier the dam had been built. It wasn’t so important now, as the rains rarely came. But a long time ago, it had been necessary. In the years that followed, after the river mostly dried, the area became a location for hikers and explorers by day and sometimes something much more sinister at night.  Each generation seemed to have discovered the location, or perhaps they passed in down, year over year, telling siblings and friends about the secret night time hideaway. Home to drugs and drinking and teenage debauchery of all types. When parents grew scared of graffiti they didn’t understand, or games and music that perhaps held too many secrets, there was always some evidence to be found there. The police hardly ever believed anything to demonic was happening, but they knew to appease the parents, so they made sure to stop by at least once or twice on weekends, and many more times during the summer. Still, none of that stopped kids from being kids, or young people finding ways to outmaneuver authority.

There had been reports of strangers in the area. Some said they were tall and slender. Others swore they were bums, addicts or other such riff-raff. The police found no evidence of anyone living there, but after the first child went missing, they made sure to scour the area more often. Then the second child went missing and the adults began to freak out.

There was a story that decades ago, men of note used to gather there. It was nearly impossible to corroborate such an urban legend. In that age, men of note were able to bribe, strong arm or cajole their way to privacy. Rumors had it that some were government men. Others were religious leaders. There was a famed astrologist that supposedly would visit the area and chanting could be heard and the locals feared there were strange magical rituals being performed. No one knew for sure, but there were an increased number of pregnancies that occurred in the following months. If their ceremonies were nefarious, they seemed to also include a certain sensational bent.

The following summer the waters slowed and the river could be drained at the dam.

No bodies were found.

 

 

Tommy awoke to the sounds of men chanting and animals bleating. The area looked familiar, but he wasn’t sure how he got there. His head hurt and his mind was having trouble focusing. He crawled over the rocks towards the sounds. There he saw the shows flickering off the dam and surrounding rocks. An altar had been built. A bonfire set in front of it. Men and women danced naked. The throat of a goat was slashed open and blood flowed everywhere.

Tommy stumbled away, frightened. He must have made a sound, as the men and women turned. They were coming for him. He ran, unsure where to go. The terrain was rocky, the night was dark, he had to be careful, lest he slip.

The sounds of others were all around. Tommy wasn’t sure how to get away. The sounds got louder and the people came closer. The shadows of the night began to fall.