Keepers Of The Gate

Chapter 4

While occupants slumber inside the silent Victorian bed-and-breakfast, mysterious energy awakens beneath the home. On the second floor, Twyla sleepwalks through converging hallways, past stained-glass windows above the balcony, and descends the winding, gothic staircase.

She shuffles into the Grand Hall, pauses on chilly parquet, vibrating beneath her tiny, bare feet as faint voices swell in her ear. Twyla stirs from somnambulance, opening her eyes to a sable-haired woman with a V-dipped hairline, dressed in an ivory nightgown. Her vacant eyes hold Twyla"s gaze before she moves through the open basement door.

Rubbing her seven-year-old eyes, Twyla follows, descending the steep cellar stairs on cautious feet. She pauses at the bottom, uncertain where the woman went.

Clank! Clank! Clank! Reverberates around the basement, coming from the storage room, stopping and starting several times.

She creeps into the dim room, freezing in place. Metal hooks jingle up and down as gossamer hands tinker at the antique steamer trunk. The woman’s dark-brown hair shakes across her translucent skin as she toils with the lock. She thrusts back her head with a sharp wail, flinging tresses from her tear-streaked face.

Twyla flinches backward, rattling items on a rack. The woman twists her head, wailing an icy breath. The terrifying chill tears terror through Twyla’s heart, launching a hair-raising scream from her throat. Warmth trickles below her pajama legs, puddling on the wooden planks between her feet.

The woman’s eyes soften beneath her bewildered brows. She steps forward and the floor rumbles as she fades through the impermeable metal chest. Gripped with fear, Twyla stares at the menacing trunk towering in the corner, picturing the woman locked inside, trying to get out.

The basement door flies open, and swift feet descend the stairs. Grams Tessa enters, shakes her shoulders, and yells, “Twyla, wake up, sweetie,” mistaking her frozen stance for sleepwalking. But she’s wide awake.

.Embarrassed she pissed her pajamas, Twyla slips into a weepy, blather of unintelligible words. “I-I she, woman, cried, jiggled through the trunk.”

“Shh, honey, it was just a dream. You’re OK, there’s nothing there,” Tessa says, brushing her face and glancing toward the fear-rousing trunk.

Twyla stares across the long storage room toward the ornate metal box nestled against the stone wall. “She’s there, inside,” Twyla screams.

“Shh, now, honey, there’s nothing but antiques and my sketches inside the trunk,” Tessa says, taking her hand and guiding her toward the steamer.

Twyla grips her hand tight, clutches her bathrobe, and follows with squinted eyes.

Tessa lifts the gold, egg-shaped locket she always wears around her neck from her coral nightie and retrieves the item it protects, the trunk’s brass barrel key.

“Come see, Twyla. There’s nothing here,” she says. Tessa grips the metal latches the woman had been jiggling moments ago. The dome top groans and squeaks open.

Twyla lets go of Tessa’s robe and steps back. Her eyes widen on the rising top, expecting the woman to pop out. Sharp breaths swell and cave in her chest. Twyla inches to the rear and screams, “She’s hiding inside!” She turns, races from the room, up the stairs, rounding the corner, bumping into George.

“Whoa, hold on, little one,” George exclaims. He grasps her shoulders, stoops to his knees, brushing tears from her cheeks. “It"s OK, little squaw. The weeping woman can’t hurt you. She’s returned to her time.” Lowering his lips to her ears, he whispers, “Akdo:gëh, koh ëswënöhdö’he’t, gegwas,” knowing there was no need for translation. In the past, when he’d spoken his people’s language, the little one grasped every word. Now, staring into her liquid brown eyes, he sees her expression alter with perception.

“I’ve seen them, too, and you will come to know it, accept it.” His words translate themselves in her mind without explanation, a remnant of her history. A sudden wave of relief floods Twyla as she folds into his open arms. She’s always liked Young George, an affinity from the start. For an instant, the woman and trunk escape her thoughts. Fear abates for now but lives forever in her subconscious mind, along with George’s remarkable words and his comforting arms.

“I’ve seen , too, and you will come to know it, accept it