Beyond the Crossroads

         There is a place beyond the crossroads. A place deep in the earth. Buried, but ever present. Sometimes we can feel it. A gate to another world that holds impossible horrors and a great power. To human eyes, it shall ever remain the unknown. Once you gaze upon this other world, the parallel, you may never return. And for whoever shall come knocking at the gate must willingly give their humanity as a toll in exchange for a fraction of its power. But the real fear does not come from the gate itself. The true terror comes when it's time to collect.



         Connor sat at his shabby desk in his room of his parents' house. Walls were lined with band posters. Two generic-brand floor-to-ceiling shelves were overflowing with books. Some dog eared, some pristine. The smell of his mother cooking some sort of hamburger-helper downstairs made his stomach turn as he knew he would be eating that for the next two days.
         Infront of Connor at his desk, his laptop laid open to a blank screen with the cursor blinking. He had always dreamed of writing. Creating vast worlds of danger and adventure. He wanted to make his mark on history and write a best-selling fantasy novel. His writers block always had other plans. He furiously typed word after word creating a sentence, he would pause and read the words back and immediately slam the backspace key.
         "Dinners ready!" His mom shouted from downstairs.
         "Yea, I know," he yelled back at his open door.
         "Well get your ass down here!"
         He stared at the blank screen for a moment and let out a sigh, slapped the lid of the laptop closed and headed downstairs. His mom, dad and little sister all sat at the table slopping the hamburger pasta onto their plates in frantic movement.
         "Here I made you a plate," his mom said as she handed him a plate piled with the meat mixture and on top, black olives. "I didn't forget your olives sweetie."
         "Thanks," Connor said as he sat. Olives were his favorite.
         "When is your bookstore thing?" his mom asked.
         "It's a book signing, mom, and its tomorrow."
         "Ah shit. I'm sorry, can you catch the bus? I have a hair appointment for that day."
         Connor exhaled and looked to his dad who was head down shoveling food into his mouth. He looked at his little sister, Anne, who shared a glance with him and then quickly darted her eyes back to mom.
         "Yea, I guess. I told you about this like, weeks ago," he said defeated.
         "Yea I know, but Pam said she could get me in, and I hadn't had my hair done in a few weeks, so you know how it goes."
         Connors mom, Linny, had always attempted to hold on to any strand of her glory days. She finished school and played the trophy wife and subsequently got stuck with a man, Connors dad, whom she didn't much care for. But he gave her freedom and kept to himself. So, she did her best to always feel that same youth as she did when the boys were still eye fucking her.
         Connor pushed his chair back and stood with his plate of food in hand.
         "Sit your ass back down," dad said. His tone could cut the room in half.
         Without a word, Connor obliged, slumped back into his chair at the table and began to eat.
         "What are you writing, sweetie?" mom asked, while placing a single piece of pasta in her mouth.
         "Nothing, as usual," Connor said.
         "If this was your thing, youd'a written a whole story by now," dad said pointing his fork at Connor. "You're wasting your time. You could be learning a real trade or doing real work, son."
         "Yea I guess I should just quit and become an entry level mechanic at a shop I hate working at," Connor stabbed back.
         "Hey, you little ungrateful shit. That's enough with your attitude. I put a roof over our head and food on your plate."
         Anne ate quietly as her head went back and forth with the exchanges like she was watching an intense tennis match.
         Connor ate the rest of his meal quietly and retired to his bedroom. He stared at the blank page for another hour before he laid down in bed and grabbed a heavy tome on his nightstand. The book 'Dragons Mark' by his favorite author, Ellis Frank. He read until his eye lids felt like sandpaper and he disappeared into a world of Knights and adventure.



         Connor awoke to the sun peering in through his window. His book laid on his chest like a tent. He scrambled and grabbed his phone. It was nine o'clock. His heart raced and his stomach dropped. He was supposed to be at the book signing in thirty minutes. He leapt from bed and slid pants on while hopping on one foot down the stairs.
         Once Connor got to the bus stop, he stood tapping his foot looking side to side.
         "Got somewhere to be?" an old woman asked. Her silver curls peaked out from a vinyl rain cover tied onto her head.
         Connor glanced her way, "yea I am about to be late to this book signing downtown. My spot in line is going to suck," he said.
         "Oh, that sounds nice dear. Is he going to sign that?" she pointed to the book under Connor's arm.
         He lifted it to look as if he forgot he was carrying it. "Oh yea, Its my favorite series. I'm hoping to meet him and get it signed."
         "Do you write too?"
         "Oh absolutely," Connor lied. "I am working on a novel now."
         "What's it about?"
         Connor's throat swelled with anxiety, but he was saved by the bus. Just as it pulled up, he dropped the topic and turned to get on and find a seat away from the woman. She followed to his seat and put a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sure it will be a great story, young man. Be careful, they say never meet your heroes. Don't be disappointed if he's not what you pictured," she said with a smile, patted him again on the shoulder and found a seat on the other end of the bus.
         Connor smiled a hollow smile and nodded. The entire bus ride he couldn't stop thinking about the old woman. The look she gave him and the warm smile that she exuded. Connor shrugged it off.
          He got off at his stop and saw the line wrapped around the building. Panic flowed and he ran to grab a spot at the end. He could feel the eyes of every person he passed to get to the back. "You're not a real fan," their eyes said.
          After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, he was so close now, he was standing just inside the front door. He peaked over shoulders and there he was, Ellis Frank. He sat at a lone table in the middle of an open floor between two stand up banners, one of his headshot that could be seen on the inside sleeve of all his books, and the other of the Dragon's Symbol. His head was down as he scribbled in the book of the person in line in front of him. He was too far away to hear the conversation, but he looked approachable.
          Finally, it was Connor's turn. He stood in front of Ellis Frank at last and held out his book with shaky hands. "I was hoping you could sign this sir," he said.
          "Absolutely, what's your name?" Ellis asked with a smile.
          "Connor, sir."
          Ellis scribbled his autograph on the title page and handed the book back.
          "Can I ask you a question?" Connor said, his voice escaping through the anxiety.
          "Yea shoot."
          "How do you get over writer's block. I want to be great like you, but I can never get anything out."
          "Well, what is it you are trying to get out?"
          Connor was stunned. Such a simple question and he couldn't find the answer. He felt the weight of pressure from the rest of the line behind him. By now the sun had gone down.
          "Umm well. I guess I don't know," Connor said.
          Ellis leaned in and looked side to side, "You want to know the secret?"
          "More than anything sir,"
          "You have to make a deal with the devil." Ellis winked, patted Connor's arm and looked to the next person in line, dismissing him.
          Connor stepped away and slowly walked outside. The cool night air tickled his arms as he'd left home so fast, he forgot to grab a jacket. He walked his way towards the bus stop while peeling his book open to inspect the autograph, 'Good Luck Coner,' it read. "Shit," he said to himself.
          On his way down the road to the bus stop he hurried along a crossroad to a ridge with a guard rail. A flash of headlights blinded him briefly and a horn wailed. He stumbled and felt the guard rail catch him behind the knee. Before he knew it, he was upside down rolling down a hill. Bushes and branches swept by his exposed arms and face. Several rocks dug into him as he tumbled until he was met with a final shocking slam of unmoving earth.
          Connor rose brushing himself off and inspecting his arms. Tiny slashes and scratches went every which way in a cross hatch of pain. He'd fallen so far off the hill he couldn't hear the city anymore, just crickets singing with the occasional off tempo frog. The moss-covered hill was too steep to climb, and the forest was too dark to see. He made his way following what he thought was parallel with the street for a while until he came to a clearing. Moonlight poked its way down through the dense pine canopy splashing a shadow of spikes across the forest floor. Infront of him was a stone pedestal and beyond that, a large stone disc buried in the hillside.
          Connor took a step back. The shadows on the forest floor moved and swayed with the wind, but one slithered and made its way to the stone pedestal. The shadow swirled and writhed until it formed an outline of a man behind the pedestal. Standing like the priest behind a pulpit.
          "Hello?" Connor shouted. He squinted his eyes trying to make sense of the impossible.
          "Hello," the shadow responded.
          "Who are you?"
          "That, young one, is an interesting question."
          Connor stood frozen. Every particle in his being was telling him to run. But there was some sort of pull from the stone disc in the hillside. It called to him. It lulled his very sense of terror and somehow made him feel ok.
          "Answer the question," Connor demanded.
          "I have a question for you," the shadow retorted. "You met your hero today. Was he what you expected?"
          Connor took a deep breath and took a step closer. "No..." He admitted.
          "Yes, we often find ourselves wanting to be someone that is not us. Anything to break out of the life of mediocrity." A toothy white grin peeked out from where the shadows head should be. "Tell me, who is it you want to be?"
          Connor knew his answer. "A great writer. I want to be a writer," he said.
          "Then why don't you write?"
          "I try, nothing comes out."
          "Then let me help you. Beyond this gate," the shadow turned towards the stone disc in the hill, "is a power unmeasurable. It's a place. It's a collective. It is in all of us but has not been seen. I have a proposition for you Connor. Step forward."
          Connor wanted to scream but the gate, it pulled at his very soul. He lifted a foot with hesitation and took a step. Pine needles grinded into the dirt under his shoe.
          "Good. Come," the shadow said. "Place your hand on the gate, I will make your dreams come true in this life, and in trade, you will bind yourself to what is beyond this gate after this life."
          "After this life?"
          "Yes, after this life."
          "Where does the gate lead?"
          "To where most end up after this life anyways. It is truly a remarkable offer and not one that I bare forward lightly. I cannot foresee the future, but I will make the unimaginable happen for you."
          Connor thought and as he did his heart pulsed in his ears. He felt as if the drumming was coming from behind the stone disc. The beat drew him in and in an almost trance like state, he placed his open palm on the center of the gate. In a moment a blasting rhythm took him in. The songs of the universe were felt reverberating in his very bones. Ideas, plots, and threads of untold stories exploded into his brain, and he was launched back. His head smacked into a rock jutting out of the forest floor and his world went dark.
          When Connor awoke, he was still laying on the forest floor. Pine needles stabbed at his back through his dew-soaked T-shirt. The sun cast ribbons of light on him, and he sat up. The ideas, the plots, all the untold stories were still there in his head, and he knew how to get them out. It was all unfolding as if he knew the secrets to life itself. He had to get home to write.
          Connor was shaking with excitement as he stood and brushed himself off. No more staring at an empty page. He was going to change the world. He rushed his way to the hillside and climbed up it back to the guard rail on the side of the highway. He climbed up over it and began to run.
          A horn blared and Connor was met with blinding pain across his entire left side. A large trucks tires squealed until Connor was pulled under neath them which made a gut-wrenching rattling sound. The truck stopped just passed the intersection and left stripes of dark red on the street behind. In the middle of the crossroad laid Connor's mangled body. Split open and wrinkled like a bad grape.
          At that very moment, unseen by the bystanders that rushed to the scene but stopped short frozen in horror, a shadow moved across the blood-stained pavement. The shadow of a man cast by no man. It slithered its way to Connor's corpse, knelt and rested a shadowy palm on his body then dissipated into the daylight.
          Often, Hell can be found right here. The struggle between the light and the dark. The war between angel and demon. All of it is fought on earth. Sometimes we are just caught in the crossfire. And sometimes we are shot down with impunity and vicious fury.