Gate
It was about 3 p.m., and the sky above St. Louis was a perfect, deep blue, dotted with a few wispy clouds. I strolled down Washington Avenue, just a few blocks from the Arch, surrounded by the buzz of tourists snapping photos and kids chasing pigeons. The air was warm—a soft breeze carrying the scent of the river. I was just passing a small brick bookstore when I noticed something odd—a flicker at the edge of my vision, like a heat mirage. At first, I chalked it up to the sunlight bouncing off a window. But then, the air rippled—just a subtle shimmer, like a seam in reality stretching thin. I stopped, my pulse quickening, because I wasn’t just a bystander—I was Sergeant Joseph, here on vacation, trying to escape the weight of duty. But as that flicker grew, so did a low rumble, and from the crack in the air, they emerged—those grotesque, horned beasts, the same monsters that once poured out of the gate
About Gate
It was about 3 p.m., and the sky above St. Louis was a perfect, deep blue, dotted with a few wispy clouds. I strolled down Washington Avenue, just a few blocks from the Arch, surrounded by the buzz of tourists snapping photos and kids chasing pigeons. The air was warm—a soft breeze carrying the scent of the river. I was just passing a small bri...Read more