The Periwinkle Gate

In 1962, the summer air in the town of Cedar Hollow was thick with the scent of freshly mown grass and the distant hum of cicadas. I was eight years old, with a scabbed knee and a pocketful of smooth stones I collected from the creek. We lived on a quiet street lined with maple trees, and every afternoon, my friends and I would race our bikes to the abandoned railroad bridge, pretending we were explorers charting unknown territories. But my favorite adventure was the old Periwinkle House at the end of Juniper Lane, a Victorian relic with peeling paint and a gated porch that always seemed to be waiting.

My name is Ellie, and I had a secret. Since I was five, I could see things others couldn’t—faint shapes at the edge of my vision, a shimmer in the air after dusk. I never told anyone, not even my best friend Tommy, because I was afraid they’d think I was crazy. But at night, after my parents thought I was asleep, I would sit on the window seat in my room and watch the street. The lamp posts cast pools of yellow light, and sometimes, if I focused, I could see a woman in a long dress walking slowly past, her feet not quite touching the ground. She never looked up, but I knew she was watching me.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned the color of bruised plums, I saw something new. A man in a dark suit stood at the gate of the Periwinkle House, holding a lantern that burned with a cold blue flame. He didn’t move, just stood there, and then he raised his free hand and beckoned to me. My heart pounded. I knew I should stay inside, but my curiosity was a burning itch. I slipped out of my window and crept down the fire escape, my bare feet silent on the metal stairs. The night air was cool, and the street lamps flickered as I crossed the lawn toward the gate. The man’s face was hidden in shadow, but his hand remained extended, inviting.

I reached the gate and saw that it was slightly ajar. The blue flame illuminated a pathway of cracked flagstones leading to the house’s porch. The man stepped aside, as if to let me pass. I hesitated. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that all the windows of the house were dark, but the front door was open, revealing a hallway lit by the same eerie glow. I took a step inside, and the man vanished. The door clicked shut behind me, and I heard a faint, melodic humming coming from the parlor.

I walked toward the sound, my feet sinking into the thick carpet. The house smelled of old roses and dust. In the parlor, a rocking chair moved on its own, back and forth, back and forth. The humming stopped. A voice, soft and gravelly, said, ‘Close the door, child. We have much to share.’ I looked around, but there was no one. Then I noticed a small, leather-bound book on the mantelpiece, its cover embossed with a single eye. The voice continued, ‘Open it. You are the one we’ve been waiting for.’

I reached for the book, and as my fingers touched its spine, the room filled with whispers—hundreds of voices speaking all at once, layering upon each other until they became a wall of sound. I cried out and stumbled back, but the door behind me was now closed. The windows were boarded from the outside. The blue light grew brighter, and I could see shapes forming in the corners—figures that looked like people, but their faces were blank, smooth like eggs. They began to walk toward me, their arms outstretched, and I realized they were the lost spirits of all the children who had entered this house before me.

Panic seized me, and I ran. I dashed up the stairs, my feet barely touching the steps, and burst into a room at the end of the hall. It was a nursery, with a crib in the center and a child’s rocking horse. In the crib, a baby doll with cracked porcelain skin stared at me, its glass eyes glinting. The whispers faded, and I heard the man’s voice again, now coming from behind me. ‘You can see us, child. That is both a curse and a gift. We need you to remember.’

I turned, and the man stood in the doorway, his lantern now held high, revealing a face that was half skeletal, half flesh, as if caught in the middle of decay. He smiled, a terrible smile, and said, ‘You will stay with us, as all the others have. Your eyes will be our eyes, and you will watch the living from this window until the next one comes.’

I screamed, and in that scream, I felt a cold hand clamp over my mouth. Then everything went black.

When I woke, I was in my own bed, the morning sun streaming through my window. My mother was calling me for breakfast. I sat up, heart racing, but the dream felt too real. I looked at my hands, and for a moment, I saw a faint blue glow fading from my fingertips. I didn’t go back to the Periwinkle House again, not for years. But I still see the man sometimes, in reflections, in the corner of my eye. And I know, one day, he will come for me again, because I am the one who remembers. The gate is always open, waiting for the next child who can see, and I am forever tied to its threshold.