The Old Man & The Gate

THE OLD MAN had been there for days. In the park standing by the center gate, waving his cane in every direction. "Get out," the old man screamed. His face was ragged and pale, hidden mostly by a beard thickened with mud. His trench coat was two times his size, hung off his back like a cape. The townspeople watched the old man who had taken control of Gate Park. They kept their nervous eyes on him while they ran errands to the market or picked up their children from school. Day or night the old man could be found pacing back and forth between the ends of the gate at the center of the park. The gate was old metal painted green to hide the rust. Tall and grandiose in design it was the last standing relic of the previous settlement. The old gate had been the entrance to a beautiful church, before it and the town, burned to the ground in 43. After the terrible blaze all that was left standing was the gate. It was the pride of the town, a standing tribute to their courage and determination in the face of total destruction. Now this crazy old man stalked the opening of the gate like a caged tiger.


"Get out. Turn around now. You won't get through here, not while I'm kicking." The man swung his cane violently through the air and let out a dry laugh.

Sheriff Mackenzie watched on with the townspeople at the strange show that the man put on. Other people kept to their business; running, playing ball on the field, couples were even rolling on big blankets enjoying the summer sun. But it was obvious the old man's rants were beginning to impede on the peace of the community.

"He was fine when he first showed up," said Ms. Berkley, who owned the bakery across the street from the park. She had taken great interest in the old man the minute she saw him and had been watching him since his arrival.

"At first he was just standing there like one of those British Guards. Not saying anything to no one and barely moving."

Ms. Berkely talked with her fingers in her hair. She smelled like fresh bread and just talking to her was making Sheriff Mac hungry. Other members of the local businesses were gathering around. The sheriff knew them all of course; he had helped or arrested each of them at one point or another. There were all good or bad people depending on the situations they were put in. Each one of them a liar or a saint on any given day, but he knew them all and cared for them. Except for this old man. Who was he? How had he appeared suddenly like an apparition and why to this park in his town?

"Aren't you going to do something? Tom Schall was red in the face. "He's obviously a menace." Tom's hand reached down and took hold of his six year old daughter's hand, squeezing it tight. "Something has to be done." The others cheered in agreement.

"Calm down, I'll go over there and talk to him." Mackenzie tilted his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes and with his thumb he unbuttoned the latch on his gun belt, freeing his 45.

The old man didn't even seem to notice the sheriff approaching. His eyes were a wild blue. The bluest eyes Mac had ever seen in his whole life. They were blue like the ocean in dreams and they darted around scanning the whole area for some unseen enemy. Mackenzie put his hand on his gun. He hoped he wasn't going to have to use it; hoped that the old man wasn't going to be any trouble. Maybe he was just drunk or depressed maybe? It never ceased to amaze him what a sad man would do. How many strange acts had he seen blamed on a broken heart. He hoped that it was something like that and nothing sinister.

The sheriff crossed the street and walked to the park. He tried to keep his walk calm and steady, smiling at those in the park watching curiously. The pink gravel shifted beneath his boots as he walked down the path to the gate. Beautiful rows of sunflowers and tall trees with low hanging leaves, making a tunnel straight to the gate and the old man.

The old goat was still pacing, crouched and hunched over like a beaten servant. His coat was still hanging loose on him, dragging behind him at his feet. Mackenzie took in the old man, he was shorter than he'd expected. All this trouble from such a small man.

His shoes were too small, his toes sticking out of the busted front, giant toes like hunks of sausage dirty from the street and endless hours of walking it. He pounded his chest and would hoot and holler in victory cries that echoed in the trees. He'd swing his cane over his head. Good god, that cane. An aluminum cylinder that became thin to a point like a large sewing needle. Unlike the man, the cane was in perfect condition, shining brilliantly in the light. He swung it around carelessly and jabbed at the air, then stood still, panting heavy like a pregnant dog. He was sweating, tired. Maybe he’d tired himself out. Sheriff Mackenzie spoke loud and confidently, this was his town and everyone watching was going to know it -- and everyone was watching.

"Now listen old man, you've had your fun. But I think it's time you calm down." The old man stood solid and still, his blonde hair now brown from dirt and gray from dust. He looked at sheriff Mac with focused eyes that never moved. Mackenzie looked over his shoulder, was he looking at someone behind him?

"If you think that you will pass through here, you are stepping into certain death," the man shouted. His voice was harsh, the weigh and sting of rage on every word

“You don’t make the rules old man. I’m the law here and if you don’t calm down, I’ll put you down.” Mackenzie was surprised by the anger in his voice but the old bastard was stirring up all kinds of trouble. And those big blue eyes filled with wild anger were making him nervous.

“You hear what I said?” The sheriff reached for his walkie, “Mel, speed your ass down to the old gate park on the double.” It was clear as crystal that the old vagrant was crazy. He hated crazies like all cops. The crazies were what haunted every officer’s dreams. The one crazy you meet that makes you treat everyone else on the planet with a suspicious eye. And there was no doubt in the well-seasoned sheriff’s mind that this old coot was bat-shit.

The old man was getting his energy back, taking deep breathes to feed his words. “I’m the last one; you think that means I’ll go easy.” He spat each word but not to the sheriff but to the trees and the sky and the flowers. All around him; to the whole world he screamed.

“But I won’t. I shall be the hardest to kill, the most deadly to you and your kind.” His lungs struggled to keep up with his hatred, straining his throat down to tired squeals. “You will all shed blood before I’m dead!” He yelled a bloodthirsty cry and raised his cane like a club. Swinging and shouting, it was a pathetic display of athletics. His swings were slow and awkward; his kicks barely left the safety of the ground. But the man still shouted and fought his invisible enemies. Mackenzie tried to hide his smile as he closed the distance between himself and the old man. To think he’d actually been afraid of the old bastard for a second there. “Alright pops, lets talk this out back at the jailhouse.” He felt bad for the old man kind of. In a way he was right. You didn’t see a lot of these crazy homeless anymore. Time was you’d just ignore them, keep them off the busy streets. But as the times changed and the population grew every street was a busy street. There simply wasn’t a place for these old railroad wanderer crazy types. But that wasn’t his problem. He reached out for the old man’s shoulder, grabbed his loose jacket—felt something odd.

Sheriff Mackenzie stumbled back and fell to the ground exhausted. His head, arms, legs; every part of his body felt heavy and numb. He couldn’t explain it; it was like he had been completely drained. The old man was revitalized, spinning faster and swinging his club like a baseball pro. Mackenzie looked up at the man in terror. He crawled away, gravel cutting his fingers and pants. People watching started to scream, running in all directions across the park. Other brave men, trying to prove themselves in dangerous times, tried to tackle the old man to the ground. But they too fell to the ground dazed and drained of all their energy. The old man moved quicker still, stabbing and slicing the air and kicking high above his head, leaping into the air like a gymnast. The old man bowed after bringing his cane hard to the gravel. He stumbled, weakening. The old man stopped and stared Mackenzie dead in his eyes; Mackenzie reached for his gun. There was no doubt about it this time; he was looking right at him. The old man ran like a track star, heading straight towards the sheriff, his arm outstretched to grab at Mackenzie with that cane high above his head. The image popped into his head before he could question it: the old man’s hand wrapped around the sheriff’s collar draining him of life while he brought that shimmering cane down on his skull. Mackenzie pulled the gun from his holster and fired; one, two, three shots into the old man’s chest. He staggered and fell to the ground, his body crumpled and useless.

Then Mackenzie felt it: searing, acid-burning in his brain. It was passing through him, it felt like a barbeque pit and sounded like a million people screaming inside of his head. Sheriff Mackenzie clutched his ears shut as the energy passed through him like the wind, heading straight down the path, over the dead old man towards the gate.

The pain stopped but Mackenzie swore he could still hear something but what was it…laughing? It was laughter, a heavy laugh that was guttural and brought no joy to whoever heard it, only fear.

The gate went up in flames, bright red flames that stretched up to the sky and set the clouds on fire. The leaves of the trees became dark as ash and the whole world became dreary and lost to darkness. One by one monsters of the most terrible kind came marching from the opening of the gate. They had the heads of snakes, bodies of insects and all of them with multiple black eyes, seeing everywhere. Through the opening of the gate a black church burned and demons prayed all around it. The flames shined a horrible light around Sheriff Mackenzie who could see laying around him the bodies of hundreds slain demons. Dismembered their bodies still clung to their blades, their armor was cracked and the whole path seemed soaked in their blood. The slaughtered monsters all fallen around the old man; now motionless, dead, his cane lay next to him transformed into a glittering flaming sword. Tiny impish demons crawled around the Old Man’s body, dragging him towards the gate to string him up as a prize and just for a moment Mackenzie swore that he saw….wings under the man’s coat.

All those dead demons, he had been watching the gate for days, defending it.

“He was the last one.” Mac spoke the words and felt all hope leave him. He heard the people of his town screaming and calling for him. He saw the monsters pick up fleeing people and throw them into the air to catch them in their hungry mouths.

The flames spread farther out in every direction, beyond the park, beyond the town into forever.

“Good God,” he cried “what did I do?”