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What Readers Are Saying About The Gate!

“…a concept of Hell I haven't read in any other story (and I've read many stories featuring the infamous inferno). I strongly recommend The Gate to anyone who enjoys a thought-provoking story.” -AstraDaemon

 “Kept me hooked until the end.” -Kem

“…a chilling interpretation of what happens after death.” -Jada Ryker

 “…two words have to be used. Damn Good.” -Sam Wicked

“This would be great for a book club.” -Kristen L.

Sample from The Gate

Chapter 1

STOP ME IF you’ve heard this one before. What do you call 1000 pieces of shit about to be shipped out through interoffice mail?

Answer: My boss.

Just half an hour until the next board meeting, and I look like a stay-at-home dad cutting up bite-sized pieces of steak to feed to my child. Except instead of steak, I’m carefully carving my boss into hundreds of mail-friendly pieces. And instead of a child’s mouth, I’m stuffing the little blocks of my ex-boss into plastic-lined plain manila envelopes. Holy Joe’s, they’re called. I laugh at this irony as one particular piece of Brad refuses to stay in the envelope while I’m trying to seal it up. I’m really enjoying myself for the first time in a very long while at work, and I suddenly hear myself whistling a little tune as I go.

I glance at the coffee mug on Brad’s desk. It was his favorite. White. Extra large. With a standard yellow smiley face sporting a pair of cartoon devil’s horns and the words, “Have a nice day.” I’ve hated that mug since the first time I saw it. It’s sitting next to a framed photograph of Brad in his trademark black pin-striped suit, with his slicked-back black hair and that smirk he used to wear before I cut it off his face. And his goatee. How many times did I almost hold him down and forcefully shave that thing off? Talk about a cliché look…

Outside the office door, I hear the approaching click clack click clack of the high heel shoes of Brad’s administrative assistant, Helen. She’s the one who let me in here so I could be ready for Brad when he returned from his last meeting. She was incredibly easy to bribe and didn’t ask too many questions, but as I look around at all the blood, I’m thinking she might be a little surprised by the mess I’ve made.

Helen’s about to knock on the door and announce that the board meeting is starting soon and that they will be ready for Brad and me shortly. It’s going to be a challenge getting her to calm down and to focus on mailing all these envelopes once she sees that Brad’s not going to make the board meeting. I hope that Helen will be a professional about the situation and realize that things like this are just a part of the job sometimes.

I have to admit that I am a little nervous about whether or not she or anyone else will truly understand that I’ve done all of this for the greater good. But I keep repeating in my head that today is the first day of the rest of my life, and with that, everything seems to be a little bit better.

I’m still chanting my refrain as one of my Italian leather loafers slips in a large pool of Brad’s blood. I regain my balance and move over to the huge window behind his desk. What waits for me out there? The unknown. And my future. What will it hold?

Regardless of what is to come, right now I’m feeling pretty good. I’m at the top of my game. Number two in the company. Well, ok. I’m number one now, given Brad’s timely passing. And the only ones above me (so to speak) are the board members—each of them a truly demonic asshole with no moral conscience at all.

The doorknob starts to turn, and I pause for a moment to reflect one last time before Helen walks in on my little mess. It’s been an interesting ride since I first arrived. Depending on who you ask, I’ve either come a long way since that first day with the company, or I’ve fallen farther than anyone before me. It’s like I’ve always said: How you view the world depends mostly on where you’re sitting.

Before I can finish my thought, the sweet, used-to-be-hot blonde named Helen opens the door just enough to poke her head in and to quickly assess the situation.

Instead of freaking out, she steps in and calmly closes the door behind her.

She looks sharp for someone of her advanced years in her light grey couture business suit and her shiny black pumps. She remains standing as she takes in the huge pile of bloody envelopes and then looks at me right in my unsympathetic eyes.  

“Well, I’m glad that’s finally taken care of,” she says matter-of-factly.

I raise my eyebrows involuntarily. Suddenly, Helen seems strangely more attractive, and I feel…relatively normal.

I smile and turn back to the window. I’m about to say something amusing about the first time I ever met Brad, when in the reflection of the window I catch an image of Helen coming at me with something blunt and heavy looking.

The next thing I see is complete blackness.

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