Perception (Apparition Investigations #1)

Case #2: Hell's Gate: Part 6

"Now that we're out here, I wish I'd brought some holy water or something," Rose mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself.

We walked down the path, headed toward Hell's Gate.

It hadn't been what I'd envisioned throughout my teenage years. Whenever someone mentioned Hell's Gate, I always conjured a cave in my head. Deep, with a thin set opening like a grin. Where the longer you stared inside, the longer the cave stared back.

This wasn't anything like that. We parked along the curb of the closest street, and from there, we could see the tops of the railroad bridge that composed Hell's Gate. I'd expected a hike or something. But we made it there in less than five minutes.

It looked the same as the pictures I'd googled. Trees stretched up from the bottom of the ravine to the railroad bridge. A small creek, breaking off from the main river behind us and on the other side of the street, wound underneath the bridge. The grass was dead underfoot, crunching with each step, but that was to be expected in Texas.

Still, something felt off as we drew nearer. An unease in the pit of my stomach, tightening my chest. Like after you've run on a winter's morning and the chill causes your lungs to burn. But stretched, too. Stretched and heavy and burning. Only that unease spread throughout my entire body.

"Do you feel that?" Noah asked.

I looked up at him to see concern clearly written across his face. His eyes darted around, taking in everything, even as he shuffled to stand closer to Rose.

"Yeah," I mumbled, turning back toward the bridge. "I do."

The bridge overhead stretched from one top of the ravine to the other. Trees enclosed the path on either side, casting the bottom portion of the bridge, where we stood, in shadow. A path made of white rock had been laid between the largest gap under the bridge. From there, we could look up and see cobwebs stretching between the beams.

The place was covered in graffiti. It'd been layered on, some words covered up by other words or symbols. We examined the graffiti, not sure what to look for, or if any of it would point to Esperanza.

"There's a lot of devil words and iconography," Rose murmured, stepping closer to one of the beams. "Do you think any of it was left in earnest?"

"Probably not," Noah shrugged. "More than likely kids with spray paint came out here, needed inspiration, and thought of all those supposed devil worshipping rituals and just used that."

"Yeah," I mumbled, studying a marriage proposal someone had left in blue paint, "I mean, I'm no expert, but I don't think devil worship involves much tagging, do you?"

"Fair enough," she said. "Come on."

We passed underneath the bridge. Noah kept right on Rose's heel, staying close as the three of us moved to the growth of trees on the other side of the gate.

Back here, paths led off in different directions. One cut up the ravine, toward the top of the tracks. Another pushed forward, continuing the hiking path. And the third led over to the right, disappearing deeper into the trees.

"Do you see that?" Noah asked as we continued down the hiker path.

"Is that...is that a table?"

Someone had constructed a basic wooden table. Made out of cheap wood, the thing had been left in the exact center of the path. It was crude, standing with only three legs, and bore deep cut marks on its top.