The Gates (2009) by John Connolly Read Free Book Online Page B

banging in the kitchen. He dressed quickly, then went downstairs. Boswell was waiting expectantly for scraps from the breakfast table. He glanced at Samuel, wagged his tail in greeting, then went back to gazing intently at Mrs. Johnson and the remains of the bacon on her plate.
    “Mum—,” Samuel began, but he was immediately cut off.
    “Stephanie says that you came in late last night,” said his mother.
    “I know, and I’m sorry, but—”
    “No ‘buts.’ You know I don’t like you being out late by yourself.”
    “But—”
    “What did I just say? No ‘buts.’ Now sit down and eat your cereal.”
    Samuel wondered if he would ever be allowed to complete a sentence again. First Stephanie, and now his mother. If this continued, he’d be forced to communicate entirely through sign language, or notes scribbled on pieces of paper, like someone in solitary confinement.
    “Mum,” said Samuel, in his most serious and grown-up of tones. “I have something important to tell you.”
    “Uh-huh.” His mother stood and carried her plate to the sink, disappointing Boswell considerably.
    “Mother, please.”
    Samuel almost never called his mum “mother.” It always sounded wrong, but it had the effect, on this occasion, of attracting her attention. She turned round and folded her arms.
    “Well?”
    Samuel gestured at the kitchen chair opposite him, the way he saw grown-ups on television do when they invited people into their office to tell them they were about to be fired.
    “Please, take a seat.”
    Mrs. Johnson gave a long-suffering sigh, but did as she was asked.
    “It’s about the Abernathys,” said Samuel.
    “The Abernathys? The people at number 666?”
    “Yes, and their friends.”
    “What friends?”
    “Well, I don’t know their friends’ names, but they were a man and a woman, and they were both fat.”
    “And?”
    “They are no more,” said Samuel, solemnly. He had read that phrase somewhere, and had always fancied using it.
    “What does that mean?”
    “They’ve been taken.”
    “Taken where?”
    “To Hell.”
    “Oh, Samuel!” His mother rose and returned to the sink. “You had me worried there for a minute. I thought you were being serious. Where do you get these ideas from? I really will have to keep a closer eye on what you’re watching on television.”
    “But it’s true, Mum,” said Samuel. “They were all in the Abernathys’ basement dressed in robes, and then there was a blue light and a hole in the air, and a big claw reached out and pulled Mrs. Abernathy inside, and then she appeared again except it wasn’t her but something that looked like her. Then spiderwebs took their fat friends and, finally, Mr. Abernathy was yanked in by a big tongue, and when it was all over there were four of them again, but it wasn’t them, not really.
    “And,” he finished, playing his trump card, “they’re trying to open the gates of Hell. I heard Mrs. Abernathy say so, or the thing that looks like Mrs. Abernathy.”
    He took a deep breath and waited for a response.
    “And that’s why you were half an hour late coming back last night?” asked his mother.
    “Yes.”
    “You know that you’re not supposed to be out past eight, especially now that the evenings are getting dark.”
    “Mum, they’re trying to open the
gates
of
Hell.
You know: Hell. Demons, and stuff. Monsters.” He paused for effect, then added: “The Devil!”
    “And you didn’t eat your dinner,” said his mum.
    “What?” Samuel was floored. He knew that his mother tended to ignore a lot of what he said, but he had never lied to her. Well, hardly ever. There were some things she didn’t need to know, such as where her private stash of chocolate kept disappearing to, or how the rug in the living room had been moved slightly to cover some nasty burn marks after an experiment involving match heads.
    “Don’t say ‘what,’ say ‘pardon,’” his mother corrected. “I said you didn’t eat your