Summer '16 YayYA Entry #5: THE GATEKEEPER

Name: Kristen Clouthier (@kris_clo)

Genre: Contemporary Fantasy

Title: The Gatekeeper

35 word pitch: Charlotte Durward is a seventeen-year-old girl with the potential to unleash a corrupted entity whose reign humanity barely survived the first time around. Now, if only someone could convince Charlotte of all that.

First 500:

Darkness seeped in through cracks made by life.

Death abounded, quenching the light.

The earth ravaged.

Its souls corrupted.

Despair and fear cried out for the one

To destroy the bridge and heal what was done.

-The Archive: Writings of the First, Sec. 12

Confusion and panic crackled down every nerve as I flung myself out of bed and scrambled towards the nearest door.  Darkness bled in everywhere. Seeping down the walls, and through the windows. The shadows found me. They were coming for me. It was the only clear thought I could grasp onto as the haziness in my brain took full control of my body. My breaths came heavy as my palm slammed hard against the wall, working feverishly to find the switch.  The light erupted and the shadows disappeared… or were they ever really there? I stared into the bathroom mirror, the tremble along my body still visible. It took longer than normal for the confusion in my eyes to lift.  I let out a sharp sigh. I was gripping the brush, again.

“It’s not real,” I said, again and again, because nothing could combat psychosis like a little repetition. 

I leaned forward, shaking my head at a girl who should’ve long been able to separate reality from some ice-cream induced nightmare. Or at the very least been able to scrounge up images that weren’t the result of a Craven and Hitchcock collaboration. I threw the brush to the ground, hesitating to examine myself further. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d awoken in the warm, Rio de Amarillo. Just sweat. I let out a deep sigh and pressed my forehead against the grimy countertop. It was getting out of hand.

I plugged up the sink and let the icy water fill, almost overflowing, before submerging my face into the silent world. It was a cleansing ritual I’d adopted in a desperate attempt to wash away the fear etched into the crease of my brow and the dark circles that were growing more pronounced after each restless night.  I was sure that these recurring night adventures warranted some sort of psychological intervention, or at the very least a careful combination of Ambien and Xanax. However, the coffee shop wasn’t going to open itself, so my pending diagnosis of schizophrenia or just straight up insanity would have to wait.

I kept my back against the kitchen counter and poured myself a quick bowl of sugar covered carbs. The map was always kept where I could see it. Here, it was taped to the tarnished, metal fridge. It was worn, folded so many times the lines had begun to tear. Texas had been practically split in two, and we’d lost North Dakota to a cigarette burn. Even with the wear and tear it was still one of our most cherished possessions.  It was our attempt at stability, erected in every city we never dared to call home.

REVISION:

Name: Kristen Clouthier (@kris_clo)

Genre: Contemporary Fantasy

Title: The Gatekeeper

35-word pitch: Seventeen-year-old Charlotte was raised by a grave robbing uncle, and the occasional smuggler manny; she’s understands difficult circumstances. But destroying an archaic evil without being corrupted— that’s a fight neither she nor humanity may endure.

500 word:

The map almost had me believing in magic. It was a splotched and stained scrap of paper weighted with enough memories and coffee stains to keep me anchored every time the word run was whispered by my “uncle.” As long as I had my map, home could be anywhere— a tent pitched across the dunes of the Gobi Desert, an overturned boxcar opening up to a Kentucky plain, and as of late, a starless motel with a pay-by-the-hour standard and a rat colony with boundary issues. I never understood the urgency behind his command, but I’d grip tight the paper anyway and truck along beside him. When asked in polite company, Elijah was a dedicated archeologist. When dealing in back alleys, he preferred treasure hunter, or grave robber, or collector of unauthorized goods. Whichever title best conveyed the illegality and risk involved with his line of work.

It never left my sight. Here, it was taped to the mini-fridge I’d finagled out of the motel manager. The map was worn, folded so many times the lines had begun to tear. Texas was practically split in two, and we’d lost Cuba to a cigarette burn. Elijah had the idea to mark each spot we set up camp with a sticker; it was his way of making the nomadic lifestyle fun. A sparkly chicken was curling at the edges near Arizona; the first one I picked out at the age of four. I ran my thumb along the ragged ends, pressing the sticker back into place.

Staying behind wasn’t the norm, but after our digs in Egypt, Israel, and then Guam, I was desperate for a locale that didn’t require a redefinition of my personal hygiene. It was only supposed to be two weeks. We hit four this morning. After receiving the first package, I’d known Eli wouldn’t be leaving the sandbox anytime soon. The means to make illegal ends-meat were only sent when his excavations lacked an end date; news that always brought about a bittersweet smile. I missed Eli, but the extended stretch of solitude was worth it if meant I got to pay a visit to my favorite middleman and resident manny, Benjie. I was technically a player in the contraband game, but more like the water girl or equipment manager. I knew the ropes, but unloading pieces on my own was a rush had only when the meeting involved a face I’d once played peek-a-boo with.

I dug the package out from beneath the bed and ripped open the top in a way that Eli would’ve scolded me for. Then I saw the neon tee waiting inside and wished I would’ve ripped a little harder. It was a jarring yellow shirt depicting a group of melting snowmen having a Mexican standoff, each urging the others to keep their cool. It was one of a matching set. We’d be dressed to impress during our next pseudo-daughter/daddy outing.