The old lady introduced herself as Mrs. Haverhill as she led them past the church, its doors firmly shut, its stained-glass windows depicting scenes not of saints, but of landscapes twisted and strange, as if viewed through a warped lens. Meredith took photos on her phone, her excitement undiminished by the church’s unnerving art.
They approached a wrought iron railing that surrounded a man-made opening in the ground. The far end of the railing became a handrail for the stone steps that spiraled along the walls of what could only be described as a pit. “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate,” Mrs. Haverhill said, then quickly translated, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
Her voice was laced with a reverence that seemed out of place in the modern world. “Some say Dante passed through gates to get to Hell, but we know different. On certain nights, you can hear the anguished screams of the Uncommitted emanating from that hole.”
Meredith laughed, her disbelief clear, yet Kayla couldn’t shake off a feeling of unease. The staircase leading into a pit out in the middle of the desert seemed like breadcrumbs to lure in the unsuspecting and the foolish.
The tour continued to the pyramid, its surface rough and weathered. “Here,” Mrs. Haverhill said, “visitors make a wish. It’s an old tradition, one that keeps the balance.”
Meredith, ever the skeptic, rolled her eyes. “Sounds like tourist trap stuff to me.”
Mrs. Haverhill’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes hardened for a fleeting moment. “It’s more than a simple wish. It’s an exchange, a giving of oneself to receive.”
Kayla felt a shiver run through her. The notion of ‘giving oneself’ seemed ominous, and she instinctively stepped back. “I think we’ll pass on that.”
The refusal seemed to shift something in the air, the previously warm breeze turning cold. Mrs. Haverhill’s demeanor changed subtly, her welcoming nature dimming like a cloud passing over the sun.
As they moved away from the pyramid, Kayla couldn’t help but glance back. The structure seemed to loom larger than before, its shadows darker, more menacing.
They explored the remaining buildings, each more bizarre than the last. One was filled with mirrors that distorted their reflections in unsettling ways. Another housed an array of clocks, all ticking out of sync, their dissonant chimes creating a cacophony that set Kayla’s teeth on edge.
Throughout the tour, the sense of being watched grew stronger. Kayla noticed figures peering from behind curtains, their gazes curious yet unnerving. Meredith, engrossed in documenting every oddity, seemed oblivious to the increasing discomfort of their surroundings.
As they neared the end of the tour, Kayla’s unease had blossomed into a silent panic. The place no longer felt like a quirky tourist attraction but a trap, a web they had unwittingly walked into.
Mrs. Haverhill’s parting words did nothing to alleviate their growing fear. “The Entrance always takes something from those who visit. A small price for witnessing its wonders.”
Back in the safety of their car, Meredith was buzzing with excitement. “This is going to be great for the blog! Can you imagine the hits I’ll get?”
Kayla, however, was silent, her mind replaying Mrs. Haverhill’s words. A small price… What had they given, unwittingly, in their visit to this strange, impossible place?
As they drove away, leaving the enigmatic Dante’s Entrance behind, the feeling of having lost something intangible lingered, a haunting melody that would follow them long after their desert adventure had ended.
Not. The. End.
MADD FICTIONAL 