Gilded Gates

The empty uneven road that connected the cities of Kingsport and Arkham lay right along the ocean shore. It was mid-spring, the sun shining brightly amidst the blue sky, occasionally hiding behind swiftly moving clouds. The grass grew thickly on the western side, stretching to the horizon like a green sea. On the eastern side, peaceful ocean waves lapped at the warm sand of the shore. Only a thin yellow strip of road, seemingly ready to sink into both of these seas, divided them.

Traveling along the road, gently swaying, was a lone bus. It was almost empty; not many people traveled to Arkham. Some of today's passengers slept or gazed out the window, someone read a book. Among them stood out a young man dressed in a strict brown suit. His straight nose, slightly curved eyebrows, clear gray eyes, plump lips on an oval face, and unruly tousled black hair created an image of naive childlike innocence, contrasted only by a deep white scar crossing his left eyebrow. An open folder lay on the young man's knees, and sheets of paper covered in writing were scattered on the seat next to him. The young man looked out the window, playing with a pen in his hand. He chose one of the drafts of his work, took a blank sheet of paper, placed the folder under it, and began transcribing the short manuscript into a final version. Almost anyone reading this text would undoubtedly think that it was merely a work of fiction; in reality however, everything described there had happened to its author in real life, and quite recently. And the story itself was nothing more than a report on his work, albeit in a somewhat unusual form.

Greetings, dear reader, I am glad to welcome you from the pages of another of my stories, which happened with me in April 1914. My name is Richard Charles Warring, and I hold the position of an occult detective in the occult bureau of the city of Arkham, Massachusetts. Few people know about such part of police department as the "occult bureau," and even fewer would believe in its existence on word alone. However, the fact remains: it exists, and without it, perhaps there would be nothing familiar to us on this earth long ago. The events described in this story are just one example of what can forever change our world, destroying it to its foundation. Right now, however, there is no cause for concern: everything mentioned here is in the past, and in this report, I will describe how I managed to stop the impending doom.

Same as other most peculiar cases, this one came to me, so to speak, by fate. I was calmly working at my desk, sorting papers into their respective piles when suddenly I noticed a suspicious person: some young man had snuck into our department. He was looking around carefully when noticed that I was closely watching him. Contrary to my expectations, the young man did not try to hide, but decisively headed straight for my desk. I had never met this guy before, but from the first minute, I had a vague uneasy feeling that I saw him somewhere before, but I had no idea when. The young man stopped in front of me.

- Hello. Is this the occult bureau? - he said with a slight tremor in his voice.

- Perhaps, - I replied. - Do you have a question for them?

- I have a very important matter. A request. Can you rid me of curses?

- Well, maybe, - this question caught me off guard, - if you believe in such things. Please, have a seat. On whom does the curse lie, and why do you think so?

- It's on me. Whatever I do inevitably leads to a disaster for me and my loved ones. Even random passers-by sometimes fall under the curse's influence. I don't know what to do.

- Is it really that serious? Can you give examples to describe the scale of the disaster?

- Well, recently, because I decided to help an old lady cross the street, there was a car accident in which three people died. Once, just because of my sneeze, a building collapsed, and also my father died when I said that I was interested in history.