7th Gateway to Hell is my story from the 'Monster Attack' anthology - http://amzn.to/1AZPKhh. "Discover the most gruesome beasts from Werewolves to Mermaids and the stories behind them, written by the most talented horror authors. Arnaldo Lopez Jr, Dana Wright, Andy Lockwood, Sharon L. Higa, Kyle Flak, Kevin S. Hall, Josh Walker, Kody Dibble, Matt Mesnard, Mathias Jansson, Lila L. Pinord, John M. Wills, Michael Shaw, Debbie Johnson, Victoria Pagac, Alex Winck, Anthony V. Pugliese, Shakeem Winn, Preston Peet, Randy Attwood, Matthew J. Hamblin, Stefan Vucak, Anthony Modungwo, Cecilia H. Doldan, Samie Sands Vered Ehsani and Robert Tozer."

1. 7th
Gateway to Hell
by Samie Sands
The music on the radio fades away to static, which unfortunately means I can now clearly
hear all of the strange noises emanating from the engine of this banged up old rental car. I
knew the guy who lent it to me was dodgy, but I couldn’t afford anything better. This trip has
already cost me my entire mediocre savings.
I let out a deep sigh as the spluttering becomes more of a grinding sound and it isn’t long
until the car has come to a complete halt. I bang my fists against the dashboard in frustration.
This is slowly becoming just another disaster in the long line of my catastrophic life. I step
outside the car and into the blistering heat. My God, America is hot! I think back to the wet
and rainy airport in the UK where I was stood only twenty four hours ago. I can’t believe I
have managed to travel so far around the world within that time. If I’d known how easy it
was, I might have escaped my crappy existence a lot earlier.
I wonder if my mother has gone crazy with worry yet. I did leave her a note explaining
my absence so hopefully she won’t phone the police. Although after what happed to my
younger sister Olivia only months ago, no one would be able to blame her for an
overreaction.
I try to imagine Olivia driving past this exact spot, with a group of her friends, happy and
carefree on their gap year before starting university. I know for a fact that she came along this
road; she emailed me with a photo as they drove. I pull the picture out of my pocket. I passed
that exact tree and signpost a few miles back. I re-read the email that accompanies the image
for the millionth time.
Hey Annie-bo-bannie,
I miss you super loads! We are having an awesome time though. Wish you could be here –
sorry you couldn’t get out of work. We are actually on our way to see something so cool, I’m
sure you’d love it. We got talking to a group of guys in a bar last night, and they
recommended we go to this tiny little village called Stull. Apparently it contains a ‘stairway
to hell’ or something ridiculous like that. Anyway, it’s supposed to be pretty haunted and full
of all sorts of powerful spells––I’m sure it will be a real laugh anyway.
See you in a few weeks. You will have to help me pack for uni, I think I will still be too
jetlagged eek!
Love ya forever.
Liv x
Those innocuous words are the last thing I ever heard from her. While she was away, her
communication was vague and sporadic so I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t hear anything else
before she came home. I was shocked however when I went to pick her up from the airport,
and she didn’t get off the plane. None of her group did. They’d had these flights booked for a
long time before they even left for the trip. Everything had been so meticulously planned out.
In fact, the detour to Stull was the only time I had known them to go off of their strict
itinerary.
Afterwards me, my parents and the rest of the kids families spent weeks on the phone to
the police services, the British Embassy and the American media. Anything to find a clue, a
possibility. Five kids just don’t disappear into thin air like that. It just does not happen. But no
one could find even the slightest trace of their existence and I know the search was pretty
extensive. Once stories like this get into the newspapers, the police are put under far more
pressure.
I knew something was wrong, I knew we were missing something, so I decided to
research Stull. This was the last place I knew they’d been so it made sense to check it out. All
sorts of weird and wonderful stories came up, just as Olivia had described, but the thing I
found most shocking is that there are only about twenty residents in the whole place. Surely
someone would have seen them? Someone must know if they made it to Stull and if they’d

2. also made it out. I couldn’t let that fact go. I just can’t move on with my life without knowing
what happened to her. She will always just be an unanswered question hanging over my head
like a black cloud. Of course I don’t want to find out she has died, but anything is better than
not knowing at all.
Our parents are almost divorced over the whole thing. Mum has gone stir crazy; she
won’t stop doing things, even for a second. Cleaning, phoning the authorities, making
posters. She won’t ever rest, I’m not even sure if she sleeps. My father has gone the opposite
way. He has retreated into his shell. Although he is clearly hurting just as much as the rest of
us, mum thinks he has gone stoic, that he no longer cares.
I’m not doing very well either, but then my life was falling apart at the seams anyway,
this was just the final push. I lost my crappy job as a waitress because I stopped showing up,
my boyfriend dumped me because I’d become ‘no fun––I’m sure he’d been cheating on me
for years, I was just stuck in too much of a rut to end things. What a coward. I also started
drinking far too much. I needed to do this to try and stop that habit alone.
I stare down the long dusty road that is stretched out in front of me. My heart sinks when
I realise that I have no other option but to start walking and hopefully hitch hike a lift. I really
don’t want to, you hear so many horror stories about that sort of thing, but I don’t see any
other options available to me. I can’t imagine this being on a bus route and that bloody car
isn’t going to get me anywhere.
I grab the backpack of belongings that I packed yesterday in a hurry and start walking,
my feet pounding against the hard floor. I desperately hope this whole trip turns out to be
worth it. I hope I find the answers I’m looking for. I feel like my whole life is balancing on a
knife edge and this is the catalyst which will decide which way I fall. I’m not ashamed to
admit there is still a small piece of hope in my heart that assumes I will find Olivia alive and
well, that I will be able to bring her home and fix everything. Logically I know that I’m most
likely wrong, but I can’t force myself to quell that feeling.
Eventually I hear the noise of an engine rumbling past. I nervously stick out my thumb
and let a pleading expression fill my eyes. I haven’t got any water of food with me, stupidly,
so I don’t know how much longer I can last out here in the elements. Unsurprisingly the car
whizzes past, kicking dust up into my face. I mutter profanities under my breath. Why would
someone just leave a young girl alone on the side of the road where she could get raped or
murdered? Some people are so inconsiderate.
* * *
It feels like at least an hour has passed before I hear the sound of another car. By this
time, sweat is pouring down my forehead, my hair is sticking to my head and I am almost
dizzy with dehydration. I wearily stick out my arm, silent pleading with the driver to take pity
on me and stop. I shut my eyes expecting to hear the noise whizz passed in the same manner
as the previous vehicle, so I’m stunned when it splutters to a stop.
I’m frozen to the spot, unsure of the correct protocol in this situation. I wasn’t expecting
this at all. To my relief the door swings open, just missing my cheek as it does. I let out a
deep relieved breath and pull myself inside the truck. I turn and smile gratefully at the driver,
still panting too hard to form words. He has a large bushy grey beard which covers a lot of his
face and a chequered trucker hat pulled over his eyes. I wonder for a moment how he can see
the road like that. He is wearing a red checked shirt, with black braces pulled over his
shoulders. I almost laugh at the stereotype of this man; I thought these men were a
Hollywood horror construct. I’m not afraid; films have never had any sort of effect on me.
Olivia was always the one hiding behind the cushions. I lean back against the cold leather
seat and listen to the engine rumbling to a start. My eyes immediately feel heavy and I start to
drift into sleep.