The Apocalypse Door a serial by William Todd

A remote location in Scotland reveals a hidden doorway in a foul, long buried location. When the door is opened, something horrible emerges. Death and chaos soon lead to a chase through Northeastern America. All that is at stake is humanity's existence itself.

Prologue Near Oban, Scotland - The foul smell of death surprised him. Yes, bodies had died and rotted in a slow, tortuous death in that collapsed tunnel nearly two hundred years ago, but the odor should have long been withered with the decomposition of the dead.

One Month Later - John Walker had a nightmare. He had been having them on and off for months, and even though each time they were different, he somehow knew that they were tapped from the same morose well. Until this particular night, all had dealt with his immediate family, but this one took the form of his grandfather Amos.

Father Ian McConnell - At a little past midnight, the night was brisk and, besides the alternating beacons of red and blue from the fleet of police cruisers, utterly black as well. A thick envelope of clouds masked the countless stars beyond, and the air tasted of bitter Atlantic salt.

7-30 AM the next morning  - John Walker looked out what used to be his grandfather’s bedroom window at the ghostly mist that had settled on the land the evening prior. From his second story perch and through the haze, he canvassed his childhood home, tracing the vast property that was now his by virtue of Amos’ will.

That feeling of dread - By the time he’d descended the stairs into the front foyer, John gave up trying to understand what had just occurred and pawned the happening onto stress, though deep down he didn’t buy it.

Outside Boston - A man pulled up to the pumps in a blue Kenworth, then he stepped down out of the big rig and pulled the gas nozzle from its cradle.

Boston - Father Ian had been walking cold and tired all night in a direction he could not account for, because he didn’t know his way around Boston. An indescribable instinct that he’d honed the past month said, this way, that way. He followed it faithfully. He knew, though the route may have been different, the direction the creature was taking was the same.

Hiding in a Toyota - The couple got into the car next to the Toyota. If they hadn’t been so engaged in conversation, either could have looked into the back seat of the car and seen Ian’s brawny frame huddled there.

Hop in - When Ian opened the passenger door of the big-rig a big, full moon of a face was smiling down at him from the driver’s seat. The trucker was a portly man as big around as he was tall. His skin was pallid, ghost-like. 

Oil City - After three hours of overtime Sandy was beat. She took off her coat, not bothering to hang it up, and just threw it across one of the two chairs that flanked the small, oval table that separated the dining room/kitchen and the living room.

Fiona - Ian dreamed about Fiona; he dreamed of her girlish smile, her long, straight tress of chestnut hair, her heather-colored eyes that twinkled like lights on a Christmas tree, her uncanny ability to read his mind as if they were spiritual twins with interconnecting souls.

Ian was exhausted - After driving for three hours, Ian was exhausted and still felt very uncomfortable driving on the wrong side of the road and on the wrong side of the truck. He had gotten weary watching the highway speed hypnotically underneath the blue beast as he put miles between him and the rest stop.

a darkened psyche - The alabaster skin on her arm was nearing its tearing point. A thin pinkish line developed along her forearm from her wrist to her elbow. She could sense her chest swelling as well. No one would notice, though, for she was alone, and the highway had thinned long ago. She just continued to drive along a road she didn’t recognize to a place she did not know.

The Mediterranean Bistro - The Mediterranean Bistro was a pearl of an establishment nestled among the numerous pizza and fast food joints in the small, industrial town. Its look of refinement was a welcome change of pace from the greasy-spoons that came before her to fulfill the appetites of the factory workers that the town used to employ.

Somewhere in New York State - Jim Cavanaugh had a stone cabin that was nestled at the crest of a ridge that looked down onto the Allegheny River. He had been coming there for seven years to rid himself of the muck of civilization. 

What’s your point? - When Sandy returned to her seat, Bill leaned forward across the booth curiously and asked, 'What did John say to you when he passed? I saw him say something.'

just south of the Southern Tier Expressway - On U.S. route 62, just south of the Southern Tier Expressway exit between Salamanca and Jamestown, New York, Ian pulled the Kenworth over and used the portable bathroom in the truck’s sleeper to relieve himself. It was the first time—and well needed—since the truck stop in Boston that morning. It also gave him a quick chance to stretch his weary legs and back. More importantly, though, he wanted to check his map again.

Silhouetted patrons - The bar was beginning to overflow now with souls seeking relief from a hard week at work or the unemployment line. Silhouetted patrons and amalgamated conversations, along with thick cigarette smoke, drifted through the room like packs of Baskerville hounds haunting through tendrils of fog across a boggy moor.

Regrets - He looked into the rearview mirror and reciprocated a hard, angry stare. He had more than enjoyed himself. He had been doubly rewarded by not only having spent an evening out with the best friend whom he hadn’t been in contact with for over a year and whose joviality had made him laugh so hard that his stomach now hurt, but also by being in the company of an attractive, thoughtful and thought-provoking woman who had taken an obvious liking to him. Just thinking about her made his face flush.

time to scream - Sandy hardly had time to scream when a vile-reeking hand cupped her mouth and clamped it up tight. It was rough, scaly, strong and smelled of cigarettes.

the old house - At eleven-thirty the foyer light brought the old house back to life. Darkness fled to the upper portions of the house, leaving only a few brave shadows to cling below furniture and huddle in far corners to deal with the intruders. The hardwood floors cried out underfoot as the two soaked bodies entered the house.

The attic - The attic wore the smell of the clammy night air and took on a more malign character in its garment of darkness. As John peered up into a blackness that had been partly eaten away by the hall light, it reminded him of a bleak dungeon. The gloom quickly faded when John turned on the attic light, but his growing anxiety did not.

an advance warning - When they reached the bottom of the attic stairs, John hesitantly peeked around the corner and down the hall as Sandy watched the rear for their lethargic, arm-assailant. Already, tendrils of moist, chilly air had made its way up to the second floor, and a foreboding shadow devoured the upstairs landing, hungrily swallowing everything it touched.

Deep Hollow Road - Ian dashed from the convenience store faster than he’d run in. He was worried that the Kenworth would no longer be running when he returned since it was most likely running on fumes. The gas gauge had dipped below ‘E’ nearly fifteen minutes ago.

escape - As John leaped out the window head first, his right foot was caught in a vice-like grasp. It was inhumanly cold, colder than the saturated night, colder than the blood running through his veins. It was like having his foot encased in a block of ice.

in the car - The ache was excruciating. John had landed predominantly on his good foot but still needed the other foot for leverage on contact with the ground. It had slipped out from underneath him just as Sandy’s had done, and that had injured it more.

aftermath - John and Sandy shared the passenger seat after closing the door behind them. He found the automatic lock on the door’s armrest and engaged it. The two then huddled together in a mass of wet clothes, shivering.

Another One Bites The Dust - Bill squinted past his thrumming wipers at the reflection of his headlights as they bounced from the slick road while storm-tossed branches above, like charred and naked skeletons, waved him cautiously along. John hadn’t answered his phone, so he was going to make a personal visit to get the skinny on his new romance.

pursued - The cross! Damn, he’d forgotten. In these final moments, Ian’s humanity was catching up with him, fogging his exhausted mind when it most needed to be clear. And with John’s revelation, he knew that he’d made a grave mistake. 

Facing the Beast - John managed himself out the window, but in his frantic hurry down the porch steps, he rolled his already-injured ankle over and fell onto the wet sidewalk, hurling the shotgun through the air in front of him. He cursed in agony and anger.

House On Fire - John wasn’t sure that he’d ever walk the same again. Instinctively, he had tried to catch himself while falling back, but his ankle could no longer support any of his weight, and he fell screaming into the mud.

The Battle's Climax - Ian ran hard and surprisingly fast, considering his injuries. He wanted to yell out in both pain and anger, but he feared giving the Watcher too much time to react.

Burying the key - John opened his eyes slowly. He was groggy, but alive. A dull pain throbbed in his head, but it was more diluted than the last time he’d felt its blows. The pain in his ankle seemed on hiatus as well.