The Gate of Visions

I was just falling asleep when Rory ran into my room, signing madly. I usually had a pretty good
grasp on sign language, but I couldn’t really register what was happening. He was moving too
fast. I told him to calm down and start over. He signed just as quickly in an apparent panic. I
rubbed my eyes, exhausted from moving. It was probably a spider or the wind or just his
imagination in this old house.

“Just sleep with me,” I said, pulling him into bed. He still looked anxious, so I closed the door
and turned the old key, locking us in. I knew that wouldn’t keep a spider out, but it seemed to
calm him down. I tucked him in by the wall and gave him a cuddle. He stared at the door.

“Don’t let your imagination get the best of you,” I said. He looked so genuinely frightened that I
started to feel bad for the kid.

“How about I keep the lights on?” I said, motioning toward the lamp. He nodded his head
enthusiastically. I climbed into bed and hugged him tight. He was shaking.

I awoke startled to the sound of my doorknob rattling. It was morning.

“Sarah! Why is this door locked?” It was my mother, and she sounded annoyed.

I jumped up and unlocked it. She looked in with furrowed brows and then raised them in
surprise at the sight of Rory.

“He was really, really scared last night so I let him sleep with me,” I yawned as I passed her.

“Awww,” she said, scooping him up and following me downstairs. She sat him in front of some
morning cartoons with a plate of pancakes.

“Poor kid. Of all the houses to move into, I find the creepiest and most isolated,” Mom said while
shaking her head and scanning the newspaper.

“It’s not that bad, really,” I responded, trying to comfort her. “I think it was just a spider or
something. He was making all kinds of signs when he ran in my room, but I was too tired for
them to register.”

“Do you remember any of them?” she asked frowning.

“Um, there was one sort of like this,” I said, trying to copy the motion. I pinched my finger tips to
my thumb at my forehead and then pulled my hand down to my chest. My mother’s face
remained motionless, but she tapped her fingers nervously.

“You sure?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe,” I said, stuffing a giant forkful of syrupy pancakes into my mouth.
She looked at Rory and then back at me. “What?” I said while trying to chew.

“That sign you just made means ‘man,’” she said thoughtfully.

I looked up startled. Rory was staring at me, as though he could hear what we’d be talking
about. Then, he smiled and continued munching away.

“He was dreaming,” I said dismissively.

“I just—” my mother began to say.

“It was a nightmare, Mom,” I said, as I put my bowl in the sink and left for my room. I was in no
mood for her weird superstitions.