The Gate, Journey to the New World

By M. W. Smith

The Gate, Journey to the New World, is a exciting tale of two best friends, separated by what seems to be fate. As the two young girls are wrenched apart one is thrown into another world, while the other is left alone in reality.

Evanley, tumbles through nothingness, only to be pitted against, teens her own age, a tyrannical leader, and collections of monsters that will stretch your imagination. While Jadelyn, finds herself alone and bewilder, she is forced to face the violent daunting change in her heart, mind, and soul.

When the pieces fall together in the end, it will blow your mind. You never saw this plot coming because it’s not just a paranormal book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. W. Smith
• Release date: Jul 21, 2015

Book preview

Journey to the New World

By: M. W. Smith

Published by M. W. Smith at Smashwords

Copyright ©2015 M. W. Smith

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for the recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Design: Eden Crane Design

Editing and Formatting: C&D Editing

To my mother, Georgia, for sharing her love of reading and stories with me at a young age.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

1. Broken Friendship

2. Fall

3. Dream

4. Father

5. Gym Class

6. Rules

7. Coach, Team, Captain

8. Digging

9. Detective

10. Landers

11. Initiation

12. Scout

13. Transformation

14. Dragon

15. Fight

16. End

17. Fall Ball

18. Loui

19. Prison

20. Darkness

21. Recognition

22. Remember

23. Preacher

24. Games

25. Tree

26. Hunting

27. Project

28. One Chance

29. Church

30. Gate

31. Vincent

Chapter 1

Broken Friendship

Jadelyn

The first step into the mall always gives me anxiety. The buzzing of bright, fluorescent lights makes me press my eyes together while showing off clothes I will never buy or be able to afford. A cloud of angry shoppers swarm around me, pushing me out of the way like there’s something they want right behind me.

I feel insecure surrounded by beautiful clothes worn by beautiful people and mannequins. The walls covered in reds and yellows sparkle as they watch me, calling out with cheap department-store ads like ‘Summer Sale’ and ‘Extra Markdown.’ They will say anything to turn my head.

Every time they trick me into another glance, I find myself in front of a mirror with a handful of clothes. This time, it’s a light spring green tank top with white embroidery coming off the bottom. I hate mirrors. They are the horrible friend that only tells you the truth.

Knowing I can’t afford it, I throw it back on the rack, and I’m left modeling the clothes I arrived in.

My old blue hoodie will have to make do, even though its threads are past falling out. I shouldn’t wear it anymore, but what are my options? My jeans are also worn, the bottoms frayed and dragging. Lucky for me, it’s in style. However, even though my jeans are wearable, they never fit right.

I would rather go to the dentist than look for new jeans, though. Without fail, every time I pick up a pair, one of the employees tells me I am shopping in the wrong area with a disdainful look and a curt, These are not Levis for curvy girls. Then they automatically recommend a pair that is three times as expensive. It is amazing how the jeans I can’t afford are the ones that fit me perfectly.

I hate being a girl—well, not a girl. I guess I hate being a curvy young woman, or however Mom says it. Being a girl isn’t so bad, although I hate boobs. A year ago, I could still fit into some of my best friend Evanley’s clothes, but ever since I got boobs, trying on her tops is one step below embarrassing.

No matter how many times Mom tells me, You have the body of a woman, not a girl. Give it time and you’ll fit right in, I can’t agree. I don’t know where she gets that. The other girls in high school don’t look like me. They’re all tall and skinny. Some have boobs, but not like mine. I have boobs even a hoodie can’t hide. It does a great job of masking the extra pudge on my stomach, but hiding my boobs is hopeless. How is it possible to go from an A to a D cup in one summer?

I hate high school and all the people who find some reason not to talk to me. Then again, having no one to talk to during class isn’t so bad. While everyone else blabs about boys they’re dating and new, cute outfits, I get my homework done. The hardest parts are lunch and walking to and from school. My one saving grace is Evanley.

’We have been best friends since before grade school. My earliest memories are of the two of us playing at the old church on the hill. She is the only thing that makes school and the mall bearable. No matter how unconformable I feel, she always makes being in public better.

She has a strange and random love for anywhere with lots of people. If there is anyone she doesn’t know, she makes a point to have a conversation with them. The closer people get to her, the more nervous I become. I know she will start talking to them—she always does—and if she starts talking to them, that means I will have to start talking to them. If I stand there quietly, she will make a point to introduce me. If I walk off, she will follow and bring them with her. I know she means well, but she knows how much I hate it.

As much as I love her, sometimes she can be a butt. If it were up to me, we would meet up and stay at my house where there is no traffic, no noise, and of course, no people. Well, except Evanley. She has to be there.

Even if we do start at my house, within minutes Evanley gets bored and drags me on some outing. She calls them our little adventures. Don’t ask me how going on a walk or running errands is an adventure. To her, though, those little adventures are one step away from flying. I’m sure that’s why she always wants to go to the mall, even if she isn’t buying anything.

Truthfully, she already owns half of every store. The only difference between the mall and Evanley’s closet is the mall has people. I swear they should hire her to stand around. She wouldn’t need to borrow anything, and she always looks cute.

To top it off, she is an eternal optimist. Where I see as a waste of time, she sees fairies and unicorns. I guess we have a lot in common when it comes to wasting time. She always gets lost in her head in public, forgetting where she’s supposed to be next, and here I am, staring into a mirror as if ’it will change me.

Stupid mirror.

With only a handful of steps, I make it through the large department store and almost into the actual mall. It is so much easier to keep walking when there is a wall of glass that separates me from the displays that beg me to take them home.

Inches from the exit, another eye-catching presentation pulls me in. Right there is a shirt with a white lace pattern tapering up the side, on top of the cutest pink, finished with capped sleeves. It would look so good for the first day of school.

As soon as my hand touches the hanger, I remember Evanley waiting in the food court. Hanging it back on the rack, I step into the large, open hallway with wall-to-wall stores.

The tall ceiling is full of sunlit glass to guide me through the never-ending crowd of people. With every step, I try to weave in and out of moms with strollers and groups of teens I will have to see again come Monday. There’s no difference between the mall’s main walkway and the main hall in the school. At least, not to me.

Why does the first day of school have to be on Monday? I’m not ready. At least Evanley will be there with me.

If I make one peep about being nervous or having anxiety, I know exactly what she will say: You worry too much. I just know all the new people will be a blast.

That may be true for her, but I know I won’t get off that easy. I always get stuck with the cheerleaders and student body officers. They smile to your face, but as soon as you turn a corner, they will find any reason to hate you and make sure no one else likes you.

Middle school was full of people like that. At least in grade school, when someone didn’t like you, they would tell you to your face. I remember being called homeless, even though I have never been without a home.

My mom and I go without a lot, but that is the one thing in my life that is really nice. Mom has worked two jobs for as long as I can remember to pay the mortgage and keep food on the table. She only keeps the house because it reminds her of Dad. It was their dream home, but it’s just ours now. I guess you’re only allowed one dream at a time.

Even with her working all the time, it’s barely enough to get by. Things normal kids have—dance classes, sports teams, and back-to-school clothes—are too far out of reach to think of. I don’t care about dance or sports, though. I am constantly tripping over my own feet, and I get winded just looking at a track. Regardless, it would be nice to have at least one new outfit for the first day of school. Why break the habit, though? I have never had a new outfit for the start of school. At least on the first day, anyway.

On the first day of third grade, my knees were bouncing together before school even started. I knew something bad was going to happen. Then I couldn’t find Evanley after school, so I walked home by myself. Kids from school started following behind me, chanting, Homeless, homeless, lives under a park bench.

I ran home and ended up tripping on a pushed-up piece of cement in front of Evanley’s house. Evanley was in the yard, and when she ran to my side, I didn’t try to hold back my tears.

All I could spit out through my sobs was, Homeless. They keep calling me homeless, while glancing down at my clothes.

Without a word, she grabbed my hand, pulled me into her house, and ran me up to her room. Then she grabbed a pair of white pants and a sky blue shirt with a yellow flower above the hip from her closet, demanding I try them on, even with the tags.

Not knowing how to argue, I put it on and stared at myself in the mirror. Before I could finish saying, I can’t take this, Evanley interrupted me.

You’re right, but you can borrow it, she replied.

Extended borrowing is what she called it from then on.

No matter how long I used something of hers or how many times I wore it in front of her, she never said anything or asked for it back. Instead, before one of our little adventures, when I was in clothes I borrowed that looked worn, she begged me to try on something new from her closet. Then, before I could change back, she pushed me out the door.

I don’t know what she does with the old clothes. Maybe she throws them in the trash, or more likely, they end up in a box behind a thrift shop. She’s so giving, and it doesn’t matter who it is she helps.

I am lucky to have a best friend like her. I know the two of us will make it through high school together.

Passing a sunglass stand, I get another glimpse of myself. I am so bad at this girly stuff. I always look a mess. There is a black stain on the back of my sleeve, and my dark brown hair is falling out of my attempt at a ponytail, leaving little strands covering my plain face.

Forcing a smile on my face, I cover my dimples. Ever since last summer, my face has rounded out, making my dimples look like craters whenever I smile. Then again, I guess my smile is not that bad. For a moment, I even feel attractive. Then my eyes shift down.

Man, I hate boobs. If I didn’t have these dumb things, I could still fit into Evanley’s clothes. Maybe then I would have a chance of fitting in around high school.

A moment later, I realize there is an older teen standing beside me. He is tall with dark hair spilling across his face.

Do you need help? he asks, followed by a puzzled look.

He totally heard me talking about my boobs. Why do I have to think out loud?

I can feel the red in my cheeks, and it forces me to blurt out, No, thank you!

We both stand there in silence, long enough for me to see his athletic body under a V-neck T-shirt. Embarrassed, I spin around, making a break for the food court. Why did it have to be a boy working there?

As I make my way to the middle of the food court, something feels off. This is a bad sign. If something feels off, it usually means Evanley is sitting with a table full of boys, trying to make friends.

Scouring the area, I can see our usual tables are taken. Then I see a head of bouncing blonde hair followed by a wave.

There she is.

I make my way to a main walkway and start toward her. Instantly, the pooling sweat in my hands dry as I notice she is sitting alone.

Sweet.

Not only is she sitting alone, but she is far from everyone else. There are at least three tables between her and the next person. She probably knows how scared I am for Monday and wants to set up a plan for the first day of school. How did I get so lucky to have such an amazing friend who is always looking out for me?

Just feet from her table, she stands up to hug me. Jade, you look so cute. I know she is lying, but it still brings a smile to my face.

Thanks, and sorry I took so long to get here.

Let me guess, something cute for the first day of school caught your eye.

I pause and bite my lip. Well, um…

Evanley bursts into laughter. I knew it. Her small, tight body bounces around like a child with a mouth full of sugar.

Shortly after, I join in. How does she always know? It’s not like I look at every mirror I walk by. I made it to the middle of the mall and only looked at three. I must have passed a dozen more, not to mention the walls of glass; they are nothing more than see-through mirrors.

Evanley stops laughing and looks straight at me. Her plush, pink lips press together, making her nose wiggle slightly. You know, I think you have a problem.

I smile to show I am listening.

You’re a full-blown shopaholic. With that, she breaks into more laughter.

Whatever. If I’m a shopaholic, what does that make you? Because you buy way more stuff than me.

Evanley looks back at me then rolls her eyes up to the large, glass ceiling while holding her chin. You’ve got a point. Maybe I’m the shopaholic, and you’re the window shopaholic.

I try to keep a straight face to prove her wrong, but I don’t even make it five seconds before her mischievous smile makes me laugh again.

I guess we do have a problem. I wonder if there is a way to fix it.

Evanley motions me over the table to lean in closer. There is. It’s called more shopping. She snaps back in her chair to start another cascade of giggles, her own joke sending her tipping too far back.

Just before it tips past the middle, she feels her weight going back, and her eyes, once pinned shut with laughter, burst open, sending her hands bumbling for the table. Not a second too late, she grabs the edge and slams the chair back to the ground. The loud clap of metal against tile echoes over the crowd of people.

My head turns slowly in the hopes that all eyes will stay on Evanley, but no one is watching, and not a soul cares about the noise. I turn back to Evanley who is holding her breath, shaking from the roar of laughter that is trying to escape. Her body twitches as if to hiccup, putting an odd look on her face. Her chin is pulled back into her neck, her eyebrows flared, and her mouth is curled up like the sad face on a weird drama mask.

It only takes a glance before I start to laugh, but I inhale too quickly, causing a long, nasally snort. I can feel the blood rushing to my face, making me feel like I have been sitting in the sun.

Evanley’s mouth drops, and then we both break into another round of smiles and odd noises. After we finally laugh ourselves out, we let exhale a long sigh.

Evanley rests her chin in her hands as she props her elbows up on the table. So guess what?

What? I respond, hating this game. It usually ends up with me talking to some boy sitting close by. However, with a quick glance over each shoulder, I realize there are none anywhere close. I turn back to see Evanley is continuing to stare, waiting for an answer. Evanley, you know I hate this game.

Oh, come on. Pleeeaasse?

I hate when she whines at me. I can never say no. Um, well… You learned a new song on the piano?

No, but you’re so close. Evanley’s hands shoot under her thighs as her smile doubles.

I don’t know; just tell me, I snap at her.

My mom got me my own car and driver!

No, she didn’t. Stop teasing me, I rebut. She has to be lying. But why would you need a car and driver?

For once, Evanley has no response; she simply digs into the pocket of her tan capris. But that’s not the biggest news.

How is that not the biggest news? What on earth could be bigger than a personal driver? A car is total freedom. Now she can get up and leave whenever she wants. This is so exciting! We have talked about what we would do if we had a car all summer long. There really are some great perks when your best friend’s parents are loaded. Of course, it would be nice if for once I could get something before she did.

My eyes fall back to the dull gray table. I can’t think about that now. I have to be happy for her, so I force a smile onto my face and meet her stare with excitement. And then my whole world burns to the ground.

I got accepted! Evanley throws her hands in the air.

What?

I got accepted to CFAA. Can you believe it?

CFAA?

Classical Fine Arts Academy, the music school I tried out for.

But, I thought… My sentence tapers off as the air in my lungs slips away.

You thought I bombed my audition three months ago, and well, so did I. The crazy thing is, I didn’t bomb at all. Remember how I cried all night when I found out I wasn’t going? And my mom came to check on me? She was so upset the next day that she went back to the college, and they told her the real reason I didn’t get accepted.

What was it? The words barely escape my lips as the soles of my feet pull together and lock in place. The rest of my body goes rigid as my thoughts drift back to Evanley’s try-out recital.

I was in the front row of a small auditorium, sitting beside her family. Her long, sandy gold hair was braided on each side, meeting in the back to form one braid. She had on a simple white dress with a yellow band that pulled across her waist. She was so excited and looked so cute. I was surprised she could stay on the ground. I had seen her play a thousand times, but none of them were like this.

After she introduced herself, she sat at the black grand piano, her hands softly brushing at the old ivories. Her eyes closed, and she bloomed into her performance. Her hands dancing across the keys, her face filled with the emotion of every note.

First, the sound was unsure, the melody tip-toeing in a pond of lilies. Then it broke into excitement before it turned downward, growing in intensity and rage. My heart was pounding as though I was running across the clouds. It was like watching someone fall in love then die right there on stage. Tears poured down my face, but not because her performance moved me. I cried because I knew she was gone. I knew the school would take her away from me, and then I would be alone.

A few days went by, and she cried because she didn’t get in. I cried because she was mine again, and I didn’t have to share her with anyone.

However, now my best and only real friend is being ripped from my life.

There was no one to teach me. The world-famous piano instructor was retiring. Apparently, the guy they planned to replace him with watched my recital and told them he wouldn’t teach me.

He didn’t like you?

No, he did. But he was sure there was nothing he could teach me, Evanley answers.

I usually hate it when she goes off like this. It only means I’ll have less to say. At this point, less is better.

So, my mom went to the teacher who was going to retire and begged him to watch the recorded performance. She thought he blew her off, but it turns out that it sat on his dresser most of the summer while he was traveling. He watched it last week and told the school he would teach two classes on one condition: I have to be in both classes. One with all seniors and the other strictly mentoring solo performances.

So the car…?

The car is so my mom doesn’t have to drive me anymore. The University is about an hour from Gatlinburg.

Oh, well, that’s great. Congrats! I can hear the fakeness in my own voice. The weight in my chest pulls me against the table, forcing me to brace myself up with my forearms.

Jadelyn, what’s wrong? Evanley’s eyes sneak to the edge of the table to pry my gaze from the smooth, shiny surface.

Nothing. It sounds even more hollow than before.

Aren’t you happy for me?

You know I am happy for you! I lash back at her. My raised voice bounces off the wall of glass, but no one cares to look.

Evanley sits back in her chair and slowly sinks down in it. Her hands pull against the metal lip under the table as she tries to make eye contact with me. I’m sorry I upset you. I thought you would be happy for me.

I can already see the hurt form into tears in her eyes. I don’t know what to say, though.

Why would I be happy? My only friend in the whole world is leaving me because she is better than me. It’s not just music; she is a better daughter, a better person, and a better friend. All these years, she has been right by my side, yet when I need her the most, she is leaving me.

I know she loves the piano, but her other teacher is great. She doesn’t need some fancy music school to get any better. She is already better than any person I have ever heard.

I break the silence as the weight on my chest forces me to gasp for air. When our eyes meet again, the tears come full power.

This is stupid to cry over. Congratulations on your dumb music school. That is not what I meant to say, but how can I tell her I can’t do this on my own? This isn’t fair.

The look of pain in her eyes causes me to look away. The mall has become quiet, and there are half as many people in the food court. The walkway to our table is clear, so I get up and start walking.

She jumps up behind me. Where are you going?

It doesn’t matter.

Yes, it does. Why are you so upset with me?

You know why. I keep my back to her as I pick up my pace.

She runs around in front of me. Just stop. She slowly repeats herself. Why are you—?

Because you’re leaving me! I am angry now, grinding my teeth, something my mom points out is unladylike all the time. What does it matter now, though? Evanley is one step out the door. Come Monday, she will be gone.

I’m not leaving you. I would never do that. You’re my best friend. She stops crying. We will still hang out all the time.

You don’t get it. It’s not going to be like that. With a new school comes new friends. I know it will be packed with kids exactly like her—beautiful and smart. Where does that leave me? Alone.

Why are you saying that? You will always be my best friend, Evanley insists.

She is so perfect she doesn’t even see it. She is talented, amazing, and has so much to offer the world. It’s so easy for her to make friends. It will only be a few weeks before she will find someone to fill my shoes. She can be so naive sometimes. She doesn’t even realize how replaceable I am. We can’t share clothes anymore; I can’t play piano like her; and I’ll never be anything more than a shadow.

I know we are friends, but I also know how the world works. You live a happy life where everything always works out, but I’m not that lucky. I know what the end feels like, and I know there is no reason for you to look back.

Don’t say things like that. I will still see you every other day and on the weekends, Evanley pleads.

No, you won’t. I know how these things work.

What things? Nothing will stop us from being friends.

Shut up! I know how this works. You need to go live your life without me. There is a brief pause as we both try to take it all in. You go live your life, and I… I’m done with this life.

Then it hits me right across the face. Father will know what to do. I push past Evanley to make my way out of the food court.

Leave me alone. I’m done.

She doesn’t follow, only stands there as another wave of tears streams down her face. But, Jadelyn, I don’t understand.

I don’t look back, even though I know this will be the last time I see her. She has always been there, but if she is going to leave, then so am I.

Chapter 2

Fall

Evanley

The last breath of summer light peeks into my room, casting shadows on the wall covered with pictures of family outings, camping, the ocean, and everything that usually brings a smile to my face. Typically, I sleep through sunrise, but the constant torment of Jadelyn’s voice echoing over the mall held me awake through the night.

I sit up and prop myself against the wall at the foot of my bed to watch the sunrise. It is beautiful, and in the midst of all the confusion, it gives me a little extra hope. Already, I can feel the sleepless night taking its toll. I pull my knees to my chest to give my chin something to rest on then wrap the large, goose down comforter loosely around me.

I sit for over an hour, replaying every detail from the day before. It has been years since I have seen Jadelyn that upset. The last time was in seventh grade when I dragged her into an abandoned house. She begged me not to, but I was too excited. I had to talk her into it.

I had been watching it for a while, so I knew there was no one in it. How was I supposed to know that a pipe had broken and caused the ceiling to rot?

We were both scared out of our minds as that huge piece of moldy drywall crashed at our feet. I jumped back, and before I could stop her, she ran out the front door, only to fall through the old porch and break her leg. She was so mad she wouldn’t talk to me at the hospital. She wouldn’t even let me sign her cast. I think it was the boredom more than anything that finally got her talking to me again. And now this, whatever this is.

I understand her being mad about the old house and breaking her leg, but why music school?

Getting out of bed isn’t hard, but it still feels like a chore. I sit at my keyboard out of habit and start to play. Usually, this is where I do all my thinking. However, no matter what piece I fiddle with, it is no good. I might as well get dressed for the day.

Scouring through my close-to-perfect closet, I try on outfit after outfit. Nothing feels right, so I settle for a pair of jeans and a plain pink shirt before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

I don’t bother with the light. It’s straight to the cupboard for a box of cereal. I pour a bowl and sit on the bar stool facing the window.

I love Sunday mornings. Mom and Dad sleep in, leaving the kitchen free for grazing. I could have cookies and chocolate milk for breakfast, and they would never know. The thought causes the edge of my lips to curl up, and then the weight of the situation pulls them back down.

I love music, and I love Jadelyn. They have both been in my life for so long I don’t know how I could live without either one.

Maybe she is right, but if I don’t go, I will never get this chance again. Being trained by a world famous instructor will be a dream come true. He did say he would come back just to teach me—well, me and a group of seniors. Would it be rude not to go now after he has postponed retiring? Does chasing my dreams of playing piano mean I will lose Jadelyn as a friend? I don’t get why she thinks that. It doesn’t matter how far apart we are or if we have days go by without seeing each other; she will always be my best friend.

The thing that concerns me the most is, what did she mean by that last statement, "I am done with this life"?

As soon as I say it out loud, a heavy weight plunks in my stomach. Did she mean she was done with the life or our friendship? There is a brief pause in my thoughts as I chomp through another mouthful of cereal. No, that can’t be what she meant. It doesn’t make any sense. What if she means she is done with the life she is living and is planning on running away? Where would she go? Her favorite place is her bedroom.

The sweet, sugary cereal loses its appeal as my thoughts pull at my heart. I repeat her ending phrase over and over again in my head until it forms into a beat. Finally, in the peak of the morning, it all makes sense.

I am done with this life. I am done with this life. My thoughts fade to a whisper. Oh, my God, she is going to commit suicide!

The last bite of cereal spatters across the counter as I drop the spoon. I try to take a deep breath, but it does nothing except send my heart into flight.

She is going to kill herself! I snap to my feet and head for the door. With no socks or shoes on, I run across the grass and down two houses to Jadelyn’s.

Her front door is unlocked, and her mom is working like always. One step in the house and it feels like a graveyard.

Jadelyn! I call out, but the gray, familiar walls don’t answer.

I rush through her kitchen and up the stairs to her room. It happens so fast I have to take a moment to prepare myself for what I could be walking into.

The last step toward the door, my hand stretches out, waiting in the darkness. I muster my courage then grab the protruding metal knob, my pulse pounding against it. My hand is shaking the warm brass. I know there is something bad behind this door. However, as the door opens, I am bewildered by the light of hundreds of candles and foil taped over the window.

My private mantra is simple and clear as it breaks my lips. I whisper into the darkness, Jadelyn, are you okay?

The lack of response shakes my hopes of reconciliation.

Slowly, my eyes adjust, and I can see the outline of her lying in a circle of white chalk.

Jadelyn…?

No response from the motionless figure.

Are you okay?

A flicker of candlelight reveals her motionless face.

Jadelyn! I shuffle over the candles to kneel at her side.

Please tell me you’re okay. Please tell me you’re not dead.

Her lifeless eyes pop open as I grab her shoulders. Pulling the black headphones from her ears, she blurts out, What are you doing here?

"Well, I thought you were going