I remember well that day Professor Quinn,
In an early lecture in that elective course—
The Paranormal: An “Out There” Introduction—
(Delivered with the old gent’s typical force)
About how there were places that were ... “Thin”:

“Places and zones in this—the world we know—
Where the barrier between our ‘real’ realm and the next
Is tenuous at best; where the ‘normal’ obstruction,
‘The Veil,’ is pellucid or torn. Such points are hexed,
And movement between such spheres may freely flow.”

Of course, I took the notes down—for the test.
This was all just a course that interested me—and fun ...
At first. But, as the weeks went swiftly on,
Through that—my last semester—I had begun
To develop this wonder that will not let me rest.

I stayed for grad work in archeology
But did self-studies—both obscure and arcane—
Reading some nights straight through until the dawn,
Seeking a solution both rational and sane
To that quandary that Quinn had made me see.

So it surprised me greatly when our guide
To this most strange, newly-discovered site
Deep in these foliage-dimmed Honduran hills
Said, “This place is ‘Thin.’ We must leave before the night!
This place is ‘Wrong!’ Things from the ‘Other Side’

Can see us here! And I fear can come ‘Across!’”
With skepticism, of course, even with some derision
From others in my team. But it gave me chills.
And, of course, we’ve already made the firm decision
To set up camp. But Manuel signed the cross.

“I beg you sirs, and madam, you must not stay!
(Wife Jane and I had met three years before
At a dig at Saqqarah, a newly discovered tomb,)
This place is too near a ‘Gate,’ an open ‘Door!’
Ah well, I’m going now. You know the way.”

Before he left us, I asked Manuel to say
Exactly what he’d meant by his word: “Thin?”
His trembling answer, warning me of doom,
Was the same defined long years before by Quinn.
Our guide was long gone before the end of day.

*     *     *
Odd noises were all around us through last night—
Our first in this camp Manuel told us not to set.
The dig has turned up curiosities
That don’t seem “right?” One thing I shan’t forget:
A small idol carved of onyx—a thing of fright!

A round, cephalopodic, huge-eyed head
Atop a body lion-like and lean,
Yet scaled, reptilian, bat-winged. Monstrosities
Of all the ancient cultures I have seen,
But this thing fills me with a sense of dread.

*     *     *
So busy with the dig, it’s now day three,
But I’ll take just a little time to write.
We’ve certainly discovered something new—
Or, rather, old—too old! This eldritch site
Was built in some remote pre-history,

Far older than prior theory had expected!
Preliminary tests say fifteen-thousand years!
Some culture here was born and throve and grew.
Then—suddenly—was gone. The landscape bears
Signs of cyclopean structures, long neglected.

And Smythe says DNA beneath some stones
Are specimens from some yet unknown creature!
Last night, I saw a strange light through the trees,
And, recalling the cryptic words of my old teacher,
I searched awhile, but no ‘Gate’ between zones

Was there to find. And so, I’m here at camp.
Jane is asleep, Mitchell and Smythe are snoring.
One more note: There’s a stench upon the breeze
I’ve never smelled before. I’ll go exploring
After dawn, but I’ll not chance it with a lamp.

*     *     *
“Have you seen Smythe?” Mitchell asked when we arose—
This our fourth morning here at Lugar Delgado
(As Manuel had called it—and so we kept the name)
We’ve looked about. But, so far, we don’t know
Where the Hell he’s gone? My apprehension grows,

But I don’t want to share my thoughts with Jane
Or Mitchell. At least not yet. Not ’til I’m certain
My fears are justified. But how to frame
What I suspect: We’re near to a frail ‘Curtain’
Between two worlds! They’d both think I’m insane.

*     *     *
We found no sign of Smythe. We searched all day.
Not even an echo met our constant cries.
We’ve decided to head back to the Rio Platano
When morning comes. But now this long day dies.
Mitchell is shaken. ... The first time I’ve seen Jane pray.

*     *     *
It was not yet dawn. Mitchell woke us—screaming!
We left our tent. And there, across the glade
The “Gateway” gleamed. In horror, we saw him go
Into a glowing mist no good god made.
And They were there! Hideous but sentient-seeming.

We fled, ran quickly down the southwest slope,
Until we’ve come a good mile from our tent.
Here in this jungle’s lush dark undergrowth,
We’ll shelter. But we know this zone is ... “bent.”

Now dawn. We’ll move on. One more day and night and—Hope.

*     *     *
Just one more night. We’ve come at least halfway
Back to the settlement. I’ll find Manuel!
God! He was right—and Quinn! Things we both
Have glimpsed through that open “Doorway to Hell!”
Things beyond frightening, terrible, fell, and fey!

*     *     *
I’m writing this five hours before a dawn
That I will never see. The tales are true!
There are places where the “worlds” aren’t separate,
Where They can cross—Things so unlike me and you.
First Smythe, then Mitchell, and now Jane is gone!

Ah! Now it’s time for my own reckoning!

If you find this journal, think whatever you please.

I see the glow! It’s growing! Yes—“The Gate”
Is opening there, just past the nearest trees!
And They are here. And Jane is beckoning. ...