Spider Gates

This is a poem I wrote about a cemetery that my Dad takes me to sometimes. This Quaker cemetery, called Spider Gates, is supposedly haunted (and I believe it 100%). This cemetery is also known to contain the 8th portal into Hell, which no one has ever found. I wrote this poem as a response to visiting Spider Gates.

I stand on the side

of a deserted road

Something lies in the forest



for me to enter

My heart pounds

Dad walks calmly past the yellow barrier

onto a dirt path

beckoning my brother and me to follow

Heart beating faster, I glance at my brother

Who grasps my hand

and we walk

The dirt path is endless

I hear the rustling...

The whispering trees

I look into the surrounding Autumn scenery

No wind

No people

or creatures alike

the rustling grows louder

Dad says stay close

He's heard the legends...

the stories about the place

and the people who venture here

He knows the dangers

of wandering away

Brother's grip is strong

He is afraid

As am I


The gates are in sight

shaped like spider webs

Then the graves



the rustling is louder still

We stand in front of the partley opened gate

but we dare not enter

They will be angry

This is, after all,

the 8th portal to Hell

The End

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