I approached the wrought iron gates to the cemetery. They were ornate beyond necessity: filigreeing and pointing and posing in every which way. But that didn’t distract from the truth. Existing in the empty spaces between each constructed spindle, the cavity atop each pointed diamond shape, the voids swirling in and around each perfectly curled piece of metal were the gateways to hell. The doorway for the demons and ghosts and curses that are the haunting of each and every one of us until our dying days. Those spaces, each emptiness a playground for the devil himself.