The Western Gate

It was the 90’s in the sinkhole shithole that was and still is Gascoigne estate in Barking Essex just to the east side of London. Sitting alongside Beckton sewage works which often polluted the air with irritating chemical nuances to mask somewhat the odour of the defecation from the hundreds of thousands arseholes which deposited, most probably their mainly fast food effluent.
The Tower blocks were ominous, as tombstones that housed those at the threshold of family life, the poor and the rehoused from rent arrears, the immigrants from every corner and war torn country of the world, the punks and junkies, shoplifters, ankle tagged petty criminals, broken homed resettled and every misfit society wanted to forget about, here then was our lair.

I was at my friends ‘gaff’. The Fifth floor of a block on the edge of the estate~ Bamber House. The music was playing, alcohol, though not in excess flowing, I mention that in case of accusatory remarks that such was the cause of the following story… no it wasn’t alcohol nor as Scrooge would comment an underdone potato or a blob of mustard.
It began when after a nice afternoon of putting the world and its woes to right I felt presence outside of the living room where we sat. Someone had entered the flat, had ‘Jim’ left the front door open? It wasn’t a safe option in this cesspit, life is cheap, they’d stab you for the TV. I looked at Jim who seemed alarmed at something. As I was just about to comment he remarked, ” What’s that smell?” Now Beckton wasn’t kicking up its odourising mask, and to be honest I couldn’t smell anything. He seemed agitated as I remarked almost immediately, ” there’s someone in the flat?”
I could feel the presence like the paranoia of knowing danger is certain and the shadow would enter any time.
Stunned we stared at each other, the music in the background was “Take me back to Babylon ” by The Lurkers from the album Gods Lonely men, but the song seemed to be distant, as if it was fading away, we seemed to be in the wyrd world, the netherplace between here and where…,

The whole scene seemed ethereal as if there was some dimensional collapse, a time slip or a jaunt into a liminal parallel world.
As I looked at the doorway leading into the hall I fully expected some opportunist junkie thief to enter having seen the front door open.
I saw! A thick misty column of billowing translucent smoke enter, It floated straight in, and so quick Jim didn’t see it, flew towards me and out through the corner of the walls, it seemed for want of explaining something supernatural to have an emotional awareness, it seemed as it entered the area shocked that we were there and equally shocked that I saw it.
The expletives and words said need not be repeated. I am not sure if fear and fright were the emotions invoked from the encounter.
I could vaguely smell what I would describe as Saturnian incense, the smell of death, decay and poison. Which is still more pleasing than the Beckton sewage works .
Like a DJ re-fading the tune in, “Take me back, take me back, take me back to Babylon…” sang the chorus… but we didn’t wait for the song to finish, we were out of there…