Paws and Portals

By Rachel Ann Michael Harris

“Deedee Takkenridge, where have you been?” Miriel stood, hands on her hips, as her granddaughter rode up on a dog that was more polar bear than man’s best friend. She couldn’t help but notice Deedee looked like a princess from an animated movie she made Miriel watch the other night.

Deedee shrugged, as if galivanting across a frozen wasteland of a planet was a walk in the park.

Miriel’s St. Bernard Matteo stood by her side, tail thumping against the metal hatch leading to their bunker as his giant friend approached, all dressed up in a red and black sweater that matched his own. Miriel had knitted when they’d first arrived. The amount of yarn she’d used…

“Grandma, remember those stories you used to tell me when I was little?”

And have regretted every day since? While Miriel wouldn’t change the adventures she’d had, the last thing she wanted was for her granddaughter to find a similar portal and disappear across the galaxy. But after sharing some of her adventures as bedtime stories, the girl became determined to discover the same portal and pass through it.

“Well, me and Cyclopes”—Deedee affectionately rubbed the ear of the dog she rode—“have been taking readings across the ice floes, and after studying your journals—”

“How did you get my journals?”

“The internet is not a safe place to save something if you don’t want others to see it,” Deedee answered, raising an eyebrow at her grandmother as she slid off Cyclopes.

Free to run, the dogs playfully bowed, then tore off in a chase, spraying snow in their wake.

Deedee babbled on, “I think I found similar fluctuations to the ones you fell through. This could be what you’ve been looking for. The very portal that could take you back. Science has come so far. We can now calculate—”

“No!” Miriel snapped. The response was so strong, the dogs slid to a stop at the command.

“But, Grandma—”

“I said, no. No more fiddling with something that doesn’t concern you. It’s a good way to get your arm cut off.”

Deedee wrinkled her nose and turned to Cyclopes. Apparently, the girl didn’t know how portals tended to snap closed.

“Come inside. I made double chocolate chip cookies, scones, and raspberry tea. I need to measure you for your new sweater.” Miriel wrapped her arm around Deedee’s waist and escorted her toward the bunker.

“But—”

“Don’t you worry. I’m making it with a fun, new pattern you’ll like. It won’t look like some old granny sweater if that’s what you are concerned about.”

With Deedee still trying to squeak out a response, Miriel led her inside and filled her granddaughter’s hands with cookies as she began taking measurements. Both dogs settled on the couch; Cyclopes stretched across the full length of the cushions, forcing Matteo to lounge on his back, stacking the mutts like a totem pole.

Miriel sighed. Everyone safe and sound.

For now.

***

A low clunk woke Miriel, half asleep as she waited for her granddaughter to make her move. The girl might be a teenager, but she wasn’t as sneaky as a konabi assassin. And Miriel slept lightly in her old age.

After tossing aside the covers, Miriel crept from her room to the main living space and peeked out the bunker’s window, catching a glimpse of Deedee riding away on Cyclopes.

That girl. But Miriel was prepared. Donning her own down coat, fur-lined boots, knitted beanie, and sack of supplies, she marched outside, Matteo by her side, and uncovered the sled she had hidden earlier that day. At her whistle, Matteo stood at attention as she hooked him up.

They raced after Deedee and Cyclopes, the polar-dog’s pawprints easy to follow on the packed snow. Cyclopes’s long legs allowed for greater speed than Matteo could muster, but they stayed on their trail, over drifts and across wide expanses until a shimmering light made them pull up short.

Miriel couldn’t speak. She did it. I can’t believe she did it.

Mere feet away from her granddaughter was a spinning portal, open to a bright summer day, green grass, and waving yellow flowers. When Miriel was young, no one knew why or how these portals opened. They just did, and an unfortunate bystander could fall through and be lost for years. Or forever. They rarely opened in the same place twice and only on the same planet every twenty years. It was how Miriel had disappeared when she was Deedee’s age. How much she’d missed.

Deedee slid off Cyclopes and approached the bright summer day shining into the cold winter night.

I’m not missing any more. Quickly, Miriel snatched a knitting needle from her sack and hurled it toward the portal. It sank halfway up its metal shaft into the snow between Deedee and the portal. The girl spun around.

Instead of looking mad, Deedee smiled. “Look, Grandma. I told you I’d find it.”

“Get away from that portal.” If Deedee was on the other side when that window snapped closed, Miriel might never see her again.

“But this is your chance to go back and see all those you left behind. Go on adventures again. Just like you’ve always wanted.”

Miriel sighed. “Is that what this was about? Maybe once upon a time, but I’m too old for such adventures anymore. A konabi would skin me alive. Besides, if I went back, I would miss an even greater adventure and leave someone more important behind.” Miriel held Deedee’s face between her wrinkled hands and rubbed her granddaughter’s cheeks.

Deedee sniffed as tears filled her eyes.

A second later, the portal snapped closed and the summer day disappeared, leaving them in the cold darkness as green and blue lights danced across the sky.

“Come, dear.” Miriel wrapped her granddaughter’s arm around hers. “Let’s go home.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Ann Michael Harris is the writer of middle grade fantasy stories (most of the time). She has an eclectic taste in stories which transfers to her writing. She has been published in several anthologies, Havok Publishing, and is the author of The Beauty of Magic. When not writing, you can find her reading, binge-watching TV, or daydreaming. You can find her and her dog online.

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