Portaling

Traveling to new worlds and times is the best way to trigger a mystery.

This short story acts as a prequel to “Rosemary for Remembrance” from Queer Windows: Volume 1 Spring and contains spoilers.

• Non-binary main character

• Cozy Fantasy

• Portals

• 2,003 word count

• CW: None

The first portal appeared on a gray, rainy day when Em was having an impossible time focusing. It opened slowly, with the only signs of something strange occurring being an old, almost watercolor effect around the door frame to the closet. The grain of wood bled out, washing out all the detail and texture. Em was certain that their eyes were bleary from staring too long at their computer screen in the dark. It was the most logical explanation. Even though logic wasn’t always the most likely explanation.

From there the portal progressed, until finally, a week later, the closet was no longer full of files and papers. Instead, it opened onto a seaside lane, blustering, and smelling of salt and fish. The wind whipped at their cropped hair and slammed the closet door behind them. A few passersby glanced at them in confusion before continuing on their way. 

Rather than being terrifyied, Em’s new surroundings thrilled them. Even as the icy chill of the sea cut through their sweater. The ocean was an hour or so drive from where Em lived, and it had been years since they’d taken the time to take a trip there. As Em walked past salt weathered shacks and shops, it began to dawn on them that they couldn’t recall ever visiting the little town before. Signs were written in a language that Em couldn’t read and as they focused more on the locals, Em realized that they were clothed in styles at least a hundred years out of date.

Stopping in front of a dock, Em tried waving down one of the fishermen that were loading a net into a boat. If the fisherman saw Em, they didn’t bother acknowledging them. The sky flashed, as the wind carried the booming thunder that chased the lightning to shore. Their initial excitement was fading as the waves crashed against the pier while the fisherman kept loading his boat. 

Em called out, “Hey! The storm’s too heavy to go out in!” But the wind stole the words from their lips, carrying them off faster than they could be heard.

The waves rolled up under the wooden planks, spraying water up in the gaps between the boards. As they crashed against the rocky shoreline, the howling of the storm grew louder and the greenish flashes of light edged closer to shore. In all this, the fisherman seemed immune to what was happening around him, diligently moving supplies to his boat, even as it bobbed violently on the surf, barely holding onto its rope tether.

As soon as Em set foot on the pier, they felt a pull in the opposite direction. Like an invisible rope was tugging at them. Rain began to mix with the spray being kicked up and began dripping down the back of Em’s neck. The more steps they took down the pier, the farther it seemed to stretch into the ocean, and the tighter the rope pulled. Their boots began to slip on the wooden planks, as they desperately tried to reach the fisherman before the waves swept him away.

The sky suddenly turned an electric green, washing over Em’s vision and leaving them panting, dripping with seawater, back in their library. They gulped in the warm air and wiped the salty spray from their eyes.

“It’s about time,” the gruff voice of their grandfather said.

Em hadn’t noticed him sitting next to the fire, highball in hand, “Time for what?”

“Your first portal of course,” there was a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Where did you go?”

“It was some seaside town.”

Their grandfather frowned, “You didn’t recognize it?”

“No, it looked very old-fashioned. And there was a storm,” Em said, moving closer to the fireplace to warm up.

“I can see that. Did you speak with anyone?”

“There wasn’t really a chance to,” Em was quickly reviewing as many details of the short trip as they could, trying to pinpoint where they’d ended up. “It might have been another country, I didn’t know the language the signs were in.”

“Interesting. Usually, your first portal takes you close by. Somewhere you’re familiar with.”

“Well, I’m not even sure what time it was.”

Em’s grandfather set down his drink, “What do you mean by that?”

“The residents were wearing older style clothes. Is it possible to portal to another time?”

“It hasn’t been done for some time as far as I’m aware. Though not impossible,” their grandfather got up and pulled a tiny leather-bound volume and held it out to Em.

“What’s this?” Em asked, turning it over and opening to the first blank page.

“It’s tradition to receive a diary once you start portaling.”

“I thought it wasn’t a good idea to leave evidence of it?”

Their grandfather sighed, “Yes, well, it would have helped if so many hadn’t published their diaries. But it can’t be helped. Just don’t lose it.”

“I won’t, thank you.”

“Your mother went over the other rules with you?”

“She did.”

“Good. The most important thing to remember is don’t fight the pull. Just let it take you.”

Em nodded, the warnings had been drilled into them since before they could understand what portaling really was. Alice and Dorothy weren’t just characters that fell into other worlds, they were cautionary tales of what might happen if a portaler wasn’t paying close attention. Luckily their adventures were embellished, even if the dangers were real.

“Grandfather?”

“Hrm?”

“Will they just show up randomly from now on?”

“More or less.”

“And there’s no way to control where they go to?”

“No. And if you try to, you’ll end up chasing that for the rest of time. Follow the rules and you’ll be fine.”

“Of course grandfather,” Em said, thinking back to the fisherman about to be consumed by the storm.

***

It was difficult to stay focused on the world at large when a portal to somewhere new and unexplored could open at any moment. Em had never been much of a people person, but as the years passed, they found themselves drawn more to corners of bookstores and libraries, hunting through unusual, out-of-print books, rather than maintaining relationships with anyone their age. The Orinn family was known for being reclusive, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

The diary Em’s grandfather had given them was full within their first month of portaling. A mismatched collection of volumes filled a shelf in the library, detailing everything Em had observed in their travels. Observation was key. Taking something away with you could lead to problems like portals staying open too long. Or drawing in those who shouldn’t be portaling. It was tempting to pluck a flower that had gone extinct centuries ago and press it between the pages of one of the encyclopedias in the library, but Em resisted.

Sojourns into portals lasted half an hour or less. Just long enough for a single conversation, or chance meeting. Em quickly learned that the time limit was the single rule that could not be altered. And as their grandfather had warned, Em resisted attempts to go back to situations they thought they could help with, or change. They were supposed to be sentries of the worlds they caught glimpses of, not engage with them.

Sitting at their desk, Em felt the familiar tug in their chest and set down their coffee. They glanced at the closet door and sighed as they got up to open it. Sometimes the pull of a portal came with the worst timing. They’d just been about to start working on a new transcription project. But ignoring a portal could cause a cascading effect, preventing new portals from opening properly.

The closet opened into a side street off a busy high street somewhere in the northeast. Em had become more adept at quickly identifying locations and time periods the more portals they walked through. As Em ducked into the street, quickly crossing to reach the bookstore they’d spotted across the way, they ignored the curious looks people were giving them. It was all a part of portaling. At least passersby usually had an interesting story to tell after they encountered Em.

Brooke’s Books was a tiny shop that smelt of dust and cigarette smoke. A handful of teenagers were flipping through the small collection of vinyl records at the front of the shop under the close eye of the cashier, and an orange cat was lazing atop one of the bookshelves. Em found the diary section and began quickly scanning the shelf for anything interesting. It had become like a game whenever they found a bookstore while portaling. They always tried to hunt down a title later once they were home. 

There were plenty of newer-looking volumes, but shoved almost to the back of the shelf was one tiny book. Pulling out a small, dusty red cloth-bound book, Em opened to the title page, Secret Diary of an Anonymous School Teacher. Em had never heard of it, and there was no author listed. The publication date was 1952, so it probably wasn’t a diary of some frontier teacher, but it wasn’t something that Em would usually pick up. They flipped to the last few pages to the final entry dated April 30, 1951. Quickly skimming the final paragraphs of the book, Em was surprised to see their name referenced.

‘Please know that Em fully intends to take good care of me.’

It wasn’t completely unusual. Em could be short for lots of things, Emily, Emerson, Emma, Emmerich. And yet, the sentence stood out from the page even as the bookshop around them began to fade like a chalk drawing on a rainy day. As the pull of the portal back home wrapped around their torso, Em dropped the book hoping it wasn’t too late. It thudded in a puff of dust on Em’s library floor, still open to that last entry.

Staggering back a step, Em stared at it, willing it to disappear. They hadn’t intended to break the rules. And now that the book was there, was it such a bad thing if they read it? Or tried to find out more information about it? That was how it always started, right? One little insignificant object slipped into a pocket and was forgotten about. Then you suddenly had a closet full of nicked trinkets.

Em quickly buried those thoughts and picked up the book, shelving it in a dusty corner of their library. How many of these books had come into the family in a similar way? What secrets were they keeping buried in their pages? The best thing to do was to forget about it. Going to the door, they sped out to the garden in all its overgrown glory. Em wasn’t very partial to gardening, but destroying it seemed unnecessary. Instead, they chose to let the plants slowly take over the brick paths knowing that eventually, someone would come along with the patience to rescue it. Even in its wild state, Em enjoyed strolling through it, combing their fingers through fragrant herbs and occasionally cutting some to hang in the kitchen.

They stopped at the rosemary, breaking off a piece of the woody stem and twirling it between their fingers, “There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.”

Was there something they were meant to remember about that bookshop? Had something important happened there? Or was it just another jaunt into the past with no rhyme or reason that Em could find? Maybe in fifty years, their portaling journeys would make sense. They could already feel the tug of another portal, just beyond the arch covered in climbing roses. If Em could have paid a penny for Ophelia’s thoughts on the matter, they would have gladly emptied their pockets. But with a sigh, they slipped the sprig of rosemary into the breast pocket of their waistcoat and walked through the arch to the next place. And the next.