Previous: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/v0nxv/portals/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
I held my daughter. We were both shivering. Crying. I released her grip on me, and pushed her through the portal. It closed behind her.
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My life had finally settled in the wake of the unnerving incident at the library. I stopped having episodes once I figured out I wouldn’t portal hop if I was with someone. Never much of a risk-taker, and not wanting to end up at any more random places, I quit my job and decided to stay with my daughter full time. It was great. She became my shield, her hand in mine stopped me from teleporting or shifting through any more portals. We were best friends and did everything together. We became inseparable, forging a deep bond, and a partnership that offered peace and stability. These strange occurrences that had haunted me had finally receded into a distant memory.
It was a normal day. We took a trip to the Natural History Museum in Los Angeles. We signed up for the yearly membership, so whenever we had a free day we’d make a trip of it. We loved exploring the mineral displays or getting lost among the prehistoric mammals.
I had never experienced a teleportation episode with anyone else before. It was supposed to be under control. All these years I watched her grow up besides me - my partner in crime and, unbeknownst to her, my vigilant protector. Trips to the stores, movies, libraries, and playdates all went by without a hitch, everything veiled in normalcy.
My guard was down. After all, it had been years since my last jump, and I had found solace in the company of my daughter, confident that her presence was my tether to this reality.
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I was holding her hand as we looked up at the Wooly Mammoth display. Its dark eyes stared down at me, cold, glossy, unblinking. Its massive tusks protruded from the sides of its mouths like spears trying to pierce the ceiling. I blinked. It blinked.
And for a split second, everything else blinked too.
I felt the unease in her grip first. She tightened and tugged, moving closer to me and gave a quick gasp of realization. I was in the glare of a large sabertooth. Its wicked teeth jutted before me, jaw agape, ready to bite down on my head in one fell swoop. I yelled and rolled back, instinctively shielding my daughter’s body.
“Run,” I managed to gasp at my daughter, aided by adrenaline. I waited for the razor-sharp edges to dig into my neck. I waited for my last, rasping breaths to fade. I waited. An extra heartbeat passed. I turned to face the ferocious hunting feline but my terror-stricken eyes met an inanimate, stuffed saber tooth tiger on exhibit. On the opposite side of the room lurked the shadow of the mammoth. I teleported again. Lucky, it was only a short distance, just across the room.
Hushed whispers from other parents echoed in the vast museum hall. “Is she okay? Why did they scream?” Bewildered glances came in our direction.
Are we okay? Why did we scream? I looked at my daughter. She returned my dispirited gaze. A wisp of gray smoke danced in my periphery. It vanished as I turned to look. I was filled with dread. “Are you okay? Are you ready to go home?” She nodded, clearly frightened.
We ran out of the museum, chased by ghostly apparitions. Each step to the car was a nightmare, fueled by the ancient skeletons lining the corridors. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. I had never jumped with anyone else before. It was incomprehensible to experience that reality shift, but at least we didn’t experience it alone. If that was solace.
Why had it happened again? I wasn’t alone. Her hand was firmly in mine when we shifted. The drive home was silent and uneventful. I turned up the radio and looked back at her. She was still, her face pale as she stared out of the window. I turned the music louder to drown out my thoughts. The unease lingered.
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My wife was once again skeptical when I told her what transpired at the museum. Concern filled her face as she crouched, eye level with our daughter. “Baby, tell me what happened,” she said.
For the first time since the incident, my daughter spoke. Her words were chilly. “I was just with daddy and we were looking at the wooly elephants. Then daddy got really quiet and gripped my hand really hard. He didn’t say anything but when I looked at him his face got really scared. Then I got scared. Then we left in a hurry.” I asked if there was anything else she wanted to add. She shook her head. No mention of the portals nor teleportation. No mention of being across the room from the mammoths in an instant. She had solely focused on my terror, my fear.
After we put my daughter to bed my wife cornered me. “I think you should see a doctor,” she said, her voice tinged with worry. I was terrified at the prospect of these disorienting portals resurfacing. She didn’t think it was portals.
The memories of my previous medical ordeals came flooding back, the endless battery of tests and examinations. Last time I told the doctor about the teleporting, they had simply referred me to a shrink who recommended rest and medication. They never truly listened, as their focus remained fixed on conventional diagnoses. Each visit seemed like a fruitless endeavor, leading to a dead-end. What did they discover? Was I paranoid, delusional? I couldn’t accept that diagnosis, not when the inexplicable events that plagued me were so real. They conducted brain scans, neurological evaluations, and psychological assessments, searching for any explanation that doesn’t involve the reality we live in changing. But there search was in vain. What is reality, after all? If it’s real to me, it doesn’t have to be real to you.
I never even had the chance to elaborate to them about the apparitions or the unsettling whispering that accompanied these experiences.
What’s next, I wondered, when you were convinced that your own sanity was slipping away? My own wife didn’t believe me.
Frustrated with my previous lack of results and my wife’s current skepticism, I left the house, without thinking. Without my shield, my daughter. Alone, I drove aimlessly, no destination in mind. Just impulse bordering on panic.
I saw the psychic reading advertisement. It wasn’t the most professionally crafted sign, but I still managed to notice it from the freeway. I took the exit to the psychic’s location and parked nearby. I paused. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and climbed from the car.
Hopefully, someone open to the possibility that my affliction might transcend the boundaries of conventional science and knowledge. The shop was worn down, rustic. It appeared abandoned with chips of paint flaking from the sides. The windows were lined from the inside. Unkempt bushes covered in cobwebs lined the front. I knocked on the rickety door. Was this the right place? Did I walk through a portal to end up here?
There were sounds of shuffling behind the door, and eventually, a small, frail, elderly woman answered. Her hair was long and brown. Her nose crooked and curved. Her eyes, dark and sunken. She didn’t utter a word, only gesturing for me to take a seat at the lone table and chairs.
It spilled out of me in a rush of words. I recounted the bizarre events that had unfolded during my recent visit to the Natural History Museum. I explained to the psychic how, despite years of successfully managing my teleportation abilities, they had unexpectedly resurfaced, leaving me utterly out of control and terrified that my daughter had been with me during my last episode.
She seemed unfazed. She spoke softly. Camly, she told me I was attuned; that I had a connection to forces that transcended our understanding of reality. She didn’t bother with a reading, or flipping any cards. No crystal ball. Instead, she rushed me out, urging me to purchase one of her pink crystals, promising it would offer protection and stability. I was skeptical but desperate, so I bought one of the pink crystals and put it in my pocket. I hurried home, realizing that I was alone, and vulnerable.
That night, toying with the crystal in my pocket, I had trouble sleeping. I tossed and turned in between nightmares. I was haunted by ghostly images and eerie wisps of smoke that danced on the edges of my vision. They were like tendrils of an otherworldly fog, curled around me, their touch cold and clammy. They whispered secrets. They told me not to trust the psychic. They insisted they surpassed her understanding. I felt their influence, the very air crackling with their presence.
The crystal pulsed in my dream, beckoning. I clutched at it tightly. It glowed unabated. I was unsure of its true purpose - whether it was to be my shield, or their beacon.
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The next morning, I took my daughter to the park. I didn’t leave her side. The hours passed uneventfully as we explored the playground and enjoyed the simple pleasures of the swings and slides. It was a serene day. My stomach growled to get my attention. I stopped pushing the swing. “Let’s go home, honey. I feel like making a big brunch.” I grabbed her hand. The park was a brisk ten-minute walk from our house.
A shadow fell over the sun. The air cooled. The sounds of traffic faded. The birds fell quiet. Our pace quickened. I heard a low crackling sound and my hair stood on end. My daughter stared at me, wide eyed. “Daddy?” Her voice was filled with fear.
It happened so fast. Like an earthquake building up pressure beneath the surface and ready to burst. And just like an earthquake, my daughter and I could do nothing to prepare except brace ourselves and hope for the best.
Jump after jump, portal after portal. It was happening so fast; I couldn’t keep up. I noticed the floor first. The soft green grass of the park was replaced by a dense murky forest, then bright and arid desert. The sky shifted from deep blue, to cloudy gray, to a never-ending dark.
No stars, no sun, just an abyss. We continued walking in the direction I hoped our house was. Sinister whispers, chilling and malevolent, seeped into my consciousness. “Soon,” they croaked. “She can’t save you. You’re ours.”
My worst fears were quickly coming to light. I couldn’t run or hide anymore. I had to protect my daughter. We stopped walking.
A soft crackling sound buzzed over my head. At this angle, I could just make out the edge of the portal surrounding me. Beyond it, in front of me, lay a wasteland. Barren, cold, and gray. Behind me was the park, it seemed only a few paces away. But it lay beyond a myriad of realms. The portals stitched over the path behind me, still as my breath. They needed me. Whatever current ran through my veins, it charged the portals and brought them to life.
“Let me take her home,” I pleaded, my voice feigning courage. Silence, except for the quiet sobs of my daughter. I huddled over her, held her, and told her I loved her. We both crouched there, crying, shivering in each other’s arms. The portal in front of us changed. My front door shimmered through. I reached for the doorknob and it felt cold and icy in my grip. Here was the moment.
“Only her.” Whispers.
“Please,” I begged.
“Only her.” They echoed.
I pushed her through the portal. “Daddy, no.”
“I love you, honey.”
As the portal closed, the finality of the separation settled in, leaving the image of my daughter’s tear-filled eyes etched in my mind. I was alone again. Turning my attention to my surroundings, I found myself in a vast desert wasteland, its barren expanse beckoning me with promises of agony and torment.
Instinctively, I reached into my pocket for my phone. I was met only with a drained battery that dragged my hopes of a quick rescue down with it. A reflection on the black screen- the horrid wretch, that sad haunted man- quickly averted his gaze, unable to cope with his new reality.
I stepped forward, aimlessly, venturing deeper into the portals that stitched across space. My fate, my future, giving over to the supernatural forces. In my other pocket, the pink crystal vibrated faintly.
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