Chapt. 1: Under the Painted Sky

By Michael Jesse

"It's clearly a portal of some kind," Laura explained. "However, we have not yet determined whether it is a time-travel portal or a wormhole to somewhere else in the universe."

"Or to another dimension," Jack added.

"That's quite a range of possibilities," their mother noted as she poured out two more doses of a medicine that the children knew from experience was not actually grape flavored. "And where does this portal manifest itself?"

"The first time was over there," Laura said, indicating the glass double doors that were now nailed shut because the balcony to which they once opened had been gone for decades. "That's where we saw the Viking ship at sea."

Jack pointed to a low wall where the attic roof sloped down. "The next time it was over there," he said, making a face as he swallowed the sour medicine. "That's when we saw the creature!"

"And you say it looked like a horse with horns? Like a bull?"

"It had horns, but not like a bull," Jack clarified. "They branched out every which-way like a deer's antlers, but were thick and round like a ram's horns."

"More like an ibex I would say," Laura corrected as she held up one of the many books spread out between the children on the big red sofa sleeper. She was 12 (or "almost 13" as she preferred saying it) and Jack was 10.

"But the coolest thing isn't what the horns looked like," Jack went on. "They were hollow, and music came out of them like a pipe organ. It sounded like this." Here, Jack held up his little wooden flute and played a series of notes that echoed in the open attic space. The Duncan family had only recently moved into The Catherwood House, a peeling yellow Victorian overlooking Pembroke College. It was much larger than what the family of four actually needed, and so Laura and Jack had the whole third floor to themselves. They each had their own room at opposite ends and shared the space in between as the Playroom.

"That's not how it sounded," Laura huffled disdainfully. "It was much deeper for one thing."

"I KNOW it was deeper, Laura, but I can't do that octave on a flute. If you understood music, you'd know that."

Laura did not want to argue the point because she knew it was true. Though she excelled at all other academic subjects, she could barely carry a tune while her little brother seemed able to learn any new instrument in an afternoon. Even when they were playing outdoors, he would find reeds along the creek and cut them at different lengths so each played a different note.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Laura said. "Because Mother clearly does not believe us anyway." She had recently started using "mother and father" instead of "mom and dad," especially when she felt they were being condescending to her.

"I didn't say I don't believe you," Mother said. "But I do have an alternative theory, and because you are serious scientists I assume you would want to at least consider it."

Laura folded her arms and leaned back against her pillow. "Fine," she sighed. "What is your alternative theory?"

"You both had pretty high fevers today. I was even considering taking you to the hospital at one point. As you may know from your extensive reading, fevers can cause waking dreams, or hallucinations."

"I know what the word hallucination means," Laura said.

"You know the word, but you have not previously experienced one before, and therefore you can't be certain this was not one."

Jack propped himself up on one elbow, his dark brown hair plastered damply across his forehead. "Dad says any world you can imagine probably exists somewhere!"

Mother sighed. "Your father teaches physics to college students. It's part of his job to say things like that."

"But--"

"Meanwhile, I am a physician. My job is to treat actual illnesses in actual human bodies that can be found here on this planet." As she said this, Dr. Elizabeth Duncan, director of obstetrics at the state's largest hospital. gathered up bowls of half-eaten soup and Jello onto the blue wooden tray she always used when the children were sick. "As your physician," she went on, "my diagnosis is that my very intelligent and imaginative young patients have recently experienced mild, but vivid fever-related hallucinations – no doubt influenced by what they recently learned about the former owner of this house."

"But that's exactly why you should believe us," Jack pleaded. "I mean after all, an actual mad scientist died in this very house doing some kind of mysterious experiment. Don't you think that could be connected to Laura and me seeing a portal?"

"Laura and I."

"Mom!"

"Nigel Catherwood wasn't a mad scientist, Jackie. That's unkind. He was a physicist at Pembroke College, just like your father is now. He died in a tragic electrocution accident because in those days this house had unsafe wiring which has since been replaced. And yes, both of you, I do believe you are telling the truth as you remember it. I am only suggesting that your interpretation of what you remember may not be the best explanation ... scientifically speaking."

Laura flung her head back on the damp pillow in frustration, but immediately regretted the sudden movement because now the nausea was back. She had recently promised herself never to vomit again for the rest of her life, and maintenance of that vow was beginning to require more of her concentration. As Mother went down the narrow spiral staircase once used by Victorian-era servants, Laura glanced over her side of the sofa sleeper to make sure the bucket was still there just in case. She looked up at the fake sky and clouds Dad had painted on the sloped ceiling walls and picked out a single star to focus on to help her concentration. In the daytime you could only barely make out the fluorescent blue dots that came out as stars at night. They matched the actual constellations almost exactly, except over by the dormers where he ran out of stencils and had to make up his own region of space.

Laura closed her eyes for what she thought was just a minute, but when she opened them again she realized she must have slept because now the room was dark, and the only light came from the fake stars glowing on the ceiling. Laura stared at them for a full minute before becoming awake enough to realize she was not looking at the Playroom ceiling anymore. It was the real night sky, and the big red sofa sleeper had turned into a straw-filled wooden cart that rocked and squeaked to the slow rhythm of horse's hooves.

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