PORTAL (The Portal Series, Book1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Meet the Author

  PORTAL

  The Portal Series

  Book One

  An Alternative History Novel

  by

  Richard Bowker

  Critically Acclaimed Author

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-463-9

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Copyright ©2013 by Richard Bowker. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Chapter 1

  People tell me I'm a pretty good writer for a kid, so I've decided to try to tell this story. Not that I'm going to show it to anyone. But if I don't write it down, maybe I'll start forgetting parts of it. Worse, I might start thinking it didn't really happen. But it did. It was as real as anything in this world, or any other world. So here goes.

  * * *

  My name is Larry Barnes, and I live in Glanbury, which is a small town south of Boston. I go to the Theodore Grossman Middle School, which even my parents call The Gross. When this all happened I was just starting seventh grade, and my life sucked.

  Just to show you, here's the way things went on the day it began. First off, Mom woke me up with that chirpy "Rise and shine, Pumpkin!" that she knows I hate. One of the worst things about Middle School is you have to get up so early, and I've never gotten used to it. I looked over at Matthew, and of course he was still sleeping like a baby, because grammar school starts an hour later. One of the bad things about my life is that I have to share a bedroom with my kid brother. This is okay when he's asleep, but when he's awake it's just about unbearable, because he won't stop talking. It's like the Mute button in his brain is broken. And it's not as if anything he has to say is all that interesting. He'll talk for twenty minutes about, I don't know, lemonade, or water balloons, or pro wrestling. And he doesn't really need me to say anything, he's happy just to yak away by himself.

  So anyway, I got up to go to the bathroom, and of course Cassie was already in there, taking one of her endless showers. Cassie's my sister. She's in high school, and she has "issues," my mother says. I say she's a jerk. She's the reason Matthew and I are stuck with each other, by the way; apparently there's some law that a teenage girl has to have her own bedroom. So I yelled at her to quit hogging the bathroom, and she yelled at me to get lost, and then Mom yelled at me to hurry up, and I was in a bad mood and I hadn't even eaten breakfast yet.

  Breakfast was the usual—gulp your cereal down or you'll miss the bus. Dad had already left for work. I think he likes to get out of the house before all the yelling starts. Mom doesn't complain about him much, but I get the idea that she thinks the same thing. He's a computer programmer, and I guess he works really hard; but I don't see why he can't eat a meal or two with us once in a while.

  While I was trying to get out the door Mom had something new to warn me about; she's always worried about something. "Larry, I read in the paper about a man in Rhode Island who was caught stalking kids as they walked to the bus stop. I want you to be extra careful out there."

  "Mom, we're nowhere near Rhode Island."

  "They're all over. You can't be too careful."

  "But I'm almost a teenager."

  "That's just the age these people are interested in."

  Cassie came downstairs in time to hear this part of the conversation, and she said, "Don't worry, Larry, not even a dirty old man is going to be interested in you."

  So I yelled at her, and she yelled at me, and then I had to run to catch the bus. I made it, but the only empty seat was right in front of Stinky Glover.

  His real name is Julian, but guess why everyone calls him "Stinky". I suppose he takes a shower sometimes, but the effect must wear off before he gets out in public, because I've never been near him when he didn't smell like low tide. If there was a BO event in the Olympics, he'd get the gold medal. Oh, and also he's fat and stupid. Of course, no one would sit beside him if they could help it, but sometimes you had to sit in front of him, and that could be just as bad.

  For some reason Stinky has it in for me. I really don't know why. I don't call him Stinky; I don't call him anything. "Hey, Lawrence," he whispered, leaning forward. "How's it going, Lawrence?"

  Why someone named Julian would find the name Lawrence funny is beyond me, but that was Stinky for you. I ignored him.

  I've seen the bullying video, of course, and heard the lectures from the school shrink, so I know all about what you're supposed to do, how you're supposed to act when someone bullies you. But the fact of the matter is, Stinky wasn't exactly a bully. He never beat me up or stole my lunch money or any of that stuff. He was just really, really annoying.

  Like that morning. After he got through saying my name a bunch of times, I felt something long and wet in my ear, and heard him half giggle/half snort behind me. He'd decided to give me a Wet Willie. Can you imagine feeling Stinky Glover's finger wiggling in your ear, with Stinky Glover's spit all over it? Especially at seven o'clock in the morning, when your stomach hasn't really woken up yet. It's a wonder I didn't hurl.

  I turned around. "Cut it out!" I demanded.

  He grinned, and I saw specks of breakfast on his teeth. "What's the matter, Lawrence? Not having fun, Lawrence?"

  So I got up to try and change my seat, and the bus driver started yelling at me.

  Just great. It was a relief to actually arrive at school, where I had a chance to talk to Kevin Albright. He's my best friend, even though we're kind of different. I'm good at writing; he's better at math and science. He actually doesn't do all t
hat well in school, mainly because it's just so boring, compared to all the stuff he finds out on his own, reading books and visiting weird web sites and doing science experiments in his basement. He likes me, I think, because I talk about more than video games and TV. Lots of kids think he's just strange.

  In homeroom before "A" period I told him about Stinky.

  "Stinky is an example of evolution gone wrong," Kevin said. "Darwin should apologize for coming up with people like him."

  "I don't need apologies. I need to figure out what to do about him."

  "Maybe you can pretend you have some kind of disease. At least that might keep him from sticking his finger in your ear."

  "Stinky is a disease."

  "Maybe you need an anti-Stinky pill. Stinkomycin."

  Kevin was no help, but he was fun to talk to.

  Everything went okay then until English class. I like English class. Mrs. Nathanson is an interesting teacher, and she's the one who thinks I'm a good writer. But there's just one problem: I sit next to Nora Lally. That's not bad, actually. Nora is no Stinky Glover. In fact, she's the prettiest girl in the seventh grade. She's got long black hair and bright blue eyes and this terrific smile. So what's the problem, then?

  The problem is I can't bring myself to speak to her, even with her sitting right next to me. I get nervous. My throat feels funny. I can't think of anything to say. It's so stupid. I go to the school dances. I pal around with girls. No one has ever accused me of being shy. So why can't I talk to Nora Lally?

  I haven't mentioned this problem to Kevin, by the way; I haven't mentioned it to anyone. It's too embarrassing.

  That day was no different. Before class I could have asked her a question about the homework. I could have made some funny remark about Mrs. Nathanson—the kind I'm always making to Kevin. But I didn't. I just sat there like a dope. And Nora just ignored me, the way she always does.

  So school finally got out, and wouldn't you know—Stinky got the seat next to me on the bus. The only thing worse than having Stinky sitting behind you is having him sitting next to you. Especially when you can't open the window. I felt like my elbow was sticking into a tub of rancid butter. "Hey, Lawrence! We're gonna be best buddies, right, Lawrence?" Giggle-snort, giggle-snort.

  Finally I got off at my stop and walked home. I didn't notice any perverts, but then, I wasn't looking too hard. My mother was waiting for me with the usual questions. "How was school, Larry? How are things going?"

  She's always interrogating me about school. I think she figures sooner or later I'll break down and admit I was doing drugs during gym class or something.

  "Fine." So what was I going to say? My mom is really great and all, but she's sort of, well... intense is the word my father uses. I sure wasn't going to tell her about Nora Lally. And if I had told her about Stinky Glover, she would have been on the phone to the principal and probably Stinky's mom as well. There would have been letters written and meetings called and action plans developed. And I'd still have to get on the bus with Stinky.

  "Are you sure?" she asked. "You look..."

  "I said school was fine," I snapped at her. "I'm just a little tired," I added, trying not to be too grouchy.

  "Well, you should go to bed earlier, then," she replied. "You know, Middle School can be very demanding, and children your age really need—"

  "Good point," I said. "I'll really try."

  She gave me another one of her searching glances, as if trying to figure out if my agreeableness was a danger sign of alcohol abuse. But I just wanted to end the inquisition. "Gotta get going on my homework," I pointed out, and she couldn't argue with that. So I headed upstairs to my room.

  This was the best part of the day—before Cassie and Matthew got home and started bugging me. No yakking, no complaining. Just... silence. Too bad it wouldn't last. I didn't start my homework. Instead I lay on my bed for a while thinking about how rotten things were. How was I going to stand a whole year of this?

  Finally I decided to go for a walk and try to get Stinky and Nora and everyone out of my brain.

  I went back downstairs. "Goin' out!" I yelled at Mom, and I headed into the back yard before she could ask me about my homework. And then I kept on going, past the garage and the old swing set, into the woods beyond the yard.

  I have to say something here about those woods. They're called conservation land. My father says it's great that we're next to conservation land, because no one can build on it and it increases the value of our property. My mom worries about Lyme disease, snakes, and poison ivy. When we were little she used to have a rule against us going into the woods, but she's kind of given up on that. It's better than playing in the street, I guess.

  The thing about the woods is, if you go in far enough, you come to a bunch of falling-down old brick-and-concrete buildings. They were used by the Army during World War Two, although I don't know exactly what for. After the war the Army didn't need them anymore, so they gave the whole area to the town, which turned it into the conservation land.

  It's not that easy to get to the buildings. There's an old road that runs up to them, but it's pretty wrecked by now because the town doesn't maintain it. But of course kids go there, and you see broken beer bottles and stuff scattered around. Everyone thinks the buildings are a safety hazard and should be torn down, but no one can agree who should pay for it. Mom really doesn't want me to go there, because she's certain one of the buildings will fall on me and I'll be crushed to death with no one to hear my cries for help. But she can't stop me.

  I don't care about the buildings, but I do like the woods. They're dark and quiet, and there's no one to bug you. My dad has taught me the names of some of the trees and plants, so I don't feel like a dope in there. Anyway, the woods just felt like the right place to be that afternoon.

  So I picked up a long stick and started whacking it against the trees as I walked. Take that, Stinky! Take that, Cassie!

  I usually don't go out of earshot of the house—that's Mom's latest rule—but that day I just felt like walking. I wanted to get as far away from my life as I could. And eventually I found myself near those old army buildings.

  I was a little surprised—I hadn't realized I had walked that far. But it was no big deal. It wasn't like a wall was really going to fall on me.

  Then I heard a noise from inside one of the buildings.

  Again, no big deal. If other kids were there, I'd just go home. Despite Mom's fears, I don't drink or anything, and I don't want to hang with the loser kids who do. So I turned around. I had only walked a few steps when I heard someone call to me. "Hey, Lawrence! Watcha doin', Lawrence?"

  What was Stinky doing here?

  "Wait up, Lawrence!"

  I turned back. He was heading towards me. I really didn't want to deal with Stinky right then. I started to run.

  Okay. Here's where it starts. I slowed down to catch my breath—I wasn't too worried about Stinky being able to catch up to me. I was in a small clearing. And I was still holding onto the stick, kind of whipping it in front of me like a sword. And I noticed something.

  The end of the stick disappeared.

  I don't mean that it got lost in the brush or anything like that. I mean, it was there, in mid-air, and then it wasn't. And then as I kept moving the stick, it came back again—it reappeared. I looked at the stick. It seemed okay—it wasn't broken or anything. I tried again.

  Same thing.

  My heart was pounding.

  I dropped the stick and slowly reached forward. And my hand disappeared too. One second it was there in front of me, the next second it was gone, like it had been lopped off. But there wasn't any pain. There wasn't any pressure or resistance. It didn't feel hot or cold. It just felt—different. I took my hand back out and extended my foot. It went in, disappeared, and then I brought it back out.

  I couldn't figure it out. All I could think was: This is really weird.

  "Hey, Lawrence! Wait up!"

  Stinky was heading towards m
e through the trees.

  And then I had another thought: Wouldn't it be cool if I disappeared right in front of Stinky?

  This was a really stupid thing to think. I admit it. My mom would have totally freaked out. I would've freaked out if I'd thought about it for another couple of seconds. But I had this cool vision in my mind of Stinky standing there with a dopey look on his face, and me standing right next to him in this zone of invisibility or whatever, laughing at him.

  I sure wanted to do that.

  So, like a total idiot, I stepped inside.

  Chapter 2

  I knew right away this was a big mistake. I guess I had thought it would be sort of like stepping into the other side of one of those mirrors where you can see the person looking into the mirror, but he can't see you. Cool! But why in the world did I think that? I dunno—seeing Stinky had made me stupid, I suppose. Things just aren't supposed to become invisible. I had stumbled onto something very weird—and very important. And instead of running home and getting a grownup the way I should have, I had gone ahead and stepped into it.

  Well, it wasn't like one of those mirrors. Inside it was all cloudy. I thought I could make out dark shapes to my left and right, but I couldn't tell what they were. Trees? I didn't think so. I had brains enough to be scared, but here's where I made another, maybe bigger mistake: I didn't turn around right away and get out. Instead I reached out and groped through the clouds. I took a step forward. Then another. The cloudiness seemed to fade, and I was outside again. I heard noises. I looked around.