In a ballroom with a chandelier looming overhead and people dancing I spun. The portal had closed and on the farther wall ornately carved wooden doors presented. In my stomach acid drained like spiraling black water.
I had no idea how to reopen the portal. In my stocking feet and gym shorts and Dylan T-shirt I drew the ire of tuxedoed men and the smirks of gowned women. No direction home but I had to exit that ballroom. The tall doors danced to the slap of my running feet. A man doffed his top hat. The doors refused to yield to my push, my pull; they parted smoothly aside and I stumbled into a white corridor. Dim, caged bulbs failed me after the brilliant ballroom. I ran left. My heart screamed for Kathleen in our bedroom.
In a constant inlaid zigzag polished wood ran beneath me. The white walls broke with coiled firehoses, steel doors closed by handwheels, and those alternating caged lights. The long corridor terminated in double wood doors with stained glass windows. Icy night air stung my face and the open deck of a large ship assaulted my comprehension. Beyond the steel and wood handrail a black ocean crashed and roared above the thrum of engines.
I roared against myself. Fool! to step through the shimmering circle. Idiot! to play with Edwardian magic. Dummkopf! to speak incantations absent knowledge. None of the dozens I had read aloud had promised to manifest a portal. Without the leather tome in my hand I could not recite one. My anger ruptured my mind like the dead ice air threatened my skin.
The cold spun me back to the wood doors. On a gold plate beneath the stained glass on each door black letters spelled
TITANIC.
Cover for “Dead Ice” designed in Canva, using their stock photo as background and including the Worldbuilding Community's writing prompt image.
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