Grandpa's Portal by Steve Messman
The two boys were about to find that out for themselves. The ants attacked in no orderly fashion. They clogged the entire entrance, again, and clamored over each other in a no-rules race toward the mouse. The mouse must certainly have realized what was going to happen. It tried, again in vain, to scramble backwards, but it was perfectly stuck thanks to its Velcro fur. It pushed and shoved in total desperation. The mouse could see its future. He raised his mighty head toward the ceiling of the tunnel and released its last, mighty wail. That’s when Brian and Thomas broke loose.
The boys were finally able to stand. When they did, the looks on their faces said everything. They faced a marching militia of ants that was advancing straight toward them. Each of the boys knew exactly what to do as if they had done it all their lives. They both started yelling like warriors and swinging swords and sticks as if they were broadswords. They swung at the ants’ eyes, their antennae, and their leg joints. The boys were as unsuccessful as we were. Maybe one ant tripped over their mighty swings, but the boys’ future was exactly the same as ours. One ant grabbed Brian; another hooked Thomas; both boys were held tightly, regardless of the extraordinary efforts they expended. Those two ants lifted the boys and then rushed through the dust-filled gloom toward us, toward the tunnel’s entrance, against and over the throngs of advancing ants that were attacking the mouse. There seemed to be no end to the ants’ strength. The ants that held Sarrah and me apparently sensed the other two coming our way. In almost rehearsed unison, they turned to carry the two of us toward the entrance, as well.
The cave was flooded with ants and the agonizing sounds of a defeated mouse. With the four of us humans under control, the ants were, clearly, focusing on the mouse. The mouse was red. Red with ants. Red with blood. When I looked backwards, I could not see even a tiny bit of gray, unless it was a chunk of freshly clipped fur falling to the ground. This poor mouse was dying very slowly, and very painfully.
Outside of the tunnel, the light was blinding. Once my eyes adjusted, the only thing I could see in any direction was a moving column of red and black armor; all around, a mass of ants undulated toward a mountain. Three or four dozen dead springtails were being carried along the living river that crested reds and blacks. Two or three, sometimes four ants locked their jaws into a dead springtail and heaved the white, cheesy thing along the surging path. I saw a half dozen still-living springtails bounding straight up, a jump that seemed at least several feet. It was the last jump that each bug would take. A dozen ants waited at the end of every vertical trip, and each one of those ants locked its jaws into the juicy body parts of a once lively springtail that would soon become ant food.
The ant that was carrying me stopped in the crowd. I don’t know why mine chose to stop, but those carrying my brother and cousins kept walking. Mine turned around, as if it wanted me to see what was behind. The mouse had emerged from the tunnel as a gray corpse that walked on marionette legs controlled by the movement of a hundred ants. Blood ran out of its empty eye sockets, out of its mouth, and out of its ears. Every soft body part seemed to drip blackish red. Huge patches of fur were missing, yanked out or cut out by the sharp, cutting, pointy jaws of a hundred clicking ants. The giant mouse, elephant sized as it may have been, was being carried out of the tunnel and along the living path toward the mountain, just as I was being carried, and just as the other three were. The only difference was that we, for some unknown reason, were still alive.
My ant turned back, toward the mountain that grew menacingly close. I couldn’t hear their words, but I could hear the other three shouting to each other. I was worried that they were being killed. They weren’t. I strained to see as deep into the melee as my eyes would allow, beyond the forest of antennae, and beyond the movement of a hundred ants that crawled on top of a thousand more. I saw all three of the other kids kicking, hitting, poking, stabbing. Nothing they did had any consequence at all. The ants remained unharmed, unhindered, and uninterested. We drew nearer to the mountain while an endless army of ants kept pouring out of the tunnel that, just minutes ago, held us and a giant mouse. Except for us and the ants, everything around me that was once alive was now dead. That’s when it occurred to me. The ants were keeping us alive on purpose. Certainly, all the other creatures that the ants touched were definitely dead.
*****
18. The Mountain
It seemed like we were about a hundred yards from that mountain the ants were taking us toward. As big as it appeared, the mountain was dwarfed by the largest trees that I had ever seen. In short order, the leading edge of the ant column actually began to climb while the rest of us followed. Thousands of ants scampered into various cracks and holes; all traces of them disappeared, all swallowed by the earth. The good news was that I could see more clearly now, having less mass to see through. The mountain was composed, not of rocks, but of stacked up piles of who-knows-how-many-millions of logs. At least, that’s what they looked like, at first.
As we drew closer, I began to see that the mountain was a miracle of craftsmanship and anything but random. Each log was nearly identical to the other. Each was nearly the same size. Each had what looked like a vein running directly down the middle. Each was bluntly pointed on one end but smoothly squared on the other. It looked as if someone had taken the time to make each one. Even more, it seemed that each log had been intentionally positioned in order to hold and support those around it. Then it hit me. These weren’t logs! These were fir needles! This wasn’t a mountain. It was an ant hill! I didn’t know anything about these ants, but I suddenly realized that I had seen this exact hill in Grandpa’s back yard. This mountain-mound was actually a large anthill made by thatch ants. Only the day before, I would have guessed this hill to be no more than two feet tall. Now, I saw it as a mountain.
My mind staggered. Why did I think that the mound was a mountain? How is it that the trees were many times larger than I had ever seen? What were those giant mats that looked like leaves? Why were the grasses suddenly a hundred feet tall? Where did an elephant-sized mouse come from?
I don’t know where it came from, but suddenly, my mind felt like reality hit me with a bat. Up to this second, I simply couldn’t conceive of the reality of our situation. Now, I knew the answers to every question. To this day, Debbie, I don’t understand why I didn’t get it right away. Thomas told us this would happen. So did Grandpa. Maybe I had been in a state of denial. Maybe I was just shocked and confused. But there it was. The answer to why the mountain wasn’t really a mountain. The answer to why the trees dwarfed the mountain, to why the springtails and the mouse were so huge, and even the answer to why our thorns grew to a length of almost two feet. Everything around us had not grown. We had shrunk! We weren’t in some different world. We were in Grandpa’s back yard, and we were, by Grandpa’s estimate, about the size of a ladybug while everything around us was still normal. I’ll never know why it took me so long to understand all this strangeness. Thomas had already told us. The four of us had talked about this before coming through the portal. Grandpa’s warning was very clear. Remember? Just before he disappeared, he held that devil’s club thorn to his face and said “You know—this would make a really good spear for a person about the size of a ladybug.”
As that realization struck, I yelled to Thomas. “Thomas! I have the answer! I know!” He turned to look at me. His mouth opened, about to respond. I saw his face for a second, and then he and his answer disappeared into the thatch ant hill. So did Sarrah, and Brian, and then, so did I. We were plunged into perfect darkness, blanketed with a thick layer of black. I tried to see my hands, the jaws that held me, anything, but seeing was impossible. The smells of rot and vinegar became overpowering, and again I was immersed in the scraping, clicking sounds of a living machine.
My eyes began to adjust to this new environment. Before long, I could see a very dim light, a mysterious glow that appeared in splotches along our path. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the dimness of that greenish glow, I tried to st
In the darkness, and over the din of clicking armor, I could hear another voice that was difficult to recognize, but only because it was difficult to hear. It was muffled by the dirt tunnels and by the ceaseless sounds of the ants, but I’ll never, as long as I live, forget those words. “Thomas! Brian! Sarrah! You made it! But, where is Hannah?” My heart leaped. I came to life. I struggled and fought, trying desperately to escape, to drop to the ground, to run ahead of the marching ants, to run through that door. I failed.
Then, I very clearly heard the three-person harmony, “Grandpa? Grandpa!”
We had found Grandpa, Debbie! These ants took us directly to Grandpa!
*****
19. Grandpa is Found
By the time the ant that carried me had marched through that doorway, the other three kids were already free and hugging Grandpa. Hugging is quite the understatement. Sarrah was the first to leap onto his lap, and she held the poor man in a strangle hold that had him speechless—literally. Sarrah had wrapped every bit of her body around him while the two boys jumped in what remained of his lap, knocking him the rest of way over. They held his hands and hugged what body parts they could reach. Grandpa was effectively hogtied. All three kids were jabbering up a storm, and Grandpa remained unwillingly silent, still held in Sarrah’s inescapable choke hold. It was like listening to three different songs at the same time, and it was impossible to make sense of any single conversation. As Grandpa was about to succumb to breathlessness, Brian, Thomas, and Sarrah stepped back to tell their stories, and Grandpa was finally able to sit up and breathe.
Grandpa gasped for breath while the other three spit out a still incomprehensible mishmash of mixed up details. “The springtail army….” “A giant mouse….” “I thought I was dead.” “It was just like you said….” “We missed you s-s-so much…” “They bounded and recoiled……” “s-s-stuff fell all over…..” “I thought it would consume….” “They killed….” Then I heard Grandpa say again, “Where’s Hannah?”
My ant had set me down long ago, but the others wouldn’t allow me to get a word in edgewise, so I climbed to the top of a large, flat rock and hollered above all their disjointed noise, “Grandpa! Where have you been?”
Yes, I know it was a really stupid question—but it did get his attention. Grandpa raised his eyes and saw me for the first time. Even in the darkness, I could see the twinkle in his eyes, and I could see Grandpa’s brilliant smile. That smile was special. It was mine. It made me feel important, and it told me that I was Grandpa’s favorite. The other kids had gone surprisingly quiet. All had turned their heads to look toward me when Grandpa said, “Hi Little Girl. I knew you would follow me. What took ya so long?” I saw Thomas’s jaw drop just a little. I knew what he was thinking.
Before Grandpa would let me answer, he pointed to something going on behind us. All of us turned to witness the strangest event we had ever seen, which, based on everything that had happened to us today, was saying something quite significant. The four ants that carried us into this chamber backed away. They huddled and began to rub their antennae together. The motions were almost erotic, as if each ant antenna needed to touch all of the others, all at the same time. It was an orgy of movement. The ants were moving ever so slowly, wrapping themselves around each other almost as Sarrah had wrapped herself around Grandpa. Each ant weaved its antennae through the others with intricate precision; then, each was unwoven in movements that were equally exact, if not intimate. Finally, the ants lined up four abreast and faced the five humans. They pointed their antennae toward us, lowered themselves onto the joints of their front legs, then raised and turned one after the other to leave. I was in awe. The ants had just bowed to us with reverence, maybe even respect. Ant admiration aside, the two that had originally stood outside the chamber’s door remained there, and both of them turned to direct their abdomens toward the door, and toward us.
“If they hafta, they’ll spray us with formic acid,” Grandpa said. “It’s one of their most effective chemical weapons. For some reason they don’t want us ta leave, but they don’t wanna hurt us, either. In all my time here, it’s been the same. There’s always been this constant conflict: reverence versus force. I don’t know why, but I do know we’ve been kidnapped.”
For the first time since we found Grandpa, no one said a word. All of us sat there in that ant chamber blanketed in near darkness and in total silence—except, of course, for the unceasing sounds of the living machine. We were surrounded by the sounds of a million clicks and chirps, the stench of rotting earth, and the acrid smell and taste of vinegar. There was a light of sorts that was extremely dim. That greenish glow that I had noticed before seemed to be coming from some kind of slime that oozed from the walls of the chamber. And yes, we were in a chamber, one with no way out except through the two ants that were prepared to spray us.
“I think it’s called foxfire,” Grandpa broke the silence. “I saw it once in the swamps of Georgia when I was in the army. It’s a mold or a fungus that glows in the dark, the same kind of glow produced by lightning bugs and glow worms and such. I’ve never seen it before in Washington. Didn’t know it grew here.” Grandpa told us what the light was, but that was the only answer he gave us. That was very “Grandpa-like,” as was his next question.
“Have ya figured it out, yet?”
Scientist Thomas had figured out most of it. “I think so,” he said. “You had given us most of the clues. I really apologize for taking a complete year to get here. But, you probably expected us to arrive about this time, anyway. We had to calculate that August was the most appropriate time, but then, you were probably already aware of that. We had to learn what a springtail army was. We interpreted your dancing antics to determine the need for weapons. Brian figured out the portal and how to get through. He accomplished that mostly by accident, and he had to experiment a couple of times.”
That was my opening. “Thomas was the brains behind us getting here, Grandpa. He figured out most of the answers by himself. Before we started to look for you, Thomas told us that we would shrink. For me, it really didn’t sink in until the ants carried me to this hill. It should have been obvious, but I was just too busy to think about it. In fact, you told us that, too. ‘The size of a ladybug…’ Everything around us is still normal.”
Grandpa beamed. “Very good, Thomas. I owe ya a huge thank you.” In that moment, Thomas’s smile was as grand as I had ever seen. Grandpa smiled back. It was a warm, loving smile that was meant only for Thomas, and then he continued. “Very good, Little Girl. You’ve all done well. Brian’s developed inta quite the warrior, and Sarrah’s done a lot of growing, too. All of ya have done so well. But, do you know the answer to one more very important question?”
“What question is that, Grandpa?” asked Sarrah.
“Why are we still alive?”
*****
20. Why Are We Still Alive
“Do you know why, Grandpa?” Little Sarrah asked the question, but Grandpa didn’t answer. He sat there. We all sat there in that glowing darkness, surrounded by dirt that smelled of mold, trapped by ants that smelled of vinegar, and surrounded by a world of hums and clicks that no human being had ever heard. Grandpa’s eyes stared into a time and a world long past. He searched for an answer, but he couldn’t find one we would like.
T
It took some time, but Grandpa finally answered Sarrah’s question with the best wisdom he could muster, but this time, that wasn’t much. “Why are we still alive? I wish I had a good answer for ya, Sarrah. I don’t. The ants captured me much the same as they did you. They brought me here. They kept me here. Ya told me that I’ve been here about a year. It seems more like a lifetime. I’m fed well, if you can call eating crickets, mold, and aphid droppings good. They give me enough water ta drink; sometimes it’s enough ta wash with. The food seems nutritious. I’ve lost weight, but I’m still strong and healthy, and for some reason, I’ve never been sick. Truthfully, I have no idea why the ants are keeping me, us, alive. Everything I know tells me that we all should have been ant food, just like those other creatures ya saw.”
Okay, so now I thought it was time to say yuck—really. “You eat aphid droppings? Yuck!”
Thomas almost laughed. “So, Hannah, did you consider the mold and crickets as sounding good?” He asked that question as if he were expecting me to say “Yummy,” or something else that was equally disgusting.