The Shimmer

Speculative / Fantasy Fiction

Photo by Greg Rosenke on Unsplash

“Happy Birthday, Gavin,” Grandpa said to me as I hopped into his pickup truck. He patted my leg and gave it a squeeze. “Your life’s about to change forever.”

Yeah, yeah, I thought. That’s what everyone keeps saying. Thirteen – big deal.

His pale blue eyes bore into mine. The look caught me off-guard. “I’m serious,” he said in that gruff, cigar-smoking voice of his.

Grandpa’s plan was to take me fishing down at the pond. He wanted to show me something, or at least that’s what Mom had been telling me all week. Our family owned around a hundred acres of forest and farmland, and the fishing pond happened to be on the edge of the woods. I used to go down there a lot more when I was little because Dad used to bring me. Honestly, I think that’s why I don’t like going down there anymore. It reminds me of him.

I watched a trail of dust kick up behind us in the side mirror. Grandpa didn’t say much. He had always been a man of few words.

When we pulled up by the pond, Grandpa parked the truck. As always, the green, rusty canoe sat upside-down on the near bank. A red canoe rested nearby, as well. We flipped the green one over and took out the wooden oars from within. I picked up one of the old orange life vests, too, and started brushing cobwebs off it.

Grandpa chuckled. “No need, kiddo. I think we’ll manage.”

“You sure?” I asked, a little taken aback. Grandpa had always been strict about safety out on the open water.

He waved my question away. “Nah, we won’t be needing it where we’re going.”

I knew I shot him a confused look because he started doing that laugh-so-hard-he-starts-coughing thing. Once he caught his breath, he turned his head and spat.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

Without another word, we set the canoe at the edge of the pond, boarded, and pushed off from the bank with our oars.

“Let me do the paddling, alright?” he said. “There’s a certain way we gotta go.”

“Okay.” Whatever that meant. I rested the oar across my thighs but couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder at him. He had a determined look in his eyes, and his tongue stuck out slightly in deep concentration.

Within a couple of minutes, Grandpa had brought us out toward the middle of the pond. But then he started turning us around the way we came. Before I asked what he was doing, he had spun us farther, now facing the sunset in the west.

He paddled on, slowly at first. I noticed something straight ahead, a faint shimmer above the water. It looked like water rippling, except it was happening in the air – the space directly in front of us. I’d never seen anything like it before.

“Hang on,” Grandpa said as he thrashed his oar into the water right, left, right, left — powerful strokes that caused us to speed right toward it.

When the front of the canoe made contact with the strange light, the shimmering space pulled us through a warm, bright tunnel. It felt like someone was pressing pillows into me from all sides. Before I had a chance to react, we came out the other side.

Into another world.

“Grandpa!” I yelled, turning around and nearly knocking us into the water. We were still in the canoe – I had almost forgotten. “What the hell is going on?”

“Easy, Gavin, easy…listen, there’s a lot to explain, but I trust you’ll give me the chance?’ He held out his hands in a defensive posture.

I didn’t know how to respond or what to think. We were out on a much larger body of water, a small lake, perhaps. But a dense forest surrounded us on all sides. The trees were taller and more colossal than Redwoods, and many of them had low-hanging vines that seemed to dangle from the sky itself. These mystical trees – this peculiar forest – took my breath away.

“Incredible, aren’t they?” Grandpa said, a hint of a dream in his voice.

“They are.” I couldn’t take my eyes off them. “But…where are we?”

Grandpa started paddling us toward the nearest shoreline. “We don’t know, not exactly.”

“We?” I asked. “Who’s we?”

“Hmm.” He paused. “Maybe it’s best if we wait until we reach the shore.”

I stuck my paddle in the water and alternated strokes. As we approached the edge of the water, a clearing opened before us. A discernible path led into the forest.

When the canoe brushed against the sandy bank, I stepped out and began to pull the boat onto land. Grandpa joined me soon after. We flipped the canoe over but held on to the oars as we set to the trail.

Twenty paces in, a figure emerged from the trees as if he was expecting us. His clothes were worn. He had long, tangled hair, and an equally unruly beard.

I froze in my tracks, but Grandpa approached the man and gave him a big hug.

“Gavin,” the man said, turning to face me.

The realization hit me hard and fast and all at once.

It was my father.

I ran to him and threw my arms around him. He held me tight and kissed my cheek, my forehead, and the top of my head. We were both crying.

“I thought you were…” but I couldn’t get any more words out.

“Dead? I know you did, and I’m sorry for it,” he replied. “We staged the accident. I’ve been…here,” he said, motioning to the trees, the forest, the world around us. “Carving out a new life for us.”

“We agreed many years ago that your thirteenth birthday would mark our new beginning,” Grandpa said.

“Our new adventure,” Dad added.

“You’ve been here alone all this time?” I asked.

Dad shook his head. “Not exactly. Your mother – your grandfather – have both visited from time to time. And there are others here. Natives to this world, aliens to us. A peaceful people, though they are far different from you and me.”

“No one else knows about it,” Grandpa said. “The Shimmer, I mean. Your father and I found it by accident years ago – long before you were born.”

I had to sit down. “So…what do we do next?”

My father smiled. “We wait for your mother and sister. They’ll be here shortly. And then…we live. We build and hunt and play. We explore.”

“We start over,” Grandpa chimed in. “We move on from the old world and all its problems.”

The thought of never seeing my friends again, or my house, or sleeping in my own bed, rushed through me. But Dad was here. And the rest of my family would be, too. I didn’t know what to feel or how to act.

“Why don’t we go sit by the water,” Dad suggested. He put his arm around me as we walked back toward the shoreline to wait. Grandpa followed us.

When I adjusted my eyes just right, and I looked above the water’s surface, toward the middle of the lake, I could see something faint. It looked like water rippling, small stars colliding with one another - fire dancing.

It was the Shimmer, a doorway between worlds, and I knew it had just shaped my life forever.

“Happy Birthday, son,” Dad said as we took in its magic together.  

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Thank you so much for reading “The Shimmer” — I hope you enjoyed it. This story evolved as I wrote it, and it might be one I come back to someday. If you have a minute, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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Fifties by the Fire

For the month of October, let’s shoot for two writing prompts. Who’s with me?! For our first fifty-word challenge, use the word “ghost” (or any form of the word) in a story, poem, or work of CNF.

Next Friday, October 14, I’ll post a thread similar to the one last week right around 7:00 AM EST. Let’s share our fifties and hang out by the fire again. I hope you can make it!

Here are the quick guidelines:

• Make sure your piece is exactly fifty words. Feel free to use Word Counter or any word processor you use.

• Write a title with the genre in the first line. (Example: The Shimmer, Fiction)

• The title does not factor into the word count.

Have a great weekend, everyone. Happy writing! If you enjoy my fiction or our “Fifties by the Fire” writing challenges, please feel free to share Along the Hudson with someone who might like it.

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