Portals and Immortals

By Anna Tizard

Thirteen rounds of a word game. Ten magical tales.

Immerse yourself in these deep, wildly imagined stories first brainstormed on the story craft podcast, Brainstoryum. Enter a world of shapeshifting ghosts, telepathic goblins, a cat demon, a time loop, illegal magic, and an alchemist on the run. Thes

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deeply Weird Press
• Release date: Nov 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781838355241

Book preview

Also in The Book of Exquisite Corpse:

Volume 1: The Empty Danger

Volume 2: I For Immortality

Short Story: The Midnight Ship

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(Each book or story is standalone and can be read in any order.)

Begin at the Beginning...

Each of the following stories was inspired by a word game called Exquisite Corpse. The game works by mixing players’ words and phrases into a sentence that goes:

Describing word—noun—action—describing word—noun.

The writing prompts that sparked the stories in this book were generated from words suggested by listeners to my Brainstoryum podcast where I play Exquisite Corpse live for inspiration and fun. Each word game result is given at the end of the story it inspired.

My extra-special thanks go to: Frasier Armitage, Alessandro Bozzo, Mariah (M.L. White), Paul Thomas, Paul Benfield and Andy, for sending the most (and most inspiring!) words and phrases which made these story ideas possible.

The Cat and the Shadows

That was it. One-thirty. Doug’s stomach growled as he loitered by the front door. His boss, Terry, was near the back of the shop, yacking to the couple who’d come in five minutes ago. He’d even made them coffees using his funky new machine. How long before he told them the motorbike accident story? Even as Doug narrowed his eyes at the trio, Terry was beginning to roll up his shirt sleeve. Are they really going to buy garden furniture or compost because you have a scar on your arm?

Doug turned away, jangling his keys meaningfully. Terry might manage without lunch, but Doug was getting lightheaded, and there was bacon in the fridge at home, calling him. He’d take half an hour, maybe a little longer. Why not? His mouth quirked at the corners, probably for the first time that day. He’d cook himself an English breakfast for his lunch. The perks of living around the corner from this hellhole. Possibly the only one.

He stalked out and nearly tripped over a small grey mass of fur. His cat, Belle! She’d been missing for three days. Belle? Oh my God.

She mewed, rubbing a figure of eight around his ankles. He stroked her, checking her over for signs of a fight or some other mishap, before he swept her up and began carrying her down the grass-flanked path towards the street.

Belle, where’ve you been?

Behind him, the door squeaked. Found a friend at last? came Terry’s voice.

Doug scowled at the street before turning to face his boss. Found my missing cat, actually. Look, I’ll be half an hour, tops.

Terry winced as if the sight of the cat pained him. Make it quick. I’m wrapping up a sale.

How do you make half an hour ‘quick’? Doug opened his mouth but everything he wanted to throw back at Terry was too much: too scathing, too rude. He didn’t want to spend precious minutes of his lunchtime arguing. However, Terry had already shut the door and was swaggering back to his new victims.

Doug huffed under his breath and turned his attention back to Belle. You must be hungry. I know I am.

She purred, sniffing his face and neck. Three days! Belle had never run off like that before. Since his other cat, Binky, had disappeared a whole month ago, Terry’s jibes had been harder to bear. While grieving the loss of Binky, Doug had been preparing himself for the worst with Belle. What is it with you cats? Why can’t you just stick around? he murmured into her fur. She dug the tips of her claws into his shoulder as he walked.

At home, he dished out Belle’s food first and filled up her water bowl. The minutes whipped past; there wasn’t really time to do any cooking. But no matter. Belle was back! Doug poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat on the sofa next to her, happy just to watch her wash her paws and face.

Back at the garden centre, the afternoon dragged. In between leering at Doug, Terry sang tunelessly to himself, something about Roads rollin’. He hadn’t made that sale after all, and he was doing some kind of fake cheerful thing. It got right under Doug’s fingernails.

He made himself scarce out the back, wielding their new leaf blower to blast autumn leaves from the furniture and ornamental displays. It also helped drown out Terry’s whinging. The old toad was sounding a bit slurred. So that new bottle in the cupboard under the coffee machine had been whisky, not just another flavour syrup to add to the collection.

Doug sighed. How had he ended up in a job like this? A nowhere job, for all Terry’s singing about roads and long journeys.

*

Yeah, not tonight. Sorry, Mike. Doug sat on the floor with his back pressed against the chair of the sofa while he dangled a piece of string for Belle, the phone in the crook of his shoulder.

You never come out with us anymore! said Mike.

I told you, I’m trying to save up, aren’t I? How many times had they had this conversation?

By working in that dead-end gardening centre?

The pay’s not bad. I save a packet on the commute, that’s the main thing.

Save up for what, anyway? What degree are you thinking of doing this time?

Doug chewed the inside of his cheek. Mike hadn’t exactly put him in the mood for sharing. I don’t know at the moment. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it.

He stayed on the phone as long as politeness demanded, and probably a bit longer.

With Mike’s annoying voice no longer a worm in his ear, the house was utterly silent. Doug dropped Belle’s string and stared at his lounge: the old, floral-patterned carpet; the mantelpiece and his mum’s porcelain cats; the framed photos of Doug and his brother, Toby. Ever since Mum’s dementia had crept in like a life-sucking demon, Doug felt like everything he knew was slowly sinking away from him. Yes, Mum was the one who was really losing it all: her memories, parts of her personality, fading away. But he was caught in the collateral damage. The care home was good for her; it was exactly what Mum needed, but time was running out before she’d have to sell this place to carrying on paying for it. Then what? Doug would have to make up his mind about how he was going to make some real money.

He hated that Mike was right. There probably wasn’t any real chance of him going back into study. It was just another dream that had got sucked into the black holes of real life.

For now, things were okay, he told himself. For now, he could carry on as he was. Working, wondering... Stuck with the shadows that crept around the edges of the rooms, reminding him of the things he was trying to avoid, like that stack of legal paperwork he needed to go through—the power of attorney he had to sign so he could sell this place on Mum’s behalf when the inevitable happened.

And where is ‘dear brother Toby’ in all this? he asked Belle. He’s never really cared.

Belle watched him with ponderous, yellow-green eyes before she padded over to her scratching post. Doug smiled. He’d made it himself using scrap wood from a garden furniture suite that had fallen apart after delivery. Terry had barked at the supplier over the phone and got a refund, but when it was clear they weren’t going to bother picking up the damaged goods, Doug swiped the pieces of wood. Even if it was basic, he enjoyed doing woodwork almost as much as he liked whittling little carvings of faces in the smaller scraps. He ran his thumb over the key fob in his pocket, a chip of wood he’d sanded and smoothed to a lozenge then chiselled a cat’s face into it. Binky’s face.

Belle was busy with her scratching post. She clawed the rough cord wound around the column then stretched up and scored the plain wood at the top, as if to make her mark on it.

Doug sat up straight. Well, why not? Belle was back, and he felt like doing something special for her.

Some hours later, a heap of little curls lay scattered on the floor around the scratching post. Doug sat back in satisfaction, setting down his hammer and chisel. A semblance of Belle’s face emerged from the top of the scratching post, looking elegant and slightly cheeky, as usual. The only thing missing was her whiskers. Yes, technically it was a waste of time, but it was also the happiest distraction he’d had in days. While Doug had chipped and scraped away at the post, Belle sleeping in a ball close by, not once had any of his habitual anxieties (work, Mum, legal stuff) crossed his mind. He stood up, feeling lighter than he could remember, and brushed himself down.

What do you think, Belle? Is it passable?

Belle opened an eye, stood up and stretched. She dipped her head low and crept towards the post hesitantly, as if assessing a threat. Her eyes met Doug’s. She looked so serious, he laughed.

"Come on, take a look. It’s you."

She slinked closer.

Doug yawned and checked his phone. Woah! Eleven o’clock.

A loud bang made him almost drop it. At the same time, Belle scampered off, a blur in the side of his vision.

Wha—?

A lighter, plastic slap at the front of the house: Belle diving through the cat flap, no doubt.

What is going on?

Doug checked the room for a source of the noise. He switched the light off and peered through the patio doors at the garden. Maybe a car had backfired, but if so, it was weird that Belle had bolted to the front street where it most likely came from.

He checked upstairs and in the hallway. Nothing.

He sat down then stood up. Belle was out there, frightened. She might get lost again.

He grabbed a box of cat biscuits from the kitchen cupboard, shrugged on his jacket, and went out.

Through the local streets, Doug shook the biscuits and called for Belle as loudly as he dared. How late was too late for this sort of thing?

Reluctantly, he ended up outside the garden centre, checking around the hedges that bordered the front lawn. After all, this was where she’d found her way back to him today.

On his hands and knees, he peered under the thick foliage. Belle?

A woman’s voice behind him said, Hello?

Doug jolted, the stalky ends of the hedge digging into his head.

Oh, hi, he said, standing up. I’m just...

The woman eyed him with amused curiosity. She was short and petite with narrow shoulders, but even in the dim light of the street, her eyes were sharp and fearless. As if to compensate for her thinness, she wore a coat with a wide, fluffy collar, a sort of tousled grey fabric that splayed either side.

Excuse me, do you work here? she said. I’m sure I’ve seen you... She had the trace of an accent Doug couldn’t quite place.

Yes. If she’d ever been in the shop, he was sure he would have remembered seeing her. Those cheekbones, and eyes so green they almost seemed to glow as the security light caught them.

She tilted her head at him. Perhaps you can show me around? I’m looking for a tree for my garden.

At eleven o’clock at night?

Well, you’re here and I’m here. Why not? Unless you’re busy, on your way to somewhere? She stared pointedly at the box of cat biscuits in his hand.

Er, my cat just freaked out and ran off... He cast around, giving the box another feeble shake. It was hardly an excuse not to let her in to the shop. But how could she expect him to do that? – A complete stranger, after hours, when everything was locked up.

"Cats have a way of finding their own way, she said, as if this were enough to set his mind at ease. She wrapped her fingers around his arm and the warmth travelled all the way up to his face. Just a quick look around. Please? I’ll be out of your hair in no time. She combed a hand through her chin-length dark hair. Her nails were long and slightly curved. I work so late these days, it’s hard to find time during the day to do any kind of shopping."

Oh, what do you do?

I’m a runner on a film set.

Really? What’s it about? He grinned, pushing down the feeling that this was too cheeky, too intrusive. After all, she was the one being cheeky. Seeing her hesitate, he added, If you don’t mind my asking, then bit his lip. Why did he have to be so awkward when she was clearly flirting with him... Wasn’t she?

I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but maybe. If you let me in.

She flashed a look through the glass, then threw him a secret smile. It seemed like flirting... but it had been so long. Doug was rusty at this sort of thing. What would his ‘mates’ say if they saw him now, with a woman this beautiful? He braced himself against their collective sneers, as if they were actually there, hovering faces peering over his shoulder.

But he had to be sensible about this. Technically, he shouldn’t let her in. She could be armed, or might have friends who were armed, waiting around the corner for an opportunity to barge their way into the shop and rob the till, the moment he unlocked the door. He stared around the street but couldn’t detect a sound or movement besides a car going past in the adjacent road, and the strains of a loud TV trickling through an open window.

Film work is long hours, it’s relentless... She raised an eyebrow at the door, her breath steaming up the glass as she peered through. You have some lovely looking chairs in there.

She was looking for furniture as well? Look, I just can’t let anyone in after hours. For security reasons.

She nodded in understanding, then her eyes sharpened at something behind him in the street. Doug snapped round, scouring the pavement for some clue.

He heard a jingle, and the next moment, she was pushing the door open.

Oh, look! she was saying. It wasn’t locked properly...

What—what did you just do? Doug patted his right-hand pocket. His keys were still there, so what had been that jingle?

Her green eyes widened in innocence. I didn’t do anything. I just pushed the door handle down.

Listen, I don’t know what this is about. He put a hand against the door. But I can’t let you in there... The darkness of the street bore down on him, full of imagined accomplices poised to jump out waving knives or guns. But the night waited, held its breath.

I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything! She threw up her hands, smiling like he was the crazy one. Some kind of pick pocket I’d be, if I could take your keys out, unlock the door, then put them back inside your pocket without you even noticing! Jeez. She shook her head, laughing.

You can’t—I can’t— he said, but she’d already ducked under his arm into the dull, kitchen-y darkness beyond and was padding around somewhere amongst the furniture. Following her, his