Fiction By Erin // 9/21/2010


          “You’re back,” Mia breathed. She stood, Vampire still blinking owlishly at Dmitry and mewing.
            Dmitry nodded. “I am. You must come,” he said, his voice smooth and steady.
            “Where are we going?” asked Mia, striding quickly across the room next to him. “And where is the horse?”
            “Nowhere. I do not need him for this task,” said Dmitry. He held out his hand. Just as Mia took it, Amanda burst into the room. All Mia heard was her scream as they disappeared into an icy tube.
            They fell heavily to the ground. It was cold outside, and snow fell all around.
            “Where is this?” Mia whispered, rising. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed them up and down in an attempt to warm herself. “This isn’t a memory?”
            Dmitry didn’t reply. He grabbed gently by the arm and led her into a village of dilapidated houses. They were tiny, their roofs patched and their windows broken. Some had smoke rising from the chimneys, and others had people huddled outside, clutching their ragged clothing around themselves, their lips purple.
            One elderly woman was crying, rocking back and forth on the wooden porch of her cottage, and clutching a lifeless young boy to her. His face was blue from cold. Mia sped up.
            “Dmitry, where is this?” she whispered again. Her teeth chattered.
            “This is my homeplace,” he replied quietly.
            Mia looked around at the freezing people.
            “How did you survive?” she asked. She immediately regretted the question. He hadn’t survived, eventually anyway. They were still headed straight ahead, toward another house. There was frost on the roof and icicles hung, dripping from the gutters.
            “This house,” his said, pointing to the icicle place. “Is the man who made magic.”
            Mia looked ahead in awe. They were a short ways away. “Is he still alive?” she asked in amazement. Then she again took back the question. Why did she keep staying such stupid things?
            Dmitry shook his head as they stepped below the icicles. Crumbles of ice landed lightly on her hair. Dmitry knocked on the door as Mia stepped out from under the icy spears.
            She gazed around the porch, wondering vaguely why Dmitry was knocking on the door if the man was dead. There was a rocking chair, scratched and well used; a bucket of fish, frozen over; and, on the other side, a large pot of something steamy. Steamy?
            She opened her mouth to ask Dmitry why there was something hot on the porch when the door opened. It creaked slowly open. Dmitry again took her by the arm and led her inside.
            The door shut behind them. Mia glanced about the room they had just entered. It was comprised of two wooden chairs around a small rectangular table; an ugly, old striped sofa pressed against the paneled wall and a kitchen with the stove still running.
            “The man who lived here made magic?” asked Mia quietly. Dmitry smiled slightly, the first time Mia had seen him do so.
            “I see yeh got her back,” said a croaky man’s voice from behind them. Mia screamed and jumped, whirling around to face the sound.
            Dmitry, on the other hand, calmly turned around. “Hello, Menfin,” he said calmly.
            The man was wild looking, bloodshot eyes wide and bulging. White hair showed up in tufts from his balding head and inside his ears. His eyebrows were bushy and raised, and his clothes dirty and ragged.
            The man, Menfin, Mia supposed, gestured to her. “Yeh got her back. Yeh did it,” he croaked.
            Mia looked nervously to Dmitry. She was still shaking from the cold.
            “This is not Faye, Menfin,” said Dmitry sadly. Menfin cranked his head around wildly from Mia to Dmitry.
            “It’s a-lookin just like ‘er, boy,” said Menfin incredulously. Dmitry shook his head.
            “I know, Menfin.”
            “Who are you?” Mia interjected, before Menfin could say a word.
            “Haven’t you been a-listenin, girl? I’m a-Menfin,” he said, sounding irritated. One eye was open more than the other, giving him the appearance of being even more insane than he already was. Mia backed up slightly. He turned his attention back to Dmitry. “Yer bein a-right, boy. This is not bein’ no Faye,” he said.
            “Mia, this is the spirit of the magic man,” said Dmitry. “He was Faye’s godfather.”


I'm glad you posted this.

I'm glad you posted this. It's reminded me to post my official beginning to Narcissa's Julian before our beloved ApricotPie is laid to rest.

By the way, the story is literally getting better and better.

Anna | Mon, 09/27/2010

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief

Thanks so much!!! Haha, your

Thanks so much!!! Haha, your comment was posted on my birthday :):):)

Erin | Wed, 09/29/2010

"You were not meant to fit into a shallow box built by someone else." -J. Raymond

Funny, you have the same

Funny, you have the same birthday as my friend, but he's a couple years older than you are.

Anna | Thu, 09/30/2010

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief

Haha, cool!

Haha, cool!

Erin | Thu, 09/30/2010

"You were not meant to fit into a shallow box built by someone else." -J. Raymond


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