Читать книгу Werecat Choice - Enrike Fluence - Страница 4

Marianne knocked on the heavy door. The knock was muffled. Marianne took off his mitten and knocked again. His knuckles ached, but this time the knock was louder. No sound came from behind the door. The young man pushed the door, and it yielded.

– Is anybody here? Marianne asked. There was no answer. Then he cautiously went inside and looked around. There was no one in the house, but the burning lamp was alarming. “Someone lit it.”

The room was small. Unpretentious furniture made of rough boards: table, bench. Marianne closed the door behind him.

A mouse sat behind the leg of the bench and looked at the guest. Black eyes gleamed from the lamp. And when this only inhabitant of the house noticed that they were looking at him, he immediately began to scratch behind his ears, rub his face and, in general, show with all his appearance that he did not care about the guest.

The lamp stood at the edge of the table. She flickered with a yellow light in the window. The light from the lamp itself was barely enough for half a room. It was cold in the house. The hearth stood out as a blackened spot against the wall. Logs lay near the hearth. One fell under Marianne’s foot as he came closer. Wood chips were scattered across the floor. The young man looked under the bench: the mouse was no longer there. Marianne looked around for a match, but in vain. He threw off his backpack and in a small side pocket immediately found what he was looking for. Lighter. He bent down for the chips, and a couple of minutes later cheerful tongues of flame danced in the hearth. First, Marianne warmed his hands by the fire, then looked around again. The room looked a little better. In the far corner, the darkness dissipated, revealing a shabby, dirty chest and a wad of rags.

The house looked abandoned, but there was no better place to wait out the night. There was only one room in the house, and not a soul. “Where is the one who lit the lamp?” Now this question worried the young man most of all.

Marianne sat down on the bench and put the mittens beside him. The dust on the table was disturbed. The marks of small paws and thin grooves were clearly visible near the lamp itself and on the edge of the table by the bench.

The mouse slowly crawled out, carefully treading with its paws. She picked up her tail and climbed onto the bench with lightning speed. She was not afraid of the person and behaved quite confidently. As a hostess. Marianne recoiled at first from the dark woolen ball, but then saw in it a mouse and calmed down. And she looked attentively with her eyes, in which the light of the lamp walked with sharp sparks, and moved menacingly towards the mittens. Marianne found this scene comical. After all, the mouse was very small.

Suddenly, a faint, thin voice, like the creak of old door hinges, said:

– Paul, by the way, is cold! Move over and don’t crush me inadvertently!

– What? – From surprise Marianne nearly fell off the bench.

– Winter outside, as you can see. You didn’t think that I would sleep in an ice-covered hole, did you?

Marianne instinctively wanted to grab the mittens, his hand was already reaching for them, but he thought that the beast might bite, and withdrew his hand. The mouse settled comfortably on the mitten and froze. From such insolence, Marianne was speechless. He wanted to object to something, but there was no limit to the surprise at what the mouse was saying. Marianne could only open his mouth.

– Have you ever seen talking mice? Asked a faint, quiet, thin voice. “Does she also read thoughts?”

Marianne said doubtfully somewhere into the room:

– You say?

And, to my surprise, I heard the answer in the same thin voice:

– Who’s talking? What does he say?

– Can you talk? You’re a mouse! – Marianne expressed his thoughts aloud.

– Mouse, mouse! The mouse undoubtedly said with feeling. – No respect, no courtesy. By the way, I have a name! Mignis. And I don’t remember being called a mouse.

Mignis drilled her guest with beady eyes, stopped rubbing her nose with her paws. Marianne burned with curiosity, looked at the mouse with an open mouth, bent over and hunched over, trying to see it better, but kept his distance from the unusual rodent.

“What if he still bites? Doesn’t all this seem to me?”

– What surprises you?

– No, nothing … – Marianne lied.

– What is your name? The mouse asked.

– M-marianne, – answered the young man, and he himself thought, is it really all this happening to him or is he dreaming? “Maybe I’m dreaming?”

“Mimariann,” the mouse repeated quietly under her breath. Probably to remember.

– Marianne! He said more confidently. – Not “mi”, but “ma”.

Mignis ignored the comments and squeaked:

– Move the lamp to the edge of the table. It will be warmer.

Marianne obeyed, though he doubted it would make it warmer. The mouse seemed to be sulking at him.

He felt disposed towards the mouse. She was small, but rather brave. Talking to a person bigger than you, with a stranger! How would Marianne feel if he were in her place?

– Tell me, Mignis, who else is here?

The mouse looked at Marianne and hesitated to answer, as if pondering what to say.

– You see that only we are in the house?

“Who lit the lamp, Mignis?

“Yes, Mignis,” said the mouse. Marianne did not understand the answer.

– So someone is about to return? Probably gone to get some brushwood or water?

Mignis looked at the door.

– If anyone comes, then Yakov. Now is the time for him to appear.

– Who? Who?

– Jacob. The old hunter. – The mouse turned its nose to Marianne. “He comes almost every night if the lamp is lit. Somewhere in this hour.

Mignis looked at the wall. A dusty clock hung there. They seem to have stopped long ago. The hands froze at five to eleven.

“So you’re not alone here. Does Jacob live here?

“No,” the mouse answered shortly. – Does not live.

Marianne thought Mignis was not that talkative.

– Maybe it’s coming to light? Or can’t find the way without it? A thought struck Marianne. – So he wanders around here?

The mouse didn’t answer. She wiggled her mustache listlessly. She seemed to doze off. Marianne looked at the mouse for a minute and said quietly:

– I saw someone here. I couldn’t really see it myself. “And I thought to myself: “Is this old man sane? And then, the mouse called him a hunter. This means that he knows everything in the neighborhood like the back of his hand. Maybe ask him about Wolf Mountain? Or at least the direction to the north.”

The door trembled, the window pane creaked in the wind. It probably would have rang if it was not almost completely covered by snow. There was a heavy, muffled knock on the door and a knock on the threshold outside. Marianne froze in place with horror. A figure seeped through the door, huge and broad-shouldered, gloomy, like a transparent shadow. The ghost was tall, dressed in a fur coat, and this made him look shaggy. He moved silently around the room, ignoring Marianne. The ghost swam through the air through the room and froze, bending over the chest. As if tormented by his thoughts, it stood like that for a minute. Marianne was afraid to move, where to run. Numbness and terror seized him. Goosebumps ran down my skin, my blood froze in my veins.

Mignis did not react in any way to the appearance of another guest.

Suddenly the ghost turned to Marianne and looked at him. His beard was tousled. Black holes gaped from beneath thick and knitted eyebrows. The ghost had no eyes, but Marianne did not doubt the severity of his gaze. The mere presence of this disembodied creature made it noticeably colder in the house. And the thought that the ghost was looking into your eyes made you feel uneasy. Marianne regretted that he had wandered into this house, that he was sitting next to a lamp that perfectly illuminates it. In the twilight of the night he would not have been noticed.

So another minute passed. And then Marianne thought with hope that the ghost did not see him.

It was hard to tell if he was looking at Marianne or at the table, whether he was a threat or not. But the realization that there was a ghost in front of you imposed a mute numbness and icy fear. “The mouse was talking about a lamp. Is he looking at her?”

And then Yakov went to Marianne, turning first sideways, then chest. There was something unnatural in his movements. Legs moved limply above the floor, but did not touch it. The ghost held an ax in his hand. Marianne shuddered, and the heaviness in his muscles eased slightly. He got up and took a couple of steps back. Then another step and another, away from danger. The back rested against the wall. There was nowhere to retreat. He and the ghost were only three steps apart. A massive figure moved closer, enveloping the room in darkness.

Then, in the blink of an eye, a dark figure lunged at Marianne. At the same moment, the front door flew wide open and hit the wall. Outside, a bright light jumped across the snow. A loud hum, a metallic rumble burst into the house. The flames in the hearth dived down behind the logs, and fiercely jumped there, thinning and melting before our eyes. All the air shuddered, white snowflakes swirled, turning into clouds of white mist. Marianne squeezed into a corner and raised his hands in front of him. The ghost froze in front of the young man. A little more – and would have touched him with his huge chest, but turned around at the sound.

Then, for a reason known only to him, the ghost quickly flew out of the house, passing through the wall next to the door, while issuing a hoarse half-roar, half-voice, in which Marianne caught sight of the word: I-ako-ov!

The rumble died down, darkness reigned in the doorway. Stumbling, Marianne ran to the door. On the rails, the train swept away, casting rectangular patches of light beside it. Another second, and he disappeared behind an invisible bend, leaving behind a whirlwind of snowflakes. Marianne closed the door, bolted it and said, rather to himself:

– Wow, Jacob! How frightened! – Marianne was shaking. – Yes, and the train made this noise. – And then he added: – Maybe just by the way! After all, if not for this trouble with the train, Jacob would have attacked me.

It was not a question, but the mouse responded in the same thin voice:

– I do not know. I’ve never seen him like this before.

Mignis was still sitting in her place.

– What a warm wool! – quite quietly she said, sniffing the mitten. Jacob’s arrival did not interest her at all.

Marianne drew back from the door, listened, and, hearing nothing from outside, sat down again on the bench next to the mouse. The bravery of the little animal was admirable.

– It seems he’s gone. What can a ghost do? Is it worth fearing them?

– It is only worth being afraid and avoiding that you do not know. That’s how the spirit world differs from the shadow world, you say?

– Isn’t it the same thing? Ghosts are ghosts.

“No,” Mignis said very quietly and cautiously, as if some other ghost might hear her. “And I think both of these worlds are both interesting and have dark energies. Sometimes this energy is released. Especially when these worlds intersect.

Marianne was amazed at Mignis’s response as well as the appearance of the dreaded Jacob. And the mouse, not noticing this, thoughtfully said:

– A manifestation of these forces is a rare, dangerous, but bewitching phenomenon.

Marianne did not like the answer and generally the topic of dark ghosts. To distract himself a little, he stirred the coals in the hearth and threw in fresh logs. Then I decided to see what he had in his backpack. He reached under the valve and pulled out a plastic water bottle. Only when he saw the water did Marianne feel how much thirsty he was. He hastily unscrewed the lid. Breathing heavily after long gulps, Marianne noticed that the mouse was looking at him strangely. The guess immediately flashed through my head. He carefully poured water into the bottle cap and placed it in front of Mignis. She sipped water, closing her eyes while drinking, then began to diligently rub her muzzle with her paws. Marianne was a little touched by this sight. He liked the mouse more and more. He smiled.

“This is much tastier than melted snow,” said Mignis, seeing Marianne’s incomprehensible smile.

Marianne continued to investigate the contents of the backpack. A package of sliced bread, ten wagons of cheese, cracker packages, about ten chocolate bars, and a second plastic bottle of water. They ate dinner with sandwiches. Mignis, however, ate quite a bit of cheese. She only smelled her own piece of bread and did not touch it. He had to be put back in his backpack.