Part 2 of New Short Story! (No title yet.)
“Now we have you,” said a voice in the dark.
Eliza blinked hard. As her eyes adjusted, she found she was standing in a rough, tussocky field, a bit like the graveyard, only empty of graves. The air was colder, and murky, patched with fog that churned slowly. The more she stared, the more they seemed to move: white smudges that might have been some after-effect on her eyes, or misty figures. Every time she tried to focus on one shape, it dissolved and morphed into another.
But someone had spoken. She had to speak back.
“Who’s there? Who are you?”
The whisper, inches from Eliza’s ear, made her jerk back. “A little nook-sprite told us we might find you here.”
“And now you are ours,” murmured a second voice behind her.
Eliza spun about. Nothing, but patches of mist. “Stay back! Where are you?”
Eliza’s mind jumped to her keys in her pocket. They were the only sharp thing she had on her. Not enough! As she turned about, searching for the owners of the voices, she tried to calculate how quickly could she pull them out of her pocket. But then what? Somehow, to do this right now would be to spark off a fight that might not otherwise happen—and to show them that all she had to defend herself with were some tiny stubs of metal.
Her mind reeled faster than she could turn. Who were these invisible beings who knew about—what did they call it?—the nook-sprite? So the thing in her fireplace was real, unless all of this was in her head… She patted her arm, sucked in the cold, grassy scent, watched her breath puff its white wisps into the air: all real. She dug her heel into the ground, twice. The earth was solid, and as lumpy as the cemetery grass. But aside from the lack of graves, there was something else missing: no sound of traffic. The drone was always there in the background, a distant rush of cars on the main road, soft, as if the town were breathing.
“Where is this? Show yourselves!” Eliza’s voice tremored, but it was too late to hide her shock and fear from these—whoever they were. Why can’t I see them? For there were two voices, she was sure of it, lilting, delicate and yet utterly sure of themselves in a way that made her skin crawl. The way one of them nudged closer to whisper to her—the smile in the woman’s voice (for it sounded female) was obvious, jibing. Maybe it was panic, or her desperation to see something in the mists that blotched the semi-darkness, but Eliza began to sense movement around her, as if the women were ducking close and away again to try and confuse and frighten her more. At first, her terror-struck mind though these beings were made of mist. Now it occurred to her that they might be solid, and caused the mists to reshape themselves with each movement.
A low chuckle, like a creaking door a few feet away. “You’re beyond the mirror, darling.” A tongue lapped around the ‘l’ in ‘darling’.
“Truly, you should never have come,” said the other one, a tone dripping with sarcasm, and a slight lisp. “This is how we gets people, it always is. This is how we makes you like us, see?”
“Get away from me! I’m not like you,” Eliza threw back, as loud as she dared. She stood taller, trying to find a sense of courage and control about all this. So they knew about the inglenook-whatever. This ‘sprite’. Then she’d feign more knowledge than she had, pretend to be here on her own terms. “I found you. The… nook-sprite suggested I come here, and fetch something for him.”
As she spoke, the story idea spun ahead of her like a thrown roll of fabric. She could do this. She could pretend to herself, just as well as pretend to these two, that this was her true reason for being here. This made-up sense of purpose, of having come here intentionally and on the nook-sprite’s behalf, held her steady. If it wasn’t true, so what? It carried a sense of story-rightness in her mind, like a sketch of a new plot; the protagonist always needed an objective, whether that was to find something, hunt a monster, or just get away. Her heart fluttered. If she were drawing this as a comic strip, and she was the protagonist, what were her chances of getting away? The urge to turn on her heel and run itched in her muscles—but where would she go? The mist-laden field was the same in every direction. There was no sign of where she’d entered through the cracked mirror.
“Ooh, fetch something for the ickle nook-sprite?” Mocking, chuckling, a lingering hiss.
“And what would that be, my dearest?” said the other one, probing.
Eliza steeled herself. She had to just play along and hope they already knew what it was. They reckoned they knew the sprite, after all.
She sneered at the empty spaces around her. “As if you don’t know!”
Silence. The mist seemed to quaver then still. They’re not moving, Eliza thought. Something about her attitude, her mocking confidence about this, had given the women pause.
Slowly, laced with threat, one of them said, “Well, he can’t have the mirror, can he? You made sure of that.”
“What do you mean?” Eliza threw back.
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” said the other one. They began to alternate speaking, as if picking up each other’s thoughts where they left off.
“You entered through the mirror’s crack. There’s no way of getting back.”
“You entered through the looking. Through the wanting.”
“Through the seeing.”
“Yesss! And then—pop! You’re through.”
“No-one gets out of a mirror alive.”
“Or the same.”
“The mirror has its power, see.”
As they spoke, they crept around Eliza, interweaving each other’s words. They couldn’t be women, not really. They had to be… something else. Creatures. That was the word that jumped into Eliza’s mind: creatures.
Clutching her bag close, her fingers reaching for her keys—though she wished she had something bigger and sharper to frighten off these things—Eliza said, “Then why did the sprite send me here? He and I have a deal. I can’t exactly fetch what he wants and bring it back to him if I can’t get out.”
“Ohh,” crooned one of the creatures close to her ear, making her flinch. “We never said you can’t get back. We said you can’t get back alive.”
“Or the same,” the other one added, her voice thick with pleasure.
Eliza braced herself, speaking into the cold darkness. “He said he’d be angry if you didn’t give it to me. And you know what that means,” she added, deepening her voice with something that sounded like knowing. A warning.
Soft murmurs as the creatures withdrew. They seemed to be chatting about it, weighing up the possibilities, though Eliza couldn’t catch more than a few words and hisses between them.
Eliza blinked hard. As her eyes adjusted, she found she was standing in a rough, tussocky field, a bit like the graveyard, only empty of graves. The air was colder, and murky, patched with fog that churned slowly. The more she stared, the more they seemed to move: white smudges that might have been some after-effect on her eyes, or misty figures. Every time she tried to focus on one shape, it dissolved and morphed into another.
But someone had spoken. She had to speak back.
“Who’s there? Who are you?”
The whisper, inches from Eliza’s ear, made her jerk back. “A little nook-sprite told us we might find you here.”
“And now you are ours,” murmured a second voice behind her.
Eliza spun about. Nothing, but patches of mist. “Stay back! Where are you?”
Eliza’s mind jumped to her keys in her pocket. They were the only sharp thing she had on her. Not enough! As she turned about, searching for the owners of the voices, she tried to calculate how quickly could she pull them out of her pocket. But then what? Somehow, to do this right now would be to spark off a fight that might not otherwise happen—and to show them that all she had to defend herself with were some tiny stubs of metal.
Her mind reeled faster than she could turn. Who were these invisible beings who knew about—what did they call it?—the nook-sprite? So the thing in her fireplace was real, unless all of this was in her head… She patted her arm, sucked in the cold, grassy scent, watched her breath puff its white wisps into the air: all real. She dug her heel into the ground, twice. The earth was solid, and as lumpy as the cemetery grass. But aside from the lack of graves, there was something else missing: no sound of traffic. The drone was always there in the background, a distant rush of cars on the main road, soft, as if the town were breathing.
“Where is this? Show yourselves!” Eliza’s voice tremored, but it was too late to hide her shock and fear from these—whoever they were. Why can’t I see them? For there were two voices, she was sure of it, lilting, delicate and yet utterly sure of themselves in a way that made her skin crawl. The way one of them nudged closer to whisper to her—the smile in the woman’s voice (for it sounded female) was obvious, jibing. Maybe it was panic, or her desperation to see something in the mists that blotched the semi-darkness, but Eliza began to sense movement around her, as if the women were ducking close and away again to try and confuse and frighten her more. At first, her terror-struck mind though these beings were made of mist. Now it occurred to her that they might be solid, and caused the mists to reshape themselves with each movement.
A low chuckle, like a creaking door a few feet away. “You’re beyond the mirror, darling.” A tongue lapped around the ‘l’ in ‘darling’.
“Truly, you should never have come,” said the other one, a tone dripping with sarcasm, and a slight lisp. “This is how we gets people, it always is. This is how we makes you like us, see?”
“Get away from me! I’m not like you,” Eliza threw back, as loud as she dared. She stood taller, trying to find a sense of courage and control about all this. So they knew about the inglenook-whatever. This ‘sprite’. Then she’d feign more knowledge than she had, pretend to be here on her own terms. “I found you. The… nook-sprite suggested I come here, and fetch something for him.”
As she spoke, the story idea spun ahead of her like a thrown roll of fabric. She could do this. She could pretend to herself, just as well as pretend to these two, that this was her true reason for being here. This made-up sense of purpose, of having come here intentionally and on the nook-sprite’s behalf, held her steady. If it wasn’t true, so what? It carried a sense of story-rightness in her mind, like a sketch of a new plot; the protagonist always needed an objective, whether that was to find something, hunt a monster, or just get away. Her heart fluttered. If she were drawing this as a comic strip, and she was the protagonist, what were her chances of getting away? The urge to turn on her heel and run itched in her muscles—but where would she go? The mist-laden field was the same in every direction. There was no sign of where she’d entered through the cracked mirror.
“Ooh, fetch something for the ickle nook-sprite?” Mocking, chuckling, a lingering hiss.
“And what would that be, my dearest?” said the other one, probing.
Eliza steeled herself. She had to just play along and hope they already knew what it was. They reckoned they knew the sprite, after all.
She sneered at the empty spaces around her. “As if you don’t know!”
Silence. The mist seemed to quaver then still. They’re not moving, Eliza thought. Something about her attitude, her mocking confidence about this, had given the women pause.
Slowly, laced with threat, one of them said, “Well, he can’t have the mirror, can he? You made sure of that.”
“What do you mean?” Eliza threw back.
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” said the other one. They began to alternate speaking, as if picking up each other’s thoughts where they left off.
“You entered through the mirror’s crack. There’s no way of getting back.”
“You entered through the looking. Through the wanting.”
“Through the seeing.”
“Yesss! And then—pop! You’re through.”
“No-one gets out of a mirror alive.”
“Or the same.”
“The mirror has its power, see.”
As they spoke, they crept around Eliza, interweaving each other’s words. They couldn’t be women, not really. They had to be… something else. Creatures. That was the word that jumped into Eliza’s mind: creatures.
Clutching her bag close, her fingers reaching for her keys—though she wished she had something bigger and sharper to frighten off these things—Eliza said, “Then why did the sprite send me here? He and I have a deal. I can’t exactly fetch what he wants and bring it back to him if I can’t get out.”
“Ohh,” crooned one of the creatures close to her ear, making her flinch. “We never said you can’t get back. We said you can’t get back alive.”
“Or the same,” the other one added, her voice thick with pleasure.
Eliza braced herself, speaking into the cold darkness. “He said he’d be angry if you didn’t give it to me. And you know what that means,” she added, deepening her voice with something that sounded like knowing. A warning.
Soft murmurs as the creatures withdrew. They seemed to be chatting about it, weighing up the possibilities, though Eliza couldn’t catch more than a few words and hisses between them.
Meadow by Hundankbar
Silence fell. It expanded. Eliza stared around, looking for a change in the mist. Had they gone away? Eliza was on the brink of calling, “Hello?” when a jagged length of wire was thrust against her arm. She cried out just as a voice snapped, “Take it, then!”
Quickly, she snatched it with her other hand. The edge of it had caught on her arm where they’d thrust it, and a scratch had drawn a trickle of blood. Hastily, she dropped her bleeding arm by her side, hoping they might not notice, and held up the piece of wire to take a look. What was this thing? Did she dare give away her surprise, imply what she didn’t know?
“Thanks,” she said, glancing around her at the misty shapes that seemed to breathe in anticipation. “Do you… happen to know what it does?”
“It’s an old piece of wire,” snapped one.
The other one growled her reluctant agreement.
This attitude they had; the way they’d responded to the threat of the nook-sprite. It meant something. The beginnings of a smile began to tug at the corners of Eliza’s mouth, but she smuggled it down as she pretended to examine the wire.
Now that she had this—apparently useless piece of old wire—she had to find a way to get out of here. Use her advantage, if this was an advantage. Why had they relented, and given it to her? They seemed to be intimidated by the sprite, by some power he had.
“He has control over you,” she mused, testing this idea. The truer it was, the angrier they’d get. Maybe they’d let something slip, about how she could get out of here.
But the creature-women let go a cackle, a burst of sound in the dusk.
“He wishes!”
“It’s us what controls him.”
“Ohh, he should never have sent you here. Dear, dear, me. And quite the beauty.”
Mist snaked around Eliza, a cold dampness creeping through her clothes. She shuddered, then stiffened as she sensed a movement on her right side, close.
A pair of lips touched her neck, and a thin, sharp blade. Eliza yelled in alarm, twisting away while she jabbed the coarse wire in the direction of her attacker. A titter rose in the swirling mist.
“What are you?” cried Eliza, demanding now. Images of evil villains, weird creatures with wings, fangs, claws and knives, sprang into her mind: pictures from her favourite comic. Vampires? Vampire bats? But there was something reptilian about that creeping tongue.
Eliza held the wire aloft, not caring how ridiculous it looked. “Cowards! Why don’t you show yourselves?” Her blood thundered in her veins, terror flashing into hot fury. She realised she would rather fight these things, get this over with, and have some small chance of getting out of here than let herself become a whimpering victim. What did they plan to do? Bite her and chase her, watch her stumbling over the rugged grass in this empty, dismal place, until she gave in?
She strode forward, thrusting the wire ahead of her, a cry of anger slipping from her lips. Her swipes to the right and left were met with hisses and a muffled blurt. There was a breathlessness in the air, as if the mist were alive with their fear. Were they part of the mist? Eliza thrust again with a grunt of frustration. They were solid enough to hand her the jagged wire. But then, they wouldn’t her given her a weapon she could use against them—that made no sense.
She glanced around her, eyes wild. There was nothing, nothing she could use… except the other mirror? She swiped again a few times with the wire—it might not hurt them, but it might still keep them at bay—and pulled her bathroom mirror from her bag. Tossing it to the ground, she stamped on it, hard. On the second stamp it snapped diagonally across the middle. She grabbed the larger of the two pieces, not caring if it cut her hand, and thrust it into the mist, striking and stabbing the emptiness until…
A yelp and a gurgling cry. Eliza staggered back, dancing out of the way, as something emerged in the fog. A solid, white shape. Two shapes, oddly reminiscent of ostrich necks, or of a curved-necked dinosaur, a brontosaurus. Eliza gasped as the thing grunted and collapsed onto the ground, for she saw now that it was one thing: a giant, white snake with two heads. The heads twirled and meandered around each other in a sickening dance of pain, even as it lay on the ground. A cut shone wet and red where Eliza had stuck her makeshift knife.
The mirror has its power.
Eliza gulped as she watched the creature, met its two pairs of wincing, yellow eyes. The mouths snarled around curses not yet spat out, baring curved fangs—teeth that had grazed Eliza’s own neck, moments ago. A vampiric creature, a thing made of nightmares, blinked up at her. Even now it was measuring her with its two heads, calculating its next move. Injured, but not dead.
Eliza was transfixed but had to shake herself, step away. “How do I get out of here?” she muttered. Then her gaze caught the other half of the broken mirror, her mirror, on the ground.
“I came in through a broken mirror…”
“No!” cried the creature, in unison, both heads at once, and Eliza knew then, that this was the way. Shoving the jagged wire into her bag—even if it was as useless as it looked, it was still ‘for’ the inglenook sprite, and there was no harm in bringing it back—and dropped the other piece of mirror onto the ground. Knocking it into place so it aligned with the other piece, she jumped.
The glass crunched under her boots. She tumbled through blackness, cold air swimming into warmth and back to cold again, though less brisk this time.
Her feet hit the rough grass of the cemetery. Toppling forward, she steadied herself against the gravestone where the ornate mirror, the one she’d travelled through, lay winking with moonlight.
Eliza closed her eyes, knocked back her head and drank in the autumn air. She might have cried “Home!” if she wasn’t in a darkened cemetery. She straightened up to leave, then hesitated, with a glance back at the broken mirror. With her boot (she was careful not to touch the glass again) she nudged some tousled grass in front of it, to cover it up. Anyone else might fall into the same trap as she did.
On second thoughts… Why should anyone be exposed to that danger, ever again? Pinching the edges of the frame between her fingers, she held it with the glass facing away from her, and slipped it into her bag. Maybe the nook-sprite would know what to do with it. And this bizarre length of wire.
She smiled to herself. She knew what to believe, now.
Quickly, she snatched it with her other hand. The edge of it had caught on her arm where they’d thrust it, and a scratch had drawn a trickle of blood. Hastily, she dropped her bleeding arm by her side, hoping they might not notice, and held up the piece of wire to take a look. What was this thing? Did she dare give away her surprise, imply what she didn’t know?
“Thanks,” she said, glancing around her at the misty shapes that seemed to breathe in anticipation. “Do you… happen to know what it does?”
“It’s an old piece of wire,” snapped one.
The other one growled her reluctant agreement.
This attitude they had; the way they’d responded to the threat of the nook-sprite. It meant something. The beginnings of a smile began to tug at the corners of Eliza’s mouth, but she smuggled it down as she pretended to examine the wire.
Now that she had this—apparently useless piece of old wire—she had to find a way to get out of here. Use her advantage, if this was an advantage. Why had they relented, and given it to her? They seemed to be intimidated by the sprite, by some power he had.
“He has control over you,” she mused, testing this idea. The truer it was, the angrier they’d get. Maybe they’d let something slip, about how she could get out of here.
But the creature-women let go a cackle, a burst of sound in the dusk.
“He wishes!”
“It’s us what controls him.”
“Ohh, he should never have sent you here. Dear, dear, me. And quite the beauty.”
Mist snaked around Eliza, a cold dampness creeping through her clothes. She shuddered, then stiffened as she sensed a movement on her right side, close.
A pair of lips touched her neck, and a thin, sharp blade. Eliza yelled in alarm, twisting away while she jabbed the coarse wire in the direction of her attacker. A titter rose in the swirling mist.
“What are you?” cried Eliza, demanding now. Images of evil villains, weird creatures with wings, fangs, claws and knives, sprang into her mind: pictures from her favourite comic. Vampires? Vampire bats? But there was something reptilian about that creeping tongue.
Eliza held the wire aloft, not caring how ridiculous it looked. “Cowards! Why don’t you show yourselves?” Her blood thundered in her veins, terror flashing into hot fury. She realised she would rather fight these things, get this over with, and have some small chance of getting out of here than let herself become a whimpering victim. What did they plan to do? Bite her and chase her, watch her stumbling over the rugged grass in this empty, dismal place, until she gave in?
She strode forward, thrusting the wire ahead of her, a cry of anger slipping from her lips. Her swipes to the right and left were met with hisses and a muffled blurt. There was a breathlessness in the air, as if the mist were alive with their fear. Were they part of the mist? Eliza thrust again with a grunt of frustration. They were solid enough to hand her the jagged wire. But then, they wouldn’t her given her a weapon she could use against them—that made no sense.
She glanced around her, eyes wild. There was nothing, nothing she could use… except the other mirror? She swiped again a few times with the wire—it might not hurt them, but it might still keep them at bay—and pulled her bathroom mirror from her bag. Tossing it to the ground, she stamped on it, hard. On the second stamp it snapped diagonally across the middle. She grabbed the larger of the two pieces, not caring if it cut her hand, and thrust it into the mist, striking and stabbing the emptiness until…
A yelp and a gurgling cry. Eliza staggered back, dancing out of the way, as something emerged in the fog. A solid, white shape. Two shapes, oddly reminiscent of ostrich necks, or of a curved-necked dinosaur, a brontosaurus. Eliza gasped as the thing grunted and collapsed onto the ground, for she saw now that it was one thing: a giant, white snake with two heads. The heads twirled and meandered around each other in a sickening dance of pain, even as it lay on the ground. A cut shone wet and red where Eliza had stuck her makeshift knife.
The mirror has its power.
Eliza gulped as she watched the creature, met its two pairs of wincing, yellow eyes. The mouths snarled around curses not yet spat out, baring curved fangs—teeth that had grazed Eliza’s own neck, moments ago. A vampiric creature, a thing made of nightmares, blinked up at her. Even now it was measuring her with its two heads, calculating its next move. Injured, but not dead.
Eliza was transfixed but had to shake herself, step away. “How do I get out of here?” she muttered. Then her gaze caught the other half of the broken mirror, her mirror, on the ground.
“I came in through a broken mirror…”
“No!” cried the creature, in unison, both heads at once, and Eliza knew then, that this was the way. Shoving the jagged wire into her bag—even if it was as useless as it looked, it was still ‘for’ the inglenook sprite, and there was no harm in bringing it back—and dropped the other piece of mirror onto the ground. Knocking it into place so it aligned with the other piece, she jumped.
The glass crunched under her boots. She tumbled through blackness, cold air swimming into warmth and back to cold again, though less brisk this time.
Her feet hit the rough grass of the cemetery. Toppling forward, she steadied herself against the gravestone where the ornate mirror, the one she’d travelled through, lay winking with moonlight.
Eliza closed her eyes, knocked back her head and drank in the autumn air. She might have cried “Home!” if she wasn’t in a darkened cemetery. She straightened up to leave, then hesitated, with a glance back at the broken mirror. With her boot (she was careful not to touch the glass again) she nudged some tousled grass in front of it, to cover it up. Anyone else might fall into the same trap as she did.
On second thoughts… Why should anyone be exposed to that danger, ever again? Pinching the edges of the frame between her fingers, she held it with the glass facing away from her, and slipped it into her bag. Maybe the nook-sprite would know what to do with it. And this bizarre length of wire.
She smiled to herself. She knew what to believe, now.
In her living room—her sketching room, as she liked to call it, her broad desk scattered with pages of half-finished drawings, exactly where she left them—Eliza took off her coat and scarf, hung them up on the hooks next to the door, and sat down in front of the inglenook.
“I have something for you,” she said, quietly and without expectation. She lay the jagged length of wire along the edge of the brickwork recess and waited.
Nothing happened. Eliza found herself gazing into the dusty glass of the broken electric fire, and the dark, boxy hole inside it.
“You are changed,” said a reedy voice, jerking Eliza out of her daydream.
A small, thin man sat cross-legged on the bricks. His head was perfectly round, about the size of a grapefruit, with a faded blue woollen hat stretched over it. Silver-white hair flowed shaggily over his shoulders and onto his knees, a contrast to his rust-brown skin. A pair of beady, pale green eyes watched Eliza, waiting for a reaction.
You are changed?
“So are you,” Eliza came back, with a grin she couldn’t help. So glad you could finally make an appearance, she added silently. If he took the form of a little man, why had he haunted her for so long? The number of times she heard his voice, or shivered at his presence, the wafts that stirred the pages of her comic book sketches? Just to see him now, to be let into his secret, was enough to forgive him—but there was a cheekiness about him. A mischievous character.
The nook-sprite tilted his head on one side and stared into her eyes. After several seconds of this, Eliza flushed, wishing she hadn’t said blurted out like that, and hurried on. “I brought you the thing. At least, I hope it’s the thing you wanted. It’s what that… creature gave me, anyway. They--it—said it was for you.”
The sprite sniffed and raised his woolly white eyebrows as he turned his attention to the sad-looking piece of wire.
“It is for me. Well, it is now,” he said, with a curiosity that made Eliza doubt the truth of what he was saying. After peering along at the full length of wire at his feet, the sprite said, “It will do.”
He picked it up, ran his thin, knobbly fingers over it. His eyelids fluttered as he hummed a lilting tune. With a deep breath, he threw the wire into the air. With a bang that made Eliza shout in panic, the little man was obscured by a puff of smoke.
“Sorry about that,” said the sprite, sweeping away the smoke. “But now you have a working fire to tell stories by.”
Eliza’s jaw fell open. The wire had disappeared. In its place, snaking along the floor, was a modern-looking grey cable. One end of it was plugged into a socket at the back of the recess, the other led into the side of the electric fire—which was glowing with heat.
“How—how did you just do that?”
He shrugged. “Sprite thing.”
For a few moments, there was nothing to do but gape and wonder at the deep amber flames that danced and the warmth that spread itself over Eliza’s skin like a blanket.
But she had to ask. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but, if you can do that, why did you even need that old piece of wire? Couldn’t you just… conjure up what you need? Use anything?”
“My magic needs something worthwhile to work on, to work with. Much like yours.”
Eliza’s mouth popped open. Her magic? But before she could ask, the sprite winced his glittering eyes beyond her shoulder, at her desk.
He said, “It is no good only ever sitting at a desk. Sometimes you need to get out, take a risk.”
A silence settled between them, but it was a silence that sparkled with ideas and secrets, and strange possibilities; with things that seemed untrue, and yet had found their form.
“And,” the sprite added, following the trail of Eliza’s thoughts, “you are a vampire slayer now. You have experiences to draw upon.”
That creature was a vampire? Eliza felt a sickening thrill, remembering the two-headed creature, and those fangs brushing her neck while it was still invisible; vampiric, yes, she supposed it was, although not like the kind you’d expect to see in comics. Not any that she’d read, yet.
Would she believe any of this tomorrow? She wondered what would happen if she never saw the nook-sprite again—if he simply disappeared now and never showed himself again. Would she find herself doubting her sanity all over again, once enough time had passed? But she remembered, with a jolt--
“I took the mirror, from the graveyard.”
He nodded. “Keep it covered up, until you need another time out. And don’t go without a mirror of your own.”
“Or I’d never come back,” Eliza finished, as this dawned on her. A smile played on her lips.
Wasn’t that how fantasy worked? You always had to have an ending, and you might as well make sure it’s a good one—especially if it’s yours.
“I have something for you,” she said, quietly and without expectation. She lay the jagged length of wire along the edge of the brickwork recess and waited.
Nothing happened. Eliza found herself gazing into the dusty glass of the broken electric fire, and the dark, boxy hole inside it.
“You are changed,” said a reedy voice, jerking Eliza out of her daydream.
A small, thin man sat cross-legged on the bricks. His head was perfectly round, about the size of a grapefruit, with a faded blue woollen hat stretched over it. Silver-white hair flowed shaggily over his shoulders and onto his knees, a contrast to his rust-brown skin. A pair of beady, pale green eyes watched Eliza, waiting for a reaction.
You are changed?
“So are you,” Eliza came back, with a grin she couldn’t help. So glad you could finally make an appearance, she added silently. If he took the form of a little man, why had he haunted her for so long? The number of times she heard his voice, or shivered at his presence, the wafts that stirred the pages of her comic book sketches? Just to see him now, to be let into his secret, was enough to forgive him—but there was a cheekiness about him. A mischievous character.
The nook-sprite tilted his head on one side and stared into her eyes. After several seconds of this, Eliza flushed, wishing she hadn’t said blurted out like that, and hurried on. “I brought you the thing. At least, I hope it’s the thing you wanted. It’s what that… creature gave me, anyway. They--it—said it was for you.”
The sprite sniffed and raised his woolly white eyebrows as he turned his attention to the sad-looking piece of wire.
“It is for me. Well, it is now,” he said, with a curiosity that made Eliza doubt the truth of what he was saying. After peering along at the full length of wire at his feet, the sprite said, “It will do.”
He picked it up, ran his thin, knobbly fingers over it. His eyelids fluttered as he hummed a lilting tune. With a deep breath, he threw the wire into the air. With a bang that made Eliza shout in panic, the little man was obscured by a puff of smoke.
“Sorry about that,” said the sprite, sweeping away the smoke. “But now you have a working fire to tell stories by.”
Eliza’s jaw fell open. The wire had disappeared. In its place, snaking along the floor, was a modern-looking grey cable. One end of it was plugged into a socket at the back of the recess, the other led into the side of the electric fire—which was glowing with heat.
“How—how did you just do that?”
He shrugged. “Sprite thing.”
For a few moments, there was nothing to do but gape and wonder at the deep amber flames that danced and the warmth that spread itself over Eliza’s skin like a blanket.
But she had to ask. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but, if you can do that, why did you even need that old piece of wire? Couldn’t you just… conjure up what you need? Use anything?”
“My magic needs something worthwhile to work on, to work with. Much like yours.”
Eliza’s mouth popped open. Her magic? But before she could ask, the sprite winced his glittering eyes beyond her shoulder, at her desk.
He said, “It is no good only ever sitting at a desk. Sometimes you need to get out, take a risk.”
A silence settled between them, but it was a silence that sparkled with ideas and secrets, and strange possibilities; with things that seemed untrue, and yet had found their form.
“And,” the sprite added, following the trail of Eliza’s thoughts, “you are a vampire slayer now. You have experiences to draw upon.”
That creature was a vampire? Eliza felt a sickening thrill, remembering the two-headed creature, and those fangs brushing her neck while it was still invisible; vampiric, yes, she supposed it was, although not like the kind you’d expect to see in comics. Not any that she’d read, yet.
Would she believe any of this tomorrow? She wondered what would happen if she never saw the nook-sprite again—if he simply disappeared now and never showed himself again. Would she find herself doubting her sanity all over again, once enough time had passed? But she remembered, with a jolt--
“I took the mirror, from the graveyard.”
He nodded. “Keep it covered up, until you need another time out. And don’t go without a mirror of your own.”
“Or I’d never come back,” Eliza finished, as this dawned on her. A smile played on her lips.
Wasn’t that how fantasy worked? You always had to have an ending, and you might as well make sure it’s a good one—especially if it’s yours.
Thank you for reading!
This story was inspired by two Exquisite Corpses (weird sentences generated by a surrealist word game, which I play on my podcast):
“The infuriating inglenook was jealous of the jagged wire” (from Brainstoryum episode 86, just out) and:
“The breathtaking vampire slayer crept through the cemetery to the decadent mirror” (from way back, in episode 44).
In each show, I generate weird sentences just like these (and even weirder ones!) by mixing up the word suggestions of my listeners. Storytelling is meant to be fun, but I’ve found a way to make it even more so—experimental, exploratory, a never-ending journey that fascinates. To hear my first impressions of these writing prompts, and find out who sent these particular words, have a listen to episodes 44 and 86.
What’s next for this story? Well, it needs a title! It also needs to rest. I always give first drafts a break of at least a few weeks before I return to them with fresh eyes. I expect there’ll be all sorts of details that will need changing, adding or removing and which I just cannot see yet, because I am too whipped up in the excitement of getting down the first draft. From experience, I know that most of these will jump out at me after I’ve spent some time away from the story; my editor will help me with the rest, once I’ve gathered enough stories for my next collection, Weird Creatures.
The journey’s not over yet! You could influence the next story I write, by suggesting words for the writing prompts on my Play page. Why not join in? Be creative, be intrigued—be inspired today!
If you enjoyed the inglenook story, you may also like my previous short story collection,
Portals and Immortals.
Portals and Immortals.
