Direville

Direville
Lina Dee

First mystical collections of 9 short stories by LINA DEE about the life of a fantasy city in Western Europe in the first half of the XX century.Direville is an ordinary – even though a bit strange – town – woven out of mysteries that don’t meet the eye of a chance observer who would most likely note a dire presence speaking through the town’s blissful ambiance at a closer look…Author and producer of project – Lina DeeIllustrator – Monaskrel’artTranslated by H. Borodina & I. Stepashkin

Direville

Lina Dee

© Lina Dee, 2021

ISBN 978-5-0051-7663-9

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

DIREVILLE

By Lina Dee

Edited by Helen Borodina

Translated by Helen Borodina & Igor Stepashkin

Illustrated by Monaskrel`art

“Direville” is a collection of 9 short stories about the life of a fantasy city in Western Europe in the first half of the XX century.

Direville is an ordinary – even though a bit strange – town – woven out of mysteries that don’t meet the eye of a chance observer who would most likely note a dire presence speaking through the town’s blissful ambiance at a closer look…

Each person living there is unusual, and has a special part to play in the life of the community.

However, everyone in Direville – like anywhere else in the world – has their vices, is tormented by fears and is driven by passions.

Life seems quite measured when suddenly, the people’s unusual abilities seem to vanish: no one senses the approaching danger that knocks on their door on the day of the city’s annual Festival.

Her hand had a life of its own

She slowly stretched out her hand, the swaying palm opening like a fan, starting with the pointing finger.

The fingers, long and well-groomed, with nails of a scarlet shade that was a perfect match to that of her lipstick, tickled the air, recoiling as the forearm pulled the palm back, and froze in an indefinite gesture.

The Doll – who was in perfect control over her independent hand – had an incredible fancy for Hollywood chic that she proudly paraded, with her elegant silver dress reaching the floor, and the gorgeous waves of crispy locks falling over her shoulders. Her arched eyebrows perfectly matched the curve of the upper lip, and immaculate eye-liner, interplaying with the thick eyelashes, made her gaze magnetic.

The girl looked like a porcelain figurine on top of a music box as she stood by the window in the same position for hours on end, waiting for something – or someone – perhaps, her Puppet Master, while life pulled at her threads.

At such times, she was very quiet. Her head slightly bent to the side, she listened to the ticking of the clock as she watched its gilded arrows move. She considered this an activity that had a sacred meaning – but what that meaning was exactly, she hadn’t been able to figure out for years. Her milk – white skin, free of wrinkles or bruises, was immaculate.

Approaching her dressing table, she would meet her own reflection in the mirror as if it were someone else – with arrogance and pride. Her manner never changed, as if she was aware of something no one else had any knowledge about…

Someone knocked on the door. The Hollywood Doll turned her head and slowly stretched out her hand, letting the swaying palm open like a fan, starting with the pointing finger, and reached to open the door… But then, stopped, uncertain…

A dwarf in a box

The sea storm has started; the wind raged, and the waves tumbling over each other reached over twenty feet in height.

No ships, vessels, or liners could be seen from the shore – only enormous water giants threatening to swallow the flickering beacon again and again.

The wind pushed the waves onto the sand to lick away the remaining footsteps. The family that had left them were hurrying home, away from the onsetting storm.

Two little girls were running ahead of two adults. Their loose overalls swung in the wind that filled them like sails and made the children’s hair dance.

Their mother in a tight lilac dress ran after, her thick long wavy hair gathered into a braid. Playfully chasing her daughters, she laughed, happy that finally their family had managed to spend a free day together.

The pensive father walked quickly behind the three. He was a zeppelin pilot. Even off duty, he had his blue uniform on. His jacket was adorned with golden buttons and emblems; he was wearing his service cap, too. Looking adoringly at his wife and daughters, he thought of his own childhood.

The pilot’s name was Peter, his wife’s, Stephanie, and their daughters, – Rosa and Vera.

The wind wouldn’t cease. They were about to start ascending the slope when the wind snatched the father’s blue cap off his head. Making a circle in the air, it landed in the nearby bushes.

Startled, Peter put his hands over his head, while his daughters ran, overtaking each other, to get the cap.

A roar of thunder came from the distance, and a seagull flying over their heads let out a series of hysterical cries into the darkening sky.

Happy as they were about the day so well spent, now they couldn’t wait to return to the safety of their home and get warm.

Wet splashes weren’t licking the necks, arms and other open parts of their bodies with their cold tongues anymore, but the rain that had begun threatened to turn into a shower at any moment.

The eight-year old Rosa, slipping awkwardly, stretched out on the wet grass, trying to get the cap that was now in her reach.

She had a big scratch on her elbow, and was on the verge of tears as she rose from the ground, her father’s cap in her hand – but suddenly, a dirty box that lay on its side deeper in the bushes caught her attention.

Rosa slowly approached the object. She suddenly wanted to know what it could contain. She squatted, grabbed the box, opened it just enough to see inside, and discovered a cellulose toy dwarf.

– A little dwarf! – she exclaimed, happy at the find, forgetting all about the scratch on her arm and even her Dad’s cap.

Once colourful, the dwarf, now covered in soil and sludge, had been obviously brought by the sea – but how did it get to that place so far from the shore?

– Perhaps, some big dog brought it here… – Vera, who was two years older Rosa, suggested. She carefully checked her sister’s clothes, and also started looking at the dwarf, wondering how it could have gotten into those bushes, and who had owned it before.

There was something unusual about the dwarf, and the girls sensed it.

If not for the strong wind, the gathering darkness and the unraveling storm, the girls would hardly have succeeded in persuading their parents to allow them to take the dwarf home: the adults disliked the idea, saying that whoever it had been that had thrown the toy away, simply hadn’t bothered to go all the way to the trash heap. However, the father decided, that, since his daughters wanted the dwarf so much, they were to wash it and get rid of the box in the morning – on that condition, it could stay and share a shelf with the other toys in their room.

As the family reached home, the children, tired, cold, and soaked to the bone, took the box to their bedroom to clean the dwarf right after they would wake up.

Before going to bed, Rosa and Vera checked on the dwarf a number of times each, fearing that, like a naughty kitten, it could disappear unless properly looked after.

Hours into the night the wind finally began to subside. Soon the storm was over, the sea had calmed, and a full blood moon came out to shine in the black night sky.

Vera muttered something in her sleep and turned over to the other side.