My friend the brownie Hector Schultz read in full. Mikhail Sergeevich nail brownie. Approximate word search

Chapter ten. Who is Nafanya?

Aw, it hurts, ass! - Nafanya roared, spinning on the stool.
“Quiet,” I shouted at him. – Listen to the doctor and don’t bother.

The brownie was ill for almost a week. All this time he did not regain consciousness. I lost sleep, my appetite, and only a tiny glimmer of hope still smoldered. I believed that he would recover. And so it happened.
One day the spirit woke up, demanding a cigarette and a glass of coffee. I almost strangled him in my arms, and after Nafanya had recovered a little, I again began changing the bandages and smearing the wounds with brilliant green. The brownie spun around in his chair, swore, and told me about who the homeless brownies were.

“Me too, Doctor Chaos,” Naf hissed when I tore off another patch from his fur. - So, here it is. This idiot came to us just like that. A homeless brownie walks from house to house and looks for a place for itself. Finding it is not so easy. Every house has its own owner. Good or bad, as he is, it is. And the brownie is obliged to fight for his home. Remember he was bald? Furry brownies are kind. And bald people are evil.
- It turns out that if I hadn’t jumped up and hit him in the head, he would have become the new owner? – I was surprised.
“So it turns out,” the ball of fur became sad. “If it weren’t for you, he would have killed me.”
“You’re my friend,” I patted the sad girl’s drooping lip. Naf sobbed. - How could I do otherwise?
Then the brownie burst through. He howled, blowing snot, and came to hug me.
“Andriyushka, I will never leave you for the life of me,” the spirit cried, and I consoled him, trying not to touch the battle scars. - You are so good, master. Ahh...
- Oh well. Calm down,” I was glad that the spirit would never leave me. Seriously. No mockery. -You are the protector of the house. And you sent this idiot out.
- Yeah. And you’re the dumbass who lives with me,” the brownie blew his nose loudly. - Take me to the chair, master. I want to sleep so bad.

After putting the brownie in a chair, I returned to the kitchen and made myself some hot coffee. The thoughts spinning in my head began to form into a logical sequence. The magic so vividly described in fairy tales was in my life. Nathanya, the stranger, magic - these things are real. It is also true that the drummer was not just my friend. He became a member of my family.
Smiling, I hung his drawing on the refrigerator and, turning off the light, went to bed.

Nafanya really wanted to know who he was and how he became a brownie in the first place. I have not forgotten the promise I made to him. The mischievous spirit remembered little from his past, and what he did remember did not play a noticeable role.
And so early in the morning, while the brownie was fast asleep in his chair, I took the photographs and the small box that we found. The photo showed Nafanya when he was still a child and his parents. The box was of greater interest. A monogram with intertwined letters “O”, “K”, “N” was engraved on the lid.
Having carefully placed the finds in my bag, I left the apartment, trying not to make any noise. My path lay in the city archive. Surely there must be some information about my otherworldly friend or his family.

Despite the early morning, the doors were open. The wizened old man at the table with the sign “Keeper” nodded indifferently. There was a cup of hot tea nearby, and it took me great effort not to move it closer to the caretaker’s nose.
- Sorry. Hmm. Where can I get some information? – I coughed politely, attracting attention.
- Good morning. What exactly information do you need, young man? Most of this archive is closed to ordinary people,” the caretaker looked at me warily with his big eyes.
“I’m interested in all the information about the former residents of the apartment where I now live,” I handed him the address written on a piece of paper. - This house is very old.
The old man carefully studied the address and opened a large book. Immersed in it, he practically ran his nose over the dusty pages. It was doubly strange, considering that next to him on the table there was a modern computer. Ten minutes later, he looked up from his book and shook his head.
- Sorry, young man. Information on this house is closed, and I can't help you. If you have permission, then a different conversation,” with these words, he returned to his comatose state. I sighed. Well then. Let's try calling the magic wand.

Hello, Sash. Hello.
- Henri, why can’t you sleep?
“I need your help,” I smiled.
- Moving? Zombie? – Sashka sighed sadly. - Do not even hope. I need something more substantial to get me out of bed. Well, tell me, what do you have there?
I briefly told what I needed, tactfully keeping silent about the brownie and the finds. Sasha muttered that he would make one call now, and after that I should leave him alone. Having asked to wait, the friend hung up. Sashka’s connections made me really jealous. He could negotiate with anyone.

“Young man,” the old caretaker brought me back from the captivity of my thoughts with a trembling voice. “The director just called me and told me to provide you with all possible assistance.” Why didn't you say earlier that you knew him?
“Sorry, apparently out of great modesty,” I smiled radiantly in response. - Will you help me?
- Yes, do I have a choice? – the old man sadly rose from his seat and trotted towards me. – Do you want to know something specific?
- Yeah. I have photographs and a box,” I handed him the finds. “I need everything that is known about these people and about this monogram on the box.”
“Then let’s go to the storage room,” the caretaker waved his hand. “We can’t do it without the help of a computer.”

The old man scanned the photo and launched a search program to look for matches. But the box came with a surprise.
- I know this monogram. I've already seen it. “You’re not the first person to be interested in it,” the caretaker nodded, carefully picking up the box. “About two years ago, some drunkard came to me with a drawing. This monogram was in the picture. But I simply refused him and the boor, cursing at me, left.
Most likely, the mysterious Petka, who used to live in my apartment and was this drunkard. I returned to the conversation. The caretaker turned out to have an excellent memory for remembering this.
- I need to find out whose monogram this is. Any information is important.
“So, the search program found something,” the caretaker quickly ran to the computer and, pressing a couple of buttons, displayed a photo on the screen old newspaper. I stared at the screen.
“You read for now, and I’ll find the original,” said the old man and disappeared into the depths of the archive.

I asked the caretaker, who returned with a pile of paper, to make a copy and carefully put the documents in my bag. The old man put other newspapers on the table, which contained interesting information. Wonderful are your works, O God. Nafanya, it turns out, was Nikita Ignatiev. Son of His Serene Count. Nobleman by blood. The pale caretaker, meanwhile, was tugging at my hand. I turned and picked up another sheet of newspaper that he found...

“Taras Zhupanko’s gang and their victims.
On the evening of May 18, 1932, the gang of the famous murderer Taras Zhupanko chalked up new lives. Two blocks from the theater on Pokrovka, the Ignatiev couple and their little son were killed. The brutal crime shook the hearts of ordinary people. The bodies were found by soldiers of the valiant Red Army while patrolling the streets. An iron tooth was left at the scene of the murder - a sign of Zhupanko’s criminal gang. The party said that those responsible will be found and put to death."
I swallowed the disgusting lump and turned to the old man. – They were killed by a gang of thugs when the Ignatievs were walking along the streets?
“Yes,” the caretaker sadly shook his head. - It was a harsh time. Hunger, crime, the threat of war. Similar attacks were quite frequent. This gang has hurt a lot of people.
- Thanks for the help. You have done me a great favor,” I thrust a green bill into the warden’s wrinkled hand.
- No need, young man. “I’m glad I could help you,” he smiled back, refusing the money.

On the way home, I reflected on what I had learned. My hands were shaking and my head was full of terrible thoughts. How can I present this to my neighbor? Nafanya was a very vulnerable person, and after a fight with a homeless brownie, he had not yet fully recovered.

And where are you hanging around, foreign traveler? – from the threshold, categorically, Nafanya told me. “That means I wake up, but the master is not there.” The egg is not fried. The coffee is not brewed. Die Nafanushka, die of starvation.
“I went on business, don’t bother me,” I stopped the spirit’s stupid speeches. He looked at me, sulking. - Well, what are you looking at? I’m telling you, I was traveling on business.
- For what business? - The brownie won’t leave so easily. -Are you going around with women again? Are you looking for amorous adventures? Unlucky gentleman. Oh, good-for-nothing.
“Let me undress first,” I stood in my favorite position, placing my hands on my hips. - Make me a coffee. And maybe I'll tell you where I've been.
The spirit, imitating me, trudged into the kitchen, muttering under its breath about how gentle and greedy people had become. And I wondered how I could tell everything to the little drummer.

This is what I managed to find out - I summed up my search. Nafanya thoughtfully fingered his pacifier, looking out the window at the passing clouds.
“Thank you, Andreyushka,” the brownie said quietly, finally turning to me. -It was small. Just a baby. Master. Tell me this. Why are people so cruel?
- These are not people, Nathan. These are animals in human form. Take other people's lives for a handful of coins. Only a complete bastard would decide to do this,” I answered a minute later, pouring the brownie a glass of my favorite Four Noses whiskey.
“But you’re good,” tears glistened in the corners of Nathanya’s dark eyes. -You didn't kick me out. Helped a visiting person with a problem. You give gifts. You're playing with me.
“Not all people are bad, Naf,” I lit a cigarette. - Now everything is in the past. And you know who your parents are. And most importantly, you know who you are.
“It’s just not clear how I became a brownie,” the spirit thought. – Why me and not my parents?
- When you first appeared to me, I went to the library to look for some information about brownies, remember? – Naf nodded. - So here it is. In one book it was written that a brownie is the soul of an unbaptized child, whose life path was tragically cut short. In the 30s they fought against religion with harsh measures, and you did not undergo the sacrament of Baptism.
“I thought I was baptized,” the brownie said sadly, picking his nose along the way. “And that’s why I found myself here in the form of a spirit?”
- Yes, that's it. The brownie is not only a spirit, but also the personification of all the feelings and emotions of the residents who lived or are living here. You adapt to everyone and adopt their habits and habits. Petka taught you to drink and smoke, and I gave you music, games, and normal attention. At least now I understand why you are so sentimental sometimes. You are a child. That's why you're so unpredictable. You can rejoice, swear, be gentle with me, or cry like a fool who drowned his car in a puddle. You just don't have enough warmth and care.

Master, can I ask you a favor? “Nafanya climbed onto my lap and stared with an unblinking gaze. I nodded. - When are you going to leave me? Tell me about it, okay?
- What are you saying, little devil? – I was surprised, lightly poking the drummer in the stomach with my finger. He sobbed.
- I know that I’m not very good. You get angry with me often. But you are my friend. And friends sometimes quarrel.
“I’m not going anywhere from you, stupid,” I smiled in response, scratching Nathanya behind the ear. - We are family. And the family takes care of each other.
- Aah! “What a good man you are, master,” the spirit whined, wetting my T-shirt with his tears.
“Naf, stop the concert,” I grimaced, feeling that I would also roar. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m not going to leave you.” Since we have endured a year together, we will somehow manage the rest of the time.
- Oh, you're right, neighbor. “Your truth,” the brownie wiped his eyes and looked at me inquisitively. – Are we going to play football? I want revenge! It is not for mortals to beat a real boyar on the battlefield.
- Certainly. Run, turn it on,” I grinned. Nathan's mood changed amazingly quickly. - You'll get revenge, you idiot. You will never forget him.

The brownie rushed off to turn on the console, and I, finishing my cigarette, looked out the window. There, large rain clouds were floating across the sky. Soon the rain will pour, becoming a good accompaniment to this sad day.
And let this rain wash away all the bad things in our lives. Bringing us freshness and purity.

My mother separated from my father in 1995 and married another man. We left the city for the countryside and bought a house. That’s where it all started, two days after we moved into our new home.

I never believed in the existence of brownies and similar otherworldly creatures. And my stepfather always said that these were fairy tales, but in real life nothing like this happens. But we held this opinion only until that fateful evening, when we went to bed early. My mother and stepfather had to go to work in the morning, and I had to go to school. And suddenly the light in the kitchen came on by itself, and the floorboards creaked.

Mom called me by name and asked me not to make noise. I replied that I didn’t get up and didn’t leave the bedroom. My mother and I were very scared and asked our stepfather to go into the kitchen and turn off the light. He did it, but decided that it was my stupid jokes.

15 minutes passed and something was brought into the ovens. Then quick steps were heard, the front door slammed, and someone quickly ran under the windows. After that, the gate slammed, and my mother and I always bolted it.

The stepfather stood up again, looked out the window and let out a cry of amazement. The gate was bolted, as if no one had left the yard. We slept poorly the rest of the night, waking up from every rustle. They even turned on the lights in all the rooms, but no one else disturbed us.

The next evening, my mother and I began to be afraid and flinched at every rustle. But until midnight everything was quiet. But after 12 at night the floorboards began to quietly creak again: someone was walking around the house. I broke into a cold sweat from fear, and my mother suddenly said: “Why are you scaring us and not letting us sleep? Let’s make friends, because we will now live in this house.” I thought my mother was delusional. But the floorboards stopped creaking, and for some reason my fear went away. Soon I was fast asleep.

The next morning, my mother said that as soon as she began to fall asleep, she felt warm breath on her face. I opened my eyes and saw something fluffy the size of a 5-year-old child. It stood near the head of the bed and looked at mom, and then suddenly disappeared.

Since then, mom and the brownie have become friends. But for some reason he didn’t like me. Probably the reason was that I always left knives on the table after dinner. And the brownie was apparently afraid of them and frightened me in every possible way. First the curtains in the room began to flutter, then books fell to the floor, then suddenly someone began to breathe into my ear, like an invisible dog. But the most interesting thing is that only my mother saw him with her eyes, and my stepfather and I were deprived of this gift.

Gradually we got used to our roommate and stopped paying attention to his pranks. But they soon learned that he not only knows how to play around. One day in April, my mother woke up at 4 o’clock in the morning with a terrible scream. She explained to my stepfather and me that she was very scared because someone was pulling her from the bed by her legs.

The next day we received a telegram. It reported that my father died at night in the Kaliningrad region (he was a truck driver). Then it turned out that he died at 4 am. Then my mother and I realized that the brownie was trying to warn about misfortune.

3 months after my father’s death, I moved to live in Kaliningrad. My father really wanted me to live with him in his apartment. So I have been living in it for many years. I have good husband and daughter. Only my father is no more. And after his death, the brownie stopped clinging to me when I come to visit my mother and stepfather. He probably feels sorry for me.

The story for the site was prepared by Winter Cherry

My brownie

1 New house and a man in a hat

“It’s not that I really dreamed of village life, but rather, no, I didn’t think about it at all.” Still, there are more interesting things in the city, high-speed Internet and in general, but... It just so happened that dad was transferred to work in the village at the railway station, so we all had to temporarily change our place of residence. For us - this is for dad, mom, and me - a 13-year-old boy. It’s good that it was still autumn, that is, the educational process was in full swing, but just like that, another vacation happened. Well, not forever, of course, until my mother completes all the documents there and I get accepted into a local school. Even so, it’s still fun!

Dima raised his head and looked out the car window. Lonely pillars slowly floated along the road, long wires stretching from their tops to each other. It felt like the pillars had once stood nearby, but suddenly they got scared and ran in one direction. But someone, perhaps some shepherd, threw his lasso well and caught them all. This is how they now stand tied behind each other and cannot move.

Beyond were yellow fields with the harvest already harvested, and even further away were hidden forests, changing their color from misty green to bright yellow and purple-red. The boy again thoughtfully lowered his head and continued his thoughts.

“But all my many school and neighborhood friends were very saddened by this news. Yes, I didn’t even have time to say goodbye to them properly. Vovka, my best, or rather, only friend, said just like that: “How can I pass through the neighboring yard without you?” Of course, it’s more difficult to run away from bullies alone. Well, it’s okay, I hope that my stay in the new place will be short. Because of my father's work, we often had to move somewhere, but all these changes were short-lived. Sometimes we even changed our place of residence twice a year. But they still returned home. So this time we collected our things, threw them into the car and - go!

In the front seats, parents are talking about something, probably discussing how they will live in a new place. The boy sat in the back, looked out the window and carefully watched everything that was happening.

– Funny birds, it feels like they’re flying backwards. Is it really more convenient for them?

Dimka shivered, although it was not cold at all, and moved to the opposite window, deciding that it was time to change his view. On the other side, the picture was radically opposite, as he himself put it, at first there was a small forest, and beyond it fields were visible.

– What else would you think about so as not to get bored at all, maybe play on your phone, download the same cool racing game? No I do not want to. It’s better to plunge back into the world of my fantasies, where I always feel so comfortable. How much longer do we have to go? – he looked at the backs of the now silent parents and did not ask anything.

– I wonder how my workers are doing there? - He smiled and, lowering his eyes, pressed himself more comfortably into his chair, “I had to come up with something like this, that somewhere I have my own corporation, factories and much more, as if I myself don’t know.” And yet, due to my small age, they cannot transfer all the cases to me. I just guessed that I have this and am calmly waiting for my time. But now I can easily turn to “them” and ask for a little money. Yes, it’s hard to believe, but they really help me. How could it be otherwise, no one has the right to refuse a manager. Of course, they don’t carry money to me in suitcases, but a little bit, so as not to corrupt an unformed consciousness, that’s no talk. And it turns out how interesting: either my mother will suddenly give me the required amount for no reason, or my father. Or I myself will make an effort and be left without school lunches for a week, and that’s what I wished for, that’s what I got, for personal expenses. Even for this phone, I asked my founders for a long time,” he took an impressively sized smartphone out of his jeans pocket and, turning it in his hands, put it back, “but they couldn’t refuse. And exactly on my birthday, as if from my parents, of course, how could it be otherwise, but I received it.

While Dima was sitting, immersed in his thoughts, it was clearly visible in the rearview mirror that his large green eyes were glowing with inspiration. A shock of not particularly thick, cropped blond hair fell to one side, in the direction where her head was tilted.

Of course, it is impossible to understand whether everything is really like this or whether it is just a fictional story that one really wants to believe. He came up with it a few years ago on the way to school, and he liked it so much that he himself began to believe in it. He mentally talked to his employees and gave them some advice. Of course, if his requests to “help financially” had never been implemented, then he would have forgotten her, but, strangely, everything always worked out. This means we can continue to believe. The main thing is just not to talk to them out loud and not to tell anyone, so as not to be considered abnormal.

He looked out the window again. At that time the car was passing another populated area. “I wish I could come soon,” the boy thought dissatisfied, but hopefully.

- Mom, will we arrive soon? - he asked.

- A bit more. Do you want anything: something to drink or something to eat? - she asked, turning to her son.

- No, I’ll wait if we arrive soon.

After some time, the car drove into another village with rickety dark houses. Dark, perhaps, because evening had already come and everything began to get dark. At the very end of it they finally stopped.

“Eight hours - and on the spot, in a small and half-abandoned run-down village, the name of which I didn’t have time to read, but it doesn’t matter,” Dima thought, looking at the phone display. The headlights illuminated a large blue building. – Since the car stopped, it meant that, it seemed, we would stay here indefinitely.

Near the house there was an old small barn with a broken door. She hung crookedly on the lower loop and was about to fall with a crash to the ground. Only something else was holding her back, apparently someone’s word of honor, and she still tried, at the very least, to block the path into the wooden building.

That is why the first thing, as soon as Dima got out of the car, he rushed to a huge hole in the plank wall, next to this door, and looked inside. It was, of course, scary, but curiosity won out. Besides, it wasn’t very dark outside yet, and the light from the headlights helped quite well. It turned out to be very clean inside, everything was in its place. Yeah... There was simply nothing visible there, the barn looked completely empty. It was probably the local residents who “took care” of order.

The site itself was surrounded by a green fence, and in some places even a picket fence remained. Nothing else was noticeable from the outside. Although yes, what caught my eye was the roof, no, not the slate itself, but below that was the attic. In various special books they often write that the most interesting things in old houses are hidden in the attic. So, he decided, he would definitely have to scout out everything there. Then, of course!

The new residents settled, albeit in an old, but large wooden house, not far from the station.

“It seems like no one lived here for a long time before us,” said the head of the family, walking inside. The others followed him.

Surprisingly, everything inside was clean and tidy. There was no hint of chaos or abandonment.

“Apparently, someone was looking after him after all,” the woman added with surprise and joy.

There were two large rooms, one of which was immediately occupied by the boy. In the other, a little larger, the parents laid out their things. The house also had a spacious kitchen with a large white stove. Dima had a huge wooden bed, two windows, near one there was a table with a chair and a wardrobe. Also big and empty.

“This is where I’ll hide,” Dima immediately thought with enthusiasm and just as quickly became sad, since there was no one here to play hide and seek with.

While he stood in the middle of his room and looked around, getting used to the new layout, the hostess managed to make everyone's beds and began to lay out the supplies she had taken with her on the table. The man, meanwhile, checked all the locks on the doors, handles and windows. Everything turned out to be completely intact and usable. The large entrance door was locked from the inside with a massive iron hook. The small entryway had a weak door with a frail latch.

My mother separated from my father in 1995 and married another man. We left the city for the countryside and bought a house. That’s where it all started, two days after we moved into our new home.

3 months after my father’s death, I moved to live in Kaliningrad. My father really wanted me to live with him in his apartment. So I have been living in it for many years. I have a good husband and daughter. Only my father is no more. And after his death, the brownie stopped clinging to me when I come to visit my mother and stepfather. He probably feels sorry for me.