And Mira

Death is a dagger Concealed in a cloak. Viewed through a mirror Obscured by smoke Megomike So begins the story of Mira. For most, the war is over, but for one girl, it has just begun. Set just after World War II, AND MIRA starts out in the gentle surroundings of a nursery school in Midwestern United States. Not yet two years old, Miras dreams are filled with the image of a deformed, emaciated child she does not quite remember. When one of the children at her school succumbs to pneumonia, she cannot help but feel that it is not one of the typical deaths common to children in her day but rather somehow connected to the chalky child of her dreams. AND MIRA is a traditional-style ghost story set against the backdrop of American pop culture from the 1940s to the present day. Unique to this story, AND MIRA follows the haunting of the protagonist and her loved ones from the beginning of her life to the very end. As she grows, so matures the ghost that haunts her dreams and memories, and his appetite for the deaths of those she cares for evolves as well. Mira must make her way through a world that does not believe in ghosts to determine the identity of this tortured phantom that threatens everyone she holds dear before it destroys them all!

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And MiraBy MegomikeAuthorHouseCopyright © 2017 megomike/Me-go-mediaAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-5462-1800-5ContentsPart One Smoke, Prologue The Chalky Child, xi, Chapter 1 Nursery School, 1, Chapter 2 Bing, 6, Chapter 3 Smoke, 10, Chapter 4 Mirras, 13, Chapter 5 Sisters, 18, Chapter 6 Nearly a Month, 23, Chapter 7 Asleep Like the Dead, 26, Chapter 8 Photograph, 29, Chapter 9 Fallout, 35, Chapter 10 Bloody Mira, 40, Chapter 11 No Love Lost, 43, Part Two Fire, Chapter 12 Nathaniel, 49, Chapter 13 Andrew's Sisters, 55, Chapter 14 Changing the Subject, 58, Chapter 15 The Healing, 61, Chapter 16 Possession, 66, Chapter 17 Hollow Victory, 69, Chapter 18 Find Your Father, 73, Chapter 19 Searching for Mirras, 80, Chapter 20 Resolution, 82, Chapter 21 Meeting Mirras, 90, Chapter 22 Revelation, 95, Chapter 23 The Enemy, 99, Chapter 24 Burn, 106, Chapter 25 Americana, 110, Chapter 26 United, 116, Part Three War, Chapter 27 Killing Machine, 127, Chapter 28 Torture, 131, Chapter 29 Rao Chu, 136, Chapter 30 Last Man Standing, 141, Chapter 31 All the Men in My Family are Killers, 146, Chapter 32 Moving On Up, 150, Chapter 33 Good Help is Hard to Find, 153, Chapter 34 Good Riddance, 157, Chapter 35 The Big Meeting, 163, Chapter 36 How the Mighty Must Fall, 171, Chapter 37 Institution, 176, Chapter 38 Crazy about Nathaniel, 181, Chapter 39 Retribution, 186, Chapter 40 Connected for Life, 190, CHAPTER 1Nursery SchoolAs much as I've absorbed over my little time on the planet, there is little I've been able to organize into what makes sense. Most of my memories are from the nursery school. Disorganized as such, these memories are rich and plenty. They make sense to a child. The children at Nursery do bizarre, unusual things. But they are the bizarre, unusual things that children do so well, that make us at once charming and irreverent. And the behaviors of the adults caring for us are all the things a caring adult would do. Intuitive. When adults talk to each other, it's about guns and cinema and nasties and nations. Not intuitive. These things do not make sense to children. But when adults at nursery talk to us, they say other things, and their voices change elevating an octave, as though on television. "Ellie, would you like your meal", or "Bing, do not bite the other children" or "Andrew, give the toy back to Mira", or ...Oh. I suppose I've neglected to "Introduce" myself. I am Mira. Mira is my name, so it would seem.Most of the adults call me Mira, though I'm not sure what it means or whether it is actually a name, my name. I'm not sure if it's a first or a last name, actually. And I'm not sure what a last name is, or why people have them, so. Some people refer to Mother by that name, calling her "Ms. Mira" or "Mother Mira", or some such. Hard to say. Harder to remember. The adults at nursery just say "Mira" while looking at me and attempting to give me direction. So my name must be Mira. The other children, well, they do not call me anything at all. They simply exist as background, or to torture me.The nursery school is quite simple, a modest little room with little color, other than the few toys available to us to play. The walls are a sort of cement, drab and windowless, as are the floors. There are a few rugs breaking up the monotony of grey, but honestly they are more a hazard to tripping young feet than a joy to the eye. The toys are very well made and truly engaging. We have blocks for building. These are quite fun but noisy when they fall and unfortunately to not add much to break up the plainness of the room. Although there are some colored smaller blocks cut into what seem to be intentional shapes and patterns one can get lost in for hours. There is an occasional animal painted for us from the numerous carved animals we use to play Ark and Zoo. I'm sure we are supposed to play farm with them, but the history of Noah and mystery of exotic zoos are so much more apt to peak our imaginations. There are spaces for us to draw and challenge our 8 hour creativity. Our creations are erased at the end of each day, leaving no evidence of our brilliance to take home to our parents.But I don't want to make our nursery sound awful. It's actually quite fun at times. We play when it's time to play, eat, and sleep as well. And the adults caring for us are very kind to all of the children, and affectionate, if sometimes distracted. And some days, I suspect these are the best days of my life, when I am most fully cared for, and everyone so fully alive. If not for the occasional bullying by some of the children it could nearly be the perfect life. Two of the children often make me feel good when I am with them. They must be my friends, if in fact I'm old enough to have friends.Ellie is a chubby girl. She is the kind of chubby that adults seem to love in a baby. She is always hungry, and often when I see her she is eating, or planning to eat. She is anyway a sweet, pretty girl, who rarely causes a fuss in Nursery. And she IS pretty, with a perfectly symmetrical face, dark hair, and a sweet, welcoming smile. All the little boys in Nursery stop at least once a day to just stare at her face and her smile. Ellie's mother dresses her in green, with either bright pink or yellow ribbons, unfortunately. I say unfortunate because, you know, she looks like a melon in the center of the room.Sadly, Ellie stays in place much of the time, and waits for the world to interact with her. Such as it is. Outside of the boys' stare schedule, interactions rarely happen unless a child runs by and pulls her hair. Sadly, that too happens a lot. The adults that are so nurturing to the rest of us seem to forget about her much of the time. That makes me sad as well. I stop by her rooted spot at least daily, to give her a quick smile or a hug. I would never want to be forgotten by all of humanity for hours each day. I wonder if she is as sedentary at home, and ignored by her family, as she is here. I can't imagine, but just in case I visit Ellie often. Mostly I wish I were as pretty as she.Andrew is the other child I enjoy, so to speak. He is a funny little boy that seems to only want to do whatever I'm doing. Andrew is small, light, and good-natured, but only just so, so that you wonder whether it is in fact nature or illusion. He smiles at me a lot, and his smile is mischievous indeed. All day every day I feel as though I am privy to his unknown plans and schemes, his secret partner in the day's crimes. I don't know why I feel that way though, since Andrew mostly follows me, and I don't get into any trouble. Mostly. His guilty grin ensures that if we do get in trouble, and even when It's my idea, which it often is, it would never occur to the adults to blame me.He is the closest thing to a friend I think I have here. More factually, I suppose, is that Andrew likes to take whatever I am playing with. He doesn't hurt me, and he isn't mean. He just takes things from me, and plays with them, often in my immediate presence. He smiles at me, and will even give me a small hug, all while he's absconding with my playthings. It would be comical if it wasn't also so sweet. And he wants me to follow him and take them back. I do think he likes me because he gazes at me and tries to say my name. Or, it's possible that he's lazy and is just saying "mama" but it sounds like "Mira" and that makes me happy. Andrew is the baby in his family, and has three older siblings, all girls. I think that's why Andrew likes me.He says something which sounds like Mira and hugs me and follows me and takes my toys, and smiles at me like I'm his biggest secret, that he knows something about me that I don't even know. That's why I like Andrew.There is also a set of twins. I don't know their names. They don't interact with any of the other children, but play only with each other. They look alike, but I'm pretty sure one is a girl and the other a boy. I see them every day, together, playing, but have never played a game with them. They don't talk and don't look at anyone else in Nursery, including the adults. But they are very sweet with each other, sharing time and toys. But they don't play with me and I don't know their names, or anything else about them. They confuse me.Then there's Bing.Bing is a little boy in Nursery that I do not like. The adults call him "Beautiful Baby Bing" or "Baby Boy Bing" but they should call him "Biting Bing". That is all Bing does, is bite all of the children in nursery school, every day. The adults get angry with him when he bites one of us, but not for very long. Bing is in fact a beautiful blond boy with a cute name, and no adult can stay mad at him. So he simply never stops biting the rest of us children. He waddles around with a little hop, a little grin, and never says a word. He just waddles, hops into their arms, and grins. And then he bites. He bites us. And the adults are not immune to his waddle and hop.There is another reason Bing the Bastard won't stop biting, (I think I heard Mother call him that once. It made all the adults laugh. I don't know what that word means, actually). I think another reason Bastard Bing won't stop biting is that his mother is a mean, angry type, with a constant scowl for her son and all of us in Nursery. She never acknowledges the teachers or the other children, or even Bing for that matter. She floats in and out each day, in a cloud of disdain, and if she says a word, it is one that makes the other adults cringe.Mother uses another word for her that also starts with "B". It might be her name.This woman hates life, hates us children, hates our parents, hates the adults in nursery, and in all likelihood hates Bing too. When the adults in nursery ask her for help with his behavior, she only yells at them, embarrasses and criticizes them in very personal ways. She hates us all. I'm pretty certain it makes her happy when he bites one of us. She certainly thought I deserved it when he bit my face a few weeks ago. She said so out loud. She said something about Mother that didn't sound very kind, and me, and then laughed a laugh that wasn't at all a human laugh but sick. Her laugh was miserable like the chalky child's cry. Her face reminds me of the drama mask of pain. So similar to the mask of joy, yet in complete contrast in its expression.She laughed that day, as I went home that night and cried. I don't usually cry after something happens. I'm just not that type of toddler. I'm not a crier. But Bing and his horrid mother hurt parts of me that I cannot see with their words and that laugh. Bing had bitten my cheek, and it bled, leaving a thin line of open skin close to my eye. Mother was angry. And she was angry with me! She said that I should never allow this to happen to me, though I'm quite sure I don't know how I could stop him. She was certain I would be forever marred, (like the Chalky Child), and never be a famous model, whatever that meant. My face was now irreparably mutilated. And, somehow, it was my fault, and I was bad, and I would never be beautiful. Bing caused Mother to be angry with me and that hurt in a way that made me cry, all night, in my little bed.Bing made me bad, or so I thought. I was a disappointment already in my young life. Bing and his B-mother must be evil. I wanted them to die, which I also didn't truly understand. When I'm older I will understand that that isn't a nice thing to wish on people. I didn't wish them to die out of hate or fate, but out of fairness. My father, the man in the photo, died. And he was good. He was a hero! So why should he die while they get to live, biting and spreading filth in the nursery school and in the world. That was wrong of me, however. I would never have really wished my father's fate on another if I truly understood. I just knew that he was good, death was bad, and Bing and his mother were bad.Fairness. Not fate.CHAPTER 2BingI finally found sleep with those thoughts, deeply and firmly planted in my memory, along with the cry of that horrible child. You may be surprised to learn that here my story truly begins. It's about Bing, and what happened to him. Because that was the last day Bing bit anyone. Ever. And I'm not sure if fate or fairness was the cause. What happened to Bing, the very next day, and each day forward for nearly a month was ... he became ... good!Bing never bit or tried to harm any of the children in Nursery again. He never again victimized poor stationary Ellie. He stopped attempting to consume the confusing twins. He smiled at Andrew and me and didn't try to hurt us, and even began playing with us without incident. He still wobbled and hopped and grinned, but now even the children could love sweet Beautiful Bing. And it wasn't just what he stopped doing, but what he began doing from that day forward. He actually started being nice all of the children in the nursery school.He would bring Ellie bits of food when she was hungry, even sharing his own when there wasn't enough. He learned how to open the pantry to get biscuits and an occasional snack cake for her! Ellie was happy every day and smiled more than ever I saw her. And not only at meals, but all the time. She would get up and chase him all through the day, laughing, catching him and hugging him. Poor stationary Ellie became happy running Ellie so long as she was playing with Bing, seemingly her true friend. The change in Bing brought about an even bigger change in Ellie! It is touching to watch the beautiful person that is Ellie emerge from the lump she had been.Bing "protected" me from Andrew as well. It's funny because I never need protecting from Andrew. As Bing was Ellie's true friend, Andrew is mine. But Bing wouldn't let Andrew take my toys away any more. He wouldn't hurt Andrew, but if Andrew took something I was playing with, Bing just took the toys back. He would smile, and give me hugs and kisses. It always made me nervous when he'd try to kiss my cheek, because, you know, I was sure he was trying to bite me. But he never would, and eventually I became comfortable, and even happy, in Bing's presence. And Bing learned to say "Mira" and spoke my name often, which to a child my age is pure music! I think that Andrew didn't like the attention I was now receiving from Bing, but he never did anything about it. I secretly knew that Bing loved Ellie and I'm sure Andrew did too.I am thinking of a B-word for lazy old Andrew ...Bing never bit the twins again. Either of them, but he didn't really play with them either. None of us do I'm afraid. They are both so self contained and confusing to us all, with their secret language and intuitive thoughts. They just seem to be a single unit together, but separate from the rest of us. The little girl can be very hyper, dancing and ordering the boy around. The little boy is pensive, brooding, but there is a light about him too. They're a little creepy. Even for the new Bing.Bing, Sweet Bing is suddenly a good boy! And everyone, including the adults in nursery, and all of our parents, just love Bing that much more! The adults just can't wait to tell his mother about what a good boy he is, how nice he is to the children, and how wonderful we all think he is, at the end of each day. What a change! Sadly, Bing's mother did not change. As always, she just laughs and defiles our ancestors yet again, palm outstretched. She didn't see any difference and she didn't care. For nearly a month, Bing is a source of great joy to our little school, and a source of sadness as he goes home each night with truly a ghoul. The daily disappointment would have been disheartening if not for the miracle of the change in Bing, which is what really matters.Nearly a month.Suddenly, after those few wonderful weeks, Bing's miserable mother begins to care. That morning she comes into nursery in tears. She comes without threats. She comes without insults, and without her miserable laugh. Instead, she howls in pain, a much less bestial version of her miserable laugh. I'm sorry to say I like it better. It is easier to hate her, to want her dead, fate and fairness and all, when she is not acting so human.I had no idea.What confuses us is when the adults at Nursery start crying too. What a sight! The children in nursery calm and quietly playing, simply surveying the scene, while every adult carries on like they had soiled their pants and need a bottle and a nap! They say strange things to Bing's mother, like "but he was never weak" or "he had no cough" and "he couldn't have had a fever I would have noticed". Everyone is confused, all sobbing, all looking to each other, and sometimes to us, for comfort and an answer to an unsolvable puzzle. At points throughout the rest of the day, the adults just grab us and hold tight, as though the simple act is all that will keep them sane. Even Bing's mother comes to us, to our amazement and fear, and steals a quick squeeze. Adults are difficult to understand, but we would come to understand that our brief moments of affection with Bing's mother would be all she would receive moving forward. (Continues...)Excerpted from And Mira by Megomike. Copyright © 2017 megomike/Me-go-media. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

About the Author

Megomike was born in Arlington Heights, Illinois, and currently resides in Hoffman Estates, Illinois. He has two teenage children, Maddi and Amanda who are the inspiration for many of his creative works including the children's story Brave Sir Daddy not yet published. Megomike is able to express creativity every day working as a teacher and administrator, and has his Master of Education from National Louis University. He enjoys quiet weekends watching Netflix with friends, and not-so-quiet weekends beer tasting with other friends, and spends a good amount of time fishing and antiquing with family at their vacation home in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. He enjoys collecting pop culture items from the 60's through the 80's, including vintage toys, and is proud of a hardcover library of Hardy Boys, Ian Fleming, and Stephen Lawhead works. And Mira is Megomike's first published work. You can contact him through me-go-media.com, or by friend requesting Nathaniel Mirras on Facebook.

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