Gods and Demons: Leyendas, #2

Map

One

The horseman appeared at midnight under the light of the fading Hunter’s Moon. The silver threads on his mariachi suit glinted underneath the moonlight, his horse’s slick coat shining as they walked toward the house.

Miguel sighed. He grabbed his bottle of water, packages of cheese crackers, and an extra pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and socks and stuffed them into his backpack along with an envelope with the money he had taken out of the blue piggy bank his Abuela had given him years ago, when he had turned eight years old.

He closed the door to his room softly behind him, thinking about how much trouble he would be in if they found him leaving again. He walked to Estela’s room and opened the door slowly, just wide enough to see her and Amelia sleeping soundly. Miguel stood at the door for a few more moments, forcing his eyes to remember his sisters in this moment, in the quiet of the night where everything was peaceful in the world and there were no things in the dark.

Miguel laughed softly. Except there was someone outside, standing in the dark, waiting for him. Why had he promised he would help? Miguel couldn’t put his finger on it. Something about the way El Charro had looked at him. Miguel was surprised to see so much pleading in someone’s eyes, especially in the eyes of someone who was not supposed to be capable of such emotions. Someone whose eyes should have been deep and dark and red, almost like blood.

A creak behind Miguel made him jump. He took one long, last look at his sisters and closed the door slowly. Miguel stopped in front of his parent’s room and considered opening the door to try to look at them sleeping peacefully before he left. It would be nice to take with him an image of his parents that didn’t involve them arguing. He was about to turn the knob when he heard another creak.

A sudden thought entered Miguel’s mind. Had El Charro come inside the house? Was he walking around in the kitchen? Miguel let go of the knob and walked toward the kitchen, stopping at a small table in the hall that held a photograph of his parents and sisters in front of a pumpkin patch. Papá had decided to take them at the beginning of October. He had driven past it while heading to the construction job where he was working making new homes, and thought Amelia would like it. Miguel knew they were trying to help Amelia forget about Abuelo’s passing two months before. Miguel held the picture frame closer to his face. He saw the same creases Abuelo had on his father’s face. The same eyes.

Miguel squinted his eyes in the dark. There was something about those eyes.

Creak.

Miguel quickly turned the picture frame over and slid open the hook, popping the picture out and placing it in the front pocket of his backpack. He placed the picture frame back on the small table and quickly picked up the small pen and notepad Mamá kept to write down things she needed to get at the grocery store.

Miguel began to write Gone to help and then stopped. Gone to help whom? He couldn’t write El Charro. How would that look? Gone to help a friend. Will be back soon. No se preocupen. Miguel. Miguel felt a pang of guilt as he looked over his quick scribbles. How could he ask his parents not to worry? His dad had been so mad at Miguel after he had come back from Mexico, and both Mamá and Papá had stopped talking to him for days after he had tried to tell them that he and Natalia had found her hermanito Benjamín with the help of La Llorona, El Charro, and Death after he had been taken by a tlahuelpuchi—a vampire. Only Estela and Amelia had looked at him with wonder, never questioning his story, but also not daring to ask him any more.

He had overheard his parents arguing one night shortly after he and Natalia had gotten back. As he heard Mamá say that, perhaps, Abuelo’s death had affected Miguel more than they had realized, and that this must be why he had created an imaginary journey with creatures from folklore that Abuelo had often told them about, Miguel realized he might never be able to convince them of what had happened. He had caught a glimpse of his parents’ faces in the mirror, his father’s eyes uncertain, but not disagreeing.

Miguel sighed and folded the note carefully. He walked to the kitchen quickly to grab a bar of chocolate for El Charro’s horse, but froze as he reached the doorway. His father was sitting at the kitchen table. For a moment Miguel thought about turning around and heading straight for his room.

Papá motioned silently for Miguel to sit down. Miguel clutched his backpack as he pulled the chair out and sat.

"¿Se puede saber a dónde vas a esta hora?"

Miguel gulped. His dad’s voice was low and very quiet. His eyes darted to the window, Papá following his gaze. Miguel glanced at the clock. It was fifteen minutes past twelve. He needed to hurry, but where could he say he was going that would not sound like a lie?

"Voy a ayudar a un amigo."

His dad raised his eyebrows. "¿A cual amigo?"

Miguel held his breath. He had been hoping his dad would not ask him that, that saying he was going to help a friend would be enough of a reason for him to go out in the night, without Miguel having to say which friend.

El Charro, he finally answered.

Papá took a sip from a cool glass of water, the sweat dripping down the sides of the glass and making a small pool of water on the tablecloth. He stood, his boots making a soft thudding sound as he walked over to the window that looked out into the backyard. Miguel held his breath.

"¿Ya llego?"

Miguel was pretty certain El Charro had already arrived, but watching his dad at the window, he was not sure if he should answer. Papá’s voice was low but serious. Miguel swallowed.

"Si. Debería de haber llegado a las doce."

Papá sighed, such a heavy sigh that Miguel’s guilt felt light in comparison. Papá reached up and grabbed his lunch box from the top of the refrigerator and began to empty its contents onto the kitchen table. From the bundles of tissues and paper, Miguel’s dad brought out what looked like a small square made out of colorful green and red and blue yarn. He pushed it across the table toward Miguel.

Miguel shook his head. He couldn’t take this. Papá’s Ojo de Dios was older than Miguel and had been made by Abuelo.

"Te lo puedes llevar, o puedo despertar a tu mamá."

Miguel sighed. He knew that if his dad woke up his mom, there was no way he was leaving the house tonight. He grabbed the eye and wrapped it carefully in one of the tissues that had fallen from the lunch box, placing it in the same backpack pocket where he had put the photograph.

"Gracias, Papá."

A long silence lingered between them. Miguel stood, placing his backpack on his shoulder.

"¿Pero, que le vas a decir a Mamá?"

Miguel’s dad laughed. "La verdad. No necesito que se enoje conmigo tambien." He chuckled, and Miguel heard Abuelo’s familiar gravelly laugh. He hoped he would laugh that way too when he was old. As he watched his dad pick up the glass of water to take another sip, Miguel could picture his mom’s reaction in the morning, when Papá told her where Miguel had gone, and with whom.

Miguel quickly picked up the chocolate and opened the side door softly, trying not to wake his mom. As he closed it behind him, Miguel looked back at his father one more time, hoping that at least his dad believed his story.

Miguel, Papá said, his eyes gazing into the night.

Hm? Miguel said, turning around.

"Ten cuidado," Papá said quietly.

Miguel nodded and quickly closed the door behind him, not knowing what to say.

He had almost reached the gate at the end of the yard when he heard a familiar voice.

He looks a lot like Abraham, El Charro said.

Miguel stopped and looked back at his house. His father was standing at the window, watching him go.

Can my dad see you? Miguel asked, the moonlight helping him make out the parts of El Charro’s dark suit that were not decorated with silver threads.

No, El Charro said. But I can see him.

Mazapan kicked up his hoof impatiently.

I have it, I have it, Miguel said, peeling the wrapping off of the Carlos V chocolate. He stretched his hand out, offering the black horse the candy.

Are you sure he won’t get sick? Miguel asked uncertainly.

Miguel, El Charro said, suppressing a chuckle, Mazapan doesn’t really get sick.

Mazapan gobbled up the candy, and Miguel had to keep from laughing as some of it stuck on Mazapan’s shiny white teeth.

El Charro sighed.

Well, Miguel, are you ready? He reached up and grabbed Mazapan’s reins.

About that. Ready for what, exactly?

El Charro took off his sombrero and began to spin it in his hand. He threw it on the ground and Mazapan placed a hoof on top of the rim. Miguel and El Charro reached for the hat at the same time, Miguel bracing himself for the lurching feeling of being transported through the dark. He realized with a panic he should have waited until El Charro told him where they were going.

Well, if I knew that, I might not need your help.

Two

Natalia looked over at her alarm clock. Midnight. The light of the moon was creeping in through the breaks in her maroon curtains. The window was slightly open, a soft breeze moving the leaves that were left on the pecan tree outside her window.

She closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep, but she knew it was hopeless. She had not been able to get a full night’s sleep since she and Benjamín had returned from Mexico. Every time she tried to close her eyes, she was back in the room where she had found him. Back in what could only be called a dungeon, with a giant, badly burned Lechuza the only thing between her and the rusted bars that held her little brother. She could see the thin, crooked fingers reaching out as they tried to grab her. She felt herself floating as La Llorona pulled her back, felt the rough brick of the wall scratch her arms.

The hairs on her arms stood on end as she felt the cold rush of air La Lechuza blew with her large wings, as she saw Benjamín close his eyes, dark circles under his eyes, and as La Llorona lifted herself off the ground and extended her arms, her eyes as black as the night. La Lechuza’s screech was usually what woke her. She saw herself throwing open the rusted door, falling to the floor and pulling Benjamín toward her, shaking him and wondering what she would do if he did not wake up. Natalia had to tell herself, night after night, that Benjamín was right next door, that he was home. She often found herself pacing in front of his bedroom, and while she told herself she just couldn’t sleep, she knew that the fear of losing him again, and the knowledge that one of the tlahuelpuchi—and who knows how many other creatures—had escaped that night, were the real reasons why she could not bring herself to leave his side for long.

A rustling of leaves near the window made Natalia bolt upright. She jumped off the bed and moved next to the window, moving the curtain carefully to the side by an inch. There it was. A flash of red, scarlet under the light of the moon, moved so quickly Natalia almost missed it. Her breath caught in her throat as her heart began to pound against her chest, so loud she was sure she was about to wake up the whole house. She waited, counting slowly in her mind, wishing she could wake up. It couldn’t be. As the flash of red moved under the moonlight a second time, Natalia closed her eyes. There was no mistaking it.

She was back on the floor holding Benjamín in her hands. As she turned, she saw La Llorona’s arms extended, a twisting wind lifting her off the ground and pushing La Lechuza toward the window.  La Llorona’s white eyes turned completely black as the gust of wind blew one more time and La Lechuza, her wing burned and unable to move, was pushed out the window.

As Benjamín began to open his eyes, Natalia had shouted, He’s waking up, he’s waking up! But La Llorona had not heard her. The door to the other cell creaked open, and two small children crouched together in the corner. La Llorona bent down near them and began to brush aside small pieces of straw. Natalia could not look away as La Llorona picked up two small skulls, the white of her eyes swirling to an endless black, and for a brief moment Natalia saw an eternal and unforgiving grief pass across La Llorona’s face. She had found her children.

Natalia heard the silence before she opened her eyes. The breeze had stopped, the leaves on the ground growing still. Natalia inhaled and opened her eyes. There, under the pecan tree, was the tall figure of La Llorona, her black dress shimmering in the moonlight, her red hooded cloak a darker shade than when Natalia had seen her last.

I’m sorry to trouble you at so late an hour, Natalia, La Llorona said, her voice as sad as Natalia imagined it would be.

Natalia shook her head and smiled a small smile. I was already awake. I haven’t been sleeping too much lately.

La Llorona raised her eyebrows.

And how is Benjamín?

Natalia nodded as she answered. He’s doing much better. He is able to sleep through the night now without calling out the names of the two children who were with him. Natalia flinched slightly as she realized what she had said. La Llorona lowered her gaze to the ground.

I am glad to hear it. Benjamín is very strong. She raised her head and met Natalia’s eyes. Just like his sister.

Natalia smiled.

Natalia, I am afraid I must ask. If you are able, I would appreciate your help in trying to find out more information on the creatures we came across. There are certain places that, well, that may require human interaction, and that is something I just do not possess.

Natalia swallowed. The knot that had formed in her chest, that had been weighing so heavily over her heart for weeks, seemed to loosen. It surprised her to