Chapter Text
Bruno Madrigal didn’t have the gift of hearing like his niece, Dolores.
Still, he heard the whispers.
He traipsed through town like a ghost, shadowing his face with his hunter green ruana and hunching over in his stance. He knew this must’ve looked incredibly ridiculous, but he didn’t have much in the way of options. What was he supposed to do? Strut about like a peacock and wave, shouting, “¡Hola, mis amigos! Heeeeere’s Bruno!” as if he hadn’t been considered a social pariah for the past ten years?
Definitely not.
The man walked beneath canopies of local merchant stands where able – hoping this would be enough camouflage to conceal himself on his passage through town. Bruno was always a bit of an outlier here, but now he had to embrace that title even more so.
A phantom back from the dead, Bruno skated through the streets with one objective in mind: stealth. He wanted nothing more than to be out of sight and out of mind. It’d been ten years since he’d seen the sun shining down on his village, and he was certain the villagers could do with ten more years of that if they could help it.
However, Bruno’s efforts were futile, as his careful clandestine cover did not stop passersby from noticing him.
“Ay, Dios Mío! It can’t be—”
“Síííí, he’s back…”
Bruno turned his cloaked head.
‘Ay,’ he thought disgruntledly, ‘Mamá just had to tell people, didn’t she?’
Abuela Alma Madrigal was a proud woman: none prouder than of her family. And this did not stop her from cheerfully telling every person she happened to see of her ‘little Brunito’s joyous return to Casa Madrigal’, and that they would expect to see him in town again – and to ‘most definitely say hello’, should they see him. Of course, this was met with many an awkward response by the throng – though none to Abuela’s face, naturally. Some would nod in acknowledgment and politely wish her and the family well, others exclaiming ¡Felicidades! at such exceptional news.
However, when the doors were closed and Abuela was well inside Casa Madrigal, the reaction of the village couldn’t be more opposite. Not only did the villagers not say hello at the sight of Bruno Madrigal… They went in the opposite direction.
But of course they would, Bruno knew – and even tried to explain to his dear mother before she let the villagers know. He was ever cognizant of the fact that, regardless of her joy, he was still an outcast among many of the townspeople. Even those who assisted with Casa Madrigal’s reconstruction – many who were very congenial to him during their time there – would avert their gazes, should they have spotted him in town.
No, Bruno Madrigal could not get his mother see it in the townspeople: that they did not see this situation as the prodigal son’s return as she did. They were unsettled, and scared, and unsure of what ten years of dormancy would brew in this newly returned village freak.
Even children knew something was amiss. A little girl, accompanied by her mother, cocked her head as she passed by the specter.
“Mamí, who’s that?”
Bruno watched panic flash in the mother’s eyes. She gripped her daughter’s hand tighter. “Vamo, mi amore. Keep moving now.”
The duo hastened their pace, forcing the wind in their rapier speed to swish Bruno’s cloak. He quickly tightened his grip as he brought the fabric close to his chest. A small squeak chirped in his ear.
The man looked down with a gentle smile at his rodent companions.
“Sorry, guys,” he said in a hushed voice, “Didn’t mean to squeeze ya there.”
His wide, nervous eyes looked up again. Bruno resumed his stroll, blocking out a few other straying eyes and mumbling tongues that came into eye and earshot.
“The rumors are true, then.”
“What? About Bruno Madrigal? Always thought he was dead…”
Bruno flinched at that one. He did not stop, however. Ghosts usually keep going.
Along the dirt path, there came a brush of voluptuous wild flowers and emerald bushels that seemed to lead into a thicket. Bruno quirked his eyebrow.
‘Beautiful. Must be Isabella’s work.’
The more he stared, the more his eardrums were blessed. Above the rude murmurs and impolite expectorations, he could make out the sound of laughter. Bruno’s lips twitched into a grin, though it quickly faded. He attempted to peer behind a large bush.
“No,” he muttered half to himself, half to the rats, “No, I-I can’t just… jus’ go in there.”
Chattering from his rodent comrades grabbed his attention. He couldn’t truly understand their language, like Antonio’s gift could, but he had known the rats long enough to gauge their general demeanor on certain situations. They sniffed the air and seemed particularly enthusiastic this time around, much to Bruno’s apprehension.
“I dunno, guys. Maybe we oughta—”
“Haha! Do another one, Camilo!”
Bruno jerked his neck involuntarily.
‘Camilo?’
Surely, it was his nephew. The town only had one Camilo, didn’t it? It’d been some time, so Bruno could’ve been wrong. Still –
“¡Wepa! You look just like him, Mílo!”
“You guys want another one?”
“YEAH!” cried of chorus of what sounded like restless children.
Bruno was sure of it. It was his nephew.
The man slowly lurched, peering to the left and right. Once the coast was clear, he gently peeled his wrinkled hands through the greenery of the brush.
‘A quick peek shouldn’t hurt…’
Bruno ducked and dodged, avoiding several branches from catching him – and the rats —in the eye. He jolted backward as he came upon a clearing. The man was careful to keep himself shrouded, ever thankful his ruana blended perfectly with the shading of the bush. His round, cautious eyes traced the scene.
His suspicions were, indeed, correct. It was his nephew, Camilo Madrigal, engaging with three of the village children. Bruno was contagious to the smiles that were plastered to their faces.
Though he stood several feet taller – and several years older – than them, Camilo’s childlike energy beamed from the ends of his curly, bouncing auburn locks through his flowing, golden ruana. He twirled around the children like a fairy: wildly shifting his physical form to mimic the appearances of the children themselves, and many of the town personalities at lightning speed.
A young girl with flawless ebony skin bubbled with laughter.
“Camilo, another! Another!”
A braided brunette chimed in. “Ya gotta do another!”
It didn’t take long for a twitchy boy to jump up while shaking his cup of café.
“Ooo! Do Padre Ernesto! DO PADRE ERNESTO!”
Camilo laughed as he waved them off.
“Okay, okay, okay! ¡Claro que sí! Let’s see what I can do…”
With a twirl of his poncho, Camilo effortlessly transformed: now dawned in a black suit, white collar, and shiny bald head. He feigned horror - twisting his facial features and patting the top of his skull as he knelt to the dirt ground.
“¡Ay, no! Mi pelo… My hair is gone!!!”
Ferral chortles shrieked out of the children as Camilo fake sobbed. The volume was so loud, Bruno even allowed himself to quietly chuckle at the performance. He tried to ignore the memory floating in his brain, of that fateful day when he delivered the vision to the Padre himself. Bruno was impressed by Camilo’s shockingly accurate reenactment.
“He’s very good, y’know,” he whispered to the rats, “Padre Ernesto really did—”
Bruno stopped short at the quieting of the laughter. A rogue snort slipped from the girls.
“Do another one!”
Camilo shrugged coolly. “Guys, there are only so many people in town. I’m runnin’ out!”
The little boy thrusted his cup in the air. “Ooooh, oooh! I know, I know!”
His darting eyes met Camilo’s. “Do Bruno!”
“¡Si, Bruno!”
“Yeah, do Bruno!”
There was a noticeable shift in Camilo’s once brazen demeanor. His twinkling hazel eyes dimmed, and his shoulders lowered with his spirits.
Bruno did the same as he watched, and his mind was sent whirring again. The man was not blind to what the children were referring to. He had seen and heard his nephew’s impression of him, just from what he’d witness during his time haunting the walls of Casa Madrigal. Camilo did not particularly portray him in the best light… or, rather, any light.
Camilo painted Bruno as a monster: one with a straggly, wired mane, a mischievous grin, and chilling, neon green eyes. To Camilo, Bruno was something of a wicked, sinister figure that rarely ever recognized joy – only the potential of darkness, foretelling visions of the very worst scenarios for individuals and zapping all hopes and dreams from their souls.
Personally, Bruno recognized some truth in Camilo’s interpretation. He’d be the first to admit, he had a rather unkempt appearance. The boy was only about five years old when he last saw his uncle; and, though Bruno was not the tallest individual around, he assumed a child would consider him to be much taller than he actually was. As for the eyes, Bruno understood that, too: they did glow when he had visions. Ultimately, his nephew’s physical imitation was spot-on.
He just kind of missed that mark on the whole ‘being sinister and evil’ thing.
Yet, Bruno knew this. He knew about Camilo’s shapeshifted identity for ‘Bruno Madrigal’, just from what he’d seen Camilo present to his siblings and cousins. But, admittedly, he was taken aback to find that Camilo’s interpretation had gone beyond Casita’s borders…
Still, Bruno carefully watched the scene before him. He noticed Camilo snapping out of his surprised expression, regaining an heir of calm and lackadaisically shrugging.
“Pff. Nah, that one’s boring, guys.”
The little boy exploded to refute Camilo. “’Boring’?! No way! It’s, like, the best one you do!”
“Yeah, Mílo,” the braided girl replied, “Especially since he’s back now!”
“Mhm,” chimed in the other girl, “Yeah, yeah! It’s like, like he was gone, and that was kinda creepy. But, but, but now he came back again! And now he’s even more creepy, and—”
“He’s not creepy.”
The children were silenced by the severity in Camilo’s tone. Even Bruno shirked a little, causing one of the rats to drop to the ground.
The once sprite-like teen looked serious as a heart attack. The girl with ebony skin was brave enough to respond after a long, awkward silence.
“But… but you said it yourself, Camilo.”
The jittery young boy shook his head fervently in agreement. “Sí, you did! You, er, you said he sees your dreams—”
“A-and feasts on your screams!”
Camilo’s chin began to dip in embarrassment.
‘You did say that, Camilo,’ he thought to himself, ‘You freaking idiot…’
From afar, Bruno’s did the same. However, his deflated gaze quickly shifted to fright as he noticed one of the rats taking off like a shot toward the group of youths.
“No,no,no,no!” he hissed, “Come back, come—”
Bruno clapped his hand to his mouth – watching the rodent slither up to the young boy’s shoulder, complete none the wiser to its presence.
“Yeah!” the boy shimmied, breaking into a slow cha-cha, “And I like the, the one part you do, Camilo!”
The child closed his eyes and turned his head – his nose now mere centimeters from the rat’s.
“About the ‘seven foot frame… rats along his’aaAAAAAAH!”
The second he opened his eyes, a holler of terror pierced the sound barrier. This must’ve scared the other rodents, considering the fact that they began to pour like water from beneath Bruno’s ruana. The man’s arms scrambled helplessly to keep them in.
“Guys! Guys, no! Stop!”
But it was too late. The group of rats flooded around the children’s feet, as well as Camilo’s. Amongst their cries and screams, the teen squinted at the rustling bush – making out movements of thrashing arms and brownish, wavy hair.
“Tío Bruno?” he hummed, “Wha—”
In Bruno’s chaotic fit to contain the vermin, his eyes locked with his nephew. A goofy grin squiggled along the soothsayer’s mouth.
“Hah… ¡Holaaa!”
The children stopped their screaming at the sight of Bruno… Only to take a deep breath and scream louder.
“aaaAAAAAAHHH!”
The man shyly came from the bushes, shushing the children and frantically scooping up the rat bushels.
“¡Ay, niños, Lo siento! I-I’m so sorry. These, er, these guys, they got minds of their own. They’re, uh, they like to run, y’know?”
The girls clung to each other, shrieking all the time. “IT’S BRUNO, IT’S BRUNO!”
The boy shakily held out his mug in self-defense. “DON’T KILL ME!”
Bruno frowned and backed away slowly. This allowed Camilo to stand in front of him. The teen knelt to the ground, took the children’s hands, and grinned smoothly.
“Guys, take it easy, okay? My Tío Bruno here, he—"
Camilo swung around, gesturing to his uncle… only to find that he had vanished. The teen’s face contorted with confusion.
“Huh? But he was just—”
“He disappeared?!” the braided girl wailed, “He really is creepy!”
The boy grabbed his chubby cheeks. “HE’S GONNA HAUNT US!”
Another collective scream shot through the air. Before Camilo could say another word to calm them, a band of townspeople ripped through the brush.
“Niños?” one villager called, “¿Qué pasó? We heard screams!”
Camilo rose from the ground. “It’s okay, Señor. They just—”
The coffee-loving boy jumped up in a frenzy. “IT WAS BRUNO! HE SENT HIS RATS TO ATTACK US AND NOW WE’RE GONNA DIIIIEEEE.”
The boy slammed his face into the villager’s torso and started to blubber. Several other villagers gasped in horror. An old woman shook her head.
“I knew it. I knew Abuela Alma was brainwashed! That demonio came back to bring us nothing but trouble.”
Another villager nodded, tipping his hat. “And it wasn’t enough that he had to ruin our lives. Now, he’s after the children!”
Camilo shook his head. “Hang on, my Tío isn’t—”
His voice was deafened by the townspeople’s disgruntled murmurs.
‘Ay,’ Camilo thought, ‘Dolores must be having a field day…’
Camilo’s thoughts were broken by an angry shout.
“Well, we can’t just sit around, people! We’ve gotta find him!”
Camilo’s pupils shrunk. “¡¿Que?!”
A chorus of moblike jaunts echoed like thunder.
“¡Si! Find Bruno!”
“He needs to be stopped! We must protect our home and our people!”
“Take him back to Casa Madrigal where he belongs!”
The droves of townspeople set off like a bullet. Camilo sprinted behind and watched in terror as they formed groups and search parties by the dozens. He shook his head.
“No,” he breathed to himself anxiously, “No, guys, please…”
His hazel eyes darted back and forth – noticing, out of the corner of his eye, a flare of green fabric swishing in a jog toward the outskirts of town. Camilo’s head jerked at the screech of a villager, who was pointing her stubby finger in Bruno’s direction.
“Ay, there he goes! He’s trying to get away!”
“Get him!”
The villagers started toward the long dirt path. All the time, Camilo scrubbed his chin.
‘Think, Milo, think! You’ve gotta help him. They’re after him! They—'
The teen gasped at his own epiphany.
“Wait a minute,” he whispered with a smirk, “They’re after him…”