The Darkness and the Past
AN: Dearies, dearies, dearies... Welcome to another story, created by a wicked spell-bound feather and bewitched thoughts. Coco, in my opinion one of the best movies Pixar has ever created, is now the victim of my crazy mind and they are all in for a wild and emotional ride. *Please, Riveras! Don't hurt me with your shoes! I still love you, so much!*
I don't have any rights for COCO, except for the delusional original characters in this. And now get your flashlights and charms ready, as we venture into... The Darkness and the Past.
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The sun was already starting to sink behind the mountain line surrounding the little town of Santa Cecilia, colouring the sky and the clouds in various shades of pink, orange and red. A slight wind had come up, cooling the faces of the musicians at the Plaza Mariachi, who had played there all day, including a young boy sitting atop a wall, a guitar in his lap. Miguel.
He smiled brightly, revealing a little gap in his teeth and a dimple on the left corner of his mouth as he thankfully turned his bronze coloured face into the crisp air blowing from the mountains. Miguel Rivera gently picked up his handmade guitar, running his fingers over the colourful details he decorated it with. They reminded him of the ornaments on the skeletal face of his beloved papá. Héctor...
He gave the cords a strum. Letting out a happy sigh, the boy cleared his throat and started to sing. He had been working on new songs, still taking refuge in his hide-out, although his family now openly accepted music in the household, for work and inspiration. The song he was singing now had been one of the first ones he had written after arriving back in the living world.
It spoke of love through the ages, the importance of remembering and family. After the song had ended, Miguel put down the instrument and – seemingly out of impulse – extended a hand, only to blindly grasp air beside him. "Wasn't that good, Dante? What do you think, boy? Dante?", he asked, but only the wind answered him.
The boy winced a little and laid his head back. He thought of everything that had happened, how it had changed his whole life forever. After his unexpected visit to the other side, something frightening and at the same time awe-inspiring had occurred. The young Rivera had discovered that he could see ghosts. Not only perceive their energy, but actually see their appearances and even talk to them if he wanted. At first, he had been scared out of his wits, but he had soon learned to enjoy it and be proud of his exceptional gift.
Although his new-found psychic abilities had given him the peace of mind that he had truly saved his papá Héctor, he still felt miserable at times. Sometimes, Miguel missed his dead family so much that he would lay curled up on his bed all day, just crying, refusing to do anything. He would miss Imelda, his fiery but good-hearted mamá, alongside her impressive alebrije Pepita, his sweet tía Rosita... and Dante. His brave and loyal xolo friend had been forced to stay behind in the Land of the Dead, since he had officially become a spirit guide. Miguel was a strong believer in destiny, but still he sometimes wished everything had gone so very different...
Miguel felt tears trickling down his face. He decided that this was one of his more 'sensible' days. The boy wiped his wet eyes with his sleeve and jumped from the wall, securing his guitar on his back with a strap. "Papá Héctor wouldn't want me to cry...", he told himself, like every time that he lost control over his emotions. It was starting to get increasingly dark and he wanted to get home before his parents chewed him out on being late. And not even speaking of his abuelita... Miguel decided to take one of his short-cuts he had frequently used to get from his house to the plaza in the past. He felt confident as he jogged through the rows of dark unused houses. He was already nearing the end of it, when...
"Got you, you little scum!", a rough voice behind him suddenly sneered and for a few seconds, he couldn't breathe as someone tore at the back of his hoodie. "What's the meaning of this?! Let me go, let me go! H-", Miguel protested instinctively, but a strong hand clamped tightly around his mouth, reducing every sound to a muffled whimper. The boy's heart sank like a stone and he lost all energy for a moment. He was being kidnapped! His attacker put him in a lock-hold and slowly forced him to the floor. The little Rivera tried to wiggle out of the grip or kick out, do something, but the weight on him was too big. Miguel let out a strained sob, his eyes were rolling around like crazy in their sockets. He was terrified. "So, mocoso, and now sweet dreams!", his kidnapper chuckled menacingly. Mamá! Papá! HELP! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a big stone being lifted, aiming for his head. No, por Dios, no! PANG! Pain exploded, then his trembling body stilled as his world was plunged into darkness.
Meanwhile in the colourful Land of the Dead, things were happier for the deceased Rivera family than they had been in a long time. A very, very long time. Especially for Héctor Rivera. A hundred years of being shunned, made fun of and being close to dying for good were finally being rewarded. He had gotten to know his great-great-grandson – such a bright, talented, wonderful muchacho! -, the love of his life had forgiven him at last and most importantly, he was finally reunited with his beloved daughter. His – now not so little – Coco.
Héctor was lying with Imelda on their twin bed, his hands resting on her hips, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Imelda ran her bony fingers through his raven hair. Coco's father sighed happily. How much he had missed their touches and expressions of love! He in turn reached up to massage a spot above Imelda's left ear. She shuddered with joy. "Cariño, I... I'm so sorry I ever doubted you. I...", she started to apologize. Her husband didn't let her finish, but cut her off with a deep, passionate kiss on the lips. „No, my corazón. Nothing is your fault. I should have never trusted Ernesto in the first place. But let's not talk about it anymore, shall we? Let's focus only on...", he whispered consolingly.
All of a sudden, an overwhelming sense of dread hit him like a tidal wave. It felt as if a truck had hit him square in the chest. Héctor broke away from Imelda and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He was taking deep shaky breaths, his brown eyes wide, staring into space. The female skeleton worriedly put a hand on his shoulder, exclaiming: „Ay, mi amor! What happened?!" Before he could answer, they heard a low growl coming from outside. „Pepita...", Imelda whispered and the couple ran out to see what was going on. They were greeted with a sight that did nothing to calm down Héctor's sudden nerves.
The two alebrijes in the family were at the edge of their lawn, their bodies facing in the direction of the marigold bridge in the distance. Pepita had tensed all her muscles, her wings slightly flapping up and down as if she were getting ready to take flight. Her teeth were bared, her feline eyes small and glowing with aggression. Dante – their great-great-grandson's trusty, enthusiastic xolo – was whimpering, his bright multi-coloured skin turning into a darker shade than normal, his big eyes showed concern, but also anger.
Between them stood Coco, trembling. Suddenly, her cane fell to the floor and she would have fallen as well, had Héctor and Imelda not rushed to her side to catch her. „What in the name of Quetzalcoatl and all the gods is going on here?!", the Rivera matriarch called out to no one in particular, fear evident in her voice. Héctor winced internally. Speaking out the name of their creator had a very powerful effect and it was never to be used lightly. Then Coco muttered a single word that made his non-existent blood run cold: „Miguel."
The air in Mexico City felt cool and humid, which could only mean a thunderstorm was on its way. Nothing out of the ordinary on a day in September. A figure – judging from its silhouette, it was female – dragged a last time on a cigarette before she reached the bottom. She put the glimmering butt out on the wet grass beside her, then slowly let the smoke escape through her mouth and nostrils. With a thoughtful look, she watched how it slowly mixed with the grey clouds above her. The woman pulled the hood of her black jacket deeper into her face and opened a liquor bottle. After taking a long swig of tequila, she leaned her body against the headstone of the grave she was sitting on.
She traced the letters of the name engraved on the stone. A few minutes of silence passed before she lightly began to tap on the tombstone and started to talk to nobody in particular: "You won't believe me, I had the strangest dream tonight… It was more like flashes to be honest. There was a bird's eye view of the Mexican State Prison, a red van… I heard music and bangs and weeping. The most horrible parts were the feels though. There was this dark, evil presence, it was horrible. And- " Her voice began to shake and she quickly downed a bit more of liquor to make it go away. "And this fear. So much fear, despair and loneliness! Don't ask me how, but I have a feeling that something nasty is about to happen."
The visitor then huffed and stood up with a small smile. "Anyways, I've just come to tell you. I've got to go now. See you next time…" She kissed her fingertips and touched the gravestone with them, a last sentimental goodbye. After putting the bottle into her bag and taking out her car keys, she strolled towards the entrance of the cemetery. Laughing, the woman flung the keys into the air, spun about herself and caught them a second before they hit the ground. She climbed into her car – a red pickup truck – and turned the engine on, murmuring one more time "There's definitely something about to happen…" before she turned the vehicle around and drove away. Outside, thunder rumbled ominously in the distance.
END CHAPTER 1
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So, mates. This is going to wrap up Chapter 1 of The Darkness and the Past. Don't worry, I feel horrible of making Miguel go through this, but at the same time, you must know by now that fanfiction writers love to be as cruel as possible… Let me know if you liked it in the comments. Stay safe and don't take short-cuts, guys. Always loving you,
Yuna