First, an explanation. Ok so, I know I said we'd be getting back to the present in this chapter, but that didn't end up happening. This scene ended up getting written first, and since I want to at least try updating once a week, I figured that I should probably post this first. Hopefully, things will be a bit more organized as I go on.
Anyway, on with the story!
...
This was an absolutely awful idea.
And yet, here he was. About to go grave robbing.
Marco sucked in a breath and held it as he broke the window open. It was almost a miracle that no one had noticed, even with the fireworks going off in the distance.
He was really doing this, wasn't he?
He slipped inside rather quietly, all things considered. Until his foot knocked against the window's now broken latch. Marco winced but pressed forward slowly.
Why was he doing this again?
He looked to the iconic guitar hanging above Ernesto's remains. Oh right. He needed an instrument. He would've borrowed one from someone living, but no one would help him out. And so here he was. Stealing from a dead guy. Well...not really stealing. He was going to bring it right back when he was done. Besides, de la Cruz was family! Possibly. He wouldn't mind!
…Would he?
Marco hopped onto the crypt, cursing under his breath as he accidentally slid the top just a bit. He turned his gaze to the guitar. It was a truly beautiful instrument. Marco couldn't believe he was able to get this close to it! Even if it wasn't under the best terms. He reached out and wiped some of the dust from its surface. He could see his face in it!
Marco's eyes shot up to the portrait of Ernesto hanging above the guitar. "I'll bring it right back," he assured. "Besides, it not like you're getting any use out of it," he reasoned as he grabbed the instrument and carefully stepped off the crypt, not noticing the warm glow of the petals lining the ground.
He looked at the guitar suspiciously. It'd been hanging there since Ernesto's death. It was probably way out of of tune. He gave it an experimental strum, just to be sure, and jumped as a sudden gust of wind disturbed the petals underfoot. It was...strange. To say the least.
"The guitar!" someone exclaimed outside. "It's gone!"
Other panicked voices soon joined in.
"Somebody stole de la Cruz's guitar!"
"The window's broken. Look!"
Panic surged through Marco's body. Oh no oh no oh no… He began to freeze up as his heartbeat hastened.
Why did he think this was a good idea?!
A man with a flashlight opened the door of the mausoleum. "Alright," he called sternly. "Who's in there?"
Marco took a deep breath to settle his racing heart and turned around slowly, still clinging to the guitar. "I-it's not what it looks like…" he stammered as the man continued forward. "I just need it for a little -" A sudden wave of nausea washed over him as the man stepped through him.
"There's nobody here."
The man had walked through him. A man had just walked straight through him! Was he dead? Did that stupid guitar just kill him?!
Marco's breathing soon caught up with his heartbeat as he made a break for it. He phased through more than a few people on his way out of the mausoleum, even if he was doing his best to avoid them.
It was a miracle that his death grip didn't damage the instrument. He couldn't understand why he was clinging to it so desperately. But he didn't have much time to think about that as he tripped and dropped the guitar. He pushed himself up onto his elbows as a woman with gloved hands bent down to pick up the guitar. She started handing it back to him as he stood up. Thank goodness someone had finally noticed him!
"Here you go, niño," she said as he grabbed the guitar from her. "Are you alri-"
Marco looked from the guitar to the woman to see why she had stopped so suddenly. And he nearly dropped the instrument when he saw a skull staring back at him.
There was a small beat of silence before the shock consumed them both.
Marco screamed.
She screamed in return.
All this screaming gathered a small crowd of skeletons, thus doubling Marco's terror. His mind started drowning him in a sea of panicked thoughts as the small crowd began to close in. He looked around for an escape and bolted as soon as he found an opening.
He dashed behind a headstone and hid as he tried to calm his heart and mind. His death grip on the guitar returned. It almost felt like an anchor to the physical world that he no longer seemed to be a part of.
After taking a few deep calming breaths, he peaked around the headstone. None of the skeletons had followed him it seemed. In fact, the scene before him was rather relaxed and warm. The skeletons all sat or stood by their families, noting how much a child had grown or silently gathering the offerings left at their graves. Others were dancing and just enjoying themselves. It was almost comforting. Marco felt himself calm down a bit at the sight, even if he was still silently praying that this was all just a bad dream.
"Marco?!"
…
Next chapter should be getting back to the present (if I can just finish writing it).
Anyway, like I said, I'm going to try to update this weekly on Saturdays. Let's hope I can actually stick to it.
