The Encanto was completely deserted.

The homes and shops in the village were being slowly reclaimed by the jungle as trees and vines and flora crept up, and sometimes through, the walls and rooftops. When she peered inside one of the homes, she saw plates left abandoned on the table, and clothing and shoes and books and leaves strewn across the floor. A heavy layer of dust covered everything like a shroud. All over the village, there was laundry still hanging on lines, toys abandoned in the streets.

Mirabel leaned against a wall for a moment. She took several deep, careful breaths, and pushed aside her glasses to rub her eyes.

When she felt ready, she looked ahead, past the houses littered with ghosts, and across a small river to the far end of the village.

And there, perched atop a hill and crumbling into the jungle, was La Casa Madrigal.


"The house really moved all by itself?" Mirabel asked. Camilo perked up from where he sat at the kitchen table, also eager to hear the answer.

They were assisting Abuela in the kitchen, making tamales for dinner. At six years old, they weren't really much help, but Abuela had allowed Mirabel to add the measured masa to the bowl earlier, so Mirabel felt very grown-up, like her mamá.

Abuela smiled at the question. "Sí," she said. "Casita was alive. And it was a wonderful, playful thing too. It could move the floors and slide you around, usually when you were least expecting it, so you wouldn't have to move your feet to get around."

"Awesome," Camilo said, who was always trying to find the easiest way to do things.

Abuela smiled at him. "Your bisabuela was the one with the greatest connection to the house," she continued. "And she ruled it with an iron fist. Oh, I was so nervous around her when Pedro and I first were married."

"You were nervous?" Mirabel asked, disbelieving. Her Abuela? No way.

Abuela chuckled. "Not for long, mi mariposita," she assured. "Señora Madrigal was such a kind woman, I quickly learned that I didn't need to be so stressed. And of course, Abuelo Pedro helped soothe my nerves often."

"Oh, Abuela!" Camilo said, interrupting her excitedly. "Look what I've been practicing!" And he transformed into a small, but exact replica of the photo of Abuelo Pedro that hung in Abuela's bedroom.

Despite the heat from the oven, Mirabel felt like the temperature of the room had dropped several degrees.

"Camilo Castillo," Abuela said sharply. "That's enough."

Camilo instantly changed back into himself, his eyes big and confused. But Abuela had turned away from him, stepping quickly to the open window and peering out. Seeing no one, she pulled the shutters closed behind her.

When she turned back to the children, she smiled; but her eyes were far away, and she wouldn't look at Camilo the rest of the evening.


The house looked so lonely, up on the hill away from everything else. Most of the front half was collapsed as if a bomb had gone off in the entryway, but the front door and the archway were still standing—faded wood against stone. Beyond the door, part of the back of the house was still standing, and the second floor was partially visible.

Mirabel's fingers brushed against the door knob. "Hola, Casita," she whispered.

The door swung open. Mirabel jumped back, startled. She heard a tapping noise above her, and she looked up to see a tile from the archway moving, as if it were waving at her.

Her mouth fell open. "Casita?" she asked.

More tiles moved, as if to say, yes, obviously.

"Oh my gosh," she said. "Casita, you're…alive! You're alive? You're alive!"

Mirabel's mind raced. Her familia must not know. They would have returned if they knew the house was still alive, sí?

The door swung open and shut, gesturing to her to come inside. Mirabel nodded eagerly.

"Okay, okay! One second."

She slung her pack off her shoulder and propped it up against the wall. Digging through it, she grabbed out her flashlight and small, sheathed knife, both gifts from Isabela the last time Mirabel saw her.

"You never know," she'd said, when Mirabel had questioned the knife in particular. "The house is probably a wreck, and there might be wild animals living in it. Or," she added, rolling her eyes, "that monster Camilo's always telling stories about."

Mirabel slid the knife into her pocket and gripped the flashlight tight. She stepped through the open door and into the house itself.

The courtyard was a mess of broken furniture and rubble. The stairs leading up to the second floor now led to nothing, and she was disappointed that she'd have to keep her exploration solely to the first floor.

The second floor was shrouded in shadow, and she clicked her flashlight on to see if she could get a better look from the ground. Her light passed over darkened doors, presumably the family's living quarters, and she could make out images carved into the surface of each one.

Mirabel squinted at the door closest to the stairs, the easiest one for her to see. She didn't recognize the woman, or the name, Sofia, carved into the wood, but it dawned on her that there must have been more family living here—her Abuelo's extended family, maybe—and she felt a stab of unexpected grief for a tía or prima she would never know.

For a moment, she was overcome. How many more tragedies would she uncover here? Mirabel understood now why no one had ever tried to restore this place—there was so much despair here the air itself was thick with it.

A tile moved under her feet, one of the few in the courtyard that remained unbroken. She looked down and tapped it gently with her shoe.

"I'm okay, Casita," she said with a small smile. "Thanks for checking."

She saw something move out of the corner of her eye. Mirabel turned, swinging her flashlight wide. "Casita? Is that you?"

Something was moving on top of a half-buried piano. Her light passed over it and she made eye contact with black, beady eyes.

She shrieked, dropping her flashlight.

A rat squeaked in alarm and bolted, dropping the piece of fruit it had been nibbling on and scurrying away across the rubble until it was out of sight. Mirabel put her hand on her chest to try and calm her racing heart.

"It was just a rat, you idiota," she chided herself, bending down to pick up her flashlight again. "Get it together."

But then something else shifted in the darkness. Something much, much bigger than a rat. She froze, and slowly raised her flashlight.

"Casita…?"

Her light hit something, and she caught a glimpse of dark fur and claws and a long tail. Her light went up, and up, and up, until it glinted on a mouth curled into a snarl, and very sharp teeth.

El monstruo, she thought. It's real.

She fumbled for her knife and drew it, pointing it and the flashlight at the monster.

"Stay back!" she cried, trying to make herself sound as intimidating as possible. "I know how to use this!"

Shockingly, it worked. The monster, as quickly as it had appeared, turned and fled, picking over the rubble easily. Before long, it turned a corner and vanished.

Mirabel's heart was in her throat. Without stopping to think, she gave chase.

She wasn't nearly as fast, stumbling over fallen stones. She almost lost her light and her knife several times, barely managing to hang on to them both. She followed the monster down a long hallway, only a few feet behind when it suddenly turned another corner and she had to pull up short to avoid the tail before it smacked her in the face. Her arms flailed out to catch herself and she stopped for a moment, breathing hard.

As soon as she got her breath back, she turned the corner.

A dead-end. The room was partially caved in, large chunks of stone blocking any other exits. The monster hadn't expected that, and it was now pressed up against the far wall, chest heaving.

Mirabel took a step forward, holding her knife high. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, exactly—the monster was much bigger than her, and she didn't have any experience in fighting to any degree. But she couldn't allow a monster to live in her family's home, either.

The monster stared back at her with resignation in its eyes and she was struck by how intelligent they were. These weren't the eyes of some dumb animal—they were frighteningly human.

What was she doing?

Mirabel dropped her knife. It clattered on the floor, sliding out of sight. The monster's eyes followed it, before flicking back to her face.

Biting her lip, she stretched out a hand, palm up. The monster flinched, cringing away from her, but Mirabel didn't move any closer. She let her hand remain in the air between them; an invitation, but not a forceful one.

I wish Antonio was here, she thought desperately. He'd know what to do.

She left her hand there until her arm ached, but when the monster didn't move she slowly lowered it.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said, and she meant it. She was surprised at the certainty behind her words—but seeing this creature cower in front of her, in the ruins of her family's home, made some bitter piece of her heart crack and crumble away.

The monster's head jerked in shock and met her gaze. Now that it was still she could properly look at it—it had large, rounded ears and a snout, with whiskers twitching on either side of a pink nose. It had short, black fur all over its body, and on its head a mop of wild, curly hair: black with gray streaks. It wore clothing—a threadbare shirt and trousers and a large ruana that may have been green once. And despite its tall, lanky frame, it seemed to always be doing its best to look as small as possible.

"Wh-what?" it whispered, eyes huge in its face. "What?"

Mirabel blinked. "Uhhhhh…" she started, but she was cut off by the monster speaking again, its voice hoarse.

"Why else would you—would you come here?" it stuttered. "Unless–unless it was to…to kill me?"

Mirabel's mouth fell open before she caught herself and snapped it shut again. "This was my family's home," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Before it was, um, destroyed. Way, way before I was born! So I never, uh, lived here, or-or anything." She shook her head. "My abuelo and my tío…and probably a bunch of other people, I'm not sure, but they–they died, uh, here. So I…I came to…pay my respects, I guess."

"Oh," the monster said, looking away. "I'm—I'm sorry."

"It happened before I was born," Mirabel repeated. "But thank you…I think."

This was weird. The monster was talking to her. It—he?—wasn't supposed to do that! He was the stuff of nightmares—el mohan—meant to scare children into behaving and adults into being more cautious. He was still regarding her with suspicion, eyes darting to her hands, her face, the doorway behind her, his nose twitching. His shoulders had yet to lose their tension, and he had yet to unpeel himself from the wall.

Mirabel took a few steps back. She looked around the ruined room and spotted a dusty stool near the door. She crossed the room in two steps and sat down.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Mirabel said again. "Honest."

He did not look convinced. "Right," he said. "So the knife was just for—just for show."

Mirabel laughed nervously. "Sorry," she said. "I was told that there was a monster here that, uh, ate people, probably, maybe, and–and then I saw you and you scared me so I just kinda jumped to conclusions?" She sighed. "Obviously you're not the kind of monster to eat people…right?"

"Oh, uh, nope!" The monster was quick to reassure. "Nope, I just eat regular, normal food. When I can—when I can find it, heh." He gave her what she thought must be his approximation of a smile, but it looked more like a cross between a snarl and a grimace with all his pointy teeth.

"So…" she said after a long moment of silence. "Uh, what do I call you?"

"Well, what do I call you?" he retorted quickly. Mirabel winced.

"Sorry—I'm Mirabel," she said. "Mirabel Rojas."

"Mirabel," the monster repeated to himself with a little nod. "Mirabel, Mirabel, Mirabel..."

She cleared her throat, cutting him off, and looked at him expectantly.

He sighed. "I don't—" He stopped. "Ratón," he said. "Just…call me Ratón."

"Like…Ratón Pérez?" Mirabel asked slowly.

The monster shrugged.

"Okay, sure," Mirabel said, nodding. Giant talking monster living in a mostly destroyed magical house? Call him Ratón. Might as well be that, after the day she's had. She bit her lip as incredulous laughter threatened to bubble up and over. "Ratón, then. So…how long have you been here?"

Ratón glanced at the doorway again. He had peeled himself away from the wall over the course of their stilted conversation, but still held himself wound tight, like a spring waiting to be released.

He looked down. His wild hair fell into his face, hiding his eyes. He plucked at his ragged ruana.

"Long time," he whispered. "Long, long time."

Suddenly, he doubled over, gasping. His ears flattened against his head, and he brought both clawed hands up to tear at his hair.

Mirabel jumped to her feet, knocking her stool over. The sound made Ratón look up and their eyes met, startling her.

His eyes glowed as a bright, poisonous green ring encircled his pupil—and then he shut them again, shaking his head.

Before she could react to that, a tremor shook itself up from the foundations of the house and Mirabel heard the ceiling above her crack. She jerked her head up in alarm as a large fissure spread across the plaster above her.

"Casita!" she cried.

The world tilted. Something slammed into her and all the air was knocked from her lungs. A cloud of plaster-dust billowed out and over her. As the ceiling in the other room collapsed, something heavy pinned her to the floor and a loud roar drowned out everything else.

In an instant, it was over.

Mirabel's ears were ringing. She coughed, struggling to take another breath through the heavy dust coating the air and her glasses. Her chest felt tight.

Distantly, she could hear someone speaking, rather frantically, but it took a moment of controlled breathing before she could focus on the words.

"Sana, sana, colita de-de rana—sana, sana—"

Ratón? she thought. He was curled on top of her, and she felt his arm tucked underneath her head. He had…tackled her out of the way?

"I'm okay," she finally croaked, reaching up to pat him on the back.

Ratón was off her in an instant and Mirabel sat up, wincing. She pulled her glasses off and found the cleanest spot on her shirt to wipe them off enough to see. She squinted at him.

"How did you—" she began, but with one last wild look, he was gone.


Translations:

1. Bisabuela - great grandmother

2. Idiota - idiot

3. Ratón Pérez - Colombian version of the Tooth Fairy, literally a mouse

4. Sana, sana, colita de rana - Heal, heal, little tail of the frog; nonsense song sung to children when they're hurt