Tiny Horror

The fire in the hearth had died down to a bed of glowing orange ribs. The calli was quiet, but for Xipil, the silence felt heavy, like the air right before a summer storm. His father’s words, spoken in that deep, scary Nahuatl he used when things were serious, kept echoing in his head. He could still feel that weird shaking in his feet from the valley earlier. It felt like the ground was trying to tell him something, but Tizoc wasn't listening.

Beside him, Tizoc kicked his leg under the blanket. Xipil looked over. In the dark, Tizoc’s eyes were wide and shiny. He leaned in close, his voice a tiny, sharp whisper. "He’s just trying to scare us so we don't go exploring," Tizoc said. "He wants us to stay in the village and grind corn with the women. But we saw that bird, Xipil. It was just a bird. There wasn't any monster."

Xipil turned on his side, his heart thumping hard. "He said it plucks heads off, Tizoc. He wasn't joking. Did you see his face? He looked like he was going to cry."

Tizoc made a scoffing sound, the kind he used when Xipil tripped or missed a throw. "He’s old. Old people are afraid of everything. But imagine if we went back and got that obsidian shard he wouldn't let you pick up. If we brought it back, everyone would know we’re tougher than the older boys. Even the Jaguar warriors wouldn't call us cowards anymore. We'd be heroes." Tizoc sat up, moving like a cat. "I’m going. Right now. You can stay here and hide under your mat like a baby, or you can come and prove you aren't a coward."

The word hit Xipil like a slap. In their village, being called a coward was the worst thing you could be. It was the trap Tizoc always used, and it always worked. Xipil didn't want to go back to that creepy stone throat, but he couldn't let Tizoc go alone. And he definitely couldn't let Tizoc tell all the other kids that he was too scared to leave the house at night.

"We don't even have a knife," Xipil whispered, hoping that would stop him.

Tizoc reached under his mat and pulled out a small, black obsidian dagger. It was jagged and dark, looking like a piece of frozen night. "I’ve had this hidden for weeks," Tizoc bragged, a smug grin on his face. "And I’ve got you. You’re the one who found the bird. You’re the tracker, remember?"

They crawled out of the calli on their hands and knees, holding their breath every time a floorboard creaked. Outside, the village was a ghost town. The big teocalli temple stood at the edge of the woods, looking like a giant's tooth against the stars.

They didn't talk as they walked back toward the Valley of the Moon. At night, the canyon looked totally different. The white rocks looked like giant bones under the moonlight, and the shadows were so black they looked like holes you could fall into.

As they got deeper into the narrow part of the canyon, all the night noises, the crickets and the wind, just stopped. It was like someone had put their hands over Xipil’s ears. Every time their feet hit a pebble, the sound seemed to bounce off the walls and go on forever. Tizoc slowed down, his hand tight on his little knife. He pointed up toward a dark hole in the cliff side. The fun was over. They were at the cave, and the silence was waiting.

The tale continues...