Inéz looked up at the sky, fiery orange rays were making their way over the treetops in the horizon. She had enough time for a brisk jog up to the oyamel firs and still be back to start the preparations for Dia de los Muertos. Grounding her heel in the gravel she set off. So unfair the way her mother had delegated all the work to her, once again through a misguided sense of matriarchal responsibility. Her brothers were never asked to help out with these things. And just because she had returned to Vista Hermosa a day earlier than usual.
Early morning sounds accompanied her along the path out of the village, for a moment camouflaging the frustrations. The cackle of a rooster on the neighbouring farm, two stray dogs barking for attention, the rattling chains of cows wanting to be set out in the field. Vista Hermosa was like that, undisturbed rural life. Such a contrast from her mornings in Guadalajara.
As she passed the last of the farms, thoughts of the evening preparations lined themselves up in her mind. How many tamales would she need to buy from the local shop? The store-bought ones never tasted as good as the ones her beloved abuela used to make. Someone would have get all the marigolds for the decorations, her bothers would have to see to that. And where was Pablo? He had promised to arrive yesterday but he had been unreachable since the evening before. Another annoyance she tried to stamp out on the path.
Her speed increased in proportion with the frustrations building up inside her. Perhaps it would have been better if she hadn’t come. Several of her friends had invited her to celebrate with them in the city. Even Pablo, doing his best as almost-fiancé, had hinted they go away together. She would never hear the end of it from her mother though. The ungrateful daughter breaking family tradition. Anyway, she was here now.
She moved along the route, she always took. It wound through the oyamels eventually leading to a small secluded lake in the midst of the woods. Rays of gold fell cheerfully on the deep olive greens and melted browns covering the forest floor. The foliage around her sparkled in that final burst of energy before everything would be shed in preparation for winter. Even the musky fragrance of the oyamels was fresh in the morning dew. A couple of birds chirped out a few last remnants of their morning chorus.
As she turned a bend in the path something made her stop. The air had gone quiet, heavy leaves preventing the sun from breaking through. As she ventured deeper in among the trees, an uneasiness crept through the undergrowth. The cool dense air wrapped itself around her, cocooning her in something akin to damp cotton wool. A shiver trickled down her back despite the morning heat.
Without realising, her feet picked up speed. Her breath, shallow and rushed, forced itself through her lungs. Tentacles of dew and mist reached out for her as she brushed past the trees. Everything seemed darker and more dense. Snippets of birdsong strained to get through the trees. A complex scent of decomposition and lifelessness filled her nostrils.
She aimed for a small opening among the fir trees, a grassy patch filled with sunlight appearing as a safe haven in the midst of the dark forest. She didn’t remember having ever come across the spot before. The foliage gave way to the clearing, not more than twenty by twenty meters. A small mound covered in bright orange and muted brown flowers lit up the middle of the green, giving out an uncanny glow. She stood still, unable to shake the feeling inside her. Her breath slowed despite the high and erratic pulse beating through her veins.
She had no idea how long she had been standing at the edge of the clearing. Everything breathed uneasy stillness, even the birds had gone quiet. An evil scent reached her nose. Finally, she edged forward, closer to the mound. As she approached, a twig snapped underfoot. The small crackle sent a jolt through her, her heart flying to her mouth. A fearful gasp unfolded on her lips.
The snap of the twig had made the mound come alive. Thousands of flaming orange, brown and black flowers fluttered, rising in unison. Swirling. Circling. Hovering. As if getting their bearings. Then on what seemed an invisible cue, they headed towards her in an angry barrage, engulfing her in vicious bursts of colour. She covered her face as a silent scream died in her throat. The sound of pattering of rain surrounded her yet her skin was dry in the early morning heat.
She clenched her eyes shut, willing the orange nightmare away. Eventually the horrible sound dissipated. Opening first one eye, then the other, the forest was still again, the swarm gone. So too the orange mound. What she saw instead chilled her to the bone.
She moved closer. Whether it was out of sick curiosity or unexplained fear, she couldn’t tell. Gulping, her stomach sank. She hadn’t been mistaken. The swirling flowers had been monarch butterflies, camouflaging a body, lying face down, half covered by leaves and branches, almost buried in the undergrowth.
Inching up, she nudged away one of the branches with her foot. Drawing in her breath sharply, she balked having to look away, sick to her stomach. By the size of the body it had to be a man. Jumbled questions raced through her head, too many to answer. Her thoughts turned to Pablo. Why hadn’t she been able to get hold of him yet? A shudder passed through her body.
Everything was quiet, no-one appeared to had been there for a while. But surely they would come back, it was hardly safe to remain there. Never had the oyamels seemed that ominous, fear sprouting out of their trunks. Desperation wafted through their branches. Her breath clung to her lungs.
She turned her back on the body, making her way into the forest. Her steps picked up until she was running the fastest she had ever run in her life. Air burning in her throat, heart pumping to burst her chest. She had to get back to the village, surrounded by people she knew. She needed to talk to Pablo, be reassured that none of this was real.
Opening scene of a crime novel. Inspired by the role of Monarch butterflies in the Dia de Los Muertos celebrations.