Chapter Text
“She's not like us, Julieta. She doesn't really belong here, you have to see that.” Through the cracked door, Mirabel could see her Abuela's stern face, her furrowed brow, and cold eyes.
“How could you say that, Mamá!? She is your granddaughter!” Her mother's words were quiet, but it still felt like she was yelling. Mirabel tried to hold back tears, knowing Abuela's anger would be turned on her if she knew she was eavesdropping.
“Why didn't the miracle want her, then? Something has to be wrong with her, you have to see that.” Her mother didn't respond immediately, was quiet for just a second too long. Mirabel saw her hesitate. She turned around and ran away, everything blurry. Casita rushed her up the stairs as quickly and quietly as it could. Casita was angry, wished it could give Alma a piece of it's mind. But it couldn't. Casita was very expressive, able to convey a lot with 'body' language, but no one truly understood what it was saying. No one but Mirabel. To Mirabel, the musical clanking of the tiles and the creaking of the wood was like a foreign language that no one else noticed. Each sound had its own meaning. Alma had understood too, a long time ago, but she had stopped listening or stopped being able to understand. Casita wasn't sure which.
“Why do they hate me so much?” Her voice was quivering, tears still streaming down her face. “It's not my fault! I didn't do anything wrong.” The tiles clattered. Mirabel smiled a little through her tears. “It's not your fault either, Casita. I know you would have given me a Gift if you could.” She reached up, patting the wall comfortingly. Curling up into a ball on her bed, she tried to make her sobs as quiet as possible, hoping Dolores was focused on something else. She had mastered the art of crying quietly years ago, Abuela would be annoyed if she heard. She didn't want to be in the way, be more of an inconvenience than she had to be. It was difficult today, though, a few shaky sobs escaping her with more force than she had intended. The house grew quiet as people went to bed, no one noticing a sad lonely girl crying in a room that wasn't really hers. No one said good night to her. “I wish I could be good enough for them,” she whispered into the darkness. Casita was quiet, didn't know what to say. It agreed. She was wonderful and talented, magic or no magic. It should have been more than enough.
“You are good enough, Mirabel.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had he done that? He held his breath, throwing salt over his shoulder, then sugar, then another round of salt for good measure. Tried to resist the urge to knock on the wall. No use scaring her more than he already had. In a second she would run crying to Juli, and then they would search the house and then they would find him and then they would yell at him and then... He remembered that he was holding his breath, letting it out in a shaky sigh. If he knocked he would only scare her more, he knew that. He was hiding in the walls, sneaking around, stealing food, listening in on private conversations. It was creepy. But if he didn't, something terrible would happen to all of them. He knew it wouldn't, not really, not because he didn't knock anyway, but that didn't make it feel any less real. In the end, his curse would make sure something bad happened, no matter what he did. Something bad always happened, and it was always his fault somehow.
Mirabel sprung up. Her eyes scanned the room, but there was no one there of course. Had she imagined it? Then there was a sound, barely noticeable. A gust of wind? A sigh?
“Hello?” She jumped out of the bed, her slippers already ready for her. A part of her tried telling her she should be afraid, but she was too curious to care. “Who's there?” It was quiet for a long time. Maybe it was a dream? Maybe she had fallen asleep without realizing it? It wouldn't be the first time she had cried herself to sleep. Then, a series of rapid knocks came from the other side of the wall. In a split second, she was in the hall, looking all around, scanning every shadow. Nothing. Slowly she made her way back into the nursery, staring intensely at the wall next to her bed. This didn't feel like a dream. She walked up to the bed and knocked back. A yelp came from the other side, quickly followed by a thump, then a whimper. Mirabel couldn't help giggling, just a little. “Lo siento. I didn't mean to startle you.”
This was not the reaction Bruno had expected. Why wasn't she scared? He would have been terrified if something like this had happened to him at her age. Then again, he had always been a coward, always been weak.
“Aren't you scared?” He asked, his voice shaky. Mirabel shook her head, wondering if the mysterious voice could see her if she couldn't see him.
“No. You don't feel scary. Besides, Casita likes you. Casita wouldn't like you if you wanted to hurt us.” Bruno smiled a little, letting his hand rest against the wall.
“Who are you?”
“Lo siento, sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Should have minded my own business. I'm sorry.” Mirabel shook her head again, firmer this time.
“Don't be. I'm glad you said it, even if it isn't true.”
“But it is true.” His voice was firm, stubborn even. It reminded her a little of tía Pepa. Casita's wood groaned in agreement.
“Gracias.” It wasn't true, but it was still nice that someone thought so. Then, a thought popped into her head, filling her with excitement. “Are you a ghost!?”
“Sometimes that's what it feels like,” he answered, a sad chuckle escaping his lips. “Sí. Yes, I suppose I am.”
Mirabel got back into bed, pulling the covers over her.
“I've never met a ghost before. I don't think anyone has. Camilo said he saw a ghost in the graveyard once, but I think he was making it up. Camilo is like that, he likes making up stories.” Thinking of Camilo made her smile, made her remember all the good times they'd had before he became something and she didn't. And that made her sad again, because things weren't like that anymore. “Is being a ghost sad? You sound sad.”
The question hit him like a ton of bricks. Kids had a way of doing that, hitting the nail on the head with no hesitation..
“N-no, no, no. Of course not. I'm not sad at all, not even a little bit. I'm happy. Don't worry about me, niña.” His overly cheery voice grated on his ears, the word happy felt like dirt in his mouth. He wasn't very good at lying, didn't like doing it, but it wasn't fair to burden her with his problems. Mirabel didn't believe him for a second.
“Being a Mirabel is sad too. It's lonely when your only friend is a house, even if it is the best, kindest, most magical house.” She yawned. It was very late. Casita clattered a little, complaining quietly, but it didn't really mind. “Can we be friends?”
There was no response. Her eyelids grew heavy. Maybe the ghost had gone away? Maybe ghosts disappeared when it got this late? Maybe it fell asleep? Did ghosts sleep? Or... Maybe he didn't want to be friends? She didn't want to think about that. No. If the ghost came back, they were going to be friends. Mirabel could be stubborn too. She yawned again.
“Good night, Señor Fantasma,” she whispered, as she drifted off to sleep. Bruno sat there for a long time, listening to her steady breathing. Señor Fantasma, huh? He rather liked that. Could he be a friend to her? Help her, so she didn't turn out like him? But if he did that, his bad luck would spread to her, and something would happen, and it would be his fault. “Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. Knock on wood.” He whispered as quietly as he could, barely tapping the wall. Maybe something bad wouldn't happen? Maybe he wasn't cursed? He knew that was a ridiculous thought, but what if...
“Goodnight, mija.”