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Chapter Two Part Eleven

The old woman’s eyes grew sad. “It was not long after Luis and Ramon returned home that we began to hear news that the other fishermen were missing. Thirteen men. My brother, Luis, had become furious. He thought they had gone back to the island without him. He would have rushed back to La Libertad, but the Cipitillo appeared to me, and he chose to stay and hunt it. Then Ramon disappeared.”

“Your cousin?”

The woman nodded. “He went to the outhouse one night. He never came back.”

“Maybe he went to La Libertad?”

Niña Tilla closed her eyes briefly. “My father said there was a lot of blood. As though Ramon had been killed right outside the outhouse door. His clothes were found in the nearby bushes. Torn to shreds.”

Shreds! Adrenaline was pumping through Maggie’s veins. She could already imagine the look on Lucas’ face when he read her notes, and the debate that would follow. “Could he have been attacked by wild animals?”

“No. His body was never found. It was as though he had vanished.”

Maggie wrote everything down in a quick half-legible scrawl as she watched the woman's facial expressions and listened to the tone in her voice. Niña Tilla was telling the truth. She was reliving a horrible memory. “And your brother, Luis?”

“Luis disappeared the day after Ramon's clothes were found. We thought he had died, just like Ramon, but years later we heard from some people we knew that Luis was alive, living here, in Playa Arrayan.”

“So you came here?”

She nodded. “I was so happy to see my brother and to leave San Vicente.”

“Why had he left?”

“El Cipitillo came to him, wearing Ramon's face. It had frightened him so much that he went crazy. He just ran and ran, until he had left San Vicente behind.”

“He hadn't been attacked?”

“Luis said he felt the monster wanted to be taken back to its island.”

Communication? “He talked to it?”

The old woman shook her head. “Luis knew it was his fault that the creature had appeared, because they had dared to set foot upon its island.”

Part Twelve coming soon

Chapter Two Part Ten

“I have heard many Cipitillo stories. Many from San Vicente. All of them say he was a mischievous little creature. Why do you think he was a demon?”

The old woman hesitated, staring at Maggie with her cataract eyes. She finally took a deep breath, folding her hands across her lap. “Very well, I will tell you. My brother Luis and our cousin Ramon left San Vicente a year before I saw El Cipitillo. They wanted to be fishermen. They wanted to make enough money to buy their own boat. To catch many fish, and become rich.”

“They came here? To Playa Arrayan?”

“No. They went to La Libertad. They joined a crew of fishermen and worked very hard. They were good fishermen, too. There was a storm one day and the boat was lost at sea.”

“I'm sorry.”

She smiled. “Oh, they survived that. They came home, telling of an island they had found. An island spilling over with gold.”

Maggie's fingers began to write quickly, her interest more than piqued.

The old woman shook her head. “I remember my brothers Martin and Jaime wanted to go back to the island with Luis. They bragged they could find more gold, and we would all be very rich. They would buy me the prettiest dresses anyone in San Vicente had ever seen.”

Maggie ignored the sweat running down her back and the sweat running down her face. “So Luis and Ramon had brought back gold with them?”

“A golden plate. Luis said they could see gold winking from the cliffs, as if treasure had been sprinkled upon the island. They rowed their lifeboats towards a small stretch of beach, nestled within the cliffs. There, they collected as much treasure as they could fit into one of the three small life boats.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “It grew dark, and one of the fishermen was suddenly attacked by an animal. Dragged into a small cave. He managed to escape, running out of the cave, screaming of the devil, bloody knife in hand. He seemed frightened to death, begging his shipmates to leave the island immediately. The men decided to gather strength, buy a larger ship, and return to the island.”

The devil on an island sprinkled with gold? Maggie’s scribbling continued despite her eyes fixing on the old woman. This was the type of legend she had wanted to hear. The embellishment she had craved to hear. Originality. “Did they?”

“No.” Niña Tilla’s hands clasped together. “When they reached El Salvador, the gold was gone.”

“Gone?”

"They had stored the gold in a pile, in the center of a lifeboat. There had not been much room to spare, since there were fifteen men. They had covered the gold with a tarp. When they reached the port at La Libertad, and lifted the tarp, there was nothing there. It had vanished. As if the whole adventure had been a dream.”

“It just vanished?”

The vendor’s eyes widened, watching Maggie, continuing with her tale. “There had been something under that tarp, only it hadn’t been gold. I am sure of it.” She shifted, gripping her rosary tighter. “Without the gold, the men could not buy a ship. They decided to return to their homes, gather money, and rejoin in La Libertad.”

Maggie waited anxiously.

Part Eleven coming soon

Chapter Two Part Nine

It was too hot to argue. Sweat was dripping from every pore in her body. A trickle made it close to her eye. She craved a shower, even though it would be of no use. She'd start sweating again the moment she stepped out of the tub. They had been out on the street all day, talking to the locals, trying to get more information on Salvadorean legends. So far, this had been the only original telling of a legend she'd heard.

It hadn't been as great as she had hoped.

Of course, Lucas had been doing all of the questioning. Interrogating. With that sarcastic tone in his voice and that patronizing smile. He didn't want the story. He wanted to get back to the hotel and find out the result of Peter's begging.

Maggie stopped walking, moistening her lips with her tongue. “I'll meet you back at the hotel.”

“Nope. We all agreed it wasn't safe to wander around alone. I'll wait for you.”

“But wait right here. I don't want her to see you.”

He snickered. “You're going back for the heart attack.”

She shook her head as he leaned against the stained, plastered wall of the farmacia. “I'm not going to scare her. I'm going to befriend her.”

“Ten minutes, Maggie. It's too hot to be making friends.”

She strolled back towards the old woman, her smile wide and friendly. She could see the suspicion on the woman's face, but it didn't make the student hesitate. “I couldn't leave without tasting your candy.”

The wrinkled face softened. “It is handmade. A recipe from my hometown in San Vicente.” She lifted the lids, grinning.

Maggie took a piece of white, chalky candy, hoping the flies hadn't landed on it too much. She bit it carefully, cautiously, finding the consistency to be smooth and the taste surprisingly sweet. “This is good!”

Niña Tilla nodded proudly. “You should have tasted the foam from the boiled sugar cane. I used to love that so much.”

“You don't go home to visit San Vicente?”

It took the candy vendor a few moments to respond. “I had too many nightmares. Every night that I would wake up with the urge to go to the outhouse, I preferred to go in my bed. I could not go out to the outhouse for fear the demon would be there, waiting for me. Wearing another face. Wearing Gustavo’s. Or my father's. Or my brother's.” Her fragile voice caught. “Or looking to wear mine.”

“He could have killed either you or Gustavo at the river.”

“Gustavo had his machete.”

“Did he try to attack you some other time?” Maggie was surprised. She hadn’t heard of anyone having multiple sightings of the Cipitillo.

“I could feel it,” she whispered, rubbing her rosary beads, her eyes piercing into Maggie’s. “Whenever it came near, I knew. I could feel those eyes watching me.”

“But you never actually saw him again?”

“Thank God, no. If I had, I would have killed it, or myself.” She motioned to a small knife near one of the candy trays. “Since that day El Cipitillo appeared, I have never been without a weapon.”

“Did Gustavo ever see him again?”

“No, but he looked for it. He had his machete ready.”

Maggie’s curiosity got the best of her. “Did you marry Gustavo?”

Niña Tilla’s head quickly shook. “A demon appeared while I was with him. I was not going to tempt evil to appear again.”

Part Ten coming soon

Chapter Two Part Eight

Maggie could hear the doubt in Lucas' voice, despite his attempt to sound friendly. “But you saw him?”

“With Don Chepe's face!”

Lucas crouched beside Maggie, his brows furrowing. “Who was Don Chepe?”

“He was one of the muleteers. He used to cut the sugar cane with my father. He had died three days earlier!”

Maggie gaped. She looked at Lucas, instantly seeing his disbelief. The woman couldn't be lying: she was trembling, her wrinkled lips pursing and relaxing as she began praying, her attention gone.

“I heard El Cipitillo had a beautiful face,” Lucas began.

The Salvadorean woman balled a fist, face taut. “I told you it had on Don Chepe's face!”

Maggie leaned forward. “He had it on? Like a mask?”

The old woman nodded. “A mask. Yes.”

“What did you do?” Lucas had to repeat himself a few times before she could answer.

“I screamed, and Gustavo grabbed his machete, ready to kill it. The Cipitillo ran into the darkness.”

Maggie watched the woman pray, her own heart pounding with excitement. This version of the El Cipitillo legend seemed a lot more sinister.

“For days the men searched for El Cipitillo. They were armed with machetes and cumas. It was smart, and only appeared to those who were unarmed. No one ever caught it.”

“Did anyone ever look for Don Chepe's body to see if he was missing a face?” Lucas straightened, crossing his arms.

“The body was no longer in its grave.” The old woman closed her eyes, moaning. “They found pieces, strewn about within the sugar cane fields. Pieces, perhaps, that could not be eaten.”

“So, now you're saying the Cipitillo ate the body?”

“No more. I want to forget.” The old vendor waved them away, her voice shaking. She gripped her rosary tight, her prayers coming out in a hurried whisper.

Part Nine coming soon

Chapter Two Part Seven

“Where did he appear to you?” Maggie opened her notebook as the woman hesitantly took the money.

“San Vicente.”

“How old were you?”

A small smile came to the elderly woman's face. “It must have been around 1923. I was fifteen and very beautiful.” She paused, gazing across the street. “It was on the night I became a woman.”

Maggie took her eyes off of her notes, watching the woman's wrinkled face soften. The cloudy brown eyes became teary, and her lips quivered.

Lucas' voice broke into the nostalgic moment. “Where did you see him?”

The vendor's eyes hardened, her lips frowning. She made the sign of the cross again, her Spanish becoming rapid once more. “We were by the little stream that crossed Don Nando's land. It was close to midnight.”

Maggie kept her voice soft and gentle. “You weren't alone.”

A strand of white hair loosened from her bun as she shook her head. “I was there with Don Nando's son, Gustavo.”

Maggie wrote, trying to hide her disappointment at the woman's lack of storytelling ability. There was obviously a vivid memory of a lover as Niña Tilla remembered the night, but she was only answering the questions posed to her.

Lucas crossed his arms, hand extended with the recorder towards them. “Maggie, the word is spelled r-i-a-c-h-u-e-l-o,” he said in English. “It’s a streamlet, like the one we saw near the molienda ruins in Apastepeque.”

She nodded, noting the spelling in a side margin. Her eyes lifted. “What happened then, Señora?”

“We heard the laughter.”

“Laughter?” Lucas urged her to continue as she reached under her tattered apron for her rosary beads.

“It was a horrible sound. So evil. Malicious.” Again she made the sign of the cross, beginning her whispered chants of prayer.

Maggie held her breath, fingers gripping the pen tightly. “Are you sure it was El Cipitillo?”

“Or the devil.” The old woman glared at them, her hands shaking as she moved from one bead on her rosary to another. “It is all the same thing. Evil.”
Part Eight Coming Soon

Chapter Two Part Six

She knew she'd regret it, but she didn't have the time right then. There was the old woman, seated on the filthy sidewalk, her back against a dilapidated storefront, two trays of handmade candy in front of her. She was dressed in rags, her sandals torn.

“She wasn't lying when she said the woman was old.”

“Lucas,” Maggie unconsciously pulled her hand away as his fingers moved from her wrist to her palm. “I bet you she really did see El Cipitillo.”

“I'm almost out of tape.” He took the small portable recorder from his pocket, popping the tape out to check it. “I hope she's not one of those descriptive storytellers.”

“I hope she is. I love it when they embellish the stories with details.” Her smile widened as the elderly woman glanced up.

“Dulces?” The street vendor lifted one of the plastic lids, freeing a group of flies that had been trapped underneath.

“Niña Tilla?”

The polite smile began to fade. “Si?”

Maggie crouched before her, hoping her Spanish was adequate. “I heard that you had a story, about El Cipitillo.”

The woman instantly made the sign of the cross, her wrinkled face frowning. Her Spanish became rapid and difficult to understand.

Unlike the main avenida, this street was abandoned except for the candy vendor and a frescos vendor. The young man selling the fruit juice barely gave them a glance, his attention focused on stirring the pink contents in one of many jugs that sat upon a wooden cart.

Maggie's voice softened to a gentle murmur. “We'd like to hear your story.”

The answer was curt. “Achis! I have no time for foolish stories.”

Lucas was shifting feet, dying to interfere. Grudgingly, Maggie gave him the chance. He quickly interceded. “We are willing to pay you US dollars.”

The old woman's resistance slowly subsided. “Dollars?”

He brought out a folded five dollar bill. “For your tale.” He casually depressed the record button on his hand-held recorder.

Part Seven coming soon

Chapter Two Part Five

“Can you believe that?” Maggie exclaimed, grabbing his arm as the woman hurried away.

“We listened to a lot of Cipitillo stories in San Vicente.” Lucas looked back towards the hotel, rubbing his sweaty face. “A lot of old women say they saw him.”

She shook his arm, groaning. “Come on, Lucas. This one dies at the mention of him. She refuses to talk about her experience.”

“Or so that tortillera says she’s heard. If the old woman doesn’t talk about him, how does everyone know she’s had an experience?”

“We'll just take a few seconds to ask her. If it's bogus, we'll leave.”

He frowned, once more glancing towards the hotel just a block away. “It's hot.”

She finally smiled, poking his chest. “Last week you dragged me out into the pouring rain to meet a man who'd bragged about surviving an encounter with La Ziguanaba.”

He relented, allowing her to lead him down the street. “Okay, but you have to admit the Ziguanaba legend is pretty cool.”

“Clichéd. Everyone knows someone who knew someone else who saw the Ziguanaba, and that third someone was always drunk, so they didn't remember anything other than she was a shapely woman with long fingernails, chicken claw feet, and mocking laughter.”

“And all that hair hanging in her face, making her look so hot.”

“That legend was created to force drunk men home at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then El Cipitillo was created by drunk women.”

“What?” Maggie snickered. “Explain that theory.”

“Cipitillo appeared in sugar cane mills, where they make candy, and Agua de Caña—hard liquor. Okay, bear with me,” he raised a hand as she snickered again. “Who worked the moliendas? Mostly women.” His brow arched. “Molienda: Agua de Caña. Women: drunk. Cipitillo: naked. He was just a hallucination.”

“Like the Ziguanaba.”

Lucas shrugged. “If you believe in El Cipitillo, you have to believe in La Ziguanaba. She was his mother.”

“In some stories. Not in all.” She cocked her head, enthusiasm growing. “This could be the greatest story of all.”

Her friend hesitated, thick brows furrowing. “It's getting too hot for anything to be great.”

Maggie agreed with him on that—it was hot. Her body felt like it was in a sauna, yet her curiosity had been piqued. She no longer cared about her discomfort. She could withstand a few more degrees in order to meet the old woman, and she could probably withstand a day at a nudist beach. “Okay, how’s this: If…if…you go with me to meet this candy vendor, I promise I'll keep my mouth shut about the haunted pyramids.”

Lucas didn’t even hesitate. “Deal!”

Part Six coming soon

Chapter Two Part Four

He groaned, head instantly shaking. “No. El Cipitillo is one of the most boring legends we have. He wouldn’t have built a pyramid if he had to. Come on, he didn’t even wear clothes.”

“So he’s a possibility, considering there’s a nudist beach on the island. Maybe he made it legendary? I wouldn’t mind finding out more about El Cipitillo. We hardly have any notes on him.”

“Yeah, big clue. Because there is nothing on him. He did nothing. Boring.” He picked up his pace. “I need a beer.”

She jumped in front of him, stopping him. “El Cipitillo happens to be my favorite legend.”

“Then you’ll help us convince the professor that we need to go to this island?” He grinned, brows arched.

Lucas was cute. Spoiled brat cute. Maggie’s eyes shifted off his face, her resolve wearing down. What would it hurt to visit this island? What was so bad about sandy beaches and a jungle of fruit trees? Maybe there was something interesting to be found after all?

A tortillera was cautiously approaching them, her large dark eyes seeming to search their faces. A basket of small, thick corn tortillas rested against her ample hips. A hesitant smile spread across her round golden face. “Speak Spanish?”

Maggie instantly nodded. Her Spanish was good, despite the slight gringo accent her mother always teased her about.

“Forgive me, but I heard you say El Cipitillo.”

Maggie’s hand instinctively flipped her notebook open, drawing the pen out of the metal spine.

The woman looked from Maggie’s notebook to Lucas. “You are interested in El Cipitillo?”

He spoke up, his Spanish much better; both his parents were Salvadorean immigrants. “We are interested in all legends of El Salvador.”

“There is a woman in my neighborhood, Niña Tilla, who has seen El Cipitillo. That is what people say about her. She speaks to no one, only Padre Victorio.”

Maggie spoke up as she saw Lucas shift feet, his eyes roll to the side. She ignored him and the fishy odor that seemed to be growing stronger the longer they stood near the seafood. “Would she speak to us?”

The woman shrugged. “Well, I am not promising, but you could try.” Her eyes moved from one to the other student. “People say that when she is asked about El Cipitillo, she nearly dies.”

Maggie met Lucas' sardonic glance for a second, then turned her attention back to the woman. “Where can we find her?”

The tortillera hesitated, shifting under the weight of her basket. “She may not talk to you.”

“We can try,” Maggie persisted.

The vendor motioned over to the next block, south from where they were heading. “She sells sugar cane candy. Niña Tilla is very ancient. You can not miss her.”

Part Five coming Soon

Chapter Two Part Three

“According to legend, the only way to get rid of the Duende's attention was for the maiden to eat while sitting in the outhouse. If he was looking to mate, why would that deter him?”

Lucas winced. “I wouldn’t want to date some chic that ate while doing her business.”

She started walking away, but he quickly cut her off.

“Wait. The theory was plausible for a second.” He chuckled as her head cocked.

Her lips began to curl into a smile. “Okay. They’re all male dwarves. They need to find mates. So they travel to the mainland, one at a time.”

“Since they were so bad at the romance thing, they kept coming to El Salvador in hopes of finding a girlfriend. Being squeamish, they never found one. Eventually, their race died out, leaving behind haunted pyramids filled with their sad little souls.” He beamed, proudly.

Maggie shook his arm gently, her voice filled with laughter. “Then again, maybe not.”

“Maybe not El Duende, but something built those pyramids. Something small.”

She smirked, dropping her hand from his warm, sweat slicked arm. “What's the difference? You're lying. You just want to go see the legendary nudist beach.”

He smiled as she rolled her eyes. “All I know is that the fisherman we spoke to said there were pyramids on that island, as well.”

“It’s hot, Lucas.”

Maggie started walking again, her skin too moist to think straight. Why she had decided to wear a dark tee shirt, she couldn’t remember. It was musty, and moist, and she needed to change out of it. She needed a glass of cold liquid, and a nice long shower. Lucas and his pyramids would have to wait.

His hands reached out to grab her arm before she could disappear into the crowd surrounding the mariscos vendors. “Pygmys.”

She snickered. “Pygmys? In El Salvador?”

“It’s not El Salvador. It’s an island way off shore, way past Meanguera and El Tigre. Yeah. Pygmys built these pyramids. There’s a legend we haven’t heard.”

She pushed his hand off of her arm. “Pygmys. They lived in Africa and Asia.”

“Homo floresiensis.”

“Archaeologists made that discovery in Indonesia.”

He wasn’t giving up. “We could have our own Homo floresiensis discovery, right here, in Latin America.”

“It’s not my area of expertise.”

“Most legends are based upon fact. Isn’t it a coincidence that El Salvador has so many legends of small men?”

Her feet began to slow.

“Something built those pyramids. Forget about the beach, okay? Aren’t you curious?”

Maggie’s eyes met Lucas’, interest regained. “El Cipitillo was a small man.”

Part Four coming soon

Chapter Two Part One

He released her, keeping pace as she expertly dodged her way through the stream of pedestrians. “What about the pyramids?”

“You and your pyramids.” Maggie's hand motioned as she spoke. “Okay, supposing there are pyramids, and you're not lying to me: what's haunting them? Naked spirits?”

“I don't know.” Lucas raked his fingers through his thick black hair as sweat trickled from his temples. “From what our source told us, the pyramids are small and can’t be seen from afar. That's why no one has made that island into a tourist attraction.”

Her eyes swept across the motley array of fruit stands, her stomach growling. “Small pyramids, huh? Built by a tribe of little people?”

She heard the tone of his voice begin to change. “Maybe El Duende.”

Maggie suddenly stopped walking, her attention caught. “He was a goblin, or a mythical dwarf.”

“Dwarf.” There was a gleam in his eye, like he knew he had piqued her interest. “Which, technically, is a very small man. He’d have to build pyramids that were more suitable for his stature.”

People swept around the two students, pedestrian traffic going in both directions upon the sidewalk.

Lucas shrugged, his feet continuing their nonchalant stroll. “Now that would be interesting: a tribe of dwarves living offshore, occasionally coming onto the mainland of El Salvador.”

Maggie’s lips twisted. “We came here to research Salvadorean legends, not make them up.”

“Think about it, Maggie. What do we know about El Duende? Let’s analyze this theory.”

“No, let’s not.”

Lucas began to stare again.

She exhaled, tapping the tattered cover of her notebook. “He was more of a poltergeist phenomenon. He’d move things, and make noise, and follow young girls around.” Maggie glanced at him as he stopped walking, noticing his grin. “There was only one Duende.”

“There was only one sighted at a time,” he corrected, “but how many stories have we heard about girls being harassed by this little guy? More than a couple.”

Maggie slowly shook her head, her eyes narrowing.

“The only reason why these dwarves weren’t seen en masse was because they lived offshore. On this island.” His grin widened.

“So, your theory consists of El Duende leaving his island just to throw rocks and clumps of dirt at pretty young girls?”

Lucas shrugged. “It's an acceptable mating ritual.”