The Pigman's Legacy

AND I'M BACK WITH A NEW STORYYYY VALLE LOZANO!! This story will be kinda different as I'm gonna break it into two parts. HOPE U ENJOY @musicrunsthroughmysoul

A Broken Clock… 

     On the very edge of Valle Lozano’s Main Street, just before the corner to head towards the residential area of town, there is a bar. It is a bar that is not really a bar but more like a small eatery that serves alcohol. It was the only place outside of the convenience store that did and was open past 8 pm. Santiago was sitting at the counter now, silently chewing on his burger and fries while musing over the newspaper clipping of Fernando. It was strange to him, this visible proof of a family member. He had stared at it until Erica was forced to close the library. He had observed it and found his face. He even detected the same mole on the very corner of his forehead, almost hidden from view behind a strand of curl. It was not hidden from Santiago because he had known where to find it, almost instinctively, as if he had always known that he looked exactly like his forefather. As if he had been told countless times how identical he was to Fernando and was already intricately familiar with the photo. He saw his face and yet he could not see himself. His whole life, Santiago had not known what it was like to come from somewhere. To recognize that a line of people had come before him, and his existence was merely a cumulation of that line. Now he had found proof of that extension, an image of where he had come from and he could not comprehend it. 

     In a way, Santiago had felt connected to Valle Lozano: two things that seemed to be dependent on the past that left them in a paralyzed state unable to move towards the future. And whose past was so blurred and riddled with holes that it was impossible to make sense of it all. Santiago had felt from the moment he arrived in Valle Lozano. He sometimes wondered if it meant that he should stay here. Perhaps that way he could make the image of the past more focused, and in that way he could come to understand it and understand himself. 

     This thought made him feel guilty. He thought of the Escarras, his adopted parents he had barely been in contact with since he arrived. How long had it been? A week? A month? Had years already passed? Santiago realized then that he hadn’t kept track. The days and nights seemed to bleed in together. Munching on his burger, he realized he couldn’t even remember if this was the first meal he had eaten that day or the last time he had gone to his sublet to sleep, or do anything else besides pour over newspapers in the library or walk about town. Santiago was suddenly hit with the bizarre sensation that he did not even know what time it was now and that he barely even looked at a clock since he came to town. He tried to remember if he had even seen one. He reasoned that he still had his phone, and there must be a clock somewhere in the library, but he could not remember having made the effort to look at it. In fact, the last time he had seen a clock at all was probably when he went to see the old Octavio house but the old, redwood grandfather clock had been broken and the face had been shattered. Santiago remembered there was a tall church tower just across from the library with a clock, but it only had markings to indicate the hours, no hands at all to actually tell the time. The tower also had bells that he had assumed chimed on the hour, but he could not recall ever having heard them.

     Santiago took a drink of his beer and looked around the eatery for the time. No clock. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It didn’t take long for him to discover it was dead. When that happened or when the battery began to go low he could not remember. Santiago sighed and looked around for someone to ask, but he was one of two patrons still inside. There was a man whose age he could not exactly pinpoint sitting at the far end of the counter. His head was bent down and he hardly made a sound. If it had not been for the fact that he occasionally moved his arms to pick up his food and the movements of his jaw when he chewed, Santiago might have thought the man asleep. He also had not seen a waiter or cashier since he ordered. He decided it would be best for him to finish eating quickly and go back to the sublet to charge it. Perhaps then his sense of time would return.

     He quickly finshed the remainder of his meal and left money by his plate. He walked outside and found a payphone illuminated underneath a streetlight. Curious, Santiago walked over and picked up the receiver to see if it was still working. He heard the operator and dug into his pocket for change to make a much needed phone call.

     He dialed the number and smiled when he heard the familiar voice on the other line, “Hi, Mama,” Santiago greeted softly. 

     Tears welled up in his eyes as his mother excitedly greeted him back. She gently chastised him for not telling anyone of his departure and waiting so long to contact her.

     “I know, Ma. I’m sorry. I just… I had to do this, you know? I just… wanted to learn a little about myself. But… I don’t know… it feels like the more I learn, the farther I get from actually understanding anything. Oh, it’s nothing. I’ll - I’ll tell you everything once I get back. This is a strange town, though. This place… it’s got an odd way of pulling you in. No, I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Why? Well, because… because I feel like I’m not done here, is all.”

     Santiago quickly changed the subject after that. He asked about his father and asked how she was. They kept up a brief conversation for a few minutes before hanging up. He put up the phone and the instant he did he heard the bells of the church tower chime. He counted them as they rang out twelve times.

     “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered aloud to himself when they stopped.

     “Don’t get your hopes up,” he heard a female voice say, “That old clock’s broken. It’s already half past midnight.” 

     Santiago was surprised to see a woman standing under the streetlight. He had not noticed her approaching and she seemed to be keenly looking at him. She was a pretty woman with large curly hair in a high bun. Santiago couldn’t help but feel she seemed familiar.

     “Sorry,” he said to her, “Did you need the phone?”

     She shook her head, “You’re Santiago, right? I’ve been hoping to see you.”

     “Me?”

     “That’s right. You’re not from here, are you?”

     “No, I’m not. But how did you know about -”

     “This is a small town,” she finished for him, “Everyone knows everything that goes on here. So you’re part of the Octavio family, huh?”

     “How did you know that?”

     “I already told you, sweetheart. There are no such things as secrets here.”

     “Well,” Santiago said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Since you’re a local, is there anything you can tell me about them? What do you know about them?”

     The woman chuckled, “Easy there now. Yeah, I know all about the Octavio’s, but there isn’t much more I can tell you. Not much more than I’ve already helped you with, anyway.”

     Santiago scrunched up his face in confusion, “I’m sorry?”

     The woman smiled, “Let’s just say… I’ve seen you in the library from time to time. I was there when you found the newspaper. Sort of gave it to you, actually.”

     He blinked at her, “Right… well… thanks for that.”

     They stood together in awkward silence, at least for Santiago, with her eyes still fixed straight on him. It took a moment before she said, “You really do look just like him. Fernando. Your old grandfather, I mean.”

     “I’m sorry, but… who are you? What exactly is it that you wanted to see me for? How do you know I look just like Fernando?”

     “Nothing much. I just wanted to give you some advice. I think it’s time you be leaving Valle Lozano. Soon.”

     “And why should I?”

     “Because this town isn’t good for you. It’s not good for anyone. You noticed, haven’t you? That being here… it’s easy to lose track of time. That’s because this place does nothing but tie you to the past. It’s like the dead soil out in the farmlands. Nothing to plant and nothing comes out of it. Or that stupid clock. Sweetheart, don’t tether yourself here. You’re not meant for that. You’re not meant for this town. You’re the future. So, finish up here and go back. And take Erica with you. She’s someone… a lot like you. She’s one of the few things meant to get out of Valle Lozano.” With that, she started to walk away. She took a few steps before she turned back to look at him, “By the way. About that broken clock. Remember that it only rings twice. Once at 12:30 am. That’s about the same time the blizzard of ‘23 started… and when your grandpa Martin kicked Ines out. And another at about 6 am, just before dawn.”

     “Why at 6 am? And how do you know that’s the time Ines left town?”

     “Honey, who do you think broke that damn clock?” The woman said as she continued walking away.

     Santiago watched as she left. He made a mental note to ask Erica who the woman could have possibly been. Santiago would come to find he did not need to ask. Because when he reached his sublet and started to charge his phone, he remembered a sudden vivid detail of when he went to the old Octavio house. He remembered when he passed by the broken mirror of Yolanda’s room he had looked down at one of the shards hanging on the frame and thought he had seen a woman out of the corner of his eye. He had ended up not seeing anyone but when he continued to look through the house he came to a room and stumbled across a locket with a miniature picture inside sitting on a nightstand. He had put it in his pocket and did not tell a soul, not even Erica, that he had taken it. When he had returned to his room that night he put the locket in his bedside drawer.

A Broken Clock… 

     On the very edge of Valle Lozano’s Main Street, just before the corner to head towards the residential area of town, there is a bar. It is a bar that is not really a bar but more like a small eatery that serves alcohol. It was the only place outside of the convenience store that did and was open past 8 pm. Santiago was sitting at the counter now, silently chewing on his burger and fries while musing over the newspaper clipping of Fernando. It was strange to him, this visible proof of a family member. He had stared at it until Erica was forced to close the library. He had observed it and found his face. He even detected the same mole on the very corner of his forehead, almost hidden from view behind a strand of curl. It was not hidden from Santiago because he had known where to find it, almost instinctively, as if he had always known that he looked exactly like his forefather. As if he had been told countless times how identical he was to Fernando and was already intricately familiar with the photo. He saw his face and yet he could not see himself. His whole life, Santiago had not known what it was like to come from somewhere. To recognize that a line of people had come before him, and his existence was merely a cumulation of that line. Now he had found proof of that extension, an image of where he had come from and he could not comprehend it. 

     In a way, Santiago had felt connected to Valle Lozano: two things that seemed to be dependent on the past that left them in a paralyzed state unable to move towards the future. And whose past was so blurred and riddled with holes that it was impossible to make sense of it all. Santiago had felt from the moment he arrived in Valle Lozano. He sometimes wondered if it meant that he should stay here. Perhaps that way he could make the image of the past more focused, and in that way he could come to understand it and understand himself. 

Finally getting around to making a new Lozano story!! Might expand on the ending and change up the tone of it a bit but this was fun! @musicrunsthroughmysoul thank you for being a loyal reader lol hope u enjoy

     If you turn the corner on Main Street you will pass by the forgotten houses of those long since departed. And if you take the time to look at them it will be as if you could see the history of Valle Lozano itself etched on their faces. Crestfallen mansard roofs with broken and missing shingles and empty Dutch colonials with shattered windows and wooden planks for doors standing alongside the patches of discolored old ranch houses. The French and Dutch architecture the only shred of evidence of the town’s former prosperity, and they the stand among the residencies of Valle Lozano almost ashamed, like an old woman too conscious of her lost youth, or a man clinging to his final torn and moss-eaten suit - the last remainder of his spent wealth.  

     If you can stomach the pitiful state of these houses and continue along the neighborhood it will not be long before you reach the old farmlands of Valle Lozano. Here is where the real history of the town has stayed to live. A person brave enough to venture this far past Main Street to stand over the infertile soil will see nothing but cracked brown dirt lasting for acres. If one is truly courageous, one can walk the lands to see past the old Octavio woods. There they will see the weak and brittle trunks of trees that used to supply the town’s lumber, and their own eyes will see that Valle Lozano has desolation paved inside its roots and soil. It is a feeling so powerful it is enough to make that person weep with pity.

     Santiago Escarra was on the old farmlands now, having a difficult time envisioning that these lands were once the main source of economy for Valle Lozano and that his forefathers were once at the helm of it all. After discovering the newspaper in which he learned that he was Fernando Guerrero’s spitting image, he decided it was time to visit the place where all of the town’s suffering began. It was on these lands that Fernando fell in love with Ines Octavio at first sight. It was these lands that cost the town their livelihood after they were ruined in the blizzard of 1923. And it was these lands that Martin let go to waste once and for all when he lost his daughter.

     “You know,” Erica said, standing beside him, “Legend has it Martin Octavio ruined theses farms himself after Ines died.”

     “How so?”

     “Well, everyone wants to blame the blizzard, and just sheer rotten luck, but the truth is your family, that is the Octavio’s, they owned the entire town. It wouldn’t have been difficult for them to nurture the soil back. And I heard that after Ines died, he kind of, well, he was inconsolable. Went mad and just blamed the entire town for losing his daughter. So one day he just took bleach to each and every acre of farmland around. And the soil hasn’t been worth a damn thing since.”

     “That can’t be possible,” Santiago said, albeit unconvincingly, “I mean, these lands are huge. Easily over ten acres -”

     “It’s actually twenty,” Erica interjected with a nod.

     “Twenty acres. It would have taken a lot of time… and a whole hell of a lot of bleach to ruin it all. Wouldn’t the town have… stopped him?”

     “Now, I’m not saying he really did do it. I don’t know if he did. But to be honest, I don’t think anyone could have. Martin owned everything. He owned every square inch of these twenty acres. The people who grew things on this land only borrowed it from him. They would pay him to be able to grow their crops here. And for quite a pretty penny, too. Your grandfather sure knew how to collect a nice dollar. I imagine he could have gathered the entire town to watch him pour bleach over everything and it would have been tough shit for everyone.”

     Santiago let his head fall in frustration, “You know, the more I learn of him the more I’m surprised that the town didn’t, uh, go after him with torches and ptichforks.”

     Erica laughed, “Who knows, I’m sure they were tempted. But, I don’t know, maybe Martin wasn’t all bad. He was just… a man with a lot of power. For a hick ass town anyway. You know? And this place isn’t completely innocent. Tons of people treated the Octavio’s like a monarchy. In a way, it’s a shame he didn’t accept Ines’ relationship with Fernando. He was a farmer. It might have been a good thing for the family. Someone… normal. Could have made them more down to earth.”

     “Whatever happened to Fernando?”

     “You mean you haven’t heard? I guess that’s my fault. I should have told you once David mentioned him. He died probably the winter or so after Martin banished him.”

     “Banished him? Like, an actual king throwing out a peasant?”

     “Actually, yes. He was furious. Kicked his daughter out and took back the farm Fernando had been working on his whole life. He’d been working on it on his own since his dad died when he was eighteen. Which is about when he and Ines started.”

     “Martin certainly was a charming man,” Santiago said flatly.

     Erica nodded sheepishly in agreement, pausing to look at him. She stared at him long and hard, until he eventually noticed, Santiago gave her a strange look, then rubbed the back of his neck as he started to grown a bit self-concious.

     “Sorry,” Erica said as she realized what she was doing, “It’s just that I’m so surprised I didn’t notice the resemblance between you and Fernando before. I mean, to be honest, I guess I did. I thought you looked familiar when I first saw you, but now I don’t know how I ever missed it. It’s scary in a way. I grew up knowing the whole story of your family and now it’s like standing next to one of those folktales. Or like standing right next to a ghost.”

     “Do I really look that much like him?”

     “A clone. It’s funny, isn’t it? Like…. You coming here is him coming back to Valle Lozano again after all these years. Like if he wasn’t done with this town even after he died.”

     “How did anyone ever hear about what happened to him if he was banished and all?”

     “Well, that’s the kicker of it all: he died here in town. Right in that little room, in fact.” Erica said, motioning her head toward a tiny cabin that Santiago hadn’t noticed before. 

     “This one,” Santiago asked, pointing at it as he walked towards it.

     “That very one. It’s one of the few things still standing on these old acres from all those years ago.”

     “Who’s been keeping it up?”

     “No one. As far as I know.”

     “But someone has to be maintaining it. I mean, it looks pretty decent still. It even looks better than some of the houses we passed by after Main Street.”

     Erica shrugged, “What can I tell you? Welcome to Valle Lozano, kid. Some things here we can’t explain.”

     They stood together by the door of the room and halted. They stared at each other for a moment before Santiago smiled at her, “On the count of three?”

     “On three.”

     They counted and on three they opened the door together. It would be accurate to say that when they entered the cabin, Santiago couldn’t hep but feel a tinge of disappointment. It was a small but eerily clean room. Nothing in it but a bare cot. The only thing that surprised Santiago was how pristine it was. He couldn’t imagine no one took the time to care for it, especially since it was over half a century old, given by his calculations. 

     “What,” Erica asked with a bemused expression on her face, “Where you expecting to see his rotten corpse here? Or like, some decrepit Gothic room in shambles?”

     “Kinda? If I’m being honest.”

     “Well, sorry to disappoint you. But Fernando only came here to die. As pleasant as that sounds.”

     “Tell me the story.”

     “Well,” Erica breathed out as she began, “There really isn’t much of one. Martin tried hard to find his daughter, that you know, but he also tried to find Fernando. Guess he had a guilty conscious after everything. But when he found him he was already close to dying. So they made this room so he could be back on the farmlands. People think he died somewhere far away, but he didn’t. Doesn’t surprise me. You can’t ever escape this godforsaken town. Not even when you leave it, you saw that with David. You don’t even leave this place after you die.”

     “Cheerful.”

     “Sorry. Growing up here will do that to you.”

     “Do you hate this town that much?”

     “I don’t hate it,” Erica said defensively, “It’s just… it’s like this room. Small. Insignificant. Full of nothing but ghost stories. Surrounded by muddy dirt.”

     Santiago nodded, not knowing what to say or if he should agree or disagree with her. He decided to change the topic by asking about the one thing on his mind, “How is it so… clean? If no one maintains it. It looks almost new.”

     “Who knows. Maybe it’s Fernando taking care of it. Since the Haunted Gardens aren’t far off.”

     “Haunted Gardens?”

     “Another of the town’s legends. At the very end of Valle Lozano there’s a lake. It’s about the only thing still living in this whole town, and I’m including the residents. It’s surrounded by willow trees. It’s been around since before your grandpa Martin’s time. It even survived the blizzard of 1923. We like to say it’s home to fairies. The story goes that when they would met in secret Ines planted white roses to symbolize their love. And after they died their spirts would meet there. Legend says you can see them dancing together on the water on full moons along with the fairies. They say even Martin and Gemma haunt there because there’s always two monarch butterflies flying around the roses. Personally, I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. And totally unfair to your grandma Yolanda. I mean, she haunts the old family house all alone, but her cheating husband get’s to float around with his misstress for eternity?”

      “Well, when you put it that way,” Santiago said with a laugh.

     “Anyway, we should go. I’m sure Fernando’s ghost is just waiting for us to get out of here so he can clean.”

     They were crossing the threshold of the cabin, Santiago was asking her about other articles he could read about the church tower bells, with his hand on the door to close it, when they heard a small thump. They looked behind them and saw a tiny farmer’s cap on the floor.

     “No fucking way,” Erica muttered under her breath.

     “What?” Santiago asked picking up the cap.

     “That’s Fernando’s.”

     “Very funny.”

     “I’m serious. That’s his. He used to wear it on the fields. And when he would go to the Octavio’s to pay Martin. I think… he’s even wearing it in the photo from the newspaper.”

     “And it’s been here all this time?”

     “That’s the thing. It comes and goes all around these twenty acres. Sometimes here. Sometimes on a random tree trunk. I’ve never seen it before, but my dad told me he found it one time out in the fields.”

     “Maybe he’s trying to tell me something,” Santiago joked. He inspected the cap for a moment before putting it on. He watched Erica, who’s eyes gew wide as she covered her mouth in shock.

     “It’s the photo! It’s the photo from the newspaper. Oh, my god! Seriously you could pass for his twin!”

     “Here, take a picture and I’ll compare later. I’ll even pose the same way.”

     He handed Erica his phone and readied himself. He straighted his posture and looked at the camera with a serious expression on his face.

     She quickly took the photo and covered her mouth again, “It’s like hanging out with a ghost.”

     “Maybe when we go to the lake we really will.”

     Santiago was grinning, looking over the photo when a giant monarch butterfly flew in and anded on his chest. Erica and he stared at each other as the butterfly walked over his chest and settled on his shoulders. It stayed there for a moment before flying off. Santiago and Erica were quick to follow it outside and watch it fly in the direction of the old woods.

     “I wonder where it’s going.”

     “It’s going towards the lake.”

     “Erica, how far away is this lake?”

     “It’s at the very end of the property, past the old woods, so about 20 minutes. Why?”

Writing this short little excerpt for my next VL story bc I will be taking a TINY break from writing them. (To teach myself webcomic format and to work on other stuff!) But when I come back I will be working on the last remaining pieces - it will be this one and I BELIEVE the final story or two more at most. Hope u enjoy this little excerpt!

Stephanie Octavio's life began when she disappeared. By the age of 21, she had moved from place to place, family to family, aged out of the foster system, fallen in love, and gotten her heart broken, and still, she felt she had not begun to live until the day she stepped out of the hospital alone. She had just given birth and placed her newborn into foster care. She left a letter with him, expressing her sorrow for having to leave him behind. But she did not know if he would ever know of its existence, much less read it.

It was true she felt a great sorrow for not being able to raise him. She knew all too well what the system was like and even better still what it was to grow up without family. But she could not say she regretted it. She had no idea how to be someone's mother. When he had been born she looked down at his red, crying face, his thick brown hair that was already springing in curls, and could not think of how she could keep him alive.

She was single, having just broken up with Cameron, her long-time boyfriend. It was not an amicable parting. He had been her first love - had believed him to be her only love - but they had fought. And in that fight they both said the cruelest, most vindictive things they've ever said to each other that it took the wind out of them both. It had shocked Stephanie to her core and shifted her perception on time and love. Only a few hours before she thought they would have grown old and died together. Only the day before she would have sworn she would have died for him if he had needed it. And within such a short span of time later they had been at each other's throats and so unrelentingly cruel to one another it made her head spin to think about it.

Took over an hour but IT'S HEREEEEEEE

I'm finally back with a new Valle Lozano story!

I'm asking you personally, can you please take a look at my campaign.. at my lost family.. my lost future 😞😞😞.

Can you please help in any way, donate or reblog🙏♥️🙏

✅️My campaign is vetted by @gazavetters #15 on the list ✅️

Hey guys! Long time no update! Sorry bout that, I hadn't expected to take so much time off, but I had finished a semester of school, the holidays came around, and honestly I needed a writing break because i had been writing virtually every day for a year! But it feels good to be back with another segment of Lozano. It's a bit of a long one at around 2k words. Hope yall enjoy and happy new year!

Disturbance

Ever since the afternoon that Sebastian Octavio walked into her library, Erica Porter’s life had become disturbed. She had gotten a flat tire on the way home that night. The next morning she ended up being ten minutes late for work because bird shit landed on her shoulder and she had to go back home to change. And to make matters worse, later that evening, as she was relaxing on her sofa with her boyfriend and a glass of wine, thinking that these strange coincidences were over, David decided to break up with her. 

He was leaving town he said, and didn’t want to be tied down by anything at home. He never wanted to be in Valle Lozano again even if that meant he wouldn’t be with her any longer. When Erica asked if she could go with him he refused. They would just remind each other too much of this place. It took her a few hours, long after he had picked up all his stuff and left the apartment, to realize that he didn’t just want to leave the town behind. He wanted to leave her behind, too. How silly of her to have missed that. Three years of her life, and now he just wanted to get away from her. That night as she lay in bed she thought of the man with thick curly hair who walked into the library the day before and scowled. Unlike most of the townspeople, Erica fully laid the blame for Valle Lozano’s destitution on Martin Octavio. It was always so ridiculous to her that they allowed one man from one family to control the economy at the time. It seemed to her another Octavio had come back to town just to cause a disturbance. 

Well, Erica thought, perhaps it wasn’t fair of her to blame him for her breakup. She had to admit that it did not surprise or shock her. Her relationship with David had been faltering for a long time. She couldn’t remember the last time she looked at him, or he at her, with a spark of interest. She couldn’t even remember the last time they did anything fun or romantic. It had been a long time since their relationship felt like anything deeper than a close acquaintanceship. He was becoming more and more like a friendly stranger. His place in her life had been vanishing slowly like one of the apparitions the town was known for. 

The next morning before work she went to the town’s coffee shop. She felt light, the brief sting of David dumping her already passed. She entered the shop, giving a friendly thank you to whoever opened the door for her without noticing them, and got in line. 

“Hi, Lidia,” she chirped to the young girl at the register.  Lidia took her order and as she went to pay she noticed a very important detail, “I… forgot my purse at home.” She said aloud to herself in horror. The vision of her packed purse with her cards and phone left behind carelessly on her coffee table elicited a rush of color to her cheeks in embarrassment. 

Before the order could be canceled a voice behind her said, “I’ll pay for her.”

She turned, wondering who her good samaritan was, and came face to face with Sebastian Octavio.

Her mood dropped, “Thank you,” she said flatly, “But you don’t have to -”

“Please,” he smiled at her, “Let me. It’s the least I could do. You’ve been so helpful to me getting information.”

Before she could refute him again, he strolled up to the register, added his own order, and paid. She sighed and walked to the bar to wait for her drink. She felt absurd. She didn’t know this man, yet from the day he walked into her library she felt out of whack. She felt peculiar, disarrayed, and like she was being sent of her equilibrium. It was quite a contrast to what she usually felt, which, in a town where day in and day out was the same, was a highly bizarre sensation.

 She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she was being too harsh on him. She knew he couldn’t be doing this on purpose, and yet she also could not help but link her sudden misfortunes to him. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Well, to be honest, nothing had ever happened to her. She hated to admit it, but Sebastian Octavio was the most exciting thing to happen to her or this town in years. 

When their drinks were ready she muttered a quick thank you to him as they grabbed their coffee. 

“Excuse me,” he called out to her, “May I have a moment?”

She considered for a moment before nodding, “Sure.”

“I just… needed a local’s opinion on something, and you’re really the only person I know,” he added with a chuckle.

“An opinion on what?”

“Well,” he said, taking a sip, “I was at my grandfather’s old house and -”

“You went to the old Octavio place,” Erica asked bewildered.

“Yes,” he said with a bemused smile, “Was I not supposed to? Is no one allowed there?”

Erica sighed, “Did you… did you see anything?”

“Just old letters. That’s what I wanted to ask you about.”

“Letters?”

“Letters one of my great grandfathers sent to some woman.”

“Gemma,” Erica said knowingly.

“You know her?”

“Everyone does. Their affair was an open secret. Even their spouses knew.”

“Oof.”

“It’s what happened in those days,” Erica said with a shrug.

“Whatever happened to her? Or my grandfather Martin?”

“Well,” she sighed, “Legend has it your great grandmother Ines died in childbirth, and the Octavio’s didn’t live long either after they got word. I guess it didn’t help that at that point they were pretty much destitute. Martin had used all of the family money and the town’s money trying to find her.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said apologetically, “Sorry.”

“But the story goes that he and Gemma never stopped seeing each other, even after he had lost all his money. A lot of people thought she was with him for his fortune, she was a shopkeeper’s daughter so she never had much, but it doesn’t seem that way. And after he died she… she took her own life. She’s one of our famous ghosts.”

“One of them? You mean there’s more than one?”

“We have a few. Rumor has it your grandmother Yolanda, Martin’s wife, is one of them. They say she still lives in your old family home. You didn’t see her?”

“I’m afraid not. But I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Well,” she breathed out, “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” he said, “I’ll see you in the library later.”

She nodded and walked away with a frown. She was not looking forward to it. 

True to his word, he came about half an hour later. He nodded at her in a familiar way, then went to his usual place searching through the town newspapers. Erica watched him curiously, seeing his eyes skim the old papers. She was curious about why he was so interested. Could he be doing some sort of genealogy report? She didn’t have the nerve to ask him. All she hoped was that he would leave town soon, and then her life would go back to normal.

Suddenly, near the end of the day, he went up to her desk and put a newspaper down in front of her. It was a clipping of the old Octavio house, with a blurry picture of Yolanda’s ghost near the window.

“So,” he said, putting his elbows on her desk and resting his chin on his palms, leaning in close to her, “Tell me about these ghosts.”

The Secret of the Patriarch 

In order to truly understand the curse that the town of Valle Lozano was suspected of being under, you would need to look to Martin Octavio, the last important Octavio the town had - and one of Sebastian Octavio’s great-grandfathers. Martin had lived his whole life believing that he was a type of prince. His forefathers had created this town and spent years obtaining farmland to leave behind a legacy. In short, Martin Octavio was at the helm of his own personal empire. And he ran it just like any other emperor would. From his office in the Yellow House, the house that had been the Octavio home for generations - which unfortunately his future grandson Santiago never got to witness in its splendor - he oversaw all of the negotiations the family was a part of. He managed the farmlands that he rented out for a generous portion of profits and kept a close on the numerous shops and trades that the family funded. There was not anything in the town he was directly linked with. And he ran it all, from his large mahogany desk, sitting on his expensive wooden chair, that was as good to him as any throne.

Martin had many faults; he was calculating, unforgiving of those who owed him money, and worse of all he was arrogant. He believed what the old kings of past centuries believed, that he had been ordained by a higher power to be a leader among men. He believed that this was the reason his family and his family alone owned nearly everything in the town. It was because Ocativo’s were unique, one-of-a-kind people meant to have it all. 

In spite of all his shortcomings, Martin had one saving virtue; he was a devoted family man. He was a doting father and a dutiful husband. The birth of his daughter Ines validated everything he did and everything he believed in. If he was shrewd and stingy with money, it was to ensure that his daughter was given what was owed to her as the future leader of the Octavio fortune. He took his first look at her and was certain once again, that such a divine creature could only come from their lineage.

It was fortunate for Marin and his wife Yolanda that they had Ines. He was a faithful husband, it was what his wife was entitled to, but they both knew that it was obligation alone that kept them together. They both understood, in fact, that obligation was the only reason they became betrothed in the first place. Martin may have never had an affair on his wife but he also certainly never loved her. It was a well-established fact between the both of them that they married each other because that was what was expected of them. Martin’s father had told him it was time to get married, and so he set out to find a suitable wife. He began courting the young ladies of the town’s high society where he met his wife. Yolanda’s father had told her she needed to connect with the Octavio’s and so she became the suitable wife he was looking for. It was a perfectly acceptable situation for everyone.

That is until it wasn’t. When Ines was eighteen she fell in love with Fernando, a farmer’s young son. For years they kept their love a secret, with only the moon and the cold grass on the outskirts of town as the only witnesses. The people of Valle Lozano like to believe that the great blizzard of 1923. In reality what led to the deviation of the town really began on the night that Martin discovered the relationship between his daughter and a common, unworthy farmer. 

What happened that night is no mystery to anyone, the story has been passed down through the generations, even one hundred years later. Martin Octavio kicked his daughter out of the home and sent her away. She was never to be heard from again, and Martin died having spent all of the family fortune trying to find her without any success.

Again the town has been well aware of this, and why they are more quick to blame the blizzard that happened a few years before she was exiled, instead of blaming the one man who sunk Valle Lozano’s entire economy, it cannot be said. Perhaps because it was the blizzard was the cause of Ines and Fernando’s relationship. It was the catalyst for their beginning, and much of the town is in agreement that it would have been better for everyone had they never begun their affair. Even today, decades after her death, they wish Ines and Fernando would leave them alone. The townspeople were tired of seeing their ghosts wandering the outskirts of town where they used to meet.

No one understood why Mr. Octavio did what he did. How was he so quick to banish his once cherished daughter? He was angry no doubt, that she chose someone so beneath her. But there was a deeper explanation underneath the surface that took his future grandson to uncover. Sebastian Octavio, upon learning the history that befell his poor great, great grandmother, went to visit the old home. By some miracle, it was still standing. The dingy yellow house looked like something out of a horror picture, with its ripped cream curtains, broken windows, and decaying wood. He searched every room and soon came upon Martin Octavio’s study. The room still had the furniture of its last residents, only they were riddled with dust and cobwebs. The ceiling was moldy, and a draft swept through the room.

Sebastian did not believe he would find anything left over from his ancestor’s time but inspected the study closely nonetheless. He was in the closet of the room, on his tiptoes, reaching for a stake of books that was on the shelf. He was able to grab them and saw they were simply ordinary novels. However, when he flipped through the end of one thick green book, he saw that a section of pages had been carved out. A small key was hidden in the carving. 

A Name

The town of Valle Lozano was a place where time stood still. It was a place where dreams went to die. Or so, that’s what its townspeople said. They believed it all started with the name of the town itself. The founders, upon seeing the wide pastures and robust grasslands, knew it would be the perfect place for farming, and gave it a Spanish name meaning Lush Valley. It was as if they had placed all their ambitions on that single name, and the residents believed that from the moment the first sign dictating its name was forged into the ground, the town's fate was sealed. Of course, there had been a time when the place lived up to its name. It was lush. It was a growing community, with rising shops and businesses, and the farmers and the working people prospered. No one could have seen the imminent downfall that now characterized Valle Lozano. 

If the townspeople had to pinpoint a certain event that marked the beginning of the end, it would have been the winter of 1923. An unexpected blizzard had fallen, making it the harshest winter on record, killing livestock, and people, and had sickened the soil in a way that it had not cured one hundred years later. 

If one had to describe Valle Lozano now, it need no more effort than by using the colors yellow and brown. Yellow, brittle stems of dead wheat, brown, cracked dirt. The only semblance of life and color came from the lake at the far edge of town, which may or may not have been home to certain ghosts and spirits. But that wasn’t what brought Santiago Escarra to Lozano, and it certainly wasn’t what had made him find an apartment in the town nearby. 

His decision to come to Lozano had actually been made the night before his eighteenth birthday. Santiago had grown up in foster care, never knowing his parents, or understanding why it was that they never wanted him. When he was twelve years old, despite his age, he was fortunate enough to get adopted. The Escarra’s were a loving, older couple in their late 40s who had never before been bothered about being childless. That was until one morning, they looked at their spare bedroom, the extra space at their kitchen table, and their wide living room and longed to hear the scamperings of an energetic child. They intended to adopt a younger child, perhaps a toddler, as most adopting couples do. But when they set eyes on the young boy and looked into his deep, sad, chocolate eyes, and ruffled his wild, spirally, thick head of light brown curls, they knew he was for them. 

Sebastian had been shy when they first brought him home and overly polite but over time the kindness and affection of the Escarra’s had warmed him and put him at ease. He became the energetic, rambunctious child they had envisioned for their home. Sebastian and the Escarra’s felt that they finally had the families they longed for. Sebastian loved his parents, and though he always wondered about his biological ones, the longing for him that he had been so apt to as a child waned away. As far as he was concerned they were ghosts of his imagination.

Miriam and Robert Escarra watched the boy grow up into a young man with pride in their eyes, and a secret tucked inside their attic. Unbeknownst to Sebastian, when he was put into the system there was also a letter. It was given to his parents, and what the contents of the letter were neither of them dared to know. They assumed it was from his biological parents, perhaps they wanted to keep in touch with him, perhaps they wanted him to know where they were. The thought that Sebastian would discover their whereabouts and choose to want to be with them was an idea that neither husband nor wife could bear. So, for nearly six years they kept the letter hidden deep in a corner of their attic, and in the farthest recesses of their minds. 

But when Sebastian was set to graduate high school, they knew it was wrong to keep it from him for much longer. He would soon be an adult, and he deserved to know the truth of where he came from. Even if it meant that he would distance himself from them. So the night before his birthday, they sat him down and showed him the letter. It was the first time he had heard of Valle Lozano, and the first time he learned his mother’s name. Stephanie. Stephanie Octavio. In the letter, she wrote her deepest regret for leaving him. She had him too young she said, and had broken up with his father, Cameron. She confessed to Sebastian that she never knew her parents either, and was sure she’d have made a rotten mother. She wrote down the only thing she did know of her family, that they came from a small, unknown town. Valle Lozano. 

After he read the letter, Sebastian assured his parents that he was not angry with them for keeping it from him. After all, it had only confirmed what he had secretly always suspected: he had not wanted. He also assured them that this changed nothing, they were now and would always be his parents and his only family. Relieved, they went on as usual. Sebastian continued to grow up. He went off to college and got a degree in journalism. But what Sebastian did not tell his parents was that he decided to keep his mother’s letter. He snuck it into his pockets and kept it nearby, all through his young adult life. And on his 31st birthday, on the 100th anniversary of the blizzard that ruined Valle Lozano, Sebastian packed up his car and drove to the town he was certain contained the pieces of his past. 

The entire ride to Lozano, Sebastian pictured what the town might look like. He created an image in his mind of a quaint, friendly town. He envisioned small colonial houses, romantic Spanish-style buildings, and a pleasant community of people who would greet each other as they passed by one another in the street. He also, in a quiet voice in his mind, wondered if he still had any family there. He couldn’t help but muse over meeting a cousin, or aunt, or a grandparent. He contemplated what they would be like. Would they like him, had they looked for him, did they know where his mother or father were? 

These ideas kept him so occupied, Sebastian wasn’t even sure how he got to town without getting lost or getting into an accident. But sure enough, just before sundown, he saw the small, fading, wooden sign that read: WELCOME TO VALLE LONZANO painted in white cursive. He drove further, inspecting the town, and what he saw shattered his illusions. He saw nothing but emptiness. Large vacant fields with splotches of brown grass, colored with antiquity. Small ranch houses with broken porches and windows that gave the home a clear appearance of abandonment. They looked old, worn out, and hardened, as if resentful of being left alone for so long. 

Sebastian continued to drive and saw nothing much different, except for a few convenience stores that looked as if they hadn’t changed since the turn of the century, their windows holding up posters and signs that had been faded by the sun. He began to feel disheartened. What if he came all this way just to hit a dead end? It did not even appear as if there were any residents left in town, and he wondered if he’d see another soul or even an animal. 

He was considering turning around and returning home when he spotted a sign that read MAIN STREET. The street showed him his first signs of human life in the town, and he saw on the block more modern-looking shops like a bank, a restaurant, a grocery store, and even a library. Sebastian’s mood considerably lighted and he parked in the library.

He walked inside and saw a few people browsing. He went up to the librarian station and smiled at the young woman at the desk.

“Hello,” she greeted him, “If you’re looking for the highway, just keep going down this road and turn left at the church.”

“What,” he chuckled, “No, I’m not looking for the highway.”

The woman eyed him, “Oh, I’m sorry. I just haven’t seen you around here before. No one who doesn’t live here comes in unless they’re lost and looking for the highway. What can I help you with?”

“Well, I am lost,” he admitted, “I’m just not trying to find the highway. I’m actually looking for a family here. If you can help with that.”

“A family here? Well, what’s the name?”

“Octavio.”

She blinked at him silently at him for a long moment, “Octavio,” she repeated finally, “Goodness. I had always thought that was an urban legend.”

“Why do you say that?”

“There’s no family here by that name. At least not anymore.”

“There isn’t?”

She nodded, “The last Octavio was said to have left here… about 80 years ago.”

“That’s not possible. What about my mother? Stephanie? Stephanie Octavio?”

“I don’t think anyone lived here by that name.”

Sebastian let out a long sigh, “Great,” he said defeatedly, “I guess that does it.”

“If you want, you could search through our old newspapers. We have them going back all the way from the town’s beginning. You might find something there. I heard the Octovio’s were important people here.”

“Really,” Sebastian asked, his interest piqued.

The librarian nodded, “Oh, but I’m afraid if you want to do that you’ll have to come back tomorrow. It’s almost closing time.”

“Oh, right. Well, in that case, is there a motel around here that I could check in at?”

“I’m afraid not. People don’t really… they don’t really stay here, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah. I noticed that. Before I got here, I was beginning to be afraid this was a ghost town.”

“Oh, don’t think it’s not,” the librarian said.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

The librarian sighed, “Well, it’s just this town… it’s very odd. We have a lot of superstitions here. Folk tales. Stories of ghosts and spirits that have always been around.”

“And is that something people around here really believe in?”

“Not really,” she shrugged, “It just makes us feel better.”

“About what?”

“About being here. It’s kind of a town joke that this place is cursed.”

“Why’s that?”

“Let’s just say this town has… quite a history. But you’ll discover it soon enough if you stick around some.”

“I think I might just do that,” Sebastian smiled politely.

He left the library soon after asking for directions to the closest town with accommodations. It turned out that not even the next town over had a motel, just a few sublet apartments. So Sebastian rented one. On his way out of town, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the name. Valle Lozano. Quite the ironic name for a town that looked like it was clinging to its last legs. But he couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship with the town. It wasn’t either of their faults that they had been abandoned. Was it the town’s fault that no one stuck around to water the fields or nurture the soil? Was it his fault that his mother and father couldn’t work out? He was reminded of what the librarian said. This place is cursed. If being left behind was a curse, then maybe he was cursed, too. 

Sebastian did come back the next day. He was met by the same librarian from the day before, and she led him to the newspaper archives. 

“You know something,” she told him suddenly as she watched him peruse the clippings, “The more I see you, the more familiar you look.”

He turned to her with a strange expression, “You don’t say.”

“Yeah, I can’t put my finger on why, though.” 

“Could be an old family resemblance,” he half-joked.