I’m working on a small collection of short horror stories. I’ve been back and forth and back and forth with the editor on this one, but it’s coming close to being done. To the point where I’m happy sharing it now than the original draft. So, enjoy this short take on a Chupacabra story!
Penance
Raymond had never seen such carnage in all ten years of living. The sun was setting before him as he stood in front of a herd of cattle destroyed and dead. His eyes studied the limbs strewn about the grass while the stench of decay fumed under the hot Texas sky. What on earth did this? he thought to himself, focusing on how the entrails piled like his mom’s fideo she used to make on cold nights.
She wasn’t with the family anymore. It was why he was out on the land. Raymond thought if he spent his spare time searching the fields behind his home that stretched out into the forest, he could find something of hers. Something, anything that could have been left behind. But all he found was death stretching about the size of half a football field.
He never looked a dead cow in the face, but here was a whole herd who could no longer move or moo—a whole herd that would have been milked and sold for him and his father to live, all gone. Dad’s gonna be so mad! he thought, running back to the house, the cicadas singing as the summer wind blew through the grass weakly. He’s gonna blame me.
*
“Dad! Dad!” Raymond yelled.
Frank was in the kitchen cooking up a can of ravioli while downing a whole can of beer. The bitter, carbonated liquid oozed down his throat. Raymond could smell the night’s dinner, immediately missing the soups his mom would cook on summer nights like tonight—on nights when the winds felt wrong.
“What the fuck do you want!” Frank lashed out, throwing the beer can in the garbage, but missing it altogether.
“Something killed the cows! They’re dead! All of them!” Raymond yelled.
“What the fuck are you on about?” Frank shut off the stove and grabbed his gun lying next to the backdoor. He never taught Raymond how to shoot, but he never concerned himself with the amount of access his son had to it. Frank believed it was like swimming: you learn eventually and when in danger. Both father and son ran through the backyard fields and to the deathly scene. “Oh fuck!”
“See! I told y—”
“What did you do? Huh? You didn’t put them up like you should have and now look at us.” Frank grabbed his son by the neck of his shirt, eyes fuming with rage as he spat out at the child.
“I didn—”
“Oh shut the fuck up!” he said, throwing his son back. “No dinner tonight. Go the fuck to bed while I sort this out.” Raymond felt his father’s anger bubble in his belly. He wanted to lash out at the man who he felt hated him. His eyes narrowed on his father’s back, and he thought of how easy it would be to just ram a knife into hairy, pale flesh. But he shuffled off back to the house, tears breaking through his eyes as he made it into his home, and went to bed, not getting up for anything. Maybe the world would be over tomorrow.
*
For as long as he could remember, his father was always aggressive to him. Raymond lay in bed, staring at the stars outside while practicing how to remain quiet. He knew the less he was heard, the less his father would notice him. Raymond’s stomach growled under his covers; he wrapped his arms around his flat belly wondering how many nights without dinner he would have. The thought of stealing what was on the stove crossed his mind, but Raymond pushed it away. He didn’t have the energy to leave his room, wanting only to lie in his bed and sleep.
“One day I’m gonna get rid of the piece of shit. The bastard’s probably not even mine,” the gruff man’s voice slurred through the halls. Raymond rubbed his hands along his brown arms and curled himself tightly in a ball, his blanket wrapping over his head in the process. Suddenly, the door shook, his father slamming his fist against it. “Your mother was a beaner whore!” yelled his father, another fist slamming into the door. “You fucking mutt!”
Just stay quiet, the child told himself. He had trained himself not to be heard for years after his mother died. As Raymond closed his eyes, he could see her remains splattered along the fields much like the cattle were today. He remembered how he and his father found her, arms strewn about as her torso lay under the sun disjointed and split open. “This is penance for giving birth to a bastard,” were the only words his father had to say before leaving the boy to sit and process the broken body that was his mom. Raymond never forgot those words, and ever since then his father made sure to remind him of the burden he was to the household.
He knew his father wouldn’t get in through the door. Tonight he locked his bedroom door, and, while if the monster tried hard enough, he’d be able to get in, Raymond knew the alcohol in his dad’s system would whisk the man away into a deep slumber on the couch.
The child heard his door crack with the last punch thrown into it. The angered man finally gave up and stomped away from the room. “I should have given you up.” The words bounced between walls as Raymond heard the man’s hulking, pasty body drop hard onto the couch in their living room. When he heard the television flush on, he let out a large sigh.
“I wish you had given me up too,” Raymond said before finally falling asleep.
*
Frank guzzled another bottle of beer then threw it hard against the wall. There was an animal living under his roof, and he couldn’t stand to hear it scurry around. The more he drank, the less he had to remember that the animal came from his wife’s womb. Drinking made it easier for him to remove the idea that this child was his and believe that Raymond was an animal sent from hell.
His body hobbled over to the couch. Standing in front of it, Frank stared at the indent his body made in the old material. His head turned toward the hallway thinking of his bed, yet he waved the thought away. “That bitch slept there. Who knows what devils she played with while I wasn’t around,” he said, a large burp firing like a cannon from his mouth. The bodies of the dead cattle flashed through his brain the longer he stared down. Frank had been trying to deal with whatever thing was killing the animals on his farm. “I’d wring its neck the way I wrung hers,” he said, staring at his hands. He pictured his wife’s neck between them, how fragile it was when he snapped it in the fields. For the years she had been alive, he always thought it was her cursing his farm, yet now that his wife’s presence was gone, he still suffered the unusually violent death on his property.
“There’s a devil out in them woods,” he grumbled, his voice raspy from exhaustion. He rubbed his hands along his belly, “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen her consorting with it. The devil is out for me. I just need to get rid of that four-legged beast.” He was about to let his body fall right into the indent the couch held for him, but the moment his feet began to lose balance, a sudden thud burst against the window. “What the fuck?” he said, twisting his body around, eyes darting at every corner of the room. “Who’s there?!” Frank yelled, his body hunched down, arms out and ready to wrestle whatever thing was intruding in his home.
He was met with silence, which, to Frank’s drunk brain, felt like it would never end. He started to stand up straight, his knees pushing him from this hunched position, yet the moment he moved, a loud bang crashed against his door. Without hesitation, the large, rounded man dashed to the door, his beard flying back slightly as his pudgy fingers grabbed onto the handle. He thrust the door open, “I will kill you!” he yelled as he was met with nothing. He slammed the door behind him, jetting out into the driveway, his security lights flushing on the moment they sensed his movement. He stopped when he got to his truck.
Crickets chirped as Frank searched in the darkness for whatever was fucking with him, yet his vision failed him the longer he stared. The world around him swirled under his alcoholic influence. Frank kept turning, the lights blurring with his movement each time he shifted to them. He rubbed his eyes to try and get a handle on himself, yet fell in the process, becoming too dizzy to stand.
Frank kneeled on the grass, wiping his eyes to keep his vision still. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, the alcohol blurring the ground beneath him. His stomach churned the longer he remained still. Frank tried to lift himself up, but the moment his knees began to shift up, vomit ejaculated from his mouth. Falling to all fours, the man spewed everything that was in his belly where the grass met his driveway, chunks covering grass and cement.
When he felt the river of puke was over, Frank tried to get up again, his mouth covered in bile and sweat. The man's breath remained heavy as he stood, his sight slowly steadying as he remained still. He didn't want to make any movements for fear of the alcohol forcing him to become sick again.
Leaves rustled as the night became still. Frank wondered where the noise was coming from, deciding to check the side of the house. His chest rose far from his rib cage, still unable to breathe normally after the violent outburst of vomit.
He peered around the corner, his body exhausted from the whole evening. Frank didn't make it far from the driveway before he saw a four-legged creature. Its eyes were fixated on the man like a predator waiting for its prey to be vulnerable enough to kill. Frank knew this was the beast who had been terrorizing him and his farm. His mind flashed with the slaughtered cattle he lost and anger bubbled in his large gut. His breathing quickened, fists clenched. He could feel heat course over his skin as he stared back at the animal. Raymond stood behind the stare down. He was too afraid to move, hoping if he stood still long enough his father wouldn't see him. The creature began to growl as it moved in front of Raymond, as if to tell the man he would not hurt the boy tonight. Franks eyes narrowed, his rage erupting the moment he noticed the child standing before him. “That son of a bitch!” he mumbled under his breath, finally forcing himself to stand up and confront the boy. “What the fuck are you doing?”
*
Raymond jumped from his bed, tilting his head as he heard a scratch from his window. It was a faint annoyance, claws scraped against glass causing the boy to wince at the mild squeaks. His heart raced as his mind zoomed through all the possibilities. “What if it’s a Chupacabra? Mom always said it’d get me if I wasn’t in bed,” he said as if the spirits in the air could answer him back. The boy took in a heavy sigh, then released the air from his lungs as he drew back the curtains. “There’s no such thing. It’s just a story to get kids to go to bed.” While he knew this to be true, there was some part of him that wanted to believe the beast his mom created was alive—that there was this monstrous, canine devil that would eat anyone that crossed its path. Raymond knew it was easier to believe in fairy tales than it was to believe that bad people could someday be decent.
The boy peered through the window glass. At first he saw nothing save for the grass outside of his room. The fields were emptier now that the cows were gone. Raymond swallowed his sadness at the thought of all the cattle who wouldn’t be around in the fields. While he knew they would’ve been sold soon, the child preferred having animals around the house to distract him from his father. But the cows were gone, and though he wondered what might have slaughtered all of them, and wondered how not a single one of them got away.
The air was silent. It was a dead silence, the kind where the only thing Raymond could hear was the water dripping from the kitchen faucet. Like the seconds hand on a clock, he counted the drops the longer he stayed at the window. His eyes could see nothing in the abyss that surrounded his home, though he was certain he had heard a scratching at the window. The boy’s heart raced faster, as if he had been running all day. He found it hard to breathe as his eyes continued to dart around, trying to see something, anything to justify his getting out of bed.
I guess I was just hearing things, he thought to himself, turning away from the window. As his head looked toward his door, a loud, sudden thud rammed against the glass. Raymond let out a mild scream, falling down onto the floor of his room, eyes focused solely on the window. The thud hit again, and again, and again, getting faster each time. As the glass shook, he was afraid it would break and whatever was out there would crawl into his room. This wasn’t the first time he was afraid to die, but it was the first time at the hands of an animal.
Raymond panicked, trying to decide on how to leave his room. He looked at his bedroom door, thinking he could run fast enough, but immediately swept that aside. Afraid of getting caught by his father, the boy then looked toward the window. His heart beat like a fist slamming into his chest, but to Raymond, there was no monster more fierce than his dad. Though the room was a cage, he often found it safer than any place in the house, yet Raymond knew if his dad heard the noises, that his room would be invaded by another monster. The boy looked at the window, decided to see what was outside, rather than wait for the angry fool to bust through his door.
When the pounding stopped, the boy rushed over to it and shoved it open. Fear still in his heart, he jumped down and crawled toward the front of the house, not looking behind him. He reached the corner, back planted against the wall of his home. Before rushing around the corner, a low growl rumbled through the long grass. Raymond stood still like a cockroach, knowing he was visible, but hoping he would be ignored. He tilted his head sideways, his right ear picking up where the growl was. His heart dropped when he realized it was behind him.
He opened his eyes and turned his body, his heart beating faster by the second. As he met the beast face to face, he realized how it looked like a dog with hollow eyes. Raymond put a hand out to the growling canine, seeing the spines on its back shiver as he tried to reach the exposed skull of the animal. The beast stepped forward, cautious at first, sniffing the child’s hand for a lengthy moment.
His father shouted in the distance, yet when the boy turned around, he saw he had not been caught yet. He ignored whatever commotion his father was causing, shrugging it off as his usual drunkenness. The creature’s eyes stayed on the boy, its ears listening to the yelling in the background. Raymond continued to move his hand closer to it.
He wondered if he was going to lose his hand, or if the ragged canine would spare him tonight. And just as he was about to pull it back, the beast rubbed his head against the palm. The child’s fear left his body as he slowly got closer and started to scritch the beast’s chin. Relieved that he was safe, he tried to examine the dog before him, but it was too dark to see anything. All he could see was the skull, the spines, and the emptiness of its eyes. He wondered if this was the creature that killed the cows or his mother, but not wanting to startle the animal, he kept those questions hidden in his belly.
The house security lights flushed on. Raymond’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, knowing his father had caught him. Their interaction cut short, the boy stood still, waiting to hear the voice of wrath behind him. “What the fuck are you doing?” Frank’s voice roared as he grabbed Raymond from the beast. Pain shot through the boy’s back as his father slammed him against the brick wall of their home. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? That fucking thing is the devil, and you’re out there playing with it like a goddamn pet!” The canine jumped forward, eyes fixated on the large man. Its growl was loud enough to quiet Frank. Slobber spewed from its mouth with each loud bark.
Raymond watched the spikes on its spine rise like fur. He knew the creature was ready to strike his father down. In his mind, he begged for it. He wanted to see his father taken down. Raymond couldn’t count how many times he wished for it, but he knew he wanted to see his dad lying dead, because that was the only way he could be free.
“Let me go!” Raymond shouted, trying to push his father’s hand off of him.
“Shut up!” Frank yelled, slamming his palm against the boy’s face. The canine lunged forward again. Frank jumped away, forcing his hand to let go of the boy. He kicked back at the monster, hoping to deliver a hard blow to its gut. He missed, the creature jumping back to avoid being hit. The beast growled even louder and steadied its body. The tiny spikes vibrated along its back. “Get in the goddamn house. You won’t be consorting with devils like your whore mother.”
“I hope it kills you,” Raymond shouted and ran off to his room. As he locked the door, he could hear his father’s steps pounding on the wooden floors.
“Mark my words, boy. I’ll put you in the ground before death ever comes for me.” Frank slammed his fist into the boy’s door. “Remember that.”
*
Raymond snuck into the kitchen as the sun rose. His toes touched the wooden floors, trying to mimic the mice that lived in the walls. They were quiet. He wished to be like them, and in a way saw himself as the same—sneaking food before his drunk father awakened, running off when caught, always watching from the shadows of the halls. Raymond was very much a mouse, and as he saw the sun peer through the torn curtains of the living room, he grit his teeth knowing it was better to leave than to stay hidden.
He hated weekends the most. Loving school for the escape, he wished for Saturday detention or something to get away from the beast sleeping in the recliner. Instead, he was home, and there was nothing, save for the woods behind him, that would hide his presence. His mind trailed to the canine that visited him last night. He wondered what his father meant by calling the creature a devil, but he knew his father was wrong. He didn’t know why the monster took to him like it did, but he knew he had to find it again. At least there’s a reason to leave the house, he thought to himself as he began making his breakfast.
Raymond spread peanut butter on two slices of bread. His father didn’t keep many things around the house except for enough beer to fill a gas station. His fingers carefully twisted the bag that carried the bread and tied it in a knot. He grabbed a reusable water bottle that his mom loved. Frank rarely used anything that his mother owned, so he knew his father wouldn’t notice it missing. Raymond wondered why she liked it as there was nothing special to it. It was just a red aluminum bottle. He wondered what she drank if the bottle wasn’t special. As he grabbed his sandwich, he heard his father’s hulking body shift, the man’s breath stopping for a few moments before settling down to a rumbling snore. Raymond stood still, as if moving would set off the alarm for the beast to wake up, and the child was not yet ready to deal with whatever mood his caretaker decided to be in.
As he stared at the man lying in his throne, he wondered if he left, would his father look for him? And though he knew the answer was no, he dreaded the thought of the beast coming after him. I’d sooner be torn open like my mother than come back to you, he thought and scurried back to his room with his sandwich and the bottle. Closing his door behind him, he stuffed the sandwich down his throat and opened the window. Keeping his clothes from yesterday on, Raymond climbed out the window like he did last night. Feeling the heat immediately from the angry sun, he walked up to the water hose on the side and turned it on. He knew it was going to take a minute to cool. He tried twisting the bottle open, the top giving way more resistance than Raymond bargained for. He let out an audible groan as he used every ounce of strength. As he was about to give up, the bottle twisted open, causing, A slip of paper to fall from the bottle and onto the grass. Raymond tilted his head curiously, setting the bottle aside as he bent down to grab the paper. It was folded, and on the outside of it, he read his name. It took a moment, but his eyes recognized the handwriting of his mother. Raymond looked around, ensuring no one was watching, and then stuffed it in his pockets. “I’ll take this to the forest, no one would follow me there,” he spoke aloud. Raymond felt weird sending the words off into the air, but he grew tired of remaining silent for once. He filled the canister with water from the outside hose and snuck off.
The stench of death lingered in the air, the remains of the cows still lingering from last night. He wondered if his father would clean up their bodies, or if they would just remain there. As the breeze whisked through the grass, he covered his nose and turned back toward the house. For a brief moment, he thought he felt his father watching him, but he knew the drunk was still asleep. Still, Raymond could not shake the feeling of being watched, his stomach slowly becoming uneasy the longer he stared at the house from afar. He felt bile bubble in his throat the longer he waited, and eventually, he forced his feet to move further toward the forest. He knew once he reached the start of the trail, once the trees covered his footsteps, no one could come looking, and he wanted nothing more than to vanish for however long—he just wanted to get gone.
*
“I dunno, Frank. I ain’t seen nothin’ like this before,” he said, removing his cap and wiping the sweat that formed underneath. “Not since Sofia.” Eddie hesitated on saying the name, but he didn’t know of any other way of comparing the carnage that was before him.
Frank’s eyes pierced through his friend’s body, the icy chill enough to cool them both. “We don’t say her name here, not after the child she gave me,” he said. “You don’t think a coyote did this?” Frank moved the chess piece away from his deceased wife, wanting to stay focused on how this mass of cattle all perished—how their bodies were split open and strewn about the grass as if a garbage bag ripped open on trash day.
“We’re talkin’ a herd of ten, maybe twelve cows? Nah, one coyote wouldn’t be enough to take on that many. Maybe a pack, but not one. The weirdest thing about all this is, well, there’s no blood. Whatever did this, took every ounce of blood that was in their bodies. Now I ain’t seen nothin’ like that, but your wife, her blood was—”
“She’s not my wife anymore, Eddie. Leave her body in the ditch where we found her.” Eddie closed his lips tightly. He knew Frank wasn’t going to tolerate another mention of the woman he was married to, yet he also knew the cases were similar when it came to death. Eddie didn’t want to believe it, but he wondered if Frank were unhinged enough to massacre his own herd—to massacre his own wife. His eyes trailed to the forest that sat behind them. The pit in his stomach started to turn as he wondered if he could talk to Raymond. But he would need to talk to the child alone. He thought if he believed for a moment that Frank was capable of the brutality of the two slaughters, how safe was the boy?
“Where’s your son, Frank?” he asked flatly.
Frank’s eyes turned slowly to his friend’s. His hands gripped his shovel, wondering if he should use it on Eddie. The two stared each other down in the empty field as the breeze blew between them. “He’s not my son, Eddie. He don’t look nothin’ like me.”
“Frank…”
“She used to feed the devil, Eddie! That…that thing that lives beyond those trees! She fed it, she fucked it, and now I have an animal that I don’t even want! And what do I do? I take care of it, because that’s the good-natured man that I am. That fuckin’ dog should be thankful for all the things I’ve done for it. I never once made it crawl back to his dog-dicked daddy. It’s been two years since that bitch died, and all she could give me was a child that’s not even mine!” Frank’s voice echoed in the long grass.
“Two years, today, Frank.” Eddie responded, a hand extending. He tried moving forward to reach his friend. He could see Frank becoming more and more agitated as the subject lingered between the two. “Where’s Raymond, Frank? Just tell me where he is.” Eddie could feel the surge of adrenaline run through him. He wanted to kill his friend in these fields, but he knew the large, pasty man was too big to fall. Eddie imagined a punch landing on Frank’s face and seeing how small the damage would be compared to the blowback his hand would earn.
“I think you should leave, Eddie,” Frank said. He balled his fists up ready to strike if anyone came near him. “Leave…”
“Just tell me where Raymond is, and I’ll get gone,” Eddie said, prepared to take whatever hits Frank was charging up for.
“Raymond is not my son! That boy is a fucking dog! I own it!” Frank yelled, beating his chest to ensure Eddie knew he was prepared to fight. Eddie felt the anger bubble in his blood.
“Raymond is a child, Frank. Not your dog. Tell me where he is, and I’ll—”
“Fuck you, Eddie! My property stays here. Now leave before something bad really happens,” Frank warned, putting emphasis on each word to ensure Eddie knew the finality of the warning.
Eddie stepped back, put his hands in front of him as if trying to calm a bear. “Alright, I’ll go. This ain’t over. And if Raymond winds up dead, the whole town will rain hellfire upon you.”
Frank smiled. “I know that town much like you, Eddie. They won’t care about a brown mutt that goes missing. They won’t care none at all.” He lifted his shovel and slammed it hard across Eddie’s face. “No one is gonna care about that mongrel!” he yelled, taking the weapon and bringing it down hard on Eddie’s neck, the blood spewing upon impact. Eddie tried grabbing the shovel and pulling it away, but the moment his neck was split open, he started to lose consciousness. Frank repeated the motion, driving the blade down hard, over and over until Eddie’s head was severed from the body. “Goddammit Eddie, look what you made me do. I almost liked you,” he said, not even staring at the dead body. He dug the shove into the dirt and began a new grave on the field of death.
*
Raymond had walked this trail before. He knew it would be a mile or two until he reached a small pond in the back. It was secluded, a place where his father would never venture because of how evil he said the trail was, but there was never anything here that attacked him. What evil lurked behind these trees, must never come out in the day as Raymond spent most of his weekends here.
A small breeze rustled the trees as he took a swig of water. Raymond looked all around him, the feeling of being watched creeping up his spine. It was the first time he felt this way in the forest—the first time he felt unsafe, but the more he looked through the leaves and the branches and grass, the less he could see. The less he could recognize as anything more than just nature.
Shrugging it off, he moved further down the trail. Raymond never took long when getting to the pond. The trial was so short, he figured it would take less than an hour, which forced him to plan out what to do with the rest of his day once there. He smiled the moment he saw the waterfront, sprinting away from the grasp of the trail and tossing the bottle on the ground. He threw off his socks and shoes and sank his feet into the water. The boy lifted his shirt to his face, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He thought about taking a swim, but instead decided to rest. While he felt a mild unease, he still felt safer by the pond than in the same walls as his father. He knew the man would be angry by the time he returned, but some risks were worth taking. Raymond slid his hand in his pocket, pulling the note from his mother out and opened it up. There would never be a better time than now to read it. He unwrapped the wrinkly sheet of notebook paper, noting how fragile and trying carefully not to break it over the pool of water his feet were dipped into.
Raymond,
I’m writing this because I’m afraid. At this point, you know I’m gone, but I’m sure you don’t know why. It pains me to have to leave a note like this, but I feel I have no other choice. This world is cruel and unkind to those who cannot do for themselves, mijo. I’m certain you know that living with your father after all these years.
I used to love him. There was a kinder soul to him before he became the wildly erratic man that lives in our home now. At first I thought he was just hard to love, and that I needed to be patient with him more, but things got so much worse. Your father is an uncertain mess, and I’m afraid any kindness that used to live inside him is now gone. You would know more than I right now.
Do you remember the story of the Chupacabra? I used to tell it to you to make you go to sleep. Most parents make up stories so they can get rest at night. But this creature is real. It’s a legend, not a good one, but it exists. Your father used to call it the devil. I’m sure he still does to this day. But the monster is not a beast to be afraid of; more like a puppy that needs a little blood every now and then. I have seen it. It lives in the forest, much like your father fears.
I used to feed it. I would take one of our livestock out to the edge of the fields and slit it open. It never took long for the thing to find my offering. I like to think it could have protected us in our time of need. It was an animal, a gnarly, bony thing, but it would be as loyal as a dog. The legend said they only eat goats, but this monster took anything that had blood.
If you’re reading this, your father killed me. Last time he found me sacrificing our livestock to “the devil” he beat me. I didn’t think I’d make it out of that. If you hear the blood from my body was drained when they found me, it means I gave my blood as a sacrifice for you, mijo. If you see the beast, know that it is there in times I cannot be.
I wish I could be there to watch you grow. In some ways, but I’m sure it’s hard for you not seeing me there. If my spirit can protect you, Raymond, it will try. I love you…
Raymond could barely contain the tears from leaving his eyes. He felt a stone in his chest, a bulky rock that made it hard for him to breathe, to cry, to be angry. The boy’s feet kicked up from the water as he fell back onto the grass. He wanted all life to end, to stop moving forward so that he could sit and breathe. The longer he stewed in his emotions, the more his anger bubbled in his belly, yet he knew there was no way he could fight his father. Raymond was defeated before he could even try, knowing the man in his house would beat him to near death, if not kill him, if he tried to hurt his father.
Suddenly, his father’s voice echoed through the leaves. Raymond shot up, eyes looking around to see if the man had finally ventured into “the devil’s playground” to find him. As he frantically searched, he backed away from the main trail and tried to hide himself further in the trees.
A low growl rumbled close to him as he kept his back against the stiff bark, waiting to see if his father would emerge from the trail. Raymond turned his head for a moment, then kept his eyes focused on the beast that stood next to him. He didn’t realize it would appear in the day. Raymond studied the brown fur that flowed all the way up until the top of its head where the bone started to show. The animal’s whole face was nothing but bone and hollow eyes. While it didn’t have lips, the teeth it bared were enough to terrify the child into keeping his hands off until he could trust the creature. This must be the dog she was talking about, he thought to himself. At first, he was angry at it. Angry that he would drink every ounce of blood from his mother’s body, but he soon calmed his initial emotions knowing they both had been brought together by her—that they both were now bonded, and that the canine monster would be there to help him.
“You want to kill him too,” he said aloud, realizing his father wasn’t going to emerge any time soon. The beast looked over to him, its spikes quaking as their eyes met. “What if I fed you the biggest meal your stomach had ever eaten?” Drool drizzled through the chupacabra’s mouth, its jaw clenched as it looked back at the trail. It sat next to the boy. Raymond reached out and began to stroke the canine’s head, and though it tensed at first, the monster easily relaxed.
*
Frank waited for the boy to return home. He held a shotgun across his lap as he sat on the front porch. For Frank, the solution was simple: he needed the boy to lure the beast in, then he could kill them both. All he needed was a few bullets and once he saw the air leave their lungs, he would torch the bodies. Not that anyone would question. Frank made it clear he killed his wife by snapping her neck. His mind drifted back to when the police were inspecting the body, the words “I killed that bitch,” echoing in his head as the lights covered every inch of her.
Yet they shrugged it off as his alcoholism. Nothing was ever done about the death of his wife, and he knew nothing would be done about his child. “This town stays quiet about the deaths of people they care nothing for.”
Out in the distance he could see Raymond walking back. Like a spider waiting for its prey, Frank narrowed his eyes on the boy. “Nobody’s here to protect you, boy. Just you wait until you get home.” His breath was hot with booze. His beard became oily from the sweat pouring from his head. Frank’s rage ran rapidly in his blood the closer the child got to home. He wanted to run out, aim his gun, and watch every bit of bone and flesh explode from the bullets. There was no child living with him, only a creature. A devil his mother created and left him to care for. He never asked for the burden, so why should he cradle it for the rest of his life? For Frank, it was time to end the story. Time to bury the boy in the ground and the boy’s pet.
He had not forgotten about the beast living in the woods behind him, and though he was never able to catch it. Tonight he was going to catch and burn the creature. He was going to kill them all, and then he would finally gather some peace in his home.
Raymond could see his father waiting for him in the distance. Though he was hesitant to move, he looked back at the woods, seeing the cryptid canine watching from afar. The sun was setting, and while the air was still blistering hot, a small, nimble breeze blew through. It was now or never. Raymond was going to have to face the man, and he knew in his belly that tonight might be the last night he would see the sun set. He looked at the sky, empty of clouds, and took in a large breath before moving onward to home.
“Where’ve you been, boy?” Frank asked.
“Nowhere,” he responded. They both knew that was a lie, yet Raymond was afraid of saying anything in that moment.
“Bullshit. You went to them damn woods again, didn’t you? I told you to stay out of there.” Frank’s rage was bursting from his skin. His fist pounded into the house, a loud thud echoing from the impact. It made the boy jump back. “I’ll teach you yet, son of a bitch.” Frank spat on the ground, his steps stomping on the porch until he was inches away from the boy. He grabbed the child by the hair and threw him into the door.
Raymond screamed upon impact, tears flooding the dam of his eyes before bursting down his cheeks as he hit the floor. Before his father could grab him a second time, Raymond rolled over onto his back and kicked as hard as he could into the man’s crotch. While Raymond couldn’t best his father with strength, he knew this was an easy escape when he needed it. The boy crawled away as the hulking man that was his father fell to his knees. Raymond heard the gun fall out of his father’s hand and hit the floor. The moment he got up, he went for it, darting past his father and bending over to pick it up in one swift motion. Before the boy could get any distance between, Frank grabbed Raymond by the leg, forcing him to fall flat onto his face. He pried the gun from the boy’s hands and aimed it directly at his head. “You’re going to regret ever being born,” he said, cocking the shotgun.
Frank’s devil rushed up the stairs and lunged into the man’s back, teeth sinking deep into Frank’s kidney. “Fuck!” he screamed as he dropped the gun a second time, spinning his body toward the Chupacabra attacking him, yet buckling down hard to the floor. The beast's jaw clamped down harder. Frank screeched as he felt his bones crunch under the canine's teeth. The boy watched with a smile as the beast swallowed the shower of blood that was erupting in its mouth. It let out a low growl as it masticated every chunk of flesh and bone that it took from the man beneath him, the noise of crunching almost overtaking Frank's cries. Frank tried to shake the beast off of him, rolling his body to the side, only to have the Chupacabra let out a fierce bark. It's muzzle reached down and latched onto another piece of Frank, ripping the flesh from his body and gulping it down swiftly. The animal's tail wagged the more it tasted Frank's blood. Raymond could see his new pet enjoying every bite of his worthless father.
The Chupacabra's spikes began rattling along it's back, a low hissing nose breezed through the scene as it let go of Frank's side. The boy's father rolled over on his back, trying to throw his fists at the animal, only to scream out as the monster caught his wrist and clenched down, his bones crackling under the beast's carnivorous teeth. "Fuck!" he screamed, punching the animal with his free hand, his knuckles getting bloodier, yet the beast was not going to let his price get free so easily. It clenched it's jaw harder, bones splintering as Frank's hand was torn into. Like Velcro being ripped off, the Chupacabra, yanked the man's hand away from him, turning the flesh and bone limb into a puppy's chew toy. “Fuck!” Frank screamed as he stared at his arm, blood covering his face as it spewed out from the limb.
The beast spit out the hand and lunged back at the man, biting right into Frank's shoulder. Already coated in blood, the animal's tail wagged as it began to fill its belly with more. It yanked and pulled vigorously, Frank screamed wildly at each tug from the monsters mouth.
"Please...t-t-t-t-ell it t-t-t-to stop!" Frank begged his son, but Raymond ignored him. He remained a witness as the beast ripped his father into pieces. A small giggle left the boy's mouth as the animal finally got Frank's full arm. The Chupacabra ran away from the body, holding the arm high like a dog finding the best stick in the woods. When it approached the boy, it dropped the arm right in front. A gift. The Chupacabra pushed it forward and the boy picked it up. He waved it in front of the canine, it's tail wagging furiously. Raymond lifted it and in one full swing, tossed it out into the grass. The beast chased after it swiftly. Raymond had never seen something so fast before in his life. Woah, he thought to himself as he watched the pup search for the new toy. "Aargh, Fuck!" Frank began praying, “Jesus, Lord, please help me. Save me from this…Fuck!”
Raymond's attention turned back to his father, suffering on the cold floor. He walked up to the broken body and squatted down. His hand lifted his father's head so their eyes could meet. "I have been praying for this day, dad," he said, grabbing his father's gun. He let go of the man's head and stood up, aiming it at his father's skull. "I've never been so happy before." His nimble fingers pulled the trigger, the gun pushed back hard forcing the boy to fall back onto his ass and causing him to miss his father's head completely. Frank screamed as the bullet landed in his back, piercing a lung instead of his head. The man began gasping for air. Frank could feel himself getting weaker, his eyes grew blurry with each passing minute. Raymond aimed the gun again, using two hands in hopes it will help him aim better. He remained on the ground, not wanting to fall again. The boy took in the longest breath, hearing the paws of the beast returning, and as he exhaled, his fingers pulled the trigger. Another quick pop echoed around them as the bullet shot out from the gun, this time landing in Frank's head. When Raymond saw the blood pop like puss from a pimple, he set the gun down and let out a small giggle. It was all over. It was all finally over.
He knew he would have to clean up the home, but he let the Chupacabra feast on the body of his father as he walked out into the field. The stars were out and needed a moment to rest. He tried searching for constellations he learned in school, but began to drift off to sleep before finding any. He would deal with the body tomorrow. He would worry about the rest of his life tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to sleep. And before he nodded off into slumber, he felt the body of the cryptid lying next to him, belly full of his father’s blood.