I have been working on this story for months. I've rolled it around in my mind, written a bit, changed a lot, and written some more. I think I finally have it in a state that makes me happy.
This is not a serious story, nor a fan-fic, so just read for your casual pleasure.
If you don't know what a Chupacabra is, look it up; it might make your reading experience a little better.
Also, there is a bit of language and a smattering of stereotypes, so don't be shocked to see those.
~AlexThe Chupacabra
or
The Dramatic Retelling of the Retelling of a First-Hand Encounter
I always liked talking to Sean McKufski, although I generally was forced to listen to more of an extended monologue than actually talk. On one particular Sunday afternoon, I stopped by his house after church to see what sort of entertainment I could get out of him. As we both sipped on a cup of minty hot chocolate that his wife made for us, he discoursed about the weather, solar power, politics, Russia, the weather again, and then, upon seeing the newspaper on the coffee table, threw a curve-ball that would have smacked me in the face if I hadn't of known him since middle school ten years ago.
He leaned his balding head towards me and asked, “Have you heard of the chupacabra?” Of course I had, I told him, even though I only knew it was some sort of newfangled urban legend or something. Personally, I thought I had heard it was some sort of murderous poodle, but I let him talk.
“Well,” he said, “I didn't know 'bout it 'till I read somethin' in the newspaper last week, an' I happen to see it was wrote by William John down the street – you remember ol' Billy, don'tcha? Yeah, 'course you do. I never thought that book geek would amount to nothin', what with wantin' to go to college and get learned an' such. I mean, out here in Vernal, the only way to make any sort of money is by workin' in the oil field, an' I betcha Billy wouldn't 'a lasted five days before he broke a nail an' went home cryin'. I don't mean no offense to him, 'course. I mean, he always could 'a tried to become a man, but he jus' settled for a newspaper job.
“Anyway, I saw the article, and I says, 'What the hell is this chupamanga thing, anyway?' You see, I never heard of it before, so I confused some of them Mexican words. Chupacabra, chupamanga, I don' know, but I really thought ol' Billy was out of his mind. You know, a few dimes short of a... a, uh, well, you know what I'm saying. A screwball, that is. So, I decided I was gonna talk to him myself.
“Next day, I run into Billy in the grocery store. As he's pickin' up some tomaters, I walk up to him and says, 'Billy, why the hell did you write about that chupacobra thing?' He dropped them tomaters back in the bin, walks up to me all perticuler as he always is, an' says, 'The thing's a “chupacabra,” not whatever you said.' Then he tells me all 'bout what happened.
“Turns out ol' Billy was chewed out good by his dad for not gettin' a real job, like real men, 'specially since his dad hated the newspaper for puttin' him in there when he didn' pay his taxes. They yelled and screamed 'till the house almost crumpled on top of 'em. Why, Billy yelled at him, 'I can do jus' as much work as you've ever done, not that you've ever done any yourself. In fact, I bet I could do more work for grampa than you ever did in your whole life jus' to show you!'
“His father jus' yelled back, 'Go ahead, you pansy weaklin', go to the ranch an' kill yerself tryin' to be a man like me.' Well, Billy was fumin'! He packed a few bags and drove down to Deep Creek to live with his grandparents for the Summer.
“The day he left, he got stuck between a few of them Mexicans in line at the store, an' heard them talkin' about this chupacabra. He couldn' understand most of what they says, mainly 'cause they spoke worse than a constipated donkey, but what he heard was that some monster was goin' around suckin' the blood out of farm animals. Hearin' this, Billy sorta jus' wanted to go back home, that wimp, but he decided he needed to show his father that he was a man.
“Well, one night, his grandparents decided to take a little trip, an' they left ol' Billy all alone. He laid down in his bed, covered himself with a blanket, an' shook like a rusty Ford. After a few hours, he almost fell asleep when he hears a cow give a blood-curdlin' moo. He sat up in bed, sweatin' all over, an' waits a second; everythin' was silent ag'in. He knew his grampa would cry if he lost a cow, an' he didn' wanna leave his grampa to that kind of humiliation, so he got up, settin' aside his fear, an' went outside.
“Everythin' was dark. Figure it was, bein' night an' all. He turned on a flashlight an' slowly crept down towards the pasture. Suddenly, while walkin' down the dirt path, he heard a snap! He jerked aroun', but nothin' was there. He gulped an' kept on a goin', a step at a time. Step... step... step. You see, it was a long path. He stepped a lil' bit more an' kept a stepin' slowly an' quietly 'till he got to the gate. He reached in his pocket for the key but soon realized he still had his 'jamas on an' forgot the key. So, he climbed over the metal gate.
“Somethin' funny was goin' on roun' there. It was still as a dead corpse, an' it prob'ly didn' smell much better, either, bein' a cow pasture an' all. He takes two more steps; step... step... An', all a sudden, he gets tackled to the groun'! He lies there under some strong body grippin' his hands behind his back, his face in the dirt, which he didn' like much, that pansy. He squeaks out, 'Oh, don' hurt me, don' hurt me! I has five lil' icklin' kids, all abandoned by their mother in Malaysia, an' I'm the only one that knows wha' kind of rice they can digest.'
“I suppose the beast felt bad an' all, 'cause he let the poor guy up. Ol' Billy turned around an' saw the frightful figure, standin' erect, with dark brown fur, two ginormous buck teeth, and a long, flat tail. But, wait, he thunk, that tail looked all familiar to him. He knew he had saw it before. 'Why,' he says, 'you're jus' an ol' beaver.'
“The beaver mus' not 'a liked that. He came close up, leaned down on Billy, and growled, 'Chupacabra. I'm the chupacabra, you mollycoddle.' Now I'm not sure what that means, but that's what he called Billy, an' it must 'a been real nasty. He says, 'I ain't no beaver, boy, so you better get on home to your mommy an' have her wash your undies before you start cryin'.'
“I dunno what struck him, whether it was bravery or mere stupidity, but he stood up, looked that dreadful beast in the eye, an' said, 'No. I swear, you're a beaver. Wait... I know you! Weren't you stealin' tomaters down at the farmer's market last week? I knew it, you low-down goat-bitin' veggie thief.' Billy cussed an' cussed that beaver out for stealin' an killin' 'till that poor animal ended up sittin' on the groun', whimperin' a bit to himself like a lil' lost puppy dog stuck in a bear trap in the dead of winter. Trust me, that's a lot of whimperin'.
“After he finished his yellin', ol' Billy looked down on that beaver, of course, an' felt a bit bad for yellin' so much. He knelt down an' tried to hug him, but the animal shoved him off an' picked himself up, walkin' away slowly as he cried an' said somethin' about his father, or somethin'. Well, Billy stayed there, amazed, an' he felt a bit bad, too, for makin' a creature that sad. Even more, he went aroun' the pasture an' didn't find a hurt animal or nothin'. That made him feel even worse. He put up all that fuss an' show when the poor lil' beaver may have simply been passin' through the field to go find some helpless sheep somewhere else. He even thought about buyin' a sheep an' leavin' it in the field some other night jus' to say sorry, but he didn' know if the chupacabra would ever be back. So, he jus' went back to the house.
“Feelin' a bit hungry after such an episode, he checked the 'fridge to see if there was anythin' to eat. All the tomaters were gone.”
