Mexico, the land of Beelzebub. In a small city called Puebla, in the foggy mountains in the south, a little boy, barely twelve, who will remain nameless, was riding his bike up the side of the footpath aiming to get to the top of the mountain, but before he did, he stopped to a halt.
He had only been cycling for about five minutes, the people who brought him there were no longer following him, he had been searching for something in particular for a while now, and the child finally found of what he was after, on the run from his kidnappers. It wasn't something to help him escape, but something just to make him happy.
He got off the bike and smiled excitedly, kneeling down to the ground, and stared at it…the tarantula. Some of the smallest things could still make him grin, even during the second Great War. It was a little bigger than his hand, the long hairy legs crawling along slowly, its many eyes seemed to look directly at the child, some children would be scared of them, but not him. As he picked it up, the eight-legged creature scuttled over his arm, trying to get free of his grasp, he overcame the animal having no issues, and put the spider into his rucksack and turned around.
He looked up into the night sky, the wind howling, the blood moon shone wickedly; its crimson awe gleaming in the sky like a bloodshot eye, staring down at the boy. It was late; his father would be worried about him, assuming he knew his son wasn't sleeping, and be angry when he arrived back. He was abusive to anyone, especially his only son. In fact, he would only pretend to worry about him, because if something happened to the kid, he wouldn't be claiming the benefits he was.
He didn't want to go back home, knowing the horrors that were waiting for him there. He heard a thump, squelch, and tear, one after the other when he saw something falling from the sky, and it landed with a dull thud only a few feet away from him, beginning to roll down towards him. It must have had an impressive heft, as it didn't bounce at all; instead, it crunched the snow it hit with an abrupt thunk.
He walked forward seeing the object had thick brown hair, maybe a rabbit or part of a coyote, it would be perfect for him to cook and eat. The thought of food made his stomach rumble and had him curious as he reached out to grab it, just to see what it was, but he quickly changed his mind as he looked upon it. For a brief second, he had it in his hands, not expecting the strain on his arms it would take for him to lift it up.
The twelve-year-old boy looked down into his hands and saw it wasn't anything edible, not to him anyway. The head of a middle-aged Mexican man stared up at him, or it would have been doing if its eyes hadn’t been plucked from their sockets, and not cleanly either, taking good chunks of skin with them. It was a grotesque object glowing in the moonlight, its mouth agape, full of shiny liquid, making it look as if the man was drooling, except the colour proved it wasn't saliva that was draining from his skull. It was difficult to decipher what the liquid was in the light, but the kid knew exactly what it was without thinking about it. The crimson sap covered his sweaty hands, and he made a blood-curdling scream that could interest any predators around him. He dropped the head immediately, letting it begin to roll back down the mountain again.
He left his bike, irrationally running up the mountain, where the head came from, instead of downwards, he was curious about what happened but didn't know if risking his life would be worth what he found, not when his death could be as painful as the man with no eyes had been. The dead man must have had a severe conflict with someone, or maybe an animal, like a mountain lion or bear that had found its way up there. Either of them would be faster than the child was, and would have no remorse for doing to him, what it had done to the Mexican man.
When he came to a church at the top of the jagged mountain, he sat against the side, his heart in his mouth and shivered excessively, desperately panting for breath.
‘Slurp!'
The child cringed when he heard the noise, and didn't want to turn around, afraid of what he might see. Nevertheless, he knew it was in his best interest and forced himself to move his neck slowly, although he wished he hadn't, as the thing that made the sound was a remarkable sight to behold, but one that was just as hideous as well. He knew that he was living his reality and he wasn't dreaming because even his imaginative mind couldn't have concocted such a picture, one that would scare even the toughest of men into a girlish scream and send them running, though it wouldn't have helped them.
His eyes grew wide as there; chewing and slurping on a goat's throat, was the monster he had only heard stories about, rumours gossiped about all around the country, people living in constant fear even if the war wasn't happening. It was a recent popular folklore story, he had assumed to make kids do as they told, but it never worked, because he never believed something like this could exist, but here it was. In front of him, stood the Chupacabra.
The boy screamed once more, looking back to see if there was anyone around to help him, but anyone who could have been would rather save their own neck, then stick it out for his.
As the monster chucked the goat's carcass to the ground like a rag doll, no longer breathing, it snapped its head round to face him. They both froze for several seconds, but the monster glided over with lightning-like speed and raised its clawed hand to swipe towards his neck. The boy was startled believing these were his last few moments on this world.
The man inside the church, (a priest in fact), was Father Eduardo. The church was relatively small, but sturdy, and Eduardo had been kneeling at the altar, mumbling his prayers. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, and his eyes looked puffy.
He had been there for hours and lit many candles when he first arrived: still, seven remained. He had been going through a difficult time, and his faith in God was waning, he couldn't truly believe that such a divine presence that could do anything he wanted would allow this war to continue. Undoubtedly, the all-powerful being must be able just to wave his hand, and the suffering and strife would be no more, but that was yet to happen. The seven candles had half-melted into a sticky gloop as the wax trickled down the candlesticks, forming a pool by his feet, which was continually thickening up to leave something in its place.
Suddenly, the candles flames’ were extinguished leaving darkness in their wake, an invisible force blowing them out, perhaps from the wind, perhaps by something else, whatever it was had piqued the priest's interest, thinking somebody had walked into the remote building to pray with him. He stopped praying, stood up, and turned around to see the double doors had been blasted open with a thunderous roar, a gale pushing itself forward, forcing itself inside the old, feeble building. The building in itself looked as if it would fall over just from that blast, but it stayed upright as the wind echoed throughout the place. The man's nose turned an intense, bloody colour, given to him by the frosty wind's appetite.
‘Hola?' he cried out into the empty void.
He moved towards the doors to try to close them, but once he reached them, the roaring wind punched him directly in his tearful face. He recomposed himself and looked out as the fog settled. He gripped at the door edges to push them closed again, but they wouldn't budge as if the wind had more of a supernatural force behind it. Giving up, he let go and stepped outside into the chilly air.
He lit a cigarette.
Noticing a silhouette in the distance, he cried out.
‘Hola?'
He didn't get a reply.
‘Hola?' he cried out again, nervously, feeling like God was testing him for his disobedience by putting fear into him, as the silhouette looked suspicious and wasn't speaking to him.
Then he saw what it truly looked like when he stepped forward, getting a clearer view of what stood before him.
The Chupacabra was over three metres tall, towering over him like a skinny giant. Its eyes the size of hens eggs, aglow with a red hue around an intense milky white, similar to the priest's collar. The monsters hands and feet had huge viciously curved and wickedly sharp claws that it used to pin down its helpless prey, the father may not know that, but he could undoubtedly guess it. Its wings were of considerable size but similar to that of a bat, and its skin was slightly furry with a blue-grey tinge that was unlike anything he had seen before, alien-like. Its spine had burst through its skin on its head and back, but the most memorable feature of the creature was its fangs, protruding out of its mouth were large dirty yellow teeth, almost fifteen centimetres in length used to rip apart their victims, rows and rows of them like a shark.
The priest looked at the creature, mouth open, paralysed with fear. The monster screeched, flapping its wings over to the padre, and he started to pray again, stretching his arms holding his metal cross in front of him trying to banish the creature. He had heard this worked on vampires, not that he believed in them and it unmistakably wasn't one, but his faith could prove to God the priest was worth letting live, unless the almighty one had other plans for him. Instead, though, the creature pushed him to the ground and stuck its claws into his eye sockets, spooning them out from behind with a wet ‘squelch'. His eyes were running with blood replacing the tears, as the creature finished him off by tearing his head away from his body and throwing it over the side of the mountain.
It resumed drinking the sheep's blood that it had caught earlier, a few minutes later; it turned its head when it noticed a child running up the mountain towards it.
Chapter 1
The rats were loud, munching on anything they could find, making it insufferable, as the man on the bed was trying to sleep. This man had always had trouble sleeping, the fact that he was in a foreign country didn't help that, it could have been the rats, or losing his only brother during the war only two years ago, whatever it was it couldn't be resolved, and he had accepted that. He was likely an insomniac, he was always tired during the day and could never concentrate on things, but he never spoke up to anyone about it considering everyone was in a fragile state.
Sebastian had been a wanderer all his life, but he currently had a reason, his cowardice. It had gotten many people killed, and he felt a noticeable lack of empathy for a lot of them, tiringly getting used to it.
He had fled early on in the war, as he saw too much of it too quickly, so he and his brother ran. It made him a thief; he stole what he could find, when desperate enough. He did feel guilty about people going without, but that had never stopped him before, as he always did things for himself, and never relied on anyone else. He was selfish, but at least he had acknowledged he was.
The night had drifted on into the early hours, and he was getting more and more tired. Boredom had stricken in as he sat up to get a glass of water, and he drank the refreshing, clear liquid, gulping louder than he needed to. As he did so, an alarm went off, and he heard whooshing overhead.
An air raid was one of the most frightening things during the war, and it sounded like it was happening again. The man could already hear the panic from outside, and he heard shouting coming from the other side of his wall. He didn't recognise the words as it was in Spanish, and he was English.
Two years ago
‘Hey Will?'
‘Yes, Seb?' Will asked with a deep sigh.
‘Why are we hiding here?'
‘People won't attack here. It's a place of safety.'
They liked to fancy themselves, outlaws, running from the real world and attempted to escape the war, going to Mexico. Still, everywhere they went, it kept on following them, and they were being forced to fight or flee, usually choosing the latter. They had gotten tired of running around so much, and even considered re-joining the fight, although they were unlikely to be accepted back in, and there must be some form of punishment for what they had done.
Will was Sebastian's brother, curly brown hair and an athletic build, Will had always been much better than Sebastian in every way, stronger, smarter, just better in general. He had figured that much out while they grew up together, but would never admit it to his brother and didn't hold it against him. Sebastian was the older of the two and was supposed to look after his younger sibling, he did what he could when he could, and didn't know how their parents were fairing, knowing his father was at war, and their mother was presumably still back in England.
He was the optimistic one, always thinking he could get ahead of things, but at that moment, he couldn't put a brave face on for his anxious brother. They knew how scared each other was, but what would be worse is if they acknowledged it.
They weren't in a trench at that moment, having escaped from all of that, they were in a church, not because they were religious, neither believed in anything other than their self-preservation, and will. No, they were there because it was one of the few safe places hidden away from the war on the outskirts of a desert, or so they thought. The small rundown church was dark and dismal, and stank of something nobody could quite discover, maybe urine mixed with something else, as the two of them weren't the only scared people in the church.
Many others around them were praying to their gods, in fact, they were the only people not doing so. After all, these were some embarrassingly desperate times for the human race, and people became religious because they were frightened not to be. People weren't naive enough to assume they would live through it, the chance of death was higher than ever, and they needed some comfort that there was something afterwards.
Sebastian whimpered quietly surprised by the doors being flung open, and large men carrying guns burst through, marching forwards in a hurried way.
‘I stand corrected.' Will whispered referring to no one would attack the place.
The men started shouting in English. The leader was a stout man with a magnificently thick brown moustache and yet had a very shrill voice, the uniform they were all wearing different to any army uniform they had seen before, but they hadn't seen many from fleeing so early on. The accent the leader had couldn't hide, even behind the moustache that was half covering up his mouth, blowing upwards as he shouted. He was German and likely, so were the rest, although Seb and Will never heard any of the others speak.
‘Kill them!' He barked in his shrill voice, his little coarse moustache being blown upwards to make him look ridiculous as the hair tickled his nose, a sneeze rising to the surface.
Sebastian ducked behind a pew catching his leg on it, making him fall over. He watched on helplessly as the brutes opened fire, the rifle sounds echoing between the four walls. Bodies persistently hit the floor with thumps almost as loud as the crying. His newly found friends he had spent weeks with during the war were spurting blood out of new orifices the Germans were making for them as if they were their personal water fountains.
Screams of agony burst through the roof as the civilians scrambled to get past the Germans who were blocking the doors, as best they could, but nobody got close to escaping, being gunned down anyway. Their remorseless faces stared blankly, with no expression, as if killing tens of civilians had no emotional effect on them; only several people including Will and Sebastian remained. Seb was frantically trying to get William's attention but wasn't having any luck. Will was standing up, unsure of what action he should take next, instinct just didn't want to kick in, and instead, he raised his hands to shield his face and stood still. Seb stayed hidden in the pew, knowing he was useless in this situation, couldn't help his friends, and stared his brother's reactions as he finally drew his gun from his holster and opened fire on the enemy.
The soldiers never even knew Seb was there. However, they noticed William. He watched as his wide-eyed brother got up to take another shot at the enemy, he still got a couple of rounds off before he, himself, was shot in the chest, blown forcefully backwards, hitting the church altar. Will scanned the room looking for Seb, his younger brother, but he never saw him.
The soldiers left the church, but before doing so, they doused the church in oil and dragged some of the bodies with them, as if they were prizes they had won at the fair. Whatever reason they had for taking them was never made clear to Seb as he only had one thought on his mind. His brother had just died in front of him. He didn't even notice if his corpse was one of the bodies taken away, and didn't have time to check when he thought about it.
The Germans even closed the doors behind them as if to hide the evidence. What they did next though, was a much better way of hiding it. A distinct roaring noise woke Sebastian up from his haziness as he was struggling to stay awake after a stray bullet had located his shoulder. He crawled out from the pew stood up and tried running away, his ankle, had somehow been shredded in the mayhem. He found this out when he began his run, but could only limp; the run had ended abruptly when he fell back down.
A bottle smashed against the building, and it roared up in flames, the oil catching fire. It startled him as he saw a bright light and realised the church was burning quickly. He picked himself up again and started limping towards the nearest window.
The heat made him nauseated as he struggled to escape, he knew he couldn't just go through the doors, as the men may spot him, so picking up speed, he grabbed the processional cross, and hurled it, at one of the stained windows. It bounced right off. He tried again to no avail. In one last desperate attempt, now engulfed in flames, he roared as he hurtled towards the colourful glass, smashing the beautiful picture and was able to escape the burning rubble of the church, but not entirely unscathed.
Now
He hadn't noticed, but Sebastian had been touching his face again, as he reminisced how he got the cruel reminder of the day his brother died, the day Seb did nothing but stayed hidden, one that he could never be rid of. Not that he would ever have forgotten, but the physical scar reminded him of his cowardice. He was never considered an ugly man, but now he had the scar, the melted skin, dry and taut, people were repulsed. They didn't even bother to hide what they thought of him, too shocked to feign any sense of comfort.
He had lost much weight as well, having no energy to eat, which wasn't such a bad thing as the food was challenging to attain anywhere, but he felt weak and powerless. His depression was causing him to drink as much as he could, which was difficult as alcohol was in short supply during the war, along with all luxuries, which is why he stole what he could. Sure, he felt terrible about it, but the burn of the drink in his throat helped him forget his guilt. It helped him forget his pain and anguish.
The hotel was a damp, dreary sort of place, the cheapest one he could find, with tired curtains that don't quite reach the bottom of the window, although it always seemed to be dark there, so it didn't matter. A small, grotty lamp with a rectangular shade was just next to the bed, protruding a dull orange glow. The bed in itself was murky coloured, but Seb didn't think it had always been this colour, it doesn't have any bedsheets on, and he didn't want to think what this bed had seen.
The rat infestation had been in the building for years, but whatever the reason, nobody had bothered to call the exterminators, it must have been why it was so cheap. It hadn't mattered to him though; Sebastian was quite content with the place, he wouldn't call it home or anything, but he didn't have one now anyway, not since he abandoned it. He wasn't going to be staying much longer at the hotel as he was hoping to get accommodation at a man's house he was invited to visit, at least for a short while.
An alarm had started blaring, coming from outside, waking up the whole village. He had heard similar alarms before, and knew what it was straight away, never forgetting the harrowing sound. He couldn't understand why the attack was happening here, in a small insignificant village that held no threat to the Germans. Whatever the reason was, it didn't matter, as Sebastian got up and ran down the creaky steps holding onto the handrail when a bomb landed. It could have been miles away, but it shook the whole building as if an earthquake was attacking instead. He stumbled into the outside world. He hadn't been in the area long and didn't know where the nearest shelter was.
Looking at other people's faces, he wasn't the only one. It wasn't a village that attracted many tourists, and yet there they were, men, women, and children alike were all screaming for help, their faces looked pale, many with bleary eyes, some not even moving, paralysed with fear. People were scrambling and pushing people out of the way as if they were more important, and deserved to live, too desperate to think about anyone else. The night sky loomed over them all, with few stars and just a thin crescent moon. It was impossibly dark, as all lights were switched off from one power source so that the Germans couldn't see them. The heavy rain lashed down on Sebastian, and the bright white light of the lightning helped guide his way, but of course, he had no idea where to go.
‘Help,' Sebastian cried out to anyone who would listen.
Total ignorance was around him. Not that he could blame them; they were just as scared as he was, doe-eyed and teary in fright.
‘Help!' he shouted at the top of his lungs.
He saw a shadow that was irregular from anything he could see around him. Seb strode towards it to see what it was as it had darted swiftly from his view and could be a wild animal or maybe Nazis were invading on foot, though there was little purpose of that. Out of nowhere, a woman, fifty, or so with mousy grey locks and reading spectacles hung loosely from the chain around her neck.
‘Are you lost?' she asked in a calm voice, too calm to fit the situation, surprising Sebastian, he supposed shock could have many different effects on people, but this was very different from what he had seen before.
‘Where is the nearest bomb shelter?' As he asked this, another plane came overhead making him jump down to the ground. The woman didn't even flinch, instead looked at the man directly in the eyes, and yawned, not in a tired way, but in a way a great lion would roar at its prey, to try and intimidate them.
‘You're a bit jumpy,' she replied not answering his question.
‘Of course I'm jumpy. What's wrong with you?' Sebastian asked rudely with a stiff upper lip, trying not to cry, but shaking with rage that this woman was acting so useless to him. He almost left with little delay, to ask someone else the same question, he could hardly just follow people, as everyone was running in different directions, the bombings may finish by the time he had been told what he wanted to know, at the rate the woman was acknowledging him. She grinned and said that she would show him.
‘It's this way.'
With that, she started sprinting onto the open road; much faster than Sebastian anticipated and the only thing Sebastian could do was follow her. They ran for almost fifteen minutes in the midst of a crowd; some people wouldn't even help children who were crying out for their parents, as they were too busy fleeing for their lives, putting themselves first in between the chaos. Sebastian and the woman's feet stopped moving unanimously once they had reached the bomb shelter.
The shelter was built of brick with a concrete roof, it was nothing special, and Sebastian suspected if a feather fell on it, that it would fall to the ground, let alone a bomb. That may have been a slight exaggeration, but it paints a picture of the situation he had been put in.
People had to pay seven pounds to get in, unless your income was less than two hundred and fifty pounds a year, which Sebastian and the middle-aged woman's was nowhere able to afford. Once inside, a smell hit them like a shovel so severe it was as if it was melting away their skin until only the pale white of the skull remained. They both sat down and tried their best to ignore the rank aroma. It was very bare, it had one small lamp, apart from that there was nothing else there, except, of course, around fifty other people.
They all looked how Sebastian felt: anxious, nerves had kicked in for all of them, but it was comforting that they were all in the same boat.
A frail man started handing out rations to everyone in the building, it was only bread and cheese with some water, but it tasted better than he'd had in a long time. This was the first air raid in this town, and the food had been resting in this bunker for some time now, having been replaced a week ago, the bread was just about to go mouldy if it wasn't already, but everyone scoffed it down, trying to get their money's worth. The siren was still blaring for hours later, and people had started to get restless, they waited, as they knew what was happening outside.
The Germans were dropping bombs from their zeppelin airships onto the town, or maybe just near the town. Either way, it was a waste of ammunition on the Nazis part, it was as if they had a secret agenda; it was rare for this to happen, as it was a small town that meant nothing to anyone. Yet there were shelters just in case this sort of thing happened. They were as prepared as they could be. Other towns and small cities weren't as prepared, people had lost everything from the bombings, and the newspapers were the only thing to inform people of what had been happening. If family and friends lived far away, it was anyone's guess if they were still left alive, unless the newspapers mentioned it. It didn't matter to Sebastian, as he had nobody to look out for, not anymore.
The cramped setting made people sweat, and it was difficult to move. Not one person was smiling, all grimaces, it was an utterly valid reaction, nobody expected to be having a good time down there, and it was very slow to pass the time. The loudest noise in there now was the munching of the food and the ticking of the clock hidden by shadows in the corner. Tick, tick, tick. It sounded like it was getting louder, as they were sat in there for hours, trying to be as quiet as they could. It was the only thing that accompanied them, as no one would talk to anyone else, afraid they would embarrass themselves by bursting into tears again.
The easiest way to get through an air raid was to fall asleep because at least people wouldn't have to think about what was happening; however, for most people including Sebastian, it was impossible not to.
In the dark, in a cave, it was shrouded in darkness once again, waiting for the next sacrifice. The latest was a young woman, maybe in her twenties, long dark hair, bright and innocent green eyes. She didn't know what was happening, as she fell, splashing into the pool at the entrance. She didn't know what it was that was hiding from her, watching her in the dark, obscured by the gloom that surrounded them both. She still hadn't seen the monster glaring at her after trespassing on its own habitat, there were no signs that people weren't allowed there, and it knew this, but it still felt a great deal of frustration at the woman.
She almost died right away, from the fall, as her lungs quickly filled with water and she began to suffocate. She eventually coughed it all out; a vein on her forehead was pulsing as her breath returned to normal.
‘Hola?' she said as a question, fearfully, not seeing any exits other than how she fell in, but that wasn't an option. It was a mystery why she thought there would be someone down there, maybe she heard the beast move slightly, but it was clever at hiding itself until it decided to reveal its intentions. It had no reason to scare her and wanted it to end just as quickly as she did, but with a different outcome.
It sat there, not moving, not wanting to have to do what it must do, it was the only way to survive, which it knew, but it didn't make it feel any less guilty. It often queried why it should live rather than this woman, or any other people who dropped into its lair. It stared at her, its eyes becoming dark red, claws and fangs extending ready to pounce when needed, there was never a time when it needed to, but sometimes it liked to observe the people, study their differences and similarities.
She moved forwards towards it, calling out for it to help her, after seeing its outline, thinking it was another person. Finally, she saw what it was and threw up, rejecting the creature's form. Its blood started to boil, angered by the insensitiveness of the woman. It wasn't its fault what it's characteristics were. It screamed at her, glided across the dank floor, and put a hand through her chest. She stifled any noise as it tore her heart out of her body, looking directly into her eyes and took a bite. Her body hit the floor, dead, a scarlet puddle of her insides left on the ground.
People would never understand the differences between it and them, the humans, the boundaries between it and the people shouldn't have such a monumental effect on its life. Just because it was a grotesque creature, that isn't even human, why should that make it a monster? It needs to drink blood and eat animals, it wasn't harming people, but every time another person fell down into its lair and was scared of it, it got so enraged the Chupacabra would attack, and go into a frenzy, obliterating the person or people that angered it.
It had been forced to shy away, hide from humanity in a cave, by that man, the man that claimed to be helping it. It had been shunned from existence and anyone else's eyes. The monster had no idea what he was doing it for, feeding its craving of human flesh until it was no longer bearable, whenever it got the chance, it would plaster this cave with the insides of anyone that got near it, and its master knew what would happen every time he encouraged its appetite. The beast kept on wanting more.
He had been human once, a lifetime ago, only flashes of memory remain, haunting him. Nevertheless, the new memories he had been making, they haunted him with much more severe pain. He couldn't wipe them from his mind, the times he had broken into flesh with his teeth and claws, the screams that would continually play in his ears, it was a constant nightmare, one that was inescapable to him, except he's awake. He had nothing to occupy his time with other than hurting people, his only interest. It sickened him that he considered maiming people an interest.
He couldn't remember his family, his friends, assuming he had any, the thought of people actually being friendly to him, sounded so foreign, but so incredible. Besides, how could they be? He was so repulsive, it made their skin crawl, and they wouldn't know what to say. He had lost the ability to speak when he changed and could now only make certain noises such as screams and grunts. It was one of the things he remembered, speaking, talking, chatting. He was never a chatterbox and never had much to say, but the idea of him being able to talk again was mind-blowing. He could tell his side of the story, the reasons he did what he did. They might not try to kill him if he could speak. If he could speak, the whole ordeal would end him being able to get treatment or take advantage of blood donors, whatever worked.
He didn't know how long he had been like this, trapped inside his own shell. A shell that made others quake in fear, in fact not just others, but him as well. He sometimes thought about ending things, to stop anyone else getting hurt, he remembers each individual face he was about to devour, their mouth wide open like a goldfish, eyes wide open bulging as if they were about to leak out.
He couldn't force himself to do it though, the fear of death still just as strong as the people whom he kills must feel about it, the morose idea too much for him to deal with, making him fraught with anguish. He had never had a reason to believe in the afterlife, and still had none; the idea of nothing happening afterwards was a hard pill to swallow.
The girl must have had her own life with people that cared for her. People that would cry for her when they realised she was missing, and throughout the remainder of their lives, they would never know what had happened, expecting to see her again as if nothing had occurred, never giving up on her. The Chupacabra wanted that same kind of devotion in his own life, for people to feel that way about him, but it could never happen, even his master had conflicted feelings about him.
The woman might have had a job, maybe a husband who was fighting in the war, who, if he survived, would come home to nothing. He thought about his own family and if they had felt like that, if they missed him, thinking he could still be alive.
The creature didn't know how he became the way he was; he only knew the man that put him there, had something to do with it. He would hear him mutter things under his breath that referred to him, about a mistake, and yet the man lacked any amount of sympathy. He wouldn't even look at the beast, maybe he was afraid and appalled like everyone else, yet there was something cold about the man as he lacked emotion like he was the beast's master and the monster was a lowly negro. He was much worse than a black man was though (in society's eyes); he was an abomination, a mistake. That word, mistake, left an imprint in his mind, one he would never be able to recover from, the man was wrong to use that word within hearing distance, and he would prove it. He could see the man grimace every time he pushed someone down the cave and would look to see if the creature was near.
He was sat in the corner of his cave, where he was hidden away, and told never to leave; wings detracted, his face burrowed in thought, contemplating the reasons for staying, he looked into the bloody pool, seeing the mess he had created from the murders committed by him. He could writhe in the sanguine liquid all day, and would feel rejuvenated and powerful; the thought he was more powerful than anyone else was, concerned him. He should be a god to them, or a king, instead of what he was. They would do anything he asked if he could speak, too afraid to defy him. He knew he was protecting others by staying put, but every time the man returned, he returned with someone for him to kill, another life to claim, maybe if he left, he could avoid the urge to slaughter.
He missed sunlight beating down on him; even sunburn would have been an incredible sensation. He did sometimes come up for air, and go after the lowly wildlife, such as goats and coyotes, but his master had forbidden it early on, trying to control what the creature ate. It was a prominent risk for him to leave his nest, it would likely mean more people's lives lost, but he must be able to control it eventually, the idea of being stuck like this forever wasn't one he could handle.
This time out, he would go far, to a town, or at least to somewhere where people were. It had come to a conclusion, a decision that he didn’t make lightly on what was next for him. The creature would leave his cave.
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