CHUPACABRA

At three in the morning the hens went crazy. Waymore sprung out of bed, still half-asleep, and grabbed his boots and the loaded .410 shotgun he kept behind the door. Wild dogs or foxes were in the pen he suspected – that or snakes. Whatever it was, he was in danger of losing some prime chickens. Where the hell were the dogs? The lazy mutts were sleeping on the job probably.

The screen door sang as Waymore stepped out on the porch. He snapped on his flashlight, but by now the racket had quietened. Nothing moved in or out of the white beam of light. He snapped the light off. You could almost see better without it. Clad in his boxers and a t-shirt, he sat on the steps and pulled on his boots. The moon on the horizon was a silver sliver, and gave almost no light at all. Suddenly, he realized it was unusually quiet. Not a leaf rustled. It was so quiet he could hear the refrigerator in the kitchen cycle on and off. He sat still and listened for sounds in the darkness, turning his head from side to side. He heard nothing. Where the hell were the dogs? Probably hunting on their own down by the creek. It was odd that the squawking chickens had not caused them to come running.

It was not even daylight yet but it was already hot. Just pulling on his boots caused Waymore to break a sweat. He felt the dampness on the back of his collar. For whatever reason, the south Texas night gave no clue at all as to what had roused him from his sleep. Normally there were some noises no matter how quiet it was; a night bird, the wind blowing the dry mesquite beans, cicadas, or maybe a truck on the highway half a mile away, but tonight, he heard nothing. Absolute silence. It was weird. Had he gone deaf? He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together next to his ear to see if he had lost his hearing. He had not.

He stood, stepped off the porch, and was startled his boot crushed a acorn. Man! That was loud. It was so quiet out that even the simple act of walking seemed noisy. He headed toward the chicken pen. He needed to see what had upset their little world this morning. His eyes were adjusted to the dark now, so he didn't bother turning on the flashlight again. He stuffed the steel Mag light in the waistband of his shorts. After about two steps, he realized that was not going to work as the heavy light dropped through a leg of his underwear, and skittered across the dry ground when he kicked it with his boot. He wished he had grabbed his jeans from the bed post. Jeans had pockets. Too late now to go back inside. He found the light and tucked it beneath his armpit.

Not knowing what he was dealing with in the dark, Waymore decided not to call up the other dogs. Whatever was going on, was way beyond the ability of the dogs to resolve. He brought the Marlin up and activated the lever, chambering a round. Waymore didn't like walking around in the dark with a cocked and loaded rifle, but under the circumstance he thought it would be best to be ready. Something was out there. Something lethal.

Halfway across the yard to the chicken pen, he smelled it. Damn, it was awful! Worse than chicken shit even – worse than anything he had ever smelled. It had the rotting, putrid odor of spoiled meat that Jody instantly recognized. Once you smell it, you never forget the smell of a dead body. Jody knew that nothing on his property had been dead long enough to smell like that. The dog was fresh kill and did not stink. Suddenly Waymore wished he had brought the 12 gauge.

Suddenly it sounded as if someone – or something – ripped siding off the back of the barn. The big red barn sat out beyond the chicken pen. Jody could hear the wood crack and snap as it was peeled away from the frame. He heard the woo-woo-woo as a fragment of board flew through the air and clanged against the tractor. When Waymore heard the sound of another board ripped away from the frame, he knew something was trying to get into the barn – the hard way. What could physically rip lumber from the side of a barn and throw it twenty yards? And, why? Why go to all that trouble when you could just go through the door? He didn't know of any animal in Texas, let alone a human, that could rip the side off of a barn without tools. Those planks were one-by-sixes nailed into solid studs.