Bloodless

"Boy, get in the house."

"What is it, papi?"

Paolo turned to his son slowly, crouched on one knee, and looked his son in the eyes. The hard desert wind whistled between them, masking any sounds that could alert him to the danger he was really in. He held his hands up to his son, and in them lay a cold, gleaming shotgun. "Do you know what this means, Virgilio?"

"No, papi."

"It means get in the house."

Virgilio nodded and turned, running off in an instant. Dust billowed up around him as he bolted up the driveway, and Paolo watched until he'd thrown himself threw the door and listen for the shouts, "Mama, mama!" before moving on.

He turned to the barn, door open and creaking, and took in a deep breath. He could hear the shuffling inside, and the bleating of his goats. He checked the shotgun again, made sure it was loaded, and then headed for the shed. The wind made the sand swirl about his face and hindered his vision, but he simply shifted his toothpick and went on anyway.

Another goat began to bleat, and it's sounds were cut off almost instantly. There was no gurgling, no sound of blood splattering, nothing of that sort, nothing so grisly. There was no transition from the hopeless cries of the goat to the even more hopeless silence.

Paolo stopped at the door and looked in. All he could see was the darkness engulfing everything. He could no longer see any life in the barn, and he doubted that there really was any left.

Moments later, there was a hiss as he lit the match, dragging it across his stubble until it flared up. He dropped the match into an oil lantern and flames shot up at him, almost burning his toothpick. Normally he'd have found humor in the site, but now his face was as lifeless and emotionless as whatever still remained in the barn.

He lifted the lantern and paused. He slowly brought the light closer to the door of the barn, almost like a warning to whatever might be waiting for him inside, and then he stepped through the threshold. That was when he realized his entire life was ruined.

Every single one of his goats, his precious goats, was dead. His pets, his prime source of money, the very things that supported his entire family, had been taken away from him in a matter of minutes. All because he'd crept to the barn with his shotgun, and because he'd been too scared to run and take action immediately.

He stumbled and fell on the dirt, beside his prized goat, beside Eduardo. Eduardo had been a strong goat and the father of almost every recent birth he'd had on the farm. He'd been bred to be perfect, and he'd almost reached it, and now he was lying dead at Paolo's feet, sapped of life. His tongue hung out of his mouth limply and there was no color in it. It was bright white, like a ghost.

Paolo wiped the tears from his eyes and stood, lifting the lantern with him. He looked up to the heavens, to God, he looked up so that he could curse the thing that had done this to him. He looked up into two gleaming red eyes.

There was a loud hiss and Paolo screamed. The gun was at his feet beside his prized goat, far from his hand, and then a thin, emaciated arm reached out and extended it's massive claws. The claws swung down into Paolo and swatted him aside. He stumbled to the ground, arms flailing, and as he hit the wind escaped him. He struggled for breath as the blood began to drip out of the lines on his cheeks, and then he felt the heat, not just from the blood but the heat of the fire.

He turned and shouted for help. The lantern had fallen on Eduardo, and his fur had instantly gone up in flames. Paolo leapt to his feet and ran toward the goat, ran to put out the flames that threatened to engulf his entire farm, and then there was a loud shriek as the creature leapt onto his back, pushing him to the ground. Flames leapt at his face and claws dug into his back.

Then everything stopped.

He could feel the creature on his back and the heat of the fire, but neither was causing him any more pain. He tried to turn his head, tried to see what was happening, and then he felt it. The hot breath of the monster in his barn, easing it's stubby snout into Paolo's cheek. And then the tongue flicked out onto Paolo's skin, lapping up the blood that had come out of the slash wounds.

The creature moved down, and Paolo felt hot breath on his neck, and then he heard the creature, the monster that he couldn't even see, hiss and open it's mouth around his neck.

That's when he lifted his head forcefully into the beast, knocking it off his back. He got to his feet and ran out of the shed, away from his dead goats, and skidded to a stop in the middle of the path leaning up to his house. He spun and looked at the barn billowing in flames, one entire wall caught in the fire, and then he saw a dark shape tumble out of the door. It landed on all fours, one emaciated arm spread out before it, and then it hobbled off into the night.

Paolo watched his home crumble before him.

~*~

"Madre de Dios... Virgilio!"

Dedé held out her arms and the little boy ran to them. She embraced him, lifted him up onto her knee, and held him high enough so he could see out the window, at the barn that was going up in flames. He gasped, leaned forward, almost out of the window, and said, "Mama, what happened?"

"The end is coming," she said.

He turned to her gravely, a toddler who did not know what to believe, and looked into his mother's eyes for some clue. When none came, he dropped his mouth. "Que?"

"My grandmother used to tell me about these days, Virgilio. She told me about the end, of the flames that would sweep the earth and the monsters that they'd bring. The devils and the demons."

"Mama, don't scare me!"

"I will not lie to my only child!" Virgilio turned back to the window and looked at the fire with an almost paralyzing fear.

And then the door burst open.

He screamed and slipped off his mother's knee, sprawling onto the floor with a wounded cough. Dedé cried out his name and bent down to lift him, but his father was already running over to take him, instead. Paolo took the boy into his arms, brushed aside the hair on his face, and asked, "Virgilio! Are you alright?"

"Sí, papi."

"Paolo," Dedé began. "What happened?"

"Something killed all our goats." Dedé gasped.

"A monster?" Virgilio asked, voice hushed.

"Yes. El chupacabras."

"All the goats."

Paolo nodded.

Dedé turned and hurried to the other side of the room, where she collapsed into a chair and put her head into her lap. Virgilio didn't notice; he was still staring at his father with an amazed look on his face, trying to comprehend what was happening to him.

"Is the world going to end?"

"No, no, no, Virgilio. Everything will be fine."

"But mama said..."

"Virgilio, hush." Dedé wiped aside the snot and looked at Paolo. "I was just telling him what my grandmother told me when I was little, about... Oh, God! Paolo, are you okay?" She rushed to him and put her hand to his cheek, trailing the thin claw marks that spread across his entire face. He winced and she drew back. "You really saw it."

"Yes."

"What does it look like?" Virgilio asked.

Paolo let his son drop to the floor, and then crouched down to talk to look him in the eye. "I couldn't really see it, but it looks like a demon, Virgilio. A bat. And it's thin. It must be weak."

"Weak?"

"Yes. There's nothing to worry about."

"Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Yes, Virgilio. Now go get ready."

The little boy scampered off to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and when Dedé lost sight of him she turned and threw herself onto Paolo, lips locked. She pulled away with tears in her eyes. "Thank God you're alive."

"And I plan to keep it that way."

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.

"What happened to the goats?"

"They were all killed."

"Every one?"

"Yeah."

"And the fire?"

"My fault."

"Oh, Paolo."

"It hit the lantern. I dropped it."

Dedé nestled her head into Paolo's chest. "I guess it doesn't matter. Without the goats, who needs the barn?"

"It took me a long time to build."

"I know, baby. It was a wonderful barn." She kissed him. "It sounds like you need to forget about your problems. It's a pity we won't have the bed to ourselves, no?"

He kissed her forehead and shook his head. "Virgilio needs us, Dedé."

"I'm kidding."

"I know. But it's going to be a long night."

"Why? It's over, isn't it?"

Paolo broke off from her, shook his head. "It's not dead."

"But it's gone!"

Paolo looked at her solemnly. "It came her once..."

"For our goats! And the goats are gone!"

Paolo nodded his head. "And, quite frankly, I'm very pissed off about that."

"No, Paolo! Don't do anything stupid!"

"Like what?"

"Don't go after it! Please, Paolo!"

"And why not?"

"Paolo, it'll kill you! No!"

He turned his back on her and went to the door. His gun was lying beside it. "There are some things I must do."

"No, Paolo! Think of Virgilio!"

"I am."

And that's when they heard the scream.

~*~

Paolo threw his shoulder against the door and it flew open. He had a brief glance of Virgilio, curled up in the corner and bawling, and then the door bounced off the wall so hard that it came straight back into place. He didn't even have a chance to see what was going after Virgilio, though he thought he knew. He shouted in frustration, and in response Virgilio screamed yet again.

Paolo grabbed for the doorknob and turned. It didn't budge. "No!"

"Paolo, do something!" Dedé screamed.

"I'm trying!"

He threw his shoulder against the door again, but nothing happened.

"Paolo, move!"

"I can't!" He threw his body against it again, but it threw him back into the hall without moving. "It's jammed, Dedé, there's nothing we can do!"

"No! Virgilio!" Dedé ran to the door and began to beat on it with her fists.

"It's jammed!"

"My son!"

Virgilio screamed again.

"Dedé, move!"

Paolo took his gun and aimed it straight at the door, his finger twitched, and then he realized Dedé hadn't moved. Bang, bang, bang, on the door, relentless, sobbing. "Dedé, get out of the way!" She screamed with Virgilio, and the sound was enough to make him cringe. His fingers closed, and then a gunshot rang throughout the house.

Virgilio screamed even louder.

Paolo froze in horror and looked at Dedé. She wasn't moving.

He looked down at the gun.

When he'd cringed, he's taken the sight off of her. He'd shot the wall beside him, and blown a hole through the wood.

Dedé looked at him, all the color in her face gone.

"Move."

She moved.

Paolo stepped up to the door, put the barrel to the doorknob, and then shouted, "Virgilio, do not move! Sientase!" He aimed away from where he'd seen his son, and then he fired up through the door and into the ceiling.

The door came off it's hinges and clattered to the floor, and then Paolo could see what was going on. Virgilio was still up against the wall, bawling and screaming, but there was nothing else in the room. No monsters, no creatures. El chupacabras.

"Virgilio, what is it?" he asked.

His son pointed.

A black monstrosity dotted their pillow, claws clicking together. It's tail, barbed and poisonous, bobbed up and down, looking for a target. The scorpion, the vile, vile arachnid, eased across the pillow and came closer and closer to Paolo's son.

"A scorpion?"

Dedé cried out in relief. "Oh, thank God!"

Paolo walked over to the bed and looked at the scorpion. It's back seemed to be bubbling. When he looked closer, he saw that the scorpion's offspring had not deserted its back yet. It was a female that had just given birth. Probably near-by.

"Virgilio, get in the other room."

"Porque, papi? Just kill it!"

"There's more than one."

"No! Daddy, what if there's more in my room? My bed?"

Paolo looked at Dedé. "Take him to his room, please."

"Oh, no. The scorpion is bad luck, Paolo. I can't leave you."

Paolo nodded solemnly. He knew Dedé too well to believe he could talk her out of superstition. "I'm finding the nest, then."

"What about me?" Virgilio asked, still shaking.

"Do what you want. But be careful, and at least get out of this room."

Virgilio nodded, and Paolo watched him run into the hall. Dedé nodded toward Paolo, and then he turned, lifted the gun, and swung. The handle hit the scorpion and sent it tumbling through the air and into a wall. It splattered, and it's children tumbled to the ground. The few that survived the fall began to scurry about the floor. Paolo went over and slowly, methodically crushed each under his foot.

"Dedé, where do you think the nest is?"

Dedé held her fingers to her forehead and began to circle the room with her eyes clothes. When she stopped and reopened them, she was facing the closet. "There."

Paolo stepped forward, through the moonlit room, and grabbed the doorknob with the tips of his fingers. He slowly eased it down, and then whipped the door open. The closet was empty. He paused, looked around, and then got onto his knees. He put his ear to the ground, and then he heard it. He gasped.

"What?" Dedé asked.

"I hear them shuffling. They're beneath the floor."

"Oh, Paolo..."

"Don't worry. I'll lift one board, it'll all be taken care of."

"Do you need a hammer?"

Paolo glanced over at his gun, considered his options, and then nodded. "Yes."

"Where is it?"

"The barn."

"I'll go get it."

Dedé left the room and headed down the hall and past Virgilio's bedroom and his closed door. She almost checked on him, but then she heard him moving around his room in peace and decided not to upset him yet again. The yellow glow of the fire, far from over, came onto her through one of the windows, and she paused.

She'd forgotten about the barn.

She'd forgotten about the chupacabras.

She inched away from the window, slowly, dreading what would come. No, no, no. Not to her, not tonight, why her family? They'd always done it all so well, and now it was all falling apart. The goats, the scorpions, the blood on Paolo's cheek. Everything was an omen, everything was culminating, everything was... everything was a sign of death.

"Virgilio!"

Dedé spun on her heels and ran for the hall, down to the closed door. The sounds inside had stopped. She grabbed the doorknob, and thankfully it was unlocked. She threw it open and ran into the room. Virgilio was lying on his bed quietly.

"Oh, you're asleep." Dedé smiled and inched toward her son, her child, knelt by his bed and took his limp hand in hers. The wind came in through the open window and caressed Dedé just as she caressed Virgilio's hand. "Bless you, child. You've forgotten already." She rose slightly and leaned over him, kissed his cheek, and then rose. In the moonlit room, he looked uncommonly pale.

"No."

She grabbed his hand again.

"No."

His limp, lifeless hand."

"No!"

She grabbed his torso and pulled him toward her, and his head lolled on its side. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, a ghostly white, and his eyes rolled up in his head. Drool and spittle ran out the side of his lips, his blue lips, and all the life in his body had been sucked away. It had all been taken out of him.

Except for his throat.

His throat was a bright crimson, and far from smooth. It was bumpy, rigid, and missing. She noticed thin claw marks, bloodless, on the forehead now. She saw the tears in the clothing. The teeth marks on the throat, on what was left of it. She saw Virgilio's Adam's Apple beside the pillow. She saw the skin lying on his shoulder. She saw the raw muscle that had taken months to grow strong enough to support his head, months in which she'd dedicated her every waking moment to him, everything for him.

To her dead son.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away. El chupacabras. That's what had done this. That was what she had to blame. That damn beast was destroying her life, and it would pay.

She looked out to the window, and then she noticed the deep slits in the wood. She ran over and looked at the grooves on the sill, and then leaned out the window and looked down. Claw marks ran up the entire wall. It had climbed up to the window, to the fresh meal, the fresh blood.

And then it had left with her son's life pulsing through her.

Dedé collapsed by the window and cried.

~*~

One room over, Paolo was oblivious. He'd given up waiting for Dedé. He could hear the shuffling under the floorboards, growing stronger and stronger as he moved closer and closer to the nest. He blocked out the entire world in search of the scorpions his son, his dead son, was so scared of.

And then he found it. That one spot in the floor where the scratching and scraping and hissing was loudest. He'd found the nest. He knocked on the wood to see how hollow it was, to see what the termites had done to it. Knock, knock.

It echoed.

He paused, trying to interpret it, trying to figure out how strong the wood was, and whether or not he could simply push through it. He knocked again.

That's when the floor exploded.

That blue, pale, emaciated monster that had taken his goats and taken his son burst out of the ground, red eyes gleaming, blood-coated teeth bared, skin folded back in a malicious growl. Scorpions hung off its body and fell to the floor all around it, scurrying around and coming nearer and nearer to Paolo. It's claws were stretched out to the limit, dangerous and prepared to attack, and it reared back to strike.

Paolo screamed, lifted the gun, and aimed it straight at the monster's stomach.

He pulled the trigger.

Just after the click of an unloaded weapon reached his ears, the claws swept into his head and knocked him sideways. "Dedé!" he screamed. "Dedé, get Virgilio! Run!" He grabbed the gun, lifted it, and swung.

El chupacabras came closer. The horde of scorpions came with it.

~*~

Dedé wiped the snot off of her upper lip and rose to her feet. She had to go, she had to tell Paolo. Everything had fallen to pieces. Her son was dead, her house was burning, and she didn't feel as if all the omens had been fulfilled yet. She felt as if there was more to come.

She had to tell Paolo.

She had to tell him everything. If anybody could help her now, it was Paolo. Without him, she didn't know what she'd do.

Dedé stumbled toward the door, pushed it open, and staggered into the hallway. Using the wall as a guide, she moved closer and closer to her own bedroom, closer to the hunt for the scorpions that were nowhere near as much of a threat as the blood-sucking creature she'd thought her family had prepared for. She thought they'd been ready for it.

And then she hit the room. The hole in the ground. The dead, pale body lying against the wall, neck dangling down to its chest. The gun held in one cold, white hand. The dead scorpions scattered around the room.

No.

No, no, no.

She'd even heard it. She'd heard the commotion, the shout. But she hadn't cared. She could have helped, she could have saved Paolo, but she was too busy crying over what had happened to prevent it from happening again.

"No!"

She threw her entire body into the wall, and pain shot up her entire arm, her shoulder throbbed. "No! This is my fault, my fault, my fault!" She kicked the wall, she slapped it, she collapsed to her knees and put her head in her lap and cried.

This happened before. You cried so much, Dedé, you cried so much that it got your husband, too. It got Paolo because you are a sissy... Dedé wiped her eyes, cleared her vision, and then turned. The hole in the floor stared up at her angrily, challengingly, and she crept over to it, hands and knees, hands and knees, closer and closer.

She heard the hiss of the chupacabras, lurking in the shadows, waiting for her to come closer. And she would. She'd challenge it head-on. She didn't know how, she didn't know what she'd do, but she'd take it down with her if it was the last thing she did.

Right hand, left knee, left hand, right knee.

Right hand, left knee, left hand, right knee.

One after the other, closer and closer to her fate. Closer and closer to a death she knew she couldn't avoid. Closer and closer to-

"Shit!"

Dedé looked down at her hand, and through the tears in her eyes she saw a nice, clean hole at her wrist, write over an artery, blood already beginning to rise to the top. She reached up and felt the hole, and when she rubbed one thumb over the wound, the blood smeared, as well as some other liquid. Dedé couldn't figure out what it was.

She looked down.

A black scorpion was waiting for her, ready to strike again, a drop of poison lingering at the top of its tail. It snapped a set of claws, and Dedé felt ready to scream. She wanted to jump on it, kill it, smash it against a wall and spread it's blood all over the walls, she wanted to create a hideous effigy of the monster that had taken her family, she wanted it in blood on the walls, she wanted it ready to attract her enemy and draw it into the open.

But she couldn't move.

The poison droplet slipped from the scorpion's tail and fell onto its backside. And then is scurried away, off to the hole. Dedé choked out something indiscernible, and then collapsed onto her back. She was already paralyzed, so quickly. Death would come soon.

And it did.

It came straight out of the hole in the middle of her bedroom, one long-clawed hand after the other. She couldn't see a thing, she could only watch the ceiling. But she heard the claws, each of them, clicking on the wood, and then she heard the hiss as the beast raised itself out over the hole. As el chupacrabras eased out from underneath the floorboards and across to its prey, the prey that the scorpions had laid out for it.

She could hear the click of the claws.

Smell the stench of death, of goat shit and of her child.

She could taste the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

And then she could see it.

It inched over to her and growled, hissed into her ear, and lifted one claw into her vision. She saw one mangled finger come closer and closer to her eye, and she wanted to close them and never see anything again. But she couldn't.

The scorpion's poison kept her in place, forced her to watch as the claw slit the skin over her eye and then drew down to her jawbone, a long line over her entire face. And then the monster reached down and stuck out its long, sickly green tongue and licked the blood off of her cheek.

And then she felt the claws close around her neck.

She felt the teeth digging into her neck.

She felt the tongue digging in to probe about, to rip apart an artery and suck out the blood. She felt the skin being ripped off and she wanted to scream, to cry, to fight back, and she couldn't do a thing. Not a damn thing.

And then she felt the abomination sucking out her life.

Then it stopped. It sneezed. It hissed. It coughed. Blood, her own blood, spiraled out of its mouth and splattered onto her cheek and into one eye. She couldn't respond. She already felt weaker. It was harder and harder to breath. She was dying, from the wound and from the poison. And the worst part was that she couldn't stop el chupacabras, she couldn't do a thing against it no matter how much she wanted. She could barely even see out of one blood-coated eye.

But she could see some.

She could see the monster coughing.

She could see it wheezing, she could the fury and hunger in its red eyes dull, she could see it hold up one hand and then collapse onto her. And as she remembered the poison pulsing through her blood, through its blood, she wished she could laugh.

Fade to black.