Blood of the jaguar

There's a knock on the door, or is it just the door shaking? It could just be the wind. I can't think straight. My dad asks me to tell the guest to go away. or was that the wind. I walk over to the door. Its too silent, the wind has stopped too, they must be gone. Maybe they just wait behind the door. I stand and watch the empty door frame for a moment. There's a growling noise, a shuffle, I look up, a flash of white and black, a scratch on my face, a slash on my chest, teeth grip my forearm, I don't make a sound.

I'm standing behind me now, the jaguar has my arm locked into its jaw and I can't break loose. I step over to my struggling self. The door opens. Calmly, a dark-skinned figure steps into the room. through the closed door? He carries a blade, looks like a machete. The machete pulls his arms down and slides itself slowly in-between the animal's half- opened mouth. The man's face is still, emotionless. The blade dives forward, dragging the man down as though he controlled it. The jaguar freezes, becomes stone for half a second. Blood sprays into my face.

I'm awake. I can hear myself breathing heavily, a growl outside, footsteps in the dry leaves. Or is it just the wind?