Blood Lust: A Supernatural Horror

by Gurley, JE

  Now, I knew that something far worse existed, perhaps here or in South America, perhaps Eastern Europe where such things as vampires, gargoyles and other mythical creatures have always been a part of their history. Chupacabra were real. They posed a real threat to mankind. If one such myth existed, could others? How could I sleep soundly knowing this?

  My reward for solving the case was a week off. I tried to find Joria but she had already checked out of the fleabag motel where I tracked her. I found my Explorer parked in front of my condominium and the keys in my mailbox. She kept popping in and out of my life like a ghost. I only hoped Section One hadn’t found her and spirited her away.

  I needed time alone, so I went into the country where my second ex-wife and I once had a cabin by a lake. It belonged to her now, but I knew where she hid the key inside a fake rock in an ornamental bed of red gravel. The lake was remote and quiet. I spent the first day drinking beer and feeling sorry for myself; then I decided enough was enough and went fishing. It had been years since I had last cast a lure in the water, but soon found the repetitive process of casting and slowly reeling back in a balm to my battered soul. My mind drifted to better times, little snatches of glorious days, golden days that had seemed so marvelous at the time but were forgotten in the barrage of mundane life, only to be dredged up years later and savored like a fine wine aged slowly.

  I managed to catch three decent trout, which, with some pan-fried potatoes and a bottle of white wine I found in the pantry, became my dinner. I was just finishing my meal when I looked up and saw Joria standing on the porch. I put down my fork and stared at her. She eyed the trout on the platter hungrily.

  “Care to join me,” I asked.

  She smiled and sat down across from me. I didn’t speak as I took another wine glass from the side table and poured her some wine as she wolfed down the cold trout and potatoes. I tried to formulate my thoughts as I looked at her. My eyes kept straying to her skimpy top, which did little to hide her breasts or hide her protruding nipples. She took a deep sip from the glass and set it down.

  “It was a long walk from the village.”

  I nodded appreciatively. “About five miles as the crow flies.”

  She raised her glass and finished its contents. “I’m not a crow. It took hours. I’m exhausted.”

  I offered her more wine but she shook her head. “I looked for you.”

  “I know. I saw you once, but our friends were following you. One of your neighbors told me you were going to your cabin. It only took a few minutes on the internet to find it.”

  I mused that Joria would make a good detective. “How did you get here?”

  “I hitch-hiked; then walked.”

  I smiled as I imagined how readily horny, drooling drivers offered her rides.

  “You find that amusing?” she quipped.

  “Slightly,” I answered truthfully. “Did they ask how far you were going?”

  My little joke was lost on her. Instead of replying, she asked, “Are you going to take me to bed, or what?”

  I eyed the leftovers and dirty dishes and decided they would wait for morning.

  * * * *

  I awoke at dawn to find Joria entangled in the sheets beside me snoring softly. Her luscious leg thrust across the bed. I followed it with my eyes to the curve of her soft, rounded buttocks. Whatever doubts I had about her or how she felt about me, she held nothing back in bed. I had felt more like a victim than a willing participant had as she attacked me as soon as we were undressed. I was exhausted but I had no complaints. I suppose every man has fantasies about being ravaged by a woman. Now, mine was fulfilled. I dressed quietly and walked out to watch the sunrise from the time it first painted the top of the hills beyond the lake a burnt gold until its fiery fingers caressed the still lake waters.

  This slice of idyllic life did not last long, however as the rumble of a helicopter broke the early morning silence. At first, I feared it was the Feds having tracked me down, but I relaxed when I saw the Fish and Game insignia emblazoned on its side. It disappeared over the mountain and stillness returned.

  “They didn’t follow me.”

  I turned to find Joria standing in the doorway wearing a pair of my ex’s jeans and top, filling them out much better than my ex ever had. She had a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile and I wondered if it related to our lovemaking.

  “If you found me, they can,” I retorted.

  “They’re not following you anymore. You killed the last of the Chupacabra. You beat them. They want me.”

  I detected a touch of bitterness in her voice. I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me for killing her study subject or toward Section One for their pursuit of her.

  “What will you do now?”

  She turned away and spoke softly. “That’s up to you.”

  Her answer surprised me. “Me?”

  She turned back and looked at me expectantly. “If you will go with me, I will meet with Section One. They have no proof that I was involved with the death of their agent. Now that the creature is dead, their interest in me will wane.”

  I took a deep breath as my heart pounded in my chest. “And then?”

  She came to me and wrapped her arms around me. “I like your country. I like you. If you will have me, I will stay here.”

  I tried to think with more than my balls. I wanted her; perhaps I even needed her, but like a viper in the woodpile, my nagging doubt reared its ugly head and hissed.

  “You lied to me.”

  I felt her arms slacken. “Into my chest, she said, “Can we not get over that? I explained that I was confused. In the end, I helped you.”

  I had to admit that she had probably saved Amy May’s life, but how many had died because she had held back information. I remembered people like Anglemeyer the gun dealer, for whom I had looked the other way on minor offenses. Could I do less for her? The Chupacabra was dead, as she had said. Maybe it was time for fresh starts for both of us.

  I embraced her and whispered in her ear. “Welcome to America.”

  19

  Steve Capaldi smiled sympathetically as Ella Ramirez slumped in her chair after the red On Air light went off. It had been a hectic few days for both of them. First, Hardin had set fire to the monastery in a failed attempt to kill the Midnight Monster. Rumors had abounded that the authorities had found more of the creatures' bodies but Ella, to her frustration, could not verify the reports. Hardin’s reward had been reassignment to a DEA case where he had promptly been involved in a chaotic warehouse shootout with drug lords and a second fire. Dazed and frightened gang foot soldiers claimed a flying demon attacked them. Hardin, once again, had been in the thick of it and he Ella had been unable to shoot a single worthwhile frame of footage.

  A seventh girl, Amy Mays, who had disappeared a day earlier, mysteriously reappeared in the hospital, along with word that Hardin had finally killed the Midnight Monster. Its dismembered body was lying somewhere beneath the dark waters of the bay. Capaldi removed his headphones and watched Ella walk in his direction. Below her neat gray skirt and jacket, she wore a pair of fuzzy house slippers, less chic than the black heels wardrobe offered her but infinitely more comfortable.

  “Hardin is out of town,” she began with no preamble.

  “On a well-deserved vacation, I hear. After all, he did kill the Midnight Monster.”

  “That Dr. Alvarez is missing again as well. You don’t think…” Her eyes twinkled wistfully.

  Capaldi sighed. “Give the guy a break. If she is with him, he deserves a little R and R with some female companionship. He’s been through a lot.”

  “Oh, I know he killed the Monster. He’s a damn hero but we don’t have an interview or a single foot of good video to air. We’re rehashing what all the other stations are saying and showing.”

  Capaldi lowered his voice and looked around to make certain no one could overhear him. “We’ve still got copies of the video of the Alvarez woman and Hardin’s attempt to capture the creature.
”

  Ella shook her head. “It’s too shaky. Not enough light. Besides, even if we air it, the Feds with just confiscate it too.”

  “It’s something at least,” Capaldi replied testily. Ella’s remark had sounded like a rebuke on his video technique. He had a steady hand and the Sony PMW-320K was a top of the line camcorder. With his 12,000-dollar budget, it was the best he could afford. If the video was shaky, it was because the damn thing took a nosedive at him.

  Ella looked at him and smiled. “I’m not blaming you. You’re the best in the business.”

  This elicited a smile from Capaldi.

  “No,” Ella continued. “We’ll save it for a special I want to put together when things die down. The Feds won’t be up our ass then.”

  “So what’s next? Follow Hardin to his vacation love nest?”

  Ella chuckled at Capaldi’s suggestion. “No. When he comes back to town, I’m going to hound him until he talks to me, on camera. Maybe Dr. Alvarez too. She seems to come and go like some damn Brazilian ninja or something.”

  “Damn fine looking ninja,” Capaldi replied.

  “Keep it in your pants, Steve,” she chided. “We’ll keep an eye on Hardin. My gut tells me this isn’t over yet. There’s still a lot of activity at the Homeland Security offices. It’s all tied in to the Midnight Monster somehow.”

  She glanced up at the bank of video monitors and Weatherman Guy Vicenza standing in front of his green screen displaying a satellite image of the metro area. Her eyes followed the Bay Road to the smudge of the ruins of the monastery. Even seen from 100 miles up, the place looked evil.

  20

  Twice, while Joria and I enjoyed long evening walks in the woods, I felt as if someone was following us but I saw nothing, though one time I thought I saw a flash of gray in the tops of the trees. This could have been my overactive imagination. Strange noises in the night further enhanced my sense of our being observed. It could have been nosy neighbors, game wardens, or even the clan from Deliverance for all I knew, but I began to sleep with my .45 tucked under my pillow. Joria noticed but said nothing. I believe she thought the Feds were watching us.

  On our last night, I took a walk alone while Joria cleared the dishes. I was startled when I turned a bend in a path and came upon the body of a dead deer, its throat slashed. I stood and scanned the woods for half an hour before convincing myself it had been the handiwork of a bear frightened off before it could devour its kill. I had seen sign of bears earlier in the week but had not mentioned it to Joria. Jaguars in the jungle might not frighten her, but I figured the idea of a 1200-pound bear somewhere in the woods might do the trick. Still, something deep down inside me screamed trouble. I didn’t allow my nervousness to turn me back. I plunged deeper into the woods, drawn by some primitive urge to prove myself. The shadows could not harm me and that was all that was out there.

  I walked along the path, stopping often to listen. I was no woodsman, but it seemed to me that the woods were unnaturally still. From the cabin porch, I could hear owls, night birds, coyote calls, possums – the usual nocturnal wildlife. Now, I heard nothing. Fearing that perhaps the bear might be lurking nearby, I pulled out my .45 and continued more carefully. The moon was full but a light wind pushed banks of clouds scurrying across the night sky. I walked first in light, and then in darkness.

  The first sign that I was not alone was the cracking of a tree branch. In the stillness, it sounded like a shotgun blast and affected me just as much as one. I stopped and listened but there was no reoccurrence. I knew even a light wind could snap rotten branches, so I relaxed. Then the tops of the trees began to sway but I felt no wind on the ground. I heard a thud and pine needles rustling, followed by the sound of wings. An owl catching a field mouse? I tried to rein in my apprehension. After all, I had heard or seen nothing that I could not explain as normal night activity.

  At the lake, I skipped a few stones on its placid dark waters, watching the ripples expand into the darkness. Behind me, I heard the sound of wood snapping. I turned just in time to see a tall pine tree falling toward me. I raced to one side, barely avoiding entanglement in the spreading tree branches. The tree crashed with a thud and a splash as the top landed in the lake. My heart raced as I faced the woods with my .45, calculating the odds that a weakened tree would fall just as I stood beneath it. I figured they were not very high. Still, I was ready to put it down to providence, when I saw a familiar shadow soar between treetops. I lost control.

  “Come and get me you lousy bastard!” I yelled repeatedly as I fired my .45 into the treetops. When I emptied the clip, I stood there shaking, watching the woods, waiting for an attack that did not come. Had I seen something? What could I have seen? The Chupacabra was dead, fish food in the bay. I replaced my .45 and rubbed my hands trying to still their trembling.

  I had played hunches all my life. I played one now. Something or someone was watching me and it wasn’t the Feds. I could feel eyes staring at me from the darkness. I felt like a mouse just before a horned owl swoops down to pluck it from the ground. The woods no longer felt safe. I remembered Joria was alone and raced to the cabin. She was waiting at the door when I burst from the woods, breathing heavily from my run. She had heard the shots and stared at me with concern.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” she shouted as I collapsed on the porch.

  I tried to speak, gasping as my tortured lungs tried to pull in enough air to still my heart. “I don’t know. I, I felt like something was out there in the woods with me, watching me.”

  She clutched her chest and smiled. “The bear you tried to hide from me?”

  I shook my head. “No, something…bigger.”

  Her eyes grew large as she guessed my meaning. She kneeled beside me, grasped my trembling hands in hers. “You’re wrong. It’s dead. You killed it. It was just an animal you disturbed.”

  I took a deep breath to calm myself. She was right. The Chupacabra was dead. I had blown it to pieces, which were now lying in three fathoms of bay water, food for the fishes. But my gut wouldn’t relax. I had learned to follow my instincts.

  “I’ve got to go back to the city.”

  She didn’t protest, only nodded. “Tonight?”

  I rose to my knees and took her in my arms, almost smothering her with my embrace, drawing comfort and strength from her warm body. It amazed me how quickly my doubts about her had vanished during our few days in the woods. I needed her. I was tired of being alone. As we kissed, I felt a stirring in my groin and realized I wanted her.

  “No. In the morning.”

  She smiled as I led her to the bedroom.

  * * * *

  Upon our return to the city, I immediately noticed the change in the people. They were already back to their same old ‘me first’ attitudes, walking about lost in their own petty problems, oblivious to the city around them. The ‘Midnight Monster’ was gone, dead. The city was safe once more for them to be themselves. Long live the mundane.

  As we walked up the stairs to my condominium, I met one of my neighbors in the hall, Joe Calloway, a lawyer. He was not my favorite neighbor. He was brash, opinionated and a perpetual busybody. He didn’t look happy.

  “Hardin,” he said without preamble. “Where have you been?”

  I looked at him coldly, not caring for his harsh tone. “In the woods. Why?”

  “There’s been a horrendous odor coming from your apartment for days. We were debating calling the police. We thought maybe you were dead or something.”

  “No, alive and kicking,” I replied, but Calloway’s words had sent a sliver of ice through my heart, which began pounding. I pulled out my .45. I looked at Joria; then at him. “You’d better get back,” I cautioned. I tried not to smile as his face turned pale and he stumbled backwards into the stair banister. I fumbled with my keys in my nervousness. As I neared the door, I caught a whiff of the odor that had ruffled Calloway’s feathers. It smelled of death. I turned the key and opened the door, knowing, or at least suspect
ing what I would find inside.

  The fetid odor of decomposition hit me like a solid wall. Joria’s gasp barely registered on my senses.

  “My God,” Calloway burst out before puking in the hallway.

  I barely managed to keep from retching myself, but my stomach rebelled at the smell and the sight that greeted me. Three bodies lay side-by-side on the living room floor, three young girls, half-naked, throats and chests ripped open, swollen with decomposition amid a lake of dried blood. Flies buzzed loudly as they came and went at leisure through the smashed balcony door.

  My heart sank. The flash of gray I had seen in the woods, the strange sounds, and the falling pine tree were not imaginary. I had been watched, toyed with. The proof was here before me. I had missed one or more of the juveniles in my Chupacabra hunt. Now, it was taking up where daddy had left off. I was its target. It had left the girls’ bodies here to remind me the game was not over. Like father, like son, I mused grimly.

  “Call the police,” I said; then repeated it as Calloway stared frozen at the horrific tableau on my floor.

  He broke out of his trance and rushed down the hall to his apartment. I glanced at Joria. She stared back in mute horror. I swallowed the bile rising in my gullet and walked inside to examine the bodies more closely. One girl had been dead for three or four days, the others only one or two days. Besides the maggots, flies and crusted blood, there were traces of ash on the bodies. I shook my head in sorrow. Tonight, some mother was going to learn of the death of her missing daughter and wonder if it was ever going to end.

  My apartment had been ransacked. The creature had overturned chairs and tables, smashed photos, slashed my sofa and pulled books down from the bookcase. Two books lay open on my desk, a book of police procedures and a book of poetry. I wondered if the creature could read as well as speak. If so, it would come as no surprise. I had consistently underestimated the creatures all along. They had survived as a species for millennia, as individuals for centuries. During that time, they had undoubtedly picked up a few tricks. I studied the ash on the bodies. There was nothing burned in my apartment and I had no fireplace. Where had the ash come from? Faced with the overwhelming evidence of the return of a Chupacabra, I dismissed the ash as inconsequential.