“Yes but we are in Mexico, Vanessa. It’s not the same.”
“True,” she agreed, though it seemed close enough to her.
“Look, Vanessa, I’ve seen an aggressive dog on the ranch but not one vampire bat, so on balance …”
He didn’t finish his sentence, and although he said it playfully it made Vanessa feel a bit foolish. She should shut up.
“But you can’t really believe that Xolo could suck every last drop of blood out of two chickens and a goat either, can you?” she said grumpily.
“To be honest, I have no idea what to think, Vanessa.”
Armado looked worried, and Vanessa was tempted to say something about the Chupacabra when she was distracted by the sound of a dog barking in the distance. It came from somewhere in the middle of a dense clump of trees.
When Vanessa looked around Xolo was gone. The barking stopped suddenly. Something was up.
Armado and Vanessa looked at each other briefly and then, without a word, dropped down from their horses at the same time and ran to the edge of the trees. Before they could plunge headlong into the foliage, Xolo trotted out beside them looking quite unfazed. Vanessa fell upon him, relieved. He had a bone in his mouth, which he dropped at her feet.
“Silly mutt, scaring us like that,” Vanessa scolded him. She picked up the bone. “Thank you for the present, but I’ve become a vegetarian, I’m afraid,” she said to the dog.
“Don’t lie to Xolo.” Armado patted the dog’s head, and Xolo rolled onto his back for a tummy rub. “I’ve seen you eating your steak—medium-rare—like the rest of us.”
It happened then, just as before. An assault on her senses. The same as in the shaman’s house, but less shocking, because Vanessa recognized the signs this time. The same foul smell. Vanessa felt as if her eyes were pressed up against a curved glass and the things around her—the trees and horses and Armado—were all distorted. She saw Xolo’s head transform into a man’s head with smooth, sleek black hair and a hooked nose. Around his small neck was a string with feathers and a large crystal. Beside him was a beautiful woman whose head rotated 360 degrees and became the face of an owl. The bird woman.
Vanessa dropped the bone she had been holding, and Armado picked it up. He had been busy playing with Xolo and had not noticed Vanessa’s ashen face. He inspected the bone.
“A deer, I suppose,” he said casually and then threw it high in the air back into the trees.
Vanessa turned to hide her confusion. She was shaking. Why was it that she was the only one affected by these visions? Was it some form of message for her, or was her grip on reality just slipping?
CHAPTER 21
Naguals will often hide recently dead or dried animals amongst the belongings of people they wish to harm. Magical manipulations of these animals and the use of potions, incantations, and effigies are used to cause illness and even death.
The next day Vanessa found a dead lizard under her bed.
She was on her knees looking under the bed for her book when she noticed the little dried-out corpse. She wasn’t bothered by it; she quite liked lizards. The ridgy skin was so prehistoric looking. Besides, a dead one was easier to get a good look at; the live ones here were way too fast on their feet.
There was no book under the bed, though. It must be in her backpack, she thought. As soon as she opened her bag she knew that something was wrong. Right on top of her things lay a piece of snakeskin and a dried-out frog. The frog was stretched out flat and looked as if it had been hit by a bus. Poor thing. But what was it doing in her bag?
“Yuck,” said Nikki, coming into Vanessa’s room through the French windows. “What is that in your hand?”
“A dead frog and some snakeskin,” Vanessa said flatly. “I have no idea how they got into my backpack. And there was a lizard too, under my bed. Also dead.”
“Horrible!” said Nikki.
“More mysterious than horrible, really,” Vanessa said. “I don’t mind the dead things, but I do mind the idea that someone might have come into my room and left them here.”
“Maybe you left your window open,” Nikki suggested. “Maybe they crawled in and died there.”
“In my zipped backpack?” Vanessa persisted. “And maybe the dead snake just happened to shed some of his skin as he opened the zipper?”
What could Nikki say?
“Someone put them there, Nikki, and I think I know who.”
“You know who?” Nikki repeated with a laugh. “You are beginning to sound like Harry Potter, Vanessa.”
Vanessa frowned.
“Sorry. You mean Pablo, don’t you?” Nikki stopped smiling and straightened her face. “I know you don’t like him, and he is pretty gross, but why would he do that?’
“To scare me again?” Vanessa didn’t sound convincing, not even to herself.
“Again?” Nikki echoed.
Vanessa still hadn’t told her about the incident in the kitchen, but Nikki was in a hurry.
“I have to go,” said Nikki. “Carmen is expecting me. Embroidery. Will you be all right, Vanessa?” Nikki looked hard at her friend. Vanessa was pale.
“I’m fine.” Vanessa smiled to reassure her. “I’ll see you later.”
It was nearly time for Vanessa to go and join Izel in the kitchen. Maybe she would have an explanation for the dried animals. First she would take a quick look at her cryptid file. She took it out now from the bottom drawer of her wardrobe where she had hidden it amongst her clothes. Since the animal killings Vanessa had been worried about somebody finding it. It was possible that they might suspect her of being involved in some way. They might accuse her of playing tricks. People had been blamed before for the Chupacabra’s killings. Somebody was certainly playing tricks on her with the dead lizard and frog.
The first few chapters were about the Chupacabra—the sightings and theories. Vanessa thumbed the pages thoughtfully. She liked to imagine that her mum had done the same, that there was some trace of her still on the paper that Vanessa could connect with.
“What am I missing, Mum?” she said softly.
She could see that the Chupacabra’s method of killing was similar to the way the animals had died here, on this ranch. Her next thought made her turn cold: What if it was actually something to do with her, Vanessa? What if she was a key, in some strange way, to the things that were happening? What if the person who left these dead things around in her room knew something about Vanessa that she hardly knew herself?
She sat staring at the pages, her eyes blurry with unshed tears. She was in a panic. She didn’t want to analyze it any further, but she was going to have to if she wanted to discover what was going on.
“Help me out here, Mum, will you?” she croaked. She read on. Most sightings had happened in Central and South America, Puerto Rico, and the Caribbean, where it had all started nearly thirty years ago.
Vanessa threw the folder down and gave a loud snort. It was an unpleasant sort of noise even to her own ears, but it was a sound filled with relief. Of course it had nothing to do with her. She hadn’t been in Puerto Rico thirty years ago; she hadn’t been in Colombia eleven years ago. She’d been overreacting, thinking she might have some unconscious link to the killings. The first attacks on the ranch had happened before she even got here, hadn’t they? The most likely explanation, as Armado said, was a wild dog. Just not Xolo.
Vanessa turned the page and got the surprise of her life. There, in front of her eyes, was her mother’s handwriting. She ran her fingers over the words and smiled. They were hard to read, more like scribbled thoughts than notes.
The Chupacabra is not just one creature but a type of creature, as the attacks have happened in many countries.
Is it the same thing in each country/place?
Is it a physical manifestation of something evil in a place?
Where do they hide? How can they stay so well hidden and yet leave trails of evidence in the form of dead goats and other animals?
If the killings
are the result of a pack of wild, hungry dogs, surely you might expect the bodies to be torn apart by their teeth rather than for the blood to be drunk from three neat puncture wounds?
The word teeth made her jump to her feet as if she had gotten an electric shock. The tooth from the turtle girl! Maybe that was the key. She dived into her wardrobe and retrieved her dressing gown, which she had flung onto the wardrobe floor. She rooted in the pockets. Nothing. Had she lost it—or had someone taken it? Someone who had sneaked into her room to leave dead creatures lying about to frighten her?
Vanessa went back to the file and read on.
In modern rural Mexico, the term nagual is often the same as witch or brujos, who are thought to be able to shape-shift into animals at night and suck blood from innocent victims. They can also steal properties and cause disease. In some indigenous societies, the position of the nagual is accepted as part of their community. They may know who the nagual is, and he is both feared and respected for his evil. In other communities the accusation of being a nagual may result in violent repercussions—much like the witch process of renaissance Europe.
Why had her mother put information about the Nahua tribal traditions in the cryptid file about the Chupacabra? Had she come to the same conclusion as Vanessa? Did she think that the Chupacabra sightings were something much more deep-rooted in Mexican culture—something that went back to Aztec times? Vanessa let the folder drop to her lap. Her head was stuffed full of wild images, but she couldn’t quite pin down her thoughts, and she felt quite exhausted by it.
CHAPTER 22
Blood-sucking and transforming witches can be traced back to pre-Hispanic times in Mexico. Locals will often suspect a nagual within a community but would never openly accuse or confront a person, as it is too dangerous. They risk bringing sickness or death to themselves or their family.
“Is nagual a Nahuatl word, Izel?” Vanessa asked as she rolled the dough for the tortillas. It was her fourth time to try. All previous attempts had been rejected by Izel—too thick, too thin, and then too dry.
She knew from her mum’s file that a nagual was a blood-sucking witch, but she was interested in hearing Izel’s version of it. Head down, rolling dutifully, she waited for Izel to reply. When no answer came, she looked up.
Izel’s barrel-like body was shaking; the knife that Vanessa had rarely seen out of her hand since her arrival was discarded, and she was holding on to the edge of the counter, as though keeping herself propped up.
“Izel, are you OK?” Vanessa’s voice faltered. “I’m … I’m sorry.”
Izel’s mouth was wide open and her many chins had collapsed on themselves.
The word nagual came out in a long, slow hiss, rather like the air being let out slowly from a balloon. The army of hairs on the back of Vanessa’s neck stood to attention, and she held her breath.
“Never speak of those people,” Izel whispered, her eyes wide in panic. “Even that word said into the wind puts you in danger.”
The kitchen door opened, and Xolo trotted in, head held high, bat-like ears alert as if he were expecting first place at a dog show. Armado was close on his heels, heading straight into the open arms of Izel, who seemed to make a miraculous recovery at the sight of him.
Vanessa gripped the rolling pin a little harder and resisted the urge to thump Armado with it. That boy’s timing was something else. Then a thought popped into her mind unbidden: Was his timing good or bad? Did Armado know what was going on and just act all innocent?
Vanessa stroked the top of Xolo’s head as he sat panting by her feet. She was glad to see him out of his lock-up.
“Did Xolo jailbreak, Armado, or has he been given a reprieve?” Vanessa made her voice sound as light and casual as possible. She hated the fact that Xolo was still locked up for much of the day.
“I heard him whining as I passed the stable and felt sorry for him. He led me straight here, though.” He grinned at her. “Food. It’s a great tempter.”
“Maybe he knew that I wanted to ask you something,” Vanessa said.
Armado raised his thick eyebrows. A smooth, even tan and mischevious eyes. God, he was good-looking! Vanessa found herself blushing, much to her annoyance.
“Just wondering if the little presents were from you?” she said.
“Presents?” Armado looked amused.
“The snakeskin and dried-out frog in my bag? Or the dead lizard under my bed?” Vanessa replied. “You know, to try and scare me—me being a girl and all that?’
Armado looked really puzzled now; his laugh was genuine, the look of disbelief in his face unrehearsed.
“I would have to put a lot worse than a couple of dead reptiles in your room to scare you, Vanessa.”
His smile was friendly, and Vanessa grinned back.
“You know me better than I thought,” she bantered lightly and turned to Izel. But Izel had already left the kitchen.
CHAPTER 23
On 3 May 1996 in Calderon Village Sinaloa, Northern Mexico, a giant bat-like creature terrorized the village. Goats were found daily with their blood sucked dry. Farmers formed night vigilante squads. “We are telling people to keep women and children locked up at night,” a local said. “Nobody knows really what it is. Dozens of goats have fallen prey to the bloodsucker.”
Later that evening the girls ate their dinner at the small table on the veranda outside their bedrooms.
They ate alone. Izel had gone to bed with a headache, and Frida had not been seen all day. Joseph and Armado had gone to see a well on another ranch that was similar to the one they planned to sink on the Martinez ranch.
Vanessa could not shake the feeling that she was in some way responsible for Izel’s headache. She shouldn’t have asked her about naguals. Glumly she watched the lizards scuttle along the veranda, their tongues flicking as they collected insects. They had a beautiful blue color on their sides and were about the length of her forearm. Funny, that. The one she’d found under her bed had been much smaller and was just a plain green. Maybe that one was not native to the ranch?
She took a long drink of the cool homemade lemonade. It was delicious and very welcome. Her mind was feverish, as if it were working overtime, cycling repeatedly through all that had happened so far.
“I got a lovely call from home this morning,” Nikki said out of the blue.
Vanessa turned to her, suddenly noticing how pretty her friend looked. Nikki’s face was tanned and her blonde hair highlighted with natural streaks. It wasn’t just that she looked pretty; she was clearly happy, too.
“They sent their love, Vanessa, and said that they bumped into your dad and Lee in Dublin last night. So they went for a drink together and talked about us. For hours, apparently.” Nikki paused for a second and then continued. “Mum said that your dad was really worried about letting you go after your last trip to Loch Ness.”
Vanessa opened her mouth and closed it like a fish. She didn’t really want to go there at the moment.
“What happened at Loch Ness?” Carmen’s eyes were trained on Vanessa’s face, and Vanessa’s heart sank.
“I was stupid. A stupid accident, that’s all. I took a rowing boat out on the lake on my own.” When Carmen said nothing Vanessa continued. “Then I managed to capsize it and … well, I suppose I nearly drowned after I bumped my head.”
Carmen’s eyes were wide as she listened to Vanessa.
“Luckily I got to the bank before I passed out. It was a close one, I know, but I was fine.”
“It must have been terrible, Vanessa. You must have been so afraid,” Carmen said. She was not a great swimmer. Vanessa smiled. Falling into the lake and meeting Nessie had been one of the best things that had ever happened to her, but she wasn’t about to tell them that.
“Well, it was worse for Dad and the boys because they thought that I had gone missing, and the police were called in,” Vanessa said.
“The police were called to find Mama when she went missing,” Carmen said. “She was sixteen
, and her father pronounced her dead.”
“Pronounced her dead?” said Nikki. “How do you mean?”
Carmen shook her black hair off her shoulders; she enjoyed an audience.
“My mother was a very talented artist. Her father was so proud that she had his father’s genius, and he planned to send her to study with the best artists in America.”
“Oh, yes—his father was the one who carved the dogs,” Vanessa said quietly, more to herself, but it stopped Carmen in her tracks.
“Perhaps I’d better not say any more. It is not really my story to tell. It should be Mama and not me.”
Vanessa cursed herself and beneath the table she dug her nails into her own palms, annoyed with herself. She could have heard the rest of the story if she had kept quiet. Why, oh why could she not learn to stay quiet and not interrupt people? Her teachers were forever saying it. Now Vanessa had to agree that they were right.
She tried to enjoy the rest of the evening with the girls, playing charades and games of snap with silly rules. But no matter how much she begged, Vanessa could not get Carmen to continue with Frida’s story. She remained firm. It was not hers to tell.
At bedtime Vanessa sat on her bed and took out the portrait of Izel that she had attempted and examined it critically. It was pathetic. She couldn’t show it to Frida, especially when Frida was an artist herself.
She turned to a blank page in her sketchbook and closed her eyes. The pencil in her palm became the smooth bone she had handled the previous day. In her mind she relived the images that changed and shifted until the woman became the owl. The bird woman. The owl woman, really.
Vanessa opened her eyes, picked up her pencil and began to draw. She did not stop until she had finished. She had drawn the feathers well. But it was the face that really struck her as interesting. The face was that of an owl, but the eyes were the wide, round eyes of a woman. She decided to leave it exactly as it was. She was exhausted.
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