The scream pierces the air, causing both Caspar and Malakai to tense. Their eyes meet in the dark.

“That sounded nearby,” Caspar says. 

Malakai is pulling on a shirt. “It does. I need to go check it out.”

“Okay, let me get my gun—”

“Stay here. I’m not going far.”

“You’re kidding, right? The whole point of teaming up is not working alone.”

“You’re still hurt, Caspar. You’re not in any condition to fight.”

“I won’t fight then, I'll shoot.”

“I don’t think—”

The memory of Ruth flashes in Caspar’s mind. Fear takes hold of his heart. “Malakai I am not being left alone in this godforsaken RV.”

Malakai sighs. “Fine. Stay behind me though.”

Caspar is already pulling on his shoes and shirt, heart racing. They tentatively step into the rainy night, weapons drawn. 

Outside, the visibility is as poor as it was in his dream. Caspar turns the flashlight on his gun on, surveying their surroundings carefully.

“Here doggies! Here! Come eat! Come eat! Come eat! Come eat!” a female voice rings out across the ranch. 

“Fuck,” Caspar curses, “that sounds like its coming from the horse paddock.” 

A new cry disturbs the night. “Help! Someone! Please help me!”

“Fuuuck,” Caspar groans, “either that’s someone who’s about to be monster food…”

Malakai finishes the sentence. “Or someone who already was. Let's go.”

Together, they run toward the sound. As they approach the horse paddock, Caspar sweeps his gun around the property. The high beams bounce off the muddy earth and puddles, giving him a grim look at his own reflection as he presses forward.

 His grimace deepens as he spots a large dark object laying on the ground. They hop the fence, coming closer. The gelding lies dead on the ground. A small thorn of sorrow buries itself in Caspar’s heart. He dismisses it—now’s not the time to be soft. 

Caspar leans down, examining the horse. “Its got wounds on its neck, but its gums are pale and there's no blood on the ground. This is almost definitely chupacabras.”

“Caspar, look. Over here.”

Following Malakai’s voice, Caspar directs the light to the ground. Giant paw-like footprints are impressed into the wet earth. They lead to the edge of the paddock, into the neighboring property. “It’s heading toward the other ranch.”

“The Kinsley’s, right?” Says Malakai.

“Right. Looks like we’re going to have to worry about getting shot on top of getting eaten.”

“Heeeeelp!” someone cries in the distance.

“Let’s go,” Malakai orders.

He leads the way into the thicket. Caspar follows, ignoring the burn in his neck. The rain starts to lighten as they walk, but the thunder and lightening persists. Caspar tries to focus on that instead of his dream. Paranoia and fear is still seeped into his bones as they get closer and closer to the Kinsley’s ranch house. 

As they approach the porch, though, that paranoia and fear is multiplied by ten. A gruesome 

sight awaits them: A dismembered human hand lays in a pool of blood, a ring on the fourth finger.

“We’re too late,” Caspar whispers.

“It’s already fed. It’s not going to attack anyone else, right?”

“If it was a lone male, yes. But this is a pack that’s hunting—the females are most likely gravid and eating as much as they can. We need to go in, it might be after her husband now.”

“Shit. Alright.”

“Try to take down the male first. Once he’s dead the females will scramble.”

“Got it.”

Malakai enters the house first, with Caspar following behind. The air is heavy with the thick scent of iron and death, contrasting with the homely appearance of the ranch house. 

Caspar shines his light onto the wall, illuminating a portrait. Guilt stirs his stomach as he realizes it’s a photo of the house’s occupants, Mr. and Mrs. Kinsley. Despite what Paul said, they look like a happy, normal couple here. In the photo, Mr. Kinsley is holding onto his new bride, feeding her a slice of wedding cake. Caspar takes a step forward to get a closer look, only to hear a disturbing squelch at his feet. 

He looks down. A trail of blood marks the wood floors, alongside at least three sets of red paw prints. 

Down the hall, a distorted female voice echoes disturbingly. “What—what—what’s gotten into you!? Stop! You’re hurting me—me—me!”

Caspar shines a light on the trail. The paw prints lead outside, with a thick bloody trail accompanying it. 

“Stop—Stop—Baby, why are you acting like this?”

That doesn’t sound good. Did the Kinsley’s have some altercation before they arrived? If she ran out into the night escaping her husband, that would explain how the chupacabras got to her. They must've been listening in and attacked the moment she walked out the door.

Caspar swallows his anxiety. Quiet as they can, they follow the trail through the living room, kitchen, and finally, to the backyard. 

Malakai opens the door slowly as Caspar steps out. 

The backyard is a simple clearing bordered by a white picket fence. Around it are fields of thick sorghum, waving gently in the wind. In the light of the day, Caspar would appreciate the mesmerizing movements, but now, it’s nightmare inducing. There could be anything lurking in the vegetation, waiting for them to turn their backs. 

Caspar tears his eyes away from the fields, only to confront an even more nightmarish scene. Kneeling in the middle of the clearing, body shaking with incessant sobs and drenched in red-black blood, is Mr. Kinsley. His back faces Malakai and Caspar, drowning too much in his misery to notice their approach.

Caspar swallows hard. He gathers his bravery. “Mr. Kinsley?”

Kinsley freezes. 

He turns to Malakai and Caspar, standing with a dazed sway that immediately gives away he’s not in his right mind. He’s pale, possibly in his thirties, with wet dark hair and even wetter dark eyes. In his hand is a bloodied pillow. “Who are you?” he croaks.

“Sir, it’s not safe out here. We need to go back inside—”

“Did you see her? Did you see my wife?”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I couldn't save her, Caspar’s mind cries. He takes a shaky breath. “We’ll help you find her, but first you need to come inside—”

“Stop! Not yet!” Kinsley suddenly yells, looking to his left. 

Caspar swings his gun to where Kinsely is shouting. 

He tenses as five massive, scaled chupacabra’s jump from the fields of sorghum surrounding the clearing. Four are female, crouched on all fours. They resemble hyena-like canines with wide, buggy eyes and two rows of dorsal spikes. The last one is clearly male, already large in frame on four legs, but taller than even Caspar as it rears back into a bipedal stance. Uncannily, it cocks its head at Caspar in an almost intelligent fashion. 

“Don’t attack them,” Kinsley orders. 

To Caspar’s shock, the chupacabras obey. One female even approaches Kinsley, rubbing its face affectionately against his leg. 

He’s trained them?

“Did you see my wife?” Kinsley asks again.

Caspar’s mouth is dry. What the fuck does he say?

Malakai picks up the slack. “What happened?”

Kinsley covers his mouth. He paces back and forth. “I didn’t mean to—she was asleep—I never wanted to hurt her—” He looks back up. “You can’t tell anyone. I don’t want to hurt you, but you can’t tell anyone. Nobody can know.”

Caspar thinks back to the chupacabra’s voices. Clearly, Mrs. Kinsely wasn’t happy with her husband. “Did you hit her? We’re not—we’re not going to tell anyone,” Caspar lies. “Are you the one behind the recent livestock killings? Can you call them off?”

Kinsley clenches his fists. He takes a step closer to the large male chupacabra. Its spines relax as it bends down its drooling maw affectionately. “Tell me who you are first. What do you want!?”

Caspar takes a deep breath. In. Out. In. Out. He’s fine. He’s dealt with chupacabras before. Never trained ones, but still. It’s the same as all the others. Put a bullet between their eyes. 

He switches the safety off his gun. The man flinches fearfully. 

Caspar bites the inside of his cheek. “I can’t just let you keep monsters as pets. Why are you doing this? They don’t belong here.”

The man stares.

“Speak up! Why are you feeding them? Tell us!” Caspar demands.

“They protect us from the coven,” Kinsley whispers.

“The coven is dead. You don’t need them anymore.”

Kinsely’s face goes white with fear. “Are you hunters? You killed them all?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t—I didn’t—” Kinsley sobs. “Don’t kill me, I just wanted to stay with my wife.”

“You’re a monster?” Malakai asks. 

“You are the monsters! I’m only trying to live and everywhere I’m persecuted. Even my own—my own people! They cast me out—I didn’t mean to I didn’t—”

Caspar interrupts. “Look, chupacabras can’t live here! They’re not native. We can let you go, but we have to kill them. They’re aggressive to humans.”

“You’re lying! Douglas sent you after me, didn’t he! He’s lying, he’s—he’s the one killing humans, I don’t kill humans! I’m not part of their church!” AZ

Caspar’s heart skips a beat. His hands go clammy. “You know Douglas?”

“Leave this place or die!” the crazed man cries. 

Around him, the chupacabras stare, growling. But Caspar doesn’t pay them any mind. His eyes are glued, staring at Kinsley’s mouth. A set of razor-sharp fangs are bared there. Vampire. 

Caspar’s whole body tenses like he stepped on a live wire. 

That fucking demon. She lied. She fucking lied. 

“Fine. Once all the vampires f Redpine are dead, our contract is complete.”

Their deal never concluded. Caspar is a fucking idiot.

The memory of his dream flashes in his mind: glowing red eyes peering through the window. Watching. Waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike, when Caspar was at his weakest.

 His own words haunt him: they’ll take any form, play any role, as long as they think it will make their prey let their guard down.

 Any form. Any role. 

He turns the gun on Malakai. His eyes widen, taking a step back. “Cas, please, don’t—”

 Caspar curses loudly, pulling the trigger. “FUCK!”