EL CHUPACABRA

A Puerto Rican horror finds its way to Glen Hartwell and the surroundings

24th March 2025 6:30 PM

Dakota Menzies, a thin, mousy blonde twenty-year-old, and Tyler Mannering, a tall, dark-haired man of twenty-one, were enjoying a roast Pork a L'Orange at the Mannering Pig Station, outside Harpertown in the Victorian Countryside.

"No one cooks Pork a L'Orange like your Aunt Flossy," said Howard Mannering, a tall, burly farmer with curly blond hair. At fifty-five, he looked at least a decade younger.

"Oh, nonsense, Howie, I'm no match for Deidre Morton over at Merridale," insisted Florence Mannering, a short, plump brunette with long curly hair. "She's a trained cordon bleu cook."

"You can't beat Deidre at Duck a L'Orange, no one can. But you've got her measure at Pork a L'Orange," insisted Howie.

"Well, I don't know about that, dear," said Flossy, embarrassed.

"He's right, Mrs. M.," said Dakota, "this roast is smokin'."

"That means excellent," explained Tyler.

"Well, thank you, dear, but call me Flossy."

"Okay, Flossy, this is excellent."

"She's right, Aunt Flossy," agreed Tyler.

"You'll have to teach her how to cook it, Flossy, for when Dakota and Tyler get married," said Howie.

Caught unawares, Dakota almost choked on a roast potato and started coughing loudly.

Patting her on the back, Tyler said, "Don't startle her when she's eating, Uncle Howie."

"Sorry, but I know Jeanie and Ritchie are both starting to wonder when you're planning to get hitched?" asked Howie, referring to Tyler's parents.

"Howard!" said Florence, almost as embarrassed as Dakota and Tyler.

"I guess your parents must be wondering too, Dakota," said Howie, never knowing when to stop. "A good-looking girl like you, if Tyler doesn't get a ring on your finger soon, someone else might beat him to it."

A little raspy-voiced, Dakota said, "We are living together, Howard, so I'm not likely to run off with the first gigolo who comes along."

"Of course not," said Flossy, "she's not that kind of girl."

"Well, I didn't mean to imply ..." began, stopping at the sound of excited squealing from the pigs in the long shed, where they were housed at night.


El Chupacabra was sneaking slowly across the farmyard, toward the long, white weatherboard building, where the farm's pigs were housed at night. The creature could be mistaken for a man from a distance, but had short back legs and went on all fours. It had scales down its flanks, and reddish-brown fur on its back and underneath. It had glowing red eyes in a bulbous humanoid face. Its mouth opened seemingly impossibly wide to display long razor-sharp teeth, which it used to devour its prey, after first sucking out its blood with a forked tongue which has sharps cusps at the tips to cut deep into the animal.

Reaching the rear of the long shed, the creature leapt up onto tall plastic rubbish bins below a four-paned window and looked in. Red eyes glowing like beacons it could clearly see the pigs huddled together inside the shed. Although it preferred to eat goats, El Chupacabra would kill and eat any livestock, but shied away from tackling human beings.

Forked tongue swaying from excitement at the imagined upcoming feast, the creature leapt through the four-paned window, which broke inwards with barely a tinkle. Certainly not loud enough to be heard from the farmhouse. However, it was heard by the pigs, who awakened, and seeing the Chupacabra backlit against the smashed window, began squealing in terror, and racing around, colliding like fat, pink Dodgem Cars.

Trying to ignore the frantic squealing of the pigs, El Chupacabra leapt down onto the nearest animal and latched on with the cusps in its forked tongue. Trying to ignore the pink, flesh Dodgem Cars which kept colliding with each other in the desperate hope of escaping the monster, the creature kept sucking the blood from its chosen victim. Then, retracting its tongue, it began to chew away great chunks of the juicy, bloodless pig.


Inside the farmhouse, they heard the squealing, and Howie said, "A bloody fox must be after our pigs."

He raced up to the gun cabinet in the lounge room at the front of the house and soon returned with two loaded rifles. Handing one to Tyler, he said, "Come on, Ty, we've got a fox to kill."

"Tyler, be careful," called Dakota, worried.

"You two, Howie," called Flossy. "And for God's sake, don't shoot each other!"

"Or the pigs," Howie said to Tyler as they raced out onto the deal-wood porch, then across the yard, toward the main door to the pig shed.


Inside the shed, El Chupacabra had devoured most of the pig and was wondering whether it should risk seconds, or whether the squealing pigs would alert the people inside the farmhouse.


"Carefully," said Howie, almost dropping the keys to the padlock as he tried to unlock it without making too much noise.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, promptly falling over the frantic pigs as they immediately rushed out into the farmhouse yard.

"Stupid pigs!" cried Howie, dropping his shotgun and covering his head with his hands, as one by one nearly a hundred pigs raced across his back to reach freedom.

More careful than his uncle, Tyler, clicked on the light after the pigs had fled, to look around before entering the shed. For just a second, he saw the green, scaly flanks of El Chupacabra as it leapt back out through the window to take off at a lope across the farmhouse yard, setting the frantic pigs to flight again..

The creature stopped long enough to grab a second pig in its jaws, then took off like a cheetah toward the back of the farm, leaping metal fences as it came to them, until it was safely out into the forest. Where it could devour its second course in peace.


"Christ! Did you see that?" asked Tyler.

"What was it, a fox?" asked Howie.

"No, I'd swear it was a bloody crocodile."

"Don't be an idiot. We don't have crocs in Victoria, they're all up North, in Queensland or the Northern Territory."

"I saw green scales all along its left side," insisted Tyler. "Foxes don't have scales!"

"It might have been a large snake," suggested Howie as he climbed back to his feet.

"God help us if there are snakes that large! Besides, I saw it leap out of the window. Snakes don't have legs, and can't leap."

"Well, it can't have been a bloody Croc!" insisted Howard Mannering as they headed back toward the farmhouse.

"What about the pigs?" asked Tyler.

"Leave them till the cops get here," said Howie. "They can't escape the farmhouse yard."


Inside the farmhouse, Dakota sat at the table, while Flossy stood by the kitchen sink, trying to see outside the window.

"What happened?" she asked as Tyler and Howie returned.

"A bloody fox killed and ate one of the pigs. I think it was Bessie," said Howie.

"I'm telling you, Uncle Howie, it was a croc," insisted Tyler, "I saw green scales all down its flank."

"There are no crocs in Victoria!" insisted Howard Mannering.


Over at the Yellow House in Rochester Road, in Merridale, they were just sitting down to roast rack of lamb, with roast potatoes, roast carrots, roast pumpkin, plus various steamed vegetables, all lavishly garnished in lamb gravy.

"This looks fabuloso," said Sheila Bennett. A thirty-six-year-old Goth chick with black-and-orange striped hair, Sheila was the second-top cop of the area.

"Marvellous as always, Mrs. M.," said Terri Scott. Also thirty-six, Terri was an ash blonde and was the top cop of the area, plus was engaged to Colin.

"Thank you, girls," said Deidre Morton. A short, dumpy, sixty-something brunette, Deidre was a giant amongst local cooking circles.

"Magnifique!" enthused Colin Klein. A long-time crime reporter before working for the Glen Hartwell Police Department, Colin was a tall, redheaded Londoner, thirteen years older than his fiancée.

"It looks okay," said Tommy Turner, a forcibly reformed alcoholic, due to Deidre locking away his stash. "But be sure to pour some brandy over mine."

"Instead of, or as well as the gravy?" asked Natasha Lipzing. At seventy-one, the tall, grey-haired old lady had lived at the boarding house for thirty-six years.

"As well as, natch.," said Tommy. "It's a pity Deidre didn't think to make the grave with brandy in the first place."

"Not all of us want to get drunk when eating a lovely roast,' said Leo Laxman. A black Jamaican by birth, Leo was a nurse at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

"Well, you should, you might enjoy life more."

"I enjoy living just fine, Tommy. I've got a good job. I live here with Mrs. M.'s divine cooking. And I've recently started dating a beautiful nurse from the hospital."

"Not that gorgeous Topaz Moseley?" asked Tommy, wide-eyed.

"That's her," agreed Leo.

"Lucky bastard!" said all of the men at the table, except Leo.

Colin gasped as Terri elbowed him in the ribs.

"Watch yourself, lover boy," she warned with a grin.

"I'm all in favour of strong women," teased Colin, "but I wish she wouldn't keep beating me up all the time."

They were still laughing when Terri's mobile phone started ringing.

"Oh, no, tell them we all died of plague," pleaded Sheila.

"It might not be work-related," said Terri as she took her phone out of her jacket pocket.

"Yeah, and I'm Lord Lucan's granddaughter," said Sheila.

Terri listened for a moment, then disconnected and said, "That was Howard Mannering at the Mannering Pig Station outside LePage. He says a fox has killed one of his pigs and taken another one away."

"What does he want you to do about it?" asked Freddy Kingston, a tall, near-bald retiree. "You're not pest control."

"Don't worry, he says it's gone now," said Terri, "but he asked if we could stop by his farm tomorrow morning."

"After breakfast!" said Colin and Sheila together.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," agreed the ash blonde.


Soon after 8:30 the next morning, Terri's police-blue Lexus pulled up outside the chain-link fence around the farmhouse yard at the Mannering Pig Station outside LePage.

Despite having gone home with Dakota the night before, Tyler Mannering was at the farmhouse, along with Howard and Flossy Mannering, when the police arrived.

"So, a fox attacked two of your pigs?" asked Terri, trying not to sound as bored as she felt.

"No, it was a crocodile," insisted Tyler.

"Don't be a dingbat!" said Howie. "Where would a croc be able to live around here?"

"The Yannan River, maybe," suggested Tyler.

"Ty, the Yannan is so polluted that most mosquitoes die if they land in it," said Howie.

"That's an exaggeration," said Flossy, "but I doubt a croc could live there."

"The Gatermen did for a while," said Sheila. [See my story, 'The Gatermen'.]

"Yes, but they were some kind of bizarre freak of nature," said Colin.

"Besides, we killed all the Gatermen," said Terri.

"What are Gatermen?" asked Flossy Mannering, puzzled.

"Never mind," Terri hastened to say. "I'm sure they couldn't have killed your porkers."

"Not if they're all dead," agreed Howie. "Besides, it was definitely a fox."

"How do you know?" demanded Tyler. "You didn't see it, Uncle Howie, I did!"

"So what's next, Chief?" asked Terri.

"You could always organise a fox hunt," suggested Colin.

"Two probs.," said Terri. "Firstly, most hunters in this area, once they start firing away, are more dangerous than any fox in history."

"Unless it's a werefox, like the one we encountered early this year," said Sheila.

"Technically, that was a Dhole, which took on the appearance of a fox," pointed out Colin. [See my story, 'Oh, Baby Dhole'.]

"Secondly, despite being imported vermin, foxes are a protected species by Victorian law," said Terri. "As bloody ridiculous as that seems."

"So, what then?" asked Colin.

"It must be more than a week since we saw the old fellow. How about we organise a police-only hunt, with Bulam-Bulam tracking the beast?"

"Sounds good to me, babe," said Colin as they returned to the Lexus.


Bulam-Bulam was a grey-haired elder of the Gooladoo tribe, outside the township of Harpertown in the Victorian countryside. Although he lived in a lean-to in his tribal village, he owned and worked a small grocery shop in Chappell Street, Harpertown.

He was at the counter, near the door, selling Mars Bars to a couple of early risers, when he heard a car pulling up outside. Looking back, he saw Terri's police-blue Lexus pull up outside his store.

"See you later, mate," said one of the Mars Bar eaters as they held open the door for Terri, Sheila, and Colin to enter, before stepping out into Chappell Street.

"How're ya going, you old codger," teased Sheila, hugging the old man.

"Sheils, I keep telling you ..."

"Since sixty is the new forty, you're really only forty-six," said Colin, Terri, and Sheila as one, all grinning broadly.

"Exactly," said Bulam-Bulam, also grinning. "So what can I do for you?"

"How long is it since you've been on an old-fashioned fox hunt?" asked Terri.

"Well, since," began the old man, thinking, "never actually, for some insane reason, they're a protected species in Australia."

"I've always wondered about that," said Terri, "since they eat more house cats, dogs, even human babies a year, than all the dingos in Australia."

An hour later, they were at the Mannering Pig Station, along with four other local cops, Donald Esk, Paul Bell, Stanlee Dempsey, and Jessie Baker. All of the cops were armed with shotguns, plus a box of shells each.

"We left Suzette at Mitchell Street," said Paul Bell, a tall, thin man with raven-coloured hair.

"Didn't think she could handle a shotgun," said Jessie Baker, a tall ox of a man with dark red hair.

"Yeah, I remember the Chief flying backwards the first time she fired a shotgun," said Donald Esk, a tall, muscular man of forty, with longish brown hair, making everyone except Terri laugh.

"Hey, that shotgun was defective with a kick like a mule," insisted Terri.

"Whatever you say, Chief," said Stanlee Dempsey, a tall, athletic, dark-haired man.

"It was!" she insisted as they climbed back into the cars, her Lexus, a Range Rover, and Don Esk's rusty bluish Land Rover, with Bulam-Bulam sitting on the bonnet of the Lexus.

Finding the tracks, the Elder said, "They're nothing like crocodile or alligator tracks. But they look more like wolf tracks than a fox."

"Certainly, they're bloody big for fox tracks," agreed Stanlee Dempsey.

"Still, the bigger the fox, the harder they fall," misquoted Sheila.

"I will never understand that mad Goth chick," teased Jessie Baker.

"A mad Goth chick, who happens to outrank you," pointed out Sheila.

"I will never understand that mad Goth chick, marm," corrected Jessie.

"That's better."

By the end of the day, they had followed the tracks for kilometres without finding the animal responsible.

"Either it's header deeper into the forest, possibly heading interstate," suggested Paul Bell.

"Or it's smart enough to lay down a false trail," suggested Colin Klein.

"That's all we need," said Terri, "a clever wolf or fox playing games with us. Anyway, let's stop for now ... we can start again tomorrow."

"Maybe Don can bring Slap, Tickle, and Rub tomorrow," suggested Colin, referring to the sergeant's three Alsatian-crosses.

"Great, I can bring Lisa to help control them," said Don, referring to his fiancée. "We haven't had a walk in the forest together for a while."

"We'll be wild dog hunting, not having a nice walk in the bush," corrected Terri.

"That's what I meant, Chief."


"So how come you're farming goats here in Australia?" asked Courtney Meldrum, a tall, straw-blonde in her early twenties, having just arrived from America to visit her Uncle Todd's goat station.

"We used to have a sheep station," explained Todd Haversham, a tall, burly, forty-something man, "but there are fifty-plus sheep stations between BeauLarkin and Willamby, so we were struggling to survive. Then Imam Muhammad Husayn told us about his mosque in William Jantz Way. And that there was a growing Muslim community in Glen Hartwell and its surroundings, needing Halal goat meat to eat. So I moved into the industry about eight years back, and have never looked back."

"What does Halal mean?" asked Courtney.

"It has to be drained of blood before being cut up. And the goats must have no defects or imperfections."

"What do you do with the goats that do have defects or imperfections?" asked Courtney, standing on the bottom rung of the metal fence to look at the bleating animals.

"We feed them to the sheep-, I mean goat dogs."

"Or use them for breeding stock," said Maggie Meldrum, a short, stocky brunette in her mid-forties.

"So how's goat farming doing for you?" asked the American woman.

"It started slowly," said Maggie, "but it's gradually built up till we're doing well now."

"Thankfully, the Muslim community in the area is growing, so there are more customers every day," said Todd.

"We had some trouble with the dogs at first," pointed out Maggie. "They were used to rounding up sheep, and didn't know what to make of the goats at first. But gradually they adjusted."

While they were talking, a silver Mercedes pulled up outside the farmhouse yard. The door opened and out stepped Imam Muhammad Husayn, a tall, swarthy man of fifty-something, followed by his wife, Maryam, a short, attractive woman in her late forties.

"Looks like we've got customers," said Todd Haversham.

"You sell the meat directly to the Muslim community?" asked Courtney, following them across to the Husayns.

"It cuts out the middleman," said Maggie. "Although if demand increases too much, we'll have to start selling to butchers in Glen Hartwell."

"Muhammad," said Todd, shaking the Imam's hand before opening the gate for the couple to enter the farmhouse yard.

"How can we help you?" asked Maggie.

"We need a whole goat," said Maryam, hastening to add, "cut up, of course."

"Of course," agreed Todd, leading them across to a large cold store ten metres behind the farmhouse. "I'll cut it up in front of you, so you can see it is Halal."

"Most kind,' said Muhammad, following the Havershams and Courtney into the cold store.

"Brrrr," said Courtney, "now this is what I call cold."

"Has to be to keep the meat fresh," said Todd.

The shed was full of goat carcases hanging on steel hooks. Todd lifted a goat down and began expertly cutting it up for the Imam.

In almost no time, the meat was cut and wrapped in butcher's paper.


El Chupacabra had been waiting in the long grass for over an hour, greedily watching the bleating goats in their pen. But as the Havershams and the others entered the cold store, the creature saw its chance. It raced across the farmyard to effortlessly leap the pen fence, setting the goats bleating in terror, jumping about like insane Dodgems as the pigs had done the night before.

Doing its best to ignore their panicked behaviour, El Chupacabra grabbed the nearest goat, used the cusps at the end of its forked tongue to penetrate an artery to suck the blood from the goat. Then, waiting for another goat to bounce within range, it leapt at the last second ... missing as the goat leapt away just in time.

Frustrated, El Chupacabra raced straight at one of the bleating living Dodgems, crashing painfully into the metal bars making up the pen fence. Letting out a cry of frustration as well as pain, the creature settled on one particular goat and chased it round and round the pen until finally catching it. Angry at the waste of time and energy, El Chupacabra ripped out the goat's throat before drinking its blood.

The creature would have liked to take three goat carcases, but having spent so much time catching the second goat, it decided to settle for the two that it had killed.


Over in the cold shed, Todd Haversham had finished cutting up the goat carcase and had wrapped the pieces in butcher's paper, and had been paid by Muhammad Husayn. Todd, Maggie, and Courtney were helping carry packages of goat meat as they stepped out of the cold shed. And from a silent world into a world of bleating chaos.

"What in Allah's name?" asked Muhammad Husayn, looking back toward the goat corral.

"Something's after the goats!" cried Todd.

Handing his parcels to the Imam, Todd raced across to the back patio of the yellow weatherboard farmhouse. he grabbed up his shotgun and fired a warning shot into the air to get the attention of whatever was in the pen.

Hearing the shotgun blast, and having seen its kind slaughtered by men with shotguns, El Chupacabra grabbed its two dead goats in its jaws and leapt up to the top of the pen, before leaping down again to start at a run toward the back of the farmyard.

"Look at the big bugger go," said Todd. "Some kind of fox or wolf," he guessed, having only seen the reddish-brown rear of the creature.

"Lord, even timber wolves aren't that big," said a wide-eyed Courtney Meldrum, "and I thought they were the biggest Canids in the world."

Todd fired two more shotgun blasts after the fleeing animal, careful not to aim toward his stock of goats. However, El Chupacabra was already out of range and running like a four-legged Olympic athlete.

"You'll have to pardon me, Muhammad, while I go check on the remaining goats," said Todd, heading off at a run.

Over in the pen, he found the goats highly excited, but none of them seemed to have been harmed. A quick count confirmed that the creature had taken two goats with it.

Lucky it wasn't more, thought Todd, thinking of the great size of the beast.


Over at the Yellow House in Merridale, they were just sitting down to tea: veal cutlets with steamed vegetables, to be followed by generous servings of Baked Alaska for dessert.

"Yummy-yummy," said Sheila. Then to Terri, "Give me your phone, Chief."

"Why?"

"So I can put it on the floor and stomp it, so no one can disturb us before we've finished eating."

"Firstly, no, I paid over three hundred bucks for it, and secondly, therefore no!"

"Technically, that's only one reason said twice," corrected Colin.

"Nonetheless, I am not letting Sheils stomp my phone. It rang at tea time last night, so the odds of it happening again tonight are one in ..." She stopped when her mobile phone started shrilling. "As I was saying, the odds are one in one."

She listened on the phone for a few minutes, then disconnected and said, "That was someone named Todd Haversham. He said a giant reddish-brown fox just killed two goats at his farm."

"I didn't know there were goat farms in Australia?" said Natasha Lipzing.

"Of course," said Sheila. "Goat meat is a stable food for our growing Muslim communities. Here in the Glen Hartwell region, Todd and Maggie Haversham own the only goat farm. But in ten years, if the Muslim community keeps growing, there will be a dozen or more goat stations around here. That's one of the beauties of a multicultural society. The more cultures that come here, the more needs to be catered for. And the more ways to make a living."

"So, does he want us to go out there tonight?" asked Colin.

"No, he said it's long gone, said it ran like a four-legged Sebastian Coe. So it looks like another day trying to track the thing tomorrow."

"The old bloke will be chuffed," said Sheila. "Another day's pay just for leaving his bum print on your car's bonnet, while we try tracking down the elusive werefox, or whatever it is."

"Thank you for that graphic image, Sheila, while I'm about to start handing out your tea," chided Deidre Morton.


The next morning, straight after breakfast, they were all at the Haversham Goat Station outside Glen Hartwell, looking at the large tracks left by El Chupacabra the evening before.

"Well, they're definitely some kind of canid prints," said Colin as they stood round examining them.

"Definitely not croc prints," agreed Terri.

"Who said anything about croc prints?" asked Maggie Haversham.

"Tyler Mannering, after his Uncle Howie's pig station was raided the night before last," said Sheila.

"Well, we saw a fox or wolf, or other large canine," insisted Todd. "And as you can see, that's what the prints are from."

"No doubt about it," agreed Bulam-Bulam.

They set out initially in the cars to follow the prints. Then later, as they entered the sweet-smelling pine and eucalyptus forest, they journeyed on foot, with Sheila, Don Esk, and Jessie Baker each leading one of Don's highly excited Alsatian-crosses as the dogs followed the tracks by scent.

For hours, they followed the tracks before finally catching a distant sighting of El Chupacabra.

"Release the dogs!" ordered Terri, and Sheila and the others complied.

Slap, Tickle, and Rub raced through the forest, yapping excitedly as they advanced upon the creature. Until El Chupacabra let out an almost lion-like roar. Then, tails tucked between their legs, the three Alsatian-crosses raced back, whining in terror.

"You no good, yellow cowards!" cried Don.

He tried unsuccessfully to grab the collar of one of the dogs, however, they easily sidestepped their master and, still whining in fear, charged back toward the farmhouse, then the safety of their own home.

"Worthless curs!" cried Don. "Well, I guess we'll have to take care of it, whatever it is, ourselves."

Don, Jessie, and Sheila all raised their shotguns to fire at the creature. However, it had started to charge at almost cheetah-like speed away from them.

"Well, whatever the Hell it is, it can motor," said Bulam-Bulam.

"Don't suppose there are any Dream-Time legends about huge reddish-brown, canine-like creatures?" asked Terri.

"Not that I'm aware of," said the grey-haired Elder, "and I know most legends from the Dreaming Time."

"Then, let's keep following it, as best we can, for now," said Terri.

After a couple of hours, however, it was obvious that even with Bulam-Bulam's refined tracking skills, they had lost the dog-like creature again.


Leo Leonard was giving his black faced Merinos their last feed of the day at his sheep station outside Harpertown.

"Come on, my beauties, num-nums time," called Leo.

"Mum, he's giving them num-nums now," said Jacob Leonard to his mother as they stood together on the porch outside the farmhouse: "We really do need to have him put away soon. He's a danger to himself, as well as to us."

"Nonsense, Jay! Your father isn't cracked," said the tall, lean strawberry blonde, Abby Leonard: "He just thinks talking to the sheep makes them accept him more."

"Well, if only he'd talk to us more, we might be able to accept the old coot."

"Your father isn't old," said Abby. Then hastening to add, "Or a coot, whatever that is?"

"Come on, my black-faced beauties," called Leo as he happily fed them.

"Now he's calling them beauties," complained Jacob. "He'll be putting them in for Miss Universe next."

"Nonsense, you're too harsh on your father."

"One of the men in this household has to remain sane," said Jacob, thinking for a moment, "and I guess it has to be me. Dad is so far gone, I don't think there's any coming back for him."

"Jay, cut him some slack."

"Come on, my beauties, you know I love you all!" cried Leo.

"If he starts making out with them, I'm shooting him."

"Jay!"

"I'm sure sheep worrying is still a crime in Australia."

"Jacob! You're father isn't that strange," said Abby. Then hurriedly she corrected himself, "I mean your father isn't strange. He just loves his work."

"So do Rottweiler trainers, but they don't spend all of their spare time making out with the dogs."

"Jacob!" said Abby, shocked.

She gave him a gentle slap on the head and led him back into the farmhouse to help her prepare tea for them.


El Chupacabra had lain hidden in the long grass just outside the sheep station while Leo Leonard fed and talked to his flock. The creature watched, puzzled, wondering what the man could be telling his sheep.

On the farmhouse patio, it saw Jacob and his mother talking, but could not hear what they were saying, even if it could understand human speech, which it could not. Finally, Abby hit Jacob softly, then the two went inside. A short time later, Leo Leonard strolled down to the farmhouse and went inside for his tea.

El Chupacabra patiently waited another ten minutes to be certain that the farmer was not returning, then the creature started creeping along on its stomach in the long grass, until it was up to the sheep pen.

It reached the sheep pen without any trouble, but as soon as the creature reared up to leap into the pen, the sheep started acting like woolly Dodgems bouncing around the pen in a panic, bleating in terror. Giving out an almost human sigh, El Chupacabra leapt the wooden rails of the pen and landed in amongst the woolly Dodgems. By sheer luck it landed on top of one of the crazed sheep, and quickly attached the cusps of its forked tongue to the Merino's black face and started to suck out its blood. Then, having trouble with its woollen coat, the monster started slowly devouring the sheep, occasionally having to cough up tufts of wool.

When it had finished, it looked around the pen at the wildly bounding ovines, and tried to settle upon one for a second course.


It was half an hour later, while they were in the paisley-coloured kitchen, eating their tea, that they heard the commotion outside.

"What the Hell?" asked Leo as the Merinos started bleating in terror.

Turning to try to see out the kitchen, Leo slowly stood.

"It's probably nothing," insisted Abby.

Ignoring his wife, Leo stood and grabbed a shotgun from what was supposed to be a crockery cabinet near the back door and headed outside.

"Be careful, dear, last time you shot a little Chinese girl!" called Abby.

"Tibetan," corrected Jacob.

"Get away from my beauties, you evil bastard!" cried Leo as he started racing across the hard dirt toward his sheep pen a hundred metres or so behind the farmhouse.

Reaching the pen, he jumped up to sit upon the top of the fence and looked down into the pen, trying to see what was panicking his Merinos.

After a while, El Chupacabra looked up and Leo saw it eye to eye: It had glowing red eyes in a bulbous humanoid face. Its mouth opened seemingly impossibly wide to display long razor-sharp teeth.

Crying out in terror, Leo fell backwards off the sheep pen, his shotgun discharging harmlessly into the air,

Deciding this would be a good time to make its escape, El Chupacabra grabbed the partly eaten sheep in its jaws and easily leapt over the fence of the pen to start at an easy lope toward the rear of the sheep station.

The air knocked out of him by his fall, Leo Leonard was unable to recover in time to reload and fire at the rapidly departing monster.


In the Yellow House, they had already started to eat their tea of roast leg of lamb with roast potatoes, pumpkin, and carrots, as well as various steamed vegetables, when Terri's mobile phone rang. She opened her phone and listen for a minute or so before disconnecting.

"Oh no, not three nights in a row at tea time!" complained Sheila.

"Come on, Sheils, the first two nights we didn't have to investigate until the next morning," appeased Terri.

"The first two nights?" asked Sheila, realising what that meant.

"This time it's different, Leo Leonard claims it was a mutated human being that ate some of his sheep."

"So we've gotta go all the way out to his farm?"

"No, he's been taken to the Glen Hartwell Hospital. Abby and Jacob are there too, to see he's all right."

"What happened, did it attack him?" asked Colin, as the three cops stood, before putting on their coats, to start heading toward the hallway.

"No, he fell off the sheep pen in terror apparently, when he saw an almost, but not quite, human face staring up at him."

"Like suddenly coming face-to-face with Donald Trump?" asked Sheila.

"Exactly," agreed Terri as they stepped outside to head toward her Lexus.


At the hospital, Sheila recorded Leo's statement on her phone, then the three cops puzzled over this latest statement.

"What could look like a crocodile to one person, a gigantic fox or wolf to another, and a half-melted human face to another?" pondered Terri.

"I don't know," said Sheila, "but I know who might."

"Totty Rampling!" cried Terri and Colin as one.

"Except she won't be at the Melbourne Wildlife Safari Park at this hour," said Terri.

"No," said Sheila, smirking, "but the last time she came to G.H., Tots. made the mistake of giving me her mobile phone number."

"She'll be rueing that soon," said Colin.

"Rubbish, she'll squeal like a schoolgirl when she hears what we've got plaguing the region at the moment."

"Okay, give me the number," said Terri.

"Only if you put your mobile on speaker phone, so we can all hear her squeal," insisted Sheila.

"Very well," said Terri. Taking the number, she dialled through to Melbourne, then said, "Tots., this is Terri Scott, we've got a puzzle for you to help us solve."

Terri explained what had happened over the last three days, and as predicted, Totty Rampling squealed like a schoolgirl.

"Told you," said Sheila.

After Totty had calmed down, she said, "It sounds like your monster is El Chupacabra. El Chupacabra is a Puerto Rican legend that started in the 1980s. Chupacabra is Spanish for goat sucker. Descriptions vary from a mutant man-like creature, like on the excellent Z-Files episode, to a reptilian creature, to a massive canid, larger than even timber wolves, which are supposed to be the largest wild dogs on Earth. It seems that your creature is a weird combination of all three legends. Anyway, it's said to suck the blood from its victims before eating them. It has a forked tongue, with sharp cusps to penetrate the flesh to allow it to suck the blood out through its hollow tongue. It prefers goats, hence its name, but will eat sheep, pigs, cows, and any kind of farm animal. Horses probably. Some people claim it is supernatural, others that it is a mutated animal, or a mutant humanoid being."

"How do we kill it?" asked Sheila.

"Shotguns should do the trick."

"Thanks," said Terri, "that's all we needed."

"Like Hell," said Totty, "I'll be on the midnight train to reach Glen Hartwell at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

"There's really no need for you ..."

"Like Hell," repeated Totty before disconnecting.


At 9:00 AM the next day, Greta Goddard and Paul Bell were standing amongst fifty or so people on the only platform at the Glen Hartwell Railway Station in Theobald Street, waiting for the nine o'clock train. Which, as always, was running late. It finally arrived at 9:17.

"Hey, that's almost a record," said Paul, looking at his watch, "it's usually over thirty minutes late."

After the train stopped, forty or so people alighted, including a tall, shapely thirty-something brunette with two large suitcases.

"Totty!" cried Greta, A tall, shapely silver-blonde. Who, at age seventy in 2025, was still fit and worked pro rata when needed.

They raced down the platform to help Totty with her cases.

"Where are Sheils and the others?" asked Totty.

"Up in Louie Pascall's chopper, El Chupacabra hunting," said Paul.

"Those rotten so-and-sos, couldn't they have waited for me to arrive?"

"No, their exact words were, 'Tots will have to catch us up'," teased Greta.


Earlier that day, Terri, Colin, Sheila, Stanlee Dempsey, and Bulam-Bulam had started at the Leonard Sheep Station. This time, they had something more to follow than just footsteps. As El Chupacabra had loped along with the dead sheep in its mouth, fine bits of wool had fallen off occasionally, leaving a trail like Hansel and Gretel had done through the forest. They had already arranged with Louie Pascall to meet them in the forest, through radar tracking of their mobile phones.

Coming to a clearing, Terri said, "This might be a good place for Louie to set down."

Half an hour later, they were sky high, with Stanlee, Bulam-Bulam, and other cops continuing to track on foot. Sheila sat in the front of the chopper, with a sniper's rifle, while Terri and Colin were in the rear with shotguns.

"Tots will be spewing if we don't pick her up," said Colin.

"Ah, it's only eight-forty-five," said Sheila, looking at her wristwatch. "The nine o'clock train won't be at the station for another hour."

"Nice to hear that you're an optimist," teased Colin.

"I see myself as a realist," said Sheila.


They were stepping out of the railway station into the car park when Greta, Paul, and Totty heard the whur-whur-whur of helicopter rotors.

Sheila leant out of the window and shouted, "Tots!" However, the noise of the chopper drowned out her voice.

"What?" shouted back Totty, as the chopper came down to land in the middle of the road.

As motorists tooted at the chopper, Terri shouted, "Hurry up, Totty, or I'll have to arrest myself for obstructing the traffic."

"Leave your cases," cried Colin, "Greta and Paul can take them to Mrs. M.'s."

"Okey dokey," shouted Totty, bending low as she raced across to climb into the chopper, with Colin's assistance.

In twenty minutes or so, the chopper had caught up with the police on the ground. The line of wool puffs had trailed off, as instead they found the skeletal remains of the sheep plus most of the wool. Seeing the police standing over the remains, Terri instructed Louie Pascall to land so they could reconnoitre with the ground cops.

"What's going on?" shouted Terri, to be heard over the chopper.

"We've found where it ate the carcase," called Jessie Baker, "but no sign of El Chupacabra."

"Can you still follow its tracks?"

"Yes," said Bulam-Bulam, "and with luck it swallowed a fair amount of wool, and will be spitting it up from time to time to keep us on the right track."

"Okay, keep going, we'll try tracking it from the air."

With that, the chopper took off again and was soon way ahead of the ground hunters. By late afternoon, Louie Pascall had to land at his farm to refuel the chopper, then they took off again.

By the start of darkfall, they were unable to see any tracks and were ready to give up when Terri's mobile shrilled.


Over at the MacKenzie Sheep Station outside Lenoak, Arthur MacKenzie, a tall, grey-haired man of fifty-eight, was giving his flock their last feed for the day.

"Come one, come all," called Arthur, as though he were a circus barker. "Don't want any of my lovelies to miss out and starve."


Over by the long grass, twenty metres away, El Chupacabra lay, waiting for the farmer to leave. Despite having enjoyed a good meal the night before, the creature was ravenous and grew impatient waiting for the farmer to leave. Despite itself, El Chupacabra began growling lowly, partly from frustration, partly from anger at being made to wait for its meal.


Hearing the low growling, Arthur looked beyond the sheep pen. Despite night rapidly descending, he could just make out a vague image of a large creature lurking in the long grass, twenty metres away.

Think you can eat my lovelies, do you? Arthur thought. Trying to look circumspect, the middle-aged man took out his mobile phone and quickly dialled the number of the Police station in Mitchell Street, Glen Hartwell, only to be redirected to Terri Scott's mobile.


"Yes," said Terri, expecting it to be one of the ground cops.

"I think that animal that's been attacking local farms is waiting for me to go inside to attack my lovelies," said Arthur, after identifying himself.

"No sweat, we're on our way."

Terri disconnected and then said to Louie, "Arthur Mackenzie's sheep station. Sounds like El Chupacabra is after his lovelies."

"Gotcha," said Louie, swerving the chopper to head toward Lenoak.


Arthur MacKenzie waited until he could just hear the distant whur-whur-whur of the chopper before heading back toward the safety of the farmhouse.

"Stay safe, my lovelies, help is on the way," said the farmer, trying to act nonchalant as he walked slowly away.


In the long grass, El Chupacabra let out an almost human sigh of relief as the farmer started back to the farmhouse. It waited until MacKenzie was on the farmhouse porch before starting to creep forward toward the sheep pen.

As the creature approached, the sheep began bleating in alarm. Arthur stopped, his heart breaking, but he knew that Terri and the others could stop the beast better than he, so he forced himself to ignore the panicked bleating and to head inside his grey weatherboard farmhouse.

El Chupacabra was too hungry to worry about the farmer returning, and it was concentrating so fully upon sneaking up on the sheep pen that it had blocked out the sound of the chopper approaching.


In the chopper, they waited until they were thirty metres from the sheep pen before turning on their flood light...

To reveal El Chupacabra standing upon the top horizontal bar of the sheep pen, studying the bleating sheep.

"Close enough yet, mad Goth chick?" asked Louie.

"Close enough," agreed Sheila.

Opening the door of the chopper, she leant out and fired three shots into the reddish-brown back of El Chupacabra.

As the bullets hit the creature, it roared in anger, but showed no sign of being hurt. Instead it leapt down onto one of the sheep and ripped its throat out before sucking out its blood, then starting to eat it.

"What the shit?" asked Sheila. "I'm sure I hit it three times."

"You certainly did," agreed Louie Pascall.

"Try again," suggested Totty Rampling.

Sheila fired three more times. Each time a bullet hit it, El Chupacabra roared its anger but kept eating.

"It can't be bulletproof, can it?" asked Sheila.

"It yowled in anger when you shot it," said Terri. "So the creature felt them. But maybe the sniper bullets aren't powerful enough to stop it." She passed across her shotgun in exchange for the sniper's rifle, and said, "Here, try this."

"Get down lower, Louie," said Sheila.

When the chopper was less than ten metres away from El Chupacabra, Sheila leant out the door and fired both barrels of the shotgun. This time, the creature screeched in agony and jumped away from its kill.

"Land, Louie, land!" ordered Terri, and the chopper was soon on the ground.

Colin and Sheila raced out to climb the fence of the sheep pen and stared in shocked horror at the mutant creature.

"Lord, no wonder the witness couldn't agree on what they were seeing," said Sheila, staring at its reptilian flanks, red-brown back and mutant humanoid face.

As El Chupacabra screamed its rage at the police officers, Sheila and Colin opened fire upon it with their shotguns.

El Chupacabra tried to crawl away, no longer able to run, but soon it fell in a heap and died, as they continued bombarding it with shotgun fire.

"Oh boy!" said Totty, "wait until my colleagues at the Melbourne Wildlife Safari Park see these."

She took out her mobile phone, however, Terri quickly seized it, saying, "You'll get your phone back just before leaving for Melbourne tomorrow."

"Oh, no, you're not putting the lid on this?" asked Totty.

"'Fraid so, Tots.," said Colin. "It was an oversized timber wolf that did all the killings."

"You bastard!" said Totty. "And to think Mrs. M. and Natasha Lipzing almost had us married off two years ago."

"He's mine now," said Terri, flashing her engagement ring.

"So, I guess there's no chance of you shipping the carcase to me in Melbourne?" pleaded Totty, making everyone laugh.

THE END
© Copyright 2025 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia