They both looked at the shotgun, frantically trying to figure out how to turn off the safety. Claire found it—a small metal latch on the side of the stock. Jessica clicked it off.
“Wait, shouldn’t you check and make sure it’s load—”
A low growl drifted out from the foyer. Jessica’s back was to the sound, but she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Her eyes darted up to Claire, who was facing the foyer. Claire’s eyes widened in terror as she looked over Jessica’s shoulder. “Jessica behind you!” Claire screamed.
Jessica began to whirl around, bringing the barrel of the shotgun up as she did. She only made it halfway through her turn when something immensely heavy collided with her left side. The gun flew from her grasp, something on her left side cracked, and she was thrown to the ground several feet away.
Chapter 60
Moser stumbled along the side of the house as quickly as he could go. The moon offered some assistance to light his path, but there were so many damn branches and cacti in the way. More than once, he had to veer away from the house to avoid colliding with a cholla or an ocotillo. He had passed a few windows, the curtains of which were drawn so he was unable to see inside. A utility box came into view. It had been torn from the wall, and the wires shredded. What in the name of God . . .
Moser carefully stepped around the mutilated utility box and kept going. He was coming up on another large window. He could see something shining inside the window, so he knew this one didn’t have the curtains drawn. He stepped around a few saguaro ribs and jogged up to the window. The thing he saw shining was a showerhead, and it was running. He peered through the glass and saw the bathroom in complete disarray. The door was torn to pieces, and every faucet in the room was running. For an agonizing second, he thought he saw a body near the toilets, but after squinting into the dim room, he saw that it was the toilet itself lying on its side.
Moser pressed onward, moving as quickly as the terrain would allow. He had seen pictures of the Jasper house before, following Jasper’s death and the subsequent search of his home. He knew the entire back of the house was a giant series of windows. If necessary, he could break a window to gain entry. He just hoped he would make it in time.
He could see the edge of the house coming into view. He had a sickening thought that this is just about the same distance from the yard that Kilburn had been when he was attacked. Instead of the thought crippling him, it faded away as swiftly as it had arrived. He didn’t feel the terror anymore; it was giving way to something else: purpose. He felt a desperate need to get to the girl before it was too late, and that feeling of purpose was pushing the terror to the outskirts of his mind.
He reached the backyard and began shuffling along the stucco wall to the gate. He remembered a gate from the police photos during the search. A younger Carl Moser would have jumped over the wall without a second thought, but that was many years and many pounds ago. He wove his way around one more prickly pear cactus and grabbed the latch of the gate, pulling it open. Just as he stepped into the dark yard, Moser heard a girl yell, “Jessica behind you!” And then the screaming began.
Chapter 61
Everything took on a surreal perspective as Jessica crashed onto the floor of Cameron Jasper’s living room. She struck the ground on her right side, bolts of pain rocketing up her right arm and into her neck. The crack on her left side had been in her midsection, and she felt the throb of what were probably several broken ribs. Everything felt blurred and far away. She could hear Claire screaming in the distance. And she could hear snarling and growling—a sound she thought would stay with her long after she was dead. She wondered if her dad would be there, waiting for her once the darkness cleared.
But instead of fading away into the dark, she was being tugged at—violently and incessantly tugged at. And not in a metaphorical way. Something—multiple somethings—were literally tugging her up and down, like that Spanish Inquisition torture device. It pulled at her lower body, then yanked at her arm. The haze began to clear, and with the lessening haze the horrible cracking sounds filtered in. Something was breaking below her waist—but for some reason, she wasn’t in searing pain. Paralyzed? Am I paralyzed?
Reality rushed back, the comfortable haze fading completely. She could hear Claire screaming from somewhere up above her, and she could hear snarling from somewhere down below. Jessica was on her back, staring at the skylights of the vaulted ceiling. The carpet rubbed the flesh away from her spine as she was dragged back and forth.
She looked over her head, beyond her outstretched left arm, and saw Claire. Her best friend’s face was strained with effort, her expression contorted into a combination of horror and determination. Claire had both hands wrapped tightly around Jessica's left wrist, and she was pulling with all of her might. Jessica was pulled toward Claire a few inches, and then something dragged her body in the opposite direction. Whatever Claire was playing tug of war with, she was losing.
Jessica was terrified to look down. She didn’t want to see what was down there—or how much of her insides were now on the outside. She forced herself to look down at her body. The chupacabra was there, its head looking enormous so close to her small frame. Its eyes were a dead red, the pupils dilated. Its ears were pressed against the gray skin of its skull. And its long, yellow-gray teeth were sunk deep into Jessica’s CAM boot.
The boot was bent and cracked, but still held together. Shards of plastic stuck up from the black polyester, and water from the shower oozed from the fabric. White stuffing peeked out from the polyester in multiple locations. Despite the horrible appearance of the CAM boot, Jessica imagined the metal frame was the only thing keeping her foot from being torn from her leg.
The chupacabra yanked her body toward the foyer, and in turn Claire yanked her back a few inches toward the broken window. Claire was fatiguing, though—each yank through Jessica’s left arm seemed to hold less power than the last. Before long, the chupacabra would overpower her and drag Jessica down one of the long hallways to finish her off.
“Claire . . . the gun,” she stammered, not recognizing her own voice. “Get the gun.”
“If I let you go . . . it will take you . . . before I get a chance . . . to shoot,” Claire grunted in between tugs. “Jess . . . I don’t think . . . I can hold on . . . much . . . longer.”
Jessica looked around for the shotgun. She saw it lying near the chair they had moved against the fireplace. At this rate, she would be tugged right up to it by the chupacabra in just a few moments' time. Being able to grab it, cock it, and shoot it with only the use of one arm was going to be impossible, though. However, if Claire let go, neither of them would have time to grab the gun and fire it before she was dragged away. Jessica felt herself wanting to give up, hopeful her dad would be waiting for her on the other side of this mess.
The chupacabra clamped down hard on her ankle, and the CAM boot finally crumpled under the pressure. It made an audible pop! as the air compression burst. Jessica felt the bones in her foot begin to break. A wave of agony radiated up from her foot, and the sense of giving up vanished. She was not going to just lie here and let this thing do that to the rest of her body. And she was not going to let it crush the bones or drink the blood of anyone else, either. Through the bolts of pain, Jessica thought, I’m going to kill this motherfucker.
Chapter 62
Moser stood at the edge of the broken glass wall, staring in awe at the chaos unfolding in front of him. A horrible-looking creature had its jaws clamped down on Jessica Cleary’s leg and was pulling her toward a dark hallway. Another girl—this one a brunette—was pulling on Jessica’s arm, trying to keep her from getting dragged away. It was a grotesque game of human tug of war, and one the hell beast was apparently going to win.
Moser aimed his Glock at the chupacabra, centering the sight on the creature’s wide chest. He didn’t want to aim at its head, since Jessica’s leg was currently in its jaws. The chances of hitting her were far too great. He was abo
ut to fire when the brunette's head was pulled in front of his sights. He pointed the firearm to the ground and took a few generous steps to the left. He aimed again. The chupacabra yanked Jessica several feet toward the hallway, and the brunette stumbled forward and into Moser’s line of fire again. He lowered the Glock, frustrated. Shooting from this angle wasn’t going to work—he had to get closer. Moser scrambled over the frame of the shattered window, and entered the house.
Chapter 63
“Claire . . .” Jessica stammered, “the gun . . . get me closer to the gun.” Claire said nothing. Jessica could hear her panting from somewhere above her. She’s not gonna make it much longer, Jessica thought. Her left wrist was starting to feel slick with sweat, and Claire was losing her traction. Jessica lifted her head and looked at the shotgun. It was only a few feet away now, lying near her right foot. The chupacabra clamped down on Jessica’s boot again and she let out a wail of pain.
“Claire! Now! Let it pull me toward the gun!” Jessica said through clamped teeth. She could feel her breath hissing through her teeth, her jaw rigid. She sucked in air in long gasps, fighting the urge to hold her breath. Darkness moved into the edges of her consciousness. She was going to pass out soon.
Claire stumbled two feet to the right, pulling Jessica closer to the fireplace. When the chupacabra pulled back, Jessica was dragged a foot closer to the shotgun. She extended her right hand and groped for it, but was still unable to reach it. Claire took another lurch to the right, the chupacabra followed and yanked back. Jessica’s body was dragged into reach of the shotgun, her extended fingers brushing against the metal barrels.
“Almost!” she screamed to Claire. She could feel her left wrist slipping out of Claire’s grasp, bit by bit. Jessica’s right fingertips crawled across the shotgun barrels, searching for purchase. Every inch her left hand slipped from Claire’s grasp, she gained another inch of contact with the shotgun. Claire’s hands slid to Jessica’s fingers. “Claire . . . let . . . go!” Jessica’s left hand lost contact with Claire, and she was pulled rapidly across the living room floor.
Chapter 64
Moser stood on the edge of the violent scene, facing the fireplace. He had wrapped around the perimeter of the great room, not wanting to lose his element of surprise. Now he was approaching the chupacabra’s right side. So far he had gone unnoticed. Blood was beginning to smear across the white carpeting, oozing out of the crushed boot on Jessica’s ankle. The red smears matched the creature’s dead, hateful eyes. Its teeth were sunk into the boot almost to the gum line.
The scars etched across Moser’s left shoulder throbbed. He remembered feeling those teeth on him so many years ago. It felt like it was happening right now, all over again. The sharp burning as the skin tore, the pressure of the jaws clamping down, the scrape of teeth on bone. When the beast bit down on her ankle, he felt it in his shoulder. All these years later, he could still feel it with the same intensity he felt as a boy. This was his chance to put that pain behind him—to never again wake in the night feeling those teeth tearing into his flesh.
Moser stepped forward with a grace that was unbeknownst to him, the Glock centered on the chupacabra’s chest. He felt the trigger pressing into his index finger as he started to squeeze down. Just then, the brunette lost her grip on Jessica's arm. The creature lurched backward, out of Moser’s aim. It dragged Jessica across the living room through the smears of her own blood.
He tracked the chupacabra’s retreat, firing into its right side. Light and noise filled the dark room with brilliant clarity. Carl Moser thought of himself as a boy, lying under his mother’s red towels. He thought of his nightmares, and waking in the night covered in cold sweat. He thought of the animal shows he couldn’t watch. About the teeth he still sometimes felt digging into his shoulder. Moser fired again and again, and continued to pull the trigger long after the clip was empty.
The chupacabra stopped in its tracks and dropped Jessica’s leg. It turned its dead eyes on Moser, its muzzle pulling away to reveal long incisors tinged red. Moser dropped his Glock to his side. He watched the chupacabra sink into a deep crouch, like the hammer of a gun being pulled back. A gun that was aimed at him.
Chapter 65
The skylight lit up with the first blast. Instead of seeing the star-strewn sky, Jessica saw a momentary reflection of herself, sprawled on the white floor amidst smears of red. Then darkness returned. Lightning? Again the skylight lit up and revealed her reflection. This time she could make out the chupacabra near her foot. Darkness returned. Then she could see the chupacabra as it let go of her leg. Darkness. Then she could see her right hand holding the shotgun. Darkness. With every flash of light came a deafening blast that filled the room. Gunshots?
The flashes stopped just as quickly as they had started, and the moonlight claimed the room once again. Her ears were ringing, and she strained to get her eyes to readjust to the darkness. A photo negative of herself, reflected in the skylight, hid behind her eyelids.
She could hear the labored breathing of the chupacabra—it was still standing by her left foot. It growled with rage, then stumbled. It was wounded, but not enough to incapacitate it. Someone had shot it a bunch of times, yet it was still standing. Its attention had been diverted from the attack, and as her eyes made out the bulk of its frame in the new darkness, she could see that it was now facing her left side—to where the shots had come from. It lowered itself onto its haunches. Jessica recognized the move from the patio—it was about to launch itself toward whoever had shot at it. Moser?
Jessica sat upright, feeling her abdominals contract as she hauled herself into a sitting position. Her legs were splayed out in front of her, the chupacabra just beyond them. It was in a deep crouch now. Her right hand was still wrapped around the shotgun. Jessica pulled it from the floor, feeling her entire upper body strain from the effort. She brought it across her chest and pressed her thumbs hard against the hammers. She heard a very satisfying click as the hammers locked down. Jessica raised the double barrel and pressed the stock firmly against her right shoulder. Please be loaded please be loaded please be loaded.
Jessica centered the barrels on the chupacabra—the thing that killed Cameron Jasper, the thing that set a trap to kill her, and the thing that tore apart all those people. She felt rage and revulsion surge through her. Jessica shoved the double barrel against the chupacabra’s head just as its legs began to flex. Die you piece of shit, she thought, and pulled down hard on the trigger.
Chapter 66
The blast was much louder than the first shots. The cracking boom filled the great room and echoed across the desert. It reminded Jessica of the crack of thunder she had heard—and felt—as a child when a tree in their yard was struck by lightning. In the flash from the muzzle she saw a red explosion where the chupacabra’s head had been. The body of the chupacabra slumped over, landing on the steps leading up to the foyer. It hit with a sickening thud, and lay still. Chunks of meat and bone splattered onto the tile, a few pieces landing on the living room furniture and bouncing off of the cushions.
Jessica, Claire, and Moser watched in stunned silence, staring at the motionless heap on the stairs. It was a giant stinking mass of gray flesh and twitching muscle. No one spoke. They held their collective breath, all waiting for signs of life from the beast that lay before them. There were none.
☼ ☼ ☼
Moser stumbled forward, toward the stinking, bleeding lump on the stairs. He was prepared to strangle it with his bare hands if it made any move to attack. As he got closer, he realized there was hardly any neck left to strangle. The entire head had been blown off. A sickening sludge of torn muscle, flecks of bone, and thick blood made up what was left of the head and neck. It was on its right side, its hairless gray legs splayed out like it was about to lunge. At me, he thought. That thing was about to lunge at me. All those gunshots and it was still going to come after me.
He nudged at one of its legs. Nothing. The chupacabra’s claws had lost their mena
ce. And the teeth? Well, who the hell knows where all of those went? Moser kicked at it again, still not eliciting any movement from the body.
“Is it dead?” a small voice croaked from behind him. It was the brunette.
Moser turned from the body, but he still wasn’t willing to abandon it completely. Who knows if mythical beasts die the same way as real ones? “Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” he said.
“Pretty sure?” Jessica asked. She sat on the white carpet, red smudges all around her. The shotgun was on the floor beside her.
Moser looked at the chupacabra once more. It wasn’t breathing. And its head was splattered all over the stairs and tile floor. He could see white flecks and gray chunks mixed into the red—brain matter and skull fragments. Yeah, this thing is fucking dead.
“It’s dead,” he concluded. “You blew its damn head off.” He walked toward the two women. He recognized the brunette now; she had been at the station with Jessica. Claire Barnett. He nodded to Claire, who was trembling and hugging herself. “You ok?”
“Yeah, uh . . . yeah, I think so,” Claire stammered. “But Jessica . . .”
Moser squatted down on Jessica’s left side. He glanced at her upper body, which appeared relatively unscathed. He then looked down to her left leg. The amount of damage couldn’t be seen through the crushed boot, but blood was seeping from the black fabric and she was obviously in need of urgent medical care. “How are you doing, Jessica?” he asked.
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