Chupacabra

KJ Sabourin

You have to understand. I’ve been sick for a long time. I’m tired of trying to get better. I still can’t throw up quietly. Rosa always knows why I’ve been in the bathroom so long. She waits for me at the door.

We painted that door together last summer. Laid it out on the lawn. I insisted that it’d be better to suffer the sun than to risk getting paint on the hardwood. It was the hottest summer on record. She got so heat sick that I was stuck pressing cold towels to her forehead all night. Our house was built for the kind of winters we don’t get anymore. In the midst of the stale air, she woke up to apologize for what was out of her control. Her sweat soaked through my shirt. I held her until she stopped crying. What was there to apologize for? She couldn’t say, and I didn’t expect her to answer.

That was the last time our roles were reversed, where I took care of her. She’s supposed to be taking care of supper and instead she’s waiting to see if I need her. As if I don’t always need her. Leech off of her. She used to need me, too, to answer the phone and order at restaurants. Now the servers talk to her while I wait like a ghost on the other side of the table, like a date that never showed up. 

Luckily, Rosa believes in ghosts. Something lurks in our bedroom that is more alive than it should be. She stares across the bedroom late at night, looking at nothing at all. When I ask, she tells me that someone has come to visit, as if that’s easier than saying she sees what I can’t. 

Her home back in Brownsville was haunted by creatures that take the form of dogs and skins from people. Bloodsuckers, the kind that drain life from livestock and keep kids away from farms. She swore she saw them on her way home from work, when it was only her and the stray cats awake. They’d lurk at the edges of the lamplight and move only when she looked away. 

I wonder about the difference between a monster and an animal, between a vampire and the Chupacabra. She always invited the cats indoors, but they never stayed longer than a night. If I was her, I’d be afraid of inviting the wrong creature inside lest it make itself at home. 

She tells me these stories while cradling our Shepherd and brushing her fur. Our dog can see ghosts, too, she explains. I don’t believe her. She used to brush my hair. She used to hold me. My hair started falling out two days ago and I think she’s noticed. She washed our sheets twice this week. Me and the dog shed the same amount now. We spend most of our days together, waiting for her to come home. Watching the front door.