The Solitude of The Chupacabra

Many say that the Chupacabra is a rather recent and modern tale, a mangy coyote or rabied dog. Some point out that it’s just twisted evolution. But very few know the true backstory of the shapeshifter that led to the bloodsucking legend. And perhaps once you will come to know and understand more, you might “forget” a few cattle out to wander.

The Nahua lived by the legends of the Five Suns’, particularly by the Fifth Sun, Ollin Tonatiuh. This required maintaining a balance between the living elements and the divine. They derived energy from the sun and often offered sacrifices in gratitude and humility. Iztalehuac joked that his skin color must have been offered up at birth too.

While community was a sacred pillar of his society, Iztalehuac never quite felt like he fit in. His given name only fed into that belief. While his mother did her best to reassure him that he was no different, he could not ignore the side looks and snickers directed his way as he walked through life. Even some of the elders avoided him. But that was for another reason. Some believed he was a Nahual- a shapeshifter, others just thought he would die young. Perhaps his life would be a combination of both.

All Iztalehuac wanted was to feel part of the pack, and not just an ailing pale link as his name plainly spelled out.

In times he had to himself, he often wandered into the wilder lands. The nature around sustained him in a way that his vegetarian diet never could. The longer he spent among the wildlife, the stronger he felt. Until one day, he felt brave enough to shadow a small family of coyotes that had yet to notice him. Till they did.

In that moment, Iztalehuac realized he had made a grave mistake; searching for companionship in predators. A deep grief dawned on him, realizing that he would always be an outcast. And something inside the chambers of his heart snapped.

As the coyotes began to circle the young Nahual, Iztalehuac made a subconscious choice. Let them take me, if it is meant to be, it will be.

The coyotes did not attack Iztalehuac.

Instead, they paused their circling, watching as the strange pale creature shapeshifted in front of their eyes into one of their own. The oldest coyote approached the now transformed Nahual and nuzzled against the dust-colored fur, accepting him in a surprising show of understanding. The others followed, turning the once-threatening circle into a ritual of acceptance. It was the first time Iztalehuac felt that he belonged.

The leader then turned and began trotting deeper into the foliage. The rest followed; including Iztalehuac.

Deep down though, he knew he would have to return to his home, but for now he wanted to run free. Until he tired at least. Unfortunately he tired out a lot faster than he expected to. While he attested the fatigue to the transformation, his new found family somehow knew and led him towards a herd of cattle on the edge of his home settlement.

Carefully, they snuck upon a few straggling uakax before a younger coyote nudged at Iztalehuac to go for the hunt. While Iztalehuac had never dined on the cattle which his people occasionally domesticated, something inside pulled toward it. He was a coyote now, this was part of his way, part of nature. And so he attacked. Sank his teeth into the leathery flesh. But instead of tearing chunks as he was meant to, he began to drink. He sucked at the blood that flowed from the wound until the animal could no longer exist.

When Iztalehuac lifted his bloodied muzzle, crimson dripping, and looked back at his pack he saw a fearful flash in the eyes of the oldest. He knew at that moment that he had acted wrong. This was confirmed by the new found family turning and taking off on him. That was also when he tuned into the shouting, the shouting directed in his direction. His people were coming towards him and they did not look friendly. Abandoning the lifeless cattle corpse, he bolted off back into the wild searching for the other coyotes. Yet he found none. He was alone once again, and he had no home to return to.

Why had he drunk the blood? Why couldn’t he fit in? Was he cursed? A demon? Why had the gods punished him with such character and strangeness?

As he ambled away in his shapeshifted form, he knew he would be bound to a life of solitude and shame. Of sickness. Of grief.

But the blood had invigorated him. He realized he had run a lot farther than he’d ever imagined. He may have been alone, but he felt stronger than ever in his life. Something deep inside craved more. And he knew where to get it, he knew now how to survive.

As Iztalehuac’s family grieved his disappearance, he celebrated his new found power. With it, he created his own family of blood-dependent predators, always lurking in the shadows but ready to fight. Iztalehuac would no longer accept being the weak and sickly one. And his shame? He buried that deep. Drowned it in blood. Blood that fed the craze. Until one day he collapsed from it. As blood couldn’t solely sustain him. A balanced diet was key, that, and belonging.

But how was he to know that he had just been a lonely anemic boy?