CREATURES

For four months, after the hurricane, I had temporarily lived in the white cabin that I took care of repairing and cleaning, although it lacked essential services. The place, on the shores of Lake Cumite, located more than fifteen hundred feet high in a lonely valley, would have been a paradise before the meteor's pass, now turned into an arid land covered with dry sticks and the rubble of the seventy cabins that me had come to inspect.

I had been forced to stay there, given that the lack of work, the general disaster on the island and my own particular economic situation, prevented me from moving to another place that, in any case, would also lack essential services.

The place was lonely and there was little I could do, so in time I began to fight my own inner ghosts, sharpened by boredom and loneliness. The neighbors were divided into large farms very distant from each other, to which was added that my cabin was located within a complex of seventy cabins in ruins, which greatly displeased them. Most of them had experienced very little damage to their homes, these being solid constructions and the sight of the Armageddon scenery from the villages hurt their susceptibility.

It was around this time that I started my journal with the goal of filling my long, boring night spaces.

Editor's Note: It was from that newspaper that we extracted this story, which we completed with our own investigations of what happened.

I do this summary because the first annotations were of very little relevance, such as:

• Again the neighbor's dogs on the hill shit on my porch and rummaged through the garbage.
• I am tired of carrying water for each of my needs, I never imagined that a single person would consume so much water.
• Damn, how much rain, I'm tired of being locked up!
• Damn, and what are you waiting for to rain, I already ran out of water again!

I thought I was the most innovative in stating that you can live without computers, electricity, cell phones and other gadgets, only to discover that you can, but miserably.

The early evening marked the end of my day, just as the unbearable cold of dawn established my time to wake up.

The day was the domain of hawks, thrushes, other birds and lizards of all kinds and sizes, the only large animals in Puerto Rico are horses, cows, goats and pigs, so its fauna is absent of true predators, except that we give credit to the existence of the chupacabras (goat sucker), which, I imagine, sucks the blood of the goats.

The night, on the other hand, is controlled by nocturnal birds, toads, the ineffable coquí, the loudest insects we can imagine and countless sounds, clicks and murmurs that come from who knows where. Or, at least, I didn't know it then.

The garbage can was, inevitably, uncapped and turned every night or before dawn, the process was noisy, but I did not pay attention to it since that is usual in places where there are dogs. I always take care not to leave organic elements in my garbage, since I never know if it will be collected, I prefer to burn them and put only cans and wrappings in the garbage, which are carefully licked by dogs. If there was an abundant and appetizing snack left over, I used to leave it on the lid of the garbage can, on the floor or on a plastic plate so that my night visitors could enjoy it without problems.

It all started the night after Christmas, when I found the leftover pieces of roast meat that I couldn't keep, because there is no electricity and therefore there is no refrigerator.

I had invited several of my lonely neighbors to eat the typical Argentine menu, but they all failed me with outrageous excuses, when I had already bought copious amounts of meat and barbecue's sausages.

Now I think about how easily we take for granted some things like that the sucker goats may exist, but most likely it is popular imagery, or that aliens visit us continuously and even do abductions, a matter that we discard until a friend of ours. is abducted. We think we know what kind of animals populate each locality, until some retard brings a pet from Madagascar. That the reptilians are the invention of conspiranoids. Even God is a product of urban legends that several funny people turned into a great book...

I would have to admit in my own flesh and in a horrifying way, how wrong we are and much of what we ignore about our own planet, which we share with more creatures than we officially know.

After eating roast beef and sausages even for breakfast, I decided that I could not save the leftover one more day, without the risk of getting sick, so I decided that the dogs would feast and I arranged the surpluses of my feast on a large plate and the bones that were left.

My neighbor's five dogs would be happy with that contribution and they may even fight among themselves for loot, since meat tends to turn them on, especially if they have eaten only dog ​​food for a long time.

This done, I settled into my bed, ready to sleep peacefully.

I do not know the exact time, but it was late at night and the darkness outside was deep, when I began to hear some activity in the parking area where the remains were.

However, he did not hear fighting barks or dog grunts, just a series of almost imperceptible murmurs and clicks. I couldn't help leaning out the window to watch them and now I realize how little cautious I was and how well I would have done to stay warm between my covers.

What I saw outside made my blood run cold, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end and a chill ran down my spine.

In the middle of the dark night, what was devouring the meat of my roast were not dogs, but something else, unknown and terrifying.

Their deformed and tortuous figures, of an indescribable ugliness, moved here and there indistinctly on all fours, as they stood on two to scan the horizon.

They were demi-human, skinny, twisted, as if they were deformed humans with some of the leg and arm joints reversed, with large eyes, deformed heads without noses, with the holes implanted directly above their shapeless mouths, dark shaggy hairs. .

Perhaps worst of all was not its ugliness, but the amount that I could see with the naked eye, hidden behind my window... there were hundreds!

They fought among themselves for the prey they eagerly devoured. Suddenly someone felt observed and ran to hide, to return immediately to the plate, to push and grunt with the others.

Yet you could tell they were trying not to make too much noise.

Unfortunately, I was paralyzed by the scene and one of them was able to see me through the glass of the window. He pointed at me visibly upset and alerted the others. Finally they fled at full speed, on their legs and arms, but not before picking up every last piece of meat.

That vision changed in me much from what I had previously believed.

So science does not know everything, what we learn is incomplete.

And which god created these deformities if there is only one god? Why doesn't the Bible talk about them?

And where do they live? Why have we never seen them?

In the following days I went to the grocery store where some of my neighbors gather to drink and drink with them, I asked with a disinterested appearance if there was any urban legend in the place about sucking goats or some other extraordinary creature... or sighting of aliens.

They laughed at my question and one replied:

- There are only old drunks here... I don't know if we are a legend... but we don't suck the blood of goats...

From then on, everything got worse, I saw them everywhere, they stalked me, at night they prowled for long hours around my cabin. I think they even looked out of the windows, now covered with cloth and wood. There were nights when they knocked on the door with their claws and even made an attempt to open it without making much noise.

I left a lot of food for them on clean plates, in an attempt to ingratiate myself with them. And they ate it. But I still felt that they perceived me as a danger to them.

I began to plan my escape from that place. But I did not know how much time I had the least.

Editor's Note: Sadly, our friend's feverish mind fell precipitously into his alienation from these nonexistent beings. His notes are barely legible, not just because of the twisted handwriting, but because of the meaning of his words. We have copied what was said by him, days before the terrible events that ended his agony.

December 28 - I couldn't sleep, they are there continuously doing their [illegible]. The noises they make are awful, but at a whisper level. Perhaps the most unpleasant thing is those clicking noises that they make with their [illegible].

December 29 - I do not rest during the day either and I have lost my appetite, I cook for them and leave their food on clean plates in the parking lot, I think that with that I buy time, until I can leave.

December 30 - And today I saw it! He watched me from the window with his glassy, ​​putrid eyes, his mouth sporting a toothless smile. He seemed to tell me: your days are numbered.

December 31 - I wonder where they live. Perhaps when filling the lake, air bubbles were left in the cavernous soil of the island and that is his kingdom. Maybe there are like them all over the world and we ignore it...

[A series of nonsense words and drawings follow that are intended to indicate the places where the creatures could live and the areas where they climb the slopes of the ravines]

They're here. I know. I am doomed. It's only a matter of hours... they'll come for me.

I saw them again last night, but in large numbers. They seemed to argue among themselves and pointed cheerfully towards my home. Some carried sticks, their intention is clear.

Here they come...

This is the end of his annotations, dramatically adorned with a few drops of blood. Neighbors found part of his body at the bottom of one of the canyons. Apparently, in his delirium, he fell down the ravine and his remains were left in the open, at the disposal of vermin and rats, who ate part of them.

After the publication of some of his notes in articles in the tabloid press, some residents of the place chose to move. Others disappeared, surely headed for the continent, without saying goodbye to anyone, so that we cannot say that they are suspicious absences. In these times, after the hurricane, a large part of the population is emigrating to the United States. The village became a ghost town and no one visits it anymore, despite the beauty of the lake. It is as if a heavy atmosphere of terror has taken hold of her.

In memory of H. P. Lovecraft

Juan Laborde