Chupacabra

The old man sped down the highway, enjoying the smell of the wind, the feel of the powerful car, and the night sky. He knew exactly where he was going, he always did when he went out to eat. Part of not getting caught was staking out the victim and recording traffic patterns, both automotive and pedestrian.

"Out to eat," he chuckled out loud. He chuckled at the private joke and his own Americanization. He made a squealing right turn onto a side road, turned off his headlights since it was easy to see under the bright full moon, slowed constantly for about a mile until he came to a full stop beside a barbed wire fence about thirty yards from a small pole barn. He cut off the engine, surveyed the area to make sure no one was around, and hopped out of the car without opening the door. He peeled off the jacket that had the name "Mad Max" sewn right under the logo, "Nike," revealing what had once been a rather impressive physique. Age, gravity, and inactivity had moved a lot of the muscle mass from his chest, arms, and shoulders to his slightly round paunch. He had no idea where the fat that had padded his ass had come from. If you looked closely, though, you could tell that he would still be a force to reckon with. 

"Not exactly 'Six-Pack Abs,'" he liked to joke, sucking in his stomach and flexing his balled fists above his head in a classic body builder’s stance. “No, not ‘Six-Pack Abs,’ but at least four ice cold premium drafts." He patted his slightly sagging abdomen causing a sound like spanking a baby’s naked bottom to resonate in the still and quiet night air of the pasture before he stooped to remove his shoes without untying them. He then pulled off his sweat pants to stand completely naked in the bright moonlight. Draping the sweat suit over the back of the car’s driver’s seat, he stretched his naked body and absentmindedly scratched at a mosquito that was probing his arm for blood.

“Piker,” he rebuked the insect. 

Thinking about myths associated with his kind, he laughed again out loud.       

"I hunt by the full moon because that's the time there is enough light, stupid, not because it's the only time that I can," he scoffed at no one in particular.

In the moon's light, his skin began to darken, harden, and scale. His pupils enlarged, filling his entire eye, and turned red. His fingers and toes lengthened and separated, forming long rounded and curved claws where the nails had been. The most fascinating transformation, however, was on his back, where huge paper-thin leather wings sprouted and grew as long as his torso and half the length of his legs, then shuddered and spread to a wingspan of over ten feet. The wings stroked the air twice, then lifted the scale-covered, clawed creature into the air. Mad Max, or the creature that had once been the old man, came to rest on the top rail of the wooden corral fence surrounding the small shed by the road. The goats huddled, bleating against the opposite fence, with only a couple of the smallest ones unable to force their way into the safety of the packed herd left out within easy reach of the creature.                

The creature roosted on its hind legs, with clawed feet wrapped around the fence rail. When the creature spoke, it was with a mild hiss, probably because of the slightly extended canine teeth that were only visible when It opened Its mouth.

It said, to no one in particular, "That's what I miss most about the 'Good Old Days,' the feasting. In those days, if I wanted a sweet little baby, I took it. If I wanted a hot, spicy virgin, she was mine. Ah, the 'Good Old Days,'" It sighed.

It sat for a moment, relapsing momentarily into It’s state of deja vu, apparently grieving. Then, It reached out with Its clawed feet and picked up a small goat, holding it upside down by its hind legs as it kicked and cried.

“Ah, cabrito. How I wish it was the ‘other white meat,’” It lamented as It drove the talons of the first two fingers of Its right hand into the throat of the bleating animal. As the blood gushed out of the twin wounds, the creature held the goat over Its open mouth, allowing the warm salty liquid to pour down Its thirsty throat.