Pablo, the Spacesuit, and the Chupacabra

a Short Story
by Jack King

One day some men came into the warehouse where Pablo was working and announced that they were going to do a complete inventory of everything in the building. They would need his assistance. Pablo obliged, using the forklift to take large crates down from their racks as the men requested. He assisted in the opening of the crates, and he watched as the men took various items out and catalogued them. One of the crates contained several obsolete spacesuits that had been used by astronauts in the early years of the space program. Another crate contained several heavy-duty wall-size murals rolled up on a long hollow spool. When they were unrolled on the floor, the murals each measured a full ten feet square. Pablo liked the picture of the lunar landscape and the one that showed the shuttle on the pad, ready for launch.

When the men had completed their inventory and left the warehouse, Pablo turned to his friend and co-worker, Cecil Benson. “Hey Cecil”, he said, “let’s get those murals out and hang a couple of them right over there, and then let’s pull out one of those spacesuits. You can help me get into it, and then you can take a picture of me in the spacesuit in front of each mural.”

Cecil looked a little uneasy. “We’re not going to get into any trouble, are we?”

“Of course not. We’re not going to steal anything. We’ll have everything back where it belongs in a matter of minutes.”

An hour a half later, they had everything back where it was. With the aid of the forklift, the murals had been easy to hang, but getting in and out of the spacesuit had been difficult. Pablo would never have been able to do it without Cecil’s help, but eventually he got into the suit and later, back out of it. He would soon have a photo of himself on the lunar landscape wearing the complete spacesuit, and another photo of himself in front of the space shuttle with the helmet under his arm and his head sticking out of the steel ring that locked the helmet onto the suit. He also had a big look-at-me smile on his face.

Ten days later, he went to Mexico to visit his brother, Pedro. But before he left Houston, he bought a silver-gray flight jacket and had the NASA logo embroidered prominently on the back. On the front, he had the words, SPACE COMMAND, embroidered on the right breast and the words, CAPTAIN CALAVERAS sewn onto the left breast in the style of a military nametag. He had always dressed with imagination and style, and often said that clothes make the man. He also bought a pair of aviator-style sunglasses, and he went to a barbershop and had his jet-black mustache trimmed to crisp perfection. Then he went to Mexico.

Pablo’s brother, Pedro, had always loved his goats and hated to see them killed for their meat, so he had switched to angora goats, which were not slaughtered, but sheared periodically for the mohair. When Pablo arrived at the ranch wearing his new flight jacket and aviation sunglasses, the shearing was in progress, and much to his delight, several of the goat shearers were pretty young women. He showed them the photos and told them he was an astronaut.

When the day’s work was done, Pedro invited the shearing crew to the ranch house for the evening meal, and after supper the pretty senoritas gathered around Pablo and asked him what it was like to be an astronaut. He told them that NASA had many secret programs that the public did not know about and that he had been involved in space exploration not only on the moon, but also throughout the solar system and even far beyond. He gave lurid accounts of battles he had fought in the steamy jungles of Jupiter, treasure chests recovered from the oceans of Neptune after bloody sea battles with flying submarines, and a battle of wits he’d won against the Vampire Queen of Venus who had tried unsuccessfully to lure him into her bed. The girls hung on his every word, listening to his tales with such eager delight and bright-eyed wonder that Pablo almost began to believe the stories himself. The weekend at the ranch ended far too quickly, and on Monday Pablo was back in Houston, running the noisy diesel forklift in the dismal NASA warehouse.

A month later he got a call from the ranch. Pedro’s voice conveyed a sense of worry and apprehension. “Pablo, do you still have the spacesuit that you wore in those photos?”

“Well, yes, it’s still there in the warehouse, but it doesn’t belong to me; it belongs to NASA.”

“Is there any chance you could smuggle it out and bring it here to the ranch?”

“It would be very difficult, and it might cost me my job, and it might even land me in jail, but I suppose I could do it if it were really, really important.”

“Pablo, I hate to tell you this, but it’s really, really important. My future and the future of my beloved ranch depend on it. You must come here immediately and bring the spacesuit with you. I beg of you, please. Please come and bring the suit. I’ll explain when you get here.”

“Well, I do have two weeks vacation coming. I’ll come the very minute they allow me to leave, and I’ll try to bring the suit.”

“Pablo, don’t even bother to come if you can’t bring the suit.” And with that Pedro hung up the phone.

Two days later, Pablo was on his way to Coahuila in his vintage Corvette. As he drove down the interstate, he daydreamed of the pretty chicas he had met on his previous visit, and he hoped he would get to see them again. When he arrived at the border, he called his brother. “Pedro”, he said, “I’m here in Del Rio with the spacesuit in the trunk of my car. How am I supposed to get it across the bridge without having it confiscated by Mexican customs?”

“Don’t worry, mi hermano. Our dear cousin, Arturo, is a Mexican customs agent. He is working the bridge today and is expecting you. You will have no problem at all. Come quickly, please.”

After a one-hour delay at the Mexican customs office, Pablo was on his way again, and two hours later he parked the Corvette in front of the ranch house. His brother came out immediately and escorted him inside. “Bienvenidos, Pablo. Arturo called and said you have the spacesuit. I am so happy. Seat yourself at the table, and I’ll explain everything over coffee.” Pablo sat down with Pedro, and Pedro’s wife, Maribel, poured the coffee. Pedro took a quick sip and then spoke. “I know you will find it hard to believe what I have to tell you, but I’ll come right out with it. A terrible and vicious chupacabra has taken up residence here on the ranch and is killing my goats – not only mine but the goats of the other ranchers as well. If we don’t stop this monster soon, we will all be ruined.”

Pedro’s eyes widened. “And you need a spacesuit to stop the chupacabra?”

“No, Pablo, we need you inside the spacesuit. The chupacabra spends the daylight hours inside that big thorny thicket at the four corners where my ranch meets the Alaniz ranch, the Gonzales ranch and the Galvan ranch. He comes out every night, and all of us here in these parts have lost dozens of our livestock to the hideous beast. We continue to lose animals at the rate of four or five a night. None of us have been able to get inside the thicket. It is infested with large rattlesnakes that can raise their heads and sink their fangs into your leg well above your boot tops, and there is also a huge hive of killer bees inside the thicket. Any kind of loud or unusual noise incites them to attack. Senor Alaniz just got out of the hospital after going in with his 30:30 saddle gun and suffering almost two hundred bee-stings, and Senor Galvan is still in the hospital after suffering a terrible snakebite to his right thigh. Mr. Gonzales posted a sentry to watch over the goats one night, and the next morning the man was found dead along with three goats, every drop of blood drained from each of the four bodies.

“We need a man with some kind of high-tech protective garb to go in and kill the monster. The girls who listened to your fantastic fabrications of space adventure have suggested to me that you are the man for the job. They approached me with such earnest and innocent and hopeful eyes that I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth about you, Pablo. At first I thought their idea was utterly ridiculous, but the more I thought about it the more plausible the proposition became. I am sure that the rich U.S. government makes a very strong and protective suit for its astronauts. It should certainly protect you against something as ordinary as thorny brush and cactus, bee stings, and even rattlesnake bites. Perhaps it will even protect you from the fangs and claws of the chupacabra. I would put on the suit myself, but I don’t think it would fit me. I have seen your photographs, and so I know that the suit fits you. It is already four in the afternoon, Pablo. I will help you into the spacesuit, and I will lend you my twelve-gauge pump shotgun, and I will drive you to the thicket straightaway before the approaching darkness awakens the chupacabra. He is big and terrible, he is dangerous, and he is very very quick. It is said that he can see a bullet coming and catch it in his teeth, so it is imperative that you find him and kill him before he awakens. Come; let us get you into the spacesuit.”

Pablo’s eyes widened and he stuttered as he spoke. “Oh, n-n-no, he protested. You know me, Pedro. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I brought the suit. You can find someone else to wear it into that cursed thicket.

“Pablo, you told me once that clothes make the man. Now put on the suit and be a man.”

Pablo closed his eyes, trying desperately to come up with some excuse to refuse the frightful mission his brother was attempting to force upon him. “The oxygen tanks are empty,” he said.”

“Arturo had them refilled.” said Pedro. What do you think he was doing during that hour you sat in the customs office?

Abruptly, the front door opened and Maribel entered bringing the spacesuit in from the Corvette. Right behind her were four pretty senoritas from the goat-shearing squad. They addressed Pablo excitedly as they hurried to his side. “Oh, Capitan, we are so happy that you are here to save us. We know it is asking a lot, but would you be so generous as to give each one of us a hug and a little kiss so that we can tell our friends and families and perhaps even our grandchildren someday that our lips once touched the lips of the brave astronaut who came to this humble place to battle the hideous chupacabra? It would make us so happy.”

At this point, Pablo knew there was no way out, but his fear was dampened by a sweet pang of elation as he looked at the pretty young women waiting before him for his hugs and kisses. He arose, stretched himself up to his maximum height, and turned to Pedro. “Yes, my brother, I will accept this dangerous assignment. I, Captain Pablo Calaveras, will battle the mighty chupacabra . But before I don my warrior’s armor, I must fulfill the request of these beautiful young ladies.” Then one by one, he took each girl in his arms and kissed her with such tender and lingering passion that one would think that these were the last kisses he ever expected to get.

An hour later, Pedro was driving his pickup across the scrubby landscape, and Pablo was sitting beside him in the spacesuit with the helmet in his lap. The backpack containing the oxygen tanks had forced Pablo into a rather uncomfortable position, but he said nothing. Other vehicles were falling in behind them. The brothers traveled without speaking for several minutes, and then Pedro broke the silence. “There it is,” he said, and he cut the engine and coasted to a stop beside a dry, rocky creek bed that led directly into the thicket about a hundred meters ahead. The other vehicles stopped too, and everybody stepped out into the fresh evening air. They all began to gather around Pedro’s truck. Pedro smiled at them and announced, “It appears that you have heard the good news. My brother, Pablo, has volunteered to go in and kill the chupacabra. He turned to his brother and handed him the shotgun. “I have to tell you, Pablo, that I’m not a deer hunter but a quail hunter, so the gun is not loaded with buckshot, but with birdshot. You will have to get in close before you pull the trigger or the pellets will only sting the beast and anger it.”

“Yes,” said another voice. And if the chupacabra is awake when you meet it, do not look into its eyes as you draw near. It will hypnotize you, and you will not be able to pull the trigger.”

“Senor Galvan!” cried Pedro. “You’re out of the hospital! You’ve recovered from the snakebite!”

“And I’m here just in time, it appears,” said the middle-aged man approaching slowly on crutches. “There are several things this brave young man needs to know before he goes in after the monster.” Stepping up to Pablo and facing him directly, he said, “So that you have an idea of what to expect, let me tell you exactly what happened to me in there.” The group fell silent as Senor Galvan continued. “I followed this rocky draw until I came to the thicket. It is the only way in. I stooped low as I made my way under the overhanging branches. The path to the chupacabra’s lair is like a tunnel with the uneven stone of the creek bed underfoot and a canopy of thorny branches overhead. Once I was inside, I was able to stand up again, but even though it was the middle of the day, I found myself in a dusky world of spooky shadows, the canopy overhead blocking out most of the sunlight. There were a number of rattlesnakes crawling among the rocks and just enough room for me to maneuver around them as I made my way up the gloomy tunnel. They raised their heads and rattled their tails as I slipped past them. Then suddenly there was the monster, thirty meters straight ahead and coming directly toward me. I cocked my rifle, took the safety off, and waited, trying to keep one eye on the rattlers and the other on the approaching chupacabra. As it drew nearer I noticed that it walked on two legs like a man, and its hide was covered not with hair, but with spines like a cactus. But what really caught my attention were the eyes. They were a glowing yellow, and the pupils were like black spirals that rotated slowly in opposite directions like a pair of windmills in a gentle breeze. I tried to raise the rifle to my shoulder but I couldn’t. I was hypnotized by the eyes! I stood there frozen in place like a statue, watching the monster approach and unable to move a muscle or take my eyes off the hideous face. I had totally forgotten about the rattlesnakes, and I could not raise my gun to fire at the monster. As it drew nearer, I could see its mouth, not a big mouth full of sharp teeth, as I’d been led to expect, but a little round mouth with something flicking in and out of it like a serpent’s tongue. But it wasn’t forked or flexible like a serpent’s tongue. It was rigid and tapered to a point, like a soda straw at the base and a hypodermic needle at the tip, something that could be used with equal facility to inject venom or suck blood. I was still paralyzed when it seized me by the shoulders and cocked its head to one side, I knew that it was about to sink its soda-straw fang into my neck, but I could not move. In the remnants of my shell-shocked mind, I recited a prayer and waited for the fang to stab into my neck. That’s when the rattlesnake struck. It sank its fangs into the back of my right thigh just above the knee. I was still holding the rifle, and by some miracle reflex, the bite caused me to jerk and pull the trigger. The monster let go of my shoulders and fell back, howling in pain. The bullet had struck it in the left leg and blood was spurting from the hole. As it turned, it averted its eyes from mine to gaze at its wound. The spell was suddenly broken, and I regained the ability to move. The snake withdrew its fangs and coiled for another strike. I turned and fired into its open jaws, and the blast threw it back in a quivering heap. The gunshot had startled the bees and I could hear them swarming up the tunnel toward me. I dropped the rifle and ran back toward the place where I’d entered the thicket, leaping over rocks and dodging the thorny branches and the rest of the rattlesnakes. I looked back once and I could see the chupacabra lying quietly on the ground. I didn’t know if it had passed out or was just playing possum to avoid the notice of the bees. My right leg was throbbing in pain from the snakebite, and I fell twice as I approached my vehicle. I got inside and slammed the door just as the bees swarmed over the truck. By the time I got back to the ranch house, my right leg was in such bad shape that I couldn’t lift my foot to apply the brakes. My left leg wouldn’t work right either. Unable to depress the brake pedal or even the clutch, I turned off the ignition and crammed the grinding gears into low. My vehicle slowed but not quickly enough. I had to swerve to avoid a goat. I hit the outhouse and knocked it off the pit, and the collision brought my truck to a stop. My family came running out of the house, and the last thing I remember was being lifted out of my vehicle. I woke up later in the hospital, and I was just released this morning.”

“Chiiiiihuahua!” said a voice in the crowd.

“Carramba!” said another.

Beads of perspiration had popped out on Pablo’s forehead and he reached for the pocket where he customarily kept a handkerchief. There was no pocket. Pedro saw his brother’s fumbling motion and exclaimed, “Your spacesuit has no pockets! I have some extra shotgun shells I was going to give you, but where are you going to carry them?”

“I have a nail apron in my pickup,” said one of the ranch hands; I’ll get it.” He brought the apron, and one of the girls placed it around Pablo’s waist and tied it with a slipknot in the back. Pedro filled the pockets with shotgun shells and spoke. “The gun holds four cartridges and it’s already loaded. The safety lever is there on the side, and the safety is on. Don’t forget to flip the safety off before you fire. It’s getting late, Pablo. Let’s get your helmet on.”

Pablo handed the helmet to his brother and dropped to one knee as if he expected to be crowned or knighted. Pedro lowered the helmet over Pablo’s head and locked the helmet neck ring onto the neck ring of the suit. He turned on the oxygen and Pablo nodded as he rose to a standing position. Pedro put his hands on his brother’s shoulders as if he were about to kiss him on the cheeks, but instead he roughly turned him so that he faced the menacing thicket that loomed a hundred meters down the draw. “Good luck, my brave brother. Here, take this machete with you too. We will wait here by the trucks until you return with the head of the chupacabra.

Pablo wanted to say something, but he knew that the airtight helmet would prevent anyone from hearing his words, so with shotgun in right hand and machete in left hand and a nail apron full of birdshot cartridges around his waist, he stepped out in the direction of the thicket trying his best to maintain a dignified posture and a confident gait in a clumsy spacesuit that had been designed not for battling chupacabras in a thorny thicket, but for floating in zero-gravity. Ten meters from the thicket, he stepped down into the dry creek bed and began to pick his away along the rocky bottom. He tripped and fell twice and each time as he got back up, he thought he heard a ripple of laughter emanating from the crowd of spectators behind him. He convinced himself that it must have been his imagination.

Advancing along the bottom of the dry creek bed, he arrived at the thicket, ducked his head and plunged through the branches. He could hear the thorns scraping the helmet and the fabric of his suit. He stopped to examine the sleeves, but could see no tears or punctures. So far, so good.

He was now in the tunnel, and he strained his eyes to see. There was thorny brush on either side of the rocky bed and the branches closed overhead so that only a scant dappling of sunlight lit the way. The sharply winding course of the path permitted him to see only a few meters ahead. He’d advanced only a dozen steps when the first rattlesnake appeared. It was a big one, slithering down the center of the tunnel toward him. He began to back away, but it came to a stop in the center of the path and coiled. It opened its jaws widely and he could see the pale pink lining of its mouth. The two ivory upper fangs unfolded and dripped venom as they pointed straight at him. He felt a sudden impulse to turn and run back out of the thicket, but how could he bear the humiliation that would surely follow? He picked up a baseball-size rock and started to throw it at the snake but suddenly remembered that the chupacabra or the killer bees could be awakened or incited by noise. He waved the machete, but the rattlesnake held its ground. He slid the machete into the waistband formed by the nail apron and aimed the shotgun at the snake’s head. It wasn’t intimidated. He wondered if he could maneuver his way around it, as Senor Galvan had done. But what if it struck, and the spacesuit turned out not to be impervious to its stabbing fangs? A stinging drop of perspiration trickled into his right eye, and he suddenly realized there was no way to mop his brow. Due to his exertions, the spacesuit that had been relatively comfortable twenty minutes ago was now becoming a steaming sauna. He began to despise the thing for the trap it had become and the larger trap into which it had led him. He now had no choice but to suffer and sweat, stand his ground, and wait out the rattlesnake.

A minute later it uncoiled itself and slithered away into the underbrush, and Pablo continued his nervous advance into the shadowy tunnel. Moments later, he heard a sound and turned to look behind him. There was the rattlesnake again, just a few steps back. He began to walk a little faster and turned to look back again. It was still there, following behind him and fairly closely at that, urging him deeper into the thicket and closer to the monster. He found himself turning frequently to make sure the serpent wasn’t getting too close. The turning wasn’t easy because the helmet was attached to the suit and didn’t turn when his head did. He had to turn his body around almost 180 degrees to get a good view of the area behind him, and sometimes it caused him to lose his footing and stumble. The frequent turning was making him dizzy, and about the umpteenth time – he wasn’t really counting — that he turned to face forward again, well there it was — the chupacabra. And even though it had been the object and focus of his pursuit, he was still taken by surprise, and he dropped the shotgun and almost fainted on the spot. He managed somehow, though, to maintain his awareness and found himself captivated by those yellow eyes with the revolving spiral pupils. Maybe hypnotized is a better word than captivated, even though he was indeed a captive. He was frozen in place and in a matter of seconds, the monster was upon him with its foreclaws gripping him by the shoulders. And like Senor Galvan had been, Pablo was totally paralyzed. He could see the pointy, soda-straw fang flicking in and out of the little round mouth, and when the beast cocked its head to one side, Pablo knew it was all over. As the monster struck, he felt a dull blow to the inside top of his left shoulder and just knew the fang had pierced his jugular. But there was no pain – only a sound like a snapping twig and a sudden piercing shriek from the chupacabra. It fell back holding its foreclaws to its mouth. Pablo felt a blow to the back of his right thigh and turned around to look. The rattlesnake’s fangs had failed to penetrate the suit but had become entangled in the strings of the nail apron. As it drew back, it untied the slipknot that held the nail apron in place, and it separated from the waist of the spacesuit, spilling the shotgun shells onto the rocks as it fell. Pablo spotted the gun on the ground where he had dropped it. He bent forward, seized it, flipped the safety off, and fired at the snake. Miraculously, the shot found its mark and took off half the serpent’s skull. It crumpled and laid writhing and twitching. Pablo heard a buzzing drone coming from somewhere deep in the thicket and realized that the shotgun blast had caught the attention of the killer bees. The sound was getting progressively louder and more intense. Still holding its mouth, the chupacabra dropped to the ground between two large rocks and lay very still. Pablo suddenly found himself in the center of a swarm of angry bees, and he began to swing his arms desperately in an attempt to swat them away. The swarm only became thicker and angrier. He began to run back down the tunnel toward the entrance. He screamed as he stepped on another rattlesnake, but he suffered no bite, and suddenly realized that he had not felt a single sting. The suit was actually protecting him. He stopped in his tracks, a million disjointed thoughts racing through his head. As his mind began to settle, his thoughts became more cogent. What was he afraid of? Neither the snakes nor the bees could penetrate the suit, and the chupacabra had apparently broken its soda-straw fang on the steel collar-ring of the helmet. What to do now? He turned around and began to walk back toward the spot where he had lost the nail apron. If the chupacabra was still there, dead or playing possum, he would retrieve the machete, chop the monster’s head off, and deliver to Pedro the trophy he expected.

The swarm of bees, still trying to get into the suit, accompanied Pablo back to the spot where he had lost the apron. The swarm was so thick now that he could barely find his way, but eventually he spotted the white apron lying among the dark stones. He picked it up and attempted to retie the strings around his waist. The gloves that were part of the suit made it very difficult, and after dropping the apron and picking it up again three times, he finally managed to get it tied, not in a slipknot, but a good tight square knot. He slid the apron around so that the pockets were in the front, and he began to pick up the shotgun shells and place them back in their compartments. When he’d retrieved the last cartridge, he looked around once more to make sure he hadn’t left anything. He noticed a thin ivory-colored object lying beside the machete. It was the soda-straw fang of the chupacabra. He picked it up, dropped it into the apron with the cartridges, and retrieved the machete.
He looked around for the chupacabra and found it still lying quietly, belly down and face turned sideways, between the two large rocks. He raised his right arm, and holding the machete above his head, he slowly approached the monster. As he drew near, the beast opened one glowing yellow eye, and Pablo averted his gaze and stopped in his tracks. The shotgun! Where was the shotgun? He stumbled around among the rocks until he found it. He dropped the machete, retrieved the gun, and had taken exactly three steps back toward the beast when it suddenly sprang to its feet and looked directly at Pablo with both yellow eyes open and spinning hypnotically. Pablo averted its gaze and fired in the direction of the monster. He missed. He pumped another shell into the chamber, and the monster turned and attempted to run. Pablo saw that it was limping, probably because of the wound inflicted by Senor Galvan. It was headed off in the direction of the tunnel entrance, moving as fast as it could with one bad leg and swatting furiously at the swarm of bees that was swelling around it.

Pablo lifted the shotgun to his shoulder, aimed carefully, and fired again. The chupacabra emitted a shrill howl as the birdshot stung its backside, but it kept going. Pablo took off in pursuit, but stumbled and fell after just four steps. He saw that he had tripped over the body of the rattlesnake that he had shot just minutes before. He knelt and tied a dangling apron string tightly around the snake just behind what was left of its head and took off again after the chupacabra, the nine-foot body of the serpent dragging heavily behind him as he stumbled across the rocks. Even if the principal object of his pursuit should escape, he would still manage to bring back a trophy. The chupacabra was still limping, howling, and swatting when Pablo came within range again. He fired, eliciting a shriek from the beast as it took another spray of birdshot. The gun was now empty, and Pablo stopped to reload. The suit was now more stifling than ever, and the dead weight of the rattlesnake dragging from his waist was becoming a real impediment to his progress. It took longer to catch up with the chupacabra after each reload. After the third reload, he caught up with the beast again and got off one more shot before the beast exited the tunnel.

Although the sun was now beginning to set, the spectators waiting next to their vehicles saw what was happening, and an eerie sight it was — two figures, each engulfed in a swarm of angry bees, one dressed as an astronaut and trailing a three-meter rattlesnake from his waistband, was blasting away with a shotgun at a cactus-spined, yellow eyed monster that was howling and shrieking and swatting bees as it took successive loads of birdshot from twenty meters behind. As the strange pair of apparitions drew near, the spectators jumped into their pickups and rolled up the windows to fend off the bees. They watched through their windshields as the chupacabra fell dead before their eyes, and they saw the astronaut drop the empty shotgun and raise his arms in victory.

And that’s how a pretentious forklift operator from the Texas side of the Rio Grande lived up to his braggadocio and became a living legend among a humble group of goat ranchers in the Mexican border state of Coahuila.

And while Pablo never says it out loud anymore, he still maintains to himself that in certain situations, clothes do make the man.