Chupar

Uno

She had seen plenty of dead animals. Growing up on a ranch, Catalina knew all too well the rancid stench that followed after an animal suddenly dropped dead in the night and wasn't discovered until the next morning. It was unmistakable. It was overwhelming. Once you smelled it, you could never again forget it. 

It was the scent of loss. Of scarcity. Of another night without dinner and another winter without enough to eat. 

Covering her mouth and nose with her scarf, she nearly gagged at the sickly sweet odor that burned her nostrils. There was a time when she was a child where she would have emptied her stomach at the slightest whiff. If it wasn't the smell that made vomit, it was the sight. 

Swarms of black flies would gather over the lifeless body- their loud buzzing ringing in her ears until that was all she could hear. Plump, white maggots would crawl around the blank eyes and into the closest orifice. Usually, that would be the nostrils or the mouth. 

Usually. 

Yes, Catalina had seen many dead animals before, but none like this. 

The row of dead goats scattered before her was already confusing in itself. Never before had their livestock just died unless a disease had been going around. But Catalina knew this had been no disease that killed them- this had been done by an animal.

But this was no animal she knew. Everything about the scene was too clean. The goats were left completely intact, something she had never seen before. There was no mess of entrails, much less a drop of blood anywhere in the pen. If it hadn't been for the two small holes on their necks, Catalina would have thought they had simply fallen ill and died.

"What the..." She leaned over one of the goats and touched the holes. Except for the dried blood encrusted around the rims, there was no other trace of the liquid on the body.

Even though she already knew what she would find, Catalina checked each body- five in total- and found the same two holes on each of their necks.

~

"Mamá!" Catalina ran into the house, letting the wooden door slam behind her. "Papá!"

"Shh, Catalina." Her mother appeared, carrying her infant brother in her arms. "You'll wake Ernesto."

"Sorry, Mamá." She dropped her voice down to a whisper. "But I have to tell you something. It's important. Where's Papa?"

"What is it, Catalina?" As if on cue, her father hobbled into the kitchen behind her mother. 

"Something killed the goats," she blurted out. "When I went to feed them this morning, I found them dead. But..." The girl shifted her gaze downwards, afraid of what she was about to say next. "There was no blood. No signs of an attack. Nothing. Except for two holes on their necks." Catalina twisted her neck to the side, pointing with her two fingers where the wound was.

Her father's eyebrows furrowed together. "What?"

"Here, I'll show you!" Catalina started for the back door. "It's the strangest thing-"

"Could it have been a coyote?" Her mother asked, turning to her father. 

"No," Catalina answered. "If it had been a coyote, it would have left something behind. Blood, bone, guts. Anything!"

"I'll go take a look." Her father heaved a great sigh. "Maybe it's those other ranchers harassing us again."

Holding the door open, Catalina watched as he limped out of the house and into the dirt. "I don't know what it could be," she said, following closely behind her father.