This world is a scary place.
You’ve got your spiders, your snakes, your sixty five year old Hollywood
women trying to pull off a facelift; the list could go on forever. But those are the things that other people
fear. Those are the things that perhaps
you fear. But not me.
I wish I could say I fear nothing, and if I did, it would be
mostly true. But there is but one thing
I fear in this world. My weakness; my
kryptonite. Something so horrible, so
TERRIFYINGLY evil, I shudder with the very thought of it. What is it, you ask?
El Chupacabra.
El Chupacabra is a South American cryptid that some claim to
have seen, but no one actually has proof of.
I don’t know that much about it, but you don’t really have to to be
scared of it. There’s something about Spanish
words that nobody knows the meaning of that just gives me the creeps, like El
Guacomole or “Tengo mierda en los pantalones”.
From what I’ve gathered, El Chupacabra is a large, demonic
dog thing that eats people for their taste.
Everyone who has seen it cannot stop raving about its red eyes and sharp
teeth.
That’s pretty much all I know about it. Oh, and it also lives in my basement. One time, I had to go down there at night
time to get socks. I descended the cold,
cement steps. For some reason, my
basement steps are like, as long as a football field, so you can’t even see the
bottom, and there are stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Once in a while, one falls and impales
someone.
Once you get to the bottom, you’ll find that there is no light
switch; only a pull string light hanging from THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM. You have to inch through the complete,
enveloping darkness, hearing El freaking Chupacabra breathing right behind you,
and then turn on the light, not knowing if Slenderman or Joan Rivers is standing
right there with a knife. If you’re
lucky, there isn’t, but then you’d better sprint up those steps like you’re
about to be killed, because guess what?
You are.
You know, I actually think my basement is also something I might
be afraid of.
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