The Mistletoe

With Jonathan’s gang lurking around, we had to have patrols from time to time watching the house and its surroundings. My house was surrounded by trees, so it was easy to hide around; this old place had been inherited by my father from our grandparents when they found a place closer to the town. When I was little, the view towards the bushes scared me because the forest seemed so dark at night that I had the impression that any creature could hide there. But now, I was not afraid of ghosts or creatures; I was afraid of real people, who had quite questionable backgrounds.

Sometimes I saw a guy with a red cap and sunglasses smoking at night in front of my house. Other times, another guy wearing a military jacket, the boldest one, would surround the house and enter the forest.

The third and final guy wore a black hood, and he always had it on. Sometimes, he seemed to take pictures of the house with his phone, and then he would start using it for hours. My dad was getting nervous because they could mug him or even break into the house. There had been nearby robberies, and the police had warned us that the three had a history of violent robbery.

A police officer always escorted my dad and me, and they ended up putting restraining orders on these three guys. But somehow, they managed to still surround and get into the forest during the night.

Things started to get quite ugly when both of us were summoned to the police station for investigation. They reviewed both my and my dad’s records, and it felt like they were treating us like criminals.

“Mr. Aguilar,” a detective said to my father, “Sorry for the inconvenience, I’m Detective Cortes.” They shook hands, and then the detective asked to escort me outside to ask questions to my father.

I was outside, very nervous, and didn’t know what to say. At the same time, a young lawyer arrived, her last name was Zambrano; she shook my hand and warmly smiled at me before entering where my father was. They allowed her to enter the room where he was.

Listening to the murmurs of the detectives, I realized they were from the PDI, especially from the criminology area. The PDI, or “Investigative Police,” was the branch of the Chilean police responsible for investigations or solving cases, much like Sherlock Holmes. Yes, I had to read a book my dad gave me, unfortunately.

Paying closer attention to the murmurs, I heard that someone had died, precisely one of the guys who had been stalking my father and me. I closed my eyes and tried to listen through the walls.

“Mr. Aguilar. Do you recognize these photos?”

The young lawyer tells him to answer only what’s necessary. I could hear my father’s heartbeat racing; the photo was probably horrible.

“Do you have any relationship with this man? We believe he was one of the ones lurking around your house.”

Suddenly, my ear caught something from another particular conversation immediately upon hearing my father’s last name.

“Do you think it was him?” the woman said.

“Nah, the bites were from an animal, it left that guy dry; it didn’t seem like a dog, and I don’t think Mr. Aguilar goes around biting people.”

“The Chupacabra!” joked the woman.

“I think they’re asking him questions mostly because we found the body near his house, but the escorts didn’t see Mr. Aguilar or his son leaving the house,” added the man.

My father came out, and the lawyer spoke with the detective; then they escorted us outside the place.

“Mr. Aguilar,” the detective said. “It’s quite likely that you will be summoned to sign some documents and go through some legal procedures. I spoke with the two escort witnesses, and as far as I know, the forensics team found nothing against you, so you can go home feeling assured. I took care to ensure both of you have escorts in case there are accusations or if the victim’s other friends try to do something.”

“Thank you very much, Miss Zambrano; you have no idea how much I appreciate this,” he added finally before leaving.

We got into the car of one of the escorts, and he drove us home. There, he informed us that the other officer on duty would arrive soon. My dad thanked him, and we finally entered.

A couple of days later, we celebrated my seventeenth birthday with my grandma, uncles, and a couple of cousins. The party was quite intense, and I played video games with my cousins; one of them had brought a console. For the first time, I felt calmer.

I suddenly realized my dad received a call, and I could hear that it was from the lawyer.

“Mr. Aguilar,” she said, “The situation has become complicated, but don’t worry, we’ll wait for what the forensics team says. Tomorrow I’ll accompany you to your first court appointment. In the meantime, I would recommend that you don’t leave the house, neither you nor your son.”

“Thank you, Miss Zambrano,” he said before hanging up.

As I went downstairs, everyone was watching the news and trying to console my dad. It turns out they found another one of the guys. The first one had been the one wearing the military jacket, and the one now was the one with the black hood, who carried a revolver.

“Oh, my goodness!” I thought. This guy meant business, he had a gun, it was horrible.

The detective in charge of the case gave a speech about the victim, and they showed partially censored photos.

“Disgusting!” said a cousin.

“How horrible!” said another aunt.

“If they were going to censor it like that, they might as well show it in HD,” laughed and joked my uncle, who already had a good few beers.

According to what the detective said, they had been tracking the case even before. It seemed that at the beginning, they found stray dogs and

some farm animals, but now that it started to attack people, they had to step up their game. He also explained that the animal seemed to be getting more violent because the second victim had very violent marks and wounds; it was highly likely that there had been a struggle.

I heard an elderly woman scream amid the interview outside the police station. “The Peuchen! The Peuchen!”

“Give the lady the pill!” joked my uncle, while the police tried to take the woman away, and several of us let out a few laughs while watching TV.

As I witnessed the scene, I started to hear the drums, over and over again. I tried to head towards the origin of the strange music. I wanted to tell someone, but I didn’t want to be taken for a madman. My dad had trained me to be very careful about what kind of information to reveal.

From the depths of the forest, I began to hear the whistles again, and they seemed to be pushing me towards where they were coming from. I started to take slow steps, but as I did, the sound of the war drums became more and more intense, and the atmosphere began to feel tense.

“What are you doing, Miguel?” My cousin said, coming out of the house, looking in the direction I was observing.

The whistles suddenly stopped, and the sound of the drums began to fade gradually.

“Nothing, nothing. I thought I heard something, but it seems it was just a bird.” I shook my head, as she escorted me back into the house.

By the time we returned, it was late, and several of the guests had left. Some cousins commented on how much I had grown, others asked me about the exercises I did, but there was always someone remarking on my lack of a beard.

“Damn it!” I thought. “I’m seventeen! What do they expect?”

My grandmother and the older aunts continued their bad habit of pinching my cheeks and fixing my hair with their saliva.

“Yuck, Grandma!” I exclaimed. “Stop doing that.”

“Darling, if you groomed yourself more, you’d be a soap opera star, you’re just as messy as your father!”

“Why do older ladies have these bad habits?” I thought. Another thing that made me uncomfortable was all these random people greeting me on the street and saying:

“Hello, son! I held you in my arms when you were a baby! Do you remember me?”

Sure! How am I supposed to remember all those people when I was probably only a few months old? My dad found it amusing; he only advised me that when I was younger, my grandmother used to show me off around the town, as if I were a trophy. He advised me to just nod and say yes; older people can be very strange.

My cousins always said that my father and I were Grandma’s favorites. My grandmother used to tell how my father was a child with a lot of imagination and very calm; he devoured books in seconds and remembered a lot of information. Sometimes, she even said he played with “imaginary friends.” I found it very creepy, but given the recent events with the strange snake-bird, it wasn’t that far-fetched.

Oh, how I wished it were just my imagination, because by the time the third case arrived, people really started to get nervous. Rumors began to circulate, and the legends of the Chiloe island witches and the town’s folklore about machis became trendy again.

Reporters and amateurs came to make their videos for social media. The police had to put restrictions and laws to punish all those people who ventured out, and they sent a whole team of hunters with trained dogs to catch the “crazy dog.”

The news and theories about the creature spread. Some said it was a kind of scientific experiment, others believed it was the Chupacabra, or some animal that escaped from a zoo. Hysteria really put Llanquihue and Chiloe Island on the map, as the first “sightings” and “first-person encounters” went viral. My dad strictly forbade me from contacting these people, as some of them had already started to show up at our house.

As I had suspected, Jonathan was terrified. Upon learning about the deaths of his friends, he didn’t want to come near our house or bother us, thinking he’d be cursed. In a cryptozoology enthusiast’s video uploaded to social media, he narrated his experience with me, calling me a freak or monster, stating that my grandmother was some kind of witch who had summoned that beast, or other things I don’t even want to mention about my mother or father.

“How dare that son of a...” I yelled.

“Calm down, son, calm down, we knew this was coming. Think, Miguel, please, take a deep breath and listen to me.”

My blood was boiling. “He’s practically begging for another kick in the...”

“Miguel!” Dad exclaimed. “Stop using foul language. These things always happen and always will. If we let these things control us inside, then they’ve already won. The best...”

“The best revenge is not to be like your enemy,” I finished the quote.

My dad took a breath and said, “The best thing we can do is avoid these people as much as we can, especially you. Your goal is to finish school so you can apply to a university. It’s almost over, and this will surely calm down and be forgotten over time.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, sighing.

But there was something inside me that told me this being wouldn’t stop, and only I was capable of stopping it. I felt a strange connection with the creature, as if both of us didn’t belong in this world, and it was my duty to hunt it down, even if my father disagreed.