La Criatura

• Emma Luppi, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2022

His dreams always start like this.
Jose Mario Amor is standing in the dark and quiet. Until it’s not dark or quiet. There's a crowd and they start screaming, start running. They run until they can't anymore. La Criatura is chasing them. Jose runs too, not knowing what else to do. He runs until he reaches the wall. The wall wasn’t there before. Only now does it appear. He’s trapped. He turns to face La Criatura, his breath catches in his throat. It comes closer. Its left hoof is dragging against the grass, the bone is broken. Jose begins to feel the panic rise like bile in his throat. La Criatura’s teeth glint in the moonlight, its fur ruffling in the breeze. He suddenly feels the air around him shift. He's completely stuck and his eyes are forced back to the thing coming closer. It makes a sound that curdles blood and results in Jose’s heart skipping three notches. And as a claw comes around the Adam’s apple at Jose’s throat, he wakes up to a sweat-soaked bed.

***

“Jose Mario Amor."

Jose brings his eyes to meet his questioner. The recording device sitting on the table is the only witness to the interrogation between him and the detective. Jose doesn’t remember the question he had been asked. The detective sits, his campánula eyes locking with Jose’s.

“Why were you at the park that night?” He repeats.

“What night?” Jose asks.

The detective blinks, his sharp intake of breath portraying his disbelief.

“The 14th of November.”

Jose looks through his memories, his eyes shifting from his questioner.

“What day is it?”

Jose returns his gaze to the detective, watching as he adjusts in his seat.

“Thursday.” The questioner answers.

“No, the date.”

The specificity of Jose’s question helps him little.

“Mr Amor, you’re here to answer questions, not ask them. Where were you?”

Jose can’t answer him, not properly.

“I don’t know.” He says.

The detective stands again, annoyance dripping from his temples in the heat. He turns to face Jose.

“You can either tell me or tell a judge because you’re the number one suspect.”

Jose stares blankly at the detective. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about? Okay, we can finish this later.” The questioner leaves the room.

Jose’s eyes follow him, the door thudding as the detective pulls it shut. Jose grinds his teeth as he thinks, his gaze drifting until it lands on the recording device. The detective didn’t turn it off. Releasing a breath, Jose stands and walks across the room to a window. The mid-morning sunlight isn’t kind to Jose’s eyes as he looks down at the cityscape. Jose attempts to find the park which his questioner had been talking about, only, the city has no park. That much, he can remember.

“¿Qué pasa?” The words form under his breath.

Jose steps back from the window, turning to face the door through which the detective had exited. He watches as the door opens, neither the detective nor another officer enters the room. But La Cruiatura does.

This is a new dream.