“It was December 27, 1992. I was six years old. I had gotten up early, earlier than anyone else, to bring Raz, my golden retriever, his presents (it was his birthday). I had to be very quiet to avoid waking my three older brothers, who would have beat me up if I had. I tiptoed down the stairs, which creaked if a person so much as flinched. Anyway, I went out through the back door so as to avoid passing my parents’ room. I had, of course, forgotten about the screechy screen door in the back. When I made it outside, I walked toward the puppy’s house, a hand-built, red dog house with ‘Raz’ painted in white. As I neared the dog, he began to bark and jump for my attention. This is… this is when the terror begins,” I sniffled, attemting to hold back my tears, “As R-Raz was jumping, s-some horrible, beastly m-menace with spikes in its back and huge, r-red, glowing eyes swooped down and g-grabbed poor Raz in his wicked, thorny claws!”

“Yes’m. This is Officer Ortiz calling in a confirmed Chupacabra sighting.”