Maria

Maria by Karen Walker

Issue 2.20 | Fiction

Cover Art: L. Erickson

When, yet again, the Banshee of Porish fails to scream my name—has any woman ever, ever waited so long to be with child?—I tell Josh I want a pet.

“I had a beagle as a kid,” he says.

I want a demon.

Josh spins his wedding ring. “How about a budgie, Morag?”

In The Book of Cryptids for Every Fear and Worry, I behold the Chupacabra: grey scaly skin, vampire fangs, and glowing red eyes. As hideous as I feel.

I contact many breeders of Chupacabras, but only one—Princess Caroleena, no less—responds. She sends a carrier pigeon with an info package and portraits of her darlings looming over sleeping goats, poised to suck them dry.

“The princess says to call her Carol!”

“That’s nice.” Josh doesn’t smile.

I complete Carol’s questionnaire thusly: a fenced yard. We own. Sigh, no children. To love. To take to the water park like any mom. 

Away flies the pigeon with my application before returning with great tidings. Carol’s blood-thirstiest creature is pregnant.

I’m overjoyed. Cry.  

Josh hugs me. “It’ll happen for us. It will.” 

Weeks later, the bird bangs against the window of our bedchamber. Around its pink leg is pink news.  

Hallo Morag, 

Five chubby Chuppies are born! One of the girls will be yours.

Carol

Immediately, I paint the nursery red to match demon eyes. I Chuppie-proof our cottage, hiding electrical cords inside hollow logs Josh drags from the mystical forest. I cook a splendid birthday feast for his mother; intend to ask her for the breeder’s hefty fee of 5K in ancient coinage.  

All goes well. My mother-in-law is strangely quiet as I gush about Chupacabras and about Carol, about the little one she’s chosen for me, and christened Aurelia. Through more happy tears, I see Josh’s lip quivering.

“Impossible to explain by science,” he mouths to his mother. “Help.”

She does and I love her for it. 

But soon I come to hate the name Aurelia.     

For our first-born daughter, Josh and I have long dreamt of “Maria.” She was dear Grandmama, my abuela back in Puerto Rico where, in fact, the monster first began to haunt barnyards.   

I tell Carol I’m renaming my Chuppie Maria.

Her reply:

Let’s agree upon Aurelia and that, given her heritage, she should stalk goats. Several weekends each month, I’ll send a carriage to whisk her away on murderous midnight adventures.

My note back to Carol:

Tbh, I’m not okay with this.    

When the pigeon returns, it looks worried.

Thank you for engaging, but Aurelia will come on a co-ownership agreement. Best if she and I spend time together without you.

I sob.  

Josh curses Carol for upsetting me.

My feather pen trembles as I scribble,

Co-ownership? Never mentioned hitherto nor agreed upon.  

Presently, a scroll tied with black satin ribbon arrives and proclaims: 

Trust is clearly lacking in me, your Chupacabra’s co-parent. Ill-advised it is for us to continue in this relationship.    

Fare thee well, my subject.    

Princess Caroleena  

I can’t breathe.

Josh fetches a stool. “Sit down. You’re very pale. Blood is draining—” 

“Ccchupacabras ddrain blood!”

The pigeon pats my shoulder.

Josh grabs the quill and writes this plea as I wail it.  

Carol, you’ve broken my heart. Please, please help me find a demon to love. 

Through the night, I sit at the window.

Eventually, Josh comes to me. He removes my mourning veil and tries to lead me to our bedchamber. “Nearly Banshee time again, Morag.” Kiss. “Let’s try again.” Kiss.

I push him away. Cannot. Must not. I await the pigeon.

—

 Karen Walker draws and writes in a low basement in Ontario, Canada. Her recent work is in Stanchion, Exist Otherwise, New Flash Fiction, Misery Tourism, coalitionworks, and Does it Have Pockets.