My friend Adam shared a weird alpaca tweet on facebook the other day.
“What a nice sheep,” I think as I gaze out at a field. The sheep, facing away, starts to raise its head. I stare in mounting horror as the head keeps rising, rising, neck elongating in some cursed spectacle that roots me to the spot in fear until I realise, oh, it’s an alpaca
— Freya C (@Spdrcstl) November 10, 2019
Somehow, it spurred me into creative mode, and I wrote an epilogue…
As it bared its fangs and sunk them into me, the brief moment of relief vanished. How easily did I forget the scourge of vampacas upon this land? Bristly tufts of hair began to burst out of my face, my neck vertebrae groaning and stretching.
Of course, Adam had to criticise: “That sounds more like a werepacca to me”. And so I responded.
Hidden, in the corner of the dark field, the werepaca growled. And sort of “baa-ed”. Whatever noise alpacas make, anyway. It recognised the transformation – the man had become a vampire controlled drone, a inhuman barely controllable bundle of rage. Better than the alternative though – a full vampaca – intelligent, deadly, riddled with malevolent dentistry; they were almost unstoppable.
The werepaca slunk off towards the woods, scraping its foul bloated body along with it. Barely caring at the scraps of man-flesh and wool it left behind on the barbed wire, it retired to plan its attack. The emnity between werepacas and their vampiric brethren was as old as time. And kinda cute.
What do you think? Is there the basis for a book in there?
(The correct answer is “no!”)