Since you said we could interpret this in anyway we wanted I decided to take mine in a little different direction. Though not about traditional vampires, it definately is about creatures that would be clbumified in the realm of “vampiric.” So, here it is:

Desert Moonlight

Night had fallen on goatherd’s tiny ranch in the Altar desert of Sonora, Mexico. By the light of the full moon, one would have seen that a single goat had breached the dilapidated fence behind the house and wandered too far. One would have also been able to see that the goat was dead, and two otherworldly creatures were hunched over its body.

“I alwayth hate that part, Raoul,” said one of the creatures. His lisp would have been apparent, but Raoul had lived with him so long that he had stopped noticing the speech impediment.

“Yeah, It’s always tough coming back after hibernation, Pablo. It’s like, you hear that poor little goat go, ‘MAAAAAH,’ and you just can’t bring yourself to snap it’s cute little neck.”

“Can I have the firtht bite?” asked Pablo. Raoul hadn’t finished yet.

“I’m all like, ‘Sorry little goat! It’s just that this is nature and a Chupacabra has to eat, too,’ but I know that the goat can’t understand me so the poor little guy still thinks I’m some kind of cold-blooded murderer. And sure, I’m cold-blooded, but I’d never actually murder anyone, like, for no reason,” he paused, “Sure, you can have the first bite.”

Pablo sank his teeth into the goat’s neck and began draining its vital fluids. After a few minutes, Raoul gave Pablo a glare and started tapping his foot impatiently. Pablo looked up.

“Well jeethe, thorry mithter prithy-pantth, excuthe me for being hungry after a four-month hibernation!”

“Well! It’s not like I snuck out for snacks this winter! I’m just as famished as you are!” Raoul replied indignantly.

“You sure could’ve fooled me, mithter! You look like you’re training to be a thumo wrethler or thomething.” Raoul was taken aback.

“You KNOW I’m sensitive about my physique, Pablo. That’s not very fair.”

“Fine. Whatever. Jutht take your thtupid turn with the goat and let’th leave,” said Pablo. He turned his spiny back to Raoul and the goat. Nearly a minute into his meal, the two heard the door of the goatherd’s house creak open.

“¿Quién está allí? ¡Estancia lejos de mis cabras!” the goatherd shouted. Pablo and Raoul then heard two deafening gunshots.

“Jethuth Chritht!” shouted Pablo. The two of them spread their bat-like wings and flew into the night, leaving the goatherd shouting curses at the night sky.

***

Raoul and Pablo had retreated to their cave in the foothills. Neither had said a word throughout the whole flight. After a few minutes of darkness and silence, Raoul spoke.

“Thanks for taking so long, Pablo,” he said, venom in his voice (Author’s note: Chupacabras do not produce actual venom), “If you weren’t as slow as an bum, I could’ve had a full meal.”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t made tho much freaking noithe, you wouldn’t have woke up that thtupid farmer!”

“Oh! So somehow this is all MY fault?” Raoul was nearly shouting. “I’m the one who killed the goat in the first place! I should have been the one to get first bite!” He made a disapproving [i]tch[/] sound with his mouth. “But no! I decided to be polite and let you go first. And what’s my reward? Half of a meal, and getting shot at, that’s what!” Raoul stopped. His eyes began to grow misty. “And you know what? That’s not even worst part. The worst is that you don’t appreciate anything I do for you!” His voice had grown back into a shout.

“Wow, I’m thorry Raoul,” Pablo said, genuinely apologetic, “I never realithed…”

“Just shut up, Pablo! ‘Thorry’ isn’t going to cut it this time. I’m going to bed now. It’s almost daytime.” Instead of retiring in his usual spot in the cave, near Pablo, Raoul moved as far away from him as he could before curling up in his sleeping position. “And don’t try to wake me up!”

That day, Pablo could not sleep. He and Raoul had had their spats before, but never like this. Neither one of them had ever went to bed angry. Pablo sensed that if he didn’t act now, the two of them would never make up. For hours, Pablo lay awake, brainstorming ways to make it up to Raoul.

I could volunteer to make the kill tomorrow night, he thought, but that idea was out. That would be his job anyway, according to their rotation. Maybe I could offer to make the kills for the next week, or let him take the first bite for the next month. Or maybe both? However, that option was out of the question as well. He knew that Raoul would be too stubborn to let him do that.

So, it was roughly around noon that day when Pablo determined that the only thing he could do would be to go out and get Raoul a new goat while he was asleep. That way Raoul would have to accept his apology. Unfortunately that meant going outside in broad daylight.

Pablo crawled out of the cave slowly, both to avoid waking Raoul, and to let his eyes adjust to the growing amounts of sunlight. Once was out in the midday sun, he spread his wings in preparation for flight, but just before takeoff he realized that he couldn’t fly during the daytime. He would be too visible that way, and he had a low profile to maintain. So, he trudged through the hot desert sands of Sonora for nearly an hour before he could see the old goatherd’s ranch.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea… he thought. But there was no turning back now, and this was something he had to do for Raoul.

***

Raoul woke that night to find himself alone in the cave. Immediately he felt the bitter sting of regret.

Poor Pablo ran away from me! he thought, And who could blame him? I acted like a monster!

Raoul searched the entire foothill region, but Pablo was nowhere too be found. Every cave was empty, except for the local hombre lobo’s lair, but Lupé had no idea where Pablo was either.

Soon it became midnight, and Raoul was starving. He knew there was no way he could keep up the search if he had no energy, so he flew over to the ranch to grab a bite. He surveyed the herd in order to pick out a weak one, but something caught his eye.

At the side of the house, there was a dead goat half buried in the sand. At first he thought it was the goat he had killed last night, but when he looked closer he realized that it was much bigger and plumper than that one. He could smell that the corpse was still relatively fresh.

Can’t let it go to waste, he told himself. But when he got up close to the goat, he realized that it had not died a natural death. Its neck had been violently snapped. His heart began to race. Raoul fearfully tiptoed to the front of the house. Suddenly, everything became clear, and what he saw caused him to let out an otherworldly wail of despair.

Pablo was there on the porch, hanging upside-down by his legs. His previously vibrant, green skin had taken on a sickly pallor, and two of his beautiful multicolored spines had been broken off. Blood was dripping from three bullet wounds in his body: one in the leg, one in the stomach, and one in the neck, presumably the killing shot.

Raoul’s noise had awoken the rancher who burst out of the shanty with his rifle, prepared to kill the second beast. However, the creature was already dead without injury. The rancher would never realize it, but he had died of a broken heart.