Coconut

Written by Andy Naranjo

“Ugh.. why do we even have to do this Mexico week thing?” one girl complained.

“I don’t know…” the other shrugged with an apathetic sigh. 

“You have until tomorrow to start, refine, and finish your projects. I will NOT be grading any duplicates,” the teacher admonished.

Then, interrupting her lecture with a booming voice, “JOHNATHAN," reducing the students’ whispers to silence, “Grab your things. I will see you in my office.” 

The principal’s voice was calm but severe. Jonathan followed with nothing but an empty binder and a hesitant smirk.

“Did you hear what he did to her?”, “YEAH, dude damn!”, voices trailing behind him.

“What’s going on?!”, “I dunno but he’s F-A-W-K-T!!”

“Is that why she’s not here?”, “I saw her after it happened, I can’t believe he did that!”

“What did her parents say?”, “They totally called the police.”

The students rang along with the school bell as they exited the room in clusters.

…

As the evening slumbered into night, Johnathan arrived home. After a 7 mile walk from the last bus stop, his heel felt like bare bone to concrete as his shoes flopped up the porch. His father was inside watching tv in the dark. Unbothered by the multiple missed calls that beeped from his cell phone and landline.

Tired, Johnathan walked through the blue-lit living room into the kitchen. Making his way to the fridge, “There’s only one hot pocket left?” addressing his dad.

“And a whole lot of tap water bud. Till tomorrow that’s your dinner…. Hey there's a few more Coors in there, grab me one yeah?”

After shutting the grimy fridge and nuking his dinner in the microwave, Johnathan handed his dad a cold one in silence. Sluggishly, “Thanks champ. See you in the morning? Sorry I couldn’t give you a ride from school today, I had to save gas to take you in the morning, bud.”

Jonathan started toward his room without a care, “Sure… It’s cool.”

Shutting the door behind him, he sat on his bed, gnawing on his hot pocket. Exasperated by the molten cheeses and scorching hot bread burning, he hyperventilated to cool it all down. Setting the plate down on the floor, he dressed himself with hole-ridden pajamas. Preparing for muffled reruns and his father’s drunken cackle, Jonathan walked over to the light switch, flipping it, and jumped into bed.

*Thump*

Heavily, something dropped onto the floor. The sound of an oblong ball rolled slowly until it stopped.

Jonathan peeled off the sheet from him. Stepping onto the floor and approaching the switch, he accidentally kicked the object that laid on the floor. His eyes rolled along the floor and saw nothing. Turning his back he flipped the switch. With the lights on, he browsed his room and found nothing. Flipping the lights off and standing in the dark, he shivered, feeling as though he was being watched.

*THUMP*

It dropped.

TUESDAY

“Hey, that's my project topic! But you changed it a little," the girl accused.

“Analaura that’s not true you stole it from me and now you're trying to make it look like I stole it!? Don’t be so lazy," he denied and stretched, locking his wrists behind his head. The two bickered as the class giggled and texted away spreading chisme.

“THAT'S ENOUGH-” cracked Hughs. The spines of the class snapped upright. Looking at the teacher, his unkempt hair deflated with his panicked glare.

With an irritated glance, “Did you write this Pedro?” Hughs doubted.

Pedro mimed to his papers, “Yes Ms. Hughs of course!”

She looked at Analaura. The girl winced, “I swear I wrote this-”

“I will grade your projects by the end of the month,” condemned Ms. Hughs. “Ana I will see your project and the rest of Pedro’s after class.”

“OOOOOOOOOHHHH” cooed everybody. The school bell rang. As everyone exited the room the teacher winked to Analaura, “I’m looking forward to your project. I know you worked hard on it.”

Pedro dropped off his project at the front desk ignoring Ms. Hughs’ glance in hopes she would not make conversation with him. Walking to his next class, in passing, he heard a whisper above the volumes of voices of teenagers, “Si le robas a la gente, el robado de su cuerpo te robará el tuyo.”

Though he didn’t see anyone addressing him. After school, he walked his bike with a few friends and hung out at one of their apartments. 

Watching shows until the sun’s rest, Pedro took notice of the hour. Gathering his things together, “Alright children, don’t do anything bad while I’m gone!” he cracked.

A peer folded his brow at him, “Aye! Are you passing through Slab alley?”

“Nawww. Haha,” Pedro pandered.

His friend nodded.

Pedro rode to the night. The chain on his bike clicked with every stride on the pedal as the cool air wisped behind his ears. Then, after a calm quiet ride through town, his bike tire swerved to a halt. A rubber screech whipped the air, rippling into echoes as they trailed into an alley. Standing at its step, Pedro’s bike clicked intermittently. Slowly, he walked into Slab alley.

The homeless lurked and loitered about. Some were awake nodding off and mumbling to themselves. One by one they were pinched of their money. The creaking and clicking of Pedro’s bike sailed from one beggar to another. As he reached into a bag of trinkets and lighters, he held his breath to avoid disturbing one drowsy vagabond.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” the man snapped, snatching the boy’s arm with a sticky grip. Spitting up at Pedro, who was shocked frozen, the man struggled to stand. Pedro twisted and pulled his arm away.

“ASSHOLES!” he sprinted for his bike, leaving behind the man as he cursed and whined.

“HEY!!!” a wanderer called, “.. feRrk  YEa doiNg… tO US!” he called out slurring his words and scraping his sandpaper tongue over cracked lips. The man darted out to Pedro leaving behind clinking bottles.

Pedro’s bike creaked and clicked sporadically as he pushed himself to pedal faster. The screams turned to distant echoes. Approaching an unlit section of the alley, completely devoid of light, he could see himself getting away. 

As he entered, “OWWW!!! AHH!!! WHAT THE HELL!” a ragged woman was awoken by a bike striking her side. Flinging over her and crashing down onto the cement, she could hear the bike chain clicking as the wheel spun. Grunting, she stood and clenched her side.

“Where are you!” She blurted. The wheel slowed to a stop. Left in silence she squinted through the dark. She could see she was alone with silhouettes of a bike and what appeared to be an ovate-looking ball on the floor. Limping toward it, she picked up the odd shape. Feeling the texture of its skin, “Oh mY… G-“

WEDNESDAY

“Cryptids are entities that are, um.. not real. And have been a part of culture’s folkloric roots since umm.. forever really. Cryptozoology is the soo-soo…doe..”

“Pseudoscientific.” Ms. Hughs enunciated.

Reshaun continued, “-pseudoscientific study of these beings. Cryptologists aim to prove the existence of them. Cryptids are also a part of Mexican culture.” 

The class listened intently. Not a tap was texted or word uttered.

“Mexican people for years have told stories of spirits, demons, and monsters. Maybe they are a product of traumas the people of that country had endured or maybe, comes from the roots of their religion.”

“Uh excuse me, Shaun," a student raised her hand, “Will you be telling us what some of the creature things are?”

Collectively, “SHHHHH- SHUDDUP- LEAVE HIM ALONE!" the class berated.

“SETTLE...down everyone," Ms. Hughs delegated, “Continue with your presentation Reshaun.”

He went on, “Uh yea ok, so some of these cryptids have culture hopped, but they usually are… sorry I might be pronouncing these wrong. One is, La Llorona, then there are Chamucos, Duendes, the uh Chupa-cabra? Annnnd… this ones weird, Nina de la Tierra and oh Demoniacos.”

*click*

“HELLO OREGON FOXES. I HAVE VERY SERIOUS AND CONCERNING NEWS. JONATHAN SIL AND PEDRO MUÑEZ HAVE GONE MISSING OVER THE LAST TWO DAYS.”

Students and teachers were shocked.

“MANY OF YOU WILL BE RECEIVING AN AMBER ALERT SOON. AUTHORITIES BELIEVE THESE TWO DISAPPEARANCES MAY OR MAY NOT BE RELATED. BUT IN THE CASE THAT THERE IS SOMEONE OUT THERE ABDUCTING PEOPLE, PLEASE BE CAREFUL WALKING HOME AND DO NOT STAY OUT LATE AT NIGHT. THIS GOES FOR THE FACULTY TOO. IF ANYONE KNOWS ANYTHING AT ALL ABOUT THESE TWO OR WHERE THEY MAY HAVE LAST SEEN THEM, PLEASE COME TO THE OFFICE. THAT’LL BE ALL. ENJOY THE REST OF THE EVENING.”

*click*

That night, a group of friends gathered at a gas station. Their backpacks held spray paint, cigarettes, weed, and beer that they obtained after a beer run at the rendezvous. Roaring through the streets, they rode off through the sleepy city on skateboards and bikes. 

In time they reached an underpass. Shrouding themselves in the shadows of the shallow bridge, the group unpacked and drew up underdeveloped plans for their juvenile murals.

After some time though, distractions crept over them. Boozing and getting high blurred their visions. Recounting the day, the group chatted it up.

“Yoooo that’s fuckin crazy guys… about Perrito and Johndoe, right!?” one boomed.

“I wasn’t that close to Pedro buuuuut yea dude I hope he’s fine. Damn, they’re both from our class too!” He continued.

The rest muttered their agreements.

“Oh remember that kid’s monster project today? That shit was cool…” another chimed.

“Oscar doesn’t have class with us so he wouldn’t know," his peer informed. Oscar nodded.

*silence*

Taking a drag from his cigarette, “Hey, I think we should use our writes when we talk to each other, you know. Like it would make the crew more legit," Oscar suggested.

“Aye- think you’re right Oscuro," Champo supported.

Looking over at the quietest member, “Uhhh… how do you feel about all this Mexican week shit Cuernas? It’s lame right? Or are you all about your pride?” the member puffed his chest out and stuck his fist in the air.

*a few chuckled*

“Aye yo, Script, if you’re trying to flirt with her that ain’t how you do that," one member spoke up.

Cuernas sipped her beer looking at Script, “Naw I don’t care much about it.” She grabbed her can of black paint and in cursive, she flicked her wrist and sprayed:

-Ahogarse en Fuego

Cuernas started to pack her things up as the rest admired her work, “I’m pretty tired guys, I wanna dormir. So ima’ take off.”

“Watch out for the Llorona on your way back. She’ll snatch you for writing shit like that!” Script goated.

Another member egged on, “Oh or the chupacabra will take your eyes if you blink on your way home yo! Keep your eyes open girl!”

Walking away with her things she turns around to look at Oops, “Fool, that’s not how that works, and Script you’re a dumbass. It’s the Cucuy ya’ll need to worry about… when we’re doing all these travesuras.”

“What does coco mean?” Script mispronounced.

“Coconut!” Cuernas mockingly shouted.

Patting Script on the back Champo jokingly corrected him, “Cucuy foolio hahah… ahhhh I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Walking south, Cuernas lit a joint and hopped onto her board. As she skated down the road, the voices of her friends became fainter; until they were a lingering thought in her mind. Overhead, street lamps beamed down on her, block for block. Almost enacting as guardian angels, lighting the path home.

The autumn breeze kept her chilled as she drummed on her chest with an open hand. Keeping a rhythm, she whistled a tune. As she beat on she could hear a quieter beat that accented hers. Playing along the beat she thought was in her mind, it got louder; as if it were getting nearer. Confused, she stopped for a brief moment to realize the beating was not in her head, but in her ear.

Getting off her skateboard she turned around. In the distance, she could see someone running, whomping their feet. Flickering beneath the street lamps and the darkness between them, it approached. Listening closer she could hear clanging, it sounded like materials juggling around in a backpack.

“HEEEY!!!”, the person shrieked.

“What the…” Cuernas squinted at them.

“HEEEELP…… p-PLEASE!!” As it got closer she could almost make out who it was, “Oops?”

As the tagger got closer his yelling became more telling, until he went silent. Cuernas could no longer see Oops, as if he went hiding in the dark between the lamps. An immediate sensation arrested her. A feeling like she was being watched. Her skin tightened. She could not shake the feeling that she was surrounded by something, almost as if she was a short reach away from being attacked.

*THWAP*

His backpack hit the ground. She couldn’t see it but knew what he dropped. “Oops?!” she called and met silence.

*thud..thud*

Something else had hit the floor and rolled out of the dark. A few strands of light tickled the surface of the ovate-looking thing. It had a small white ball that budded from its surface and appeared to be pointing directly at Cuernas. 

*Silence*

The bottom of the shape was folded, almost like a slack jaw. Cuernas stood wide-eyed with her open hands over her mouth. 

“Oops?” stepping toward it.

The shape, as if pulled by force, rolled back into the pitch dark of night as it let out an ear-splitting shriek. Cuernas turned to her board and darted off with her bag. Southward, she continued in silence as she sprinted, retaining her screams, efficiently breathing. Jumping onto her board she stomped the concrete picking up speed.

Then, the furthest street lamp ahead shut off.

In succession, they were muted in darkness as each lamp she neared shut off. She turned her head to see the lamps she had passed were submitting to the darkness, one by one. Stopping beneath a lit lamp she watched, as the absence of light engulfed the streets until there was one lamp left. Her blood ran cold and her mind flatlined. Instinctually she reached into her bag and pulled a lighter from her pocket. The lamp shut off.

*cling…*

*cling…cling.clingclingcling*

A thorny cloud of flames spewed from her can of paint and ripped through the night. She spun like a fiery tornado as she fought for the light. The lamp above her switched back on, strong and bright.

Continuing forward, every lamp ahead flickered on as she burned through. Switching an empty for a full can, she pushed forward. Though her lighter was halfway out and she only had two cans left; both almost empty. She was halfway home. Then, she remembered Oops dropped his backpack. The street lights began to shut off again. Turning around she skated north, using what she had left as the unlit night preyed upon her.