Decemystery (2024) 20: The Hawaiian Chupacabra

 

“Legendary.”

That’s the first word that comes to mind when I think of El Chupacabra. It’s one of the most widely recognizable cryptids on Earth, having achieved the same level of notoriety as some of the biggest names in cryptozoology (like Sasquatch and The Loch Ness Monster).

Despite that level of fame, the Chupacabra is something that I’ve overlooked for this blog’s entire life. Sure, I’ve brought it up periodically and have discussed it from time to time. However, in the way of it ever being at the forefront of any write-up that I’ve done, that has never happened.

The closest the Chupacabra has ever gotten to being front and center was last year when I talked about “The Mexican Tongue Monster,” but I neglected it because, at the time, the creature in that story didn’t resemble any known depiction of the iconic cryptid that I knew of. Not only that, but the title didn’t even mention the Chupacabra, which I find bizarre in hindsight. Also, this write-up and that one started the same way, with a quote from me. How fitting.

Anyway, there’s a reason I haven’t fixated on the Chupacabra yet. Simply put, I don’t think I can add anything to the story that hasn’t already been said. Like the aforementioned Sasquatch and Loch Ness Monster, there are countless television shows, specials, articles, books, videos, and podcasts that have covered the Chupacabra. What could I say that would be new or exciting?

I’m sure there’s someone out there who would argue that every voice is unique. However, in my eyes, the Chupacabra’s been covered to the point that it now resembles one of its victims. It’s hollow; there’s nothing left inside of it…

Or is there?

The Chupacabra holds a unique distinction. Given the creature’s notoriety around the planet, it’s been blamed for cattle mutilations outside of where the legend spawned from (which was Puerto Rico). Much like a virus, it spread; it was sighted in the Southern United States, Mexico, and much of Latin America, and it was blamed for leaving countless dead farm animals in its wake.

In the decades since then, some believe the Chupacabra has found its way to other continents, with some—be it jokingly or seriously—claiming that if their livestock is killed, it was the work of the vampiric cryptid. Skeptics often dismiss these reports as the work of feral dogs or some other predatory animal.

However, some reports are more enigmatic and not as easily explainable, at least in my eyes. There are countless reports that simply don’t add up in my eyes.

To offer you all an example, I have a friend from New Zealand who lived on a farm. One morning, she and her family found some sheep slaughtered. She’s a trained veterinarian and told me there was no animal that could’ve done whatever did this. The organs had been removed, and the sheep had been burned. Additionally, one had its fetus removed.

Her opinion was that it was either extraterrestrials or the Chupacabra. Honestly? I’m inclined to believe her. I thought that back in 2019 when she first told me the story, and I think that now in 2024.

As graphic and unpleasant as it may be to read that, I brought it up for one very important reason—aside from using it as an example. It was what ultimately motivated me to cover a story about the Chupacabra, so I decided that I’d finally discuss the prolific cryptid on this blog at long last.

However, that motivation would quickly flicker out. Due to mental health struggles and a plethora of other stories that I wanted to cover, covering a case featuring the Chupacabra got put on the back burner for quite some time.

It wasn’t until last year that I finally decided that I’d do it; I’d give the infamous “Goat Sucker” the limelight. Alas, I opted to ax it for reasons that I can’t remember. So, I pushed it up this year, where it became the fourth “purge survivor” when Decemystery 2024’s schedule was shaken up.

However, let’s remain focused. After six years, Limitless Possibilities will finally take a look at one of the most iconic cryptids and legends on Earth; pack your bags and get your passport because today’s Decemystery entry is The Hawaiian Chupacabra, a story that redefines the term “trouble in paradise” in the most mesmerizingly crazy way possible!

Paradise Lost

Today’s story originates from About, which was submitted in May of 2005 by a man named Jensen. Fun fact: This was one of the first cases I ever found on About, and it—along with the previously mentioned Mexican Tongue Monster—are two of the three cases that prompted me to use the site’s archives as a resource for write-ups. The third one will be covered toward the tail end of this month.

Jensen sent in his report as “Chupacabra in Hawaii” because even cryptids need first-class getaways. This is also the first write-up from Hawaii. I think that’s pretty awesome!

According to Jensen, this story took place when he was a kid. Given that Jensen didn’t specify how old he was, I have no idea when this happened. This is something I’ll touch upon a lot more in the theories, but I’ll say right that the first sighting of the Chupacabra was in 1995—a decade prior to this account’s submission. So Jensen was either still young when he sent this in, or he retroactively assumed the creature he saw was the infamous Goat Sucker.

Anyway, Jensen’s uncle (who I’ll refer to as Stan) owned a pig farm in Hawaii’s countryside. I know that may seem surprising since most envision Hawaii for its iconic beaches and volcanoes, but the islands are almost entirely countryside or rural. By that, I mean a staggering 95.3% of the state is either countryside or rural, while 47% of it is designated as agricultural.

Hawaii’s perception in media is hysterically poor. You go for the beaches, but nearly half of it is farmland. Isn’t reality surprising?

Now that your American geography lesson is over, let’s get back to the story. One night, Stan held a get-together with Jensen, Jensen’s dad (who I’ll call Alex), and “some of [Jensen’s] other uncles.” This sounds like such a wholesome time. I hope no vampiric cryptids come along to ruin the fun.

To my surprise, everything “was fine” until night fell. This led to it getting frigid, so they all went inside. I decided to look up the average low temperature in Hawaii, and Google told me it was “the mid 60s.” That’d be around 18 degrees Celsius. Honestly, that sounds positively lovely. When I think of the cold, I recall winters in New York when I’d get blasted by a wind chill of -15 degrees Fahrenheit! That’s -26 degrees Celsius, by the way.

Temperatures aside, all seemed fine. Then, around 15 minutes later, Stan’s pigs began panicking and squealing wildly. This prompted Stan and Alex to look outside, believing a thief was outside. I found this assumption to be baffling. So, I decided to look up if this was a thing.

To my bewilderment, yes, cattle theft is a thing. Not only that, it’s still an active practice. On April 16, 2024, 12 goats were stolen from an Ontario dairy farm. Meanwhile, on October 24, 2024, thieves made off with a staggering $100,000 worth of livestock in Osceola County, Florida. Who knew there was a black market for farm animals?

Not desiring to have any pigs stolen, Stan grabbed his shotgun—a staple of any red-blooded American. However, before he could go confront those no-good thieves, a loud boom rang out through the air.

Something had landed atop the pig pen!

Now, I don’t know about you, but the last time I checked my back, I didn’t sport anything that’d allow me to land on top of something without first being above it. Even then, the mental image of someone slamming onto a pig pen’s roof without being dropped out of a helicopter sounds comical.

Anyway, Jensen went on to say that this was strange because there were “no known predators” capable of making “an impact like that in Hawaii.” This is true, and I’ll elaborate on it a lot more when we get to the theories. However, I’ll say upfront that Hawaii has no large native land predators—aside from an endangered bat. There are no big cats, coyotes, bears, or anything of that sort. At most, you’d have to look out for a large centipede, but last I checked, they’re not as dangerous as a mountain lion.

They sure are uglier, though.

I digress, though. Stan and Alex peered out the window, only to be greeted by something straight out of a nightmare. It was a monstrosity that resembled a gargoyle. It was hairy and beast-like, sporting wings and large claws, along with eyes that were as “red as fire.”

I’ll get into this thing’s appearance in the theories because I’m sure more than a few of you just read that and thought, “That doesn’t sound like a Chupacabra.” If you did, I understand. However, believe me when I say that there’s a lot more to the Chupacabra than the depictions you’ve heard of it—and I do mean a lot more.

This monster—and I think that’s the only word to describe it—proceeded to make its way into the pig pen and “moved about.” Meanwhile, Stan “passed out” while Alex “just stayed down,” too afraid to try and confront the Chupacabra on his own.

How long it was out there isn’t specified, and I doubt nobody within Stan’s house was keen on finding outside lest they be met with the gaze of whatever it was. As such, they took refuge until daylight broke. God only knows if they slept; I sure as heck wouldn’t be able to.

Upon going outside to inspect the pig pen, Stan and Alex were surprised to discover that only two had been killed. The rest remained unscathed. Evidently, whatever had wanted a meal wasn’t hungry enough to help itself to the all-you-can-eat buffet of pork. I guess the Chupacabra was trying its best to stay off of red meat, but it had to satiate its desire for a little bit of it.

That may sound like a silly joke since the Chupacabra is known for draining the blood of livestock. In the case of Jensen’s report, this remains true; upon inspecting the two pigs, Stan found that there were “two big holes” on their necks and had been exsanguinated.

For reasons not mentioned (I know very little about farming, so I have no idea if what I’m about to say is standard practice for farmers), Stan cut open the pigs. When he did so, he discovered that they were missing all of their organs. This is going to be very important for later because I want to bring up an infamous story from Brazil.

That said, there were also “huge rips in the roof of the pen,” which I’m guessing were made when the Chupacabra landed. If not, this thing decided to add vandalism to its list of crimes for a cheap laugh. How quaint.

After this, Stan presumably disposed of the spots. Personally, I think he should’ve had them stuffed and made them into unique conversation pieces.

“So, why do you have two stuffed pigs?”

“The Chupacabra attacked one night, drained them of blood, and, somehow, took all of their internal organs.”

Trust me when I say that this can’t possibly go wrong.

On a more serious note, this wasn’t the last time Jensen saw the Chupacabra. Some years later (I really wish he’d given us a timeline), he was out on a hunting trip “in a valley” with a friend—who I’ll refer to as Gary.

Apparently, Jensen and Gary had “left [their] catch,” which I’m guessing is something related to hunting. I’m not a huntsman, so I apologize if my ignorance is showing.

Regardless, the creature suddenly “swooped down” and stole their catch. This sounds like something out of a comedy sketch where someone’s hunting trip is ruined by every cryptid in some way, shape, or form. Next up, Jensen will go to the beach, only to see Mothman sunning himself. An hour later, the Shai-Hulud popped up and left no beach in its wake.

Anyway, Jensen rounded off his report by saying that his dad “refuses to talk about” what happened that day. Meanwhile, Jensen himself “still chooses not to believe” what he saw. Despite this write-up’s rather snarky tone, I have to admit that I don’t blame either of them. If I saw this abomination, I would be traumatized for life.

That said, our story is now done. While it may not be as baffling as the past two we’ve discussed, I still think it’s an odd one that left me puzzled—more than something like, say, The Brisbane Gremlin.

Beyond that, this is one of the much better reports from About. Unlike most cases, it offers us enough to work with in terms of crafting theories—because, trust me, there are a lot of them. I’ll do everything I can to make them as brisk as possible, but there is a great deal I need to discuss.

But I digress. With the report now finished, I say it’s about time we get into the theories—and boy, oh boy, there are a lot of them to go over. So, without further ado, let’s don our thinking caps and begin speculating on what the heck Jensen, his family, and (at a later point) his friend saw.

Theories

1. El Chupacabra

Okay, before we even get into this theory, I need to provide a major disclaimer. Despite how the intro to this write-up was, I am not going to do a full-blown history report on the Chupacabra. We will take a look at it in more detail than I have in the past, but this write-up is, first and foremost, about Jensen’s experience and not the Chupacabra as a whole. God willing, I will one day get around to it.

However, to do a deep dive into the Chupacabra as a whole would be an absolutely monstrous endeavor—one that I cannot do while racing against the clock, and especially not when my mental health’s beginning to take a turn for the worse. Shortly after I began this write-up, my bipolar exited remission, and I was deeply concerned that I’d leave Decemystery 2024 unfinished because I was struggling to keep my mood in check. Luckily, I fought back—and won.

I digress, though; candidness can wait. The reason I bring this up is that this theory is, as its name implies, suggesting that the infamous Goat Sucker itself was what Jensen, Stan, Alex, and Gary all saw. Simple enough, right? I mean, if you’re reading this blog, you have to know what the Chupacabra is.

Yeah, well, here’s the thing: There isn’t just one depiction of the creature.

The Chupacabra is, without a doubt, one of the most inconsistent cryptids when it comes to its appearance. There are numerous variations—so many that I don’t even know what counts as a Chupacabra anymore. The creature, for all intents and purposes, has gone from being a cryptid to a name that constitutes nothing.

Now, admittedly, that’s part of the reason I wanted to cover this story. I mentioned in the intro about how Chupacabra sightings have become a global phenomenon. With that has come a lot of bizarre distortions.

As such, I want to take the time to go over this creature’s appearance before we get into the theory. So, while you won’t get a complete history lesson on the Chupacabra’s origins and sightings, you will get a hefty rundown on its appearance.

Now, when it comes to the variations in its appearance, I think the best example would be that of the Mexican Tongue Monster. While Mexico is a country that’s known for Chupacabra sightings, let me remind you that the creature’s point of origin is Puerto Rico. It was there that the original Chupacabra description was reported, and it’s not the one in the header image. No, that’s the American Chupacabra. More on that thing later.

The original Chupacabra was described as being reptilian and humanoid, typically standing between 3 to 4 feet (91 to 121 centimeters) in height. It has prominent fangs (take a guess what they’re used for when its name translates to “Goat Sucker”), and its skin is usually described as being scaly—often green in color, making it appear like a lizard. However, some claim that the creature has fur, skin, or even feathers. The fur aligns with Jensen’s report, but I digress; let’s wait to discuss this since there’s a lot more I want to go over.

One of the most iconic aspects of the reptilian Chupacabra (or Puerto Rican Chupacabra, as it’s sometimes called) is that it hops around like a kangaroo, which makes me want a Chupacabra-themed pogo stick. This extends to its posture, which also mirrors that of Australia’s national animal.

There’s also the high-pitched screech it can allegedly emit. I recall one story where someone purportedly heard it and fainted as a result. I’m more astounded the person didn’t immediately pass out upon seeing this freak of nature.

Some also claim the Puerto Rican Chupacabra sports a tail. If memory serves, it’s often a small one, usually a few inches/centimeters long. I could be mistaken here, though, so keep that in mind.

Another feature—which I nearly forgot to include until I was looking through the Alien Species Wiki—is that this version of the Chupacabra is sometimes said to have wings, which aligns with Jensen’s report once more. However, bear in mind that it’s sometimes said to have them.

When the Puerto Rican Chupacabra is seen with them, they’re often depicted as being bat-like in appearance. I recall this being one of my favorite details as a kid and something that made me wish I could see a Chupacabra (for reasons that elude me nearly twenty years later). I guess I really wanted to see the world’s ugliest reptilian bat.

There are a ton of other features that I could go over—most of which are mentioned on the Alien Species Wiki. However, I’m not about to turn this theory so I can list off every single variation. Nevertheless, I’ll make a note of those that I think are the most noteworthy since there are some that are quite… unique.

Additional features and claims about the Puerto Rican Chupacabra range from it having a dog-like snout to a crocodile’s head, while others say it can jump over entire buildings, glide, and leave behind a “sulfuric stench” that makes people nauseous. Keep the sulfuric stench part in mind for later.

The site also mentions the creature having a “sucking proboscis,” which would actually make the Mexican Tongue Monster work as a Chupacabra. However, in my time reading about cryptids, I’ve never heard of the Chupacabra—no matter what variation it is—having one of them.

For those who don’t know, a proboscis is an appendage that some animals have that allows them to suck nutrients from something. Examples include honeybees, moths, butterflies, and mosquitoes. I suppose it’d make sense for the Chupacabra to have one since it has a pension for blood-sucking. I guess I’ll have to seek out more stories about it once I finish Decemystery 2024.

Anyway, to round off the Puerto Rican Chupacabra’s summary, I want to mention two features that overlap with the aforementioned “American Chupacabra.” The first is the famous spikes (or quills, depending on who you ask) that run along its back, making it resemble the lovechild of a reptilian alien and a porcupine.

The second is a pair of large, red eyes—a staple of practically every scary cryptid on Earth. Why that is, I don’t know. However, the way they appear on the Puerto Rican Chupacabra evokes the mental image of a Grey alien. Don’t take my word for it, though; below is a drawing created from a description by an eyewitness in Puerto Rico.

Looks like something out of a B-movie from the 1950s.

That’s the Puerto Rican Chupacabra, though; it’s the one that started the mystery and legend of the now-iconic cryptid. Amusingly, it’s also the one that I frequently see less talked about; its American remake overshadows it.

Indeed, it’s now time for us to discuss the more prevalent version of the Chupacabra. It’s typically referred to as the “American Chupacabra,” and it’s the canine-like version (as depicted in the header image).

Despite its name, the American Chupacabra is not exclusive to the United States. Rather, it’s the version seen in Mexico and the continental United States (and presumably Canada, despite there being a page on the Cryptid Wiki dedicated to something called the “Canadian Chupacabra”). It’s described as resembling a dog (big shock, I know) with a slightly arched back. At least, that’s what I’ve noticed; a lot of drawings tend to depict their gait as similar to that of a hyena.

By all accounts, the American Chupacabra bears many of the same hallmarks as its Puerto Rican cousin: the spikes running down its back, red eyes, fangs, and claws. By all accounts, you could mistake this thing for a coyote with some eye disease that made its eye shine turn red. I don’t know if that’s actually a thing, so don’t hold me to that.

However, beneath the surface, the American Chupacabra has a respectable number of differences. For starters, it’s often described as being nearly, if not entirely, devoid of hair. This has given rise to the theory that the American Chupacabra isn’t a cryptid but rather a canine with mange. I still don’t understand how something can drink the blood of livestock, but I digress.

Another difference, albeit a more subtle one, is the eyes. While they’re described as glowing red, the American Chupacabra’s eye sockets are “unusually pronounced.” This isn’t visible in the header image, so for those who don’t know what that means, it just means that its eyes are bulging.

Beyond that, the American Chupacabra lacks any of the fantastical features that its Puerto Rican counterpart does. It lacks wings, a proboscis, or any of the weird accessories that you can read about. No, it’s more or less just a dog that drinks the blood of farm animals.

That said, there’s one difference I don’t know, and that’s the Chupacabra’s reputation for eating organs. Sometimes, it’s said to eat them—or suck them out. If I had to guess, it somehow liquifies them before doing its best Nosferatu impression.

However, as far as I’m aware, this is only done by the Puerto Rican Chupacabra. I have no clue if the American Chupacabra’s ever been said to do something similar. I’m sure there have been reports of animals missing their organs across North America, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions since it’s possible that carrion feeders ate some of them before the animal carcass was discovered.

If you happen to know, leave a comment telling me. I’ll try to do better when it comes to information gathering next time; life just so happened to throw me a major curve ball as I was writing this that left me more concerned with things outside of finding out if the American remake of El Chupacabra ate tasty animal organs that were a few degrees above medium-rare.

Anyway, with all of that said and done, let’s get back on track. Those were the two main types of Chupacabras that I wanted to bring up. However, if the Cryptid Wiki is to be believed, there are more (like the earlier-mentioned Canadian Chupacabra). I won’t discuss them because I’d like to not only save myself time but also have something to discuss if I discuss the Chupacabra in the future (regardless of whether the write-up is dedicated to it).

Now that you know a thing or two about the appearance of the lean, mean, cattle-killing machine that demands a Pokémon based on it, let’s fixate on Jensen’s report. Suffice it to say, his story doesn’t fit the American Chupacabra whatsoever. Rather, it fits the Puerto Rican Chupacabra—albeit a bit flimsily.

For starters, many of the physical characteristics are the same. The wings, fiery red eyes, and claws are all in line with the Puerto Rican Chupacabra. The inclusion of fur is also indicative of it, though I think it’s hard to call this a point in the theory’s favor when the description of Puerto Rico’s one-cryptid livestock slaughterhouse has been described as having skin, fur, scales, and feathers. There’s unreliability, and then there’s whatever you’d call eyewitnesses who claim that a cryptid fits the description of a mammal, reptile, and avian all at once.

There’s also the matter of Jensen referring to the creature as “beast-like.” While the Chupacabra, regardless of what version you abide by, isn’t something I think many would care to meet in a dark alley at night, it’s also not something I envision as “beast-like.” However, perhaps that’s because my thought of a beast is something like a bear or lion; subjectivity can be a real pain when it comes to interpreting what someone means.

The biggest issue with theory, though, is the comparison to a gargoyle. I take a bit of ire with this because I have never heard of the Chupacabra—any Chupacabra—being compared to a gargoyle.

Now, in the interest of fairness, gargoyles are sometimes depicted with bat-like wings, which I said the Puerto Rican Chupacabra is said to have. Additionally, the “Cryptid Tidbits Wiki” had a page dedicated to something called the “Dog-Faced Gargoyles,” which is supposedly also known as the “Chilean Chupacabra.”

In the interest of transparency, I have no idea if that story is true. I looked around the wiki a bit, and in my eyes, the content of the wiki struck me as dubious at best (then again, I consider most wikis that lack cited sources to be untrustworthy). However, I wanted to make a note of this because I’d previously brought up the Cryptid Wiki, which mentioned several other Chupacabras from around the globe.

Now, despite that, I’d also argue that the numerous different descriptions of the Puerto Rican Chupacabra make it hard to buy into the idea that this was some gargoyle-esque monstrosity. We’re talking about a cryptid with so many variations that it’s hard to tell what qualifies as a Chupacabra anymore.

Not only that, but the Puerto Rican Chupacabra got its name because it was seen in Puerto Rico. Let me tell you something: Going from Puerto Rico to Hawaii isn’t short. A 1-stop flight is a little over 19 hours. A 2-stop flight? That’s over a day. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think there’s any way that something as aggressive as whatever Stan and Alex saw would be patiently sitting in the cargo bay of a Boeing 747 while it flew from Puerto Rico to Hawaii.

Don’t get me started on how it managed to sneak on and off of the plane without being seen, by the way. That’s an entirely different level of silly.

You could also try to argue that the creature reached Hawaii by having boarded a ship to Hawaii. However, that’s even less likely because it would take 20 to 25 days. Unless this thing periodically feasted upon the blood of sea animals while remaining out of sight of the boat’s crew, I’m highly doubtful. You’d have a better chance of getting me to believe that the crew of the S.S. Ourang Medan was captained by Captain Hook.

The last thing I’ll touch upon is the second sighting. The Chupacabra, regardless of what variation, has typically been depicted as a nocturnal predator. While I think there might be a few sightings of it during the day, most are at night. You know, like nearly every other cryptid on Earth (because we pesky humans can’t handle their sick mixtapes, I guess).

Despite that nocturnal preference, it sounded like Jensen and Gary saw the creature take their kill during the day. To me, that’s really bizarre. It’s possible I’m wrong, and the Chupacabra (or Puerto Rican Chupacabra) is cathemeral, but I’ve always understood it to be nocturnal. Unless the creature somehow adjusted to its new habitat, which would be one of the first instances I’ve ever heard of a cryptid undergoing adaptation.

Nevertheless, it’s hard for me to deny that there aren’t similarities in appearance—not to mention how it purportedly killed Stan’s livestock in the same fashion as the Puerto Rican Chupacabra. And, hey, maybe the American one also takes organs; I freely admit that I am not an expert on cryptozoology, despite how much I write about it. Never take my word as gospel; always conduct your own research when possible.

Ultimately, I think this theory has a bit going for it, but it’s far from the strongest one. I think the numerous discrepancies in the Chupacabra’s appearance, modus operandi, and mythos (which we’ll get to toward during one of the last theories) cause it to flounder.

That said, the Puerto Rican Chupacabra—and Chupacabra as a whole—isn’t the only potential cryptid that could’ve been committing the heinous act of killing Stan’s pigs. So, come along; let’s theorize about what other cryptid might’ve been treating itself to a late-night snack!

1b. Another cryptid

I figured I’d make this an off-shoot theory instead of its own thing since I don’t want to linger too much on it. Let’s face it: You can only go over cryptids so many times before the same flaws come into play—especially when it comes to ones like the Chupacabra.

As the theory implies, the idea here is that it was another cryptid. What kind? Beats the heck out of me, dear reader. There are countless cryptids from around the world. Some are plausible (in my eyes, anyway), while others are The Bagodemon, which is my way of saying that they’re hogwash.

What cryptid this may have been is difficult to answer for one reason: This story occurred in Hawaii, which is around 2,400 miles (3,862 kilometers) from the continental United States. As I stated earlier, whatever Jensen’s family saw that night could only get there if it hitched a ride on a boat or plane.

Now, yes, there are birds that can fly thousands of miles without stopping. However, those are migratory in nature and not beast-like monstrosities that drain the blood and organs of farm animals. But maybe I’m the only one who thinks so; I’ve been known to have some hot takes.

That said, the description of the Hawaiian Chupacabra does remind me a lot of one cryptid: Batsquatch. For those unfamiliar with it, the Batsquatch was first reported shortly after the monstrous eruption of Mount St. Helens, which occurred on March 27, 1980. This led to the belief that the creature was either trapped under a part of the volcano that was blown off during the eruption or that it lay dormant within Mount St. Helens itself.

Of course, those are legends likely conjured up by locals. What aren’t legends are the reports themselves, which describe the beast as a mix of a bat and Sasquatch. Yeah, I can’t take that description seriously, but it’s worth noting that the resemblance to Sasquatch is remarkably thin. In fact, I think the creature sounds a bit closer to that of the Jersey Devil in that it sounds positively chimeric in nature, but I digress.

The Batsquatch is said to have—and I quote directly from the Batsquatch’s Cryptid Wiki page—“yellow eyes, a dog-like muzzle, blue fur, sharp teeth, bird-like feet[,] and leathery bat-like wings that span up to fifty feet [15 meters].” For comparison, the Wandering Albatross has the largest wingspan on Earth today at 11.5 feet (3.5 meters). Meanwhile, the largest wingspan ever belonged to Pelagornis; its wings were upwards of 24 feet long (7.3 meters).

In other words, Batsquatch’s wings were terrifyingly large. But, more than likely, it was an exaggeration due to the fear the eyewitnesses felt at the time. I doubt something with wings that were half the size of a Blue Whale could go undiscovered. Below’s a drawing of the creature—at least, I believe it is; regardless, it’s often associated with the Batsquatch. You decide if it could go unnoticed for nearly half a century.

The Batsquatch is topped off by being a whopping 9 feet (2.7 meters) tall and can somehow cause a car’s engine to cease functioning when it flies over them. This is a trademark of many UFO reports, but I don’t know of any cryptids outside of Batsquatch that can do this. Maybe Mothman, but I don’t remember any accounts where it made cars stall.

Reports of the Batsquatch have continued into the modern day. I don’t know how common they are, but the Cryptid Wiki notes that sightings have occurred across the continental United States in the decades since the initial report.

Given the bestial appearance of the Hawaiian Chupacabra and the ghoulish look of the Batsquatch, I think it—or some relative—would be the best candidate. The only issue is that if this were the Batsquatch—or a Batsquatch—then how’d it get to Hawaii? Are they capable of flying thousands of miles without rest, or is there something more sinister going on—like a cryptid black market?

In the case of the former, I can’t answer that. The likelihood of this thing flying from Washington, Oregon, or California to Hawaii strikes me as slim, especially when a fourth of Hawaii’s economy is tourism. If anyone saw Batsquatch flying around while sipping a margarita, the Hawaiian economy would be on par with that of Antarctica.

As for a black market with cryptids, I swear that I’ve heard of something like that while lurking on 4chan’s /x/ board (the website’s paranormal board, for the uninitiated). It’s fully possible I’m misremembering something. It wouldn’t be the first time, dear reader; I’ve practically forgotten most of 2024.

That aside, I should point out that I have no idea if the Batsquatch has ever been blamed for any cattle mutilations. While the drawing looks like a predatory animal, it also resembles something that’d rip apart its meal like a normal carnivore and not exsanguinate it. But, hey, I’ve been surprised by cryptids before; maybe the Batsquatch prefers using a bendy straw to feed on its prey.

Ultimately, I don’t think it’s worth lingering on this theory any longer. As abrupt as that may be, my point wasn’t to go through every possible suspect or analyze why it may or may not be possible. I do certainly think that the similarities are there—the beast-like appearance, leathery wings, and hulking appearance align with what Jensen’s family saw. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that the similarities are so strong that this is one of the most plausible theories if we take it at face value.

However, at the same time, the issue of how the Batsquatch made it from the mainland United States to an archipelago in the middle of the Pacific Ocean is exceedingly difficult to overlook. Couple that with my lack of information on the Batsquatch’s preferences when it comes to eating, and there are some parts of this theory that crumble beneath itself.

That said, I’m not going to dismiss this theory entirely—nor will I dismiss the previous one. You see, I’ve been hiding a little something from you guys. There are some unsettling and conspiratorial explanations that could explain how a Chupacabra or Batsquatch made its way to Hawaii, and it all leads us to everyone’s favorite scapegoat: the government! So, without further ado, let’s get into the next theory.

2. An escape government experiment

Oh, baby, I’ve been aching to cover this theory for an extremely long time! In fact, it may be one of the earliest things I ever wanted to discuss when I formally dedicated this blog to writing about the Fortean oh-so-many years ago.

As a kid, the idea that the Chupacabra was an escaped government experiment was one that fascinated me to no end. It was also quite unsettling to imagine since my imagination envisioned a ravenous killing machine slaughtering hallway after hallway of scientists and soldiers while escaping Area 51.

If you’re wondering why I had such a morbid thought, I played the 2005 first-person shooter Area 51 as a kid. It was awesome, and I wish we’d get a remake of it (which, funnily enough, the 2005 game was already a remake).

Anyway, having the opportunity to finally discuss this theory is like a dream come true. I won’t do an ultra-deep dive into everything because I’d need to refresh my memory on a lot of details—and, as stated a few times already, this is about the report Jensen sent in. That said, I think you all deserve to understand the background of this theory.

The United States is no stranger to performing experiments on animals. Then again, what country isn’t? Animals are used in experiments for pharmaceutical drugs and to find cures for certain diseases they may carry. It’s a controversial part of the world that I won’t get into because it gets political, and I’d prefer this blog remain as apolitical as possible. After all, it’s dedicated to the Fortean. Last I checked, the Triangle Creature wasn’t casting votes for politicians in Kansas!

Now, the experiments I just mentioned are public knowledge; people know they’re happening. However, there are some who think that more insidious experiments go on in secretive military bases in the United States. You know, places like Area 51 and the rumored “Dulce Base” in Nevada and New Mexico, respectively. Area 51 needs no introduction; I think everyone who’s even glossed over a book of mysteries or conspiracies knows about the place.

As for Dulce Base, I went over it earlier this month when I talked about The Skinless, Yellow-Eyed Creature of Arizona. It’s a supposed “Deep Underground Military Base,” or “D.U.M.B,” that’s said to be near Dulce, New Mexico. Although no evidence exists to support its existence, I’ve heard that locals have embraced the legend due to the tourism it’s brought in.

I digress, though. The reason I bring up these two locations is because both share a history of being tied to extraterrestrials and experiments. In the case of Area 51, many say that the purported alien bodies found at the Roswell Incident in 1947 were transported to Area 51 and subsequently experimented on.

Meanwhile, in the case of Dulce Base, there’s the legend of Nightmare Hall, a place where humans and aliens perform abhorrent experiments on American civilians. One has to wonder if maybe, just maybe, some of the humanoid cryptids people have reported throughout the American Southwest, like Fleshgaits and Pale Crawlers, are the result of these experiments. Likewise, one has to wonder if the Chupacabra may have come from there.

What the Chupacabra was prior to these experiments is something that I’d struggle to determine. However, given that the American Chupacabra is described as canine in appearance, I would guess it was likely a coyote. So, if I had to establish a scenario, I’d say that some grunts were sent out with a tranquilizer gun, shot a lone coyote, and brought it back.

This is where things take a turn onto Tinfoil Avenue—and I say that in the lightest way possible. Something I think a lot of writers tend to do is dismiss or outright mock conspiracy theories the second they’re brought up. I can understand this to some degree. When you read into conspiracies from the outside, a lot of them tend to have elaborate narratives that rival the world of Tolkien; they require so many things to work in favor of whoever is framed as the “villain” in the conspiracy.

However, I like to embrace conspiracies and write about them as though they’re more of an adventure. I think it helps me to stand out a bit amidst the sea of ardent believers and skeptics in the world of conspiracy theories.

That led me to want to float around a bunch of ideas with you, dear reader; we’ll craft our own narratives—yes, I meant to use the plural—to decide what, exactly, the Chupacabra was made for.

That said, I’d like to stress that everything you’re about to read is purely my speculation throughout the years while entertaining this theory. These are not serious or representative of what I actually think. I know that may seem contradictory, but I’ve spent most of my life pondering the many reasons the Chupacabra could’ve been created in a secret laboratory. I’m not missing the opportunity to share them with you.

Anyway, with that out of the way, come along; let’s allow our imaginations to run wild and have some fun!

To start things off, we have the idea that the Chupacabra was meant to be a weapon of some sort. This is a staple of many theories involving cryptids and the government (regardless of the country). Given that this was the United States, a country with a military budget that—in 1995—was $272.2 billion, you can safely assume that there were some clandestine experiments going on. So, it’d stand to reason that the United States wanted to see if it could make some sort of super weapon.

If that were the case, then what kind of weapon are we talking about? A biological one? One designed to assist in stealth operations? Or was it something more diabolical, like being used to create a famine to starve people into rebelling against a leader so a more favorable leader could be installed? Or could it have been made to aid the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) in extracting secrets during torture?

Personally, I think the idea of it being involved in stealth operations or used to create a seemingly “natural” famine is the most logical. The former seems likely since the Chupacabra is known to appear and disappear quickly and is reportedly an ambush-centric predator.

Meanwhile, the latter falls in line with the United States’ long history of being involved in regime changes. Like it or not, this is something that can’t be overlooked when discussing the topic; the Wikipedia page on the subject is absolutely bonkers, so the idea that the Chupacabra could’ve been made for such a purpose is interesting to me.

The other two ideas are extraordinarily unlikely—to me, anyway. The CIA’s got enough tools to make prisoners spit out answers. Meanwhile, I’ve never heard of the Chupacabra looking like a biohazard, nor do I know of anything hazardous being left in its wake. At the worst, the smell of sulfur is reported. However, as far as I know, sulfur isn’t a danger to humans on its own.

Should the Chupacabra not have been a weapon, it’s possible that it was an alien hybrid. Perhaps the United States was experimenting with mutating DNA. This is a more innocuous theory, and I think it’s one that’s in line with humanity’s innate desire to explore the unknown.

Hypothetically speaking, if the military has recovered alien bodies—be it from the Roswell Incident in 1947 or from another crash—there’d be plenty of DNA samples. If some scientists wanted to research what happened when animal DNA was combined with that of the aliens, the Chupacabra could have been born…

Before it subsequently got out of captivity, it became an international problem for anyone with livestock. Oops.

Anyway, this theory makes total sense to me. However, I know absolutely nothing about biology and DNA. If a biologist happens to be reading this write-up and is now in the process of downing some Advil due to my butchering of science, I accept any criticism. I’m not a scientist, and I will never claim to be one.

However, if I’m by some miracle right, I’d say that this is one of two possibilities for the Chupacabra’s alien appearance. The other one will be discussed in the fourth theory.

Now, if the Chupacabra wasn’t the product of mad scientists doing what mad scientists do best (hint: It’s mad science), I’ll propose one final idea, which is that it was a complete and total freak accident. By that, I mean something went horribly wrong, and whatever laboratory this escaped from isn’t getting a visit from the scientist equivalent to Santa Claus ever again.

This might sound like an absolutely goofy explanation, but if you look at the United States’ track record of saying that the American Southwest is totally safe to live in post-nuclear testing, you’d realize that mistakes are synonymous with “government official” down there.

As such, the idea that the Chupacabra was a mistake and nothing that was made with any end goal strikes me as exceedingly plausible. Why? Well, we’re talking about the United States government. While I like to remain apolitical, allow me to say that it’s not unheard of for my nation’s government to make enough mistakes that they have a lifetime supply of oopsy-daisies from which to make bouquets.

I could go on for quite a bit longer with the hypothesizing, but I think you get the general idea, dear reader. There are plenty of angles from which you can look at this theory, be it innocuous or otherwise. However, that still begs the question of how this thing got to Hawaii.

Well, that’s rather simple. Odds are, the Chupacabra—or, rather, this Chupacabra (if it even was one)—was made in some secretive part of a military base in Hawaii and escaped. Why? Your guess is as good as mine, but I think the most plausible explanation is it was a freak accident, and now Hawaii’s stuck with a gargoyle that likes to drink the blood and organs of pigs.

At least, that’s what I’d think if I knew of any other sightings that are similar to this one. As it stands, this is the only incident that’s remotely like this—to my knowledge, anyway.

In the interest of transparency, I didn’t go scouring the Internet for additional reports. Simply put, I not only lacked an adequate amount of time, but my earlier-mentioned mental health troubles threw a wrench in that idea before it could be considered a one-off endeavor. So, if there are other stories out there like that of Jensen and his family, let me know, and I’ll amend it down the road.

With all of that said, I do want to make note of a few other flaws with this theory before I wrap it up. The first is that, of course, these are all possibilities that I thought of in some way, shape, or form. While more than a few people hold the idea of the Chupacabra being a government experiment, I cannot vouch for anyone believing in what I wrote.

Now, some may be wondering why I decided to throw my own hypotheticals into the fray instead of looking up ones held by others. The answer is the same as the one above. My own struggles hindered my ability to do more—and I wanted to cover this story badly. It was one that I’ve had my heart set on for a while, and talking about this has been something of a dream.

I fully admit that that’s extremely self-indulgent of me, and I accept any criticism that some may hold since it led to me putting forward my own ideas. If it’s any consolation, I’ll make sure that one day, I’ll give this particular stance its own write-up, and I’ll do a lot more in-depth research to make up for any potential toes or pet theories I stepped on or overlooked.

The second issue is that if this were the case, you could likely submit a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request to see if there were any illicit experiments that went on at any of the military bases. I went over what a FOIA request was in significantly more detail when I covered The Tuttle Bottoms Monster last year. I also discussed it a bit in the Skinless, Yellow-Eyed Creature of Arizona write-up.

Basically, any citizen can submit a request to the United States government to get information about something, barring certain restrictions that are a threat to national security, a private citizen, and a few other reasons. I’m not sure if a FOIA request would be fulfilled in this particular case, but who knows? Maybe the government would play nice with whoever sends in the request.

The third and final reason is that we don’t know which Hawaiian island this occurred on. Shock of all shocks: The population of Hawaii is not even across the board. It varies heavily; the least populated island is Niihau, having “fewer than 200 residents.” Meanwhile, Oʻahu has over 1,000,000 inhabitants.

Knowing where this took place would be beneficial since it’d help narrow down the likelihood of something having actually escaped. An increased military presence in a certain area would have been likely if they went looking for this thing (I sincerely doubt the United States would let an escaped experiment run amuck, especially if it was in Oʻahu).

Of course, there is the possibility that the military or government wanted to see how the public would react to something like this being released. A sort of “social experiment” to see if the citizens would treat such creatures. There is a theory that the government is aware of the existence of cryptids but hides them to prevent mass panic. Maybe this creature was let out for some nefarious reason.

Or maybe it’s all tinfoil silliness, and I’m overthinking things for the sake of it. Personally, I love to entertain various conspiracies for the sake of hearing people out. I think it’s healthy not to shun those who share more fantastical beliefs. It’s a surefire way to have them double or triple down on what they believe in—thus creating an inescapable cycle.

In this case, I’m iffy about the idea. Sure, I made the ideas up myself, but it seems like a lot of work to create a horrific experiment only for it to get out. Besides, if it were created in a laboratory, there’s likely to be a failsafe to have it killed before it escaped, no? Or did the Department of Defense forget to fund explosive collars for our affronts to God? If we forget that in the 1995 defense budget, I think we need to audit where the money went. I bet you it went to finding Julia four years early.

God, I gotta get around to that story one of these years.

Oh well, I digress; I’ll let you decide where you stand on this theory, dear reader. For now, our next theory is not only much shorter but a whole lot wilder. Use a Ouija board to get in contact with William Friedkin; I think we need an exorcist!

3. A demon!

Demons are a great scapegoat to use whenever you want to excuse having a messy bedroom; you can say that one came in and threw a temper tantrum because it saw you had a crucifix or some other religious symbol on your wall. Unfortunately, they seldom make for good patsies when it comes to cattle mutilation. I suppose they can’t stand the idea of touching grass.

Nevertheless, I wanted to put forward this theory because the Hawaiian Chupacabra’s appearance reminds me of a demon in some sense. Couple that with claims that Satanic cults have been responsible for some cattle mutilations in the past (more on this in a bit), and you have a theory that—while flimsy—could work if you’re a more open-minded religious or spiritual person. At least, I think it can; I’m Roman Catholic, but I never claimed I was a well-versed Roman Catholic.

How this theory would work is rather simple. A bunch of occultists (be they serious or LARPers—Live Action Role-players) decide to do their thing out in the woods. They want to summon a demon for reasons beyond my comprehension. They succeed, and the demon either possesses something or enters our world for some amount of time, causing havoc because demons aren’t nice. If that revelation surprises you, I’ll give you a few seconds to calm down.

Are you good? Okay, let’s continue.

Once our not-so-friendly hellspawn compadre was in the mortal world, the demon opted to go ahead and be a jerk to whoever—or whatever—it met. Eventually, it was either called back to Hell, or it still waltzes around whichever Hawaiian island it’s a part of.

As you can likely surmise, this theory is far from the most serious. In fact, one could say that I’ve treated it like a joke. The reason for that is that the notion of a demon walking around on Earth is a rather goofy one. However, there are numerous urban legends—many of which are from the United States—about Satan walking among us for one reason or another. Heck, there’s a write-up that’ll be covering such a legend. There’s also a really famous area in North Carolina called The Devil’s Tramping Ground, which I hope to one day do a write-up on!

So, why did I treat this one so lightheartedly? Well, aside from wanting a moment of respite after the previous theory, most stories about the devil—or demons—walking the mortal world are just that: stories. They’re legends that are birthed around campfires and end up being passed down from person to person.

In this case, while the Hawaiian Chupacabra certainly looked demonic, I wouldn’t be willing to bet on it actually being a demon. However, where’s the fun in making these write-ups if I’m not allowed to toss out a lighthearted theory every now and then? Cutting loose is part of why I like to write, and I like to think that you, dear reader, enjoy it when I do just that.

Anyway, let’s get back on track with yet another hefty theory; up next is a theory that I’m sure many of you have been waiting for. It’s something that the Chupacabra’s tied to so heavily that it’s synonymous with it. God help my poor hands because this write-up’s going to be their death. Thanks, carpal tunnel syndrome!

4. An alien

This is, without a doubt, one of the most prevalent theories when it comes to the Chupacabra. In fact, the creature has become somewhat synonymous with extraterrestrials for a multitude of reasons that we’ll get into, well, right now!

The first thing I’ll mention is that the Puerto Rican Chupacabra is very clearly extraterrestrial in appearance, resembling a Reptilian. While the spikes or quills are an abnormality (I don’t think Reptilians are depicted as having them), the creature itself resembles a hybrid of a Grey (with the large eyes) and a Reptilian (practically everything else).

Of course, having an alien appearance doesn’t immediately equate to something being an alien. If that were the case, then I believe many marine animals should be considered extraterrestrial in origin. And before you say anything, yes, I’m aware of the theory that the octopus is an alien; I’ll cover that one day.

That said, there’s more to this theory than strange appearances. For starters, there are also claims of cattle mutilations occurring during, or shortly after, anomalous lights in the sky. Sometimes, these reports are accompanied by sightings of everyone’s favorite vampiric cryptid. Yes, I’m speaking on behalf of everyone; you can’t stop me from being the spokesman for the cryptozoology community!

Joking aside, I do think it’s interesting that cattle mutilations sometimes coincide with Chupacabra sightings. Though, if they’re connected, then one has to wonder what the Chupacabra is. Is it an alien itself? A pet? Or an alien experiment—be it a creation of an Earthly animal or one from another world.

That question has bothered me ever since I was a child. Unlike the escaped government experiment theory, I struggle to think of any rational (or irrational) explanation for why aliens would bring something to Earth and let it run around unsupervised. 

Now, granted, it’s possible that the creature was capable of camouflage. This is an aspect that’s brought up on the Alien Species Wiki (where its camouflaging capabilities are compared to that of an octopus), but I can’t say I’m familiar with such a theory. Still, I suppose there’s an argument that could be made there.

That said, I don’t want to linger on the topic for too long because it’s best suited for a full-blown write-up on the Chupacabra as a whole. So, for the time being, I still think that if these extraterrestrials are so hyper-advanced that they can traverse light-years faster in the blink of an eye, they would’ve thought to put their pet on a leash.

“But wait!” screams an unidentifiable voice from the aether. “What if the Chupacabra was sent to retrieve blood samples for its alien masters?”

If aliens can drop the Chupacabra off and tell it to play fetch with the blood of chickens, goats, and other farm animals, why can’t the aliens just use their abduction beam to take a chicken or two? Is it too conspicuous to steal an animal when we puny Earthlings already commit animal theft? Come on, it’s not rocket science; aliens can’t be so intelligent that they can master the art of space travel but also be denser than a black hole!

Of course, you could counter that it’s more logical to have the Chupacabra do the work since predation by animals is more frequent than mass disappearances of animals. Besides, UFOs tend to be quite noticeable. If farmers began reporting them en masse, there’d undoubtedly be a lot more credibility to the sightings. At least, in my eyes, it stands to reason that there’d still be skeptics.

Additionally, one could argue that the Chupacabra operates in a similar manner to that of a tick in that when it feeds upon the blood of an animal, it stores the blood somewhere inside of it. If this were the case, then it’d make a lot more sense to let the creature do the dirty work. 

Assuming the Chupacabra’s capabilities are similar to that of a tick, it’d be able to store up to 100 times its body weight in blood. We’ll also pretend that the real Chupacabra is the American one since the Puerto Rican Chupacabra is more humanoid; this hypothesis relies on the creature being animal-like.

That said, let’s pretend the Chupacabra weighs around the same amount as a coyote. Averaging out the weight as best as I can, that’d put it at around 30 pounds (13.6 kilograms). That would mean it can store upward of 3,000 pounds (1,360 kilograms) of blood. That’s around the weight of a female hippo. If my math’s wrong here, feel free to throw tomatoes at me.

Regardless, I concede that that’s a wild assumption. However, it’s worth noting that hippos are notoriously fast; despite their large size and sloth-like behavior when in water, hippos can run 19 miles per hour (30 kilometers per hour) on land. If the Chupacabra’s body strength isn’t showcased in its canine-like build, or if it’s a genetically modified organism thanks to extraterrestrial experimentation, I think the assumption becomes a tad less absurd.

Genetic modification would also help explain how the Chupacabra could store so much blood. Who knows, maybe there’s some hi-tech device that allows the blood to be near weightless. It certainly wouldn’t be the wildest claim I’ve heard regarding alien technology.

Anyway, the last thing I’ll mention is that if the Chupacabra could store that much blood inside of it, it’d easily explain why aliens would let the thin run rampant on Earth. A single cow has 39 liters of blood inside of it. That’s just under a meager 86 pounds (39 kilograms). If, for whatever reason, aliens wanted to experiment on Earthly animal blood and used the Chupacabra as a means to collect that blood without being seen, it would be a ridiculously efficient way to do it.

Your mileage on such a concept is going to vary heavily, especially because this isn’t a mainstream theory surrounding the Chupacabra. Rather, it was something that sprang to my mind while I was writing this; I felt like including it because it struck me as unique. In my time reading about the Chupacabra, I’d never heard anyone propose the idea that its body operated like that of a tick.

Given that this was an idea of my own creation, I figure it’s best if I also point out the very obvious flaws. You know, in the interest of fairness. I don’t want to make it sound like this is some flawless concept.

The first and foremost issue is how this ties into Jensen’s report. Yes, I know, this write-up’s seriously digressed from that, but his story is one reason this possibility flounders—regardless of whether you treat the Chupacabra as a massively oversized tick. Why? Well, the creature only drained the blood of two pigs and left the others untouched. I’m no zoologist, but if the Chupacabra could consume 100 times its body weight like a tick, it wouldn’t be satisfied after two pigs.

At the same time, if this Chupacabra were younger, it’s possible it wasn’t capable of feeding upon as much. Again, I’m no zoologist, but I do know the younger someone or something is, the less it can generally eat. I sincerely doubt this is different for alien lifeforms unless they’re like Megalodon and spend every waking second of their lives feeding.

Additionally, Jensen didn’t mention if there’d been any other attacks on any other nearby farms. Granted, I don’t know how rural an area he lived in, but if the purpose of the Chupacabra was to collect blood samples of various animals, it stands to reason that it would be significantly more active.

I also doubt it’d steal an animal that Jensen and Gary hunted. Unless it’s sapient and took the animal away to steer clear of humans, I don’t get why it wouldn’t threaten the duo by growing or performing an intimidation display.

The last thing I’ll criticize is the description in the report. The creature that Jensen described had to have weighed a lot more; he said Stan and Alex claimed it resembled a gargoyle. This raises a serious question about how the Chupacabra could fly if—if—it was storing vast amounts of blood.

It’s possible that the Chupacabra has some means of using excess blood stored for nutrition or some other purpose, such as assisting in regulating body temperature. Is that even scientific? I don’t know at this point. I was terrible at biology when I was in school. How funny that all these years later, I’m now operating a little blog that frequently requires me to know biology.

“I’ll never need to know this in my everyday life!” I said back then. Life got the last laugh. Pay attention in school; it’ll do you wonders.

Anyway, despite these shortcomings, a part of me can’t help but think of this as my new pet theory: the Chupacabra is some sort of tick-like being that aliens use to collect blood samples from wildlife on other worlds. Maybe it’s my more imaginative side taking over, but the concept is intriguing, and I desperately want it to be true.

There is much more I could discuss and speculate upon that I simply lack the time to do. As of writing, it’s November 23; the first Decemystery entry for this year will go up in eight days. As much as I’d love to turn this into an article solely on the Chupacabra retroactively, time waits for no one, and I sure as heck am not about to throw Jensen’s story away when I want it shared with you and anyone else who reads this blog.

Because of that, I’d like to touch upon one last thing related to this theory before I round it off. Out of every theory so far, this is the one that would best explain the discrepancies between the Chupacabra’s appearance easily. If they’re alien experiments, their appearances could vary so they fit in with their environment.

In the case of what Stan and Alex saw, it’s possible that this Chupacabra was sent to the Hawaiian islands since it sported wings. Heck, the experiment likely made it capable of flying even better, so it could cross vast distances with ease.

That said, I think this theory is very much a case of “your mileage may vary.” Ignoring the whole bit about the Chupacabra being like a tick, the problems about aliens dropping off a lifeform to collect blood samples—or just because they felt like it—hamstring this heavily. While intelligent life doesn’t mean it’s infallible, there comes a point when one has to wonder how they became so advanced without inventing more efficient ways to achieve such menial tasks.

At the same time, the correlation between anomalous lights in the sky and cattle mutilation is hard to deny—at least, from the perspective of someone who believes in this stuff. Rationally, predatory animals are a dime a dozen, and given how many of them are pack animals (coyotes, for example), I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that correlation doesn’t equal causation. Still, there’s only so many times something can happen before I go, “Okay, something’s up.”

But, hey, that’s just me. Let’s move on to the next theory now, which will not only be considerably shorter but another change of pace because it’s a true Decemystery tradition.

5. An interdimensional being

And by “Decemystery tradition,” I mean that this is the last year that I let my impulsiveness get the better of me. I hate that I said I’d use this theory in every write-up this month. Alas, I am a man of my word, and I will follow through with my self-imposed challenge to use it!

Okay, I complain in jest—to a degree, anyway. This theory does have a bit going for it in the sense that it’s a niche concept floated around some cryptozoology circles. The idea is that all cryptids are from another dimension and that they occasionally appear in our world when our reality overlaps with another. This explains why cryptids appear and disappear at random and why a rash of sightings may end as quickly as they began.

I might do a full-fledged write-up on this topic one day because it’d finally allow me to stop devoting so much time to explaining this theory; I could just link you to another write-up. God willing, you’d be hooked on my writing by then!

Anyway, this theory is as it says on the tin: The Hawaiian Chupacabra originated from another dimension. Is there anything to back this up? In this case, not really. It’s a weaker-than-average example of the “interdimensional being” theory that’s become a staple of this blog. We aren’t told if the creature suddenly vanished, if it flew off into the night, if there were a string of other attacks on other farms, or if it heralded in the coming of Pennywise the Dancing Chupacabra. Jensen left all of that out, which bothers me significantly.

However, at the same time, the being’s sudden appearance and disappearance does beg the question of where it went after it fed upon Stan’s two pigs. Surely, if it was seeking food, it would’ve done more than drink their blood and (somehow) steal their organs, right? I mean, the creature stole an animal in front of Jensen and Gary. It’s clearly able to do that. Why didn’t it steal another pig or two? Did it get brought back to its dimension? Or was it too lazy to carry anything?

On the other hand, nitpicking a theory like the interdimensional being one is a very fruitless endeavor. Well, it is in my eyes. I’ve made my thoughts on it abundantly clear many times in the past, and I fail to see the need to go over it for the twentieth time in a row.

The only other thing I could mention is that I’d find it weird that this creature either remained in our universe for long enough to be seen twice by the same person. That, or that our universe overlapped with the same one in an unknown period of time, and somehow, in some inconceivable way, Jensen saw it—again. The odds of either of those have to be astronomically slim unless the creature’s interdimensional residence was the same island Jensen lived on.

Beyond that, this theory’s entirely on you. Some of you are undoubtedly on board with the concept of an interdimensional being crossing over into our world, while others are looking at this theory going, “Vertigo, why’d you insist on including this in each write-up this month?” To that question, I have one simple answer: I can’t remember. I’ve written every write-up this year without a break, just like last year; my memory’s become muddled.

Anyway, that’s the conclusion of the true believer theories, as I will hopefully start calling them. Now, let’s get our thinking caps on and move on to the rationalization theories, which start with one that I’ve been eager to discuss because it’s arguably the weakest theory in this section. So, come along; let’s become skeptics!

6. A predatory animal (AKA: A case of misidentification)

This theory is one that I briefly mentioned during the main story when I said that Hawaii has no large, native land predators—aside from one species of bat. Outside of that, the only predatory animals are wild hogs, feral cats, and large centipedes (which aren’t big enough to gorge upon pigs).

That should be the end of it; there are no mountain lions, wolves, coyotes, or bears on the Hawaiian islands. The vast majority of predators are in the ocean. Now, last I checked, a shark can’t make its way in-land to feast upon two pigs before bouncing back out without dying of asphyxiation.

However, there’s one way this could work, and that’s if someone smuggled in an exotic animal. Why do I say “smuggled”? Well, according to The Spruce Pets, a whole lot of exotic pets are illegal in Hawaii. How many? Well, here are the animals that the site lists:

• Bears. I’d love to see someone try to justify owning a bear as a pet.

• Large cats (this, presumably, means tigers, lions, leopards, jaguars, mountain lions, and cheetahs).

• Wild canines (such as coyotes and wolves).

• Wild cat and wild dog hybrids. As an aside: Alleged Chupacabra corpses have been tested and found to be coyote-wolf hybrids.

• Kangaroos. I’ll never understand why anyone would want to own a kangaroo, but to each their own.

• Wild cattle and deer. I had to look up what “wild cattle” were, and the first result I got was the Wikipedia page for Bovini. So, in other words, cows. Moo.

• Birds of prey (falcons, eagles, and a plethora of other species that I’m too lazy to name).

• Alligators. Crocodiles aren’t listed, but they’re also illegal. So, please, don’t clog the sewers of Hawaii with Lil’ Chomper.

• Geckos “and most other lizards.” Amusingly, there are geckos in Hawaii. However, I believe they’re considered an invasive species, so owning one is illegal.

• Hedgehogs. Sorry, Sonic.

• Gerbils. I won’t lie; I always forget these animals exist.

• Hamsters. I guess that the Nickelodeon broadcast case I covered at the start of the month was actually in protest of not being able to own a hamster.

• Ferrets. No one said anything about not owning a Furret, though! Checkmate, Hawaiian government!

• Snakes. Although there are snakes in Hawaii, owning one is illegal; interestingly, this is not listed on Spruce Pets’ website. Also, according to Google’s AI overview, you can be fined a whopping $200,000 and be sentenced to three years in prison. I’m guessing this goes for every other animal I just went over!

There are undoubtedly a multitude of other animals, but those (aside from snakes) are the ones that are listed by Spruce Pets. The exotic animals you can own are Guinea pigs, chinchillas, domesticated mice, domesticated rats, parakeets (I’ve owned three in my life; they’re amazing animals), and doves. I didn’t know people owned doves as pets, but they’re apparently popular pets. How quaint.

As you can tell, there are a lot of exotic animals you can’t own in Hawaii. This isn’t true for every state in the United States (you can see the various laws for them in the hyperlinked Spruce Pets article), but it is for Hawaii. Why’s that? Well, Hawaii has a very delicate ecosystem; it’s an archipelago in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Bringing in outside predators can disrupt that ecosystem, if not destroy it entirely.

Despite that, there are still people who will gleefully own exotic animals in spite of what the law says. These people are often affluent, woefully misinformed on how easy it is to take care of the animal, or both. This is one reason why a lot of people who own large snakes (such as pythons) and alligators tend to release them into the wild after they get big. Evidently, owning a large reptile isn’t as fun or easy as owning a cat or dog.

I digress, though. While the law may say one thing, there are many who are more than willing to break it. So, while this theory doesn’t hold any merit naturally, there’s very much an argument to be made about a rich person smuggling in a large predatory animal to have as a pet.

That said, two questions arise: How’d the animal get past Customs and Border Protection (assuming the animal was brought via ship) or the Transportation Security Administration (should it have been brought in via plane)? And, more importantly, what animal was it?

In the case of the former, it’s possible that the person (or people) who smuggled the animal bribed the employees to look the other way. Alternatively, they could’ve done it under the radar and under the cover of darkness.

It could’ve also belonged to an organized crime figure (possibly a high-ranking one), which would’ve prompted a lot more people to turn a blind eye. After all, there’s a general consensus amongst humans that being murdered by organized crime members is not a good thing. Or so a recent study told me. Who conducted it? Me, myself, and I.

Of course, this is purely speculation on my end. There doesn’t need to be any organized crime at play here. It could’ve just been good old-fashioned hush money. A tale as old as time: money makes the world go ‘round!

Regardless of what version you want to use, the end result would be the same: The animal somehow got loose. This is remarkably common when it comes to exotic pets. Why? Well, because unlike Sparky the Dog or Mittens the Cat, Yogi Bear isn’t going to be kept out by a white picket fence. Last I checked, they aren’t particularly good at keeping out an 800-pound (362-kilogram) brown bear.

After being freed from the long-forgotten tenth circle of Hell (the backyard), the animal would’ve gone ahead and explored the Hawaiian countryside. Really, that’s it; whatever happened to it afterward is up for debate. My guess is that the owner had a private team try to track it down so they wouldn’t get fined, arrested, or both. Given that Hawaii’s ecosystem is intact, one can surmise the animal didn’t cause that much havoc.

However, what animal could it have been? After all, the freakish beast sure as heck doesn’t sound like any known predator I’m aware of. Maybe it does to you, but I digress. Jensen claimed it was beast-like, hairy, had wings, and fiery red eyes. That immediately makes me think of a bear; at night, they can sometimes glow red.

“But what about the wings?” another voice from the aether yells out. “Bears don’t have wings!”

That may be true, but let’s not forget that this occurred at night, and it was clear that Stan and Alex were petrified by what they saw. At night, certain animals can blend into the darkness very well. Additionally, if neither had encountered a bear in their life, I doubt that they’d properly register the fact it was a bear right away.

I can vouch for that, too. When I was younger (I want to say around nine or ten), I remember hanging out with some of my friends. I started turning my head to look up the road when I saw what I thought was a cat crossing the street. However, after a couple of seconds, I realized that it wasn’t a cat. It was a black bear.

My friends were startled but also poked fun at me because it seemed absurd that I mistook a bear for a cat. Evidently, none of them had heard of “seeing something out the corner of your eye,” nor had they heard about seeing something in person for the first time.

My point is that if Stan and Alex weren’t familiar with a bear, then seeing one at night might’ve made them think it was something else entirely. The wings could’ve been the bear standing upright (since whatever attacked the pigs ripped part of the pen) or an illusion created by light, anxiety, and shadows.

Additionally, a bear’s face would best align with the gargoyle-esque appearance of the monstrosity. While the overall build wouldn’t (bears are significantly bulkier than gargoyles), I’ll point to the word “anxiety” in the previous paragraph. You try watching a non-native animal attacking your livestock without viewing it as something it isn’t.

Anyway, let’s move on. I won’t go through every single animal this could’ve been because most of them lack the necessary proportions (not to mention wings) that the Hawaiian Chupacabra sported. However, I do want to zero in on one other thing: the lack of blood and internal organs.

Let me make one thing perfectly clear: There is a process called Hematophagy that involves animals feeding on blood. So, yes, some animals do feed on blood for nutrients. However, bears are not a part of this. I don’t know if there are any conditions that make them—or any of the other potential culprits—do that, so do inform me if there are.

Regardless, this—along with the missing organs (which I cannot explain whatsoever)—is a massive issue with the theory. It’s one thing when an animal is mutilated or killed at night in a gruesome way; half-eaten carcasses can be found if a predator is disturbed while enjoying its meal. However, total exsanguination and a complete lack of internal organs is something that I cannot rationalize.

I also have no idea if any carrion feeders would’ve been able to eat the pigs’ organs without having to tear them open. I know that they eat rotting meat, but I doubt the pigs had rotted so much that they would’ve already come along to feed.

This problem isn’t exclusive to the Hawaiian Chupacabra. In fact, it’s not exclusive to the Chupacabra as a whole. If you recall earlier, I said I’d bring up an “infamous story from Brazil.” Those who are familiar with stories of extraterrestrials may be familiar with a case known as the Body in the Reservoir. 

I won’t go over this case in full because I don’t want to digress too much and because it’s extremely graphic. Despite that, it’s a prime example of mysterious exsanguination not being limited to animals. Also, I’ve somehow never talked about it on this blog. I swore I had, but I must’ve begun discussing it in an old write-up before scrapping the tangent.

On September 29, 1988, a mutilated corpse was found near the Billings Reservoir in São Paulo, Brazil. This is the second time in eight days that São Paulo has been brought up in relation to a death that some suspect extraterrestrials to be responsible for. If that isn’t weird, I don’t know what is.

As an aside, if this sounds familiar, you likely know it due to people misreporting that this occurred near the Guarapiranga Reservoir. This is incorrect, and I’ll elaborate on why later.

Anyway, the man—whose name has never been released—was 53 years old and frequented the reservoir to fish. He’d been reported missing by his family a few days prior. Upon being found, they discovered that their loved one had met one of the most disturbing ends I’ve ever read about in my 28 years on Earth.

I cannot, in good faith, describe everything that had happened to this poor man—not without entering the territory of being outright disgusting. So, rather than get into grisly details, I’ll rapidly list off what this man didn’t have.

Purportedly, the man was missing his eyes, an ear, part of his jawbone, scrotum, rectum, all of his blood, all of his internal organs, and some of his skin. He also had small holes in his body, which some theorized were made so his internal organs could be vacuumed out. 

Now, I want to say upfront that I have no idea if this is even possible. I’m not an anatomical expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I feel confident in saying that sucking out every internal organ from a human would be exceedingly difficult—if not impossible—to do from circular holes that were roughly 1.5 inches (3.8 centimeters) wide. Yes, that’s how small the holes on the man were.

If anyone with surgical experience out there can prove otherwise, I wholeheartedly welcome it; I’m not trying to be an arrogant jerk who thinks he knows better than everyone else. I would be the first to dismiss my understanding of countless topics; I’ve done it many times before on this blog. However, as far as I’m aware, organs are not sucked out with a pint-sized Hoover vacuum.

Anyway, let’s move on. The enigmatic nature of the man’s missing organs aside, there’s one detail that makes this case exceptionally terrifying. The toxicology report revealed that the man wasn’t under any sort of sedative or anesthetic, so he felt everything. While we have no idea how long he was alive, the cause of death was listed as cardiac arrest. This was likely brought about by the excruciating agony he was in.

Theories abound as to who—or what—killed this man. Some have pointed the finger at an unknown serial killer who had experience working as a surgeon, while others have claimed it was aliens. This extends to the Chupacabra, which is a popular suspect for reasons so blindingly obvious that it makes the Las Vegas Strip look darker than the Boötes Void.

I digress, though. There are countless details I left out; I may have noted that one of my friend’s sheep had its fetus removed, but what happened to this man was beyond horrific. It’s the kind of thing that would put the Terrifier movies to shame. Don’t look up those movies if you have a weak stomach.

If you want to hear the case in its entirety, I highly recommend you check out the video that Bedtime Stories did on it. While it does get into the gory details, it also does so in a manner that’s as informative as it is intriguing. It doesn’t exploit the man’s death without feeling tasteless. As such, if you enjoy the topics that my blog covers—even if you’re not a fan of my writing style—check out Bedtime Stories. It’s a fantastic channel.

That said, the reason I brought this story up is that it bears many similarities with Chupacabra victims (such as puncture wounds, exsanguination, and no internal organs). There are some who think one of them was the culprit. However, it’s worth noting that the extent of the damage done to this man was significantly greater than that of a Chupacabra victim. In fact, it reminds me more of the attacks done on my friend’s livestock than a normal Chupacabra.

Additionally, the man had holes under his armpits (as stated earlier) but also on his chest. I’ve never heard of the Chupacabra going for anywhere but the throat. That’s what most predatory animals go for since it’s the most efficient way to subdue and kill prey. Given the Chupacabra is said to be a bloodsucker, it makes little sense for it not to have drained the man of his blood by going for the neck (where the jugular is).

The crowning moment, though, if that the man had allegedly died a mere 24 hours earlier; rigor mortis hadn’t even set in. As such, whoever—or whatever—killed him did so while somehow removing all of his blood and organs, along with desecrating his body in ways that disgust me to no end.

“So, what was the point of going over this?” the voice from the aether asks. “This is a rather bizarre digression to take.”

I’m aware of that, Mr. Recurring Disembodied Voice hailing from a place in Greek mythology. However, there’s a point to it. You see, while the two pigs in Jensen’s story lacked the level of brutality on the exterior, they were missing their blood and organs.

Given that the man found in the reservoir shared the same ungodly fate, I believe it’s an interesting comparison to draw; to me, it pokes a major hole in the idea of a wild animal being behind not only the attack in his report but the Chupacabra as a whole.

While it’s undeniable that a normal animal could be responsible for the majority of Chupacabra-related deaths, it’s also hard for me to say that there isn’t more going on here. I know that the more skeptical readers of mine will scoff at that, but in my humble opinion, I can’t overlook hollowed-out animals that died overnight—not to mention a hollowed-out human—and go, “Oh, maggots and vultures did that.”

I digress once more, though. This theory’s gone on for long enough, and I think you get the point. While it’s not impossible for the Chupacabra to have been a wild animal, I wouldn’t put much stock in Jensen’s report being a case of that. Total exsanguination and being devoid of all organs is way too much for me to buy into.

Then again, I’m not the smartest man alive. So, perhaps it is possible. If it is, let me know. For now, though, we’ve got two theories left. The next one will expand upon the Chupacabra lore and tie it into what we just went over. Because of that, it’ll be shorter—to some degree, anyway. Really, the theories for this month have been so astronomically massive compared to previous years that I’m not sure how I should quantify the word “shorter.” Oh well, whatever; let’s move on to the next theory!

7. Mass hysteria

Twenty years prior to the first report of the creature that would become known as El Chupacabra, the town of Moca, Puerto Rico, was hit with a string of livestock killings. These deaths were blamed on “El vampiro de Moca,” or “The Vampire of Moca.” Others pointed a finger at a Satanic cult that was performing some sort of dark ritual.

Ultimately, this legend would spiral out of control when more and more animals were reported dead. Each had been drained of blood, and most were farm animals. As such, you could attribute the hysteria experienced with the so-called “vampire” as having directly influenced the legend of El Chupacabra and its many copycats.

That brings us to our seventh theory: Jensen’s report was the result of mass hysteria. Stan and Alex were so terrified that fear overrode logic, and what was actually a wild animal (be it an escaped wild animal or feral cat—which are a problem in Hawaii, from what I know) became a monster.

This explanation has been attributed to countless cryptid reports throughout history. In fact, I talked about it three years ago when I covered The Enfield Horror for Decemystery 2021. That write-up was an absolute nightmare to do, but it remains one of my favorites. I need to polish it, though, and expand upon it in a few areas.

Another example, and one that I outright cited in the Enfield Horror write-up, is the sightings of the Jersey Devil in 1909. To me, they’re the perfect example of mass hysteria. As such, I’d like to quickly go over them before going over this theory’s strengths and weaknesses; it’ll help to frame what I’m getting at.

Between January 16 and January 23 of 1909, there was a tsunami of reports of the so-called “Jersey Devil” from not only southern New Jersey but also Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Delaware. Evidently, even New Jersey’s home state cryptid doesn’t want to live in New Jersey. That’s what happens when your state has the highest property tax rate in the country!

A few of the most noteworthy incidents involve one instance where the creature purportedly attacked a trolley. In another case, the beast supposedly flew down and tore out a chunk of a woman’s dog before flying off. Like I said during the Enfield Horror write-up, I believe the dog survived.

Just like in that write-up, I’m unable to remember where I first read that report. I swore it was in Michael Newton’s Encyclopedia of Cryptozoology, but I checked it while writing this, and, to my bewilderment, the story wasn’t included. In fact, the entry on the Jersey Devil is surprisingly sparse. I guess my memory’s failing me more than I initially thought.

I digress, though. These sightings, along with numerous others, led to frenzied media coverage—not only in New Jersey but in the aforementioned three states. It’s thanks to that callous reporting that residents became paranoid of every tree branch shadow, which undoubtedly led to countless fake reports when someone heard the cry of a fox or stray cat (both of which can sound weird). On top of that, schools were shut down, and people were too scared to go to work.

In an attempt to put an end to the Jersey Deivl’s reign of terror, many residents took up roles as vigilantes and attempted to hunt the monster down. Realizing this, the Philadelphia Zoo put a $10,000 bounty on its head. I bet you that the average Eagles fan could’ve caught the thing overnight nowadays.

The bounty was never claimed, but a bunch of people tried to create hoaxes with kangaroos by strapping wings to them. How on Earth these people got their hands on kangaroos is beyond me, and I don’t think I want to know because it might cause my brain to implode like a dying star. However, I’m sure that if you’re able to find the Jersey Devil, you could try to still claim it. Well, maybe. I don’t know if they ever rescinded it.

Anyway, these sightings are now generally dismissed as nothing more than mass hysteria caused by sensationalism. Yes, even back then, sensationalism existed. You can thank William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer for that; it’s called “Yellow Journalism.” Perhaps I’ll write about their potential influence on cryptozoology one day. That would be fun!

Anyway, with that said, two things did come out of the vacuous reporting. The first is that The Evening Bulletin Philadelphia created the now iconic sketch of the chimerical Jersey Devil. If you don’t know which I’m referring to, here it is.

The second is that these reports helped to cement the Jersey Devil as one of the most recognizable legends in the United States. As I’ve said in the past, it’s so famous that New Jersey’s hockey team, the New Jersey Devils, is named after the creature.

Now that your history lesson on New Jersey’s most well-known cryptid is done, I say it’s about time we get back on track. The reason I went over Jersey Devil is because of the hysteria that surrounds the 1909 sightings. It’s possible—and I stress that the keyword is possible—there were reports, sights, or both of something prior to what Jensen’s family saw that fateful night.

Keep in mind that Jensen’s report was submitted in (or around—I don’t know exactly how About’s submissions functioned) 2005. That was a mere decade after the first Chupacabra sighting, and it was at the height of the creature’s popularity. I was 9 years old at the time, but I recall National Geographic, along with similar channels, having a lot of shows and specials about the cryptid.

Had there been livestock mutilations—or disappearances—in the area at the time, and the group was familiar with the Chupacabra due to the notoriety it had garnered over the years, they may have been inadvertently influenced and mistaken an escaped exotic pet for the Chupacabra. Of course, I don’t know if this had happened on whichever Hawaiian island Jensen resided on, so it’s equally as possible that my speculation is weightless.

Should it not be, I’d add that adrenaline and fear are two key factors that can lead to misidentification. Both can easily override logic; I’ve discussed before how my fears of insects, arachnids, and myriapods (centipedes and millipedes, for those who don’t know) tend to linger in my mind. More often than not, the memories I have of them create them as being larger than they actually were. Why? Well, I’m terrified of them.

If Stan and Alex—and whoever else in Jensen’s family looked out the window at the creature—saw two pigs being feasted upon, I doubt their minds would immediately go to, “Oh, that’s just a predator.” After all, Hawaii—as discussed earlier—lacks native predatory mammals. While they were undoubtedly familiar with animals like bears and coyotes, it’s a whole different experience to actually see one.

Couple that with it being night and shadows being a lot more menacing when the sun’s gone down, and I’d say that you have the perfect cocktail for mistaking the ordinary for something extraordinary.

This explanation is also a highly probable explanation for many of the Chupacabra sightings in Puerto Rico. Given the creature’s ever-changing appearance and the remarkably strange abilities it purportedly had (like the nausea-inducing eyes and being able to leap over entire buildings), it’s possible that mass hysteria led people to exaggerate the proportions and appearance.

Of course, there’s also the possibility that the media had nothing to do with it, and the paranoia was birthed from local rumors about a string of livestock deaths being the work of the Chupacabra. If this spooked Stan and Alex enough, it’d stand to reason that this is what caused them to panic and mistake an escaped animal for the vampiric monstrosity.

However, the issues of the previous theories are still at play here. The lack of an adequate explanation about the pigs’ exsanguination and organ removal is impossible to turn a blind eye to. While carrion feeders could be responsible for the lack of organs, there’d be discernible marks if they’d been around. I have a hard time believing that a farmer wouldn’t recognize their handiwork.

Additionally, this theory can’t explain the second sighting that Jensen and Gary experienced. Hysteria and paranoia can certainly play a role when it comes to seeing something odd in the dark. However, when it comes to someone seeing a monster taking their kill like it’s an opportunistic thief, I’m less inclined to buy into it.

Overall, I think this theory’s got a lot going for it in the way of precedent. However, it suffers from the same shortcomings as the previous one, which leads to it being hamstrung to no end. If Jensen misremembered some details, then I’d be more open to it. Alas, all we can do is trust his word. Coincidentally, the final theory will call into question that very thing; the hoax theory is next, and I saved it for last because I felt like it. What, did you expect something unique? Nope, not today.

Also, on one final note, I wanted to find out how much the bounty that the Philadelphia Zoo put up would be worth nowadays. The Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) has a calculator that only goes back to January of 1913. According to them, as of October 2024, that bounty would be a whopping $322,106.12. Meanwhile, the website In 2013 Dollars has data from 1909, but I don’t know how accurate it is. Regardless, they put the value at $346,883.52. No wonder people were trying to fool them into paying out! Anyway, on to the final theory!

8. A hoax

Okay, so I kind of lied. There is one unique reason that I held off on this theory, and that’s because it’s the only one where I’m not going to get into the greater Chupacabra lore. Why? Because if I do, I’m confident I’ll be here for the next seven months dissecting every minuscule detail.

Let me get the most obvious thing out of the way: People make stuff up on the Internet all the time. Heck, if I wanted, I could start posting stories that I made up daily and claim I found them in some super rare book to see who would believe me. Would people believe me? Most likely not, but some might, and it’s possible they’d get circulated online.

That concept is how Go For A Punch! (AKA: Saki Sanobashi) came to be—in a sense, anyway. If you want to know more about that story, I beg of you to go read this Decemystery’s inaugural write-up because I don’t want to sit here and retype everything about that story again; this article has made my hands want to file a restraining order against me.

Have I ever mentioned how much carpal tunnel syndrome sucks? Because, believe me, it really sucks. The jury’s out on if it sucks as much as the Chupacabra, though.

My complaining aside, I can’t deny that Jensen’s case is one of the rare instances in which a case from About’s archives has made me deeply suspicious. Everything from the displacement of the Chupacabra to the numerous issues surrounding the ecological aspects and even the legal problems (since you’d think there’d be some uproar about a person owning an illegal pet in Hawaii).

Given the rise in fame (and infamy) that the Chupacabra saw around the mid-2000s, it stands to reason that Jensen may have wanted to throw a wrench in the circus by crafting this own made-up encounter with the cryptid. Why, exactly, is up for debate; Jensen could’ve been a skeptic or merely wanted to mess with people. Heck, he could’ve been bored and wanted to see if his case would be posted.

Regardless, I don’t think that Jensen would’ve had a hard time making up a story; the Chupacabra’s one of the easiest cryptids to create a false report around. Heck, I’ll make up one to show you; here’s my impromptu “encounter.”

I’m a farmer in Iowa. I own a few chickens, pigs, and cows. One night, I was awoken by the squealing of the pigs. I figured coyotes had wandered onto my property, so I grabbed my rifle and went outside. I wasn’t exactly thrilled. I was exhausted from the previous day’s work. My vision isn’t the best at night, either.

Upon stepping outside, I approached the pig pen. However, instead of being greeted by a few coyotes, I saw something else. It looked like a canine, yet it simultaneously didn’t. It was like an alien’s attempt at creating one.

This… thing had spikes running down its back, like a porcupine. Its eyes glowed red—it reminded me of the stories I’d heard about Black Shuck. It was also rather a bit larger than a coyote. I couldn’t discern exactly how big, but it was bulkier, and it had two prominent fangs that reminded me of a vampire.

I figured it must’ve been a diseased wolf, so I readied my gun to shoot it. But the creature let out this bizarre scream before it bounded off. The sound was unlike any animal I’ve ever heard—and I’ve heard countless animal cries in my life. I was also astonished by its speed.

I went inside and figured I’d wait until the morning to investigate further. I didn’t want to tempt fate and risk being attacked when it was night outside. When daylight broke, I went outside and discovered that one of my pigs had been drained of blood. The flesh was completely untouched—aside from two puncture wounds in its neck.

I have no idea what I saw that night, but the closest thing that comes to it is the Chupacabra. I figured it was some myth that had been made to explain coyote attacks. Now, I’m not so sure.

As you can tell, it’s shockingly simple to make one up if you have even the faintest understanding of the creature. The only cryptid that I’d say is easier to fake is Bigfoot since everyone and their grandmother knows what Bigfoot is.

While I often criticize the notion of people submitting fake stories to About due to the apparent lack of a comments section, I can’t deny that the Chupacabra’s basic nature makes it a prime target for a skeptic to slap something together. I mean, it took me all of five or so minutes to write my story. I doubt Jensen would’ve had that much of a hard time writing his if he knew the basics of it.

Additionally, the mock-up I wrote has many of the same pitfalls that many stories from About have. It lacks a lot of details (outside of the barest of barebones descriptions), any specific location outside of “Iowa,” and most importantly, it doesn’t provide a date. While the location could be in the interest of privacy (which is completely understandable), a story like Jensen’s would benefit heavily from it for reasons I’ve already gone over.

Anyway, how does this point toward it being a hoax? Well, if you’re going to be serious about describing what you saw, you’d want to paint a picture as clearly as possible. If you can’t recall certain things, you’d make a note of that. I do this frequently when I do these write-ups. If I don’t know a detail or have forgotten something, I’ll say so. This is in the interest of transparency and honesty.

Now, granted, it’s likely that many of these eyewitnesses didn’t think to include that because it slipped their minds or they preferred not remembering everything they saw (I doubt that seeing a Chupacabra is as pleasant as going on a vacation to Hawaii with your boyfriend or girlfriend). Both are perfectly acceptable reasons, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be a sign of a hoax.

That isn’t the only thing backing this theory up, though, far from it. There’s also the matter of not knowing if any additional attacks took place before or after the one on Stan’s farm. I brought this up earlier in the write-up, but I want to expand upon it a bit more because it’s a crucial bit of missing evidence, especially when you look at it in a few different ways.

For starters, by not specifying this, there’s no way to determine if this was a one-off attack or a part of something bigger. When you send in a report about something like the Chupacabra, a cryptid that’s actively predatorial, it’s imperative that you elaborate on whether there were any similar deaths.

If you fail to do so, you end up making the creature sound like any other ordinary predator. Remember, the Chupacabra got famous for draining the blood (and sometimes organs) of its victims. That isn’t in line with a coyote. Couple that with this being in Hawaii, and I have to wonder if Jensen was either completely ignorant of the concept of details or rushed his hoax report.

That said, out of sheer curiosity, I figured I’d Google “Hawaii cattle mutilation” to see if there had been any recent reports. If nothing else, it’s let me find out if these types of reports had any basis on the United States’ fiftieth state.

Unsurprisingly (to me, anyway), there were. Two of the three immediate results were articles from Hawaii News Now: one from December 10, 2020, and one from April 23, 2023. The first article was from Maui, which is the second-largest Hawaiian island. The second, meanwhile, was from Austin, Texas. Now, I’m no geographical maestro, but I don’t think Texas and Hawaii are particularly close.

I was tempted to dig further, but this write-up has already evolved into something far bigger than I could have ever fathomed. Such is the theme of this month; I tried my best to keep things short, but I ended up creating something bigger than a hypothetical organ donation clinic run by Art the Clown.

The last thing I want to address is the second encounter that Jensen had with the creature. Look, I’ll be upfront and say that the idea of this monstrosity swooping down and taking his and Gary’s kill before flying off sounds insane.

I understand that Hawaii is almost completely rural, but the idea that this thing was out and about flying without a care in the world is insane. If it was hunting like this, how is it not one of the most well-documented cryptids in the United States? Its definition of subtlety is on par with that of the Borderlands franchise.

Man, I can’t wait for Borderlands 4, by the way. I’m so hyped.

Anyway, that’s what works in this theory’s favor. Suffice it to say, there’s a considerable amount—something that’s not all-to-frequent when it comes to cases from About. However, there are two sides to every coin, so let’s move on to where this theory falters. Well, the few areas it does.

The first and most obvious issue is one that I’m obligated to bring up whenever it comes to a story from About: What benefit is there from doing it? While I directly addressed the possibilities of why earlier, it still strikes me as odd that there was no apparent comments section. Given that the Chupacabra was prominent in the cryptozoological community’s eye circa 2005, you’d think Jensen would want to tell his story so cryptid enthusiasts could showcase their gullibility.

The second issue is more of a fault of my own: I could very well be missing a string of cattle mutilation incidents from Hawaii that’d align perfectly with Jensen’s report.

I cannot stress how important it is to remember this. Earlier in the write-up, I mentioned that I was writing this on November 23. As of this part, it’s now November 27. I’ve spent a great deal of time writing this, but not with any sense of consistency.

Needless to say, this write-up has been plagued by setbacks that, more than once, I began to worry if it’d be the death of Decemystery 2024 due not only to its enormous length but also my constant emotional breakdowns.

Normally, I would’ve devoted a bit of time to looking around for something to correlate this story to, even if I was taking a complete shot in the dark. Given that I didn’t do that this time, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you, dear reader, not to jump to conclusions. There’s a very good possibility that Jensen could be telling the truth, but I failed to find anything. For that, I hope you can forgive me.

There’s also the matter of Jensen having legitimately forgotten to include a vast amount of information. While I criticized him for this, there’s no reason to doubt that he had his reasons to do so. I still think it’s more questionable that he didn’t do it, but to deny the possibility that he omitted them for one reason or another would be reckless.

The final thing I’ll note is that the first sighting was from Stan and Alex—Jensen’s uncle and father. It didn’t sound like Jensen himself saw the creature but was relayed information by them at a later point. If Jensen had seen the creature the first time, he didn’t convey that very well (in my eyes).

That means there’s a possibility that the creature Jensen saw wasn’t the same thing. That makes this entire story all the more confusing; I need to listen to some Rammstein to clear my head while I contemplate how I got to this point in my life. Alexa, play Sonne.

Joking aside, I consider this to be one of the strongest theories. While I’m disappointed that my mental health (not to mention the time constraints) prevented me from digging deeper to find more information to try and correlate Jensen’s story in a fairer manner, I won’t deny that the things pointing against it are incomprehensibly difficult for me to overlook.

Nevertheless, I leave the door open to being proven wrong. I am not one to outright deny that something like this happened, especially when I have heard far weirder stories than it. Anyway, let’s move on to the meme theory so I can finally get to my take on this wild story!

9. Batsquatch when he was on vacation

Unsatisfied with messing with the people of Washington state, Batsquatch booked a first-class flight to Hawaii to terrorize the folks there. Rumor has it that he’s now wanted on 7 of the 8 major Hawaiian islands. Some claim he got his arrest warrant voided in Oʻahu due to his community work of “warding off anyone who tries to kill the sharks by scaring them half to death.”

My Take

Here’s a fun little fact for you, dear reader: While writing this, I found an episode from a show called Strange Evidence that had an episode involving a supposed Chupacabra from Hawaii, but I didn’t watch it because I lacked the time. I know that’s lazy of me, but I think I deserve a bit of slack after going through this absolute monster of a write-up. But I digress; I figured I’d point that out,

As for my take, there’s not one, not two, not three, but four theories that I think could work here: It was a different cryptid, it was an alien, it was an escaped exotic pet, or it was an outright hoax. I’ll go through all four as quickly as I can since I know that this write-up’s been colossal, and I don’t want to make you endure another few thousand words of rambling.

In the case of the first, I certainly think it’s possible this was something akin to the Batsquatch. There are similarities, though I have to admit that I don’t know much about Batsquatch’s dietary preferences. If it’s prone to bloodsucking and somehow sucking out organs, then that’s a point in its favor. However, as it stands, the appearance is what gets me.

Also, funnily enough, I wrote that theory so long ago that I forgot most of what I’d written. Thanks, bipolar!

I digress once more, though. While the theory is easily the flimsiest of the four that I think could work, the concept itself rings true to me in some capacity. Besides, who says that Hawaii can’t have its own winged humanoid cryptid? If Washington State can have one, so can Hawaii!

Anyway, as for the alien theory, I’d say this is the more likely of the two “True Believer” theories. I already went over the logic behind aliens making different types of Chupacabras, so I think it’s safe to say why I’d call this the more plausible.

However, I’m still iffy since we don’t know if there were any lights in the sky before or after the incident. It’s a pity since if we did, I’d be inclined to let my inner alien enthusiast jump to conclusions here for the heck of it.

As for the escaped animal, I’m very confident this could’ve been the case. At least, up until we get to the part about the complete lack of blood and organs; after that, I’m at a total loss.

Despite that, the idea that this was an escaped animal demands to be mentioned. Animal smuggling is very prolific—it’s the fourth largest type of trafficking on the planet. If there was someone in Hawaii who wanted an exotic animal and had it smuggled in under the radar but had no idea how to care for it, there’s a chance that was the culprit.

It’s too bad that one issue exists. God, I hate loose ends.

Last but not least is the hoax theory. Honestly, this is the theory that makes the most sense to me based on everything I know. As much as that frustrates me to admit, the facts I knowledge I have point in its direction. There are simply too many logical flaws that dictate it.

Now, of course, I do maintain that my limited time and hindrances could be leading me down a false path. However, this section is based on what I have at the present time, and I’m not about to make an exception for this one write-up and go with what my heart wants the so-called “Hawaiian Chupacabra” to be.

As far as I’m concerned, Jensen made the whole thing up. Purely from an ecological standpoint, this story’s impossible. Everything else, like the missing organs, may as well be nothing more than an accessory.

Now, with all of that said, I want to touch upon two things that I didn’t mention in the theories. The first are my thoughts on the Billings Reservoir body. I’d written up my take on what might have happened to the victim, but I opted to shift it here so the flow of the theory didn’t get wonky.

Personally, the most likely culprit for this grisly murder—in my eyes—was a cartel or gang. It’s possible he had seen something he wasn’t meant to or had crossed someone he shouldn’t have and was savagely tortured before being killed. Then, his organs were removed through some surgical means, while any pieces left over were eaten by maggots.

Additionally, the case was apparently hidden from the public until someone leaked it. The information about the man’s body being found near the Billings Reservoir is also thought to have been a part of a cover-up. So, if I had to make a guess, I’d say that a lot of details are incorrect on purpose, or there’s a lot we’re not aware of.

While it’s not a fantastical explanation, I believe it to be more likely than aliens inexplicably murdering a human on a random day. Of course, that’s my opinion as it stands; it’s highly likely that it will change by the time I cover the story in full, which—God willing—is going to be next year.

As an addendum, there’s another story like this one that you can find on the Fortean Map in Honduras. It’s labeled as the “Honduran Vampire Phenomenon,” and it’s a pretty interesting case. A brief summary is that a couple of people have been killed and drained of blood. Some suspect a vampire or El Chupacabra to be the culprit. If you want to read more about it, Soul Ask has an article on it. I might cover it next year, but I don’t know if I want to revisit the Chupacabra a third year in a row; this write-up’s left me sucked dry.

God, that was a terrible pun.

The second and final thing I want to mention relates to the topic of Dulce Base, which I brought up in the government experiment theory. If anyone is from or has been to Dulce, I would love to know if the claim about the locals embracing the legend is true. If it is, I’d love to visit Dulce and see what sort of souvenirs they have. As I said, the base is said to have a place called Nightmare Hall. There have to be some wicked and downright crazy products folks have made, right? I’d love to see ‘em!

Conclusion

So, before I get to the proper outro, how about I let you know my thoughts about the Chupacabra itself—the real deal, that is.

In my humble opinion, the fourth theory—that it was an alien—is what I think. Do I think they’re alien experiments? Possibly, but I don’t know for certain. It’s one of my quirkier and more oddball beliefs. While I doubt that alien abductions exist and that aliens don’t come here to slaughter or mingle with humans (like some people have claimed), I wouldn’t put it past a hyper-advanced species to be interested in mixing animal DNA out of sheer fascination.

That may sound like a baffling idea, but when you look at how popular the concept of fusion is in entertainment media, I think there’s an argument to be made about extraterrestrials wanting to fuse Earthly animal DNA with DNA from otherworldly animals.

Why they decided to drop their science experiments off on our planet, I couldn’t tell you, but the tick idea I proposed is something that resonates with me (though, hey, that’s biased). Alternatively, their eyes could be recording stuff. With aliens, the possibilities are limitless.

I will not make that joke again, I promise.

What I will say is that I’m unashamed to say that I began tearing up while doing this write-up on more than one occasion. Not just because of my bipolar but because I dreamt about being able to talk about the Chupacabra as a kid. Cryptozoology was one of my favorite topics as a child, and I always wanted to talk about the topic in a meaningful manner in some way, shape, or form.

While I’d said that I wanted to focus on Jensen’s case, it became painfully evident after a while that my heart demanded that I talk about the greater lore behind the creature. Perhaps that was a bit of the hypomania. Perhaps that was me just losing focus. Whatever the case may be, this write-up was nothing short of a childhood dream come true—something that I thought could only exist in children’s storybooks.

But, as it turns out, dreams can come true—and this write-up will forever be proof of that to me. I am, in no uncertain terms, beyond happy with how much I got to discuss one of my favorite cryptids and legends. The Chupacabra was a childhood icon to me; I remember wondering if it could be real. While I may be skeptical of Jensen’s case, I’m of the opinion that there’s more to the creature than we think.

As such, if you read through everything that I typed, I cannot thank you enough. I know that I’m prone to repeating myself, tangents, and digressions and that my writing style is unorthodox when it comes to these types of stories.

Despite that, if you still read through this entire write-up without skipping vast swaths of it, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It means the world to me that you were willing to experience this childhood dream of mine, and I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.

Okay, that’s more than enough sappiness and rambling from yours truly. This write-up’s been an absolute mammoth, and I want to move on to the next one so that I can hopefully spend Christmas with my family and not in my bedroom typing the final write-ups to the point I hit burnout.

So, on one final note, I want you to tell me what you think Jensen saw, and let me know if you think that the Chupacabra is a mere myth or if there’s something that lurks in the shadows, waiting to ambush livestock when the lights in a farmhouse go out. The comments are always open for you to give me your thoughts, dear reader, and as always, stay happy, stay healthy, and thank you for reading!