I'm a regular reader of articles about the Chupacabras, and I thought I'd share my story. I live in the northern tip of Perth, Western Australia. Life here is very pleasant. We have the ability to travel vast distances, and once we leave the metropolitan areas, it's rare to encounter inhabited areas that are very far apart. Perth is geographically the most isolated city in the world. Most of the surrounding area is bushland, never visited by anyone. If you look at a map of Western Australia, you'll understand what I mean.
Since getting my driver's license, I've been taking road trips to small towns. I enjoy driving long distances alone, though I occasionally take a friend along. I'm a true nature lover, if I may say so. My most frequent destination for off-road trips is a small town north of Perth, an hour and 20 minutes' drive away. It's called Lancelin. We go there, surf all day, then stop at a local bar for a meal and head home. The road is long and good, with bushland on both sides. It's called the Great Northern Highway, and traffic is very light.
With these details as the background to my story, I can move on to describe the events that took place on the evening of December 12, 1997.
The night was relatively cool. It was early summer, but the air was still quite cool, and the moon was nearly full. That evening, I took my usual hike to Lancelin with a friend who had asked me to take him along, claiming he was bored. I'd just gotten back from an argument with my mom. I wanted to get away from it all and be alone with the road ahead of me and the dark, starry sky above. And Jimmy Barnes on the stereo.We left at 8:15 PM and headed towards the northern part of Wanneroo, which runs along the edge of Yanchep National Park. It was pitch black, and my headlights were on full blast. We were both smoking and listening to the radio when a kangaroo suddenly jumped out onto the road right in front of the car. These kinds of accidents are common here, so I wasn't surprised. The kangaroo, as usual, stood still and stared at the headlights. I slammed on the brakes and stopped two inches short of it. The kangaroo snorted and skidded across the road. It was a real bummer. It gave us a fright. I looked around, checked for any approaching traffic, and slowly moved on.
As I turned from the gravel verge onto the road, I heard the squealing sound of wild boars. Wild boars are rare north of Perth. I know there are hundreds of them south, but here? I doubt it. My friend heard the squeal too and looked at me in surprise. I asked him if he wanted to take a look around. He said that if he got out of the car, he would blast anything in sight with the full force of Jimmy Barnes' 150 decibels. I told him not to be silly and that I just wanted to find out what was making the squeal. I probably wouldn't be able to see anything anyway, as there were no lights nearby except my own.
In the glove compartment by the steering wheel, I had a small flashlight and a military knife. When I picked them up, my friend said I looked like I was very hungry and about to go hunting. Very funny. I opened the door and listened for a moment. All I could hear were the crickets and a sort of short, labored breathing, like a tired kangaroo.I walked into the undergrowth about two meters to the left of the car and saw something incredible, something I'd never seen before. I was shocked and stunned at the same time. I thought I was hallucinating. I crouched down and froze, knife in one hand, flashlight in the other. About five meters away, two large, red, piercing eyes were visible in the undergrowth next to a rubber tree. They were half the diameter of a tennis ball and almost glowing. One side was brighter than the other, probably due to the moonlight reflecting off their glassy surface.
The next thing I remember was another screech and the thing moving 10 feet to the side and 6 feet forward. It was on the road, illuminated by my headlights. I knew my friend had seen it too, because he was calling out to me, insisting I get back in the car and get out of there. I backed away and got in. We closed the windows and doors. I turned down the radio and started wondering what it was. It was still visible. It was sitting on the road, bobbing its head up and down as if it were eating something.
There was absolute silence for a minute, then it moved toward the roadside. We felt like we were in a zoo, peering through thick, transparent panels at a deadly beast, knowing we could safely stick our noses right up to it. I knew it couldn't see us because our lights blinded it. When it emerged from the undergrowth, it was completely disoriented. It was unlike anything we'd ever seen before, not even on television. It was hairy like a chimpanzee, with long, tangled hair, a large head, and teeth. I know there's no animal in Australia with teeth that big, let alone in the Perth area!
His huge carnivorous teeth protruded above his lower lip, and his eyes burned like coals. Even the interior of the car exuded a foul stench, as if of sulfur. It smelled like a mixture of blood and sweat, laced with sulfur—utter rot.It was half-walking, half-standing, bouncing as it moved, as if sniffing the air. It never took its eyes off the car. It held part of a kangaroo in its mouth, probably a companion of the one we almost ran over. It had large, pointy ears and no tail. Standing on all fours, it was about 3 feet tall, and standing upright, it was nearly 5 feet tall. I also noticed it had a flattened nose like a Pekingese's. It was making terrible noises, squealing and snorting, as if it were about to die or something.
My friend whispered to me that I should rev the engine, release the clutch, and try to hit it. Since it was quietly eating its lunch on the road, oblivious to us, I decided it was a good idea. I slowly pressed the clutch in and shifted into first gear. I accelerated for a count of three and released the clutch. The wheels spun. The thing froze for a moment and looked at us. Then it glanced toward the bushes and, in a split second, shot up with its meal, as if it had springs for legs. I missed.
As we drove away, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw it in the rubber tree, right above where I'd first spotted it before it entered the road. It was still clutching its kill. Needless to say, we didn't stop again. I'd had enough.
I've never spoken to anyone about this incident. I was hoping that someone out there in the wide world would shed light on what we saw that night. I haven't spoken to my friend about it because, after what happened that night, he's terrified of animals. Personally, I'm a kind animal lover and would do anything for them. My friend, on the other hand, is quite the opposite.
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