The Golden Tapir of Chaco

The Call of the Chaco

Diego had always been drawn to the unknown. It was why he became a biologist in the first place—to uncover the hidden, to understand what others dismissed as myth.

At twenty-eight, he had spent the last five years studying the wildlife of South America. He had tracked jaguars through the Amazon, cataloged bird species in the Pantanal, and even spent months with the Ayoreo, one of the last uncontacted tribes of the Chaco. But nothing fascinated him more than the legend of the Tapir de Oro.

His grandfather had first told him the story when he was a child, spinning tales of a giant tapir covered in golden fur, glowing under the moonlight. "Those who see it," his grandfather had warned, "are never the same again."

Now, standing in the dusty heat of Filadelfia, a remote settlement on the edge of the Chaco, Diego felt that same childhood wonder creeping back. He wasn’t just here to research wildlife—he was chasing a legend.

His team consisted of five people:

- Esteban Morales, an experienced tracker and guide who had spent his life navigating the Chaco.

- Lucía Ortega, a zoologist with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue.

- Miguel Rojas, the team’s youngest member, a fresh-faced field assistant eager to prove himself.

- Dr. Javier Contreras, a veteran ethnobotanist studying the medicinal plants of the Chaco.

Their mission was simple: explore the deep forest, document any unusual wildlife, and, if they were lucky, find evidence of the Golden Tapir.

But luck, as Diego would soon learn, is not always a good thing.

Into the Unknown

The journey into the Chaco was brutal.

The heat was oppressive, wrapping around them like a living thing. Sweat dripped from their brows, soaking their clothes. The air smelled of dry earth, distant rain, and the unmistakable musk of unseen animals lurking just beyond the trees.

They moved slowly, cutting through the dense undergrowth with machetes. The thorny trees of the Chaco were unlike anything Diego had encountered before—twisted and gnarled, their bark sharp enough to draw blood.

"Stay alert," Esteban warned. "This land doesn't forgive mistakes."

By the third day, they began finding signs—large, rounded tracks in the mud near a riverbank. Tapir tracks.

But something was wrong.

The footprints were too large for any known tapir species, and the distance between them suggested an unusual gait. Diego crouched down, running his fingers over the impressions in the earth.

"This... this isn't normal," he murmured.

Lucía knelt beside him. "If this is a new species, we’re about to make history."

But history, as they would soon discover, was written in blood.

The First Sign

By the fifth day, the jungle had changed.

The once lively sounds of birds and insects had faded into an eerie silence. Even the wind had stopped, leaving only the dull thud of their boots on the earth.

Miguel was the first to notice it.

"There’s something watching us," he whispered.

Lucía scoffed. "Probably just a jaguar. They stalk but rarely attack humans."

Miguel shook his head. "This is different."

Then it happened.

As they pushed through a dense patch of vegetation, Miguel let out a sharp cry. They turned to see him clutching his arm, blood dripping between his fingers.

"Something scratched me," he gasped, eyes wide. "But... I didn’t see anything."

Diego felt a chill crawl up his spine.

Then they heard it—a low, guttural growl, deep and resonant. Not a jaguar. Not anything they recognized.

And then, in the dappled light of the jungle, they saw movement.

A shadow. A shimmer of gold.

The Curse Unveiled

By the time they made camp that night, Miguel was feverish. His wound, which should have been a simple scratch, had turned black at the edges. Strange, vein-like patterns spread up his arm, creeping toward his shoulder.

Dr. Contreras examined him, shaking his head. "This isn’t normal. It’s like an infection, but… something else. I’ve never seen anything like it."

That night, none of them slept.

Somewhere beyond the trees, the jungle was alive with strange sounds—whispers, almost human, drifting through the darkness.

Then, just before dawn, Diego saw it.

A figure stood at the edge of the clearing.

A tapir. But not just any tapir.

Its body was massive, covered in golden fur that shimmered under the moonlight. Its eyes were dark, impossibly deep, as if they contained something ancient.

It watched them.

For a moment, Diego felt frozen, as if the creature was looking not at him, but through him.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished.

Escape and Legacy

The next morning, Miguel was dead.

His body was stiff, his skin marked with dark veins that had spread across his chest. His expression was one of terror, his mouth frozen mid-scream.

They fled.

No one spoke as they cut through the jungle, moving as fast as they could. The land seemed different now—hostile, as if it knew they had seen something they were never meant to see.

By the time they reached Filadelfia, they were barely more than shadows of their former selves.

Days later, back in Asunción, Diego tried to write down what had happened.

But he never published his findings.

Some things are better left unknown.

And deep in the Chaco, beneath the glow of the moon, the Golden Tapir still roamed.

Waiting.

The End.