Every Tuesday night in a strip mall off I-10, nine attendees gather to talk feelings, rebrand their diets, and ask the world to please stop calling them monsters.

PHOENIX, AZ — It started, as so many things in the Valley of the Sun do, with a folding table, a box of store-brand donuts, and a deep, existential need to be understood. Nine weeks ago, a small group of chupacabras — yes, those chupacabras — quietly incorporated what they are calling the Greater Phoenix Chupacabra Collective, a weekly support group dedicated to reframing what its founding members describe as ‘dietary lifestyle choices’ and combating what one attendee called ‘centuries of absolutely brutal PR.’ WTC News was granted limited access to observe the group’s seventh meeting, held inside a vacant unit at the Cactus Pointe Plaza between a closed smoothie franchise and a nail salon that asked us not to mention them by name.

The group, which currently counts nine regular attendees, was founded by a chupacabra who goes by the preferred name Gerald — he declined to provide a last name, citing ‘ongoing privacy concerns and one outstanding situation in Tucson.’ Gerald told me he got the idea after stumbling across a podcast about intuitive eating. ‘I realized I had never once framed what I do as a choice,’ he said, adjusting what appeared to be a carefully pressed collar. ‘I was just reacting to stigma. I was letting the narrative happen to me. That stops now.’ The group meets every Tuesday at 8 p.m., which Gerald noted is ‘after the worst of the heat, but honestly still too hot, we’re not immune to weather, people assume we are.’

Community Notice

Misconceptions on the Menu

A significant portion of each meeting, according to multiple attendees I spoke with, is dedicated to addressing what the group calls ‘The Big Three Myths’: that chupacabras drain livestock entirely dry, that they act purely out of malice, and that they have no concept of portion control. ‘That last one is genuinely offensive,’ said a member who identified herself only as Diane. ‘I am very mindful. I track. I have a whole system.’ Diane showed me what appeared to be a small leather-bound journal. I did not ask to see the contents. The group has also drafted a two-page document titled ‘Feeding: A Nuanced Conversation,’ which they plan to submit to the Maricopa County public health website, assuming they can figure out the online submission portal, which Gerald described as ‘a labyrinth designed by someone who has never met a cryptid or a human.’

We are not monsters. Well — technically, yes, some taxonomies classify us that way, and we’re working with a consultant on that language. But emotionally? Emotionally we are just creatures trying to live with dignity and get ahead of the news cycle for once.

— Gerald, Founding Member, Greater Phoenix Chupacabra Collective

The group’s public image efforts extend beyond the factsheet. Three members are reportedly active on a private social media account — platform undisclosed — where they post what Diane described as ‘approachable content.’ This includes nature photography, wellness check-ins, and at least one viral-adjacent video of Gerald attempting to make a smoothie. ‘The smoothie was not successful,’ Gerald confirmed, ‘but the engagement was strong and I think it humanized us, which is the whole point, even if humanized is a complicated word for us specifically.’ The group has also floated the idea of a community open house, though that proposal is currently tabled pending what the meeting minutes described as ‘unresolved questions about liability and appetizers.’

A Safe Space With Fangs

Beyond the PR strategy and the dietary reframing, what struck me most about the Greater Phoenix Chupacabra Collective was how earnestly its members want something remarkably ordinary: to be left alone to be weird in peace. A quieter member named Todd, who sat in the back row and said very little until the closing share circle, put it plainly. ‘I’ve been described as a threat my whole life,’ he said. ‘I just wanted one room where that wasn’t the first thing on the table.’ When I pointed out that WTC’s editorial guidelines required us to list the group’s threat level as Moderate, Gerald nodded slowly and said, ‘Yeah. We’re working on that too. It’s a process.’ The donuts, for what it’s worth, were untouched. The group brought their own snacks, which I was not offered, and which I did not inquire about.

The hardest part isn’t the stigma from strangers. It’s that even people who believe we exist still assume the worst. We exist. We have feelings. We have a group chat. We deserve nuance.

— Diane, Member, Greater Phoenix Chupacabra Collective

The meeting ended at 9:47 p.m. with a group affirmation that Gerald read from a laminated card. I was asked not to reprint it in full, but I can confirm it rhymed, it was genuinely moving, and at least two members wiped their eyes afterward. As I drove back toward downtown Phoenix, I found myself thinking — not for the first time in this job — that the line between monster and misunderstood is thinner than most of us are comfortable admitting. Or maybe I’m just tired. Either way, the Collective meets again next Tuesday. I’ve already RSVP’d. Gerald said I could bring the donuts this time. He specified a brand. I’m not naming it here because I genuinely don’t want to start a whole thing.