Prologue
Every twenty-three years, from deep within the pungent bowels of the earth, the darkest recesses that have known neither light nor freedom, a creature of horrors unparalleled awakens from hibernation – hungry. A primal, ancient, demonic hunger that has never been sated in the millennia since his genesis, and never will be satisfied.
He stretches his leathery wings in the shadows – this bat from Hell – and opens beautiful blue eyes. Eyes stolen two decades ago from a college freshman; a boy of potential and wit in a yellow shirt, whose lovely scent he can smell even now, and whose horrific screams have made an exquisite soundtrack for his dreams.
His lair is crowded with pale corpses, rotting gaping mouths frozen in silenced screams, wide eyes staring at him – the last sight they knew. Staring, but not the boy. His empty sockets are red and gory, revealing the wall at the far end of the room, preserved in eternal pain and sadness. His favorite prey yet. He preserves them – each and every one, delighting in their blood and nakedness. His personal trophies. He has triumphed over God's fondest creation.
He sniffs the night air and knows twilight has fallen. Outside trees have sprouted leaves after a long, hard winter; flowers reach hopefully towards the sky; spring has brought its freshness and promise of new life. He grins, a jagged line of sharp teeth, stained brown from centuries of gorging himself. He knows. His reign of terror has come again. Excitement and anticipation electrify his bones; the familiar thrill sinks into his flesh. He licks his lips – already he can taste them – and flaps his muscular wings. The dank dirt swirls away from his power.
He strides forward and looks up. Miles above, his eyes notice the full moon hanging heavy in the sky.
The creature screeches and ascends into the night. The bones of the dead rattle around him, unable to warn those who follow them. Every twenty-third spring, for twenty-three days, the curse that binds him lifts. 23. For twenty-three days he will feast on the blood and organs of the unsuspecting humans. He will never die. He will take and kill, consume into himself. He will relish their pain and misery.
Rebirth begins now. He can feel it in the wind. Someone is coming. Someone special. Someone with the perfect parts – the eyes, the heart – that will sustain him for millennia to come. A fresh fear inside them so raw and elegant he will be gratified during his long hibernation.
Powerful wings beat against the night sky.
The Creeper is hunting.