JEEPERS CREEPERS:

DEADLOCK

A crash of breaking glass sounded under the riotous choiring of Big Annie's Bar & Grill, a lowly hole in the wall business set deep in the snowy mountains of Colorado. Truckers and travelers of all sorts knew this off-road slum as a sanctuary from a long night's drive, a place where any deadbeat or weary worker could come to drown their troubles in a tall, frosty bottle. Alone, in the dim lit corner of the establishment, a stranger sat quietly to himself. His head hung low, draped under thick raven locks of hair.

For minutes abound, he sat still in his chair, only moving to swallow a sip of beer from his transparent mug. The locals had come to know this man in the last few weeks, not by identity, but by routine. Every night, he would appear from the chilling roads of nowhere and take the same seat as before, ordering a few brews before retreating into the afterhours. Never had they seen him with company of any kind. This was the life he had become accustomed to.

With a crack of the entrance door, a spurt of whipping wind echoed loudly from outside, giving tell of a new customer's arrival. Catching ear of the gruff regulars' hoots and hollers at their new guest, the Stranger raised his head to investigate. It was a woman, one not normally customary of these parts. From the very sight of her, the lady was an amazing treat for a man's eyes to sample. Her hair lay long and brown, straightened like a board. Even with being in her early forties, no one would've guessed it. Her slim build and toned physique would testify to that fact. This enigmatic female had more beauty than any of the patrons had seen in some time.

Beyond the mere image of her, though, there was sadness. The Stranger keened to it almost immediately. It was simple for him. The way her hazel eyes seemed to hang low, even when topped with a blank expression, as if they were used to never brightening up with excitement or happiness. It was all too familiar look. The regulars may've only seen the woman as eye candy, but the Stranger saw an injured soul.

In a quick minute, she scanned the crowd, as if searching for something or someone in particular, only when peering on the Stranger did she finally move from the doorframe. Navigating through the welter of chairs and tables, the woman maneuvered her way into the back of the bar, stopping right in front of her target. "Excuse me. Is your name Brody Cross?"

The Stranger nearly froze in astonishment, but managed to keep his expression as impartial as possible. A person he had never met before somehow knew his real name, a thing he rarely gave out. He dreaded what else she may know about him. "Maybe…what do you want from him?" He answered in a low baritone voice, void of any interest.

"Just to talk." She promised, hinting a sense of nervousness.

Brody spied further into the woman. He could see a glimpse of importance beckoning to be spoken, but the past few years had understandably turned him bitter to the comfort of others. If she had problems, he wanted nothing to do with them. "Sorry, I'm not much for talking these days, Ma'am. There's a church about fifteen miles down the road. If you've got a problem, they're obligated to care."

Ignoring her dismissal, the woman stubbornly took a seat across from him at the table. "Then I'll talk and you listen. My name is Trish Jenner, and I need your help."

Brody's eyes didn't flap a wink. He stared on with a face of ice, not returning a word to her request until he was ready to. Digging his hand into his pocket, he retrieved a crinkled pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes, to which he lit one in his lips. "Okay, Trish, you think I'm a cop or something? Because I'll tell you right now, I'm much more corrupt."

"No, I know you're not a cop. But I do know about your reputation, Mr. Cross. As jilted as it may be these days. Correct me if I'm wrong, but a few years ago you were known to deal with things of a supernatural nature, right? I've read all the old newspaper articles featuring your career. Exorcisms, strange and vicious animal attacks that stopped once you were involved. Everything."

"Apparently you missed the part where they called me a con man." Brody scoffed, blowing a trail of ashy smoke from his mouth.

"Are you?" Trish asked bluntly, earning a dismissive shift in Brody's gaze, but no reply. It was all the answer she needed. "Well, that's just the kind of a person I'm looking for."

Despite a slight sense to hear out her full story, Brody knew this would just turn out to be something he'd regret listening to later. Another sob story, he'd suddenly feel compelled to rewrite using his *special* friend. So rather than hearing the facts of her long journey to finding him here, Brody figured he'd just as well get to the point. "What is it you want me to do exactly, Trish?"

Trish's face paled a little when prompted with the easy question that was far from easy to answer. It was a mystery what she was thinking about at that particular moment, but all seemed clearer when she noticeably rubbed a ruby encrusted, class ring on her index finger. "I want you to help me kill a monster."

Brody threw a fake spurt of laughter at her response in order to further downsize her belief in his talents. If he was lucky, maybe she'd become insulted and storm out on him. "Monster, eh? Don't tell me you believe in the Boogeyman?"

"Believe?" Trish's eyes found the slick surface of the table as a screen to project her memories of a ravenous creature. The wrecked police station, the way no weapon on Earth seemed to harm it, and finally, the searing stare of fear in her brother's eyes as he was taken by it. "No…I don't have to believe…not when I've seen him in the flesh."

For the first time in their brief meeting, Brody found himself beginning to feel genuine remorse for the poor woman sitting across from him, just like he had for many others in the forgotten past. "Okay, fine. I'll bite. What exactly is this thing you want killed?"

"To be honest, I don't have any fucking clue what it is, or where it came from? It's like a human…but not." Trish struggled to place words that would describe the magnitude of the creature's evil. "It has wings, and its face…that horrible face." The fear she felt 23 years previous still seemed to have a tight grip over her. She often wondered if it would ever flee.

Brody had already long gotten the picture. She had had the unfortunate pleasure of encountering another otherworldly creature, something like him, both rare amongst the normal world. "So how exactly do you think I can help you in all this?"

"You tell me!" Trish's voice boomed, tears now welling in the lids of her eyes. "You're the one rumored to have dealt with shit like this."

Brody found himself at a crossroads. In helping her, he would reveal the primal beast that lies beneath his own skin. His BFB, but not a Best Fucking Friend. Would she still trust him then? Guilty conscience or not, this was a risk he just couldn't take. Not anymore. Not ever again. "Look. I understand you may've been through a lot, but I can't help you. I can barely help myself."

In that single sentence, Brody easily and undeniably crushed all hope of retribution for Patricia Jenner's, proven by the teary, gaped appearance that then overtook her. A thing he wanted to avoid, but then again, he never asked for her to come to him. "Please, you have to!" She now turned to pleading. "I-I have a plan to lure it out into the open, then all you have to do is help me kill it."

Brody sucked in the last inch of his cigarette and extinguished it in his near empty mug. "I'm sorry you wasted your time."

In a fury, Trish jerked in her seat, her skin flushing bright with a mixture of anger and frustration, until suddenly, she composed herself. For one quiet moment, she stared at Brody with distain ruling her heart, and then proceeded to smear away the tears that trailed her cheeks. "This isn't over, Mr. Cross. You're going to help me whether you like it or not." Turning a cold shoulder, Trish then reclaimed her stance and pushed towards the main door until disappearing behind it with a thunderous slam.

Seeing her rush out in such heated disappointment, Brody felt the sting of his conscience. Deep down, he did wish to aid her in this mission, but he learned years ago that helping others only caused him more pain in the long run. Maybe it was selfish to a point, but what did he care? He'd lost everything and everyone to a crusade that he never wanted. When was it his time to be happy? At this moment in life, he owed nothing to anyone but himself.

All the drama of the previous conversation left a stale taste in Brody's mouth, so bad that not even another beer could wash it away. The clock on the wall read 1:55 am; it was time for him to go. Snatching up his black bomber jacket, Brody took his leave of the gritty establishment. One foot out the door, he watched his own breath evaporate in mid-air. The weather had dropped to a staggering five degrees, but even freezing temperatures like this couldn't hold up against the fire pumping in his blood. Dressing his chiseled body with his jacket, Brody was about to begin his walk the empty road when someone called out to him.

"Hey, You!" A raspy voice sounded from behind him. Peering over his shoulder, Brody came into focus of two men standing beside a vast white semi-truck. One stood black and burly, displaying the physicality of a possible hobby of weightlifting. The other was of a smaller build, set more towards your average Joe with a casual pairing of blue jeans and a trucker jacket completing the picture of rustic Americana found with the duo. "Got a light?" The Smaller Man asked, holding a cigar between his fingers.

Every paranoid bone in his body told Brody that something was wrong about these two. Maybe they were muggers, or it's possible that they indeed just needed a light. Either way, if they did try something, it'd be a fast funeral and a faster walk back to the motel. "Yeah, sure." Brody continued to walk over and greet the patrons with a lit zippo, to which the Small Man ignited his cancer stick.

"Thanks a lot there, buddy. They call me Donny, and this is Buster. "The Small Man dealt out their identities with a sly smile of charisma, masked under a thick southern accent.

Brody half wanted to chuckle out loud when hearing the big man's name was Buster of all things, but decided against it. "Buster…" He tried his best not to grin. "That's an interesting name. Why do they call you that?"

"Because I like to bust the mouths of smart-asses." Buster replied with a grim, piercing glare.

"Good for you, big fella. Now just for laughs, try and spell it." This was Brody at his most social, always placing sarcasm before civility.

In a brash move, Buster reached out for a grab at Brody's shoulder, but was halted when Donny stepped in front of him. "Relax, he's joking, Buster. Just joking." Donny's words seemed to calm the big man's anger rather quickly, as he then respectfully stood back in place, but kept his eyes locked on Brody, just waiting for him to insult him again. In order to divert the situation away from violence, Donny wrapped his arm around Brody's neck and began directing him away from Buster. "I've gotta apologize for my friend. Sometimes his temper burns brighter than hellfire itself."

"Yeah, roids can do that to you." Brody smirked, earning a small giggle out of Donny.

"Heh-heh…anyway, what're you up to tonight, partner?"

Brody glanced back at Buster with a hint of suspicion, his gut nagging at him to be alert. "I'm headed back to my motel."

"Great! We can give you a ride in our rig. Hop on in, buddy."

Now Brody was sure there were ulterior motives in play. Donny's emphasis on staying in a stranger's company was an easy tell, especially when it was so obvious that Buster was not a fan. "No thanks. I like to walk."

"Like to walk? Hell, it's colder than my ex-honey's heart out here, friend."

The patience that sustained the conversation up to this point had now drained out of Brody. He was done talking for the night. "I don't like repeating myself…friend."

Donny nervously threw up his hands in defense. "Whoa, whoa, taker easy there, pal. I was just trying to be cordial now. Enjoy your walk."

Brody refrained from dropping his guard on Donny, until he saw the back of his head traveling away from him. Only then did he turn and begin his own stroll in the opposite direction. Almost instantly, quick claps of feet scudded through the ground. Before he had the chance to do anything about it, Brody felt the hard touch of a blackjack crack the rear of his skull. The impact scrambled his thoughts as he tried to sustain his footing. Shortly after, the blistering kicks and punches of Donny & Buster became fiercely evident.

Brody was left helpless to defend himself against the two attacker's assault. Luckily, just as soon as it had begun, the relentless beating was over, leaving their victim fallen deep into unconsciousness a few blows back. Donny and Buster were left at a lost after what they had done, perhaps regretting it for reasons of their own.

"Okay, put him in the truck." Donny commanded of Buster.

"I ain't putting him in there with us. He could wake up and make us jackknife the damn thing." Buster argued in return.

"Well we can't be putt' in him in the back with the girls, now can we?"

"Why not? That's where that thing will eventually end up, so why not this guy?"

"Look, we're gonna drug him up, you jackass. Now stop your bitch'in and put him in the fuck'in truck." There was no telling how long the two partners in crime were going to continue with their bickering. However, unknown to the arguing pair, something was changing around them.

In a violent jolt, Brody's body twitched ever so subtle. Soon, the darkness of night was absorbed into his eyes, painting them a solid shade of ebony. One by one, the man's teeth grew longer and sharper into bladed fangs. His nails extended from his fingers like knives, his skin gradually set to a boil. Inch by inch, Brody's flesh gained massive strides of muscularity, cloaked under a suit of evolving black scales. His ears spiked upward like a bat's, pushing against the disintegrating clots of hair that descended from the scalp.

Planting his elongated digits into the snowy gravel, Brody pulled himself to one knee and let an inhuman roar escape his throat. Only now did Donny & Buster come to realize the peril they were now entrenched in. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?" Buster yelled to the peak of his speech.

Donny couldn't answer his friend's horrified scream. His ability to speak had fled him, replaced by an overwhelming sensation of terror. The process of Brody's transformation was nearly complete, only then would his merciless wrath be known. The clothes that once dressed the humanoid now fell tattered to the snow, shredded from the indifference in the man's normal frame. One more minute and the Beast From Beneath would be fully restored.

Without warning, a zipping noise whistled closely through the air, taking shape of a tranquilizer dart lodged in the beast's neck. One after another, numerous darts punctured Brody's various limbs, numbing them into falter. Against his will, the incomplete transformation was unable to defeat the power of the sedatives. Slowly, his vision blurred into a haze of distortion before forcing him down to his back. Looking up at the night sky, the last clear thing Brody would see before falling into slumber was the image of Trish Jenner staring through the scope of a hunting rifle.