Night had fallen over the countryside, the sky now inky black with a slight tinge of red. Trish had turned
the radio off a long time ago, and the only noise was the purring of her car's engine. She couldn't stop
thinking up Darry, knowing that he was dead but hoping that he hadn't suffered.
That psychic, Jezelle, had told her that one of them would die horribly with that infernal song playing in the
background, and it was supposed to be her. Trish knew, somehow, that the she had been the monster's first
choice, but for some reason it had chosen her brother instead.
Why?
She did not know the reason, but at least she had an idea as to where the demon could be. It liked hiding
in abandoned places, that much she knew for sure. And what better place to hide than an abandoned plant,
conveniently close to its food source and where no human was likely to go?
It was difficult to see the map while driving, but Trish managed. The map was detailed enough for her to
see the old industrial plant—Hollands Packaging. She searched carefully until she found it, a sprawling
plant that had been left to rot.
Gravel crunched under the wheels of the car as she parked on the side of the road. Trish sat in her car for
what seemed like eternity, listening. There was no one around, and she got out, gently closing the door and
then searching for a hole in the fence that surrounded the plant.
Luckily for her, the lock on one of the gates was rusted, and she was able to sneak inside. She found that it
was easy to break into the main plant itself, and once she was inside, she pulled out the tiny flashlight that
she had taken from her glove compartment.
The inside of the plant was hot, the air pungent with the smell of mildew. The gold light from Trish's
flashlight outlined the bare pipes that grew from the walls, water dribbling from most of them and
splashing down onto the concrete floor.
At first, she only heard the sound of her own footsteps. Eventually, though, she could make out singing,
and when she made out the lyrics, she felt a cold hand of terror plunge into her chest.
"Jeepers Creepers, where'd ya get those peepers…"
The light was moving wildly over the walls as her hand violently shook.
The scratchy song played on, and Trish steadied her hand, drawing deep breaths of the humid air. The
monster was here, so close, and her revenge became almost tangible. As if in a trance, Trish followed the
horrid music, her shoes splashing in the puddles on the floor.
"…how they hypnotize…"
There was an orange light in the distance, an unearthly light that seemed to belong more in the bowels of
Hell rather than here. The dank air grew hotter as she quietly approached, the foul reek of blood and decay
increasing with the heat. Any sense of self-preservation had dwindled away, and now the sweet promise of
vengeance drove her on into the gruesome chamber.
The cavernous room looked like the Marquis de Sade's most demented nightmare, a demonic torture
room complete with victims. Bodies and pieces of them hung from the walls, faces trapped in expressions
of pain and skin stretched out to form an unholy mosaic . The air, oh God, the air was thick with the
cloying stink of death, and all around her that song played.
She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath of the slaughterhouse air.
When she opened them again, she saw him.
"Darry," she choked, allowing the flashlight to fall to the concrete floor. Trish didn't hear it hit, for all her
attention was focused on her brother's corpse, obscenely hung up like a trophy.
Her cheeks were numb, or she would have felt the tears stream down her face.
Trish turned away, strangled by her own sorrow, and came face-to-face with the monster.
It towered over her, clad in the dark trench coat that it had wore the night it chased Darry and her. So close
to her the demon was, in fact, that she could make out the individual wrinkles of its blue-gray skin. Its dark
eyes peered into her own.
Neither moved for several seconds.
"You fuckin' bastard!" Trish screamed, breaking the silence. Snatching the knife from her pocket, she
hurled it with all of her strength, only to see it bounce harmlessly off of the giant monster. The demon
howled with rage and smashed her against a wall, its razor teeth inches from her neck.
"Why the hell didn't you take me instead?" Trish demanded, her vision blurred by tears. The hulking
monster didn't answer as it came slightly closer.
"Why?" she whispered, watching as the beast snorted, its eyes trailing down the length of her body with
...God, it seemed like lust...its hand moved hesitantly toward her brow, and she spit directly in its eye,
laughing as the demon screeched and reared back.
"Like that, fuckface?"
The bat wings ripped through the fabric of the monster's trench coat, spreading wide as the Creeper
howled its fury. Trish ground her teeth, prepared to take the beating that was coming, and then jumped up
in astonishment when she heard three gunshots, each seperated by a few seconds. Roaring, the winged
thing jerked as if it were a marionette held by an insane puppeteer, and she could see the young policeman,
his face ashen with fear and his pistol drawn.
Like some God-awful spider, the monster sprang up, nimbly grabbing the pipes overhead and angling
itself to face them, hissing madly. The officer aimed again, hitting the ugly creature but only managing to
enrage it further.
"Jesus Christ," he cried. "What the hell is that thing?"
When Trish didn't say anything, he grabbed her by the arm, yanking her toward the door.
"Let me go!" She protested, struggling. The Creeper, holding onto the pipes overhead, advanced toward
them, its eyes wide with bloodlust. Without thinking about it twice, the policeman fired once more, missing
the huge monster but hitting one of the pipes. Thick white steam hissed, escaping from the ruptured pipe
and distracting the winged thing.
"We gotta get out of here!" He declared, pulling her along.
"Get your hands off of me!"
Trish put up a good fight, but the officer was several inches taller and much stronger. Once they were
outside, he started toward his car, telling her that he was calling for backup. She stubbornly marched back
toward the plant, only to stop when she caught sight of the fire.
It was small, but quickly grew, fed by the ruins of the industrial plant until it was a full inferno. Trish
balled her fists in frustration, watching as the bright red flames consumed everything in sight. The bastard
did it again--had destroyed all evidence of his handiwork before he could be found out.
At least Darry's body wasn't hung up like some...she felt her stomach churn. But she had missed her
revenge, goddamnit. And it was all that officer's fault.
"I called for backup," the policeman announced, wiping the sweat from his forehead, the fear still evident
in his expression. Trish smiled, ambled right up to him, and cocked her fist. The last thing that the cop saw
before he was knocked unconscious and hit the rough gravel was her angry face.
The hallway was long and dark; she felt a foreboding sense just from being here. Something forced her to
move down the corridor, though, ignoring the pitiful cries that sounded behind the closed doors as she
went. She was drawn to the wooden door at the end of the yellowed hallway, stopping long enough to grasp
the knob and push it open.
The room beyond was blanketed in heavy shadows, and all that she could see was a table with a book atop
it, pale light streaming down and illuminating the maroon cover. From within the black shadows, she could
make out whispering, increasing as she approached the little table.
She touched the leather bound-book, felt a dark jolt travel through her arm. Images flashed before her
eyes: a raven with demonic eyes, a gigantic house near a bayou, and the winged creature that had
butchered that poor boy. Frightened, she pulled her hand away from the red book, panting with fear;
suddenly, she knew what the book was, even though it had no name on its cover.
Liber Antithei. The Book of the Devil.
She gazed down at the book, watched as it opened by itself, the worn pages flipped by an invisible hand.
There were more pictures, this time going by much faster. Revenge, a spell, portal, treachery...death...She
saw the raven fly at her face, oozing out from the shadows like liquid ink. As soon as it hit, its sharp talons
digging into her vulnerable eyes, she understood and awoke with a start. Jezelle got out of bed as swifty as
possible, startling her old golden retriever. She had to talk to Patricia, now.
"She's pacin' by the telephone
In her faded flannel gown
Asking for miracle..."
Trish had never really liked Garth Brooks, but she preferred him to that damn "Jeepers Creepers" song
anyday. She gazed down at her watch and shifted her weight in the vinyl seat. It was nearly four in the
morning and she was at some greasy diner, sitting at a table by herself and picking at a plate of cold
chicken nuggets. She couldn't eat; all she could think about was Darry.
She could only imagine the sheer terror that he had felt as the thing tore him to pieces. It should have been
her in that plant, it should have been her body mounted on the wall. True, there would have been pain when
the monster killed her, but it would have been brief. This agony, of knowing that her brother was dead
while she was not, was much more horrible.
She should have killed the monster responsible for all this death and suffering. But that officer, who had no
idea what the hell he was doing, had prevented her from doing so. Scowling, she pushed a nugget around
her plastic plate, looking up when the door opened.
"Well, well. Speak of the devil," Trish said to herself, smiling bitterly.
It was the young cop himself. She hadn't realized how much she had hurt him until he stepped into the
fluorescent light, his left eye spotted with a dark brownish-purple bruise. He scanned the room until he saw
her, then preceded to angrily march in her direction.
"I should arrest you right here," he snarled, pointing one finger in her direction.
"Go on."
The young policeman puffed out like an enraged rooster, placing both hands on the top of the table and
leaning forward to look into her eyes.
"Listen, I don't know what the hell your problem is. I saved your life, and you repay me by giving me a
blackeye?"
Trish practically jumped up.
"My problem? My problem," she screamed right in his face, liking how he winced, "is that I was trying to
kill that thing in the factory! And you screwed it all up! I'll never find that monster again, thanks to you,
jackass."
The officer just swallowed hard.
"And I bet you want to know why I was hunting it, right? It was because it killed my brother, and it'll kill
a lot more people before it's through." Tears came to her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You should
have left me back there."
The cop's fury had softened into shame, and he looked at her pitifully.
"God, I didn't know!"
Trish sighed, her own anger abating.
"Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Matthew Hawn. " He
extended his hand.
She didn't shake it, but replied, "Trish Jenner."
One of the waitresses overheard this and walked over to the table.
"Did you say your name was Trish Jenner?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You have a phone call."
Trish followed the waitress to the phone, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. She did not pick up the phone
immediately; instead, she just looked down at it, feeling nervous. When she did answer it, she clutched the
phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
"Hello?"
"Trish?Trish? This is Jezelle."
"Jezelle?"
"Listen, honey. I need to tell you somethin'."
"What?" Trish asked, looking back at the officer.
"I had another dream tonight."
Trish was silent, feeling that old fear blossom once more within her chest.
The psychic continued.
"I know what it's after this time, Trish. And it's a lot worse than I feared."
She was afraid to inquire what exactly that was, but forced herself to do it. Trish's eyes widened
considerably as Jezelle whispered into the phone.
"You've seen the sky, haven't you?"
Trish gulped, agreeing that she had.
"It's a sign, child. That monster's plannin' to do something, Trish, something awful. Something involving
the liber antithei-,"
"What the hell is that?"
"An evil book that is supposed to have belonged to Satan himself. If the demon gets a hold of it-,"
"Jesus."
She toyed with a lock of hair nervously.
"I know where it is, Trish."
Trish felt excitement rise in her throat. Here was her second chance for revenge, and her voice quivered
with anticipation.
"Where?"
the radio off a long time ago, and the only noise was the purring of her car's engine. She couldn't stop
thinking up Darry, knowing that he was dead but hoping that he hadn't suffered.
That psychic, Jezelle, had told her that one of them would die horribly with that infernal song playing in the
background, and it was supposed to be her. Trish knew, somehow, that the she had been the monster's first
choice, but for some reason it had chosen her brother instead.
Why?
She did not know the reason, but at least she had an idea as to where the demon could be. It liked hiding
in abandoned places, that much she knew for sure. And what better place to hide than an abandoned plant,
conveniently close to its food source and where no human was likely to go?
It was difficult to see the map while driving, but Trish managed. The map was detailed enough for her to
see the old industrial plant—Hollands Packaging. She searched carefully until she found it, a sprawling
plant that had been left to rot.
Gravel crunched under the wheels of the car as she parked on the side of the road. Trish sat in her car for
what seemed like eternity, listening. There was no one around, and she got out, gently closing the door and
then searching for a hole in the fence that surrounded the plant.
Luckily for her, the lock on one of the gates was rusted, and she was able to sneak inside. She found that it
was easy to break into the main plant itself, and once she was inside, she pulled out the tiny flashlight that
she had taken from her glove compartment.
The inside of the plant was hot, the air pungent with the smell of mildew. The gold light from Trish's
flashlight outlined the bare pipes that grew from the walls, water dribbling from most of them and
splashing down onto the concrete floor.
At first, she only heard the sound of her own footsteps. Eventually, though, she could make out singing,
and when she made out the lyrics, she felt a cold hand of terror plunge into her chest.
"Jeepers Creepers, where'd ya get those peepers…"
The light was moving wildly over the walls as her hand violently shook.
The scratchy song played on, and Trish steadied her hand, drawing deep breaths of the humid air. The
monster was here, so close, and her revenge became almost tangible. As if in a trance, Trish followed the
horrid music, her shoes splashing in the puddles on the floor.
"…how they hypnotize…"
There was an orange light in the distance, an unearthly light that seemed to belong more in the bowels of
Hell rather than here. The dank air grew hotter as she quietly approached, the foul reek of blood and decay
increasing with the heat. Any sense of self-preservation had dwindled away, and now the sweet promise of
vengeance drove her on into the gruesome chamber.
The cavernous room looked like the Marquis de Sade's most demented nightmare, a demonic torture
room complete with victims. Bodies and pieces of them hung from the walls, faces trapped in expressions
of pain and skin stretched out to form an unholy mosaic . The air, oh God, the air was thick with the
cloying stink of death, and all around her that song played.
She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath of the slaughterhouse air.
When she opened them again, she saw him.
"Darry," she choked, allowing the flashlight to fall to the concrete floor. Trish didn't hear it hit, for all her
attention was focused on her brother's corpse, obscenely hung up like a trophy.
Her cheeks were numb, or she would have felt the tears stream down her face.
Trish turned away, strangled by her own sorrow, and came face-to-face with the monster.
It towered over her, clad in the dark trench coat that it had wore the night it chased Darry and her. So close
to her the demon was, in fact, that she could make out the individual wrinkles of its blue-gray skin. Its dark
eyes peered into her own.
Neither moved for several seconds.
"You fuckin' bastard!" Trish screamed, breaking the silence. Snatching the knife from her pocket, she
hurled it with all of her strength, only to see it bounce harmlessly off of the giant monster. The demon
howled with rage and smashed her against a wall, its razor teeth inches from her neck.
"Why the hell didn't you take me instead?" Trish demanded, her vision blurred by tears. The hulking
monster didn't answer as it came slightly closer.
"Why?" she whispered, watching as the beast snorted, its eyes trailing down the length of her body with
...God, it seemed like lust...its hand moved hesitantly toward her brow, and she spit directly in its eye,
laughing as the demon screeched and reared back.
"Like that, fuckface?"
The bat wings ripped through the fabric of the monster's trench coat, spreading wide as the Creeper
howled its fury. Trish ground her teeth, prepared to take the beating that was coming, and then jumped up
in astonishment when she heard three gunshots, each seperated by a few seconds. Roaring, the winged
thing jerked as if it were a marionette held by an insane puppeteer, and she could see the young policeman,
his face ashen with fear and his pistol drawn.
Like some God-awful spider, the monster sprang up, nimbly grabbing the pipes overhead and angling
itself to face them, hissing madly. The officer aimed again, hitting the ugly creature but only managing to
enrage it further.
"Jesus Christ," he cried. "What the hell is that thing?"
When Trish didn't say anything, he grabbed her by the arm, yanking her toward the door.
"Let me go!" She protested, struggling. The Creeper, holding onto the pipes overhead, advanced toward
them, its eyes wide with bloodlust. Without thinking about it twice, the policeman fired once more, missing
the huge monster but hitting one of the pipes. Thick white steam hissed, escaping from the ruptured pipe
and distracting the winged thing.
"We gotta get out of here!" He declared, pulling her along.
"Get your hands off of me!"
Trish put up a good fight, but the officer was several inches taller and much stronger. Once they were
outside, he started toward his car, telling her that he was calling for backup. She stubbornly marched back
toward the plant, only to stop when she caught sight of the fire.
It was small, but quickly grew, fed by the ruins of the industrial plant until it was a full inferno. Trish
balled her fists in frustration, watching as the bright red flames consumed everything in sight. The bastard
did it again--had destroyed all evidence of his handiwork before he could be found out.
At least Darry's body wasn't hung up like some...she felt her stomach churn. But she had missed her
revenge, goddamnit. And it was all that officer's fault.
"I called for backup," the policeman announced, wiping the sweat from his forehead, the fear still evident
in his expression. Trish smiled, ambled right up to him, and cocked her fist. The last thing that the cop saw
before he was knocked unconscious and hit the rough gravel was her angry face.
The hallway was long and dark; she felt a foreboding sense just from being here. Something forced her to
move down the corridor, though, ignoring the pitiful cries that sounded behind the closed doors as she
went. She was drawn to the wooden door at the end of the yellowed hallway, stopping long enough to grasp
the knob and push it open.
The room beyond was blanketed in heavy shadows, and all that she could see was a table with a book atop
it, pale light streaming down and illuminating the maroon cover. From within the black shadows, she could
make out whispering, increasing as she approached the little table.
She touched the leather bound-book, felt a dark jolt travel through her arm. Images flashed before her
eyes: a raven with demonic eyes, a gigantic house near a bayou, and the winged creature that had
butchered that poor boy. Frightened, she pulled her hand away from the red book, panting with fear;
suddenly, she knew what the book was, even though it had no name on its cover.
Liber Antithei. The Book of the Devil.
She gazed down at the book, watched as it opened by itself, the worn pages flipped by an invisible hand.
There were more pictures, this time going by much faster. Revenge, a spell, portal, treachery...death...She
saw the raven fly at her face, oozing out from the shadows like liquid ink. As soon as it hit, its sharp talons
digging into her vulnerable eyes, she understood and awoke with a start. Jezelle got out of bed as swifty as
possible, startling her old golden retriever. She had to talk to Patricia, now.
"She's pacin' by the telephone
In her faded flannel gown
Asking for miracle..."
Trish had never really liked Garth Brooks, but she preferred him to that damn "Jeepers Creepers" song
anyday. She gazed down at her watch and shifted her weight in the vinyl seat. It was nearly four in the
morning and she was at some greasy diner, sitting at a table by herself and picking at a plate of cold
chicken nuggets. She couldn't eat; all she could think about was Darry.
She could only imagine the sheer terror that he had felt as the thing tore him to pieces. It should have been
her in that plant, it should have been her body mounted on the wall. True, there would have been pain when
the monster killed her, but it would have been brief. This agony, of knowing that her brother was dead
while she was not, was much more horrible.
She should have killed the monster responsible for all this death and suffering. But that officer, who had no
idea what the hell he was doing, had prevented her from doing so. Scowling, she pushed a nugget around
her plastic plate, looking up when the door opened.
"Well, well. Speak of the devil," Trish said to herself, smiling bitterly.
It was the young cop himself. She hadn't realized how much she had hurt him until he stepped into the
fluorescent light, his left eye spotted with a dark brownish-purple bruise. He scanned the room until he saw
her, then preceded to angrily march in her direction.
"I should arrest you right here," he snarled, pointing one finger in her direction.
"Go on."
The young policeman puffed out like an enraged rooster, placing both hands on the top of the table and
leaning forward to look into her eyes.
"Listen, I don't know what the hell your problem is. I saved your life, and you repay me by giving me a
blackeye?"
Trish practically jumped up.
"My problem? My problem," she screamed right in his face, liking how he winced, "is that I was trying to
kill that thing in the factory! And you screwed it all up! I'll never find that monster again, thanks to you,
jackass."
The officer just swallowed hard.
"And I bet you want to know why I was hunting it, right? It was because it killed my brother, and it'll kill
a lot more people before it's through." Tears came to her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You should
have left me back there."
The cop's fury had softened into shame, and he looked at her pitifully.
"God, I didn't know!"
Trish sighed, her own anger abating.
"Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Matthew Hawn. " He
extended his hand.
She didn't shake it, but replied, "Trish Jenner."
One of the waitresses overheard this and walked over to the table.
"Did you say your name was Trish Jenner?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You have a phone call."
Trish followed the waitress to the phone, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. She did not pick up the phone
immediately; instead, she just looked down at it, feeling nervous. When she did answer it, she clutched the
phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
"Hello?"
"Trish?Trish? This is Jezelle."
"Jezelle?"
"Listen, honey. I need to tell you somethin'."
"What?" Trish asked, looking back at the officer.
"I had another dream tonight."
Trish was silent, feeling that old fear blossom once more within her chest.
The psychic continued.
"I know what it's after this time, Trish. And it's a lot worse than I feared."
She was afraid to inquire what exactly that was, but forced herself to do it. Trish's eyes widened
considerably as Jezelle whispered into the phone.
"You've seen the sky, haven't you?"
Trish gulped, agreeing that she had.
"It's a sign, child. That monster's plannin' to do something, Trish, something awful. Something involving
the liber antithei-,"
"What the hell is that?"
"An evil book that is supposed to have belonged to Satan himself. If the demon gets a hold of it-,"
"Jesus."
She toyed with a lock of hair nervously.
"I know where it is, Trish."
Trish felt excitement rise in her throat. Here was her second chance for revenge, and her voice quivered
with anticipation.
"Where?"
