The motel that they decided to stay at was horrible beyond belief, the quilts on the beds stained and
threadbare. But Trish paid no attention to it, plopping on the bed and putting the pendant around her neck.
She didn't even bother to undress, instead pulling the ratty sheets over her body and turning on her side,
shutting her eyes.
"I'll stay awake," Matt offered. "Just in case something happens." She nodded, listening as he turned on the
tiny television and fooled with the stations.
The heavy weight of sleep fell over her like a comforting blanket, and she invited the warmth that spread
down her arms. As the sound of Matt fiddling with the television set faded away, she heard a cricket by her
ear and opened her eyes, startled. Much to her astonishment, she was no longer in her bed, but was now
lying in a patch of dewy grass.
She stood up, looking with a mixture of amazement and horror at the open night sky above her, the
fingernail crescent of the moon casting a dim light on her surroundings. Trish clutched at the ugly pendant,
knowing that it was responsible for brining her here, trying hard not to let fear overtake her as she saw the
dark mansion looming in the distance.
"It will show you the past, and all that you need to know." That was what Christine had told her earlier, and
she tried to focus on that thought as she reluctantly headed toward the enormous house. Something told her
that this was where she had to go, and she followed that feeling, her fingers grasping the glossy stone of the
pendant for reassuranace.
The huge oak doors, Trish noticed, were unlocked, and she went in. There were people everywhere in the
great hallway, dressed in clothes that seemed to belong more in the mid eighteen hundreds than the present.
They nonchalantly chatted among themselves, the soft glow of the chandeliers overhead illuminating their
cheery faces. One portly man spotted her and, raising his half-filled wine glass, mirthfully called out,
"Well, if it isn't Danielle! Having a nice time, my dear?"
Danielle? Why did the bald man call her that?
She saw the reason when she passed by a full length mirror, nearly gasping when she noticed her
reflection. Other than the striped pendant around her slim throat, Trish did not resemble herself; instead,
she looked like a middle-aged woman in a blue dress the color of the sky, her honey hair threaded with
gray.
Trish could not keep her eyes on the brass mirror, however; she felt drawn toward the grand staircase and
hurried in that direction, trying to think. Somehow, some way, Danielle (whoever she was) had something
to do with the monster, and she allowed the magic of the pendant to lead her up the stairs and to a room at
the end of the hallway.
When she opened the door, she saw two people on a large bed, their faces slick with sweat and contorted
with surprise. One was a blonde, who was desperately trying to hide her naked body (and her ample
breasts) by pulling up the tangled burgundy sheets, but her effort was in vain. The other person was a man,
whose noble face was undermined by the fact that he had just been fornicating like a goat.
She found herself listening to Danielle, whose body she seemed to have mysteriously found herself in,
screaming something, her voice strangled with raw fury.
"Angelique, you filthy whore! How could you? How could you? My own sister with my husband!"
"Danielle," the woman pleaded, forgetting about the sheets and letting them drop, her large breasts with
their brown nipples fully exposed, "I-,"
"Shut up! Shut up!" Trish could her Danielle's voice trembling. She found herself running back outside,
her heart pounding with rage. Trish struggled to regain control, listening to the chirping of crickets as she
knelt in the dewy grass. Panting, she tried to recal what she witnessed. This woman, Danielle, had caught
her husband cheating. But what did that have to do with the Creeper? "It's a Heradus. A creature that is the
product of a burning desire for revenge." That was what Christine had said the monster was.
Things were beginning to make sense, and she watched with gruesome fascination as events rapidly
played out before her borrowed eyes like a movie. She saw Danielle turn to the supernatural for revenge,
summoning some sort of demon. And the woman's vengeance was fulfilled when Angelique, the blonde-
haired woman, gave birth to a monster.
Jesus Christ, Trish thought, fighting back the urge to gag. Now she found herself watching the Creeper's
life, seeing the memories of the creature that had murdered her brother. Much to her disgust, she felt its
feelings--loneliness, mostly, and a bitterness like nothing she had ever experienced before. She looked on
numbly until she spotted the girl with tinted glasses, who was standing by a gravestone. There was
something familiar about this girl, the way she moved her head, the shape of her face. Now she experienced
another emotion, this time a sad longing. The monster loved this girl, Natalie Fisher, Trish realized, but she
could not summon any pity for the beast that had taken the lives of so many.
The mansion. The image popped into her head, and she knew, with some kind of strange certainty, that the
Creeper was headed back to its birthplace.
Clenching the pendant in her fist, Trish opened her eyes, back in the motel room. Her heart thudded within
her ribcage as she glanced around the small room. She saw the figure standing in the corner, half-hidden by
the inky shadows, and at first thought it was Matt. But this person was too tall, and, as he stepped forward,
she saw that he had blonde hair the color of a summer sun, much lighter than the policeman's. To say that
he was attractive would have been an understatement, for he was the most handsome man she had ever laid
her eyes on.
"Who are you?" Trish demanded, pushing herself up. The handsome man did not answer; instead, a smile
spread across his lean face, pale light playing over the black suit that he wore. Warily, Trish got out of bed,
her heart fluttering. She could only make out the stranger in the dense darkness. His silhouette outlined
against the window. There was, she noticed, a fierce gleam in his eyes as he headed toward her. She backed
away, as a small rabbit would do before a ravenous fox.
Trish tried to say something, anything, but she could not move her mouth. Her heart continued to thump
like a trapped animal within a cage, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he grabbed onto her arms,
his fingers nearly drawing blood. She found that she couldn't resist as his mouth made contact with hers,
sending a strange sensation of fear and ecstasy through her body. She wasn't thinking as she tilted her
vulnerable neck back, allowing his searching mouth to kiss the length of it. Any sense that she had left
dissolved as she felt him yanking off her shirt, unclasping her confining bra.
Good God, a voice shouted in her head. What are you doing? He's a stranger!
But he's so handsome, she answered herself, feeling as if she were in a dream, without reason or
consequence. Warmth spread through her lower regions as he gently brought her back down onto the bed,
his deft tongue exploring the sensitive flesh of her breasts.
She felt him rip off his trousers, and she ran her own lips over his warm cheeks, breathing in the heavy
scent of male. He was about to enter her, and oh, God, how she wanted it! Until the light hit his hair, and
she marveled at how it was the same gold color as Angelique's, and his eyes, such a pale blue, just like…
…like the Creeper's.
Her wail startled them both, and then she was on her side, Matt shaking her, face tense.
"Are you okay?" He kept questioning, his expression one of deep concern.
She did not answer at first, nervously playing with her pendant instead.
"It worked."
"What?" He asked, confused.
"The Eye." She took off the gaudy pendant, afraid to wear it any longer. The light from the street streamed
through the window, making the polished gem glitter.
"It did?"Matt sat down on the edge of her bed.
"Yeah. I know where the monster's going." Trish leaned forward, recounting her surreal dream to Matt. She
didn't tell him about the erotic part, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of the sheer terror she felt at
recalling it.
"Where's it going?"
"Marsille." She was shocked at how the name of the town just popped into her head. Gazing down at the
striped stone hanging from its chain, she said, " It's a small town near here. The creature's going home."
Fat raindrops splashed down onto the windshield of the car, splitting up into tiny rivers that ran down the
glass. Trish leaned forward in the driver's seat, trying to see through the wall of rain. They had arrived at
Marsille a few hours ago, but the heavy rain had made it difficult to find anything. And to make matters
worse, there had been several old plantation houses dotting the streets.
"We don't have much time," Trish informed Matt, seeing his eyebrow arch as she said this.
"The creature's only awake for a few days. Then it goes back into hibernation," she explained as she
squinted through the windshield.
When Trish abruptly slammed down on the brakes, Matt was thrown forward, nearly hitting his head on the
dashboard. He glanced over at the girl whose large eyes were wide with wonder. He didn't know it, but she
was looking at the mansion from straight out of the dream. True, there were some differences; the house
had been repainted an off-white, and a driveway now cut across the huge lawn, two cars parked on it. But
overall, it was still the same mansion, and Trish got out of the car, heading toward it.
The cloudy sky had grown darker, now a deep red that seemed to glow. It illuminated the manicured lawn,
turning the grass scarlet as Matt cut across it, following Trish. She hurried toward the front door, stopping
when she saw that it was already open. Although there were no lights on inside, she could just barely make
out a bod sprawled out in a dried puddle of blood. Whether the person had been male or female, she
couldn't be sure; the body was mangled beyond all recognition.
"It's here," she whispered. Matt was about to say something, saw the carcass. He covered his mouth with
his hands, trying hard not to vomit. Trish, however, went inside, stepping over the body and glancing
warily around. The air inside the mansion was thick with the cloying odor of blood, and she tried to breathe
through her mouth. She heard Matt come up behind her, and together they slowly went down one of the
passageways.
Up ahead, something scratched behind a closed door. Trish rushed ahead to see what it was, leaving Matt
behind.Eagerly, she pulled open the door, expecting to see anything but a large raven, its beady eyes
catching the limited light. The bird looked up at her, chirped, ruffled its black feathers. The room , some
kind of parlor, was empty.
"Stupid raven," she hissed, watching as the animal tilted its ebony head at her, its eyes glittering with
unnatural intelligence. So unnerving was its stare that she had to turn away. She was startled when she saw
that Matt was no longer behind her.
"Matt?"
There was no answer. Her eyes darted frantically back and forth as she searched for him. There was no sign
of the officer,and the old feeling of loss swelled up in her throat.
No, no, not again.
She began opening doors, calling his name. He's gone, she thought, just like Darry. She opened the last
door, her heart stopping a beat when she saw the blood splattered on the floor, forming a trail into the next
room.The blood was fresh too--it was still the distintive crimson color.
Time seemed to slow down as she hesistantly forced herself to check out the next room, following the
grsily trail.
She saw the large lump on the floor, gagged when she saw that it was Matt. He had been horribly mutilated,
his neck a ragged mess of bloody flesh and broken bone. Choking back the tears, she turned away, unable
to bear the stare of his glazed eyes.
"Trish." She heard her name and blinked. It sounded just like Matt.
"Matt?"
The huge shape silently crept out of the shadows, its bat wings flared ever so slightly. Its dark eyes, Darry's
eyes, glittered in the candlelight, its mottled lips pulled back, yellow teeth wet with slime. When it spoke,
it was in Matt's voice, a fact that made her skin crawl with goosebumps and her stomach churn.
"Trish, I've waited so long…"
She backed away, right into the thickening pool of Matt's blood.
"You bastard," she hissed softly. "You killed Matt, you rotten bastard."
The Creeper, she saw, was no longer clad in the black trench coat it was so fond of; now, its scaled skin
shone blue-green in the gold light as it slid toward her, crouching like a hungry fox before a hen.
"Don't be afraid, my dear. I won't harm you."
"Shut up!" She screeched, unable to hold back her anger. Eyes smoldering with pure fury, Trish dove at
the monster, only to be tossed aside.
She smacked her head on the wooden floor, pain coursing through her body as white stars flashed before
her eyes. The enormous demon growled and, with superhuman speed, pinned her to the ground. Hot,
decaying breath blew down on her face as she gasped, her arms and legs caught under the thing's
tremendous weight. Its brown eyes were wide with triumph and, oh God, lust. She gritted her teeth and
tried not to breathe in its reek as it lightly ran its leathery lips over her cheeks.
"You are so lovely," it said in the voice that it had stolen.
"Get off of me!"
The ugly monster bent closer to her face again, and she took the opportunity to bite in on the nose. Putrid
flesh and fine dust filled her mouth and she felt the heavy weight disappear from her limbs as the creature
pulled away, yelping in pain.
She bolted for the nearest door, went through and locked it, panting. Jesus Christ, she thought, wiping
her face and shuddering at the thought of those wrinkled lips touching her bare skin.
"Trish, are you alright?" Someone asked, concerned. She felt her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets
when she saw Matt, completely unscathed, grinning at her from across the room.
"M-M-Matt?"
"Of course. You look like you've just seen a ghost."
"You're d-dead."
"Dead? What are you talking about?"
He certainly didn't look dead; his skin was rosy with life, clothes free of the thick blood that had been
staining them. His eyes, though. They were so cold, so void of anything human, sparkling with malice.
"You're not Matt." She was surprised at how calmly she said this.
"Astute girl! You certainly are a clever one."
"Who the hell are you?"
Matt, or rather, his impostor, replied, " I have no name, Patricia. I am far, far too old for one."
Trish felt tentacles of fear snake through her as she studied Matt's impostor.
"What do you want?" Even as she uttered these words, she knew. "You're the demon that Danielle
summoned--,"
The dark entity stopped grinning.
"Go away, child. You don't know what you're dealing with," it rasped. Trish gazed past it at the white
pentagram drawn on the floor, a red book sitting within it.
It looked like she had just found the Book of the Devil.
"Run away, little girl," the demon commanded, its face twisted.
She hoped that what she was about to say was right.
"You can't hurt me," she declared, watching as the demon's fury grew. The face of Matt's impostor
collapsed into a sphere of blackness, a dull, inky pool of darkness that absorbed all of the meager light in
the room. The entity, however, did not move toward her.
"I can give you anything you desire if you leave," it told her, its voice falsely pleasant. "Anything at all,
child. Eternal beauty, wealth, power. I will grant you fondest wish if you just leave." The demon saw the
stubborn look in Trish's eyes and it whispered in a seductive voice, "I can even bring your brother back."
"Darry?"
"Yes, yes. I will give him back to you, my dear."
Trish felt a knot form in her stomach as despair threatened to take control. The shadowy creature, sensing
her unsureness, slithered forward.
"I know how much you miss him," it said, its blackhole of a head inches from her own. She backed up
against the door.
Trish opened her mouth, lips dry, and then blinked.
"Fuck you."
The demon was obviously surprised, even if it had no facial features to indicate so.
"You can't stop me," she replied, ready to march toward the crimson book and burn it until it was nothing
more than gray ashes.
"No," the entity responded coolly, "But he can."
Two huge arms smashed through the door, sending slivers of wood everywhere as they wrapped around her
fragile throat.
She gagged and tried to pry the gray hands off, but to no avail.
"Stupid girl, you should have listened to him," a voice, feminine, called out, and she saw the gaunt figure
separate itself from the shadows, materializing from out of nowhere. Once, Trish would have called her a
woman, but now she was an emaciated skeleton, greenish skin stretched so tightly that she could make out
every bone. The deep eye sockets were empty, the ghastly skin pulled so tightly around the mouth that the
ghoul had a permanent, hideous smile. Under the leathery dress (which, much to Trish's horror, appeared to
be sewn from human skin) there seemed to be no substance, as though the macabre garment floated by
itself.
There was a vague resemblance to the woman she had saw during the dream, the person that had first
called upon the demon.
"Danielle," she managed to say, as the Creeper broke down the rest of the door to come in.
"In the flesh," the gruesome creature said in a Southern drawl.
"You don't have to do this," Trish pleaded and Danielle laughed.
"I gave up my humanity long ago when I made that bargain. Now he and I are one." The hollow sockets
turned first toward the the faceless demon, then toward the Creeper, and finally toward the hellish book.
"That is why he needs to recite the spell that will bring Hell to earth."
Now it all made sense. The demon (and Danielle) needed someone with free will to open the portal using
the book, and the Creeper was perfect for the task. Afterall, he was at least half-human.
Trish was tied up with rough rope, watching helplessly as Danielle moved toward the Creeper and
motioned to the crimson book.
"Recite the spell," she commanded, disgusting black goo spilling from her stretched mouth. Trish looked on
as it did so, opening the evil book and pronouncing the Latin within.
"Wait," she shrieked, fully surprised when the Creeper gazed over at her, book in hands. It blinked
rapidly, its expression the same as the night when it had taken Darry.
"Don't listen to her," Danielle ordered.
"But she looks so much like her," it protested.
Her. Natalie. Of course. The mystery as to why the monster had not chosen her was solved. Patricia Jenner
reminded the creature of Natalie Fisher, that blind girl from so many years back. That was why she had
looked so familiar in the dream.
Trish squirmed against the ropes, trying her best not to let her hatred for the Creeper show on her face.
"I saw you in my dream," she said, stalling for time. "You were supposed to be a normal man. But Danielle
sold her soul in order to get her revenge, and she dragged you into it."
"She's lying!" Danielle screeched, her voice tinged with fear. The Creeper said nothing, but did not open
the book, its eyes focued entirely on Trish. Despite Danielle's protests, she continued. "I'm telling the truth.
You're a Heradus, right? That means that you were once mortal. And you would have been, if it wasn't for
her." Her voice lowered. "You wouldn't have been alone for such a long time."
Something gleamed within the Creeper's dark eyes when she said this, and, for several seconds, she felt a
deep pity for the ugly monster. But Trish also knew how many people this thing had so callously murdered,
how many families that it had left shattered. The Creeper had first taken Darry from her, then Matt. And it
would kill more, regardless of whether or not the victims had ever done anything to it.
So she gritted her teeth, kept her anger fettered as she slowly said, "I saw what you were supposed to look
like." She swallowed, afraid to continue. "Don't listen to her. Danielle has hurt you more than anyone else
has.Please, let me go."
"Nooo!" Danielle's savage cry cut through the air as the Creeper hesistated once, then dropped the book,
moving swiftly toward Trish. When she felt the monster untie the thick ropes, she reached up, loathing the
enormous thing that towered over her. But she made herself smile, the light from the candles illuminating
her soft cheeks. Trish reached up, carefully ran one finger over the monster's brow. Darry's killer sighed
with pleasure, closed its eyes, and touched her silky hair. When her hand dropped and she practically leapt
upon the liber antithei, its eyes snapped open. Without doubt,it realized Trish's intentions, even as Danielle
howled with disbelief and the entity moved toward them.
Christine had instructed her to burn the wicked book, the same one that had created the living
nightmare,and she did exactly that. Crouching low, she held the the heavy spellbook over one of the candle,
grinning as the dry pages burst into bright flame. The monster's mouth dropped open, and it made a
whining sound. Fascinated, Trish observed, with calm detachment, as the creature went up into flames as
well, its gray skin flaking off as the fire consumed it. Then, within a few short seconds, the Creeper had
transformed back into its human form, and Trish found herself looking at the man in her dreams. He
writhed in agony, his pale eyes pleading; but she did not move to help, only stomped on the book to send
gray ashes flying everywhere.
As the monster fell to the floor, thrashing, she saw the lights leave its body. Thin beams of white light
which, she somehow knew, were the souls of all that the bastrad had so greedily consumed. One of them
was her brother, and another was Matt. She closed her eyes, feeling a single tear run down her face, not out
of sadness but joy.
Danielle stopped wailing. Now, silently, she melted back into the shadows as the Creeper disappeared in a
ball of vivid light. The only things left was the burning book, which had been reduced to a black crisp, and
the demon. It watched Trish, trying to size her up, to see if it could tempt her any further.When it saw, to its
disappoinmtment, that it couldn't, it morphed into a black raven and vanished into oblivion.
Trish stood there for a while, then headed toward the doorway, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted
from her sagging shoulders. Sunlight, she saw, was streaming in through the windows as she made her way
out of the house. It had stopped raining. With a tiny smile, she went outside to greet the sun.
threadbare. But Trish paid no attention to it, plopping on the bed and putting the pendant around her neck.
She didn't even bother to undress, instead pulling the ratty sheets over her body and turning on her side,
shutting her eyes.
"I'll stay awake," Matt offered. "Just in case something happens." She nodded, listening as he turned on the
tiny television and fooled with the stations.
The heavy weight of sleep fell over her like a comforting blanket, and she invited the warmth that spread
down her arms. As the sound of Matt fiddling with the television set faded away, she heard a cricket by her
ear and opened her eyes, startled. Much to her astonishment, she was no longer in her bed, but was now
lying in a patch of dewy grass.
She stood up, looking with a mixture of amazement and horror at the open night sky above her, the
fingernail crescent of the moon casting a dim light on her surroundings. Trish clutched at the ugly pendant,
knowing that it was responsible for brining her here, trying hard not to let fear overtake her as she saw the
dark mansion looming in the distance.
"It will show you the past, and all that you need to know." That was what Christine had told her earlier, and
she tried to focus on that thought as she reluctantly headed toward the enormous house. Something told her
that this was where she had to go, and she followed that feeling, her fingers grasping the glossy stone of the
pendant for reassuranace.
The huge oak doors, Trish noticed, were unlocked, and she went in. There were people everywhere in the
great hallway, dressed in clothes that seemed to belong more in the mid eighteen hundreds than the present.
They nonchalantly chatted among themselves, the soft glow of the chandeliers overhead illuminating their
cheery faces. One portly man spotted her and, raising his half-filled wine glass, mirthfully called out,
"Well, if it isn't Danielle! Having a nice time, my dear?"
Danielle? Why did the bald man call her that?
She saw the reason when she passed by a full length mirror, nearly gasping when she noticed her
reflection. Other than the striped pendant around her slim throat, Trish did not resemble herself; instead,
she looked like a middle-aged woman in a blue dress the color of the sky, her honey hair threaded with
gray.
Trish could not keep her eyes on the brass mirror, however; she felt drawn toward the grand staircase and
hurried in that direction, trying to think. Somehow, some way, Danielle (whoever she was) had something
to do with the monster, and she allowed the magic of the pendant to lead her up the stairs and to a room at
the end of the hallway.
When she opened the door, she saw two people on a large bed, their faces slick with sweat and contorted
with surprise. One was a blonde, who was desperately trying to hide her naked body (and her ample
breasts) by pulling up the tangled burgundy sheets, but her effort was in vain. The other person was a man,
whose noble face was undermined by the fact that he had just been fornicating like a goat.
She found herself listening to Danielle, whose body she seemed to have mysteriously found herself in,
screaming something, her voice strangled with raw fury.
"Angelique, you filthy whore! How could you? How could you? My own sister with my husband!"
"Danielle," the woman pleaded, forgetting about the sheets and letting them drop, her large breasts with
their brown nipples fully exposed, "I-,"
"Shut up! Shut up!" Trish could her Danielle's voice trembling. She found herself running back outside,
her heart pounding with rage. Trish struggled to regain control, listening to the chirping of crickets as she
knelt in the dewy grass. Panting, she tried to recal what she witnessed. This woman, Danielle, had caught
her husband cheating. But what did that have to do with the Creeper? "It's a Heradus. A creature that is the
product of a burning desire for revenge." That was what Christine had said the monster was.
Things were beginning to make sense, and she watched with gruesome fascination as events rapidly
played out before her borrowed eyes like a movie. She saw Danielle turn to the supernatural for revenge,
summoning some sort of demon. And the woman's vengeance was fulfilled when Angelique, the blonde-
haired woman, gave birth to a monster.
Jesus Christ, Trish thought, fighting back the urge to gag. Now she found herself watching the Creeper's
life, seeing the memories of the creature that had murdered her brother. Much to her disgust, she felt its
feelings--loneliness, mostly, and a bitterness like nothing she had ever experienced before. She looked on
numbly until she spotted the girl with tinted glasses, who was standing by a gravestone. There was
something familiar about this girl, the way she moved her head, the shape of her face. Now she experienced
another emotion, this time a sad longing. The monster loved this girl, Natalie Fisher, Trish realized, but she
could not summon any pity for the beast that had taken the lives of so many.
The mansion. The image popped into her head, and she knew, with some kind of strange certainty, that the
Creeper was headed back to its birthplace.
Clenching the pendant in her fist, Trish opened her eyes, back in the motel room. Her heart thudded within
her ribcage as she glanced around the small room. She saw the figure standing in the corner, half-hidden by
the inky shadows, and at first thought it was Matt. But this person was too tall, and, as he stepped forward,
she saw that he had blonde hair the color of a summer sun, much lighter than the policeman's. To say that
he was attractive would have been an understatement, for he was the most handsome man she had ever laid
her eyes on.
"Who are you?" Trish demanded, pushing herself up. The handsome man did not answer; instead, a smile
spread across his lean face, pale light playing over the black suit that he wore. Warily, Trish got out of bed,
her heart fluttering. She could only make out the stranger in the dense darkness. His silhouette outlined
against the window. There was, she noticed, a fierce gleam in his eyes as he headed toward her. She backed
away, as a small rabbit would do before a ravenous fox.
Trish tried to say something, anything, but she could not move her mouth. Her heart continued to thump
like a trapped animal within a cage, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he grabbed onto her arms,
his fingers nearly drawing blood. She found that she couldn't resist as his mouth made contact with hers,
sending a strange sensation of fear and ecstasy through her body. She wasn't thinking as she tilted her
vulnerable neck back, allowing his searching mouth to kiss the length of it. Any sense that she had left
dissolved as she felt him yanking off her shirt, unclasping her confining bra.
Good God, a voice shouted in her head. What are you doing? He's a stranger!
But he's so handsome, she answered herself, feeling as if she were in a dream, without reason or
consequence. Warmth spread through her lower regions as he gently brought her back down onto the bed,
his deft tongue exploring the sensitive flesh of her breasts.
She felt him rip off his trousers, and she ran her own lips over his warm cheeks, breathing in the heavy
scent of male. He was about to enter her, and oh, God, how she wanted it! Until the light hit his hair, and
she marveled at how it was the same gold color as Angelique's, and his eyes, such a pale blue, just like…
…like the Creeper's.
Her wail startled them both, and then she was on her side, Matt shaking her, face tense.
"Are you okay?" He kept questioning, his expression one of deep concern.
She did not answer at first, nervously playing with her pendant instead.
"It worked."
"What?" He asked, confused.
"The Eye." She took off the gaudy pendant, afraid to wear it any longer. The light from the street streamed
through the window, making the polished gem glitter.
"It did?"Matt sat down on the edge of her bed.
"Yeah. I know where the monster's going." Trish leaned forward, recounting her surreal dream to Matt. She
didn't tell him about the erotic part, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of the sheer terror she felt at
recalling it.
"Where's it going?"
"Marsille." She was shocked at how the name of the town just popped into her head. Gazing down at the
striped stone hanging from its chain, she said, " It's a small town near here. The creature's going home."
Fat raindrops splashed down onto the windshield of the car, splitting up into tiny rivers that ran down the
glass. Trish leaned forward in the driver's seat, trying to see through the wall of rain. They had arrived at
Marsille a few hours ago, but the heavy rain had made it difficult to find anything. And to make matters
worse, there had been several old plantation houses dotting the streets.
"We don't have much time," Trish informed Matt, seeing his eyebrow arch as she said this.
"The creature's only awake for a few days. Then it goes back into hibernation," she explained as she
squinted through the windshield.
When Trish abruptly slammed down on the brakes, Matt was thrown forward, nearly hitting his head on the
dashboard. He glanced over at the girl whose large eyes were wide with wonder. He didn't know it, but she
was looking at the mansion from straight out of the dream. True, there were some differences; the house
had been repainted an off-white, and a driveway now cut across the huge lawn, two cars parked on it. But
overall, it was still the same mansion, and Trish got out of the car, heading toward it.
The cloudy sky had grown darker, now a deep red that seemed to glow. It illuminated the manicured lawn,
turning the grass scarlet as Matt cut across it, following Trish. She hurried toward the front door, stopping
when she saw that it was already open. Although there were no lights on inside, she could just barely make
out a bod sprawled out in a dried puddle of blood. Whether the person had been male or female, she
couldn't be sure; the body was mangled beyond all recognition.
"It's here," she whispered. Matt was about to say something, saw the carcass. He covered his mouth with
his hands, trying hard not to vomit. Trish, however, went inside, stepping over the body and glancing
warily around. The air inside the mansion was thick with the cloying odor of blood, and she tried to breathe
through her mouth. She heard Matt come up behind her, and together they slowly went down one of the
passageways.
Up ahead, something scratched behind a closed door. Trish rushed ahead to see what it was, leaving Matt
behind.Eagerly, she pulled open the door, expecting to see anything but a large raven, its beady eyes
catching the limited light. The bird looked up at her, chirped, ruffled its black feathers. The room , some
kind of parlor, was empty.
"Stupid raven," she hissed, watching as the animal tilted its ebony head at her, its eyes glittering with
unnatural intelligence. So unnerving was its stare that she had to turn away. She was startled when she saw
that Matt was no longer behind her.
"Matt?"
There was no answer. Her eyes darted frantically back and forth as she searched for him. There was no sign
of the officer,and the old feeling of loss swelled up in her throat.
No, no, not again.
She began opening doors, calling his name. He's gone, she thought, just like Darry. She opened the last
door, her heart stopping a beat when she saw the blood splattered on the floor, forming a trail into the next
room.The blood was fresh too--it was still the distintive crimson color.
Time seemed to slow down as she hesistantly forced herself to check out the next room, following the
grsily trail.
She saw the large lump on the floor, gagged when she saw that it was Matt. He had been horribly mutilated,
his neck a ragged mess of bloody flesh and broken bone. Choking back the tears, she turned away, unable
to bear the stare of his glazed eyes.
"Trish." She heard her name and blinked. It sounded just like Matt.
"Matt?"
The huge shape silently crept out of the shadows, its bat wings flared ever so slightly. Its dark eyes, Darry's
eyes, glittered in the candlelight, its mottled lips pulled back, yellow teeth wet with slime. When it spoke,
it was in Matt's voice, a fact that made her skin crawl with goosebumps and her stomach churn.
"Trish, I've waited so long…"
She backed away, right into the thickening pool of Matt's blood.
"You bastard," she hissed softly. "You killed Matt, you rotten bastard."
The Creeper, she saw, was no longer clad in the black trench coat it was so fond of; now, its scaled skin
shone blue-green in the gold light as it slid toward her, crouching like a hungry fox before a hen.
"Don't be afraid, my dear. I won't harm you."
"Shut up!" She screeched, unable to hold back her anger. Eyes smoldering with pure fury, Trish dove at
the monster, only to be tossed aside.
She smacked her head on the wooden floor, pain coursing through her body as white stars flashed before
her eyes. The enormous demon growled and, with superhuman speed, pinned her to the ground. Hot,
decaying breath blew down on her face as she gasped, her arms and legs caught under the thing's
tremendous weight. Its brown eyes were wide with triumph and, oh God, lust. She gritted her teeth and
tried not to breathe in its reek as it lightly ran its leathery lips over her cheeks.
"You are so lovely," it said in the voice that it had stolen.
"Get off of me!"
The ugly monster bent closer to her face again, and she took the opportunity to bite in on the nose. Putrid
flesh and fine dust filled her mouth and she felt the heavy weight disappear from her limbs as the creature
pulled away, yelping in pain.
She bolted for the nearest door, went through and locked it, panting. Jesus Christ, she thought, wiping
her face and shuddering at the thought of those wrinkled lips touching her bare skin.
"Trish, are you alright?" Someone asked, concerned. She felt her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets
when she saw Matt, completely unscathed, grinning at her from across the room.
"M-M-Matt?"
"Of course. You look like you've just seen a ghost."
"You're d-dead."
"Dead? What are you talking about?"
He certainly didn't look dead; his skin was rosy with life, clothes free of the thick blood that had been
staining them. His eyes, though. They were so cold, so void of anything human, sparkling with malice.
"You're not Matt." She was surprised at how calmly she said this.
"Astute girl! You certainly are a clever one."
"Who the hell are you?"
Matt, or rather, his impostor, replied, " I have no name, Patricia. I am far, far too old for one."
Trish felt tentacles of fear snake through her as she studied Matt's impostor.
"What do you want?" Even as she uttered these words, she knew. "You're the demon that Danielle
summoned--,"
The dark entity stopped grinning.
"Go away, child. You don't know what you're dealing with," it rasped. Trish gazed past it at the white
pentagram drawn on the floor, a red book sitting within it.
It looked like she had just found the Book of the Devil.
"Run away, little girl," the demon commanded, its face twisted.
She hoped that what she was about to say was right.
"You can't hurt me," she declared, watching as the demon's fury grew. The face of Matt's impostor
collapsed into a sphere of blackness, a dull, inky pool of darkness that absorbed all of the meager light in
the room. The entity, however, did not move toward her.
"I can give you anything you desire if you leave," it told her, its voice falsely pleasant. "Anything at all,
child. Eternal beauty, wealth, power. I will grant you fondest wish if you just leave." The demon saw the
stubborn look in Trish's eyes and it whispered in a seductive voice, "I can even bring your brother back."
"Darry?"
"Yes, yes. I will give him back to you, my dear."
Trish felt a knot form in her stomach as despair threatened to take control. The shadowy creature, sensing
her unsureness, slithered forward.
"I know how much you miss him," it said, its blackhole of a head inches from her own. She backed up
against the door.
Trish opened her mouth, lips dry, and then blinked.
"Fuck you."
The demon was obviously surprised, even if it had no facial features to indicate so.
"You can't stop me," she replied, ready to march toward the crimson book and burn it until it was nothing
more than gray ashes.
"No," the entity responded coolly, "But he can."
Two huge arms smashed through the door, sending slivers of wood everywhere as they wrapped around her
fragile throat.
She gagged and tried to pry the gray hands off, but to no avail.
"Stupid girl, you should have listened to him," a voice, feminine, called out, and she saw the gaunt figure
separate itself from the shadows, materializing from out of nowhere. Once, Trish would have called her a
woman, but now she was an emaciated skeleton, greenish skin stretched so tightly that she could make out
every bone. The deep eye sockets were empty, the ghastly skin pulled so tightly around the mouth that the
ghoul had a permanent, hideous smile. Under the leathery dress (which, much to Trish's horror, appeared to
be sewn from human skin) there seemed to be no substance, as though the macabre garment floated by
itself.
There was a vague resemblance to the woman she had saw during the dream, the person that had first
called upon the demon.
"Danielle," she managed to say, as the Creeper broke down the rest of the door to come in.
"In the flesh," the gruesome creature said in a Southern drawl.
"You don't have to do this," Trish pleaded and Danielle laughed.
"I gave up my humanity long ago when I made that bargain. Now he and I are one." The hollow sockets
turned first toward the the faceless demon, then toward the Creeper, and finally toward the hellish book.
"That is why he needs to recite the spell that will bring Hell to earth."
Now it all made sense. The demon (and Danielle) needed someone with free will to open the portal using
the book, and the Creeper was perfect for the task. Afterall, he was at least half-human.
Trish was tied up with rough rope, watching helplessly as Danielle moved toward the Creeper and
motioned to the crimson book.
"Recite the spell," she commanded, disgusting black goo spilling from her stretched mouth. Trish looked on
as it did so, opening the evil book and pronouncing the Latin within.
"Wait," she shrieked, fully surprised when the Creeper gazed over at her, book in hands. It blinked
rapidly, its expression the same as the night when it had taken Darry.
"Don't listen to her," Danielle ordered.
"But she looks so much like her," it protested.
Her. Natalie. Of course. The mystery as to why the monster had not chosen her was solved. Patricia Jenner
reminded the creature of Natalie Fisher, that blind girl from so many years back. That was why she had
looked so familiar in the dream.
Trish squirmed against the ropes, trying her best not to let her hatred for the Creeper show on her face.
"I saw you in my dream," she said, stalling for time. "You were supposed to be a normal man. But Danielle
sold her soul in order to get her revenge, and she dragged you into it."
"She's lying!" Danielle screeched, her voice tinged with fear. The Creeper said nothing, but did not open
the book, its eyes focued entirely on Trish. Despite Danielle's protests, she continued. "I'm telling the truth.
You're a Heradus, right? That means that you were once mortal. And you would have been, if it wasn't for
her." Her voice lowered. "You wouldn't have been alone for such a long time."
Something gleamed within the Creeper's dark eyes when she said this, and, for several seconds, she felt a
deep pity for the ugly monster. But Trish also knew how many people this thing had so callously murdered,
how many families that it had left shattered. The Creeper had first taken Darry from her, then Matt. And it
would kill more, regardless of whether or not the victims had ever done anything to it.
So she gritted her teeth, kept her anger fettered as she slowly said, "I saw what you were supposed to look
like." She swallowed, afraid to continue. "Don't listen to her. Danielle has hurt you more than anyone else
has.Please, let me go."
"Nooo!" Danielle's savage cry cut through the air as the Creeper hesistated once, then dropped the book,
moving swiftly toward Trish. When she felt the monster untie the thick ropes, she reached up, loathing the
enormous thing that towered over her. But she made herself smile, the light from the candles illuminating
her soft cheeks. Trish reached up, carefully ran one finger over the monster's brow. Darry's killer sighed
with pleasure, closed its eyes, and touched her silky hair. When her hand dropped and she practically leapt
upon the liber antithei, its eyes snapped open. Without doubt,it realized Trish's intentions, even as Danielle
howled with disbelief and the entity moved toward them.
Christine had instructed her to burn the wicked book, the same one that had created the living
nightmare,and she did exactly that. Crouching low, she held the the heavy spellbook over one of the candle,
grinning as the dry pages burst into bright flame. The monster's mouth dropped open, and it made a
whining sound. Fascinated, Trish observed, with calm detachment, as the creature went up into flames as
well, its gray skin flaking off as the fire consumed it. Then, within a few short seconds, the Creeper had
transformed back into its human form, and Trish found herself looking at the man in her dreams. He
writhed in agony, his pale eyes pleading; but she did not move to help, only stomped on the book to send
gray ashes flying everywhere.
As the monster fell to the floor, thrashing, she saw the lights leave its body. Thin beams of white light
which, she somehow knew, were the souls of all that the bastrad had so greedily consumed. One of them
was her brother, and another was Matt. She closed her eyes, feeling a single tear run down her face, not out
of sadness but joy.
Danielle stopped wailing. Now, silently, she melted back into the shadows as the Creeper disappeared in a
ball of vivid light. The only things left was the burning book, which had been reduced to a black crisp, and
the demon. It watched Trish, trying to size her up, to see if it could tempt her any further.When it saw, to its
disappoinmtment, that it couldn't, it morphed into a black raven and vanished into oblivion.
Trish stood there for a while, then headed toward the doorway, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted
from her sagging shoulders. Sunlight, she saw, was streaming in through the windows as she made her way
out of the house. It had stopped raining. With a tiny smile, she went outside to greet the sun.
