To continue
He was standing in the doorway, apparently trying to sneak up on me. There is a crow on his shoulder, which he is now angrily trying to shoo away. It CAWs again, hops off and flaps his way onto the file cabinet, surveying the scene with eager beady eyes.
Ever hear of the phrase "heart leaping out my chest? Well my heart was beyond that, my heart was jumping out of my chest and running across the room. One pinprick and my arteries would have sprayed blood like a fire hose.
I'm uncontrollably pushing my back against the bookcase, instinctively trying to get away. Unfortunately I can't pass through solid material, so when he comes closer I just sink to the floor once again.
Since I can't look into his eyes I don't know what he is thinking but I can see his teeth, is he grinning or snarling? Although I am in full flight or fight mode and I know that he will not kill me that still doesn't stop me from whimpering and moaning, the Creeper snatches me up with his frightening strength and sets me on his table. He bends down and pushes his nose against the crook of my neck. I'm so afraid I'm mortified; I think I can smell my own fear. I can smell him too. I can smell blood on him which does nothing to help me.
The obviousness of my state provokes an obvious comment; he sniffs the air lightly and simply says: "Afraid."
I mumble "yeah" but there's anger in my answer. What the hell did he expect?
Suddenly he grabbed my chin and forced my head up, looking into my face. I don't look back. I look to the floor. I regret that as soon as I see a headless corpse dragged behind him. The crow hops onto its neck, caws again, and then begins picking at it. I guess I know why crows follow him now.
This is all so wrong. Demons aren't supposed to exist, men are supposed to have heads, and crows should be just ugly ordinary birds that don't eat human flesh. And I shouldn't be here.
Finally he releases me and motions me off the desk. I shakily climb get down as he hauls the corpse up. He looks at my face again and shakes his head as though a fly were bothering him. I interpreted that as: "I just don't understand you."
The Creeper ripped off the headless man's clothes; he took a knife and began severing the poor man's limbs. I must have groaned or made some other noise to indicate my disgust because he suddenly turned to me and smiled as he stuffed an Achilles' tendon into his mouth. By now my fear was ninety percent gone. It was an over reaction. I'm not in any immediate mortal danger, so my mind is regaining control.
But the horror, the repulsion, that won't go away with the fear. I force myself not to see things that as they are, the dead people are just plastic, the Creeper's meal is just meat not an actual person. The only part of mind I can't trick is my olfactory sense. It responds strongly to decaying human flesh, as all human noses do.
It makes me want to throw up, however I control it, it helps that I have nothing in my stomach.
However the gagging catches the horrible beast's attention once again. He turns to me and favors me with an expression that I guess is curiosity, maybe exasperation. To my surprise he also directs a question at me.
"Sick" he asked simply.
I look at him, but not into his eyes. A thousand responses come into my head, Angry: Yeah watching you do sick things makes me sick, you sick bastard, Sarcastic: No I just have a cold, rotting human flesh doesn't bother me at all. Pleading: Yes I'm sick please let me go home!
But instead I find myself smiling, not a real smile mind you, one of those standard automatic social smiles that you give to people out of politeness. Then I find myself saying something almost reassuring to him. "It's normal, it will pass."
He nods, but then asked "why normal?"
"Why?" I ask back in surprise. "Um, I really don't know, it just happens. But it will-uh- go away." I put my hand over my stomach, "soon hopefully."
He nods again as if my answer made sense.
Mainly to take my eyes off him I look around the room struggling for something. It's so ridiculous, these little social rules I've internalized. Now I'm searching for a topic of conversation. I'm forcing small talk, as if the Creeper and I were waiting for a bus somewhere. Yet my curiosity is sincere, I've promised to confront him, and it won't help to be ignorant. So I look, not the corpses, he's trying to shoo the crow away again, I blurt out my first question:
"Why don't you just kill it?"
He turns to look at me again and I stiffen and avert my gaze. He can skewer me with his eyes. I look as the crow, which is starting to pick at the flesh again.
"Killed one once." He rasped out. "Mobbed me."
I laugh at that, I really can't help it. Anyone who's seen The Birds can imagine it. It also struck me as funny that this horrible monster, who can do what he wants to humans with impunity, was humbled a little by crows.
To my surprise he laughs with me. His voice is unlike any human's, it sounds like someone scraped his throat raw with sandpaper. My voice sounds a little shrill with trepidation but with his laughter the anxiety in me wanes a little.
Feeling bolder my eyes move up his face, catch his eyes briefly and then lower mine again. Addressing his nose I say plainly, "I want my notebook back."
He howls with laughter at that one, and my-I can't help it- cheeks redden and I laugh at myself with him. Still laughing he reached casually into his bookcase and pulls it out. I reach to take it but my gaze is drawn to the bookcase. I literally do a double take, for the first time I realize the significance of it. He can read? My mind drifted to the BEATNGU plate…
I'm rudely pulled from my thoughts by a yank on my arm, and I realize he's pulling me towards him. He opens it to the picture I drew of him. (I drew him sleeping, which is what I really wish he would do). I began to panic again, but he merely directs my attention to the surface of the desk.
To my utter shock I can see the picture was replicated in the carving upon the desk, almost perfectly. I had to use my imagination, since I've never seen him sleeping, so I drew him like a cat. His wings and his limbs are tucked in neatly, his eyes are closed. He looks relaxed, almost lazy, but like a cat he still exudes an indescribable power and confidence.
I am stunned, almost flattered, I can see him grinning.
He begins to speak again, then stops himself. He opens the notebook to a blank page picks up my pen and writes: "GOOD BUT DONT SLEEP LIKE THAT"
He doesn't hold the pen properly, like how I learned in grade school. He holds it rather awkwardly in his fist like it's a stick. He makes big irregular letters, seemingly with no concept of proper capitalization or punctuation. Then he continues:
"SLEEP LIKE THIS"
He dropped the pen, went limp, and closed his eyes. Then he went rigid like a corpse. Then-I could scarcely believe it-his face started to writhe. I watched in astonishment and wonder as, (I guess it was skin?), reared up then wrapped around his head completely covering his face. He then lay still for several moments to imitate sleep, although it looked almost like death, then he got up. The flap of skin around his face peeled back on its own and returned to its "normal" position. He grinned once again at the look on my face.
I was still surprised, too surprised to be afraid. My mind was reeling in its struggle to come to grips with this extraordinary, unbelievable creature. The only thing I could do was blurt out my astonishment and another question:
"I've never seen that!" I breathed, "When do you sleep?"
His grin faded slightly he bent over the notebook and sighed in exasperation. He scribbled a few things then scratched them out, looking unhappy and slightly frustrated. After a while he seemed satisfied he turned to me and motioned me back to the notebook. He drew what looked like pictographs. A crescent evolved into a circle then back into crescent. A small human figure became a bigger one.
Pointing to the first one he wrote "MOONTH."
Perplexed. I shook my head.
He pointed again and croaked out, "moon, cycle."
"Moon cy-? Ohhh month!" I realized
He nodded then pointed to the second set of figures.
"Human." said The Creeper. Then underneath the smallest figure he wrote. "BABY" underneath the biggest one he wrote "ADULT"
He turned to me again and said simply, "Eat, then sleep."
I didn't get it. "…Ummm, you lost me." I said, feeling stupid.
He pointed to the moon cycle once again, "Eat.", then to the human figure, "Sleep."
It was beginning to dawn on me, albeit slowly. He was trying to convey a sense of time. "So you're saying," I struggled to comprehend, "you sleep in the time it takes a human to grow up fully. Then you're awake for only a month?!"
He grinned and tilted his head back and forth, as if to say, "You're basically right."
My mind lurched again. He got to "eat" for one month out of every, what? Generation? He slept for years? To me it sounded like a horrible life. I couldn't help but ask another question, I shot him a sideways look. "What the hell are you?" He blinked and wrote: "I EAT HUMANS."
Before I have time to digest this non-sequitur something hits me like a truck.
"Hey! Wait, you've been awake for waaaay longer than a month. What gives? Are you lying to me?!" I get a little tense. I hate being lied to.
He glares at me in annoyance as he pauses once again in his feeding. I began to feel anxious, but a hint of a smile appears. He takes a hand and traces it from in-between my breasts down to the juncture between my thighs, while licking his lips.
"Child" he drawls out again. He gives me a wink and leer.
I straighten my spine and suck in a lot of air through my nose to steady myself. He didn't need to elaborate. So it was because of the "child" he was able break his own cycle? I remembered faintly he was said to sleep for many years.
Again I'm pulled from my musings. My body shivers and my knees buckle, and I look down and realize what he's doing
"STOP!" I cry out. And jump back, his hand never left. He sniggers again but-thank God- returns to his meal.
I have to get outta here. Quick as humanly possible I move to retrieve the notebook and try to leave the room. But of course humanly possible isn't that fast. He doesn't turn; he doesn't even turn his head but he still grabs me with the speed and accuracy of a striking snake. I instantly start struggling to get away.
"Stay." He orders around mouthfuls of kidney. Like I have a damned choice, I think with anger and fright, and continue to struggle. He's still eating the corpse, but he's nearly done. Ribs poke out brokenly and almost all the organs are gone. The torso is basically a shell now. I can see spine, through the stomach.
When he's done he turns to me, he uses both of his bloody hands, holding me still. He starts smelling me. I know what will happen next, I fucking know what will happen next! I began to squirm out of panic, it's totally useless. His teeth start to graze across my throat; I can smell blood on them.
What I say, what I do next is totally unplanned. It almost bursts out at random:
"I'm hungry!" I cry.
The Creeper stops, and stares at me. It's his turn to look bewildered. I decide to take advantage of it. "Yeah I'm starving. I have no more food."
He looks less bemused, I go on: "I haven't eaten in uh-a few days. And I threw most of that up." He begins to look somewhat convinced. "I'll get so sick if I don't eat." I try to look faint with hunger, which isn't hard since I'm almost fainting with terror. However I know what cinches it. I look at him directly, even into his eyes, and say: "If I starve, he starves."
He is silent in thought. I don't look into his eyes; I concentrate on looking weak from hunger again. He understands though. Reluctantly he sets me down.
Something in his movements makes me think he's irritated. There's something snappish in the way he puts on his coat and hat. He quickly leaves; I just look at the floor. He pauses in the doorway then slams it shut. When I try to open it, it's locked.
Sighing and trying not to collapse I walk shakily back in. I avoid looking at the walls. I don't sit on his desk, that man's hollowed out corpse is still there. Then I remember the bookcase. Instantly curiosity overcomes me. What on earth would a monster read?
There is a messy stack of ancient newspapers. Some are almost fifty years old. One headline catches my eye. "BUS ACCIDENT STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION" A picture of a warped looking school bus lying on its side accompanied it. I fold it back and set it down. I look at the books. There is a huge red book. I open it and find a dictionary; it looked very worn, like someone had looked through it a lot. There are some magazines. A lot of Popular Mechanics, a few faded yellow National Geographic's, arts and crafts magazines about carpentry or whatever, and one very out of place homemaker-style magazine. I shake my head, mystified, and pick up the next one.
It's not a magazine, but a catalogue." COLD STEEL KNIVES", subtitled "QUALITY PERFORMANCE" reads the cover. I'm guessing they made knives, I think. But I look inside and I also see swords, axes, even spears. Accompanying pictures of their merchandise were pictures of demonstrations. Smiling men hacked ruthlessly into slabs of meat and pieces of wood. I could almost imagine him poring relentlessly over it. I put it back quietly.
The books were mostly trash. His collection seems almost random. They weren't in great physical shape either. Pages torn, spines bent, waterlogged and scribbled on. Whether this was abuse from the monster or from their previous owners I didn't know. It seemed these were simply whatever he could find, thrown out, lost, or taken from his victims. However there was a Gideon Bible, which I thought was ironic, a big book of classical mythology, a slightly blood stained book on human anatomy (which I did not touch), Desmond Morris's The Naked Ape, and How to Draw the Human Figure by José María Parramón. I was astonished, naturally expecting horror and slasher shit but I did find "The Silence of the Lambs" by Thomas Harris, and it didn't look like it had never been touched. I guess that's why he knows what Chianti is, I thought with a humorless laugh.
I released the air in my lungs and sank slowly to the floor, clutching my notebook. I'm trying not to freak out again. They're just mannequins, they're not real. I told myself. To avoid looking at them, and to avoid thinking about him coming back, I looked back into the bookcase.
To my surprise I saw I had overlooked one book. In the lowest shelf, in the farthest corner is a thin book, almost completely covered in dust. I reached for it and wiped it off. This was the oddest book yet. It was bright and happy, clearly designed for children. I wiped more dust off of it and found the title: MY FIRST READER. It was surreal, but it made perfect sense somehow. It looked almost exactly like the book I used in first grade, except it was far older. He taught himself to read.
I opened the book curiously. Inside was the alphabet accompanied by pictures of things starting with the letter they were representing. Then there were simple instructions on how to write simple words accompanied by appropriate pictures. It looked like he had tried to write in it himself. I could see the beginnings of crude awkwardly formed letters. They were either his or the unfortunate child who owned it. Not wishing to think about it I gently slid MY FIRST READER back into the bookcase.
I sighed again, and then yawned. Although I really didn't do much today I felt drained. Just being with the Creeper seemed to rob me of my energy. I smiled slightly thinking of how I got rid of him, but he would come back eventually, and I wouldn't know what to do then. Too avoid looking at the mannequins I closed my eyes.
I wonder why he believed me?
I was wondering the very same thing, María.
I jerk physically and mentally. My eyes flutter. Then I sink back into unconsciousness. I realize I was dreaming.
Dream
This is the most lucid dream I've ever had. Yet I still did not wake. I had asked myself a question, and someone had answered back.
I hear a chuckle and realized I was dreaming the same dream again.
It's you. I was so happy to see him again. Even if he wasn't real.
Hey! Who says I'm not real? He demanded with mock anger. I felt a cold sweat start on my back. He could read minds…
If you don't want me to read your mind, then don't think so damn loud. He admonished. Then laughed again good naturedly and hugged me, like he was an old friend.
I felt so many strange emotions. I was happy to be with him, I was anxious because I was beginning to doubt he was just a dream, I felt a lump of tears in my throat, but if these tears were from happiness or sadness I couldn't tell. Everything was so confusing in dreams.
Hey! He said again. I still couldn't see him clearly. I simply got flashes or impressions of him. Hey you did great today. You were very brave. I could never do what you did.
Brave? Me? I thought incredulously. A brave person would have fought and won, or at least tried. They would have helped his victims or fought back in defiance of his plan. Or wouldn't shy away from killing themselves. They wouldn't have sat there sniveling.
Then, without actually using words or facial expressions (because I couldn't see his face) the boy conveyed a sense of disapproval. I felt shame. Finally he said: You tricked him.
Not really, I replied, I wasn't exactly lying about being hungry. For some reason the boy thought this was hilarious. I could feel his laughter through out my mind. Why did he buy it though? I asked. I mean that was probably the stupidest thing I could have ever come up with, but it worked.
I think if he understands anything he understands hunger. The boy abruptly stopped laughing, as if the subject became to grave too laugh about. And you knew how to manipulate him, he's worried about-you know.
I nodded; I had made him think about the well-being of the "child".
Then I felt something I had been holding back ever since I learned of the Creepers cycle and my help in breaking it: guilt. It was my fault he was awake. It was my fault people were dead.
Before I could cry, or feel self pity, the dream person told me, plainly. It's not your fault.
It's his fault. He hissed. I felt anger and distress coming from him. And I knew very logically that it was true, but I still hid my twinge of blame at the thought that I had still got myself into this position, but I did not elaborate on it. Finally I asked him who are you?
He laughed again, well you sorta already know me. I shook my head and tried to focus myself on him, but I just couldn't get a clear impression of him. He seemed out of sight, or too blurry or too bright to look at. I wondered.
Are you, me? I asked him. Maybe I had lost it; maybe I was talking to myself, or a part of my subconscious.
Well I am a part of you, but no I'm not you. Sensing my frustration he apologized: sorry for sounding like a fortune cookie, but you have to help your self understand. It sucks but you have to do this on your own. I can only help.
I squinted trying to get a visual picture of him but it was impossible, either he or the dream weren't letting me. I can't see you, I complained, show yourself to me.
The boy conveyed a "no" again and said: I'm not preventing you, you're preventing yourself.
What? Why?
Because you're afraid.
I felt my confusion and resentment grow. I am not afraid.
Yes you are, you can't look at me, because if you do you'll see something awful. Something you're trying not to see.
Now I do feel anxious, a little, what is he talking about?
I really want to see. So with a massive effort I focus everything on him. It's so hard, it takes EVERYTHING I have to focus.
You can't see me because you don't want to see me.
You are sounding like a fortune cookie I snapped. But I could feel something inside of my mind, inside the whole dream. It was shuddering with resistance. Don't look, don't look it was crying.
Even if I see something terrible, even if I see the worst thing in the world I will look.
And for a moment I can see him more clearly. Just impressions though. I think I see bright yellow. I see brown hair. When I try to look into his eyes, the dream world blurs and I awake.
The Creeper has just walked into the room.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN: I don't think crows would mob something the size of a human. I have seen crows circle menacingly over a man (my father) after he picked up a fledgling. And I have seen them mob a cat who killed one of their own. This is just my guess as to why the Creeper tolerated them. Fun facts: a flock of crows is called a murder.
Also I realize that in the novel version of Silence of the Lambs, Lecter says "a big Amarone" not "a nice Chianti." But the movie quote is more recognizable so I used that.
Nothing serious yet but next chapter... I see you shiver in anticip-
-PATION :-)