A/N: Warnings! Sex. Violence. Sexual Violence. Violent sex. And a flashback inexplicably written in third person. Reviewers will be rewarded. How? redplanetes has generously drawn and donated a picture of the Creeper sleeping, the same picture Maria drew, along with the carving the Creeper made of it. If you review they're yours. (Remember to request it and leave an email address)

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The woman claimed she was hungry.

Well of course she was hungry. She hasn't eaten, and what little she has eaten she's thrown up. She claims its "normal", but I don't want the unborn ones to starve.

But that doesn't make this any less annoying.

I am driving down the road humans' call "9". I see no cars, let alone anything that remotely resembles human food. Its still dark, most humans would probably be sleeping or at least inside their houses by now.

When I grabbed her I could smell her fear, and underneath that, her arousal. This mixed together along with subtle scent of the woman herself was nearly disorientating. If I was starving it would have prompted me to eat her, but since I was well-fed I did not.

Then she cried out, she sounded like a baby animal, whimpering and begging its caretaker for food. She did look hungry, and I can hear her stomach churning endlessly. I definitely had doubts, I'm not stupid, I know she is afraid of me, but the child did come first. No matter what.

So now I'm driving along this road seemingly empty of humans, looking for something I'm not even sure looks like. The other human's food came in a brown bag, but I saw nothing remotely resembling that. Why can't she just eat what I give her? Every time I try she wails and pushes the delicious meat away from her face. So I stopped trying. However she still needs to eat…

There, I see a car. It's small and red, a woman is driving it, a brood of children are in the back. I can see it clearly. I almost forget myself, I almost think I'm hunting but then I remind myself I'm not, the horn stays quiet, I don't try to scare them.

The third time I run into the car it rolls over and topples off the side of the road. Easy. They're all unconscious or dead. I smell the woman, who is alive but smells uninteresting. I smell her children and take the middle one. He has a good heart. I search the car but all I find is trash. No food.

Disappointed I carry his corpse back to my truck. A human would probably get upset with me for taking a child, they always seem upset about that, but it's probably more practical. If I killed the mother all the children would probably die, since human children can't take care of themselves, but now I killed only one child. The other children will grow and produce potential meals now themselves.

I have prey, but I still do not have human food. Then I realize I had driven in a field. Tall plants rustle around me. They are so ubiquitous I hardly notice them anymore, but they must be human food, why else would humans cultivate them so diligently? Or set up little torture idols in it? I pick a few stalks; pull them up by the roots. I don't know how much she needs so I pull up many.

With my food and hers safely in the back I drive home.

I awoke quickly when he walked in. I pondered the incredible dream briefly, but he was right in front of me now. I don't dare look up. He dumps something practically on top of me. Startled, I realize this must be the "food". I see he's gotten me-

"Corn?"

I look up, I could see a little of his face and I see him grin. I also see-

"Oh no", I scowl at him. There's a little kid in his hand. He's dead. He looks unabashed as usual. I focus unhappily on the corn. Raw corn is edible, if it's ripe enough. I open the sheathe, it's ripe.

Of course I don't feel like eating, that poor kid. Don't yell at him, don't cry. I instruct myself. I don't want to eat, but I just told him I was hungry. My fault Tears start to burn my eyes. I suppress it. I can smell soil and chemicals.

"I need to wash this." I calmly explain to him. "I can't eat dirt and pesticides." He merely nods and starts butchering the boy. I can't get out of that room fast enough.

I feel jubilant; I've escaped him again, but that poor kid. Don't think about him.

I pull out some emergency water, open it and began washing some of the corn. I don't feel hungry but I know my stomach is empty. So when I've washed it thoroughly I bite into it.

It doesn't taste too bad. I start imagining it boiled properly, with butter, and salt. Oh and chili powder.

Mmmm, that wakes up my stomach. I wash and eat two more.

Next day

I've managed to avoid him all day. It meant getting myself lost in this incredibly dark creepy building, but it's worth it. It's more than worth it.

This place is a wreck. I can't imagine what the hell it's for. It just seems designed to be a monsters lair. Wandering through it is incredibly unnerving. I always expect to crash into him unexpectedly or at least bump into more corpses.

Yeah Maria, this scary-ass demon, who eats brains for breakfast, has nothing better to do then spend his time planning to jump out and scare you.

If he popped out and said 'boo' you would be scared. Admit it.

Well yeah he's more than a little frightening

"Shut up" I tell myself. I feel like I have that multiple personality thing. There's the Maria I was before, and the Maria I am now. They both hate each other, but if I kick them out who do I have left?

Still I wonder what he is doing. I hope he's not looking for me. If he wanted to find me, to hunt me down, I don't have a chance. I walk faster and hike up a set of concrete stairs that no sane person would climb. They're big but crumbling; they hold my weight well enough. I find my way up to the second floor. It's less oppressively gloomy, but only because there is less roof between me and the sun.

Well this was a shit idea I think. The whole ceiling looks like it's gonna fall in. It dripping everywhere, I've nearly slipped in several rust colored puddles. It's still better than what is behind me.

One of the walls looked like it had a window, but the glass is long gone, and instead of a neat square hole there is just a crumbling wreck. I peer out cautiously, then draw back in sudden vertigo. I could very easily fall-or jump out. I close my eyes and consider, then dismiss it. I peer out again. I'm very high up; I can see the surrounding land to highway nine, and beyond that. I can see more farmland.

I lower my eyes and I see the truck, parked close to the building. Then I catch sight of him suddenly. He swoops past my line of vision, and out of it again, flying low to the ground. What the hell is he doing? I think. Is he 'hunting' again? I see him swoop back, and I withdraw my face from the window. Then peer out again in curiosity. He has a long wicked looking hand scythe; it looks like something Father Time would use, or more appropriately the Grim Reaper.

God he looks horrible. He resembles the famous Le Petit Journal painting of Death reaping cholera victims, except he's not killing humans, he's cutting grass. A little gardening? I peer out a little more. The grass is a long yellowish brown, like hay. Ubiquitous stuff in areas were there are too few people to bother cutting it. Why would he want it? He doesn't eat it. Does he?

Maybe it's for me? Maybe, He did feed me raw corn, and he probably looks at us they way we look at cows. I laugh at that image even as I am disturbed by it. Somehow I don't think its for me, but what else would he use it for? I'm curious, but not curious enough to go down and ask him. I barely got away last time.

Yeah and you killed a kid to do it.

I wince and close my eyes. I still feel bad, but I didn't kill him. He did. I don't examine the rest of my conscience though.

I see his shadow swoop down again. He's gathered all the hay he could and is walking inside the building. I gaze out more.

If I fell out, if I died, what is in inside of me would die. It would take longer but it would die, slowly, from lack of oxygen. He'd still awake and kill, probably for eternity, but I might be able to fight him now. I look at the ground again; I can see myself down there, broken and dead or dying. Would it hurt terribly? Would there be one instant of unbearable pain then oblivion? Could I do it?

After a while I pull back.

Coward.

Shut up.

He comes swiftly out of the building and takes flight again. I duck down and squat on the wet floor to avoid notice. It's more difficult, my center of gravity seems to have changed. My stomach is bigger.

I look out the window, hoping he doesn't fly up high enough to see me. I can stay up here for a while but not forever. Maybe I should try running again. I remember being caught and shiver. From my position I'm only able to see endless gray sky. The clouds are so heavy it almost feels like night already. Then I realize I could smell moisture in the air. It's going to rain.

When was it? I thought idly. The last time it rained-

I realized I can remember the last time it rained. I couldn't before. I forgot most of it.

I shake my head. How could I? The details come flooding back. I remember I could smell the rain.

A night to remember

Maria could smell the rain

"Shut the window please, Maria." came the soft grandmotherly voice. Maria basked in her contentment, but hurried to obey. As she reached the window she saw a flash of light, and wasn't surprised to hear the deep roll of thunder a few seconds afterwards as she sat on her overstuffed arm chair.

She shivered, slightly, almost too slightly to notice. Maria wasn't afraid of thunder, she hadn't been since she was five, but although she loved the rain, lightening still made her wary. It was ominous, its noise reminded her of artillery shells and its raw power was nothing to laugh at.
"Much like him", she thought. Except HE didn't just fill Maria with unease, just his memory made her want to scream and tear off her skin. She shivered again, to cover her unease she filled her eyes with Elsa Daniels.

"Gonna be a big storm tonight huh?" She asked, stabbing at the silence.

Elsa turned a page of her book absentmindedly, "Hmmm, no I don't think so, it will pass us over us, but the radio said it would move south."

Maria merely nodded silently at that.

Over the past few weeks Elsa had practically adopted Maria, she took her everywhere, which the girl accepted by helping Elsa in every way she could. She was given food, whatever clothes didn't fit Elsa anymore, (the rest was supplemented by whatever was in Elsa's church's donation box) and more importantly a sense of stability.

It was a few weeks after she arrived and things were getting slightly better. The pain between her legs was long gone, she could look at herself in the mirror without crying, and after multiple showers she no longer smelled of him. Though there were still the nightmares.
These were the most vivid nightmares she ever had. She's wake up literally screaming and tearing at her hair. Or she'd awake but remain paralyzed, an incredible weight pressed upon her accompanied by a feeling of pure evil. She tried to scream, thinking the Creeper was on her, but she could not. They weren't real, just night terrors, but she still awoke in the morning sobbing, terrified, and struggling not to throw up.


She had gone, with Elsa silently offering support, to the police, but when the time had come, when she had a captive audience, Maria lied her ass off. Even now she regretted it, but a bigger part of her was relieved, she knew they would never believe her.

Maria claimed she had been car jacked, then beaten and dumped in front of Elsa's house. Elsa looked up sharply when she neglected to mention she had been found naked, but didn't say anything. Maria thanked her silently. The rest of it was standard and bland. He was white, of medium height, dark hair, sunglasses, hood pulled over his head. Maria hadn't realized till later that she had been unconsciously describing the Unabomber.

Now her life was warm and very comfortable. She quickly had settled into the lovely monotony of the life of Elsa Daniels. She had hoped her car and possessions might be found and recovered, she had abandoned it right outside the church in full view of the highway. But the police bobbed apologetically and said they'd continue running its plates and looking.

Disappointed she had turned back to Elsa and her life and planned her escape.

Escape, the word crawled up her throat like bile. Despite everything, despite the comfort of the house and the maternal fussing of Elsa and the new found appreciation for the beauty of the countryside, it all boiled back down to Him. Everything here was his, she was his, the land was his, everything reeked of Him. She had to get out of here.

And as she sat on her borrowed bed in her borrowed clothes listening to disturbing reports of murder and kidnapping over the radio Maria began to feel a sense of horrible sloth, a listlessness settled over her. She tried to rationalize it as waiting for stuff, but she knew she should leave as fast as she could. As much as she loved Elsa a weight began pressing down upon her, a time limit ticked inexplicably in her head, one that had nothing to do with the start of the school term.

Still as she struggled to free herself from this, a voice told her not to bother. She recalled her first thought when she was chained, "she would never leave." Nonetheless she braved the phone call to her father and somehow wheedled enough money for a bus ticket to be wired. Not to home because she just couldn't go back there, but on to her new found college independence, like nothing ever happened.

So she would bid farewell to Elsa and march bravely to the bus terminal, it would all be behind her. It didn't happen.

As she lay on the huge spongy bed-a bed that didn't belong to her- she could hear the soft pitter-patter of rain. It was comforting and soothing, almost hypnotic, but she could not sleep. She had a tight feeling in her throat. She felt exhausted but her adrenaline started to flow.

"Go to sleep" she moaned to herself. She tried to force it by shutting her eyes tightly. After what seemed like hours she finally felt like she might start to drift off. She hoped she didn't have another nightmare.

She rolled over slightly, into a better position. She still wasn't asleep, but she could feel sleep just beginning to take hold. She soothed herself by saying she would leave soon. Her muscles relaxed.

BAM! Her eyes snapped open. That's not thunder, she thought.

She sat up quickly. Of course the first thought that popped into her head was obvious. Her mind began panicking. Her throat constricted, but she also tried to reason with herself: It's done, it's over, it's not what you think! She pressed herself into the soft foamy mattress and resisted the childish urge to pull the comforter over her head.

Slowly, shakily, she climbed out of bed. Her old childhood fear of being grabbed by the creature under the bed briefly resurfaced before being dismissed. Still trembling she moved to turn the light on. It would make her feel better.

A shadow moved over the window.

Clutching the tiny ball-and-chain switch tightly, she held still as petrified wood, and stared anxiously at the window. When she stared for what seemed for hours, with an intensity that should have broken the glass, and nothing happened. She flicked on the light.

Instantly warm relief flooded her as the light flooded the room. She could see nothing except the rain gently drumming a percussion on the windowpane. Although she was much less scared now she still felt uneasy. Her greatest fear in the world was him, but she thought he would not come back. Why would he? He had no use for her, he had released her. Still, I should close the curtains.

She took a step with a leg stiffened by fear. Almost at the same moment HE appeared.

She paused, as still as a doe when it catches the scent of a cougar, Fear paralyzing her brain. He was grinning, leering at her. She could only see his head, shoulders and part of his chest through the small window. But that was more than enough, it could only be him.

His coat and hat were on, with rain dripping slightly off of it. His face, (Oh God,) was twitching, sniffing the air passionately. She could see his breath fog the widow. He was pushing against it. Seemingly rubbing his body against the wall separating them as he smelled the woman in the room.

Then he did something that broke her paralysis. He simply raised his right hand and bent his fingers into a simple gesture. Maria knew that gesture, everybody did, it meant "come here".

She did nothing but stare for a moment, eyes huge, as if hypnotized, before the reality of the situation crashed down on her. She took one step back, then another, then fled the room.

"ELSA!" she screamed as she ran toward the hall to her room, "ELSA!" She burst into her room, not bothering with the light. She pounced on the sleeping figure and shook her awake. "WakeupwakeupohGodpleasewakeup!" Maria screamed incoherently as Elsa turned over slightly and made an annoyed, soft sound of someone not fully awake.

She shook her even harder. "Please wake!" she shriekedhysterically. She couldn't leave Elsa, not after everything she had done for her; she didn't want her to be eaten. "He's here, he's here!" Maria insisted.

Elsa, semi-awake and exasperated countered calmly, "It was just a nightmare, dear, go b-"

"NO! He's here! I saw him through the window. Please Elsa-"

Elsa Daniels was naturally kind-hearted but practical. She had never heard of the Creeper, and she wouldn't have believed it anyway. She assumed Maria was the victim of some terrible crime, more than she admitted too due to her initial condition and subsequent hyper vigilance, but she highly doubted her attacker was here. She probably just had a vivid nightmare. Not surprising given what she had heard the last few nights.

She turned over planning to tell the hysterical girl off. She cared for Maria, she was normally such a sweet considerate young woman, but she simply couldn't act like this. However something jolted her fully awake before she could even get the words out.

Her window smashed open. Maria screamed in terror. Elsa thought it was tree branch until she saw the thing moving around, alive, it's a fist, she realized in shock. With strength Elsa didn't thinkthe small woman could have possibly possessed, Maria yanked her up fully from her bed and shoved her out into the hallway. Then into the kitchen.

Elsa automatically picked up the phone, it was dead.

"Of course." She muttered, an odd thumping noise came from the roof.

She stole a glance at Maria, her eyes were wide, they almost looked deranged, and she reminded Elsa of a frightened rabbit. Maria seemed unusually small and fragile. She was eyeing the roof in fear.

"We need to get out of here, now." She said in a hoarse whisper.

Elsa felt her stomach drop. Something was going on here, something she didn't understand, but Maria seemed to. She had been right, but Elsa knew they didn't have time for apologies. She slipped an arm around the girls shoulder. "What do you think we should do?"

For a moment Maria looked blank, and Elsa feared she would swoon or something, but then she began instructions in a rapid fire, almost military-esque fashion that shocked the older woman.

"We keep the lights off, move as quickly and quietly as we can to the garage, get inside, and then get into your car." Maria hissed rapidly, and tugged on her hand towards the garage.

Then the front door exploded.

Both women screamed in shock and fear then back pedaled to the edge of the kitchen, the door was inside, hanging slightly off one hinge, when he stepped in.

The Creeper had decided that now was the time to get what he was already affectionately referring to as "his human." The deadline had passed, and he knew it was thanks to her. What he was most worried about was how other humans would treat her. Humans sometimes tamed intelligent birds they called jackdaws and kept them as pets. When the tame jackdaws tried to rejoin their wild companions they were viciously rejected, he had seen this happen.

He had also seen humans be viciously rejected from their society. Imprisoned or killed or exiled. He worried how a "tame" human would be treated by "wild" ones. To his relief he saw that she had been re-accepted, she was wearing clothes and trailing behind an older woman whom he didn't find appetizing. He decided to leave her alone for a few days. He would collect her later.

When the rains came he knew it was time, he disliked rain, it washed away smells and made the world of scent "blurry." If he didn't get her now he might not be able to track her scent as he had before. However she didn't come to him willingly. He was able to track her by sound to the other room. She was yelling, when he broke the window and he could smell fear.

He closed his eyes and focused his sensitive ears towards the house. He can hear sounds, clumsy attempts to be quiet, he made a decision. He could squeeze through the window but he simply did not feel like it. Instead he jumped to the roof of the house, sauntered casually across it, and jumped off near the front door.

Grabbing the door jam he reared up, swung his legs back, and then shoved them forward, converting the door into matchwood instantly. He heard both women scream. It was exciting, almost like a hunt, except he only wanted the younger woman, and she wouldn't be eaten, well, not in the traditional sense.

Elsa saw a man step over the tattered remains of her door into her house, stooping slightly to avoid knocking his hat off. He wore a Stetson hat and a trench coat; his whole body seemed cloaked in shadow. She heard Maria to her right moaning and making a choking noise.

The man walked slowly, almost nonchalantly towards the kitchen, Maria and Elsa huddled instinctively together, and he strolled closer and closer then stopped, and… flipped on the kitchen light.

Blinking in reflex and surprise, Elsa cringed then took a good look at her intruder.

Her physical reaction was predictable enough; she felt her insides go watery as he grinned at her, amused by a reaction he had seen incalculable times. Elsa merely gaped in stupefied horror for a minute then tore her eyes away from the monster to look at Maria. The girl she was holding was looking down. Her long hair covered her face like a curtain she was trying to hide behind. However she noted the girl did not scream or panic, n or stare in shock. She knows him, -it Elsa realized.

Making a quick decision Elsa acted. Shoving Maria out of the kitchen and so hard she nearly fell over, Elsa began yelling instructions. She was to run to the back of the house. Maria quickly nodded and obeyed.

Elsa had no clue how strong he was. She was totally taken by surprise.

Maria started to run but a noise made her look back. To her horror she saw Elsa running towards the monster. "No!" she pleaded, stopped and turned around. The Creeper didn't exactly hit her. He grabbed her face and shoved her. Hard.

All she could do was watch as her friend flew across the small kitchen come to a crashing halt. There was one horrible moment of silence.

"ELSA!" Maria screamed and, for once forgetting the monster, she sprinted towards her injured friend.

Maria could see broken bones and bruises and blood. Her stomach twisted, please, please don't be dead, she begged. She was planning to rush to her, to stop her bleeding and see what she could do-if anything.

Of course she never got even close. The next thing Maria remembered was the sensation of being very small. A vague childhood memory came to her, she was a toddler; someone much bigger was picking her up from behind, the kitchen tiles zoomed away from her. She couldn't fight against that strength.

She realized it was the Creeper; he slung her over one of his shoulders and held her still with both hands, as if she was an invaluable, but inanimate object. She felt a stab of resentment underneath her fear. She must have screamed, or screamed for Elsa, but she had no memory of that.

She couldn't actually remember leaving the house or being flown away or being shoved, fighting like a wildcat, back into the church. Upon reflection Maria figured she was hysterical, or something. If she racked her brains she could find the image of hands, (they didn't seem like hers,) on his face. He was yelling in irritation as the hands dug their long nails into the vulnerable skin of his face, trying desperately to scratch out his eyes.

The other memory was more graphic. She could see it in third person, like she was outside her body. All she had was the image of the demon. He was on her, snarling and licking her face while he rammed himself into her with the energy of a rabid animal. She remembered dimly the sensation of not being able to move her hands.

Maria had awoke dizzy and confused long after that. She was so bewildered that the corpses or the Creeper simply didn't register. The only coherent thought was: were am I? Slowly it sank in, the first sensation was cold-her clothes had been ripped off. Then she saw her bags, those familiar things jarred her memory. She began to realize her surroundings looked horridly recognizable. She understood she was in a place she only thought she'd see in her nightmares. She crawled off that awful table and huddled in the corner with her stuff, claiming the small unobtrusive corner as "hers." She remembered putting on clothes; she remembered the Creeper looming over her, sniffing her. She remembered her fear, crying, and sudden uncontrollable nausea.

In her despair this had become her whole world. As horrible as it was for a while she couldn't remember who she was, or her initial trauma. If you asked her where she came from or what her name was she would have drawn a blank. It came back, eventually, but it was like a false awakening into a deeper nightmare. That's when she began thinking coherently and recording her thoughts, even if they were all initially concerning fear and horror and of their source-HIM.

The rest is history

Later
There was no thunder this time. When it was ready, the sky simply opened up and rain poured down. Normally I might have liked it but two things bothered me. One was remembering some of the forgotten details of that night, and what that meant for the future, and two it was soaking me.

This building couldn't even stay dry when it was sunny, now there might as well not have been a ceiling above my head.

"Shit!" I curse under my breath as I retreat down the stairs. I thought I could stay and manage but I just can't. The water is so cold it should be hail. I nearly slip down the stairs but I manage to keep my balance. I move cautiously, one step at a time. It would hurt like hell to fall down these stairs. It could have easily caused breakage or internal rupturing.

It was even worse at the bottom. All my stuff, my bags, what clothes were out, my "bed". All of it soaked or starting to soak in what looks like the beginnings of a swamp. Water no longer dripped, it poured. It ran down the walls and rusted pipes, flooding nearly everything.

"Shit!" I cursed again and began moving my duffel bag, water pouring from it, soaking the bottom half. My backpack fared little better. I grab my smaller purse-bag, and other miscellaneous things. I move them to much drier area.

Even while I'm moving I can see it's futile. The water is dripping everywhere. If I move it to one spot the water will just rise up to swamp it too. My hair is dripping wet; the water is up to my ankles.

How can he live here? I think. It's a horrible place without rain, but now it's simply impossible. How the hell does he keep his stuff dry? That's when I realize. He "lives" in the only part of the building I haven't see dripping.

His "office"

I bite my lower lip and consider my possibilities. I don't think he'd get angry if I moved my stuff there, and I don't want my stuff to get ruined. I release my lower lip, I'll do it, I just won't linger.

I grab the duffel bag, the heaviest and sling my back pack over my shoulder. I move as fast as I can down the hall to the "office". Everything looks the same except he's stacked mounds of hay almost everywhere. It's so bizarre that I actually pause and stare. Why does he do these things? I shake my head and put my things in a discreet corner. Everything is still dry here, that's how he can tolerate it.

Once again he's not here, and I can't dawdle. I run back to my "room", and grab another handful of stuff; I think I can see a stalk of corn floating by. I do this twice more, and he still hasn't returned. Every time I move the stuff I grow more uneasy.

I'm still in the "office". He's still not here. I think I've finished, I should leave, something is churning in my stomach. I have a sudden vision of the corpses coming alive, screaming at me. In horror I back slowly away.

Run! The boy's voice whispers.

I turn and run out of that room as faster as the wet floors will allow. I run back through the hallway, I run passed my flooded "room." I have no where to go. Where am I going to sleep tonight?

I stop, panting, I feel hot despite the cold water on me. My cheeks are burning as I gulp down air. I'm really questioning my sanity now.

That music isn't helping. Where the hell is it coming from? I start to think I'm hallucinating again when I see its source. The Creeper is coming in from the outside another bundle of hay under his arm, the scythe in his other. I hide behind a tangle of pipes and valves, desperately hoping to disappear. Yeah right. Even if couldn't see me he could smell me. Still, I instinctively become quiet and motionless.

He's whistling. Whistling, for Christsakes! The tune seems oddly familiar but I can't pinpoint it. I just wrap my arms around myself, and push myself into the shadows.

He whistles seemingly out of absent-minded happiness as he gathers the last of the grass. He then disappears into his "office" the music growing fainter.

I take another deep breath, listening to the faint whistling. I know I should leave, but I literally have no place to go. He might have left the door open. I focus on where I think the entrance is, could I run away? Very carefully I peer around my forest of rusted pipes. I squint looking for the exit, I think I can move quickly if-

Then I hear the old Victrola, I quickly duck back to my dark hiding place, begging, praying, not to be seen. I hold still again. He gets closer the music becomes louder. To get my mind off of things, and to stop my shivering, I try to focus on the music.

It sounds very familiar, I'm sure I've heard it before, but where? I can feel my mind grope towards recognition. I focus on his song as I stare at a drop of water continuously dripping down. That's when it hits me: It's the same song he was whistling, "Singin' in the Rain". Another old classic, this guy needs to seriously consider updating his collection, but its appropriate enough I guess.

I lift my eyes when I feel a shadow moving across me, and I meet his horrible brown ones through the pipes. I stifle a intake of breath and push myself deeper into the shadows. The image I have in my mind is of an animal, i's camaflouge helping it blend in with the forest of trees. I'm in a forest of pipes.

How the hell will that help?! I think hysterically. I can't run from him I can't hide from him. I can't do a damned thing. I hear him sniffing softly, and then he starts to whistle again.I'm singin' in the rain, I'm sing-in' in the rain, he's whistling along with the song, but the notes of his whistle are chilling. Every one sends a stab of ice down my spine. He gets getting closer I can hear it, I can't see well, but neither can he. Catching my lower lip in anxiety I make a quick decision. Moving quietly and carefully as I can through the rainwater I flit silently to another shadow somewhere in this forest of rusted pipes. To avoid hitting myself my hands stretch blindly ahead of me, feeling my way around.

What a glorious feelin', I'm happy again, I'm laughing at clouds He's somewhere behind me from the sound of it. I gasp and stifle the noise again, now I'm definitely lost, it's dark and wet but I can still feel and hear. Making sure to stay ahead of him and not slam into anything, I keep moving. I can feel the rust scrape across my fingertips.

And I'm ready for love; Let the stormy clouds chaseeveryone from the place It's totally hopeless. The thing I want to do most is break down and cry, but I refuse. I keep pressing forward. I can see a vague light up ahead. His whistling fades. I become excited, even hopeful, so moving through thinning pipes and valves and hunks of rusted metal, stepping through dirty rainwater, hoping I won't need a tetanus shot afterwards, I push out of the forest of pipes-

And bump straight into him. Just singin', Singin' in the rain, he trills his last whistle in time with the music. It hangs in the air, and then he grabs me.

I wasn't really shocked, I was expecting it after all, but I still cried out, I still started struggling. I can feel my belly pressed against him. He has me by the shoulders; I can hear the rough animal-like inhales.

I scream again in loud protest as I feel myself being dragged/carried off. Singin' in the Rain blares from the old Victrola as I'm rushed by it. I can feel tears blur my eyes again. I want to plead, I actually open my mouth, but I immediately decide against it. There is no point; I know he can't be moved.

I'm not led, I'm dragged to the desk as I feel rough hands run over me, when I feel cold and hear ripping I realize my clothes were being torn off. He inhales deeply once again.

"Pl-please no." I say automatically with no expectation of being heard. My body is soaked with rainwater. The sudden rush of cool air on bare wet skin makes me shiver. I can feel rough hands pinning my arms to my side. No no no no, I moan silently. I can feel him, rubbing slowly against me. He groans and closes his eyes as he continues rubbing against the soft skin on my thigh. I can feel him growing harder.

Please, please, somebody help me, anybody I thought wildly. This was the standard pre-coital panic. Now I'm squirming uselessly, thrashing in an attempt to get away. He starts snarling at me, telling me to be still. He shrugs off his coat in the effort.

"STOP!" I screamed in desperation as he wrestled me onto the table. Although I was still so unhappy and frightened I could feel the anger burn up my throat. No, no screw this. I'm not going without a fight! I hit him, not hard because my swings are wild and, let's face it; I was never that strong to begin with. But I'm still making it hard for him. Looking supremely irritated he shoved me down again, at that point I immediately started kicking.

He makes a noise that sounds like a sigh of impatience and pushes my legs open, wedging himself in between them. Instantly I start swinging at him again. I try to claw out his eyes. I can feel him; he's pushing himself inside of me. His weight settles on me. I hiss in slight pain.

My attempts to strike him become wilder; I can't remember ever being so angry. I think I wanted to kill him. Angry as well he began his thrusting harshly. He suddenly and swiftly lunged and bit my hand, but quickly released it again. It wasn't a deep wound but it was painful enough to get my attention. Chastised, I pull my hands back and do not annoy him further. I caught the drift of his message. "Hit me again and I'll bite them off"

I resigned myself, and try to focus my mind elsewhere. He held my legs up higher and leered down at me, I could feel his tempo increase Not this time I thought stubbornly, I hissed angrily and tried pushing some of his weight off of me.

He snarled and promptly bit into my neck.

I screamed, a pure wail of pain, and struck him again. He shuddered and bit down harder. I could feel my blood flow into his mouth and his hated tongue running obscenely over the injury. "GET OFF!" I screamed in pain and fear and desperation, and I pushed him with all my might.

He continued thrusting but he rose. I could see what can only be described as a glazed look in his eyes. I could see myself reflected in them. I don't know how to describe what was happening at that moment. It could not have been longer than a second, maybe time slowed, maybe my mind worked faster.

I saw him staring at me, with that hideous predatory look in his eyes. I could feel the wound throb. I saw him licking his lips, eyeing my jugular with hunger.

I knew at that moment.

When his head plunged down I swung my arm up. This wasn't a girlish slap or a wild swing; I landed a hard solid blow to his jaw. His head actually snapped to the side. It hurt like hell but I couldn't feel it at the time, and I didn't think I hurt him too badly either. He actually paused, coughed up some dust then continued on. I was shocked to see one of his mandibles were broken.

Grunting like an animal he came a few minutes later. He collapsed on top of me, licking the congealing bite wound on my neck.

"Get off!" I screamed again and shoved him with all I could. He stayed a few minutes, panting and licking. When my lungs started struggling to gather air under his weight he got up.

I saw him glaring down at me with his awful brown eyes. When I felt him withdraw I instantly and viciously kicked him away. I turned my head, mostly in shame, and curled up in myself on his desk.

I think I sobbed, once, if he felt anything from that or even heard it I don't know. I could feel his breath on my back.

Quickly, but gently, he reached underneath me and neatly flipped me onto my stomach. I started to struggle but he very easily held my hands and my hips. I decided against it. He, using his feet, very smoothly spread me apart again.

I tensed myself, but could do nothing to resist in this position. I could feel his tongue again. He was licking off the cooling sweat gathering on the small of my back and my neck.

I shivered again and suppressed a moan. I could feel the very tip of him touching me; I could feel my muscles desperately trying to grab him. Not again, I thought in embarrassment. I was too tired to be angry or to focus my mind on other things.

Still holding me still he slowly, tortuously, began to rub up against me, but not into me, which is what my body desperately wanted. He ran his tongue over me again as I felt myself grow damp. He stopped rubbing when he pressed against the swelling nub. I let in another shallow gasp and shuddered, trying not moan. He begins to push up against it gently, insistently.

"S-s-top." I moan pitifully. "Please!" He completely ignores me, focusing on the task at hand.

My fingers dug into the table, I toss my head back and groan. I can feel something wet running down my thighs. Dimly I realized I've never ever felt anything this intense. Not in my entire life.

I can the feel the crest of the oncoming climax when I hear him groan and pull away. I-to my ever lasting shame-almost cried out in protest, but he quickly utilized his tongue to complete the task. By then I was far too gone to care. It's the most physically wonderful and emotionally horrible thing I've had since the first time I met him.

Sobbing, mewling and clinging for dear life to the desk, I almost didn't notice him gently entering me again. He was slow, almost apologetic, as if this was to make up for the brutal, angry fight-sex of before. I, of course was in no position to resist.

The Creeper had done his previous task so well I felt no pain, although the weight on my hips was disconcerting as he happily mounted me fully. I felt him beginning his thrusts again. Unhurried at first, he leisurely sped up the pace, I groaned again. Silently praying this was the last time.

Seemingly sensing my discomfort he angled his thrusts somewhat differently. When he found the sweet spot inside of me, the place he had cleverly discovered the first night, he made sure to hit it with every plunge. This position put pressure on places I never knew I had. I made noises of pleasure regularly and involuntarily. He growled in response, eagerly sniffing the air around me and licking my back.

This time around was much less intense but I still buried my face into the writing carvings on the desk and cried out. Absolutely nothing I could do but allow this unwanted pleasure to wash over me and wonder at how my body could so eagerly betray me. He naturally delighted in my gentle, consensual-seeming contracting and, rumbling in pleasure, came a few minutes afterwards.

Rotten. That's what my I felt like. I wasn't in a terrible amount of pain, my neck still throbbed and some skin had been inadvertently pulled loose by his claws, but I don't think I could've been considered torture victim. He terrified me but did no lasting physical damage. In fact he had gone out of his way to manipulate me into pleasure.

My guts feel rotted, like they would fall out. Physical pain was minimal, I could've easily handled it, but what I was feeling inside of me was beyond dreadful. I felt so tired and weak. Weak, morally, not physically. I had completely failed to resist-again.

He was still on me, and inside of me. One of his arms curled around me, he smells my hair with contented breaths, occasionally he pushes into me again, but seemingly had no desire to initiate another session.

Please get off I thought, but did not say out loud. If I opened my mouth my rotted insides would spill out, or more vomit. I tremble, a little, but make no noise. I feel like I'm trying to hide from him once more, even though we're close as can possibly be. He starts exploring my neck again, running his tongue gingerly over the wound. At that point I squirm in discomfort. I just want him to leave, but I also can't stand to be alone. I can't face myself, I can't look inside me and see my own glaring weakness peer back.

When he pulls me up I noticed faintly that his desk carvings had impressed themselves on my skin. Beasts and monsters and screaming human souls tattooed themselves temporarily on my breasts, thighs, stomach and buttocks. The carving he made based on my drawing was settled right above my pubic bone. A sign, a little sleeping Creeper is here.

I can't even look at him; it isn't even about fear anymore. It takes me a moment to realize but I'm ashamed. I'm feeling so horribly guilty. I tilt my head forward and hide my face behind my long dark hair.

He easily carries me away from the desk, probably assuming I'm too weak with passion or pain to walk on my own. Before I have time to fret where I'm going to sleep he places me unceremoniously onto a small pile of hay. It's scratchy but it cushions my bones. Out of the corner of my eye I see him clear the rest of desk off and promptly begin working on something again. I can feel a crippling depression hovering in my mind, also disbelief, depersonalization and more distantly, boiling anger. However my primary emotions are shame, and piled on top of that, weariness.

Sleep then becomes the main desire. So I adjust my body on the hay. I notice with distaste I can feel his fluid running down my legs. I blink my eyes slowly and I'm out within minutes.

It hurts. A lot. My body is asleep but my mind seems awake. Inside are all the monsters and demons I've felt possessing me since I stumbled into the gas station. Long dead people gaze up at me. Some plead, most look on in humiliating pity. I see my mother and can't bear to look into her face. Crows swirl around in a voracious murder. I can see Elsa Daniels sleeping painfully, the snake-demon grins at me lasciviously and bites my stomach painlessly. Corn rustles with no breeze. A tiny monster is curled up sleeping, sucking on his toes. He looks so peaceful and content. He's dreaming. The waxing moon is red, dipped in blood. I'm so dizzy. I think I might throw up.

I can feel him too. The dream boy comes to me, running along. I see a flash of yellow. I can feel his pity. He tries to comfort me. I'm so sorry, so sorry.

It's rude, but I'm too angry to care. I'm enraged. I hate all this shame and pity. I hate my helplessness. I ignore him, turn my subconscious back on him. Then I shut them all out completely. It's the dream equivalent of slamming a door in his face.