Sometime in November
All the corn is gone. Not just the ones he brought me, all of it is gone, everywhere. The fields look bleakly empty.
The Creeper says nothing; he merely gazes out in the empty fields with me. I really can't tell what he's thinking. He's probably rarely seen empty fields like this. As if to underscore the situation my stomach rumbles for its breakfast.
We both say nothing and turn to go back inside the building.
Later
I'm watching him doing something to the roof of the room we're in. Sometimes I watch him, some times I look at Darry's dusty corpse. The corpse gapes at me silently.
Today I tried to talk to him, I remember that vision or hallucination I had shortly before…I don't want to talk about it, but I remember seeing the bodies. I remember how alive they seemed. They were trying to warn me.
I touched Darry's corpse again, it certainly doesn't feel like a body, it's very rigid, almost brittle though. I could smell preservation fluid. It smells like a frog in biology class.
Suddenly I blink back tears. I feel so sorry for him, all of them. I think about trying to get the body down. "I should probably bury you," I whisper
The corpse doesn't answer back.
I hear a noise behind me. The Creeper suddenly grabs me and lifts me off my desk, he smells me again. He looked into my face as if asking what I was doing.
I don't answer him either way, just wander off. I can see him still looking at me.
Lately he's been doing something to the building, I don't know what. Sometimes I hear him on the roof just above me. Today I saw him cutting pieces of wood. I really don't care what he's doing.
Still feeling morose I wander up the stairs I went too earlier. If anything they seem crumbly and unstable as before. Of course everything is wet. I didn't think it was possible, but this place smells even worse after the rain, and that must have been a while ago. I don't know how long I was out sick.
I'm really depressed, the early morning overcast and bleak fields isn't helping my mood. I look out at all of this from the window. It seems very far down, very far away.
I peer out the window.
I know what I can do, I just don't know if I can do it. The ground tilts dizzily away from me. It could only take a second; it would only hurt for a second. Then I would be free.
Already I feel conflicted. There aren't voices in my head, just flashes of feeling. Encouraging me to do it, encouraging not to do it, now I just feel confused, I want to jump, but I don't want to die. I lean out; sometimes I wish I'd never been born at all.
I don't know how long I stared. It could have been a second or a half hour. I felt hypnotized.
I almost fell out in surprise when I felt a hand on me. However the hand kept a firm grip and pulled me safely into the building.
It's the Creeper of course. His grip feels like iron. I look into his face. He doesn't seem exactly angry, but I can tell he's not pleased, his eyes are wide and they're glaring into mine. Suddenly I feel abashed and ashamed, I keep my head down.
He guides me very carefully down the stairs, then steers me into the "office". He keeps his grip on me; I'm starting to feel uncomfortable so I try to squirm out of it. Instantly his grip tightens and his other hand grabs my arm. "Hey," I gasp and start to struggle, the iron grip only tightens. Suddenly a bolt of fear shoots through me.
He merely sets me down and locks the door, then turns back to whatever he's doing. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Has several wooden beams throughout the "office" Some look professionally made, fresh off of a construction site, others look little more than thick, hacked-off branches. I watch, now interested, as he carefully sets them through out the room.
Something clicks, and I suddenly realize what he's doing. These are support beams; he's trying to give the roof above us some support. Suddenly I jump in panic.
He's been giving me uneasy glances all the time he's working now he stops and looks at me. "I want to leave," I tell him and rattle the door like a cage. Now everything seems weak and unstable. "I want to leave now."
He grabs me again; he's probably thinking I'm trying to escape. I stop struggling. I'm afraid but not of him.
"This building," I ask him slowly, calmly, "is it weak?" I ask. He suddenly realizes my concern, and releases me. I can see relief on his face. Still his hand lingers, I try to ignore it. He nods, "Dripping, unsafe," he gestures to the support beams.
"Then I want-" I try to protest but he cuts me off, anticipating what I'm going to say. "Leaving soon." He promised, and continued his work swiftly. I uneasily resigned myself. I realized then how much I've utterly hated this place.
It's funny. One moment I'm seriously contemplating suicide, the next I'm worried that a building will fall on me.
I gather my things; my once neatly packed bags are bulging with wet, smelly clothes. They all seem too heavy and numerous. The Creeper has some moldy moth eaten old thing he throws some knives tools, and books into. I try to suppress my giggles, as the thing looks suspiciously like an old purse.
He leads me slowly through this wet, dripping hell hole. I staggered after him, being weighed down by my bags. He looks at them disapprovingly. I can't help but agree with him, but still I get angry. I wasn't exactly planning on living with him. I keep the anger inside.
We come to the truck, looking ugly as ever. He opens the back doors, I move forward, eager to dump my stuff.
"Ohh eeeew." I gasp and immediately draw back. A horrible foul smell assaults me. I nearly vomit and back away in disgust. The Creeper moves forward frowning. He pokes around through the crap in the back, his nose twitching. He homes in on the scent and pulls out something and shows it to me triumphantly.
It smells terrible; at first I think it's a glove. Then I see it's a severed hand, black and rotted and bloated. I wrinkle my nose and turn away. He holds it up grinning almost triumphantly. He smells it, brings it right up to his nose. "Ripe!" he says. I shudder and back away.
He sniffs then tosses the hand away, evidently too far gone to be edible. I move cautiously to the truck again, holding my breath, with some difficulty I heave my bags up.
Before I realize it, before I could even control myself I spun around quick as lightning. I raise my hands, one protecting my face one hitting and pushing away the Creeper, who merely looks annoyed and puzzled. Frantically I get myself out between him and the truck then hysterically babble something about "getting the other bags," and run off into the building.
Only when I feel safe inside do I slowdown, panting rapidly, I put my hand to my chest, my heart is beating so fast! I am terrified.
Why? I walk a bit more slowly to the "office." At first I don't know why. I simply freaked out shoved the monster away and ran. I can't explain it. I just lost it for a minute.
However as I come to the threshold of the "office" and replay the scene in my head I think I suddenly realize. The Creeper had positioned himself behind my back while I faced the truck. The last time that happened he pushed me on it and violated me. His shadow, his breathing, his smell, all triggered a deep set terror.
I finally calm down as I gather the last of my things. I don't know if he was planning on doing it again, but I reacted automatically. I stack my bags and glance up.
Darius Jenner's corpse is gaping at me.
A terrible sadness comes; suddenly I don't want to leave. I'll stay in this building even if collapses onto me. I sit on the Creeper's desk and touch the corpse, glancing over my shoulder; I can stay a little longer. I talk to Darry.
"Thank you," I tell him. I'm afraid, if I leave will he not be able to talk to me? It's a terrible thought. Gently I touch where his navel was, wondering why the monster wanted it. "Stay with me please." I begged him. "I'll go insane, I'll kill myself-" a slight hoarse sound interrupts me. Ignoring the crawling tingle of fear in the back of my neck I turn to see the Creeper again, who doesn't look happy.
He jerks his head toward the exit. I frown but reluctantly follow, however I hesitate while picking up my bags and gaze at the corpse. The Creeper nudges me impatiently. Suddenly I have an idea.
"Please," I beg him wildly. "Please let me bury him," I gesture to Darry's corpse
The monster snorts, seeing my request as ridiculous, he nudges me impatiently again. I procrastinate, looking desperately at the corpse. Sighing in irritation he grabs the rest of my bags and herds me out of the room. I look over my shoulder, trying to fill my gaze with Darius. In half a second he's gone.
I just wanted to repay him for his kindness.
It's still gloomy outside, but clearing up. It must be around noon. The crows are cawing, I can see a few gathered around the old hand. The monster pushes me into his truck. His ugly face peers into my side window at me for a second then he circles around.
I pause in thought; I could open the car door and run while he's still temporarily outside. My hands itch towards the handle; however a sudden small sharp pain in my swollen belly discourages me. I can't run, he will catch me.
A second later the car heaves as he gets in, he starts the engine. He turns to me and grins as he revs it repeatedly, suggestively. I try not to look at his face. He guns it suddenly and drives recklessly onto Highway 9. Hastily I search for a seatbelt; it has no buckle just a frayed edge. I hurriedly tie it to the seat.
He's driving recklessly fast. I open my mouth, and then close it, realizing the absurdity of telling him about speed limits. He drives on.
I'm happy I'm finally out of that place, sad I had to leave Darius.
We drive across bleak landscapes. Sometimes in the distance I'll see buildings, farm houses probably. Soon I become bored. It's like any other road trip. I sigh and lean against the window.
Sometime later we find a car.
Instantly I perk up, so does he. As we approach it at a shocking speed I see more clearly. It's a truck, bigger than the Creeper's. I see his face as he concentrates, deciding and weighing his options and calculating-a predators face.
The size difference apparently doesn't matter. He suddenly and shockingly lays on that awful horn. It's so loud and sudden that I jump and cover my ears. He weaves wildly around the bigger truck as if he was suddenly desperate to pass him.
The truck driver reacts, I can see a slight wobble in the trucks course then it speeds up, trying to instinctively get away. The Creeper tails him even more closely, honking furiously, sniffing the air vents.
I realize what's going to happen a millisecond before it does, I cannot help but shriek in warning and fear. The truck slams his brakes, and for one heart-stopping moment I'm sure we're going to crash. However it seems the Creeper's done this too many times before, he turns the wheel the left and misses the truck by what from my perspective like a goddamn inch. The Creeper barrels on, pulling up next to the side of the truck and honking aggressively.
I can see the driver through the tinted windows clearly now. Kind of oldish, middle aged at least, heavy set, jowly, unshaven, red face. If I met him in a bar or on the street I'd call him scuzzy. Now I'm just looking into his shocked owlish face. I can almost see what he's thinking as he gets a good view of the BEATNGU truck…oh shit what is that? he blinks. I can sympathize; it practically screams "serial killer." Nervously he tugs on his deep-sounding horn.
I hear the Creeper chuckle as he responds in kind, his horn sounds like harsh scream. He leans over me and sniffs the vents.
For another heart stopping moment I think he's going to ram him, or some other dangerous stunt in an attempt to kill or hurt him. But then he exhales slowly and then floors the petal and speeds on. He passes the truck to my enormous relief. We continue onward.
It takes me a minute to unclench my seat, remove my nails from the seat cushion and remember to breathe. I inhale, feeling like I just ran a marathon. I'm beyond freaked.
Suddenly I feel his hand on my chest. I jerk up in surprise. Is he feeling me up!? I think in horror. However his hand moves over my throat, feeling my heart beat, with a thoughtful expression on his face. I swat his hand away in annoyance.
"Yeah, I'm scared" I admitted, "because you're fucking crazy! You could have killed us-well me." He merely shakes his head and smirks in amusement.
I glance back to see the truck, and allow myself a revenge fantasy. "Good thing you didn't, he would have crushed you. You would have bitten off more then you could chew with that thing."
His smirk erupts into howls of laughter at that statement. Whether he's laughing at me or what I said I don't know. I just feel my cheeks go dark red and retreat into a sudden silence. I hide behind my hair, I imagine his body squashed like a bug under that big heavy truck.Screw him…
I don't know how long we continued that long tedious trip. It was too boring to go into detail. Finally sick of it I finally brushed back my hair and asked him: "Where are we going?"
"The Hive" He answered simply. I didn't understand, in fact I was totally baffled, but I didn't query further.
The only thing of note that happened next, indeed it's still burned into my mind; a motorcycle sped arrogantly past us.
I felt my blood drain from my face. I actually shot him a pleading look, but he ignored me, a slow grin crept over across his face. He sped up in what seemed like half a foot away from him. Either his own loud engine or day dreaming kept him from noticing.
"No, wait," but my pleas were drowned out by the loud honks. He couldn't ignore that. I saw him visibly jump, nearly losing control of the motorcycle. The monster swerved about him like a cat batting a mouse around. The rider began panicking. I can see his head moving frantically to look behind him while trying to keep his eyes on the road. He sped up as far as he could go. The Creeper moved much faster, almost impossibly fast in his souped up truck. I could see the realization in the guy's eyes. He tried to swerve to shake him off. Like an antelope trying to outrun a lion.
The monster was totally at ease, if excited, certain of his own powers, in his own element. He sniffed the vents eagerly again, and with a sick feeling I realized he didn't feel the same way about this guy as he did the trucker.
He seemed to be thinking and planning, as the guy tried desperately to speed ahead. He twirled the wheel slightly. He hit the biker at an angle, and he hit him so softly for a moment I thought he would be okay. Of course I realized I underestimated the kinetic power of the truck as he hit the cow-catcher like thing and sailed over our heads. The BEATNGU screeched to a halt.
Oh God, Oh God. I thought in numb horror. I fumbled with my stupid belt and finally ripped it loose. I ran to the back of the truck. In retrospect it was dim-witted of course, but I rushed to him. I heard the Creeper slam his door and run after me.
The biker was lying broken on the ground. It made me sick to look at his limbs all twisted in such unnatural angles like that. His helmet was cracked and askew. Oddly enough I saw no blood, but his insides must have been pulverized. I saw and uncovered eye flick up to me. I felt relief he was still alive, his arm jerked awkwardly. I could see his hand reach down…
Suddenly the Creeper yanked me viciously back, shoving me away. I could see horror in the man's face as he pulled out some sort of gun, aimed…
Let me tell you, you know the sounds guns make on TV? Those cute little popping noises? Real guns sound nothing like that. It sounded like a cannon going off. I cowered and covered my ears again. The man began screaming, panicking as he got a good look at the Creeper. He started firing wildly at him. The monster grabbed him by the collar, grabbed him by the wrist.
He could have knocked the gun away, or wrenched it from his hands. Instead he held his wrist, squeezing slowly and ever tighter as the man screamed and jerked in pain and tried desperately to hold on. I heard a bone crack until he finally dropped it, whimpering.
The Creeper began to smell.
I winced and turned away, not wanting to see, (and covered my ears again) but I still heard the terrible screams, the gurgles and a nasty SPLAT sound. When it was over I succumbed to the temptation tot turn around, the man was already being loaded in the truck. I could see bloody ropes on the ground. On a second glance I saw they were guts. He had been eviscerated. I gagged and turned away again.
The Creeper returned back to the driver's seat sill licking and slurping. It sounded like someone eating spaghetti. Not being able to stand it any more I turned away from the ugly truck. I jumped off the road. I'm not going back.
Instantly I hear a screech of protest. I shut my eyes and run harder. It's much more difficult with the extra weight, even early in the pregnancy as I was. I wrap and arm around my stomach and continue onward.
Or course it's no use. He catches up to me effortlessly. I start screaming at him. "No" he says sternly and grabs my shoulders and gives me a thorough shake. "No, no, no" I can't stand being treated this way. I spit at him and struggle. He sighs wearily.
"I don't want to go back, I DON'T wanna!" I'm screaming. Vaguely I'm aware of how childish I sound. I hated that truck, I hated everything about him.
"HELP!" I yell, "PLEASE!" Someone has to hear someone has to be around. Someone has to help me get out of here. He lifts me off the ground altogether when I simply refuse to cooperate. No one comes. What would they do if they did?
He climbs into the truck first, and then pulls me in after them. I'm still kicking and screaming. He pulls the piss-poor excuse for a seatbelt over me and tightens it to an unnecessary degree. His eyes are wide and angry; his mouth is set in a very thin line. He grabs my face to make sure I see it. It's a kind of I'm-Taking-No-Crap-Right-Now expression. I still cry but I'm quiet. My last gesture of defiance is to kick the truck sullenly.
The monster drives on. I can hear the motorcycle skitter out from the cow-catcher in front and feel the bump as we run over it.
The world is very blurry through unshed tears. I wipe them away. I don't whine or howl, but I'm still upset, just as I always am when I witness a victim's murder. To distract myself I look out the window. I see some more buildings. Interested, I look out at them.
Some are more far away than others. There seems to be a bit more people here. On building catches my eye. I stare closely at it until I can read its sign "AJAX SUPERMARKET" The "X" and the "M" had fallen off.
I become excited, I almost ask for him to stop, but then decide against it. I don't want to cause anyone to get hurt. I watch as the building slowly disappears. The monster turned west on a dirt road.
The road became more decrepit, as the foliage grew more unkempt. It was creepy, not the place you want to accidentally turn on. It really looked like there was nothing here. I began to wonder what he meant by "The Hive".
I was wrong, there was something there. We pulled up next to a slightly dilapidated, but still pompous-looking building. He stopped the engine.
I was curious, but still feeling tired and sad so I refused to budge. I gazed out the window and played with my nails idly as he moved the body of the biker and other stuff from the back into the building. I thought about wandering up the road to find that old supermarket. The Creeper can temporarily suppress my appetite with his vile actions, and depression does its job also, but it can't be kept away forever. I'm hungry, hungry and tired.
A sudden tap on my window draws my attention. I turn to see the monster's ugly face; he opens the door and makes a gesture with his hand. "Come." He tells me. I hate how he talks to me, like I'm a child or a dog. Glowering, I turn away curl up into myself.
He's not in an indulging mood. He rips the belt off and picks me up, carrying me baby-tantrum style. I kick and beg to be let down. Since I'm not screaming or crying he surprisingly obeys my request. I follow him to the building.
It's an ugly place, but not nearly as foreboding as the old place. Nor is it wet and moldy. To my surprise he leads me down into the basement. It's big, concrete and loaded with signs of his presence. Corpses, everywhere corpses!
I would storm out in disgust but something about him seems odd. He's excited, almost gleeful. Like a kid with a big surprise. He keeps smiling and gesturing at me to keep following him.
I'm wary of course, how can I not be? But I still follow him at a distance.
He's digging through the basement. After a moment of rummaging he comes out with a very old, very dusty looking box, and presents it to me like it's a priceless treasure while grinning broadly. I look at him hesitantly. "Food," he said, "Human food." I'm horrified for a moment, then I realize, "Ohhh food for humans." I struggle to open the old box inevitably thinking "To Serve Man, it's a cookbook!" The monster bends down and helps me pry it off.
A cloud of cloying dust and moths issues from the box. I choke and cough and step back. The Creeper waves the dust away. I have a disappointed feeling even before I see it; I wonder what condition it is in. Turns out, pretty bad condition. They're old, old MRE's of indiscernible age and origin. I can tell they've gone bad before I smell it, and a timid lick merely confirms it. I sputter and spit the taste out of my mouth. The Creeper has an anxious expression.
"This-blah-this is no good." I drop that foul old junk back into its foil wrapper and into the box. It actually makes a stale "clunk" sound. I think it was emergency food, ancient emergency food.
"Not…good?" he asks me. I shake my head. "It went bad, like that hand." I added. Suddenly he nods in understanding and takes the food away. I try to get the taste out of my mouth.
I look around the basement. In concrete heaviness it's like a bomb shelter, that image reinforced by the candles and kerosene lamps. Except the corpses it really resembles an old Cold War bomb shelter. I wonder what it originally was. "Hive"?
I see my stuff, he's brought them in. Not really wanting to spend another minute of my life in a terrible body-filled nightmare I grab them and matter-of-factly announce I'm going upstairs. He watches me but lets me go, discarding his coat and hat.
As soon as I reach the upstairs I realize what this building was.
"Jesus, it's a school." I whisper. It only has six classrooms, each with a potbellied stove. It seems so old and quaint. Little desks line the room neatly. Strangely it doesn't seem to go with the old bomb shelter. I wander gingerly in and out of them, finally choosing the smallest one as mine. It's all a bit dusty, but not nearly as filthy as the weird dripping place. After a while I even get comfortable.
I sigh, "What am I going to do?" I ask out loud. I try to be practical I start my digging out all my stuff and hang it on the desks to dry. I dispassionately take inventory of what I still have. I packed a lot of clothes; some were ripped to shreds however…
I should ask him for more kerosene. I haven't been feeling itchy, but I'd like to wash out my clothes and my hair one more time. Of course I need water too. I make a mental note to ask him for that also.
It makes me more angry and frustrated, because of his actions I'm a complete dependent, a baby. I could take care of myself; I was taking care of myself years before I met him. I was born into a society and I could navigate through it with ease. Now I'm totally out of my element. I'm a pet, a slave, helpless. I can't do anything without his permission. I'm still dirty and wearing the same clothes I wore when I was sick, which would be totally unacceptable to me normally. Now I'm grimy and unkempt and I'm struggling to care. I wander outside
I see a ladder I never see before. It's attached to the side of the building. Cautiously I test my weight on it. It holds. I climb up to the top.
It's windy, my hair whips everywhere. Naturally I wander to the edge. There is no gate or fence around it. I stand on the brink, daring myself. I can see the ground distort itself in my vision. If I jumped here I think I would die, maybe. I don't have the guts. I'm weak and I know it. Still I stand at the brink, for how long I don't know, not long it seems.
The monster walks out; he sees me and stops to gape in surprise. I give him a very cold smile and wave at him sardonically. He looks angry. He makes and angry "Get Down Here NOW!" gesture. I lower my lids half way and feel my smirk grow. I pretend to take a pretend step off the building. He freaks.
I don't jump of course; I'm still too much of a wuss. Still I hold my foot over the edge of the building and wiggle it mockingly. I give him the message that I can kill myself anytime I want. I can see him get even angrier.
I soon regret my taunting as he takes a running leap at the building, and lands about half-way up the wall, sticking to it. My smile vanishes and I back away slightly. I forgot he could do that. He skitters up the wall like a spider. In an instant he'll be on me. I turn around and run as fast as I can back to the ladder. I can hear him behind me. His footsteps pound after mine. I'm starting to cry in panic. I run back into the building and to my room and close the door. He's about a second behind me and he slams the door open, a big hole appears in the wall where it bounces off. He walks into the room looking livid.
I feel like just collapsing and crying, but I don't. Instead I straighten myself out, put on more false bravado, look him straight in the eye and began to demand things.
"I'm going to need a bit more kerosene-just in case, and for my clothes, you obviously don't use any soap. Also water to wash it off, CLEAN water since I have to drink some. Also something to eat, I'm starving."
He takes a few steps closer to me, I lick my lips and look down, but resist the urge to step back. I raise my eyes to his. He's glaring at me, I feel like I'm being x-rayed, he studies me then abruptly turns around and stomps off. The Creeper makes a gesture so small I almost miss it:Follow me.
I do so, making sure to stay to of arms length.
He leads me down into the basement where he grabs some jugs, then leads me up through the bulkhead into the surrounding overgrown trees. I try not to trip on roots and get caught on brambles. He walks on steadily, a dark figure through the forest.
He leads me to a creek, which flows into a beautiful pond. I'm enchanted, I love it. It's almost like a fairy tale.
"Water," he tells me, and then gestures to some bushes. Fat black berries hang off of them. "Food," he tells me, then leaves me the jugs. He grabs my arm before leaving. "no running," he tells me with deadly seriousness. I stick my tongue out at his retreating back.
I focus on the task at hand. I take it water from the running stream instead of the pond, as I know that's slightly safer. Carefully I snap of twigs containing the most berries, these have some wicked looking thorns.
It's much more difficult carrying the jugs full of water down, not to mention thorny branches and the extra weight in my stomach. I manage by making sort of a carrying apron out of my shirt; it's still a difficult juggling act. Stupid monster. Although I can't say I'm unhappy being away from him.
I see him when I get back unfortunately. He rips the ladder off the side of the school. He breaks the metal ladder on his knee. Easily, like it's a dry twig. He watches me as I walk by. I quickly go to my room. It's almost dusk.
My exact thoughts were,I hope it doesn't get too cold when my eyes fell on the pot-bellied stove. Excited I went back outside to gather wood, as well as some more berries. The Creeper continues to watch me with his cold steady gaze as I come back with some dry old wood.
Let's see if I remember how to do this, I think as I open the stove. I know I have a lighter somewhere, where is my notebook? I ripped out a few old pages for kindling. I light the paper hopefully, to my relief the fire catches. I close the stove and make sure it has enough oxygen.
Now, I turn to the water. Is it safe to drink? It looked okay, but I know that means nothing, I wish I had purification tablets, or at least some bleach. I wonder if I should ask the Creeper, then quickly dismiss that thought. I'll have to take my chances. I can at least filter it though my nylon pantyhose. I take a small sip. Tastes okay. I remove some berries with my Swiss army knife then eat some of them, very sweet.
I wait for the stove to heat up, I can boil the water. He's left me kerosene, and to my surprise, a bed of straw and corn husks. I prod it carefully, and then spread a blanket over it.
My washing water is warm enough. It's not a hot shower or bath but God does it feel good. First thing I cast off is my filthy sweat pants and night shirt, wash them in kerosene, wash anything that's suspect in kerosene, especially my hair and hairbrush. Then find my own soap and shampoo and finally wash everything off. There is absolutely nothing that feels better than bathing after staying in that damp filthy place and an illness. Nothing. I luxuriate in the feeling of cleanliness.
I rinse all my clothes off and find something dry and decent enough for bed. The hay is so soft and inviting, I snuggle down, sighing as I eat my berries and feel the fire's heat radiate toward me, watching my drinking water simmer down from boiling. I fall asleep hoping to see Darry.
She's not listening, she's not cooperating. I try to keep her safe. I'm trying to keep her happy. She keeps getting worse.
She's gong to end up like the other Breeder. I've had others, they're so rare, but I can remember the others, but they're all different. The one before her was wary, but good. Unfortunately she was killed before it could be born.
The one before that, the blue-eyed one, her memory comes to me the strongest, and troubles me the most. She was so good, very obedient. But she followed me places she shouldn't have, a minor flaw that showed her curiosity and over eagerness. In all other areas she was submissive and compliant. Then she threw herself off a cliff.
I can see the parallels in this one. I can see how her eyes glaze over, how she whimpers in pain when nothing is hurting her. But she's even worse, she's stubborn as a wild horse, biting and kicking and resisting at every opportunity. Trying to mate with her is even more difficult, because even if I give her wonderful pleasure she pushes me away. She doesn't even like trying to get close. She just lays there crying.
What's even worse then her sloth is her anger, which is amusing when she screams childishly and tries to hurt me, but not so much as I see her scratch and bite herself in rage. I can barely understand it sometimes. I know she hates being locked up, I would dislike it also, but I can't do anything else to keep her running away.
That's intolerable. She tried to do that today, even though it was ridiculously pointless. Maybe the loud noises from the human weapon scared her, but it's still not acceptable. Even if she can't run she manages to find herself in dangerous places, the tops of buildings were she gazes at the ground with a intensity that I've seen before in blue eyes. Today she even had the audacity to taunt me with it. I could only let her gather water and human food alone because I could hear what she was doing and because she was upwind.
Still it's my duty to see she has food, and everything she needs. She does, but she's still so wild. I can see her looking out at the habited areas, the human places. I know she longs to go back to them.
Oh yes, I observe her when she thinks I'm not looking. I can read the emotions on her face, usually, but when she sees me looking she looks down. So I do it discreetly, I do this now.
She's cleaning herself off, which due to an illness and lack of clean water she hadn't been able to. She's happy now; she thinks I'm not here. I watch her silently as she bustles around the room, cleaning and rinsing and washing. I can even hear a soft hum.
Her long (and quite beautiful) hair is being oiled and washed and combed as it falls gracefully over her nude body. I feel a rush of triumph when my eyes fall down to her stomach, I can see the little swelling normally hidden underneath her clothes. She falls quiet and touches it gently.
Afterwards when she's done she makes a little nest for herself using blankets and the hay and husks I've given her, as I knew she would. She doesn't try to run away.
When her breathing deepens and slows I walk silently into the room. She doesn't stir. She's so much smaller than me, especially as she curls up in sleep. Standing she barely reaches my shoulder, which makes her resistance all the more hilarious. I study her quietly like I do almost every sleep. I smell her, I tremble and can feel the stolen organ harden, but tonight I refrain myself. I touch her face very, very lightly with the tips of my fingers.
December 5
"Oh wow" I said looking at the date. Luckily my watch wasn't ruined. That was a good thing.
I calculate backwards. Four months, it's been roughly four months since I've been here, a captive. He nabbed me on the road going to school. Nobody even knows I'm here.
For the first time in a long time I wonder about my family. Around this time I would have been expecting to get some time off, drive home, relax. Do they even know I'm gone? Do they even care?
"Oh sh-shit," I curse clumsily as before I'm realizing it, I'm crying again. Everything seems so unreal; I'm living in an abandoned building as the sex-slave of a supposed to be imaginary monster. But the surrealness doesn't lessen the despair; it throws it into sharp relief.
One vague detached corner of my mind notices my hands are shaking, and I can't control it. My whole body is shaking before I realize it I'm laying on the floor thrashing like I'm in the throws of a seizure. I think I might be screaming too, I can't tell.
My limbs swing everywhere, they bang on to walls, the floor, anything in reach. The back of my head slams into the floor repeatedly. Fists clenched, pounding the floor, biting kicking scratching I very literally can't stop myself. The part of my mind that's aware is very frightened.
The fit ends quickly as it begins, and I lay on the cold floor, gasping like a fish, covered in forming bruises.
Slowly, stiffly I get up, wondering what the hell happened. I sort of do a mental check on my emotions. I'm still angry and sad but I feel a little better, or at least different. I feel sort of empty-hollow. I wipe away a few residual tears.
I have to go shopping today, I blandly note to myself. I have my wallet, it was in my backpack, I know where a store is, and I'm hungry. However before I blindly walk out the door I realize something, I have to make myself look like a decent human being once again. I wish I had a mirror.
Slowly I take my pajamas off. My clothes are dry if a little stiff and smelling of kerosene. It's cold so I put on my jacket, brush my long hair and tie it back so it looks neat. The only mirror I have is a compact mirror. I look acceptable in public, accept that I'm thinner and have deep shadows under my eyes. I carefully apply eyeliner, lipstick, eye shadow, some powder to carefully conceal everything.
I also make sure to carefully conceal my stomach; it's getting harder to do so.
When I'm finished I leave my room, but the main door is locked. "Damn it!" I scream. I calm myself and hold in tears. "Come on," I beg, shaking the door, I pound on it, "please!" I get no response.
He's probably not even listening. Maybe he's not here, but I know what I can do. I head toward the basement. To my relief and regret he's there, carving some things. I walk past him eagerly up the stairs to the bulkhead, its open!
"Where!?" he demands, looking annoyed. Without turning around I answer simply: "food."
He becomes kind of cagey and immediately follows me. I wish he wouldn't, I start towards the road. He grabs me, "Food." He says pointing to where he showed me the berry bushes, I shake my head.
"I'm going to the market, to buy some food." He looks suspicious, annoyed and confused. I try to elaborate, "I-I'm going to the store, to get food." I show him my money but he merely shakes his head, not understanding. He frowns and says "food is here." He points to the bushes again and tries to pull me away. But I won't be cowed by this.
"No, no I'm just walking down the road to the building that says 'Ajax Supermarket',then I'm getting whatever food I want and coming back, ok?" I pull away, "so let me go."
I can tell he's just not happy with what I said, whether it's from my patronizing tone or the idea in general. He still looks upset and wary, then he beckons me to his truck. I shake my head, "You don't need to drive me I can walk it," I say exasperated. He starts the truck anyway.
Realizing I have no choice I sigh and get in.
He backs out and gets on the bumpy road, which gets slightly less bumpy as we drive back to where we came. I start to see a few scattered buildings; ugly as they are they are enormously comforting. Soon I see the building I want, "there, there!" I cry. He pulls in, closer to the building than I would like.
"Okay, just park, nopark, you have to get in between the white lines, nooo don't hit the other cars, just stay away from them please. Ok, ok that's fine," I open the door and head out, to my surprise he follows me.
"You can't come with me!" I cry flabbergasted. He looks shocked as I am and angry as well, I wave him back to the car, "I'll be back but you have to stay here." Distrust seeps into his expression, and I can see his determination in staying with me. My face falls in desperation.
"I'll make you a deal ok? Just, uh, give me like an hour. Then I'll be back." He shakes his head, I began panicking. "Ok, half an hour? Please? I need to eat you know." He shakes his head again, "don't understand."
Don't understand what? Why he can't come in? I try to explain it to him, "look if you come in people are going to get really freaked and I can't get my food." I don't add I don't want him to kill anyone. He shakes his head again. "Don't understand 'hour'." I blink, "oh." I say. "Um," I give him my watch. We both lean our heads over it.
So the Creeper got a crash course in human time measurement. "See this long hand measures hour, the short one measures minutes, the one that moves really fast is seconds. A second is basically an instant of time, sixty seconds to a minute, sixty minutes to an hour, got it?" He looks up but says nothing; I take that as an invitation to go on. "when this long, slow hand goes once around it's an hour," I explain. "I'll be back within at least an hour, if I don't come back," I take a deep breath hoping I don't regret this, "thenyou can come in after me, okay?" He nods in agreement; I drop the glittering watch into his clawed hands, knowing I cinched the deal.
I stay as he gets back into the car, "see you then," I say awkwardly then head off.
Near the entrance I grab a cart, it's creaking is the only noise in the parking lot. To my surprise I have to push the doors open. I look inside, thanking God it's not closed.
Ajax's was very small, not like the big commercialized, bright shiny stores I was used to, but it imitated a supermarket is that you pushed a cart around and got what you need. I wheeled around, getting happier by the minute.
Look at all this food! I think giddily, I had nearly forgotten. It's amazing how easy it is, how normal it once seemed. You can just walk in and pluck what you want right off the dusty shelves. Soon I'm racing around like a little kid. I was so hungry for so long I'm tempted to start eating in the store.
Some chips, they have my favorite cookies, chocolate bars, hard candy, coke ok enough junk food. I buy a bit of cheese, a tiny milk jug and a few yogurt cups, since I have no way to keep this stuff cool. Lots of bananas (my favorite fruit), a few apples, bread, I don't touch the corn I'm sick of it.
You need to buy stuff that'll last, I remind myself. Smoked meat, beef jerky, smoked cheese. I look at the cans and buy soups by the arm load; tons of canned peaches and fruit, vegetables, freeze dried stuff, tea. I clear out what looks like half the shelf.
I have a first aid box, but God knows what I'll need, especially living with that thing. I splurge on bandages and peroxide, I buy the cheaper soap in bulk, shampoo, toothpaste, deodorant, a pack of bottled water. By the time I'm finished my cart is loaded. I feel like I'm pushing around a precious horde of gold and silver. I cheerfully bounce over to the cashier.
The store only had about five checkout lines, three were open. As soon as I walked into one I realized I was being stared at, by everyone.
"Uhhh, hi," I said to my cashier. I try not to blush as I realize I hear whispers. Whether my racing around the store playfully, or the sheer amount of purchase or the fact that it was a small town supermarket and everybody probably knew each other drew their attention I don't know.
Suddenly I feel extraordinarily hot, my whole face is burning. I began to have paranoid thoughts, they can see what the monster did to me, they know I've seen people killed, that it's my fault, they can see what's inside of me.
Don't be stupid I mentally slap myself. Still I feel like bursting into tears and running away. I don't want to be here anymore. The place lost its magic, I can see the ugly pink color it's painted, its dustiness and cobwebs. I can see the ridiculously priced obscure brand cigarettes right out in the open. I get my wallet out trembling.
The cashier interrupts my thoughts.
I raise my eyebrows slightly at the price, but I have enough, I thumb through my money, and I see the gold glint of my debit card. I gape at it, for it has possibilities I never considered before.
My account will show the purchase, show up on my statement. It will show when and where I purchased this stuff. Anybody looking for me will see it. I agonize for a moment. I don't know if I have enough on my account, and more importantly there's the strong possibility that anyone who comes looking for me will be horribly killed.
I pause, and then pull out the cash.
The cashier is an older woman; with the kind of sour I've-been-stuck- in- this- job- for- twenty- years expression. However she looks at me curiously, I give a standard social smile that she returns. I feel slightly better.
"Here ya go, hon," she hands me a receipt and change. "Paper of plastic?" she asks.
What a beautiful phrase that is! I want to kiss her for saying it. Paper or plastic, the biggest daily decision I would have to make in my old blissfully boring normal life. I feel such a rush getting to choose and control my own life, even if it's a trivial choice like this. "Paper," I say confidently. She loads my stuff, I help her.
"So how you doing?" she asked, "Fine," I say in the same confident tone. Just standard small talk. She nods towards me, "you know if it's a boy or girl?"
I grow cold, "What?" I ask in stupefied horror. "Your baby." She replies casually.
Oh God she can see it? I shriek silently in shock. I thought I had hid it so well. Sputtering I ask "H-how did-d-?" she cackles, "five kids," she says proudly. "Trust me I know."
I feel my brain imploding; she catches the look on my face, and then finally realizes how that question might have made me feel. She looks like she might apologize or ask if I'm okay or something. Before I allow something that terrible to happen I swing my cart around.
"Thanks," I mumble hoarsely and barrel out the doors. I can feel every patron's eyes on me.
I rush out into the parking lot, the cart squeaking noisily. I run until I see the BEATNGU truck. When he sees me he starts the engine.
I open the door and practically throw the groceries into the truck. The Creeper is watching me wide-eyed with his hands on the wheel. Working furiously I finish loading and shove the cart away, then hop in.
"Go." I order he doesn't, he looks at me curiously. I feel like I just ran a marathon. Why isn't he going?
Frowning his ugly face slightly he reaches over and touches my lips, smells me. Then abruptly smears my lipstick off.
"Hey what the hell-?" I ask angrily. He wipes it off with his coat. Then grabbing his face with both hands he licks my lips, kisses them, and jams his tongue into my mouth.
No please no, please not again I'm crying, but to my relief he pulls away, licking his lips. Then he gestures to mine, "not good." He tells me.
I pull away from him as far and curl up against the door. "Well," I say very annoyed, "you're not supposed to eat it."
Finally he starts he shifts the car and starts to drive back to the school. He looks at my makeup again, with a disapproving glance. "No more." He orders, …"don't like."
"Screw you", I hiss venomously. When we reach our destination I jump out before the car even stops and grab my stuff and barricade myself in my room. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him so much.
At least I have warmth, a soft bed, water, clean clothes and berries that taste awesome in yogurt and that nice full feeling when you've stuffed yourself on all your favorite food. Still I had that before, I was happy. I was free to make my own choices. I didn't have a horrible monster as a master. And-I pull my blanket over my stomach-what she said disturbed me, more than I thought possible.
I hate thinking about it, every time I try and have a panic attack or feel like one of those strange fits are coming on. So I don't think about it.
I'll escape I promise myself, I'll start planning now. Then I can think about it.
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A/N: Cut me some slack with Maria's plant foraging. I don't know what time of year corn is harvested or if you can find berries in the beginning of winter. (Although redplanetes helpfully informs me there are late blooming patches) I do know that images of the Creeper running through the lush ripe corn fields to kill people is wrong because corn is plantedin the spring, but hell, that's what's in the movies and this is my imaginary universe so suck it nitpickers.
I also want to apologize for my horrendously bad typing. I edit of course but it's a one man operation and I don't catch everything.