Authors: Richard Laymon
This and worse, he supposed. This guy is playing some sort of game.
While the weird monologue continued, another level of Creeper’s mind seemed to be amazed and thrilled by his oddball behavior. He seemed to have a fantasy about revealing his midnight strolls to friends. They wouldn’t find it cool, though, if he had to
tell
them about it. They’d need to find out by accident.
The fantasy – vague meanderings of thought when Neal first noticed it – became more and more focused. Soon, it broke into his monologue.
‘
I creep this way and that through the alleys of the night, bringing terror to all who see me
.’
Maybe I should say this stuff out loud. That’d be cool. Nobody around to hear me, though. So what? Who cares?
‘I am the creeper,’ he said, trying to make his voice a low, spooky groan. ‘Ho ho ho.’
Knock off the ho ho ho, I’m not Santa Claus
.
‘I am the creeper,’ he tried again. ‘I own the night. I’m gathering souls. I eat them and laugh.’
What’s the good of all this if there’s nobody around? Need to have an audience
.
I’ve got it! Find a security camera! Yes! Go to a 7-Eleven. They’re open all night, and they’ve got cameras
.
Sound?
Doesn’t matter, I can say my stuff to the clerk
.
Creeper seemed to be more frightened than thrilled by the idea of taking his show into a store. There would be so much
light
. And maybe customers.
All fine and dandy, but what if I run into hooligans?
Neal laughed. He wondered if, blocks away, his body was laughing on Marta’s bed.
The passing thought was interrupted when a movie-like scene started running through Creeper’s mind. The guy was imagining himself inside a brightly lighted 7-Eleven store, face to face with a gang of sneering, vicious teenage thugs. Seeing him, they mutter among themselves. Then they start pointing at him and laughing. He runs from the store. They chase him, hooting, shouting, ‘Fag!’
The scene made the Creeper feel hot with humiliation.
It’s a stupid, silly outfit!
He had a sudden urge to fling off the slouch hat and cape and shove them into the nearest garbage container.
But he pictured himself walking home, dressed in nothing except his swimming trunks and boots.
Neal saw the same mental image. A rear view of a young man, probably no older than eighteen, quite tall but skinny and weak, hurrying down an alley. Head shaved. Big ears sticking out. Skin so white it almost glowed. A skimpy little bikini-style swimming suit clinging to his skinny ass. Big old leather cowboy boots clumping along as if he were wearing buckets on his feet.
A pretty sorry picture, Neal thought.
Creeper thought so, too. He decided to stay in his slouch hat and cape.
Good idea, Neal thought.
Still hot and squirmy with embarrassment, Creeper was trying to recover.
Nobody laughs at the Creeper. ‘See me and scream. I am the demon of the night, a vulture and you’re my carrion. I peck your eyes out and swallow them whole.’ Shit
.
The mood was gone.
This is no good. I should’ve stayed home. Must’ve been nuts. What if I run into someone I know? And they laugh at me? Who am I gonna scare in this get-up, anyway? I look like a refugee from a bad Halloween party
.
Creeper turned around and started walking the other way. He no longer tried to look spooky, hunching himself over and limping. Afraid of being seen, he glanced over his shoulder every few seconds.
Ready to bolt and find a hiding place in case a car might come along.
Fun’s over, Neal thought. Time to go back to my apartment and wait for Rasputin.
No, no. Let’s stick with Creeper for a while longer. See if I can find out where he lives.
Though Neal didn’t care where Creeper might live, it would be a good experiment. If he could hitch his way to someone’s home, he’d be able to return there, later, in the flesh.
He might need to do that with Rasputin.
Find the bastard first, of course . . .
Let’s just see how it works.
Creeper reached the end of the alley. He checked both ways. No cars were coming, so he broke into a run and raced for the other side of the street. It was tough, running with boots on. Especially the way his sockless feet slid around in them. He couldn’t pump his arms, either; they were busy keeping the cape shut. But he made it across the street all right, and ran on into the alley.
Entering a stretch that had no lights, he flung open his cape and ran on, arms wide. The night air rushed against his sweaty body. The cape fluttered behind him.
Hey, nice
.
Next time, ditch the boots. Run free
.
He wanted the hat off so he could feel the fresh air on his scalp. But as he clamped a hand on the edge of its brim, a gate swung open a few yards in front of him. Someone barged out into the alley.
Sudden fright blasted through Creeper.
He yelped with alarm.
The woman, coming to an abrupt halt just outside the gate, turned her head toward him. Behind her, the iron gate banged shut. She dropped her garbage bag.
Creeper was scared, confused.
The woman didn’t move.
Creeper watched her as he ran closer.
She appeared to be in her early twenties, plump, with round glasses and a bowl-shaped haircut. She wore a tank top, as if proud to show off her thick arms, her breast tops, and the gorge of her cleavage. She also wore white shorts and white moccasins.
What a bow-wow
.
Swell guy, Neal thought.
She flung her hands up to the sides of her face and screamed.
Oh, shit! Now look what I’ve done!
Creeper considered stopping to apologize. But glee suddenly surged through him.
He ran straight at the woman, reaching for her.
‘No!’ she squealed.
She whirled around and grabbed the gate. But she was too slow. Before she could open it, Creeper clamped a hand on her shoulder. She screamed again. It was shrill, ear-splitting.
‘I am the creeper,’ the guy said in the spookiest voice he could muster. ‘The night belongs to me, and so do you.’
As if unhinged by fear, the woman sank against the shut gate, cowering and whining.
Wow!
Creeper took a step backward, trembling. He could hardly believe that he had done such a thing to a person – scared the hell out of her, turned her into a cringing heap of mindless terror.
He felt disgusted at himself.
And elated.
She’s at my mercy! Why don’t I do more?
In the distance somewhere beyond the gate, a door banged shut. Creeper heard footsteps on a stairway.
He whirled around and ran down the alley, boots clumping, cape afly. Afraid he might soon find himself pursued by the gal’s husband or boyfriend, he glanced back.
Clear, so far.
He dodged into the nearest car port – a doorless structure with stalls for half a dozen vehicles. Every space was full. He slipped into the dark, narrow gap between a couple of parked cars.
Don’t touch ’em. Set off an alarm, and you’re screwed
.
He made his way forward, then to the left. Midway between the headlights of a mid-sized car, he squatted down.
They won’t find me here
.
After a while, he was able to control his breathing. He continued to tremble, though.
Scared that someone might come along and find him.
Thrilled by the memory of how he’d scared the woman.
He realized his teeth were chattering.
What a rush!
‘
I am the creeper. Creep-creep-creeping through the alleys of the night. I’m coming for you, sweeties. I’ll make you scream and piss your pants
.’
He wondered if the woman had wet her pants.
He pictured her cowering at the gate in her white shorts and tank top. Imagined himself shoving his hand against her crotch, feeling the hot and soggy cloth.
The thoughts were giving Creeper an erection.
In his mind, he grabbed the woman by the ankles and dragged her away from the gate. He ripped open the waist of her shorts. He tugged the shorts down her legs, tore away her dripping panties and . . .
Enough of this sick puppy, Neal thought. I’m out of here.
A moment later, he was free.
Clear of the parked cars, he found himself speeding up the alley. He glimpsed the gate. The woman was gone. Nobody there at all, but her overturned trash bag lay on the pavement. Nothing had fallen out of its tied mouth.
Neal wondered if Creeper would sneak back to see if she’d left a puddle.
Fucking weirdo.
But not
my
weirdo, Neal thought.
With no effort at all, he sped to the end of the alley and over the street, then on into the next alley. He swept through the rear gate of his apartment complex. He soared up to the balcony, heading straight for his own front door.
Approaching his door, he tried to slow down.
Couldn’t.
He barged through the shut door and tried to stop. He wanted to sit down and wait for Rasputin. Or hover and wait. But he couldn’t even decelerate, much less stop. He blew through furniture and walls that had no more substance than air, and suddenly found
himself outside again, speeding above the pool on his way toward the front of the building.
What’s going on?
It’s taking me back, he realized. Won’t let me stay.
Let’s just see about that
.
Though unable to slow down, he found that he still had some control over his direction of travel. Not much, but some.
Scanning the streets below him, Neal spotted a man wandering along the sidewalk behind a leashed dog.
Try this guy out
.
Neal dived toward him.
Hope this isn’t another weirdo
.
Entered and exited, fast as an arrow, and kept on going.
Shit! I can’t stop!
But he did stop, and very soon.
He stopped when he reached Marta’s apartment, her bedroom, her bed, his own body.
What was
that
all about? he wondered.
The answer seemed obvious: there were a couple of rules to bracelet-travel that Elise hadn’t mentioned. For one, you can’t linger around very long, disembodied. For another, no people-switching.
Try again?
Not just yet.
He folded his hands beneath his head.
Let’s think about this for a minute. Gotta figure out a few of the rules.
For starters, they give you a while to scout around.
They? he wondered.
The bracelet police, of course.
Right
.
There might be limits to the scouting time allowed, he thought, but at least they allow a while to search for someone interesting to ride.
You need to be careful, or you might end up inside someone by accident.
Me and Creeper boy, Neal thought.
Neal had not really intended to enter that guy. He would’ve preferred to avoid him and keep moving, but he’d approached closer and closer, hoping to get a look under the hat brim, and suddenly found himself sucked in, part of the guy.
From now on, he warned himself, keep your distance. And don’t even
think
about getting into somebody unless you’re ready to go ahead with it.
Never point your gun at anyone you don’t intend to shoot
.
And then there’s the biggie – you can’t switch people in the middle of a trip. They just won’t let you hop from one to another. Once you leave the body you’ve been riding, you make a bee-line back to your own body. Whether you want to or not.
What a drag, Neal thought. Puts some real limits on things.
If you want to switch people, you apparently need to start all over again. Return to your own body, kiss the bracelet and go looking . . .
Neal wondered what other rules there might be.
What if Elise had left something
really
important out of her instructions and warnings?