The Creeper

by A.M. Shine

Cold mornings were the worst. They chilled more than the bones. They iced over the soul and all its unspoken optimism.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he whispered, clicking off his seatbelt, trying to convince himself that not every scene in his life played out like a Shakespearean fucking tragedy.

The majority who worked in the shop were kids, fresh out of school or first years in university, undeveloped in mind and manners. They all dressed the same and shared some mongrel dialect that Ben blamed the internet for – words that infected local colloquialisms like a parasite. These bastards were the carriers.

‘Three times you see him,’ she said. ‘The first night he’s far, far away. And then the next night he’s closer. So close that you can see him, and he can see you. And then, on the third night his big ugly face is at your window. The fourth night is your last one, because then uh-oh.’

Ben’s parents had been right. He had no reason to fear myths and monsters. It was the people. It had always been the people.