The Creeper

by A.M. Shine

There will always be those out there who just want to fuck with people.

‘No,’ he said with a sigh, ‘you don’t. Nobody ever understands until it’s done. If you knew what you’d just walked into, you’d already be on your way.’

Ben never understood why hell was sold as a fiery place. Death and sadness were always cold.

‘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.’

work, sleep, repeat, with sporadic intervals of existential crisis just to make sure that the sleep part never came easy.

Folk tales were a cruel breed, always relying on fear to hammer home their message.

People yearned for the impossible. They would sooner trust their lives to magic than face the ennui of reality.

‘Good people see the good in others. They search for it, even when it isn’t there.

To be told of his existence – to anticipate the three sightings – is to suffer his curse.

This was for all those believers, the gullible and the deceived, and every scared little kid crying into their pillow.

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.