Edward Lee - Creekers

“Oooo, Dawnie must-uh be lookin’ at us,” the girl on the bed said. She was grinning, leaning up to look right at the keyhole.

And when she leaned up, Phil saw something else.

He couldn’t help it…

“Dawnie! She’s got six bubs!”

And she sure’s bullpoop did. Six of ’em, three on each side, and each bub had a big nipple on it the size of the top of a can of beans, only they were stickin’ out real far and were real pink. Dang! She’s got herself six bubs! he repeated in thought.

But when he looked up at Dawnie, she didn’t look too good. She looked like real scared all of a sudden, and then Phil noticed that the front of that crummy dress she wore turned dark in the front.

She done peed herself, he realized.

And Phil knew that people only peed themselves when they were real scared…

The door swung open.

Phil shrieked, and Dawnie was crying real hard, blubbering like and stepping back.

Phil couldn’t move.

“What we got here, huh?” the naked man asked. He grabbed Phil by the hair and lifted him up, chuckling. “You part of the deal, boy?”

Phil wailed.

“You wanna come on in with me an’ Nanc?”

The man’s breath smelled like his aunt’s when she’d been drinking, and his belly jiggled when he laughed. “Maybe a good cornholin’ would teach ya not ta look in on folks.”

Phil tried to jerk away but couldn’t. The naked man just grabbed his hair tighter and kept on laughing.

It was a whole lot of madness going on in the same moment: the naked man cackling, Phil wailing, Dawnie blubbering and peeing herself.

Phil barely noticed the sound of bedsprings.

Then another sound:

thah-THUMP, thah-THUMP thah-THUMP…

It was the whore-girl.

She had climbed off the bed, and now—

Phil’s stomach shrank.

—she was walking toward the doorway.

Only she wasn’t really walking; she was kind of hopshuffling. The foot on her short leg dragged while the one on her long, three-kneed leg kind of lifted real quick, then snapped forward—THUMP!—and landed on the floor. Her black hair tossed in swaying strands; her head bobbed. Phil could see those blazing red eyes of hers get brighter as she approached.

thah-THUMP, thah-THUMP, thah-THUMP…

Her shoulders pitched back and forth, and each time she took another noisy crutchlike step, all six of her bubs bounced around fierce on her chest.

The naked man cackled. The whore-girl thumped forward.

Then it was Phil who peed his pants.

Her red eyes felt like spikes sticking into his face. “Hey-uh, boy. What’cha peein’ yerself fer, huh? Scairt?”

Phil wanted to scream, but his throat felt locked shut. “Yeah, he’s a’scairt, ain’t he-uh, Eddie?”

“Shore is. Little fella peein’ away like a reg-lar racehorse,” the naked man who held Phil by the hair said and cackled some more.

Then the whore-girl cackled, too, worse than the man. The cackle sounded like a flock of big catbirds picking at a dead possum in the road.

“Ay-uh, an’yer’s real cute, boy. Wannas come in an’ let Nanc suck yer thang? That like ya think, boy?”

Phil was shivering like he was buck-naked in the dead of winter. Then the girl’s weird ten-fingered hand slowly reached out—

“No!” Phil cried, head shaking and eyes pinched shut.

—and trailed tickling down his face. It felt like a bunch of big beetles crawling there on his cheek.

Phil thought he might die…

But then the whore-girl turned real fast and clopped out into the hall.

Toward Dawnie.

thah-THUNK, thah-THUNK, thah-THUNK…

“No-uh, Nanc, pull-eeese!” Dawnie cried.

“What-choo doin’ bringin’ boys in hee-uh!” the girl yelled, pitching forward. Her hand swept up and—

ka-Crack!

—smacked Dawnie in the face so hard she fell down. The girl’s hand flailed up and down, then, smacking away at Dawnie’s head like it was a tetherball.

“Nev-uh, nev-uh! Girl so dumb you! Nev-uh bring no one up hee-uh!”

ka-CRACK, ka-CRACK, ka-CRACK

“Yer daddy gonna so bad whup ya, but ain’t’s be gonna much left of ya after I’se through…”

It was horrible. Now the girl was not only slapping Dawnie, she sat right on her stomach, pinning her to the floor, and was punching and choking her. “ Bringin’ boys up hee-uh—crazy you? Bet you’s fuckin’ him, were yas? Girl-huh, were yas?”

“Stop it! Leave her alone!” Phil shouted. “She didn’t do nothin’!”

Then Phil peed some more in his pants, peed till there was nothing left in his insides.

Other naked Creeker girls on the floor, who must’ve heard all the noise, one by one opened their doors to look out. A girl with a bunch of belly buttons, a girl with a humped back and arms hanging down almost to her feet, a girl with no neck and no mouth. Also the girls he’d already seen through the keyholes: the one with the big watermelon head and whipmarks on her thighs and stomach. And the girl whose arms and legs were just stumps that ended where her knees and elbows should be. She edged out into the hall on all four stumps and jabbered something…

And at once the hall was full of sounds: mish-mash words, cackling and laughter, and dogs barking.

All that sound seemed to press against Phil’s head. He’d never been so terrified in his whole life…

The whore-girl climbed off of Dawnie and clopped toward Phil, and then that big weird ten-fingered hand of hers reached out and snatched him by the collar of his Green Hornet T-shirt.

“Get you-uh outta hee-uh, boy,” she said.

Then, in a split second, she opened her mouth and bared her teeth at him.

Big crooked fang-like teeth, like a dog’s.

Phil screamed high and hard, pulled away till his shirt tore to ribbons, then ran for the stairs faster than he’d ever run in his life…

— | — | —

Twenty-Six

The after-image remained:

The teeth.

Jesus God…

Jagged fangs, just like a dog’s or a wolf’s.

Phil kicked the sheets off his bed. He leaned up in the dark and sighed heavily. Another dream, he thought. They’re wearing me out…

This was an understatement. The dreams drained him. He felt hungover and exhausted now, mentally sapped and as physically devitalized as if he’d just dug ditches for six hours.

The dreams were boring into his mind, piece by piece unearthing what had happened that day twenty-five years ago. And there was one thing he was sure of—

There were still a few more pieces.

Why couldn’t he remember?

Do I even want to remember?

Phil didn’t think he did.

Vicki was still asleep on the couch, tossing fitfully. Her red hair lay across her face like a crimson drape, and she seemed to mumble things in her slumber. The room was stiflingly hot; sweat shined evenly as lacquer on the V of skin that her blouse exposed. Phil slipped into the bathroom and took a quick, cold shower, but as soon as he stepped out, he was burning up again. With a towel about his waist, he went to his dresser, was about to reach for some shorts, when

“Nuh-nuh-no!”

Phil turned and looked quizzically at Vicki. Her eyes squeezed shut against her sleep, and, evidently, against a nightmare. At least I’m not the only one who has them, Phil considered.

“No, pleeeeeeeease…”

Indeed, Vicki was dreaming up a storm, tossing and turning in the torment of her own mind. Phil wondered what she was dreaming about, but then he thought he had a pretty good idea, considering what had happened to her last night.

“Ona… Ona,” she murmured on.

Phil’s eyes narrowed.

“Skeet…inner…”

He peered at her.

“Ona…prey…bee.”

What?

Phil leaned closer, studying her.