The Creeping

What really gets me is that the hysteria came after we proved that Daniel and Caleb were responsible for the recent deaths. Newspapers picked up the story of the manhunt while I was in the hospital. Headlines read SAVAGE TWO RESPONSIBLE FOR MURDERS OF THREE. At first most of the coverage was about Daniel. Then Caleb was found, and as he stood before a judge who would gauge his competency to stand trial, he muttered about the monster. The judge declared him unfit and committed him to a mental health hospital in Minneapolis. A reporter bribed someone there and interviewed Caleb. The next day all hell broke loose. In the article Caleb swore the monster exists; he claimed to have seen it; he said Jeanie’s body was taken by it; he ranted about it killing Jane Doe and Daniel. I think Caleb held fast to his conviction because without the monster, without the need for a sacrifice, the boys were just unjustifiably and unforgivably guilty.

We crouch halfway up the drive and listen. There’s only the repeated lilt of birds and deserted front lawns. There’s no one to see us commit murder. “Let’s go,” I whisper. We start forward, slower this time and doubled over to make ourselves smaller.

It wasn’t long after Caleb’s interview that tabloids joined the ranks of the reporters in Savage. At some point the officially unsolved disappearances from the 1930s were uncovered. The archivist who pulled the articles at the library for Sam gave copies to reporters. Front-page stories were printed about the multigenerational murders of redheaded girls. Newscasters called it proof of an inhuman force ravaging Savage’s youth. The police were backed into a corner. They couldn’t make the case files available without making the interviews available. A judge forbade them from coming out with the deathbed confession on the grounds that it was hearsay, since no charges were ever filed against the teacher and you can’t try a dead person for a crime. All the police could to do was attempt to control the panic and go on record that there was no willful cover-up.

Newspapers and tabloids reported more on the origins of the “imagined” monster than on the real crimes committed by Caleb and Daniel. Even though Caleb never denied that Jeanie and Mrs. Talcott died at the hands of Daniel, there are still those who insist that the Savage PD is trying to keep the existence of the monster quiet by forcing Caleb and Daniel to take the heat for the murders. Daniel must have told Caleb what I said 255 times the day Jeanie was taken, because he shared it in his interview. Zoey said she didn’t, because it wasn’t her secret to tell. Predictably, tabloids used it in the headlines of articles “proving” the monster’s existence. Reporters also learned about Mrs. Griever. She disappeared before they descended on her cottage and the miniature graves of the sacrificed animals. Wherever she is, I hope she doesn’t find peace.

Mr. Talcott, on the other hand, deserves a new start; I hope he gets it in Portland, where he’s living with his sister. When Kent Talcott was released, he told Shane that Daniel had admitted to killing his mother and Jane Doe the day before he walked into the station and confessed. He saw how broken his son was and felt that he’d failed him. He took the blame after making Daniel promise that he’d leave Savage and never hurt anyone else. Savage’s district attorney decided not to prosecute Mr. Talcott for the false confession. I bet we’ll never see Jeanie’s dad again.

The mob of a town is just as hungry for the monster as they were for Mr. Talcott. Sightings of beasts in all shapes and sizes are reported regularly. The rosaries and talismans against evil have popped back up on front lawns. People want to believe in hazily imagined beasts rather than accept that someone who looks like you and me could be capable of monstrous things. They’d rather believe in what goes bump in the night.

Yes, there are loads of serious newspapers that dismiss Caleb’s stories as the rants of a sick boy. But here’s the thing about whack-jobs who believe in monsters: They don’t read serious newspapers. They read the stuff that claims to be uncovering the truth others are hiding from you; they search for yeti footprints.

The strawberry vines and bramble take shape a few yards away. Somehow they stand out in the weak light. They’re all sharp angles, wild loops, and jagged fringes, like the outline of a dragon or the Creeping itself. I sniff. The Creeping is the name Griever gave the creature, but I can’t think of it by any other. I pull my hoodie tighter around my neck as the wind picks up. It’s only July, but the suggestion of fall is in the air.

“How do you want to do this?” Sam asks, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Zoey lifts her shovel above her head in a stretch. “I’m going to harpoon this beast.”