The Creeping

“Shhh,” I whisper as I back away from her and the shadow in the thicket. “It’ll hear you.” Her gurgle-choking gets louder. The shadow shifts. “Jeanie, shhh.” She wails.

I keep repeating the plea, begging her to quiet down, pleading with her to shush. “Jeanie, shhh.” I back away. I want to stop. I want to stay with her. But Daniel and Caleb are right. The monster’s hungry, and I don’t want it to eat me, too.

I jerk away from the memory feathering before me, before the panic can yawn and stretch inside me. Jeanie was alive when Daniel and Caleb went for help. She was alive when I backed away from the shape in the brush, begging her to be silent. What was it? Was it a bear or a mountain lion drawn in by Jeanie’s wounded animal noises? Is it the reason her body’s no longer here? Dimly, I register Zoey and Sam talking. Don’t know about what. If I’d stayed at her side, would Jeanie’s mom have found us? Could I have scared the animal away? Daniel shot Jeanie with an arrow, but could she have survived? He ran for their mother; he tormented Jeanie but didn’t want her to die. No, that came later, after years of dread that someone would discover what he’d done; after seeing Jeanie everywhere, taunting him, waiting for him to get his. Only then was he capable of murdering a little girl for having a face close to his sister’s.

I teeter on the rim of the makeshift grave. Zoey kneels beside me, the warmth of her arm scalding mine. All that make-believe, us in the woods with bows and arrows, howling about witches and monsters, is what turned them—us—savage. How could I have been so afraid that I walked away from my dying friend? Caleb and Daniel said it needed a sacrifice. The monster was hungry. The forest went quiet—a deafening noiselessness—before I saw the shape behind the ferns. There was a rush of movement in the thicket. Jeanie was staring into the woods for weeks before she was taken, as if she knew she was being watched. It happened just like it was described by the friends of those who were abducted. I wag my head hard. No, no, no, monsters don’t exist, at least not the sharp-toothed and taloned kind. Only bad people. Jeanie guarded against the woods and acted strange because of Daniel. Jeanie wasn’t afraid of the things that tap at your window at night. She was afraid of the boy who lived in the bedroom down the hall.

Jeanie died because I was a little girl frightened of something that couldn’t possibly exist—because I believed in it, if only for that moment. Never again. There’s no such thing as the Creeping. The echo of a laugh flits to me from a mob of trees. My head snaps, searching. My hand flies to my mouth. It’s me who’s laughing nervously because a shadow of doubt faltered through my head like a one-winged moth before I could swat it away.

Dimly, I register Sam’s arms hooked under mine, hauling me to my feet, guiding me away from the clearing and everything it witnessed. What did it witness?

I float forward, tethered to Sam, wading back into the ocean of ferns a step behind Zoey. I see the choice I have; it is hellish red dazzling against the forest’s earth tones. I’ve seen what happens if you spend too much time thinking about what hides in the dark. You become a monster yourself. You become a lonely old woman in the woods with stories; a killer who sees his victim everywhere; a boy who’d rather believe in monsters than live.

You become the keeper of a graveyard, real and imagined.

Rather than monsters, this is what I’ll focus on: Zoey alive for the best year of her life; Sam and Dad sitting across the table from me eating Dad’s amazeballs macaroni and cheese; Shane beating back the chaos threatening Savage; Jeanie sending me back to Sam; Jeanie resting in peace.





Acknowledgments


I am indebted to many people who made this book possible. These brief acknowledgments do not express the immeasurable gratitude I feel to you all. A very special thank you to:

My mother, who filled my childhood with library visits, books, and love. Thank you for being so very present for me. My father, who encouraged me to think critically and work harder. My sister, Elizabeth, who makes me feel like the funniest person alive. No one does make-believe like you. My brother, Andrew, who is always in my corner. Thank you for being nothing like the brothers in this book.

My childhood friends, for the adventures we had and the adventures we didn’t. My grad school chums, who “networked” tirelessly with me as I worked on this manuscript. And thank you to all my friends and family who were good to me in countless ways and expressed so much enthusiasm and optimism for what was a long shot.

My agent extraordinaire, Brianne Johnson, for your guidance, hustle, and believing in me and this creepy little book.