Creekers Read Online Free PDF Page A

now, trudging up his apartment steps. Christ Almighty. I hope I was crazy…
    Because, whether it had been hallucination or reality, it was one thing Phil Straker would never forget—
    The House, he thought yet again.
    And the hideous things he’d seen there.
     
    — | — | —
     

Two
     
    Cody Natter’s shadow looked like a crane lowering as he leaned over the open trunk. So young, he thought. The girl, bound and gagged, shivered as the shadow crossed. Her lovely red eyes looked lidless in her sheer terror.
    “What happened?” he asked.
    “Upped and split right out the house last night,” said Druck, whose right eye—which sunk lower than the left—had a way of ticking when he was excited about something. Druck was the only creeker Natter trusted to remain competent; and he could talk right. “Took us awhiles ta find her. Caught her runnin’ ‘long Taylor Road just ‘fore the sun come up.”
    Pity. Natter couldn’t take his own red eyes off of her. She was shivering, and she’d wet herself. Of course she’s afraid, he considered. These are frightening days. Their stock grew worse and worse. Could they even last another generation before…
    No mind, he thought. Faith…
    “You must be good,” he whispered to her in a voice that sounded like old wood creaking. “You must trust your providence. Do you understand?”
    Certainly the meanings of such words would ellude her, but nevertheless she nodded, gasping through her gag.
    There was more to understand than mere words.
    Druck would expect to handle the usual punishment—hence, his obvious ticking enthusiasm. Sometimes the boy drooled.
    “Untie her,” Natter said.
    “But ain’t we gonna—”
    “Untie her, and remove the gag.”
    Druck, dumbfounded, did as he was told. The girl heaved in her tattered clothes,
    Cody Natter’s long, bony hand touched her cheek. “Go now,” he allowed. “And be good. Remember your providence.”
    Tears of gratitude ran down her warped face. She squealed something, some inner words of thanks, then climbed out of the trunk and scampered off into the woods.
    Natter turned back to Druck, whose own warped face reflected his disappointment.
    “Kill her later,” the gaunt man whispered. “Kill her tonight. And be kind.”
    Druck smiled as a line of drool depended off his chin.
     
    ««—»»
     
    “I needs ta kill me somethin’,” Scott said, and he said this with no particular emphasis or intensity—just an everyday, no-big-deal kind of comment. Scott “Scott-Boy” Tuckton rode shotgun today, slouched back on the big bench seat, Lotta ass been on this here bench seat, he mused for no reason. Lotta fine razzin’. Gut drove, Gut being the nickname for one Lowell Clydes, who was called Gut on account of a considerable girth about the waist. Both had cans of beer wedged at their crotches, while Bonnie Raitt sang away on the radio in that hot, cock-stiffening voice of hers.
    “Yeah, Bonnie’s tonsils shore make my dog hard,” Scott-Boy commented, giving his groin a nonchalant rub. “Ain’t that right, Gut, my man?”
    “Uh, yeah,” Gut replied.
    Scott stroked his burns in the mid-afternoon sun. “And I say, it’s a great day, ain’t it? Yes, sir, a great day ta kill us somethin’.”
    “Uh, yeah.”
    “’Course, we’se’ll probably have ta wait till tonight. Night time’s always the best time fer killin’.”
    Scott liked to kill things. He liked to run down animals in the road. On several occasions he’d run down people. Once they’d plastered a little girl on one of them fancy 10-speeds, then dumped her in the woods up near Waynesville. Another night one of the retard kids from up on Prospect Hill was loping along the Old Dunwich Road just as pretty as you please. Scott had been driving that night, too, and he’d run the kid right smack dab down- Ka-BUMP! “Scott-Boy, why’d you wanna go and do a thang like that?” Gut had inquired.
    “Fer the hail of it, I s’pose,” Scott had