The Creeping

The rest of the evening is our old normal. Dad lies on the sofa watching the national and international news. Moscow follows me up and down the stairs as I make a trip to the laundry room with my hamper. It’s not until Dad goes to sleep, calling softly down the hall for me to have sweet dreams, that things get weird.

I sit at my desk for a half hour trying to compile a list of people who might know about the past disappearances of little girls. According to Griever, people tried to keep it a secret when she was a kid. But do I believe it’s happening again? The term “cover-up” conjures up tinkering conspiracy theorists in basement laboratories, accusing small-town mayors of concealing UFOs. I don’t relish being in that company. It is undeniable, though, that several redheaded girls went missing in the 1930s, and at least two of them visited or disappeared from Old Norse Trail or Norse Rock. A very long time ago, likely in the years immediately following the disappearances, someone concealed the names and ages on several graves in the cemetery. Some of those graves could belong to the three missing girls we know about from the thirties. The others could belong to additional missing children.

I believe Sam was right when he theorized that the vandal was attempting to stop the spread of the Creeping’s legend by destroying the evidence of its kills.

But how would the police not know about the cold cases from eighty years ago, and if they knew, why stay quiet about them? Why wasn’t Jeanie’s case—or Jane Doe’s, at this point—connected with them?

I need to find whoever in Savage knows—however few or many—and convince them to act, shine light on the secret so that the FBI, or CIA, or NSA, or whoever deals with paranormal wackiness can hunt the Creeping down. Revealing the Creeping—the actual predator taking lives—is the only way Mr. Talcott will be exonerated. I know I’d make more progress with Sam or Zoey to bounce my craptastic ideas off of, but Zoey blew me off when I needed her last night, and I’ll be lucky if Sam ever speaks to me again, so it’s all me.

Any people in jobs positioned to see that there’s a pattern of missing girls have to be aware that similar disappearances occurred eighty years ago in Savage. That means police department employees or anyone with access to cold cases could be involved. Archivists either from the newspaper or the library who have access to all those articles we saw. Any local historians. Probably the mayor? Sam said Mayor Berg’s family has been here for seven or eight generations. Any groundskeeper of Old Savage Cemetery; they’d see the graves. I’m sure I’m missing people, but this is pretty damn good for me all by my lonesome.

I chew my lip for a good fifteen minutes before deciding to take a big risk. I snatch my cell and dial Shane before I lose my nerve.

“Hello?” a groggy voice croaks.

“Shane? It’s Stella,” I say meekly, the courage draining out of me.

A creaking mattress and whispers. A moment later and I hear the whoosh of cars, like Shane’s stepped outside near a highway. He must live in the apartment block near the interstate.

“Stella, do you know what kind of week I’ve had? This is the first time I’ve been to bed before midnight in a year. What is it?”

I take a deep breath, here it is, do or die. “How long have you known?”

“Known what? It’s too late for guessing games.”

“Known about the Creeping or whatever your name for it is. How long have you known? When you learned about it, did you realize that it’s the creature in your grandma’s story?”

“What—what are you talking about? Is your father there?” Then a furious whisper. “This is inappropriate, and I don’t think he’d approve of you dragging me out of bed and accusing me of—of—”

His voice faltering gives me an extra boost of courage. “I bet you didn’t know for sure until the day Jeanie was taken, huh? I bet you had a load of questions when I came back talking about hunting monsters, and Detective Rhino Berry wanted to keep it quiet.” Pieces of the puzzle click into place. “I read a lot, and I know that cops usually keep details of the crimes to themselves.” (Actually, I know it from Law & Order reruns, but how embarrassing to admit that.) “Like something in their back pocket for when they have a real suspect. But you didn’t even question anyone about it. Instead you kept your mouth shut about monsters.”

“Now wait just a second.” His tongue is sharp on the consonants. “You’re making some serious allegations, young lady. I think we should meet to talk about this.”

I can’t help the hurt seeping into my voice. “How long are you going to help them keep it quiet, Shane? How long are you going to lie to me? Why would you give me my case file if you were just going to act like I was having a nervous breakdown? You sent Jeanie’s dad to jail even though you know he didn’t do it. You’re just letting Daniel think his dad is a killer.”

“Kent Talcott confessed,” Shane snarls.