Cattle and the Creeping Things

It's a hell of a thing, knowing the Creeping Things are out there. Really knowing, I mean. Everyone knows that there are times when they're alone in a room, but they're not really alone. Everyone knows that sometimes they do things that don't really make any sense and they can't really tell you why. Everyone knows that sometimes they feel nervous or sad or angry for no real reason. That's the kind of way most people know about the Creeping Things. But... it's a lot worse when you really know about them.

You can't honestly say anything about it, for one thing. Oh, every once in a while, I'll catch someone's eye across a crowded room and they've got that same look on their face that I do, and I'll know that they're seeing the same thing I am. We've trained ourselves not to react when we see one of the Creeping Things with their inky-dark bodies slinking through the crowd, long and lanky and dripping shadow as they crouch down behind their victim and smile with mouths too big for their eyeless faces. We know what happens to the ones who shout and scream and holler when they see those too-long arms reach up and caress the back of a person's neck with fingers that look like a spider's legs. But you can't hide the way you stare at a thing like that.

But even if you think someone else knows, that doesn't mean they're safe to talk to. Seeing the Creeping Things, it starts to get to you after a while. I've been living with it for damn near twenty years now, since right about the time I got my driver's license, and I'd be lying if I said I've had an easy night's sleep since then. I must have pulled up stakes and moved a dozen times, I been in and out of trouble with the law, and I'm what you'd call one of the well-adjusted ones. You don't want to start saying to someone, "You saw that, right?" and find out that they think the Creeping Things are what black people look like when they think nobody's looking.

(God yes, it happened. That was one of the times I ran into trouble with the law. Some folks just need to catch a fist or two, even if they do have their reasons for going a little bit nuts.)

And it's even harder when you're talking to someone who doesn't know. I remember one time I was serving drinks down in this little town outside of Tuscaloosa, just trying to scrape up enough cash to move on down the road a spell, and there was this couple flagging me down every five minutes for another round. And goddamn if they didn't have a Creeping Thing on either side of them, smiling those needle-toothed grins and leaning in to nuzzle their heads like leeches. Making her look all lost and weak and simpering, and making him act like a little tin god who thought his cock was solid gold. And I had to take their orders and act like nothing was even happening. God, it was terrible. I went home that night and cried until sunup.

They came back, too. Not the people, the Creeping Things. Every night, they came back until I gave up on the job and hitched my way to the next town. They love people like me. I think they think we're funny. Or maybe we're just better food than the ones who can't see them for what they really are.

I got a lot of theories. That happens when you got nothing but time to think about something, and no way to know for sure if you're right or not. But I been watching the Creeping Things for damn near twenty years now, like I said, and I got a few ideas about what they are and why they do what they do. I think they feed on people. Not, like, physically or anything. Nobody's gonna wake up with a bite taken out of them, not unless they do something stupid like go after one with a knife or a gun or something. (That happened, too. Guy I was dating decided to try to 'do something' about them. I still have nightmares about what they did to him.)

No, I think they feed on your... hell, I'm not a preacher or nothing, but I think they feed on your soul. They lean in and they give those creepy fucking kisses of theirs, right on the side of your head like they're whispering in your ear, and something kind of changes inside you. Something that makes it easy for them to swallow down everything that makes you human. I don't exactly know what they're doing in there, and I think maybe it's a little different for everyone. But I been around enough people to know that they change after the Creeping Things get inside their head.

A lot of times, they get meaner. Like the guy in the bar, telling his girlfriend to give him a handy where he knew I could see it. Or... I remember staying in an apartment in Atlanta once, next door to a couple who couldn't see the Creeping Things. Sweetest damn girls you ever met, saw the sun rise and set in each other's eyes. I tried to warn them when a pair moved in, but... it's hard, when you can't really say what you're talking about, you know? I kind of said something mealy-mouthed about the landlord or the plumbing or something, but they were kind of like me. Low on cash, low on options. They didn't have any place to go any more than I did.

And sure enough, the butch one, Darlene, she... I could hear them through the walls at night. Used to be just lots of giggling and moaning, but after the Creeping Things moved in... she started to tell her girlfriend to do stuff. Stuff that I could tell little Jennie didn't want to do. But the Creeping Things got working inside their head, and every day a little more of the light went out of Jennie's eyes and every day Darlene got a little bit more demanding, a little bit more aggressive. I could hear her making Jennie beg her to tan that poor little hide. I think if I didn't know about the Creeping Things, I'd probably say they were just getting kind of kinky in the bedroom and let it go, but... God, you should have seen Jennie's eyes when the Creeping Things were kissing her. Like she was forgetting how to be a person anymore.

Maybe that's what they really want, I don't know. I don't know if they really eat something out of your head when they lean in and kiss you like that; maybe they just work on a person's mind until they're stuck all the way down low like Jennie was. Maybe they didn't really take anything from Darlene at all. Maybe they put something inside her to make her that way because they liked what it did to Jennie, y'know? Maybe they feed on that feeling you have when you feel like there's nowhere you can go and no one you can talk to and nothing you can do except take what you're given. Helpless, I guess that's the word. They want to make a person feel helpless, so they can fill their bellies with it.

Maybe that's why they show up wherever I am. Wherever anybody who can see them is. Maybe we taste extra good, like caviar and champagne to them, and they don't have to lift a finger to get it. Knowing that they're out there, always slinking around and crouching over people's shoulders and sucking down their souls like a milkshake, well... like I say, it gets to you after a while. Makes it hard to trust people, makes it hard to feel safe anywhere in the world. I think they like that. I think it makes them feel happy to know I'm scared all the time.

It's awful, thinking that, but I guess it probably saved my life. I know what they can do to a person if they take a mind to, and believe you me, seeing them coming won't save you. They are fast, faster than a person can imagine, and those mouths of theirs can open up wide enough to take your whole head off in one bite. And they're tough, too. My old boyfriend, he gave one both barrels with his shotgun, and it didn't even try to get out of the way. Its skin just sort of... swallowed up the bullets. Like he was shooting into a lake of black oil. It smiled when he shot it, and then it... well. Let's just say that if the Creeping Things want a body dead, they know it pretty damn fast.

But they don't want me dead. Even though I think I might have really killed one of them, that night I first found out they were real. I lost control of my car two weeks after I got my license, and I felt that horrible sick thud when I crushed it up against the wall with my front bumper... I got to tell you, there's nothing to convince you something's real like smacking into it with a '91 Dodge Spirit. I watched it through the cracks in my windshield while it thrashed around like a bug with a pin through its guts, and none of the paramedics or the cops or the guys with the tow truck even noticed. If I didn't kill it, I sure as hell hurt it bad... but they don't care.

They only care if you try to fight back, or if you try to prove to someone that they're real. I think... I think maybe they don't like you fighting back because you don't taste good anymore if you're not helpless, and they don't have much use for people they can't eat. And they don't like it if you try to prove they're real, because... I don't know, maybe because if everyone knew about them, maybe we could do something together. Maybe none of us would be helpless if we all saw the Creeping Things and what they were doing to us every day. (That reminds me, I can't watch the news anymore. God, Washington is just infested with the fucking Creeping Things.)

I think they're smart, even if they never talk. Not even to each other. And I think they'll kill you if you fuck up their food supply. It's like... back on the ranch, we never really cared what the cows did, right? So long as they behaved, they could eat grass and moo to each other and do whatever cows did. And sometimes there were accidents, and one of the ranch hands would break a leg getting kicked, or wind up pushed against the wall until they couldn't breathe, but... that was just cows. That was what they did.

But I think if we found out that the cows knew what we did with them... if they were planning to stop us... I think we'd just kill the whole damn herd. Wipe out every single one that knew, down to the calves, and start over again. That's why I don't warn anyone, not unless it's someone like you that just started seeing them and needs to know what to do to keep your head on your shoulders. Because I don't think they would mind killing us by the million if it kept them safe and well-fed.

So yep. It's a hell of a thing. And I'm sorry it's happened to you. But just remember, when you lock that door at night and sleep with all the lights on, because you're afraid to open your eyes and see teeth like needles smiling out of the darkness, well... that fear is saving your life. Every damn day of it. And it's still better than dying, at least for most people. Just keep moving on, keep your head down, and stay safe. And if you can't do that... well, whatever you hit 'em with needs to be at least as heavy as a Dodge Spirit, I'll tell you that.

Good luck. Stay safe. And don't stop.

THE END