The Creeper
Creeping Death
by CSyphrett
His followers had deserted him. His quarters had been destroyed. He had faced a second death. All because of a meddling spirit.
The floor had collapsed under him. The ceiling had caved in on top of him. He lay in a hole, actually a crater, in his basement floor where the sun couldn’t touch him.
Blue energy put out the flames as it tried to rejuvenate his scarred carcass. He knew it would be some time before his treatments allowed any mobility. That was all he had left, time and a thirst for revenge on the Randalls and that Deadman.
Finally, many days later, the lich who was formerly Tremaine was at last ready to move away from its resting place to seek new pastures.
***
The lich crawled from the wreckage at the fall of night. He had to move away from the house before the sun trapped him again. He couldn’t spend his time trying not to fry.
Tremaine found a van left over from his disciples. He jimmied the lock with unusal care. He needed the vehicle to be intact. The tinted glass had to give him protection from the sun. His idea had to work, or he would cook like an egg.
He would not suffer another death. He was alive by his will, and he would stay that way. Nothing would get in his way as he rebuilt and planned again to get a new body. He could not live as he was for much longer.
The blue energy that revitalized him was also destroying him. He would crumple into a pile of grave dirt if he did nothing.
***
Tremaine drove the van north from the camp he had set up. If only Randall had brought the boy. If only that ghost had not intefered.
“Bah,” he said out loud in the silence.
“If onlys” were for living. He had to deal with what is. That meant getting a new body to live in. He didn’t have a lot of time to do it. Already the remaining parts of his corpse crumbled slightly every time he moved the wrong way.
Tremaine reached Boston two days later. He had to rob a series of gas stations for fuel. He took the cash and killed the attendants out of habit. Additionally, he felt better to vent his spleen on some nobody who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He found an underground garage to park the van in while he planned his next move. He had to find some place to operate from where he could hide from the sun. His next exposure could be his last the way things were going.
***
Tremaine needed a secure base. He knew there were certain places under the city where he could operate without problems.
An attendant passed through the garage. A flashlight shone on the windows for a brief second as he walked along. He never saw the danger behind him. There was an instant of blue light, then nothing.
The lich grabbed the attendent under his arms and dragged him into the van. He made sure to shut the door.
“Tastes like chicken,” he told himself as he proceeded with his meal.
Tremaine smiled to himself. Things were looking up.
***
Tremaine left the remains in the back of the van. He felt better and, actually, looked better than he had in the past few days. A good meal always did that for him. Shame it would only last for a few days. He would have to keep feeding and feeding. Sooner or later, someone would catch on.
What he needed was a new body. A young body that could control the blue flame. Not this decrepit thing that creaked everytime he moved a joint the wrong way.
A piece of new skin flaked away much to his irritation. A small flame burned in the perforation for several seconds.
Yes, a new body was needed.
***
Jack Ryder liked being on the street. He had moved from one place to the other, but had finally settled in Boston a few years ago. He did not know how long that would last. He was determined to enjoy it.
His remote unit pulled up outside a seige situation with the police being kept at bay by a group of madmen with a bomb and plenty of firearms. His crew got everything ready expertly. All he had to do was tell the city what was going on.
A cop in some body armor ran over. “Get out of here, you stupid scumbag,” he said, with a wave of his arms.
“Are you trying to restrict the press?” asked Ryder. He held the microphone to the officer’s face.
The cop noticed the equipment was lit up and being used. “Shut it off, Ryder,” said the cop. “The bad guys can see everything we do thanks to you.”
“They won’t see much, will they?” said Ryder as he waved his crew to shut it down for the moment.
***
“I’m going to get some coffee,” Ryder said. “If Boston’s finest decide to go in shooting, record it for me and I’ll do a voiceover later.”
“Sure thing,” said Wallace Peters, the cameraman.
Ryder headed for a nearby restaurant. He slipped out of sight as soon as he could. A finger push awakened his alter ego.
The Creeper leaped to the top of the restaurant. He crossed the power lines until he reached the building under siege. He leaped onto the roof and went down the access stairs.
He laughed once as he bounded down the stairs.
“Crap,” said the officer in charge. “The Creeper is on the scene.”
***
The Creeper laughed as he bounded down the staircase. He knew the hostages were on the top floor somewhere. All he had to do was find them and get them out of the hands of the real fruitcake.
He paused when he came to the first open door. A small group of dead people lay in a pile. He stepped into the room quietly. A surviving hostage saw him. He raised an index finger to his lips. The survivor nodded.
A footstep sounded in the next room. A dragging sound came down the hall. The Creeper leaped to the door, concealing himself behind it.
***
A man appeared in the doorway, dragging a body behind him. He dropped the fresh corpse on the pile. He reached for the lone survivor with blue flame dripping from his hands.
A demonic laugh turned him around. Blue flame leaped from his hands at the hurling, yellow form. It was a clean miss as the Creeper smashed both feet into the assailant’s chest. Impact sent the man hurling across the room.
“More interference,” hissed the partially reconstructed lips. “You will pay for this.”
“Here’s the first installment, Chuckles,” said the flamboyant hero as he leaped across the room, between sizzling blasts of flame, and shouldered the monster through the window.
“Have a nice trip,” said the Creeper, leaning out the window. “See you in the fall.”
***
“Thank you,” said the lone survivor. “He was going on about wanting our blood.”
The Creeper glanced over at the plump woman with a lecherous grin. “I can see why,” he said.
The blood-sucker hit the ground with an audible thump. He got to his feet slowly. He cursed himself for losing control as blue flame scorched his new flesh and skin. Blasted meddlers everywhere.
“Got to go, Sweet-Cheeks,” the Creeper said as he leaped from the window. “Keep it warm for me.”
“Not likely,” the woman said.
The yellow hero laughed as he bounced down the side of the building. Hopefully none of the cops would shoot at him when he hit the ground. He laughed all the way down.
Blue flames leaped in fury from the blood-sucker as he blasted at the cops and the Creeper. He was making his way to a manhole cover. The cops enfolded the hostage taker in self defense, but the bullets just punched holes through the guy as he jogged forward, forcing the Creeper to take cover.
At least the sun isn’t up yet, thought Tremaine as he ripped the heavy cover up and dropped into the sewer.
***
Tremaine ran through the sewer. He had to get away before he crumbled into a pile of dust. That stupid creep. Where did he get off interfering like that?
He heard laughter behind him and knew he was not done with that meddler. He turned and unleashed several of his blue flame bolts down the sewer. At least he would rid himself of this pest once and for all.
Laughter greeted his volley. “Missed me,” said the bright voice of the Creeper. “Now you got to kiss me.”
“I will kill you,” vowed Tremaine, hands on fire.
“Everyone says that. Can’t you come up with something original?”
***
Tremaine snarled in fury. He grabbed the nearest pipe with his flaming hands. He threw it at his mocker blindly. He did not even care that exposed electrical wiring fell into the mucky water he stood in.
Agony raced through his body. His blue flame exploded outward, turning the water into steam. Laughter followed him into darkness.
“What a ma-rrooon,” the Creeper said from a perch at the top of the sewer tunnel.
He climbed over the floating, burning corpse and gently lifted the cable from the water to stop the current. “Too bad the idiot let the exposed ends hit the water,” said the vigilante. “At least he saved the state a trial.”
***
The Creeper dragged the corpse out of the sewer by the scruff of his neck. He tossed the body down in front of the approaching policemen. Then he swung himself to the roof tops using a lightpole and a mighty leap. He vanished before the police could put up a net to capture him.
Jack Ryder sauntered back to his news van with coffee in hand moments later.
“What happened?” he asked, eyeing the activity. At least the camera and sound was recording everything.
“The Creeper busted in and caught the guy,” said the sound man. “Then he got away.”
“Let’s film that spot,” said Ryder, straightening his tie, and putting his coffee down at his feet.
***
Tremaine awoke in the ambulance taking him to the morgue. The EMT was too shocked to shout or move as flaming blue hands leaped at his face. His skull showed through his burning flesh after the lich was done.
The lich crawled to the front of the vehicle. One bony hand clamped on the driver’s shoulder. He looked up, fear on his face.
“You will drive to the television station that was at the scene of my loss,” he said in his echoing voice. “I will let you live. Disobey and I will have you for dinner. Am I understood?”
The paramedic nodded rapidly.
“Good,” said Tremaine as he sat down beside the EMT in the passenger seat.
***
The ambulance rolled to a stop behind the TV station. The driver tried to get out and escape his captor. Tremaine grabbed the back of his skull and loosed a blast of flame through flesh and bone. The lich pulled the body into the back of the vehicle. He ripped them to shreds as he consumed them.
Next would be the news crew. Then he would find somewhere to hide from the sun. This station would be the perfect hunting ground for him.
He would return again and again to restore himself, and no yellow meddler was going to stop him before he drained the station staff dry.
***
The white Boston News Van pulled into the parking lot of the station. Jack Ryder’s brow furrowed when he saw the empty looking ambulance. It stood out like a sore thumb among the other vehicles. His curiousity began to demand an explanation.
“You guys go ahead,” Ryder told Wallace as the van pulled to a stop. “I want to sit and think for a moment.”
“Sure thing,” said the cameraman. He led the way into the station.
As soon as his crew was out of sight, Ryder pushed a hidden button to call forth his alter ego to find out what was going on.
***
The Creeper bounded from the news van in all his yellow glory. He leaped over to the ambulance, and then onto its roof. He peered through a window in the back door. A crisped, grinning skull returned his searching gaze.
The vehicle appeared to be empty of anything but its deceased drivers. The hero pulled the door open quietly. The smell of burnt flesh wafted into the night.
The Creeper bounded to the news station. He did not wear his usual smile as he burst through the doors into the building. A scream alerted him as he paused to look around.
***
The scream had come from an editing room beyond the reception area. The receptionist was missing, noted the suddenly serious hero, as he passed the desk. He threw the door to the editing room open with a hand.
That thing he had fried in the sewer was here eating his producer.
The Creeper was not one to pause to think about what he was going to do. He leaped across the room, devoid of wisecracks for once as he swung a left at the animated corpse. The burning skeleton flew against the far wall, dropping the morsel he was chewing to the floor.
***
Tremaine pulled himself from the wall, skull showing through the melted skin on his face. “So you are here to interfere with me again,” he said in a whisper.
“Eating people is not allowed,” said the Creeper. “Time for you to report to your casket.”
“Enough, you yellow poltroon,” Tremaine roared as he unleashed jets of blue flame at his foe.
The walls of the editing room caught fire as the Creeper leaped out of the way. The yellow crusader bounced off a wall of screens and landed a kick against the lich’s diseased-looking face. Tremaine stumbled but regained his footing instantly. He swept a burning hand through the air, trying to grasp his enemy to him.
The Creeper rebounded away, avoiding the hand. He wondered what he could really do against this monster. He dodged two more of the flame bolts. This side of the building was dangerously close to collapsing due to the eruptions from the ghoul.
***
Time to get serious, thought the Creeper as he did a classic rebound triple flip. He wound up behind the flaming ghoul. Tremaine tried to turn, but his decayed body was no match for his enemy’s superhuman reflexes. A series of hard punches sent him into the wall. As he looked up, a red boot sent him flying through the wall. He crashed to the floor beyond. Debris fell around the lich as he slowly got to his feet.
The Creeper launched himself at his foe. He had to keep hammering the guy. He couldn’t let up for a moment. This guy couldn’t get another chance to kill.
***
Tremaine saw his foe hurtling at him and raised a hand. Blue flame licked out, sending the Creeper into the floor. The lich staggered for a moment. The fight had taken more than he had thought. He had to get away to rest and try again to renew himself. At least the meddler was dead, cooked to a crisp.
Insane laughter made Tremaine stop, and start to turn. A gloved hand grabbed the remains of his face. Another grabbed the back of his exposed skull. He raised a hand to blast this insect away and felt a crunch as his neck began to separate from the rest of his body.
Tremaine looked up into the face of the grinning Creeper. He could not speak or move. He realized dimly that the madman had pulled his head from his body.
“Look, ma, I got a new football,” the Creeper said. “Punt!”
Everything went black for Tremaine as a red boot kicked him into the ceiling.
Epilogue
Jack Ryder surveyed the carnage. He had done a live report to explain the loss of the station from the air. He hadn’t seen this much suffering since he had left Gotham City. How did guys like Batman handle this kind of thing?
Maybe it was time to get out of the hero business. Maybe retire somewhere monsters didn’t exist to eat people. That’d be nice after all this.
A police scanner started squaking on a shelf. Ryder ran for the window, already touching the device built into his wrist to unleash his fearsome alter ego for men to beware the Creeper.
