Louisiana...
The mid-afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Louisiana highway.
Under a skeletal oak tree, Laine hunched over, her breaths ragged, as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Her dark brown hair clung to her face, damp from sweat and the humid air.
The dizziness in her head made the world tilt, but she braced herself against the tree's rough bark, trying to steady her swaying form.
A faint whack echoed as she coughed once more, her body protesting the upheaval.
From above, a soft flutter of wings broke the stillness.
A white raven descended silently, perching on one of the barren branches above her.
Its beady red eyes gleamed with an unnatural intelligence, locking onto Laine as if observing her every movement.
Its eerie gaze sent a chill down her spine, though she couldn't explain why.
Below the bird, embedded in the tree trunk, was a familiar shuriken, its wicked edges glinting faintly in the sunlight.
Laine leaned back against the tree, finally steadying herself.
Her brown eyes shifted to the car parked a short distance away.
Inside, her boyfriend sat, scrolling through his phone, oblivious to her state.
Her expression flickered with a mixture of guilt and frustration.
Pulling out her phone, she glanced at the signal bars—barely one.
She hesitated, then began dialling, her fingers trembling slightly.
"Hey, it's me…"
she started, her voice quiet, almost inaudible over the rustling leaves.
Miles away, in the heart of a dense forest, a decrepit garage lay hidden, consumed by neglect.
Its surroundings were a chaotic landfill of e-waste, rusted appliances, and decayed medical supplies.
The stench of rot clung to the air, suffocating the area in a sickly haze.
From within the garage, something stirred.
A pale, skeletal hand emerged from the piles of debris, its gnarled fingers curling as if grasping for life itself.
The skin clinging to the hand was cracked and dry, resembling parchment left to wither in the sun.
Slowly, a figure began to drag itself into view, its movements slow and agonising, like a corpse clawing its way out of the grave.
The figure was the Creeper.
Its body was in a grotesque state, the once-monstrous frame reduced to a hollow, mummified husk.
Its chest heaved weakly, struggling for breath.
The face, barely recognizable, was a mass of desiccated flesh, with only one bloodshot eye managing to pry itself open.
That single eye darted around, taking in the dim surroundings of the garage.
The creature's thin, cracked lips parted as a low, guttural growl escaped—a sound that echoed with rage and defiance.
The Creeper's claw-like hands scraped against the ground as it dragged itself further, leaving behind a trail of white, powdery skin that crumbled off its body with each movement.
Despite its frailty, a burning hatred radiated from its lone eye.
It had been defeated—humiliated—but now it clawed its way back from the brink of death, fueled by vengeance.
Above, a lone white raven cawed sharply from the treetops, as if heralding its master's return.
The Creeper's body left abandoned for ages in the decrepit garage, was in a pitiful state.
Its brittle limbs moved with agonizing slowness, the mummified skin flaking off with each drag across the filthy ground.
Deep within its core burned an insatiable hunger, both for sustenance and vengeance.
After what seemed like an eternity of crawling, its lone bloodshot eye landed on a writhing colony of worms burrowed in the damp mud.
The Creeper paused, its breath ragged, its skeletal fingers twitching as it reached out.
"____"
With a guttural growl, it plunged its clawed hand into the writhing mass, scooping up a handful of worms.
Munch~ Munch~
The Creeper devoured them, the slimy creatures squirming even as they slid down its gullet.
It consumed the entire colony with ravenous delight, savouring every morsel as though it were a banquet.
Ahhhh~
A deep, guttural exhalation escaped its cracked lips as it tossed the remnants of mud aside.
It felt the faintest flicker of strength returning to its decayed frame.
But the satisfaction was fleeting, replaced by searing pain as it gripped the dead skin clinging to its face.
With both hands, the Creeper tore the mummified flesh away, the action accompanied by a guttural scream of agony.
The ragged remnants of its old visage fell to the ground, revealing raw, charred flesh beneath.
Its single functioning eye burned with an unrelenting hatred, its thoughts consumed by one person image: Jojo.
The memory of their last confrontation burned as vividly as the flames that had engulfed the Creeper.
Jojo had not only thwarted its hunt but humiliated it, overpowering the Creeper in its domain.
The thought of Jojo's triumphant smirk twisted the creature's hatred into a singular, driving obsession.
The Creeper's lips curled into a sinister grin as it envisioned Jojo's screams of terror.
It vowed to tear Jojo apart, to make him beg for mercy before savouring his defeat as a final, delicious victory.
But even in its rage, the Creeper knew the truth.
The power gap between them had been glaringly evident during their last battle.
Now, weakened and desperate, it had to rely on more than raw strength.
The Creeper resolved to accelerate its plans.
The human followers who worshipped it had already been given orders to locate a "chosen woman" for the ritual.
She had to be pregnant—a vital requirement for the summoning.
Its followers had succeeded, in identifying a suitable target.
The Creeper's lips curled again, this time in satisfaction.
Soon, with the ritual completed, its lord would be summoned, and this time, it would have its harvest ready.
It would regain not only its strength but also a level of power far beyond what Jojo could contend with.
But for now, the hunger gnawed at it.
The Creeper's frail body required sustenance, and the worms had done little to satiate its enormous energy needs.
It began dragging itself again, following an instinctual pull toward a nearby source of food.
The forest around it grew darker as it moved, its decayed form inching closer to sustenance.
Despite its pitiful state, the Creeper's mind was alight with plans.
It cursed its miscalculation—having to resort to using a long-abandoned puppet.
Who could have guessed it would ever stoop so low?
But that didn't matter.
It would rebuild. It would rise again.
And when it did, Jojo would fall.
Liane's Side...
Under the tree, Liane steadied herself as the call connected after a long ring.
Her relieved sigh was interrupted by the cheerful, mischievous voice on the other end.
Ring~
Call Connected...
"What's up, girl! How are you?"
Sam's upbeat tone greeted her, as lively and teasing as always.
He was Liane's and Chase's best friend and was currently en route to the Horror Hound Festival.
Liane rolled her eyes playfully at his energy, speaking in a mockingly defeated tone.
"It hurts, and I'm dying…"
"Uh—"
Sam paused, stunned for a moment, then tried to redirect the conversation.
"That's… great, uh…"
Liane shook her head at his clueless attempt, but before she could retort, a sudden coughing fit overtook her.
Cough~ Cough~
"Uwe! What happened? Are you okay?"
Sam's fake concern barely masked his habitual teasing.
Liane chuckled through the coughs, responding with a cryptic warning.
"It's too late for me… Save yourself."
Sam's tone shifted slightly, nudging toward genuine concern masked by curiosity.
"Did you take the test yet?"
Her brief silence caused the air to grow heavy.
Finally, she admitted with a serious tone.
"No… but I think it's positive. The symptoms are happening… So it counts as positive."
Sam let out an exaggerated groan, followed by a mocking comment.
"You're always an optimist."
Liane rolled her eyes again.
"I was not an optimist. And you know it."
Sam tried to lighten the conversation, though he sounded distracted.
"Well, I was trying to hold it until I got there, but I need to… 'Twinkle tailor my soldier spy.' So, I'm gonna call you back."
Liane couldn't help but chuckle at his roundabout way of saying he needed to relieve himself.
"I didn't need to hear that… Call me when you reach the hotel."
Sam, never missing an opportunity to tease, added one last quip.
"Don't puke on that Air Force vents."
Her tone sharpened, catching his insinuation.
"Don't even joke about that…"
Sam laughed, brushing her reprimand aside.
"When did I joke about that?"
Before Liane could respond further, the call abruptly ended.
Call Ended...
Liane shook her head, muttering under her breath with a mix of annoyance and affection.
"Sam, if you jinxed me… I swear to God, you'll go to hell."
She turned and walked back to the car, her expression brightened slightly by the brief exchange.
However, overhead, the white raven that had been watching her earlier silently followed, its crimson eyes locked on her every move.
Sam's Side...
After rushing into the forest, Sam found a secluded bush, unzipped his pants, and prepared to take care of his urgent business.
His usual carefree demeanour masked any sense of danger, but unbeknownst to him, something sinister had been watching.
The Creeper rejuvenated just enough to stand and walk and had scavenged a trench coat, hat, and pants from a nearby scarecrow.
Earlier, it had hunted and devoured a boar, barely satiating its immense hunger.
But the Creeper craved something far more satisfying—human flesh.
As Sam relieved himself, the Creeper, drawn by the scent of its next meal, perched silently atop a tree.
Its crimson eye gleamed with a predatory hunger.
Thud~
With inhuman speed, the Creeper leapt down, landing on Sam's back.
"What the—"
Sam, startled, twisted around, only to freeze in horror at the sight before him.
The Creeper, clad in its makeshift disguise, grinned menacingly.
Its sharp, razor-like teeth gleamed in the dappled forest light, and its decayed skin made it look like death itself.
"Wha…"
Before Sam could fully process the nightmare, the Creeper lunged.
"Ahhh~"
Its claws gripped his shoulders, pinning him down.
Sam screamed, struggling futilely against the Creeper's unnatural strength.
The Creeper brought its grotesque face close to Sam's, its rancid breath suffocating him.
Then, without hesitation, it sank its fangs into his face.
Crunch~
Sam's screams echoed through the forest, but they began to weaken as the Creeper tore into his flesh, feasting on him while he was still alive.
Blood pooled on the forest floor as the Creeper devoured its prey, savouring the taste of fresh human meat that would aid its continued regeneration.
The once lively and mischievous Sam was no more, consumed by a creature that lived to hunt, devour, and terrorize.
The forest fell silent again, save for the grotesque sounds of the Creeper's meal.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************
(Author's POV)
(A/N):
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give a review and power stone!!!