The Creeping (42 page)

I keep repeating the plea, begging her to quiet down, pleading with her to shush. “Jeanie,
shhh
.” I back away. I want to stop. I want to stay with her. But Daniel and Caleb are right. The monster's hungry, and I don't want it to eat me, too.

I jerk away from the memory feathering before me, before the panic can yawn and stretch inside me. Jeanie was alive when Daniel and Caleb went for help. She was alive when I backed away from the shape in the brush, begging her to be silent. What was it? Was it a bear or a mountain lion drawn in by Jeanie's wounded animal noises? Is it the reason her body's no longer here? Dimly, I register Zoey and Sam talking. Don't know about what. If I'd stayed at her side, would Jeanie's mom have found us? Could I have scared the animal away? Daniel shot Jeanie with an arrow, but could she have survived? He ran for their mother; he tormented Jeanie but didn't want her to die.
No, that came later, after years of dread that someone would discover what he'd done; after seeing Jeanie everywhere, taunting him, waiting for him to get his. Only then was he capable of murdering a little girl for having a face close to his sister's.

I teeter on the rim of the makeshift grave. Zoey kneels beside me, the warmth of her arm scalding mine. All that make-believe, us in the woods with bows and arrows, howling about witches and monsters, is what turned them—
us
—savage. How could I have been so afraid that I walked away from my dying friend? Caleb and Daniel said it needed a sacrifice. The monster was hungry. The forest went quiet—a deafening noiselessness—before I saw the shape behind the ferns. There was a rush of movement in the thicket. Jeanie was staring into the woods for weeks before she was taken, as if she knew she was being watched. It happened just like it was described by the friends of those who were abducted. I wag my head hard. No, no, no, monsters don't exist, at least not the sharp-toothed and taloned kind. Only bad people. Jeanie guarded against the woods and acted strange because of Daniel. Jeanie wasn't afraid of the things that tap at your window at night. She was afraid of the boy who lived in the bedroom down the hall.

Jeanie died because I was a little girl frightened of something that couldn't possibly exist—because I
believed
in it, if only for that moment. Never again. There's no such thing as the Creeping. The echo of a laugh flits to me from a mob of trees. My head snaps, searching. My hand flies to my mouth. It's me who's laughing nervously because a shadow of doubt faltered through my head like a one-winged moth before I could swat it away.

Dimly, I register Sam's arms hooked under mine, hauling me to my feet, guiding me away from the clearing and everything it witnessed.
What
did it witness?

I float forward, tethered to Sam, wading back into the ocean of ferns a step behind Zoey. I see the choice I have; it is hellish red dazzling against the forest's earth tones. I've seen what happens if you spend too much time thinking about what hides in the dark. You become a monster yourself. You become a lonely old woman in the woods with stories; a killer who sees his victim everywhere; a boy who'd rather believe in monsters than live.

You become the keeper of a graveyard, real and imagined.

Rather than monsters, this is what I'll focus on: Zoey alive for the best year of her life; Sam and Dad sitting across the table from me eating Dad's amazeballs macaroni and cheese; Shane beating back the chaos threatening Savage; Jeanie sending me back to Sam; Jeanie resting in peace.

I am indebted to many people who made this book possible. These brief acknowledgments do not express the immeasurable gratitude I feel to you all. A very special thank you to:

My mother, who filled my childhood with library visits, books, and love. Thank you for being so very present for me. My father, who encouraged me to think critically and work harder. My sister, Elizabeth, who makes me feel like the funniest person alive. No one does make-believe like you. My brother, Andrew, who is always in my corner. Thank you for being nothing like the brothers in this book.

My childhood friends, for the adventures we had and the adventures we didn't. My grad school chums, who “networked” tirelessly with me as I worked on this manuscript. And thank you to all my friends and family who were good to me in countless ways and expressed so much enthusiasm and optimism for what was a long shot.

My agent extraordinaire, Brianne Johnson, for your guidance, hustle, and believing in me and this creepy little book.

All writers and early readers who offered up support and critique. A special thanks to Debra Driza, whose eyes were the first other than
mine on this manuscript; the Fearless Fifteeners, who supported me in a way that only other debut authors can; Olivia Valcarce, for all of your feedback and help; CB, for making me believe; and Melissa Palmer, librarian and lifelong friend.

The extraordinary team at Simon & Schuster, with great thanks to: Valerie Shea, copy editor, who spared me loads of embarrassment; managing editor, Ellen Grafton; and production manager, Heather Faulls. Thank you to Lizzy Bromley for designing a cover that is as sexy as it is unsettling. I cannot stop staring. And thank you also to Caryn Drexl for her stunning photograph.

To Navah Wolfe, stellar editor, who shares a love of monsters with me. In many instances the characters in this book deserved better than I could give them alone. Thank you for your guidance and for asking all the right questions. Thank you for understanding that this book is about loyalty and friendship as much as it is about deceit and wickedness. You have made it immeasurably better.

And finally, thank you to my husband, Joe. Thank you for always making me laugh, letting me read aloud, celebrating the small victories, dismissing the defeats, steadying me throughout this crazy, wonderful ride, and never wavering in your belief that I could do this. I did it because of you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2015 by Alexandra Sirowy

Jacket photograph copyright © 2015 by Caryn Drexl

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Sirowy, Alexandra.

The creeping / Alexandra Sirowy.

pages cm

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Stella has no recollection of the day her best friend disappeared while the two, then six, were picking strawberries, until the corpse of a similar girl turns up and Stella not only begins to remember, she learns that something dark has been at work in their little town for generations.

ISBN 978-1-4814-1886-7 (hardcover)

ISBN-13: 978-1-4814-1888-1 (eBook)

[1. Missing children—Fiction. 2. Murder—Fiction. 3. Amnesia—Fiction. 4. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 5. Monsters—Fiction. 6. Mental illness—Fiction. 7. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title.

PZ7.1.S57Cre 2015

[Fic]—dc23

2014018405