Creep Street (16 page)

ust after you brush off the first little creature that settles on your skin you feel that same horrible prickling sensation. Only this time it's on your leg, and it's quickly followed by a sharp bite. ‘Ow,' you cry, getting your voice back. You swipe at the horrible black thing that's clinging there and it flies away, but there's a few drops of blood where it's left its mark. Before you can react to that, there's another one on your shoulder. You swing at that but then there's another on your other leg, and one on your foot and one on the back of your neck. You're screaming now as you hit at them, but there's too many of them, they're all over you nipping and biting and drawing blood. You can feel the blood running down your arms and legs and then there's one on your face, and you can feel your blood running down your cheeks as you try to pull the horrible clinging thing off. You're being viciously bitten all over. You can feel your skin being pulled off. They're ripping it off like your skin is Elastoplast. One of them's biting into your neck and you start to choke as blood trickles into your throat. The trickle turns into a flow: it's like there's litres of the stuff flooding down into you. Your screams become gurgles as you drown in your own blood. You feel a blackness coming over you. The last thought you have as you sink into a deep dark unconsciousness is, ‘Gee, I think I made a big mistake messing with Stacey.'

uddenly there's the sound of quick footsteps and you spin around, terrified, thinking maybe it's a vampire or something. But it's not, just Stacey. She's panting hard, out of breath. ‘I thought you mightn't have been here,' she says.

‘I thought you mightn't turn up,' you confess.

You stand there looking at each other. Stacey's shivering. That could be the cold, but then again . . .

‘Well,' she says, ‘guess we should get down there and see if there's any action.

‘Sure,' you say, ‘sounds like a good idea to me.'

But you still just stand there looking at each other.

Then you both start talking at the same time.

‘We could . . .' you say.

‘Do you think we should . . .' she says.

You stop again.

‘You go first,' you say.

‘No, you go.'

‘Well,' you say, ‘I was just going to say that it's awfully cold . . .'

‘Yes, it is . . . And dark . . .'

‘Yes, I noticed that.'

‘Maybe we should . . .'

‘But on the other hand . . .'

ventually, with midnight looming, you realise. There isn't going to be a Stacey. Stacey has wimped it. Stacey has piked out. Stacey is a scaredy-cat . . .

But then you think a bit further. OK, maybe she has wimped it. But there is another possibility. Maybe she left home to meet you but she never arrived! Suppose something happened to her on the way here! Suppose those evil spirits that she warned you about are out already, and they've grabbed her? On a night like this, anything's possible.

You're not sure what to do, but eventually you start to wander towards the street, wondering if you should go searching for her. Once again you're regretting that you ever let yourself get talked into this. It's totally nerve-racking.

In the distance a clock is striking midnight. You look around, trembling. Everything seems to have become very still suddenly. The wind stops blowing, the dogs stop barking, you can't even hear the traffic from the distant highway. You think you hear something behind you maybe, but you're scared to peep over your shoulder. Then—horror! There's a scream that does come from behind you, very close behind. It's a terrible bone-rattling spine-melting hair-blanching scream, a scream that tears the heart out of your chest and cuts your legs off at the knees. ‘Wah, wah, wah,' you go. You try to make yourself move, but nothing in your body is working, except your heart, which has gone into over-drive. ‘I'm dead,' you think.

ou're not thinking of wimping out, are you?' she says.

‘Oh no,' you say. ‘Oh no no no no no no no no. No. Not me, no.'

‘Oh, good. Because for a moment there . . .'

‘Let's go,' you say, before you can have second thoughts. You want to seem tough and decisive. ‘Let's make bubbles.'

‘Let's make bubbles?' What on earth does that mean? Why are you talking like this? You really want to be upstairs hiding under the bed. But too late now. The damage is done. You're walking down the driveway, trying not to make any noise, and Stacey's walking right there beside you. You go on past the sheds and head for the three little graves. You get about fifty metres away, to where you can almost see them through the trees, then you stop and look at Stacey.

‘What do you think?' you whisper.

‘I don't know,' she whispers back.

‘We'd better be careful.'

‘What's the time?'

You peer at your watch in the dim moonlight.

‘Three minutes to twelve.'

‘Oh, yikes.'

You both start creeping forwards. You wonder why Stacey's chosen this moment to start tap-dancing, then you realise it's the sound of her teeth chattering. You're in full view of the graves now. There's a little mist blowing around them and a kind of white glow where the moonlight reflects off the crosses. Everything's very quiet, nothing moving except the mist, but it seems colder here than anywhere else. It's like this is a special little chill spot all of its own. Like the garden has its own refrigerator.

You and Stacey are getting in each other's way, mainly because you're trying to hide behind each other. You're hugging like you're old friends, and after all you only met that day. But then you forget about Stacey because, in the distance, you hear a clock start to chime, and you realise this is it, this is the witching hour, this is the first stroke of midnight.

‘Let's get out of here,' Stacey mutters. Her teeth are doing their tap-dance right in your ear. It can't be good for her braces. You want to ask her about that but you decide this mightn't be the best time. The clock is striking for the tenth time. You're about to agree with her about leaving. But it's really too late now. With the clock striking for the last time you're about to see the most frightening sight of your young life . . . or you're about to realise you've wasted a lot of precious sleep time.