Young Writers Society

In the bounds of sleep Creep found himself standing on a wide, black plain; a dark wasteland of lightning and fire. Anxiety swept through his mind like a flood, washing him with panic. He flew across this rock-studded landscape, speeding along until it was all a blur.

Then he was stopped, thrown face-first into the dirt of this blasted place. He got up, stunned but not hurt. Before him, floating in the air at eye level, were his bandages. They were shaped as though they were around his head, yet Creep could see that there was nothing in them. It reminded him a little of the Invisible Man.

“Hello, boy,” the bandages said.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m talking to you,” the bandages said. “That’s what I drug you all the way in here to do.”

“What’s going on?” the boy asked. “Who are you?”

“What, don’t you recognize me?” the bandages asked. “Don’t you remember back at Brumley Park? Remember Bobby Ford?”

The boy recoiled, as if he had been struck. The bandages parted into a smile.

“I thought that was gone,” the boy said, his voice rising in confusion and emotion.

“Boy, I’m not going anywhere. I’m you. You’re me. We’re the same two souls in the same body. Your dad knew that. Why else did you have meds, if not to keep me under control?”

“What? But then, how are you here?”

“You’ve been under a lot of stress. Thought I might be able to help.”

The boy shook his head and turned away. A cold wave passed over the back of his neck and he shivered. The sound of breathing entered in his ear and he spun around. The bandages had crept up right behind him, and had grown until they were just as large as him.

“You need my help. Catwoman out there isn’t going to be able to do everything for you.”

A nauseous wave hit the boy. “I don’t want your help,” he said. “You’re evil.”

The bandages chuckled. “What’s the problem with that?”

“You’re evil!” the boy stammered out again.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re repeating yourself,” the bandages said. “Look, my morality has nothing to do with this. Fact is, you need my help, whether you like to admit it or not. This city will eat you up, boy. Even the one thing here that helps you, that Concetta chick, wanted to make you into one of her whores before she saw me. I open doors.”

The boy stood before this monstrosity. Fear and sadness ran through his heart, and if it is possible to cry in dreams then he did so. The bandages said nothing, but simply floated there with that hideous cloth grin. The boy sighed.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“We work our way up that list,” the bandages said. “One by one, starting with that fairy dude, we kill them. Then we go home.”

The boy shivered and gave a slight shake of his head. The bandages got right up in his face.

“Yes!” they growled at him. “That’s how we’re playing this game! They die; them, anybody that gets in our way, this entire blasted city if it comes right down to it! They deserve nothing less! Do you not remember what you saw that night, standing there in the snow beside the wreck? Or do I need to remind you?”

The boy shook his head at this. That he did not want. He remembered all too well just what the bandages spoke of. He remembered the hissing of the broken engine and the red stains upon the dark ground. Those were things that one did not forget. The bandages pulled back.

“Then you know why we must do this,” they said with a smile. “For them. They can’t be forgotten. Something must be done.”

The boy nodded. No matter what those bandages brought out in him, what they said was true. There was blood that called out to him, asked for blood in return. And he was the only one who could hear it. It fell to him to answer that call.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. I’ll do what you want.” Regret hit him as he said those words, though he knew that he could not take them back. The bandages’ smile grew bigger.

“See, now you’re thinking straight,” they said to him. “And don’t worry kid. You and me, we make a great team. You remember the party? We were untouchable. So long as you and me stick together, they can’t lay a finger on us. No bullet, no blow, no nothing, is gonna take us down. You hear that? Nothing!”

Creep awoke. The smell of incense, dulled by the hours of the night, slunk into his nose. Concetta slept at his side. A voice, faint and sweet, whispered in his ear. It spoke of shadows, of darkness cloaking swift deeds, of a cause that was just and merited. And Creep listened.

He got out of bed and began to get back into his clothes. His jeans, his tennis shoes, his shirt, his trench coat, his gloves, and his guns, all put on with a stylish air that did not befit them. This was more natural, he was feeling more and more like himself.

One thing remained. The bandages, as black as the sky above, lay upon the floor. He reached down and picked them up, looking them over for a moment. Once these were on, there was no going back. Once these were wrapped upon his head, there would be no stopping him. One by one the cloth strips were wound around and around, each wind bringing him closer and closer to that feeling. Finally, the last one was tucked into place and Creep stood; complete.

The wind howled at the window and he turned to regard it. Out there, the city slumbered. He walked over to the window and gazed out at it; beheld its dark towers against the dead sky. With a strong hand he opened the window. Tonight, the city would have nightmares.