Page 14 of Creepy
“I’ve got the radio on.Business in Creepy?”
“My crew saw a truck headed this way.I came as soon as I heard.To check on you.Did you see anyone?”
“Yes,” I answered automatically, before thinking twice about it.Fuck.
“What the ever-living shit, Sissy.”
Fuck.I shouldn’t have told him.I tried to play it off, shrugging.“Creepy has a new resident.”
Dillon’s face twisted around.
“I should’ve invited him to church.”
Dillon became red.“And you didn’t radio me?”
“Why would I?”
“Who is he?Where is he?”
“How do you know it’s a he?”
“Boys saw a man driving an Amazon Prime truck this way.”
“Troy is a basketball player.He seems nice enough.”
“And?...Where is he?”
I held out my hands.“That’s all I know.”
“Sissy, I swear...”
“Fuck, Dillon.I didn’t have to tell you the truth.”
He turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer that.He didn’t have to.I knew he’d be going to look for Troy.
“Keep your crew away from my house or our deal is off,” I yelled, as he was mostly out the door.
“I’ll be back.”
Back at home, I noticed right away I’d had a visitor.Two twigs tied together with a blade of grass to make a cross greeted me on the porch.There was a little flower stuck in the middle of it.Like every other time I’d gotten something from my stalker, I grabbed my gun and checked the perimeter of the house.Finding nothing, I sat on the porch swing sulking.Poor Troy.I’d probably gotten him killed.If I ever saw him again, I’d invite him to dinner.Then again, maybe he was my stalker.I hadn’t seen another living soul in Creepy.I had no idea if he was who he says he was.There was no internet anymore, no way to check.And didn’t Dillon say he was driving through Alexandria, the wrong direction if you’re coming from Florida?He said a truck, not a Camaro.
Or then again, maybe the house at the end of the lane was truly haunted.Reminded of my routine, I went inside to gather my large pot and odd jars, a Classico spaghetti jar, some big salsa jars, and glass pickle ones.Thanks to Mrs.Dean, I knew about canning.Thankfully, she’d been cheap enough to show me how to reuse old jars.I canned some tomatoes and basil and made some salsa.Dillon hadn’t come back like he said he would.Worried for Troy, I radioed him.
“Are you coming over or what?”
“Have you seen anyone?”
“No, no sign of Troy.You find him?”
“No.It’s getting dark...probably...heading back.”His radio was cutting out.
“Okay...see you.”I ended the call and turned the radio off.
Since Dillon wasn’t coming, and it was starting to get dark, I planned to head over to the Jules’ Estate to hide my new jars of sauce.My hands on my hips, admiring the lot of them, I counted in my head.Though they were still warm, I emptied my backpack all but the black steel baseball bat I’d strapped to the outside.Smoothing my hair, I put on my headlamp.I’d need it for the quick trip in and out of the dark basement.I stuffed as many jars as I could in the backpack and filled two small Trader Joe’s totes.Before the pandemic, I used to make a trip into Alexandria for groceries because the produce at Piggly Wiggly wasn’t good enough for me, often wishing I had time to grow my own.I laughed at the irony.
