Chapter 13: The End of the Creeper
Taggart Farm.
As Darry slowly drove onto the property, the farmer and his son, who were working in the yard, put down their tools and exchanged confused glances.
"Jackie, keep an eye on Billy. I'll go see what's going on."
Old Taggart instructed his eldest son, then stood up and walked toward the car.
He'd never seen this vehicle before, and the three young people inside—two guys and a girl—clearly weren't here on business.
Old Taggart wondered if they were in some kind of trouble as he cautiously approached.
He hadn't forgotten about the missing persons cases mentioned on the radio, so he was extra careful with strangers.
"Hey there! Who are you folks, and what brings you out here?"
When he was about ten feet from the car, Old Taggart planted his pitchfork in the ground and called out.
For rural America, his reaction to strangers was actually pretty friendly.
He didn't pull out a shotgun or start cussing, truly living up to his family's reputation for being tough but fair.
At this moment, Chris recognized the man in front of him as the farmer from the second Creeper incident he'd read about.
In the original timeline, after the Creeper ate Darry's eyeballs, it gained perfect vision.
This expanded its hunting range, which then affected the Taggart family.
His youngest son would be abducted by the Creeper, and it would be Old Taggart who finally brought the monster down.
Unfortunately, he'd lack the knowledge to permanently destroy the creature, allowing it to revive and escape 23 years later.
However, Chris was now preparing to change that tragic outcome, so he pushed aside thoughts of what might have been.
"No need to worry, sir. We've caught a dangerous creature and need to borrow your wood chipper. Oh, and some gasoline if you've got it."
Chris got out of the car with his hands raised to show he meant no harm, then gestured toward the trunk.
"Yes, we'll pay you for your trouble."
Trish also stepped out and pulled fifty dollars from her pocket to offer him.
But Old Taggart glanced at Trish and frowned slightly.
City kids with no manners!
"Let me see what kind of creature you're talking about first. Then I'll decide whether to help you."
Chris didn't mind; he'd planned to show them the Creeper's remains anyway.
According to what he knew, the Creeper would awaken for 23 days every 23 years, hunting frantically during that time before returning to hibernation.
Just like a cicada emerging from underground, which is why some folks called it the Creeper.
In the original events, Old Taggart had been able to capture the Creeper precisely because the monster had reached its hibernation period; otherwise, things might have gone very differently.
So Old Taggart, being in his forties or fifties, must have heard tales of the Creeper, or at least had some awareness of it.
After all, based on the timeline, the last time the Creeper emerged was during Old Taggart's youth.
And each time the Creeper awakened, it caused at least a hundred casualties; a tragedy that big would've made headlines across the state.
"Come take a look at this thing that's been terrorizing Route 9."
Chris opened the trunk, revealing several burlap sacks containing the Creeper's dismembered body parts.
Looking at the still-twitching bags, Old Taggart's expression grew serious.
Then Chris untied one of the sacks, exposing blackened flesh and leathery skin.
The unnatural chunks of tissue, mixed with a pungent, sulfurous smell, immediately made the old farmer's face go pale.
He now believed it ninety percent, confirming that this was the legendary monster.
"Jesus! How in hell did you catch this thing? Rumor has it this creature can flip a bus like a toy. It's not something regular folks can handle."
Old Taggart let out a long breath, then asked with genuine curiosity how Chris and the others had managed it.
Darry wanted to jump in with the story, but Trish was ready and silenced him with a sharp look.
Chris didn't feel like explaining the whole ordeal. As he gathered the bags of body parts, he grinned, "Sir, what century are we living in? You're underestimating the power of modern firepower!"
"Well, I suppose..."
Chris's confident response left Old Taggart at a loss for words. After all, he hadn't witnessed the Creeper's abilities firsthand—even growing up in these parts, he only knew distorted rumors and campfire stories.
Seeing him still hesitant, Chris continued his bluff, "Fragmentation grenades, flashbangs, chainsaws, bear traps, tasers, plus good old American grit. Hell, if I can take down a gator, why couldn't I handle this overgrown bat?"
"Ha! If you say so, son."
Hearing Chris's explanation, Old Taggart let it drop. As long as he was sure this dangerous creature was caught, that's all that mattered.
"You want to use the wood chipper, right? Follow me."
Since it was confirmed that Chris and the others wanted to destroy the Creeper, there was no reason to stand in their way. He led Chris toward his workshop.
As a farmer, a commercial-grade wood chipper was essential for disposing of agricultural waste and clearing dead timber and stumps.
So when Chris spotted this farm from the road, he'd told Darry to pull in.
He just hadn't expected it to be the Taggart farm from the stories he'd heard.
But those were minor details. As long as the Creeper was ground into pulp and then mixed with gasoline and burned to ash, everything would work out.
Then this family would be spared their tragedy, and even the students and teachers on that school bus from the second incident would be safe.
Oh, and the events between the two main incidents—those state troopers would be out of danger too.
Man, I really am doing some good here!
He tossed the Creeper's body parts, burlap sacks and all, into the industrial wood chipper. As the machine roared to life, a grotesque pulp mixed with wood chips began emerging from the other end.
Seeing some remnants of the pulp still clinging inside the chipper, Chris grabbed another log and threw it in to help push out the remaining material.
Old Taggart, who'd been about to shut off the machine, saw Chris's action and stopped, shaking his head slightly.
This kid's so young, yet so damn thorough.
Has he been watching too many horror movies?
Ignoring Old Taggart's thoughts, Chris pressed on, "You got any gasoline? Let's burn this stuff too."
"..."
After a moment of silence, Old Taggart hadn't expected Chris to be this extreme. He looked at the now-motionless Creeper pulp, thought it over, and decided it was probably best to humor the young man.
"Jackie! Go grab a can of gas!"
He hollered at his eldest son, who was watching from the doorway, then fell silent.
When Jackie returned with a red five-gallon gas can, Chris took it and poured it directly over the Creeper pulp.
He had a gut feeling that if left alone, something might crawl out of this mess 23 years down the line.
That's why he wanted more fire—to burn the Creeper to complete ash.
After all, there'd been that psychic in the stories, and the Creeper's weapons and truck seemed to be enhanced by some kind of dark magic.
This suggested the Creeper wasn't just a physical monster, but might also be connected to supernatural forces.
But fortunately, those dark powers weren't too strong, and could be neutralized by fire—which had the power to cleanse evil in just about any belief system.
As the gasoline splashed over the pulp, Old Taggart struck a match and tossed it in. A sudden burst of flame erupted with a whoosh.
The black pulp mixed with gasoline and wood chips became perfect fuel, causing flames to leap six feet high, nearly touching the workshop's ceiling.
Under such intense fire, the people present vaguely heard an otherworldly shriek, but it disappeared in an instant, as if it were just their imagination.
Only Chris was certain—this was the death cry of the Creeper being truly destroyed.
And as the Creeper completely perished, Chris felt a surge of white energy being absorbed into him, though this time he didn't know exactly what it was.
Some kind of essence? Life force? Whatever it was, it felt... right.
The Creeper was finally, permanently dead.
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