Creeps, true stories from Reddit (Second book)

If you see Little Red on the streets after midnight, it's already too late

I'm on the clock, admiring the stars in the pitch-black sky. Unusual for a city this size. Might be a power outage nearby. If I were to have something like a lunch break, this would be it. I sit in the car, tapping the wheel, thinking about nothing.
Feeling nothing.
My vehicle is parked in the depths of an alley behind Cal's Girls, a popular nightclub with go-go dancers, a champagne fountain, and plenty of other stuff the Yelp reviews don't mention. You see one of these places, you've seen them all. What they're really missing is a wall of before and after shots of their clientele.
Just picture it.
On the left, Jenny and the gals all dolled up, hearts and glitter on their faces, high heels, cleavage, legs, legs, legs for days. Faux fur crop jackets from the sale rack at H&M; but boy oh boy do they shine.
To the right, in the after photo, Jenny without the gals, leaving around 4am after doing two guys in the backroom; coming off the molly. Face foundation flaking, lipstick smeared on the back of her palm, neck bruised from a night of doing all the wrong things that felt so right.
I smile a little.
It's tedious work a lot of the time, just sitting around waiting for the call. It's better when something interesting happens.
As I'm thinking this, the backdoor swings open, and a young couple stumble out, all wrapped up in each other. Kissing, groping, grinding. The girl is probably one of the go-go dancers, blonde and sparkly, hair extensions, the lot. The guy looks decent himself, tall and jacked, stylish haircut; you know the type. He picks her up and carries her over to one of the closed metal dumpsters, sitting her down on his palms so she doesn't get cold.
How considerate.
I watch them laugh, kiss, and moan as they get on with it. It's not a riveting show, but it's better than watching rats picking chicken bones out of the trash.
It doesn't last long. Never does.
My favorite part comes next.
The looks on their faces when they're done. Drunk as they are, they still pull apart awkwardly, not looking at each other. A few polite mumbles as the guy buckles his belt and the girl tries to figure out if she can still wear the ripped panties. Eventually, she throws them in the trash, her gaze lingering on the dumpster lid. She must be looking at the guy's sweaty handprint stains on the metal. I see her mind run through a string of life choices that led up to this moment and almost feel bad for her. If she knew how often I see this sort of thing, she wouldn't have to feel so ashamed.
They're about to go back inside when a small figure appears at the mouth of the alley. Even from here, I can see a bright red hood flapping in the wind. I really hope it has nothing to do with me, but I'm not dumb enough to exclude anything. I roll down the car window so I can hear what's going on.
"Are you lost?" the blonde calls out to Little Red.
"Woah," the buff guy runs a hand through his hair, "Woah, man."
Good point, buddy. This is weird.
I glance at my phone, waiting for the call, hoping it won't come.
Could be a coincidence.
Could just be a kid.
"Come here, sweety, we can help you," the blonde calls out, then to the guy, "What should we do? Call 911?"
"Woah, yeah," the guy shakes his head, "Like, I don't even know. Shit."
No, he doesn't know shit. Neither of them know shit. If they knew even half a shit, a quarter of a shit, a tiny flake of shit - they would be running.
The figure starts walking toward them; head bent down. Only a pointy chin is visible with a small red mouth pressed into a thin line. The blonde kneels down, trying to talk to it; calling it sweety, honey, sugarpie, lollipop. I don't know. I can't hear her, she's speaking softly.
It lifts its head.
Looks like a kid, I guess. Maybe if I saw it during the daytime, I might not even think twice. But it's after midnight and this is not a kid. Its eyes are large and unnaturally wide (no eyelids). The pupils are two black eight balls, devoid of human expression. The skin is pale, almost translucent, wrapped tightly around the skull. It doesn't even look that hungry, maybe it will only take one of them.
It attacks the blonde first since she's the closest.
Easy prey.
Takes next to no effort for the thing to lunge at her, pushing her to the ground.
"Oh man, oh man, oh man!" the guy stammers, running for the backdoor, which is locked from the inside, "Oh man!" he screams, his back pressed against the wall of the building; his eyes practically popping out of his head as he watches the hooded figure mount Blondie.
The thing sits on her stomach as she writhes beneath it, screaming. It pins her in place with just those tiny legs, throwing back the crimson hood as it slides its tiny, pointy hands over her skimpy tank top. Hunger gleams in its eyes before it rips her ribcage in half and begins feeding.
First the heart, then the lungs and stomach. They rarely touch the intestines.
I can't stand the guzzling, slurping noises, so I roll the car window back up, turning my attention back to the guy. He's caught like a deer in the headlights, probably thinking he's on a bad trip.
If only.
Again, I hope it will let him go. It hardly looks hungry; no reason to take two in a row. Doesn't seem to be my night though, and before long, the guy finally tries to sprint away. It's far too late now. The process repeats. The lunge, topple, pindown. Even with the window shut, I still hear it in my mind. Riiiip goes the skin; the ribcage crackles. Blood floods the alleyway and I grit my teeth in frustration.
What a fucking mess.
It only takes about twenty minutes in total for the thing to finish. I wait for it to fuck off, but it lingers over the dead bodies before turning to me and tilting its head. If it could smile that's what it would look like, I guess. It raises a blood-stained palm and waves, sending shivers down my spine. Finally, it turns and walks out of the alleyway.
I exhale, realizing that I'm sweating head to toe, forming swamplands under my armpits and crotch.
The phone finally rings.
"Hey N., gonna need a cleanup behind the -"
"Yeah, I know," I break S. off, "I fucking saw it."
"Ah shit, sorry man," his voice is filled with half-assed concern, "Multiple?"
"Yeah," I grunt, using my shoulder to press the phone to my ear as I reach for my kit in the backseat, "Fucking looked like a kid too."
"Damn," my colleague yawns, "Well let me know if anything comes up."
S. hangs up.
Takes me two hours to clean off the wounds, stuff the bodies with wood-wool, glue and stitch the torsos back up.
Multiples are the worst.
I scarcely have enough embalming foundation to cover the patches, and I have to get creative with the concealer. Girls are somehow always easier to fix up, and I have the blonde resting in one piece quick enough. The guy is trickier, the muscles weigh down what's left of the skin, forming unnatural indentations. I try some different things, scavenge some sticks to help me replace shattered ribs.
I'm still working when the car arrives. I tell M. to give me another twenty minutes and he lights up a cigarette.
"Hot girl," he remarks, but I don't reply.
I send them away once I'm satisfied the bodies appear to have died of natural causes. They will be taken to one of the associate-morgues where loved ones can identify them the following day. The car rolls off and I go to my trunk to fetch a bucket, mop, and scrubbing brush.
Damn, I'm low on bleach.
I fill the bucket with water from a canister that I keep in my car. I work until sunrise, until the alleyway shimmers in the daylight, now more pristine than ever.
I drive home exhausted and linger in the doorway to the girls' bedroom. This house, the vacations, ivy league schools, grand weddings.
All of it for them.
I run down my list of moral justifications another couple of times before heading to bed and resting up before my next shift.

Posted by u/peculi_dar