Jeepers Creepers ❲SIMPLE❳

Then the singing started again, soft and playful.

It was clinging to the steeple of the abandoned church, a silhouette against the moon. Human-shaped, but wrong. Its arms were too long, ending in curved, metallic-looking claws. Its back was a mess of tattered, patched-together wings—leather, canvas, and what looked like dried skin. And its head… its head was a nightmare. Bald, veined, and split by a grin that held rows of needle teeth.

The last thing they heard, fading into the static of the radio, was a single, scratchy line: Jeepers Creepers

“Jeepers creepers, where’d ya get those peepers…”

The cellar exploded in a ball of white fire. The creature shrieked—a sound that split the air, that shattered the remaining stained-glass window, that sent every bird for a mile into panicked flight. It thrashed, wings flaming, and crashed up through the church floor, taking half the roof with it. Then the singing started again, soft and playful

The cellar door ripped off its hinges. Riley grabbed a broken bottle, held it like a knife. The creature descended, its wings folding tight to its body. Up close, it reeked of copper and formaldehyde. It didn’t attack. It just crouched, tilting its head side to side, studying them like a taxidermist examining fresh pelts.

Then the engine coughed. Sputtered. Died. Its arms were too long, ending in curved,

With her last breath, she grabbed the broken bottle from the floor, still wet with the creature’s own blood, and jammed it into the knothole above—the same eyehole it had used to find them. The creature howled, not in pain, but in shock. Its grip loosened.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She turned the key. Nothing but a dry, death-rattle click. Jamie stirred, wiping drool from his chin.

“Almost there,” Riley lied, squinting at the crumbling road sign: Next Gas 47 Miles.