The Seven Creepies in: The Christmas Crossover Caper | Part 5

Mell was not particularly forthcoming about herself, or anything else. I managed to establish almost by accident that ‘Mell’ was short for something but she refused to say what, and that Perky Weather was an asylum, or possibly a prison, as I’d suspected.

Also as I’d suspected, she had escaped – but then everything had gone dark and her immediate assumption had been that someone had hit her with a tranquilliser dart, which was why she’d been suspicious of us.

The very fact that she referred to crushing Creepy’s testicles in one hand, and eviscerating Mister C of 9 with the other, as ‘being suspicious’ convinced me that we were looking at a female Creepy from some alternate universe. But she refused to provide any more information.

Creepy had managed to pull himself to his feet and hobble away to find a stapler, and for a short time we busied ourselves turning Mister C of 9’s outsides back into insides and sealing him up. He didn’t seem unduly concerned about the massive abdominal wound, as I supposed he needn’t – given what he was.

Winona produced some needle and thread that he claimed was for repairing book bindings, and replaced the button on Mister C of 9’s shirt. Then he asked if maybe stitches would be better than staples, but by then it was too late and Mister C of 9 declared primly that we’d all been ‘ogling’ his supple naked torso for long enough.

“Alright,” I said, and brought glasses and another bottle of coke to the table while Winona fastidiously wiped away the thick black slime Mister C of 9 seemed to have instead of blood. Mell, Creepy, Mister C of 9 and Winona then sat down, and since there were only four chairs and one of them was a lawn chair and another was a bar stool, I served up the drinks and then went out the back to pick up a couple of milk crates to stack up and sit on. “Alright, so. Now there’s four of you, from different-”

I stopped, because Mell’s head had snapped around and she’d lurched to her feet. I turned to look, and found myself staring at … well, maybe I should just say ‘the fifth Creepy’ and leave it at that for the moment.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
This entry was posted in Chuck Dickens’s “A Christmas Carl”, Creepy and Hatboy Save the World, IACM and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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