Short Story: Mr Creep ©

Here's a quick story I've written called "Mr Creep" ©

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Nicholas felt silly hiding in the tree-house, but it was one of the few places where Mr Streep would be unlikely to spot him. All he had to do was wait for the old man to leave his house.

In the neighbourhood where he grew up, Mr Streep had been known for his nastiness. One of his favourite games had been to poke fun at kids as they walked past his house.  But in winter, Mr Streep’s special talent came to the fore.  He'd possessed phenomenal aim with snowballs and never missed a target.

Every child in the area hated Mr Streep, or “Mr Creep” as they'd liked to call him.

Unfortunately, Nicholas, and his brother Leonard had lived next door to him.  The man had enjoyed making them miserable.  In summertime, he'd abuse them over the fence, and call them awful names. Sometimes he threw over-ripe tomatoes from his vegetable patch at them while they'd been playing.

The winter Nicholas turned eleven.  Mr Streep had invented a new game. He'd placed dead rodents and insects inside the snowballs and on several occasions, even dog droppings. The old man had chortled with happiness at the sight of their miserable faces.

But that had been many years ago. Since their parents had died, the time had come to sell the family home. 

Nicholas and Leonard reminisced about their childhood.  Naturally, Mr Streep remained vivid in their minds.

“When I was twelve, I planned to knock the old man down, and tie him to a tree.  I was going to get every neighbourhood kid to pelt Mr Creep with dead bugs, snowballs and anything they could lay their hands on,” Nicholas confided in his brother as they sat at a table in Jackie’s Inn.

“That’s pretty tame considering what a pig he was,” responded Leonard.  “I planned to make enough money when I grew up, so that I could hire a hitman to kill him!”

The brothers roared with laughter.

“He was a nasty old buzzard,” said Nicholas, “There’s a part of me that would still love to toss a few special snowballs at The Creep.”

“Why don’t you?” urged Leonard, “One for every year he made our lives hell!”

“He’d had to be at least 80 now!  It wouldn’t be right.”

“He’s still a pig of a man,” Leonard said, “When I was putting up the For Sale sign at the front of the old place last week, he was abusing some poor kid who couldn’t have been more than six.”

“Really!” Nicholas exclaimed.

“Man!  I would love to see the old fart’s face if you landed a few snowballs!” Leonard sighed.

“It wouldn’t be right,” Nicholas responded.

“The old tree-house is still in good shape,” Leonard said, “You could hide in there and toss a few at him when he comes out the front door.  He won’t have any idea who it is if you duck down.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” said Nicholas.

“You’re such a chicken.  I’ll bet you $100 you can’t do it!”

“No…no…he’s probably an old man, feeble with age….”

“Who still has a vicious streak,” cajoled Leonard, “I’ll bet you $250 you won’t do it.”

Nicholas shook his head and opened his mouth to speak.

“Let’s make it a nice even $500 then,” finished Nicholas, “You’ve got to hit Mr Creep with eight snowballs.  That’s one for every year after we moved into the house.”

Something deep inside of Nicholas stirred.  It was the desire for revenge - and the need for a little extra cash.

“Ok,” he said, reaching across to shake his brother’s hand, “You’ve got yourself a bet.”

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The first opportunity arrived at 7am when the old man went out to collect his paper.  Taking careful aim, Nicholas threw the first snowball at him, and it smacked Mr Streep in the shoulder.

“What the...” Streep snarled as he looked around.

When he turned his back, Nicholas tossed one more.  This one had a dead cockroach in it, and it caught The Creep right in the back of his head.

“Come out you little monster,” the old man yelled, shaking his fist, “When I get you I’m going to shove snails up your nose!”

Nicholas felt wonderful!  He peeked over the window, and took aim once more and that snowball splattered over his neck.

Stepping inside, Mr Streep slammed his door. Nicholas giggled delightedly.

Mid morning, Mr Streep cautiously opened his front door and stepped through.   Without hesitation, Nicholas drew back his hand and threw a snowball. This one had a rotten piece of fruit in it.  It struck Streep on the left leg and he swung around, screaming out abuse. 

Not wasting the opportunity, Nicholas threw three more in quick succession, and each struck its target.  The last one left a brown stain down the front of Mr Streep’s jacket.

Suddenly Mr Streep clutched his chest, fell to the ground and lay very still. 

“I’ve killed him,” Nicholas thought in horror.

He clambered down the tree and made his way over to the old man.  Kneeling down he checked Mr Streep’s pulse.  It was remarkably strong, and Nicholas began to wonder whether he had made a grave error. 

The old man’s eyes fluttered open.  He pursed his lips and spat into Nicholas’ face. “You always were a weird little jerk,” he muttered.

Nicholas jumped up in alarm.  He noticed how agile the old man was as he leaped up too.  Pulling out a rotten tomato from his pocket, Streep squashed it straight into Nicholas’ face.

A feeling of terror filled him.  Nicholas turned.  He ran down the street, with the old man following close behind him.

“I’ll teach you to come back here you miserable little turd,” Mr Streep screamed.

Something splattered on the back of Nicholas’ head, and he smelt the familiar stench of dog droppings. 

“I’m going to kill Leonard when I find him,” Nicholas thought, as he sprinted up the street.  The old man pursued him, yelling abuse and throwing a seemingly never-ending supply of missiles.