The Creep has little girls in his house every day. Little girls, not young ladies. Little girls like Lolita and Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver.
The Creep makes a show of the little girls as they come and go from his house. It’s usually a different girl every day. It’s usually a different girl revealing too much flesh or too much budding contour for a tween coming from any neighborhood.
His neighbors asked The Creep what he’s doing with all those little girls – dressed like little harlots – coming and going all the time.
With a wink, The Creep always replies, “Cleaning.”
The neighbors said it’s weird, needing a different girl each day to clean such a small house.
The Creep said he’s got a girl for cleaning each room of his house.
After a while, the neighborhood got concerned. Rightly, they began to assume The Creep was up to no good. So they started asking around, which led to speculations and rumors about what was happening with and to all those girls at The Creep’s. They asked their girls what was up with The Creep, but the little girls said all they did was clean and get paid.
Speculation led to accusation. The police came and talked to The Creep but nothing was found and nothing could be proven. So The Creep kept right on with all those little girls.
And, it was true, The Creep wasn’t doing anything illegal. He wasn’t even taking pictures. He was just paying them to clean and talk and listen, though nobody believed it.
The Creep kept it up and when the police couldn’t do anything, The Creep started coming home to his windows smashed. He was awakened by threats screamed from cars passing in the night. And mornings he’d step outside to his tires slashed. And he opened the newspaper to read all the slanderous innuendo written about him.
The Creep then bemoaned how he was a victim. How there was no proof, even after investigation, of him doing anything wrong. He condemned everyone for condemning him of dirty deeds without any proof. The Creep bemoaned and some people began to listen. He cried that there needs to be a derelict and scapegoat for a majority to feel better about themselves. He cried that scapegoating is universal, while failing to cry how it isn’t absolute – a subtle point escaping most of those who listened.
It never bothered The Creep to have his life threatened, his widows broken, his tires slashed or his reputation smeared. He only pretended it did, knowing those things were the just costs of doing business. It never bothered him because he got exactly what he wanted. And that, more than anything, is probably what makes him The Creep. And it’s probably what makes him far more the harlot than any of the little Irises that come and go from his house.