Tom Piccirilli - Emerald Hell

"Why not?" Lament asked. "If you're afearin' this Mama and her girlies and your man gone missin', seems to me you'd be wan-tin' someone nearby to look out for you."

"It ain't me I'm a'fearin' for. You got to get on 'fore she learns you're here." The panic in her voice took on the tone of hysteria-words clipped with a little girl squeak, as if she were trying to crawl inside herself, or claw her way out.

Hellboy realized the whole wall of the shanty was groaning in protest beneath the heaving wind's onslaught, leaning horribly to one side. The years of rain and Spanish moss bleeding into the wood had rotted it until it was hardly more than tissue. He was afraid the next strong gust might blow the whole place down on the woman's head.

"Stand away," he told Lament, who refused to move aside.

"We can't push our ways in."

"Why not? I mean, it's wet out here. It's really wet out here."

"We can't go in unless we're invited."

"What are you, a vampire?"

"I abide by a code of manners."

"So do I," Hellboy said. "But it's really wet." He stuck out one finger against the knob and gave a little push. The door popped open and there was Megan Dodd, staring at them. She was holding the shotgun but the shells had broken open in her hands and the shot had spilled onto the floor. He could see they were so old they'd rotted in the humidity.

Long, dirty-blonde hair dangling mostly in her face, braided loosely on the left and clipped in tufts with broken pink barrettes on the right, Megan Dodd, granddaughter of another one of these witchy women had dark unforgiving eyes and a sorrowful presence. Who knew how many jars full of weirdo bits and pieces might be around here?

Middle-aged but with an air of inexperience to her, as if she'd been held back from the world and knew nothing beyond a hundred yards of the shanty. Both shoulder-straps had slid down her arms. The catclaw briar scars, sycamore scratches, and welts didn't mar her flesh in the least. Anywhere else she'd have appeared ridiculously child-like, but here it seemed natural, and more than that, perhaps even necessary. A peculiar and powerful musk like a bull gator's pervaded the shack.

She rushed across the wooden floor and hung back against the far wall. "Get away from me, O Lucifer, Son of the Morning!"

Lament moved, grabbed the shotgun out of her hand, and said, "He only looks like Lucifer. But he's a man of principle and his heart is righteous."

"You sure about that?"

"I'm certain. And look close-"

She peered at Hellboy for a moment and said, "Oh, those is Granny Lewt's eyes!"

Again with the eyes. He wondered when the eyes were going to wear off, or if when he got back to the rest of the world everybody would be commenting on his old lady eyes.

Megan came to some decision. "If she trusts him, I suppose I will too."

"What's going on here?" Lament asked. "Tell me what happened." An emerald wash of light ignited the side of her ashen face as she passed a window. The caramel-colored freckles flecking her cheeks stood out as if etched, until she fairly glowed in the interior of the shack. She pressed close to Lament. Slowly, she brought her mouth to his ear. "You been gone a long while, John Lament, but I remember your all-night sings in the church tents when you was a child. You had the most beautiful voice. That still the truth?"

"I don't know," he said. "I ain't sung much in recent times."

Hellboy almost mentioned the little song he'd sung in the row-boat on the way over, which in its own way had been beautiful and captivating.

"Are you still a friend to the folks of Enigma?"

"You know I am."

"And the swamp folk too?"

"Yes. I'm your friend, Megan. Now you take a breath and calm down some and tell me what's going on."

"You shoulda been gone, you shoulda gone, John." A bark of frustration broke from her.

"Who are these girlies you keep mentionin'?"

Her face darkened with futility. "I can't rightly say. Granny Dodd never let me go out too far in the lowland meadows. I used to watch her throw her potions in the water and do those rituals out 'neath the moon, and afterward she'd sleep for two days straight so tired from makin' her spells'a protection. She done warned me and my man Jorry, but he never did listen to her much. Always used to say she wasn't right in her head. But Granny tole us that Mama's girlies had a special need for men 'cause they could be easily called away."

"Called away how?"

"I ain't got no idea, but called they were. After she died some of the menfolk from 'round these parts went missin' and then my Jorry got to thinkin' maybe somethin' was wrong after all. He never drifted too far to get the gator meat. But three days ago Jorry went out into the watergrass prairie and never come back. I spent all night and the next mornin' lookin' for him, but I failed. The girlies musta got him, and they gonna get you too iffun you stay here too long."

Dejection crowded Lament's face. He'd been hoping for more information about Sarah. He glanced at Hellboy and Hellboy told him, "Don't worry, we'll find her."

"I fear I done lost her trail already, and now the storm's gonna blow away any other sign. We'll stay until it passes and then be off."

"Back to Enigma," Megan said.

"No, I got to find her."

"She's likely dead as my Jorry."

"You done despair too easy, Megan Dodd, didn't your granny teach you no better than that? I gotta keep lookin' for my Sarah, and if I come across your Jorry, I'll send him back home quick-like."

Rain came on stronger, and the walls shimmied.

Hellboy warily took a sniff, and went into a fit gagging on the musk. When it finally ended, his throat was raw. "Christ, what is that?"

"I dunno," Megan said. "It started a week or so back, and gets stronger with the storms."

Taking up post at the window, Hellboy alternately stared out at the wet emerald hell and glanced down at his right hand, wondering what it was that he'd been holding onto in his nightmares. He kept getting the feeling that someone knew things about him that they shouldn't know, perhaps things he didn't even know himself or couldn't remember, and it pissed him off. He didn't like the idea of a rogue preacher out there spreading harm but still being blessed by Heaven. He realized then he very much wanted to meet this Brother Jester.

Lament and the girl talked about the swamp village. She'd never been there but she had an idea of where it was and which backwaters and inlets to take in order to get there. They had a different way of talking about water and mud and jungle than he'd ever heard. Sort of like how the Eskimos supposedly have a hundred different ways to describe ice and snow. Maybe it was true. He couldn't differentiate, but Lament seemed to understand the girl's ambiguous directions.

When the storm, calmed some Hellboy looked over his shoulder and Lament was already saying goodbye to Megan Dodd.

She walked up to Hellboy and told him, "You jest watch out for Mamas girlies. You a man, like any other, least when it comes to that."

"Lady, give me a break, huh?"

Lament led him from the shack and the two slogged through the gurgling mud and mire back to the skiff.

"We'll find them," Hellboy said. "Take your own advice and don't despair."

"I'm doin' my best. But I fear."

The rain had cooled the swamp down, and the terrain had shifted dramatically with the deluge. The blackwater had risen enough that they didn't need to row the skiff anymore. The tangled roots and islands of matted branches were mostly underwater now, and as they pushed off they each reached for the stobpole.

"You done your part with the oars in the shallows," Lament said. "I'll take a turn."

"I don't like to just sit. I like to keep busy."

They each held the stobpole tightly. There was a moment when it could've gone either way. Hellboy could imagine the two of them slugging it out over which one got to shove the tiny boat around in the slimy inlets. They both needed action and wanted to let off a little steam. Hellboy just couldn't sit there staring at the glowing green any longer, trapped between boredom and serious tension.