Tom Piccirilli - Emerald Hell

"And I'd say you still need to hear about it anyways, 'lest you be forgettin'. You ain't minded your Bible, preacher. You reapin' what you done sown."

Brother Jester's hand began to burn. It ignited buzzing flies and soon the air was filled with their blazing flights until they all disintegrated. Jester plucked at the silver cord connecting spirit to corpse. It vibrated and hummed like a choir of ill children, and Plume Wallace winced and let out a sob. "Lord God, no, don't do that. It-it pains me so-"

"God not only can't help you, child of man, but He won't. He chooses not to, as is His way. I control your afterlife. I can leave you in oblivion forever if I choose. Such is my power, instilled in me by His very angels." Jester pulled at the thread and drew the ghost to him until they were nose to nose. "I serve God's purpose. He decrees this to be your fate, not me."

"No, it ain't possible, a foul critter like you. It just can't be…"

"It is," Brother Jester told him, and a hint of sadness entered his voice. "But you'll meet the Lord this day and then you can argue His folly to His great beatific face if you so choose. But first you're obligated to me. Now tell me what I wish to know."

"I done told you already what I seen."

They passed close to the shore as Duffy Ferris stobbed them toward the inlet to the dark lake, palmetto leaves and fronds pressing in on the skiff. Some loblolly berries fell and bounced off the face of Plume Wallace's corpse and rolled across his blue lips. The phantom jutted his tongue as if trying to taste the sweet flavor one last time. He reached to touch his own chin but he couldn't put a hand to that flesh anymore.

"You're a ghost now, not bound to body or the five senses. Tell me what you know beyond your being. Stop your chattering and say what you experienced and brought back with you."

"But I… wait, there was… they were in a bad spot, rife with murder." Surprised by his own phantom knowledge, Plume Wallace began to speak of what he hadn't witnessed but still somehow perceived. His gaze took on that same faraway, understanding clarity that Jester's wife's eyes had. His voice lost some of its expression. "That's right, they're in a bad place of pain. There were many other who were dying or already gone, all of 'em with smiles on their faces."

"Yes?"

"They been brought to a patch of swamp used as a farm… a blood farm. They went about writhing, in the graceful arms of the swamp itself." The ghost made as if to wipe sweat from its brow. "I don't like this sight. I ain't cut out to be deceased!"

"As much as any of us, Plume Wallace!"

"Well, they heard as much about the men gone missing from Granny Dodd's granddaughter, Megan. Granny Dodd, she's gone now too, poor woman, and her witchy ways are weakening. The chains she forged to hold back evil have broken. And I presume she's handling her state of interment better than me. Better than I will, once I get interred, is my meaning."

"What of the demon, what do you prophecy of him?"

"Ain't no demon,just a big ole red fella tryin' to help out some folks in trouble. He's powerful, tinged by great fate. He's got an admirable heart. You recognize that already. He's got a good many blessings on him. He's righteous. So's Lament. He's got grace, that boy, an old and wise soul."

"And my daughter?"

"I ain't seen nor felt her passin' by, neither livin' nor otherwise. Can't tell you nothin' more."

Brother Jester nodded, "Then go on now, Plume Wallace." He held the silver thread up to his mouth and snapped it apart with his teeth. "I release you from this earthbound custody. Go on up the jeweled stairway to Jesus, if you think you can find it."

He tossed the cord into the wind, but the ghost of Plume Wallace continued to sit in the skiff another moment. He said, "God got you in His sights, son. He'll be comin' for you soon enough, devilspawn."

And then was gone.

But his words struck Jester as wonderfully amusing. Absurd even, considering his own damnation and who he now followed.

Devilspawn. He snickered as he shoved at the corpse beside him and threw it into the lake, watching it roll over behind them.

On the far shore two bull gators crawled down a hillock of mud and began to swim toward the body. Jester couldn't control himself and continued laughing until he was whooping.

The Ferris boys moved closer together in the bow of the skiff, staring at the madman. Brother Jester tossed his head back and howled, and the black clouds ushered in across a sky of pain.

Sometimes you just had to prove to some giant monstrosity or another that survival of the fittest didn't have anything to do with size.

For some reason they all got it into their enormous heads or manifold forebrains or multifarious cranial casings that they could just mow over folks because they were bigger or faster or a little nastier than most everybody else.

That's why, when you got right down to it, Hellboy's function was knocking over the biggest creeps on the block and showing them there was something even worse around.

He reached underwater and filled his stone hand with several of the mother vines, secured his grip, and tugged hard, holding the women back from Lament.

This whole trip was starting to get on his nerves. Hellboy muttered, "That's enough of this crap," and with a powerful wrenching motion that made him bite into his tongue, he jerked until the tendrils connected to a half-dozen women started to rip loose.

Their limbs flailed, those luscious mouths opened as if to scream, but all they emitted was that same noise of the wind through the woods. He grimaced and pulled harder. Those catfish eyes gazed at him, incapable of sadness or any kind of honest pleading for mercy. That was something to be thankful for. He swallowed the taste of blood and roared, and with one powerful final twisting yank he separated the bodies from the vines and the rest of Mama.

The no longer animate husks fell into the muck and immediately began to sink, Lament came sputtering up from the mire.

Suddenly the remaining girlies hovering over the dying men were snapped back through the brush. They flew high into the trees and thickets and vanished.

A hush fell over the area broken only by the soft, lonely whimpers of the few emaciated men who hadn't yet perished. Soon even that stopped. Hellboy stood ready, checked behind himself, and watched the water.

Yeah, sure, like he was going to believe it was all over and drop his guard now.

He made his way to Lament, who floundered in the shallows choking and spitting out weeds and blooms. Hellboy got his arms around him, pulled him to his feet, and held him securely while Lament vomited.

It took him a while to clear his guts. When Lament was through he pressed himself to Hellboy's chest and stood there wide-eyed and shuddering.

"You all right?" Hellboy asked.

Okay, so it was a stupid question. Lament drew back and stared at him with little recognition, his gaze clouded. He rasped, "Asleep… feels like I'm still… dreamin'…"

"It's the flowers," Hellboy told him. "They're some kind of narcotic." He checked his belt, came up with a small first aid kit, and drew out some smelling salts. He shoved them under Lament's nostrils. "Here, this should help."

"What's that you say?"

"Come on, sniff these."

Lament did so and instantly revived. "Whew, lordy!"

As an afterthought Hellboy waved them under his own nose and was startled at how the acrid odor sobered him. He'd been a lot more out of it than he'd realized.

The atmosphere became palpable. They could both feel it, the afternoon darkening again with storm clouds moving in once more.