Tom Piccirilli - Emerald Hell

Beside him, Deeter wasn't dancing so much as he was rushing around in a circle trying to get his hands on the tri-legged gal who was really moving at a near-gallop. Duffy reached out and caught the jug of moonshine and took a hefty swallow.

Abruptly, Deeter stopped dancing and let his partner go, gripped Duffy by the arm, and pulled him aside out of the party lights and beneath a palmetto where he'd stood the shotgun.

"Lookie there!" Deeter said.

"What?"

"It's the big red fella walkin' down this mud track toward us."

Duffy frowned and took another swig. "He's Jester's worry, none'a ours."

"'Less he spotted our faces when we tried to run him over."

"It was too dark out, but just to make sure, let's go sit inside for a while with the others, have us some more food and get another jug."

"I like that idea, but what if Jester gets irate that we ain't on the job?"

"We still don't know what the job is except Jester needs him somebody to keep him from sailing off into the sky when that black evil is upon him."

"I do wish he never stumbled onto us," Deeter said.

"Well, who knows how this will turn out? There may be some-thin' to gain here before it's all over. I recognize some of these swamp folk from Enigma. They come into town for their pension checks and supplies. And they ain't got no sheriff out here, no sir. Seems to me we could walk through this town and take just about anythin' we might want, and if anybody speaks up about it, with one mouth or possibly two or more, well, I figure that might be the last thing they ever do say on this green earth."

Deeter smiled and said, "They got some catfish and taters set out on the table. Let's go get us a dish, and then we'll go a'visitin'. Ask around about Jester's girl that he wants so bad, just to keep on the safe side of his ill will."

"Good idea."

As thunder snarled overhead, they stepped up into the house where the folk milled about, grabbing food and drink and whooping with laughter. The Ferris boys had catfish with sugar beets, and wandered about the large living room looking at the various freakish natures of some of these people.

There went a dwarf with two huge feet who bounced along doing his best not to get stomped on or tripped over. And here came a squirming worm gal who inched along like a caterpillar, which tickled Deeter's imagination in ways it had never been excited before. And in the corner stood two young boys-no, just one young'un who had nearly two complete faces right there stuck on his head, one mouth chewing and the other swallowing down a cup of goat's milk. It did fire the mind, thinking about what these folk were all about here in the deep swamp, and what their days and nights must be like.

Over the years the Ferris boys had done a bit of work for industries near and far, helping bring in chemicals and waste, showing the northerners what the safest places were to dump. Now, as they each finished up a plate of catfish, they wondered if they shouldn't have held off on eating as much as they had, considering the state of the local waters and dirt. Then they shrugged and ate a bit more and grabbed hold of the nearest jug, which wasn't moon but a sweet warm cider.

Eventually a couple of the band members decided on a break and two others took over their instruments, continuing on with the music. Even a hootenanny usually had a quiet moment or two, but these folk, they just didn't know how to settle down it seemed.

The banjo player came inside to have a plate of greens and a tap of dandelion wine. The man who replaced him on the porch wasn't nearly as talented, plucking at the strings like he was scratching a tomcat. The song didn't sail anymore, didn't really move into the center of you the way it had before.

Deeter felt an odd twist at the back of his head and approached the musician sipping his wine. "You sure can play that banjo," he said. "Our daddy knew a chord or two, but he needed to have a few taps of moon 'fore he could play worth a damn. A'course, a few taps too many and he couldn't hardly find the strings no more and he'd come chase us with the rake."

The banjo strummer blinked a couple of times, sizing Deeter up, keeping his lips peeled back and his teeth on show. "Why, ah, thank you for them kind words, son, I surely do appreciate them."

"That new boy out there can't hardly bend a string without it screaming."

"He's new to the village and fancies himself a self-taught geetar player. He figures if a banjo looks near the same then it ought to play near the same."

"Figures wrong there, eh?"

"Sure does, but he was a botherin' me to play, and I wanted myself a plate of greens, so we're both happy."The musician swallowed back more wine, looked at his heaped plate, and said, "Well now, you give your daddy my best. Maybe he and I can strum a song or two together someday."

"Naw, he's dead," Deeter told him. "Long while gone now."

"Well, that's a damn shame, I'm sorry as hell to hear that there."

"Don't be, he was a mean son of a bitch, and he deserved twice what he got, but I was only a young'un and couldn't hardly swing the ax handle all that well. Though it was fun shootin' his toe off."

"Pardon?"

Deeter grinned and said, "We're lookin' for Sarah."

"Sarah who?"

Duffy, who'd been watching the big red fella through the window, stepped closer and said, "Sarah the pregnant girl who come through here last night with two other pregnant girls after they landed in a skiff, I'm'a thinkin'. That Sarah. You recall her now?"

"No."

"You are one contrary cuss, now ain't you?" Deeter said.

"No, I just ain't seen no pregnant girl come through, much less three of them."

"I think you must be lyin'."

"And what right do you have to say that to me?"

"This," Deeter told him, yanking his Bowie knife from its sheathe and plunging it into the banjo player's throat.

Duffy said, "Well, we're back in it now," and stuck a hand out. He grabbed hold of the three-eyed gal as she came through the door and drew her close, kissing her hard on the lips while she tried to yell.

"Looks like the picnic's over, folks," Deeter said as the rest of the folk screamed and cried out, and the catfish hit the floor, "and the ruckus is about to start." He reached over to grab the last bag of hog cracklins but some fat old boy wouldn't let them go, so taken with the sight of the dead banjo player he was. Deeter picked up the shotgun and blasted the chubby coot through the gizzard, and then the Ferris boys stepped outside into the cool rain and leaned against the porch railing wondering which girl to go after now.

Like Brother Jester had said, at least they were good for murder.

Hellboy heard the shouts and shrieking and ran up to the house where the band had been playing. People poured out into the road. The party lights gave off a sickly blue, red, and green cast in the swamp. The moon crawled out from cover and then slid back in.

Up on the veranda, two yahoos were terrorizing a woman who looked like she had a third eye in the middle of her forehead. A fiddle player had been caught in the corner and couldn't decide whether he should run and jump the rail or just stand there cowering. A woman with no limbs inchwormed along down the stairs and Hellboy gestured for the fiddler to follow. He clutched his bow to his chest and ran.

Hellboy got up on the first step and saw the dead man lying on the floor inside, blood still bubbling from his mouth. And beside him was another catfish.

Always back to the catfish.

There wasn't any cool way to say it, so he just let it rip. "Okay, you two creeps, let the girl go."

It sounded even dumber than he'd been expecting.