Scared Crows

Rick Hautala and Jim Connolly

Just after dark, the rainstorm swept across the mountains to the west and blew eastward, heading toward the cold, gray Atlantic Ocean. The small town of West Buxton, Maine, was just one of many small New England towns in its path. It was late October and already past peak foliage season this far north. The storm's powerful winds blew sheets of cold rain that shined like silver strings in the few streetlights that lined the all-but-deserted Main Street. Fast-running water, dead leaves, and blown-down branches choked the rapidly overflowing gutters. Nearly every resident of the town, at some point or another that evening, muttered some variation of: "Good thing this ain't snow, or else we'd be buried alive."

Moving perhaps a little too fast, a battered Chevy pulled into the rutted dirt parking lot outside a bar called The Crossing, which was located on the outskirts of town, just past the railroad crossing. Water and gravel from the muddy puddles splashed against the underside of the car, which sagged noticeably to the left because of the massive weight of the driver. Dark, wet leaves, looking like bloated leeches, stuck to the mud-splattered sides of the car as it lurched to a stop in the far corner of the parking lot where the red neon light of a beer sign didn't quite reach.

There were only two other vehicles in the parking lot that night — a black, late model Ford pickup that was pitted with rust and holes, and a mud-splattered Nissan Maxima sporting New York plates.

The driver of the Chevy killed the engine but didn't get out right away. For a minute or two, he sat there behind the steering wheel, listening to the sudden gusts of wind that punched against the side of the car like powerful, invisible fists. He focused on the rain that was pouring out of the rusted gutter above the bar door. Finally, with a belly-deep grunt, he grabbed the travel cooler that rested on the seat beside him, took the key from the ignition and pocketed it, and opened the car door.

His long, tattered trench coat was soaked through the instant he stepped out into the storm. Rain ran in glistening streams down his face, making the deep red tone of his skin look like flayed meat. Taking long strides, with the travel cooler banging against his leg, he made his way to the front door of the bar and entered. A gust of wind slammed the door shut behind him, but even with the door closed, he could hear the high-pitched whistle of the wind and the splash and splatter of the rain outside.

The bartender, a man named Kyle Kelly who owned The Crossing bar and lived in the small apartment upstairs, glanced up. His eyes widened ever so slightly when he saw his new customer, but Kyle had been a bartender pretty near his whole life, so he knew not to show too much surprise.

" 'Evenin', Hellboy," he said with a quick nod.

He was about to follow this up with something on the order of Kinda surprised to see you 'round these parts again, but thought better of it.

"Damn good thing this ain't snow," he said as he watched Hellboy stride over to the booth at the back of the bar and sit down heavily, not bothering to remove his sodden trench coat.

There were only three other customers in The Crossing tonight. Two regulars — brothers named Jed and Tommy Farrow who did odd jobs around town whenever their welfare checks ran out — were seated at the far end of the bar, close to the jukebox, which was playing a sad-sounding song by Emmylou Harris. Also seated at the bar, closer to the door, was an attractive, dark-skinned woman. She'd already told Kyle that her name was Lorraine, even though Kyle wasn't one to pry. After ordering a beer, she'd gone on to inform him that she was on her way to North Conway to attend her sister's baby shower. Not finding any fast-food restaurants handy, she'd stopped in here for a quick bite to eat and a cold one. That 'cold one' had turned into a few more beers, and by the time Hellboy arrived, Lorraine was looking just a wee-bit tipsy.

Unlike Kyle, all three patrons — if a place like The Crossing can actually honor its customers by calling them 'patrons' — watched Hellboy with varying degrees of thinly veiled interest. Tommy, the younger of the Farrow brothers, couldn't help but hoot with laughter at the sight of the new customer.

"Whoo-ee," he said, slapping his brother on the back and smirking with a wide grin that made him look like even more of an idiot than he generally did. "Just when you think you've seen it all, huh, Jed?"

Jed, the older and slightly more level headed of the two brothers, simply sighed and shook his head before turning around and silently hoisting the beer he had in hand.

"How 'bout that, Big Bro?" Tommy went on, jabbing his brother's arm again, almost making him spill his beer. "The things you see when you don't have a gun, huh?"

Jed snorted and kept drinking, his Adam's apple working rapidly up and down in his thin throat as he drained his glass.

"And — Christ on a cross — was that really a freakin' tail I saw sticking out from under his coat?"

"Just shuddap and drink," Jed said as he slammed his empty glass down on the counter and signaled to Kyle for another one.

But Kyle, ignoring Jed for the moment, called out, "What can I get for you, Hellboy?"

Resting his left hand lightly on top of the cooler, which he had placed on the table in front of him, Hellboy glanced over at Kyle with a deepening scowl, then said softly, "How 'bout a pitcher of beer ... and two glasses."

Lorraine's eyes were a bit unfocused as she leaned forward and whispered to Kyle, "Do you know him?"

Kyle glanced over at Hellboy again, then nodded slightly but said nothing before drawing a pitcher of draught. He was happy for the business. With the storm and all, it wasn't looking like tonight was exactly going to bust the bank. He grabbed a couple of clean glasses and walked over to the table without answering her.

Lorraine couldn't help herself. She spun around on her chair and stared at the man — if this was, indeed, a man — seated in the shadowy corner. She had never seen anything like him — especially his huge right hand that looked like it was made out of stone or something.

"Who the hell is he?" she whispered out of the corner of her mouth to Kyle once he was back behind the bar, drawing another glass of beer for Jed.

When Kyle didn't answer her right away, she leaned across the bar so far her ample breasts flattened against the smooth, water-stained surface.

"Does he live around here?"

Kyle ran his teeth over his lower lip, his eyes darting nervously back and forth between Lorraine and Hellboy.

"No," he finally said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He's not from around here ... and neither are you, so it's just as well you don't ask. 'Kay?"

"Come on," Lorraine said, snagging Kyle's shirt sleeve and giving it a quick tug.

Kyle licked his lips, and when he spoke again, his voice was so low she could barely hear him above the sound of the storm outside and the jukebox, which was now playing an old Roy Orbison song.

"We had some ... ah, some trouble out this way 'bout a year ago, and he ... sorta helped fix it."

"It was exactly a year ago tonight."

Hellboy spoke so suddenly that Lorraine couldn't help but squeal as she wheeled around to look at him.

"He's got good hearin', too," Kyle added.

Now that she had her opening, Lorraine — never one to be shy — got up from the barstool and started toward Hellboy's table. He looked like an illusion to her — a figment from some terrible nightmare made real. His red skin was slick and still gleaming from the rain. On his forehead two huge circular bumps shadowed his eyes, which glowed dull orange with what seemed like their own internal light. His jutting lower jaw kept his thin lips in a straight, unsmiling line.

Halfway to the table, Lorraine's foot caught on something, and she almost fell, but she caught herself and quickly regained her composure. Tommy, who was still intently watching all of this, let out a sharp bray of laughter that cut off quickly when his brother elbowed him in the ribs. "Mind if I join you?" Lorraine asked.

Before he could answer, she collapsed into the seat opposite him and leaned forward on the table.

"My name's Lorraine Martin, from New York City," she said, slurring her words slightly as she held her right hand out for him to shake.

She cringed when he took her hand into his huge right hand and lightly shook it. His touch was stone cold, and she could feel the terrible power trembling in his grasp. She knew he could easily crush her hand to a pulp without even thinking, but he shook her hand gently and then let it drop.

"I'm Hellboy," he said, his voice making a deep rumble that reminded her of distant thunder.

"Are you gonna drink that beer," Lorraine asked, "or did you bring your own in that cooler?"

"I'm waiting for someone," Hellboy said simply.

There was a finality in his voice that told her not to pursue it any further, but Lorraine had had enough to drink so she didn't care. She was burning with curiosity to find out who this guy was and what he was doing here.

"A friend of yours?" she asked.

"Sort of. Someone I work with," Hellboy replied with a quick nod.

He looked past her. When Lorraine turned to see what he was staring at, she noticed the small clock above the array of liquor bottles behind the bar.

It was a quarter to eight.

"Well, until this friend of yours shows up, what say you buy me a drink?" Lorraine said.

When she leaned forward and rested her hand lightly on his arm, she couldn't help but notice that Hellboy turned his body ever so slightly, as though shielding the travel cooler from her.

"What've you got in there that's so important?" she asked, but he didn't answer her. He simply stared at her with a glowering scowl that made it all too clear that he wasn't going to talk about it.

"So ... are you gonna buy me a drink or not?" Lorraine asked.

Hellboy looked over at Kyle and said, "Get her a glass of whatever she's drinking."

Kyle nodded and, without a word, drew a beer and walked over to the table. His face was expressionless as he placed the glass down in front of Lorraine.

"I have to tell you one thing," Lorraine said once Kyle had retreated back behind the bar. "I don't like drinking alone."

She clinked her glass against the untouched pitcher in front of Hellboy.

"What say you join me?"

When she reached across the table for the pitcher, making as if to pour him a beer, Hellboy snatched it from her and poured into one of the glasses. Holding it out to her, he said, "Here's looking at you." With that, he tipped his head back and drained the glass in several huge gulps.

Lorraine took a long, slow sip from her beer, all the while watching him in amazement over the rim of her glass.

Once the glass was empty, Hellboy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and placed the glass on the table. After filling it again from the pitcher, he sat back and drained it a second time.

"Well, you certainly don't mess around, do you?" Lorraine asked, unable to conceal her amazement.

"I probably should have something to eat first," Hellboy said. "I haven't eaten all day."

"So tell me," Lorraine said after a moment of silence. "Who're you meeting? I can tell, just by looking at you, that you're an interesting guy who must do a lot of interesting stuff."

"I already told you," Hellboy said, his scowl deepening. "It's someone I work with."

"Well then, will you tell me what kind of work you do?"

"It's ... kind of complicated," Hellboy said with a dark scowl.

"Does it have anything to do with what you've got in that cooler? C'mon. Tell me. Whatddaya have in there?"

"Cold stuff," Hellboy replied, and for a brief instant, the glow in his eyes seemed to intensify.

Lorraine nodded and sat in silence for another moment. Then she said, "Does this have anything to do with what happened a year ago tonight?"

Hellboy's scowl deepened. The two beers seemed to have gone straight to his head, and he shook it to clear it, then looked at Lorraine and nodded.

"Matter of fact, it does," he said. "I'm waiting to meet up with my friend. A guy called 'The Finn'. Our friend, Red Shirt, died a year ago tonight. We're meeting here to raise a glass to his memory."

"Or a pitcher," Lorraine said with a slight laugh.

"Yeah. Maybe a pitcher," Hellboy said as he grasped the near-empty pitcher and raised it above his head to let Kyle know that he wanted a refill.

While they waited for the fresh pitcher to arrive, Hellboy refilled his own and Lorraine's glasses. Lorraine settled back in her seat and took a deep breath, taking it all in. One thing she couldn't help but notice was the sour stench that emanated from either whatever Hellboy had in the cooler, or else from Hellboy himself. Maybe he didn't smell so good after being out in the rain, she thought.

Kyle arrived with the full pitcher, placed it on the table in front of Hellboy, and walked away. He had caught only a few snatches of their conversation but, knowing what he knew about the events that had transpired this time last year, he didn't want to know any more.

"So," Lorraine finally said, unable to hide her interest, "are you gonna tell me how your friend Red Shirt died? Or am I gonna have to get you drunk first, and pry it out of you?"

Hellboy shook his head and then belched loudly. This got a reaction from the Farrow brothers, both of whom turned in their seats and glared over at the table.

Once again, it was Tommy who spoke.

"Hey, you wanna keep it down over there?" he shouted. "This isn't a fucking barn, you know."

Lorraine saw the orange glow in Hellboy's eyes flare up as he stared back at the two brothers.

"You might want to watch your language with a lady present," Hellboy said. Then he sucked in a deep breath and belched again, louder.

"Lady?" Tommy said, gawking back and forth like a chicken, looking for grain. Then he crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. "I don't see no lady here. All's I see is a drunk slut Flatlander and some kinda freak that looks like he escaped from the circus."

Sensing trouble, Kyle quickly stepped over to Tommy and got his attention.

"Chill out," he said under his breath, "or I'll have to ask you to leave. Trust me. You don't want to mess with him."

After catching the scathing look from his older brother, Tommy turned back and continued drinking in silence.

"Ahh, forget about them," Lorraine said with a dismissive flick of her hand. "They're just a couple of dumb-shit rednecks. Tell me about your friend Red Shirt. How'd he die?"

Covering his mouth with his huge right fist, Hellboy belched again, softly this time, as he settled back in the seat. The cushion groaned beneath his weight.

"It's kind of complicated," he said.

When he spoke, Lorraine noticed a faraway look in his eye. She glanced at the rain washing down the window beside them and said softly, "I ain't going anyplace in a hurry."

"Well," Hellboy said, "The Finn will be here pretty soon, but I guess I can tell you about it. You see, about a year and a half ago, this town had a problem with a serial killer, a man named Moses McCrory. He'd killed something like nine women — some of em young girls, really, before the cops finally ran him down."

"So he's in jail?"

One corner of Hellboy's mouth twitched. "No," he said. "The police shot and killed him." He paused to take a single gulp of beer. "That's when the real trouble started."

Lorraine squinted at him and shook her head. It crossed her mind that this whole episode was beyond strange. Here she was, sitting in a bar in a town she'd never been to and never intended to visit again, talking about a serial killer with a big red guy with a stone fist and bumps that looked like sawed-off horns on his forehead. For all she knew, he could be the dangerous killer, and he was setting her up as his next victim. But she couldn't deny that she was fascinated. She had to find out more.

"I don't get it," she said. "If they killed him, then that should have ended it unless — Oh, wait a second. I get it. He wasn't the real killer, right?"

"Oh, he was the real killer all right. He strangled his victims with a piece of piano wire that pretty much took their heads off. But shortly after they killed him, more people started dying, only this time in much more gruesome ways."

"I know what it was," Lorraine said, snapping her fingers and jumping excitedly in her seat. "I saw a show about this once on A&E. They had what they call a 'copycat' killer, right? Someone who started imitating the first killer."

Hellboy shook his head, then reached for the pitcher of beer and refilled his glass.

"Not exactly. You see, I only get called into things when they get really weird."

"And this got really weird?" Lorraine said. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, she shifted in her seat and glanced over at Kyle, slightly reassured by his presence.

Hellboy nodded and then, with a what-the-hell shrug, finished off his beer.

"Once the killings started again, the local police couldn't handle it," he said, "so they called in the State CID."

"CID?"

"The Criminal Investigative Division. They pieced together a few things, like how the victims were killed, and that the killings only happened on rainy nights, but the staties couldn't handle it, either. These recent killings were really bad."

"How so?"

"The victims were all beheaded. That's how they died. Only this time, the killer strangled them with a length of barbed wire, and he pulled it so tight their heads came right off."

"Oh my God," Lorraine said, shuddering and hugging herself as a slow chill ran through her. She suddenly felt alone and very vulnerable.

"Yeah," Hellboy said, "and then he'd stuff their open necks with straw. Also, all of the victims were missing body parts ... arms, legs, internal organs ... different parts from each victim. That's when they called me, and I brought along my friends, The Finn and Red Shirt."

"Well then," Lorraine said, taking a deep breath and slumping back in her seat. For a while, she'd forgotten all about her glass of beer but now her throat was parched, and she picked it up and took a quick sip. "If you're waiting for The Finn, like you said, then it must've been Red Shirt who died, right?"

"Kind of a no-brainer," Hellboy said. "Yeah. It was Red Shirt who died."

"Was he an Indian? His name sounds like it's Indian."

Hellboy sniffed with laughter as he raised the pitcher above his head, signaling for Kyle that he was ready for a refill.

"You know, you're a regular Sherlock Holmes," Hellboy said. "Yeah, Red Shirt was a Native American and, as it turned out, I needed him to help me figure out what had happened to Moses."

"Wait a second," Lorraine said. "I thought you said Moses was shot and killed by the police."

"He was," Hellboy said, barely acknowledging Kyle when he came over to the table and replaced the empty pitcher with a full one. "It took us a while to piece it all together, but you see, the cops found Moses in a corn field when they tracked him down. When they shot and killed him, he was right beside an old scarecrow the farmer had left in the field."

Hellboy paused, and in that brief moment of silence, he eyed the full pitcher of beer. His head was spinning from what he had already had to drink, but he refilled his glass again from the pitcher and took a few gulps. He was just replacing his half-empty glass on the table when Tommy spoke up.

"Christ, you see that, Jed? He drinks like a fuckin' animal!"

Hellboy shifted forward in his seat, as if to get up, but before he did, Kyle stepped over to the two Farrow brothers.

"I'm gonna have to ask you fellas to leave," he said in a low, controlled voice. "I don't want no trouble here tonight."

"I ain't causin' any trouble," Tommy said, his voice winding up higher. "He's the one who's causin' trouble. Why do you even serve a goddamned freak like that?"

"All right. That's it," Kyle said, scooping away Tommy's and Jed's glasses and pointing at the door. "You fellas will be welcome here tomorrow night provided you learn yourselves some manners 'tween now and then."

"What the fuck?" Jed said. "I didn't do nothin'. I was just sittin' here drinkin' and mindin' my own business."

"Go on! Get out!" Kyle said, his voice stern and cold. "The both of yah get home before you get into more trouble that you can handle."

"I can handle anything that freak's got to dish out," Tommy said, his body stiffening as he cast a challenging glance at Hellboy. But Jed prodded his brother to silence with a sharp jab to the ribs.

Lorraine couldn't help but smile as she watched the two rednecks make their way to the door, looking like a couple of schoolboys who had been scolded.

"Have a nice night," she called out as Jed swung the door open, and both of them stepped out into the storm.

"Pardon me a minute," Hellboy said as he shifted out of the booth and stood up. "I have some business to attend to. I'll be right back."

Lorraine was amazed by the size of him when he stood up, but she tried not to let it show. Smiling, she said, "Well, considering how much beer you've put away, it's no wonder."

She didn't bother to turn and watch him walk away. Instead, her eyes shifted to the cooler he'd left behind on the table. She was dying to know what was inside it. This Hellboy, whoever he was, sure was a strange one, so whatever was in that cooler was probably something just as strange as him.

Lorraine chuckled to herself when she thought how surprised and disappointed she'd be if she opened up the cooler and found a picnic lunch with sandwich, soda, and chips.

But — no. Hellboy had said he hadn't eaten all day, so it probably wasn't food in there.

So what could it be?

Leaning across the table, Lorraine sniffed the air. The thick, rotting aroma still lingered and almost made her gag.

Was there a fish in there? she wondered. Maybe Hellboy had been up north fishing, and this was his prized catch.

After a quick glance behind her to make sure Hellboy wasn't on his way back from the rest room yet, she reached out for the cooler with one hand. She noticed that her hand was trembling as she touched the cool, still-damp plastic. The barroom seemed suddenly dense with quiet anticipation as she ran her fingers down to the latch and slowly began to apply pressure to release it.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you."

The voice, speaking so suddenly behind her, made her jump. She jerked back and dropped both hands below the table as she spun around and saw Kyle, watching her from behind the bar.

"Trust me. Hellboy's not the kind of guy you want to mess around with," Kyle added.

As if on cue, the front door of the bar opened, and Hellboy strode back inside. His trench coat was drenched through, and his muddy hooves made loud, wet sounds as he walked back over to the table.

"Why'd you go outside? I thought you had to go to the bathroom?" Lorraine asked, her heart fluttering in her chest.

"Just had to check on something," Hellboy said simply as he wiped the water from his face. He sat down and took a healthy swallow of beer. He indicated Lorraine's all-but-forgotten glass of beer and added, "Come on. Drink up."

Lorraine's throat was so constricted she could barely swallow as she took a tiny sip of her beer. It had just about gone flat, but she didn't care. After taking a moment to collect herself, she said, "So you were saying ... "

"Where was I?" Hellboy said.

"You were telling me how, when they killed Moses McCrory, he was in a corn field, next to a scarecrow."

"Yeah — right," Hellboy said. "Well, you see, in some primitive beliefs, it's birds — usually crows, but sometimes other birds — that usher the spirit of the recently deceased into the afterlife. If that's true, then — "

Lorraine interrupted him with a snap of her fingers.

" — Then Moses' spirit wouldn't have been taken because the scarecrow would have scared away the crows."

Hellboy nodded slowly. "You got it. It took me a bit longer to piece it all together, but you have to remember, we were in the middle of it."

"So where did Moses' spirit go?" Lorraine asked, feeling a terrible chill creep up her back.

"Into the scarecrow, of course," Hellboy said simply.

Before he could say more, and before Lorraine could ask him to explain that, the bar door suddenly flung open so hard it slammed against the wall with a resounding bang. Lorraine's first thought was that the Farrow brothers had returned, maybe with guns or knives to settle their score with Hellboy. She turned around quickly, surprised to see a tall, thin man framed by the doorway.

He was hatless, and the rain had plastered his thinning, blond hair in dark squiggles against his skull. His face was pale, almost bone white. The dim light in the barroom glanced off his high forehead and the angular planes of his cheekbones, but the rest of his face — especially his eyes and mouth — seemed to be in shadow, no matter how the lighting shifted as he looked around. Then he started over to the table where Lorraine and Hellboy sat. Without saying a word, he hooked a chair with his foot, swung it around, and sat down with his elbows resting against the back of the chair.

"I wasn't sure I had the right place," the man said in a low, gruff voice, "until I saw those two guys stretched out unconscious in the parking lot."

"What — ?" Lorraine said, and then cut herself off when she realized what Hellboy had done.

Hellboy's face remained expressionless as he leaned forward and said, "Lorraine, I'd like you to meet The Finn. Finn ... This is Lorraine."

"Pleased to meet you," The Finn said, but Lorraine couldn't be sure if he was sincere or not because the light from the bar was behind him, and she still couldn't see his face clearly as they briefly shook hands.

"I was just telling Lorraine, here, about what happened last year," Hellboy said.

The Finn made a soft chuffing sound that might have passed for a laugh before saying, "Christ, Hellboy, look at you. You're drunk on your ass."

Hellboy slouched back in his seat and seemed for a moment unable to focus his eyes as he shook his head in adamant denial and said, "No. No. I just had a little something to drink with Lorraine while I was waiting for you to show."

The Finn leaned forward and ran his hands down the sides of his face.

"What kind of lies has he been telling you?" he asked Lorraine, and she caught the trace of a smile on his thin lips.

"Oh, he'd just gotten to the part where Moses McCrory was shot and killed ... when he was close to the scarecrow," Lorraine said, "and that the murders kept happening after he was dead, only they were worse."

"I see," The Finn said, "and did he tell you about the straw?"

"The straw?" Lorraine asked, looking quizzically at Hellboy.

"Right," The Finn said. "Once the killings started again, there was always straw around the victims ... straw and rope fiber. It was that, and the fact that the killings only happened on rainy nights, that I was able to piece it all together."

"You!" Hellboy said with a dry sniff of laughter. "You didn't put anything together. It was me and Red Shirt who figured out about the pond."

"Wait a minute, you two," Lorraine said. "You're confusing me. What's this about a pond?"

"Okay, I'll give credit where credit's due," Hellboy said, his voice slurring noticeably now. "It was Red Shirt who figured it out. I told you that this new round of killings only happened on rainy nights, right?"

Lorraine nodded. She was still more than a little tipsy herself, and she was having a bit of trouble following the conversation now.

"Rainy nights," Hellboy repeated, nodding to himself. "Only on rainy nights. There had been a killing two nights before, but the weather had cleared, so that afternoon, the three of us went out to the corn field where Moses had been killed. We hadn't put it all together yet, and one reason was because the scarecrow we'd seen in the police crime scene photos was still standing there. But when we got there, I noticed that the scarecrow wasn't the same one from the photos they'd showed us at the police station. So I thought we'd better investigate."

"Investigate!" The Finn said, barking with laughter. "What the hell are you talking about, investigate? You took that cannon of yours, and you blasted the thing to pieces!"

Hellboy looked at Lorraine with a sheepish shrug. "Maybe sometimes I act before I think things all the way through," he said. "But that doesn't really matter because of what we found. See, the scarecrow wasn't stuffed with straw, the way scarecrows are supposed to be. It was packed full of body parts."

"Body parts?" Lorraine said, wincing as her stomach did a sour little flip.

"Yeah," said Hellboy. "Moses was collecting body parts from his victims and storing them inside the scarecrow."

"But I thought you said he was the scarecrow, that his soul had entered it the night he was killed."

"It did. He was," Hellboy replied, shaking his head as though desperate to clear it so she'd understand him. "But he had started making a new one. See, it hadn't snowed yet that year, but there had been a frost the night before. It was getting late when we got out to the cornfield. The corn was dead, but the farmer hadn't cut it back yet, so the stalks were more than head-high. They blocked our view, but I — "

Hellboy glanced quickly over at The Finn.

"I mean, Red Shirt noticed footprints leading down to the pond."

"Actually," The Finn said, "the footprints led up from the pond and then back down to it. Hellboy and I thought someone — Moses in the shape of the scarecrow, maybe, had walked down to the pond, for some reason, before leaving."

"But it was Red Shirt — " Hellboy said emphatically as he nailed The Finn with a hard look. "See?" he muttered. "I can give credit where credit's due. It was Red Shirt who read the tracks correctly and determined that the prints coming out of the pond were the oldest, and that the ones going back into it were the freshest."

"I — I still don't get it," Lorraine said, shaking her head.

"Okay, think of it this way," Hellboy said, slurring his words. "If you were a scarecrow, what would be your biggest fear?"

Lorraine considered the question for a moment, then said, "Probably falling apart ... unless it was that I didn't have a brain."

"Very funny, Dorothy, but — no. That's not the problem," Hellboy said impatiently. "You can always stuff more straw into yourself if you're railing apart. Think about what would be your most dangerous enemy. What can destroy you if you're made of straw?"

"Well ... fire, of course."

"Bingo," Hellboy said, clapping his hands together. Leaning back in his seat, he folded his arms across his chest and nodded with satisfaction. "And, if you were made of straw, you wouldn't need to breathe, either. Would you?"

Lorraine shrugged, still more than a little perplexed. The more Hellboy talked, the less sense he seemed to be making.

"No," she said softly. "I guess you wouldn't need to breathe."

"So if you didn't need to breathe, and you didn't want to burn, where's the safest place in the world to be when you weren't out killing people?"

"In the pond, I guess," Lorraine said.

"Absolutely," Hellboy said.

"And the safest time to be out and about would be on rainy nights," The Finn added in a measured, controlled voice as Hellboy nodded solemnly.

Lorraine thought Hellboy looked totally plastered and was about to pass out. His voice dragged terribly when he spoke.

"So we were down there by the pond," he said, "The Finn, Red Shirt, and me. It was getting dark, and it looked like there might be a rainstorm brewing in the west."

Lorraine shivered as she cast a wary glance at rainwater streaming down the window beside her.

"Look," said Hellboy, "I gotta take a leak." He heaved himself up and stood beside the table for a moment, weaving unsteadily, trying to keep his balance. "You tell her the rest of it."

With that, he started toward the restroom, taking short, halting steps.

"Okay," The Finn said, hunkering down and leaning forward, his arms hooked over the chair back. "You have to try to picture it. We're out there in the middle of this cornfield. It's getting on toward night. There's a steady wind rustling through the dead leaves of the corn, but the first thing I notice, the creepiest thing about the whole thing is, there's no wildlife around."

"What do you mean?" Lorraine said as a strong shiver ran like teasing fingers up her back.

"I mean nothing. No birds singing. No late-season crickets buzzing. No dogs barking. Nothing. Total silence except for the wind, blowing through the dried corn. Red Shirt tells us he's gonna follow the tracks around the pond. It wasn't very big."

"What about the farmer ... the person who owned the field?" Lorraine asked.

The Finn lowered his eyes and shook his head grimly. "He was already dead. Him and his whole family. They were the first of Moses' new victims, once he'd come back as the scarecrow. I went back to the car to get some things — some flashlights, guns, and a cigarette lighter and some road flares."

"Road flares?"

"We thought of making some torches, using the corn stalks, but they were too damp and brittle. I figured road flares would burn better, even if it started to rain."

"Hey, I was the one who suggested that road flares would work," Hellboy said, coming up to the table so suddenly even The Finn jumped when he spoke. "If you're gonna tell the story, tell it the way it really happened."

"Yeah, okay. It was your idea," The Finn said with a half-smile on his thin lips. "Are you going to let me finish the story or not?"

"No, I'll take it from here," Hellboy said as he sat back down in the booth. Before going on with the story, though, he took the second, untouched glass, filled it with beer, and slid it over to The Finn. Then he refilled his own glass and slammed the empty pitcher onto the table.

"Glad you made some room for that," The Finn said.

Hellboy nodded. "So where were we?"

"Down by the pond," Lorraine said. "The Finn had just gone back to get guns and road flares."

"Oh, yeah," Hellboy said, and for a moment, his eyes fluttered as he leaned back in his seat. "I went down to the water, where the tracks led, and was leaning over it, trying to see to the bottom. I heard someone coming up behind me, but I figured it was The Finn, returning with the equipment, so I didn't look until it was too late."

"But it was Moses, right?" Lorraine said, anticipating the story.

Hellboy nodded. "Yup," he said, the word sounding more like a burp than a word. "And he's got this garrotte he's made with barbed wire that he wraps around my neck and starts pulling. Fortunately, I had just enough of a warning, and as I turned around, I got my right hand up between my throat and the wire."

"Your right hand," Lorraine said, glancing at the huge stone hand resting on the table, next to the cooler.

Hellboy nodded. "Yeah, lucky for me, too, cause once he started twisting that garrotte tighter, I'd have been a goner if I hadn't reacted so fast."

"The problem was," The Finn said, "with his hand up so close to his face, ol' Hellboy here lost his balance and fell headfirst into the pond."

"I didn't fall. I slipped," Hellboy said, glaring at The Finn. Lorraine saw the dull orange of his eyes intensify. "The edge of the pond was all muddy, and I slipped and fell."

"Either way, you ended up headfirst in the water," The Finn said. "And with that big stone hand of yours weighing down, you were helpless as a baby."

"How do you know?" Hellboy said, leaning forward and pounding the table with his stone fist. The impact made the pitcher, beer glasses, and cooler all jump. "You weren't even there!"

"That's just when I returned," The Finn said softly, looking directly at Lorraine and ignoring Hellboy. "I saw him hit the water, and then he — the scarecrow, that is — saw Red Shirt coming back, and he attacked him. I shot at Moses twice with the shotgun, but if I hit him at all, it didn't have any effect. He was charging at Red Shirt, but I knew I had to react quickly and help Hellboy before he drowned."

"I wasn't all that helpless," Hellboy said.

"What do you mean?" The Finn shouted. "You were stuck headfirst in the mud at the bottom of the pond, and you were drowning!"

Hellboy looked intently at Lorraine, his eyes flaring as he said, "I wasn't all that helpless. Honest. I'd already started to loosen the wire."

The Finn sniffed derisively. "Sure. Whatever. The way I remember it, though, I had a choice to make in a split second. I could either light a flare and help Red Shirt fight the scarecrow, or I could drop everything and keep Hellboy from drowning."

"I wasn't drowning," Hellboy said, slurring the words horribly and wavering in his seat.

"If you say so," The Finn said. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, because I reacted without thinking and dove into the water and got him up to the surface before he died." He nailed Hellboy with an angry stare. "I saved your goddamned life, and believe me, it wasn't easy. The least you could do is show a little gratitude."

"I didn't need your help," Hellboy said. "I was just about free of the wire by the time you got me."

The Finn scowled angrily. "Well, given the choice to do it over again, I'd sure as hell try to help Red Shirt instead, believe me."

Hellboy shook his head, letting his gaze go unfocused for a moment. "Look," he said, "either way, I got out, but it was already too late to help Red Shirt. Moses — the scarecrow — had another piece of barbed wire with him because he strangled Red Shirt so hard, his head came off. I saw that happen just as I broke the surface with The Finn clinging to me so he wouldn't drown."

The Finn leaned back and shook his head with disgust. "That's not exactly how I remember it, but go on. Get to the end of the story."

"Well, like I said, it was already too late to save Red Shirt. He was dead, and Moses had taken off, running across the field toward the woods. He was moving pretty fast, and I wasn't sure I could catch him, so I took one of the flares The Finn had brought and lit it. Then I tied it to the wire Moses had tried to strangle me with and, swinging it around my head like one of them South American bolos, I chased after Moses until I was close enough to throw it."

"That was quick thinking," Lorraine said, hoping by her praise to assuage any hurt feelings Hellboy might have.

"Yeah, and I guess I got lucky, too," Hellboy said, " 'cause the bolo caught him around the neck, and after it spun around a few times, the flare landed on his back, right where he couldn't reach it."

"It was an amazing sight," The Finn added, smiling now and nodding with satisfaction.

"So Moses is running across the corn field, stumbling as flames spread across his back," Hellboy said. He leaned forward in his seat, fully enjoying the climax of his story. "There's pieces of burning straw and smoke streaming out behind him. He looked like a comet, streaking across that field. But he never made the woods."

"You mean he burned up?" Lorraine asked.

Hellboy nodded solemnly. "All the straw did, yeah, but before it was all gone, something else happened. It wasn't just fire and smoke that was coming out of him. As he was running, I — we saw this thick, black cloud shoot out of his body and up into the sky. It was his spirit — his soul, departing."

Lorraine gulped audibly and looked back and forth between Hellboy and The Finn.

"You both saw it?" she asked, her voice hushed with awe.

"Well, we saw ... something," The Finn said. "I'm not exactly sure what it was."

"It was his soul," Hellboy said emphatically. "It was getting dark, and I'll hold open the possibility that it could have been an illusion, but I'm sure I saw something — a dark, almost human-shaped thing streak out of the scarecrow as its body was consumed with flames. And then, as soon as the scarecrow's body was gone, a huge flock of crows cawing real loud flew out of the trees, like they'd been waiting there. They swooped over ... whatever it was, and carried it away."

"My God," Lorraine whispered, covering her mouth with both hands and staring at Hellboy with wide eyes.

For a moment or two, everyone at the table was silent. Finally, Lorraine cleared her throat and said, "But there was nothing you could do ... for Red Shirt, I mean. He really was dead."

"Yes, damnit!" Hellboy said.

When he clenched his fist and pounded the table in anger, his hand grazed the cooler and knocked it over. The impact snapped the latch, and it opened up, spilling its contents onto the table. Lorraine let out a piercing scream when she saw a large, wrinkled object that looked like a gigantic dried prune until she realized that she was looking at a face. The lips were dried and cracked, pulled back into a terrible grimace that exposed the top row of yellowed, rotting teeth. The nose had caved in, leaving a dark V-shaped divot, and the eyes were closed and sunken in, the lids looking like thin layers of moldy onionskin.

Lorraine pushed herself violently away from the table and tried to stand up, but her legs felt unstrung and nowhere near strong enough to support her. She sagged back in her chair, gasping for breath, but she was afraid to breathe the sour, sickening smell that exuded from the severed head.

"Jesus! ... Is that him ... ? Is that Red Shirt ... ?" she managed to say between gasps for breath. Her stomach clenched furiously, and a thick, sour taste flooded the back of her throat.

"Oh, no ... no," Hellboy said, scrambling awkwardly to get the severed head back into the cooler and close it. "That's something else entirely."

"Jesus God!" Lorraine said. "It ... that didn't even look human."

"Oh, it was," Hellboy said as he placed the closed travel cooler on the seat beside him and patted it gently. "About two thousand years ago, anyway."

"Well, then," Lorraine said, struggling to regain her composure now that the terrible object was out of sight. "It's getting way late. I ... my sister must be wondering where I am. I'd best be getting along."

She got up shakily from the table. Her first and strongest impulse was to turn and run out of there, but she stood there for a moment, making sure her legs weren't going to give out on her when she started walking.

"Hey, wait a minute," Hellboy said. "Where you going?"

He was looking at her, sort of, but his gaze was shifting and unfocused.

"Now that The Finn's here, and you know the whole story, aren't you going to toast to Red Shirt's memory with us?" he asked.

Lorraine licked her lips, all too aware of the sour churning deep down in her stomach. She didn't know if she wanted to run away or pass out or what, but now that the head was, mercifully, out of sight, she didn't feel quite so bad.

Finally, she shrugged and said, "Ahh ... oh, sure. What the hell?" and slid back into her seat.

For the first time that evening, Hellboy smiled as he raised the empty pitcher above his head to signal Kyle that they were ready for another round. Outside, the cold, autumn rain lashed against the window as the late October storm blew toward the distant Maine coast.