Take a look into the lives and deaths of those foolish enough to 'worship' here. Come on," he went on, more softly. "How can the devil's son be afraid to look within the heart of a church, especially a reformed devil's son?"
Hellboy took a deep breath and stepped next to Mooney, taking his hand. He felt nothing at first except the ex-priest's warm fingers gripping his own. Then the white, moonlit walls of the church and the form of the man next to him began to shimmer and fade. He started to see the secrets that the modest building held, as in a phantasmagoria ...
... There, floating before him, was the gaunt face of Isaac Chambers, his mouth twisting as he shouted that it was a sin against God to seek the help of men over the Lord ... that a wife should obey her husband in all things ... that with God anything was possible, even to the point of handling serpents and drinking poison ...
that sodomites were doomed to hell ... that the black sons of Shem were an inferior race ... that the Jews still had to pay for killing Jesus, the Christ ...
... And then there swam into his view the results of those words ... a husband and wife standing by the bedside of their dying daughter, their hands raised over their heads, their eyes closed, trying to pray away ravenous death rather than call a doctor ...
... A woman sitting inside a car in a garage, breathing carbon monoxide, bold enough to finally leave the husband who beat her, but not bold enough to live with the condemnation of her spiritual brothers and sisters for that God-mocking act ...
... A woman writhing on the floor of her house, other worshippers gathered around her, not knowing what to do, watching the woman and the copperhead as it sinuously glided toward the door, its venom drained, having done what it was intended to do ...
And then they began to come more quickly. Both younger and older men, fathers and sons together, taunting, yelling at, threatening, and finally beating black men, gay men, anyone different, with non-white flesh or non-Christian beliefs.
No, not non-Christian, but non- their beliefs.
Through it all, all the visions, all the pain, all the hatred, Hellboy could hear the powerful voice of Pastor Isaac Chambers, damning, blessing, ordering his flock to their dismal fates. Then his vision cleared, and he was once more standing in the night, with Mooney no longer holding his hand.
"Is this," Mooney asked softly, "or is this not, a place of evil?"
Hellboy could not speak for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. "It may be. But your way isn't the way to stop them."
"You're wrong. It's the best way. It's the only way to eradicate the source, short of killing the monsters who preach such evil, and that I won't do."
"Not yet, anyway," Hellboy said. He was about to say more, but Mooney interrupted him.
"Don't preach to me. I've heard a lot of preaching in my time done enough too."
"Then I'll just have to stop you
with or without explaining why."
"I know why. Because violence never solved anything, because fighting evil can make a person evil, because
'When you stare too long into the abyss ... ' You know the rest." It was true. Hellboy did.
"If you know all of that, then you know why I can't let you burn down that church."
"You can't stop me," Mooney said. "All I have to do is make a gesture, and you'll stop dead in your tracks. I make another, and the church goes up in flames
you see, I was almost finished when you interrupted me.
So now
"
"You don't have to stop him, Hell-thing," came a rasping voice from the darkness. It seemed familiar to Hellboy, but there was something different about it. And when the man stepped from around the side of the church, Hellboy felt certain he knew what the difference was. " I can stop him easily enough ... "
It was Pastor Isaac Chambers, but his voice had changed to a predator's growl, and his appearance had changed as well. He was wearing the black suit that Hellboy had seen him in earlier, but it seemed too small for him now, as though he were growing inside it. His face was different too. Before it had been strained and angry and furtive; now it was only cruel and diabolical, as though what it had been hiding in the light of day was delighted at being able to come out at night. Hellboy saw the demon under the skin, and knew that Jack Mooney had been absolutely right.
"Need any more proof. Hellboy?" Mooney seemed nonplussed in Chambers' presence, and looked ready neither to fight nor flee. "I was wondering when you were going to show your true face, Chambers. He's a demon in human form, Hellboy, a servant of Satan, whose assignment is to lead people into mortal sin. Some of his ilk do that through vice or temptation or promises of worldly success. Chambers or whatever his
name is
has been doing it through the guise of salvation, leading people's souls into hell while promising them heaven. A sweet little scam, and, considering the way a lot of churches operate today, scarcely worthy of notice, unless, like me, you know what to look for."
"Nice speech," Chambers rattled. "You can give it again to the angels you'll be seeing them soon enough."
He turned toward Hellboy, who could see Chambers' forehead twitching, as though something beneath the bone was struggling to be released. The creature's eyes looked red in the moonlight. "And as for you ... "
Chambers glanced at the discs where Hellboy's horns had been cut off. " ... Stumpy ... you might get to see your daddy tonight. The Ike Chambers part of me may have wanted you burned, but that wasn't because you're the devil's spawn
it's because you betrayed your blood and denied your heritage. The genetics of hell bubble within you, boy. No matter how hard you deny it."
"Why don't you wait till the cock crows three times," Hellboy said with a bravura he did not feel. "Then I'll feel really guilty."
"No more jokes," Chambers said. "It's time ... " He continued to grow then, and Hellboy saw his shirt and suit coat rip open as thick, wiry muscles burst through the fabric. In a few seconds Chambers was Hellboy's size, and continuing to grow. Horns sprouted from his forehead, and a long, pointed tail jutted priapically from between his legs. The clothes, now merely rags, fell away, and the face of hellish fury looked full into Hellboy's.
He nearly fell back before the power of it, but knew that he would have to strike first, and did. It was like hitting stone. The blow from his mighty right hand had no effect on the Chambers-thing other than to make it blink. Instead of its head rocking back on its neck, it had responded as if someone had blown a puff of air in its face.
Then he felt Mooney grab his arm and haul him backwards, away from the demon. He followed blindly, and together they ran through the open door of the church and down the aisle between the pews, toward the pulpit and a round window of stained glass dimly lit by the moon outside. Behind them, Hellboy heard the sound of cracking boards, and when he glanced back, he saw what had been Isaac Chambers forcing his bulk through the doorway, breaking the doorframe as he came.
"Through the window," Mooney said, and slapped Hellboy on the back as if to speed him. "Just go straight
through it!"
It was the only plan offered, so Hellboy figured he might as well take it. He ran faster, getting up as much speed as he could, straight toward the softly colored circle of glass. Just before he reached it, he sprang, curling up his massive body like a ball. He felt the impact before he heard the crash, and then, a split second later, another impact, as though he had been blown out of the mouth of a cannon.
Fire surrounded him like a hot, yellow-white tube, and the feel of the heat was more painful than the cutting shards of glass that fell away from him as he soared through the air, held aloft not by his leap, but by a great rush of scalding air and bright flame. Then the heat receded, and he fell onto soft grass and hard ground, and rolled until he stopped, panting, his face toward the sky, which seemed to be lit up by a blazing sun.
But it wasn't the sun, it was the Golgotha Tabernacle. It had become an instant inferno, with only the sound of a mighty flame
lifting up, the same burst of flame that had helped to propel Hellboy through the now-shattered window. Already the flames were licking through the frame of that stained-glass window like a brilliant, hungry tongue, and the roof was glowing where the fire ate through the boards. The whole church was being devoured by the ravenous flames.
From the way the flames brightened the sky, Hellboy knew it would only be minutes before the cars and fire trucks started to arrive. He ran to his car, looking for Mooney, but there was no sign of him. What had the man done? Hellboy wondered as he drove away, turning down the first side road he could find, and then crisscrossing the meandering back roads. He had to have been in the church when that fireball erupted, and the only way it could have happened so quickly was if he had made that last gesture that he had bragged about.
Had he done so in order to kill the demon at the cost of his own life? Hellboy could imagine no other scenario, no possibility of escape for the man who had made certain that Hellboy escaped before he played his last trump card.
Last trump. He hoped that was what Jack Mooney, ex-priest and very successful mage, was hearing now from a front-row seat among the elect. He deserved it, after making the big sacrifice. Hellboy hoped the sacrifice wouldn't be in vain, but he knew that there were always those, demonic or otherwise, who would leap into the gap that Chambers had left ... if he was truly gone.
The next morning, Hellboy made it a point to drive past the ruined Golgotha Tabernacle. The fire was out, after having burned the building to the ground. There were a few police cars and an ambulance, as well as a new black Chrysler New Yorker. Donald Withers, wearing a topcoat against the morning chill, stood looking on. When Hellboy got out of his car and started to walk toward Withers, one of the deputies put his hand on his gun, but Police Chief Hanson, to whom Hellboy had spoken the day before, said something to the deputy, who relaxed and turned back to searching the ashes.
"Another one," Hellboy said flatly to Withers. The man's face soured at the sight of Hellboy, but he didn't respond. "Who was the pastor here?"
"Ike Chambers," Withers finally said, keeping his eyes on the searching policemen.
"Does he know about it yet?"
"We can't find him," Withers said. "That's what they're looking for now."
Before Withers had even finished his sentence, one of the deputies cried out, brushing at something with his shovel. Withers ran toward him, and Hellboy followed. "Stand back," Withers said, and knelt in the ashes, oblivious to the way they clung to his dark trousers and leather shoes. Hellboy could see the charred bones of an arm and hand. Withers lifted it, and something glittered in the sunshine. A bracelet. " 'Property of the Lord," Withers read. "It's Ike. Get a stretcher, you boys."
The chief led the deputies to the ambulance, where they alerted the two EMS men who had been taking a break in the back. While they did, Hellboy saw Withers quickly brush away the ashes from over the skull.
Though the fire or some fatal magic had diminished the bones to human size, Hellboy could still see the protrusions in the skull from which the horns had grown.
Donald Withers saw them too. He reached out with his left hand, and with a strength beyond that of an old man, he pressed inward on the skull, so that it crumbled into irreparable shards of charred bone and ash. Then he looked up at Hellboy with a little smile.
"You knew," Hellboy said.
"As do you," Withers replied. "But who would ever believe you? In my country."
Hellboy looked at the bed of ashes that had been the Golgotha Tabernacle. The men had gone over it fairly well with rake and shovel, but there was no sign of any other body. Chambers' bones had been in the last area they had searched, having started at the edges and worked their way to the center. Jack Mooney's corpse was nowhere to be seen.
"I'm not the only one who knows," Hellboy whispered. "I'd strongly suggest that you give up the ministry.
Maybe you could enter the mission field." He walked away, across the ashes, without looking back.
Reports came to him later. They never found any other body in the ashes, and Donald Withers had not left the Carolinas. He was planning to open up three more Golgotha Tabernacles when he was found in his car at the side of a country road. The Chrysler was a burned-out hulk, as was Donald Withers. There was no explanation as to how the fire started. Some people said it was spontaneous human combustion, but others, people who were former, disgruntled members of Golgotha Tabernacles, said that it was the hand of God smiting a man who had been perverting His word.
Hellboy figured Nathaniel Watson had been right after all. The hand of God. Nothing less than the hand of God.
I Had Bigfoot's Baby!
Max Allan Collins
It started with the National Inquisitor, not exactly the normal course for a case to arrive at the BPRD. I was halfway through a sausage-and-pepperoni pizza when I saw the story. The newspaper, and I use the term loosely, featured another in a series of fuzzy photos of a purported Bigfoot roaming the woods of Iowa. Any other Bigfoot article wouldn't have caused a ripple around the offices of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense
after all, Bigfoot's not really our bag
but this story was different. Written by a
photographer, a guy named Louis Walker, the piece chronicled the year-long search for the reporter who'd been with him when he took his blurry pictures of the beast. Allegedly the female reporter had been carried off by the Bigfoot in question.
No matter what you've heard, a Bigfoot carrying off a lady reporter will always grab my interest, whether it's paranormal or not.
Accompanying the story and the blurry Bigfoot pix was a photo of the missing reporter. Cute, brunette, mid to late twenties, but her face, something about the eyes pulled my thoughts to Anastasia Bransfield. No matter how I tried to forget her she always seemed to pop back at the least likely moments. "Hellboy, what're you doin'?"
I turned to see Abe Sapien approaching my desk. "I found Bigfoot," I crowed. "The missing link is living in Iowa."
Sapien grabbed a piece of pizza and smirked. "Funny, I always figured that's where he'd turn up."
He took a bite of his slice. The missing link held little fascination for Abe, who was the next link an
icthyo-sapien. A gill man to those of us in the subspecies of nose-breathers. A science experiment gone wrong, Abe has been at the BPRD nearly as long as I. He was the world's oldest test-tube baby, having been conceived on April 14, 1865, the day Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. His long incubation had left Abe with skin the color of wet newspaper, piercing blue, pupil-less eyes, and absolutely no body hair. At this moment he wasn't wearing the false beard, fedora, shades, and trench coat that allowed him to enter the so-called normal world and not create a stir.
Abe and I share a bond about looks. The fact that my skin is crimson I have horns, a tail, and one hand
made of stone, and am bigger than the average bear
seems to put some people off in the same way that
Abe's gills make them uneasy. Go figure.
"I think we should look into this," I said.
"Bigfoot?" he scoffed. "What's next, the Loch Ness monster?"
"A woman disappeared."
That slowed him down. "When?"
"Almost a year ago."
"And you want to go look for her now?"
"First I've heard of it," I said.
Abe shook his head. "What's Liz say?"
"Haven't asked her yet."
The click of high heels on the office floor announced the entry of the third member of our team, Liz Sherman.
She'd been with the BPRD ever since her pyrokinetic gift got out of control and torched her whole neighborhood back when she was twelve. Tall, raven-haired, with deep-set brown eyes, Liz had ceased looking like a child a long time ago.
"Haven't asked me what?" she said as she strode up to the desk.
Abe cocked a thumb toward me. "Hellboy wants to go tromping through the woods to find Bigfoot."
<
br /> One of Liz's dark, rich eyebrows arched. "Really?"
"There's more to it than that."
"Isn't that enough?"
"Probably, but there's more, anyway."
"You gonna tell me what?"
She studied me as I laid out the story for her. When I finished she asked, "That's not really our area, is it?"
Standing just behind her, Abe grinned but said nothing.
"Probably not, but ... "
As Liz turned to face Abe, his grin disappeared.
"And what about you?" she asked.
"I ... I'm on your side."
Liz shook her head. "I'm not sure we should even get involved in something like this."
I kept my eyes steady on hers.
"Tell you what, Hellboy. You go and if you need us we'll come."
I nodded.
"But try and wrap this up quick, willya?"
My plane landed in Chicago just after noon. From there a cab dropped me at the Inquisitor office and after sweet-talking the secretary, I found myself chatting with the cigar-chomping managing editor, a fiftyish bald man named Goorwitz.
"We'll help you out on one condition," he said.
"I thought I was helping you out."
"Either way, it's gonna cost you."
"Cost me what?"
"Sitting still for a photo and an interview. Boy, you're Inquisitor material if I ever saw it!"
He hooked me up with photographer Louis Walker and a reporter named Stephanie Keenan. The three of us jumped into a rental car with the rail-thin, rawboned Walker driving, and were on our way to Iowa before sunset.
Stephanie occupied the seat next to her partner while I stretched out in the back. She wore jeans and a green Dartmouth sweatshirt over a white polo shirt with just the collar peeking out. Her blond hair, pulled into a loose ponytail, lay between her shoulders. Turning to face me, she folded one leg under her.
"Why 'Hellboy'?" she asked.
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