by Mike Mignola
This time, the moment Hellboy stepped onto Nail land, he noticed a lifting of the atmosphere. He glanced up at the row of large windows above and saw that none of the six lovely pale women were staring down at him.
Lament turned to Hellboy and told him, “Bliss Nail’s her daddy, and she deserves a family, now that the folks who raised her are gone. A family besides me and the baby, a’course. She’s got six sisters to gab with now. And ole Bliss Nail gonna have to cough up some of his coffers and quit livin’ in the blood of the past. Someone’s gotta help pay the bills at Mrs. Hoopkins’s peanut farm and take care of the girls.”
Hellboy nodded at that and stayed back a bit on the front walkway while Sarah and Lament continued up to the door. Lament spun and said, “What’s this?”
“I’ve got to go.”
“You ain’t comin’ in?”
“It’s not my place, John.”
“You’re wrong about that. You’re a friend, and a friend is always welcome.”
“Thanks, but you’re all a family now, and need time to work things out yourselves.”
Sarah moved to him, hugged him, and said, “It’s only thanks to you we ever come away from that place intact. We owe you our hearts.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I reckon we’ll run into one another somewhere down the line, son.”
Lament held his hand out and Hellboy shook it. “Mayhap we will,” Hellboy said, and that got both of them grinning.
He watched them step inside, the man, woman, and child, and after a moment heard a swelling of voices and laughter. He didn’t even want to bother Bliss Nail and ask for the bus ticket to New York.
As he listened to them, the family meeting in celebration, Waldridge the houseman silently appeared at his elbow.
“Shouldn’t you be in there tending to things?” Hellboy asked.
Still in his cap and white gloves, Waldridge said, “I’m dead this time. Don’t be concerned with me none though, I’ll be leaving this earth presently. I just wanted to hear the ladies speak for a while first, and see the new miss come home.”
“Well,” Hellboy said, “thanks for telling me.”
“I knowed you was worried about it.”
“Did you at least go peacefully?”
“Happened on the way back from droppin’ you off at Mrs. Hoopkins’s peanut farm. Heart just stopped workin’ at the wheel.”
“Did you crack up the Packard?”
“Bite off your tongue, son,” Waldridge said. “I eased that car to a slow, full stop with my very last breath.”
Hellboy stepped up to the house and peered through a window. The six silent daughters were no longer silent. They were chatty and giddy and fanciful, and Bliss Nail actually had tears in his shining eyes. They all took turns reaching for Lila and making faces. It wouldn’t be long before the other six had husbands and families of their own.
The lace curtains flapped and one of the sisters, perhaps the one who’d waved to him before and touched his cheek, smiled at him. Hellboy nodded, then turned away, alone again, and walked back down the road. Soon a pickup heading north stopped on the side of the road and he climbed in back. The rain started to come down again but he didn’t mind as he sat there alone with his thoughts, humming quietly to himself.
TOM PICCIRILLI lives in Colorado where, besides writing, he spends an inordinate amount of time watching trash cult films and reading Gold Medal classic noir and hardboiled novels. He’s a fan of Asian cinema, especially horror movies, pinky violence, and samurai flicks. He also likes walking his dogs around the neighborhood. Are you starting to get the hint that he doesn’t have a particularly active social life? Well to heck with you, buddy, yours isn’t much better. Give him any static and he’ll smack you in the mush, dig? Tom also enjoys making new friends. He’s the author of twenty novels including The Midnight Road, The Cold Spot, Headstone City, and A Choir of Ill Children. He’s a four-time winner of the Bram Stoker Award and has been nominated for the World Fantasy Award, the International Thriller Writers Award, and Le Grand Prix de L’lmaginaire. To learn more, check out his official website: www.tompiccirilli.com.
