CHAPTER I
The Dead Walk Amongst Us

“It’s a vampire as soon as I took a wicked shit this morning.”

Sheriff Boyd looked at his deputy, Andy Bowen. He took out a plug of Red Man chewing tobacco and stuck it into his jaw. Then he spit a large brown chunk on the ground between Bowen’s feet.

“Gee,” said Boyd. “Do you think so?”

Boyd and Bowen took a step back as the coroner, Cornelius Jones, appeared on the scene. He nodded to the sheriff and deputy, and then dropped down onto one knee to survey the corpse.

“Such a pretty young girl,” said Jones. “What kind of monster could do this?”

“A vampire could,” said Bowen. “Just look at those marks on her neck.”

“Indeed,” agreed Jones. He reached out and fingered the two puncture marks in the girl’s neck. Her skin was a light blue. “It seems that a large quantity of her blood has been drained, too.”

“This is all bullshit,” said Boyd. “We’ve got werewolves and demons and swamp monsters running all around New Orleans, and now we’ve got a thirsty vampire. What next? Maybe we’ll get a giant lizard that breathes fire?”

“Godzilla only attacks Tokyo,” said Bowen. “Don’t you watch the movies?”

“What about that one where he was in New York?”

“It’s best not to talk about that hunk of shit,” said Bowen.

“Anyways, gentleman,” interrupted Jones, “it appears we have a vampiric attack on our hands. Do you have any ideas what you’re going to do about it?”

“Not a damned one,” said Boyd.

“What about that paranormal investigator? The one called Tattoo. I bet he could figure this shit out.”

“We don’t need any outside help,” Boyd told him. “Somehow, some fucking way, we’ll do this on our own.”

“It was just a suggestion,” said Bowen, sheepishly. “I just hear that Tattoo was good at this stuff.”

“What do we know about vampires?” asked Jones.

“Well,” said Bowen, “they only come out at night. They fear crosses and garlic, and can’t cross running water. Other than that, I have no clue.”

“Did you get all of that out of the movies?” asked Boyd.

“Sure did,” Bowen said, proudly. “You’d be surprised what you can learn from them.”

“Well,” said Boyd, “I hope they also taught you how to capture one of the motherfuckers, because I have a fear that this is far from over.”

“It’s me,” said Tattoo. “I killed her.”

Laura Wheeler brought two cups of coffee over to the kitchen table. She looked at her husband as he sat there with a blank expression painted on his face.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“That girl they found,” said Tattoo, “the one that they’re blaming on a vampire. It was me.”

“How could it be you?” asked Laura. “You’re no vampire.”

“But I am. I don’t know how or why, but I’ve suddenly developed a taste for blood.”

“You didn’t go out last night, though,” said Laura. “Did you?”

Tattoo picked up a bottle of Jim Beam and tipped it to his coffee cup. He then drank it thirstily.

“You were asleep,” he said. “You never knew I was gone.”

Before Laura could say another word, there came a knock upon the door. She got up and went to answer it. She was not surprised to see who was on the other side:

Swamp Thing

“I have come to help you,” he told Laura.

She let him inside the house. Then she went and took a seat opposite her husband. Tattoo got up and turned around, taking a long look at their visitor.

Swamp Thing stared back.

Tattoo stood about 6’ tall. He was lanky, but muscular. Naked, Swamp Thing could see that his entire body was shaven. And he was covered in tattoos. From his bald head to his toes, every part of his body was covered in ink. He certainly lived up to his name.

“Have the police been here to see you?” asked Swamp Thing.

“No,” replied Tattoo. “Are they that close to capturing me?”

“I don’t believe so. There was mention of your name, earlier, in connection with the crime. But it was your help they sought, not your freedom.”

Tattoo laughed.

“Wouldn’t that be grand,” he said, “me searching for myself.”

“Ironically,” said Swamp Thing. “That is why I’m here. To help you find yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

Swamp Thing sighed and lowered his head. “You must end this now before it is too late. You must accept your fate.”

“You’re still losing me, swamp man.”

“I once had to accept my fate,” said Swamp Thing. “I once thought I was a regular man, too. But it turned out to be a ruse. I must now live with what I am.”

“And what is that?”

“An Earth elemental,” replied Swamp Thing, “amongst other things.”

“So what are you saying?” asked Tattoo. “Kill myself?”

“For the love of Laura Wheeler,” said Swamp Thing, “yes.”

“This is bullshit.” Tattoo turned around to look at Laura, and his mouth dropped. She was standing there with a stake and hammer in her tiny fists. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t want to believe it,” she said, tears flowing down her face, “but it’s the truth. And sometimes the truth hurts.”

“And you want to kill me?”

“I don’t want you to hurt anyone else,” said Laura, “or yourself. And I certainly don’t want the authorities to catch you. Their punishment would be much worse than mine.”

“This is all your doing, swamp man,” said Tattoo. “You’ve turned my own wife against me.”

“Have I?” said Swamp Thing. “Do you still not accept your fate?”

Suddenly, Tattoo broke down crying. He slumped back into the kitchen chair. He knew that everyone was right. He needed to end his own life before he did that to others.

“I’ll leave you, now,” said Swamp Thing, looking at Laura. “Your fate is in your own hands.”

The Swamp Thing walked to the door and let himself out. He waited outside for a few moments, listening. And then Tattoo’s scream broke the silence.

The deed was done.

Lonely, the Swamp Thing continued home to the bayou.

“I can smell the stink of your unwashed ass over here.”

“Is that so?” said Jimmy Coffey. “Would you like some fromunda cheese to go with your whine?”

“You’re really funny, you bastard,” said Dick Stern. He leaned down from the couch and sucked another line of cocaine up his nose. He then drained his glass of whisky. “I need more.” He stood up and headed towards the kitchen.

Jimmy waited for him to leave the room. Then he picked up the mirror lined with cocaine and dusted it off into his suit pocket.

He eyed the urn containing Dick’s uncle’s ashes sitting on the mantle. He walked over, picked it up, and then shook it out on the mirror.

Dick returned a few seconds later. He plopped back down on the couch and took a long drink of whisky. Then he bent down and snorted the ashes of his dead uncle.

“So,” said Jimmy, “how did Uncle Steiner die, anyway?”

“What the fuck does it matter to you?”

“Just curious,” replied Jimmy.

“He died of AIDS,” said Dick. And he took another snort.

A wry grin cracked open Jimmy’s face.

From the kitchen, Julian and Adrian came into the room. They were brother and sister, but from looking at them you’d never tell. Julian reached over and nuzzled himself into Adrian’s long hair. He kissed her on the ear.

“An incestual relationship?” asked Jimmy. “This is getting better by the moment.”

“Fuck you,” said Julian. “Mind your own business.”

Jimmy shrugged.

“Is everyone ready?” said Cranston. He wafted into the room, a smile on his face. “I say, we should get the show on the road.”

“The quicker the better,” said Jimmy.

“Alright,” continued Cranston, “everyone to the table.”

They all migrated to the table sitting in the middle of the living room. Jimmy sat next to Dick, while Cranston took a seat beside Julian and Adrian.

“Let’s commence,” said Cranston.

Everyone in the room held hands. Jimmy couldn’t resist taking another barb at Julian and Adrian.

“I bet you two hold hands a lot,” he said.

“Shut up,” said Adrian.

Jimmy shot her the middle finger.

“Okay,” he said. “Everyone close their eyes and concentrate. This shouldn’t take long.”

He watched as everyone in the room did as he asked. He noticed Cranston peeking at him, and then he closed his eyes.

“Is anyone here with us tonight?”

There was a long pause. Jimmy could hear everyone in the room deeply breathing. And then Dick spoke up:

“I’m here.”

“Good, good,” said Jimmy. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m talking to you,” replied Dick. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Jimmy stifled a laugh. “Yes,” he continued. “Can you tell us who you are?”

“Not yet,” replied Dick. “Ask me something else.”

“Did you commit that murder?” he asked. “Did you chop up that male hooker and eat his guts.”

“Oh yes,” said Dick. “And they were very good, too.”

“What about ‘Hellraiser’,” asked Jimmy. “What does that mean?”

“It signifies what I’m here to do,” replied Dick. “I’m here to raise some living hell.”

“Do you plan on killing anyone else?”

“Sure,” said Dick. “As many as I can get away with. There are plenty of young pickings out there.”

“I told you,” interrupted Cranston. “I told you he was the one.”

“Quiet,” Jimmy told him. He paused for a second that seemed to last an eternity. “Tell us who you are. Please, don’t keep it a secret.”

“I’m Jeffrey Dahmer,” said Dick. “Does that satisfy you?”

Suddenly, Adrian broke contact with Cranston and Julian. She leaned back in her chair, shaking her hands and head. “That’s enough for me,” she told the room. “Cold-blood murder and a serial killer isn’t exactly my cup of tea.”

She got up and left the room. Adrian wasn’t far behind her.

Dick looked around. A stunned expression painted his face.

“What happened?” he asked. “What’s this deal about murder and serial killers?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” said Jimmy. “At least, not yet it isn’t.”

“I think that’s a line of bullshit,” said Cranston. “Tell him.”

Jimmy shrugged. He reached into his pocket and brought out a cigarette. He lit it and blew a smoke ring across the table. Cranston waved it away.

“You told us you were Jeffrey Dahmer,” he said, “and that you killed that male hooker that so interests Cranston.”

“That’s fucking crazy,” said Dick. “I’ve never killed anyone in my life.”

“I don’t think you have the balls to, either,” said Jimmy. “But when you get this spirit inside you” – he sucked down a mighty pull on his cigarette – “well…”

“I told you not to mess around with that black magic,” said Cranston. “You’re opened the door to something evil.”

Dick looked around at them. He put his head in his hands. “So what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “Go on killing people?”

“I can take care of it,” said Jimmy, “but not tonight.” He sighed. “Of course, you’ll probably kill, again, before I get around to it.”

“That’s insane,” said Cranston. “We can’t have him running around the streets murdering people. We have to put a stop to it now.”

Jimmy crushed out his cigarette. He immediately lit another one. Then he coughed, ignoring the pink blood that stained his fingers.

“Take care of him until I have a solution then,” replied Jimmy. “I don’t have the time to baby sit.”

“Fine,” said Cranston. He turned to Dick. “You can stay here until Jimmy figures out a way to cure you.”

“Okay,” agreed Dick.

Cranston turned to Jimmy. “You know, Jimmy,” he said, “you’re the kind of guy who would put a book about Jeffrey Dahmer in the cooking section of a bookstore.”

Jimmy laughed.

“Yeah, probably,” he agreed. Then he lifted up his empty glass. “Got any more bourbon?”