The Rogue Mountains

The smell of rotting meat hung stagnant and biting in the thick, humid air. The place was cluttered to the fill line with stuffed and mounted creatures both earthly and otherwise. There was a black bear, a few squirrels, and an owl. There were wood devils, shug monkeys, a hellcat, and even a few gremlins. At the back of the room, Ken Adams, Reggie's father, was skinning a wood devil.

Ken was about 50 years old by Ballantine's guess. Sweat dripped from the folds of his brow as he worked. Between his blood-stained smock, the latex gloves, and the monster on the table in front of him, he looked a little like a mad scientist. As he flayed with expert speed, he threw an unimpressed glance at Ballantine's haul, then at Ballantine, then back to his work.

"I'll sell you that one I already stuffed for $350," Ken said. "Otherwise, it'll be $550 for each of them, and it'll be a couple days."

"Huh?" said Ballantine. "Oh no, I don't need a trophy. Just here to sell the meat if I can."

"You can. Let me just..." Ken dug his fingers under the tabled devil's scalp and started yanking. The squelching skin punctuated their conversation. "So you just passing through, or you staying a while?"

"Actually, I'm more of an exterminator."

"Of wood devils?"

"Of anything that wasn't here before what happened in Pittsburgh."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Like gremlins and hellcats?" Ken asked.

"I've got my share."

"Trolls and fairies?"

"I've gotten a lot of trolls. Fairies are nothing to worry about though."

"Witches?"

"Three."

"That all?"

"There aren't as many out there as you'd think."

"Maybe. Maybe there are more out there than you realize."

"Maybe. You know something?"

"Maybe," Ken finally got the skin off the wood devil's face and took a breath. "It's tough with the horns. You mind bringing them over to the cooler for me?"

Ballantine, still dragging his kills, followed Ken to the walk-in cooler. The sterile cold was a welcome reprieve for both of them.

"I pay $2 a pound," Ken said, heaving a devil onto a scale. "$220 for this one. Next time, leave the guts in and we'll get you some more money."

"You use the guts?"

"You can use everything, man. Well maybe not you, but somebodycan. We grind up the horns and hooves, dry out the stomach and intestines... Shit, we even bag up the hair. Send it all to Pittsburgh to sell to the tourists. Usually, it's the Chinese buying the weird stuff."

"You said you might know something about a witch."

"I might. I might not. It's all legend anymore. Haven't even heard about her for years. If she's still there, she's keeping to herself."

"Where?"

"Damn, you just rolled into town, didn't you?" Ken took the other devil and heaved it onto the scale. "$224. You killed these suckers on Devil's Mountain, right? Well, the witch is on..." Ken raised his eyebrows at Ballantine.

"Witch's Mountain?" Ballantine finished.

Ken laughed as they left the cooler and said, "You catch on quick."

"Clever names."

"They got real names. Been about 20 years since all them things moved in though. People been naming the mountains after them since. 'Goin' huntin' Devil's Mountain.' 'Don't let your kids play on Witch's Mountain.'"

"And the third mountain?"

Ken took a moment to reminisce before saying, "The Cave Worm's Mountain."

Ballantine had never heard of a cave worm. A younger Del would've assumed silly local superstition, but he'd been around long enough to know never to assume. "What can you tell me about this cave worm?"

"What, you think you gon' get it? You see all these stuffed animals I got in here? You think I have the time to just put together display models? These are all for people who heard about the thing, didn't listen to a damn word anybody told 'em, and went and got themselves killed before they could pick up their orders. If you go after the cave worm, you ain't... coming... back."

"Why?"

"How am I supposed to know, man? I'm here. The I-don't-know-how-old rumor is that it does, like, a telepathy thing. Pulls you in like gravity. Stops you controlling yourself and just makes you walk to it." Ken looked out into nowhere as if remembering. "You can tell you're getting close when the woods go quiet. No birds, no squirrels, no shug monkeys, or hunner dyers. The closer you get, the less you feel like turning back. That's how you know you should. When those woods get quiet and you don't want to go home anymore, go the fuck home while the choice is still yours. Better yet, go the fuck home now."

"You seem to know plenty about this thing."

Ken fixed his narrowed eyes onto Ballantine's, took a few moments to decide how much to say, then said, "One man made it back. He's fucking insane now. He came back, said just enough for us to put all that together, then lost the rest of his goddamn mind. That's how I know about it. You want to find out for yourself? Go ahead. You ain't the first tough guy to get his ass eaten. You won't be the last either."

"Easy there, partner. I never do anything without foolproof preparation."

"Yeah, I've heard that too."

The door to the mobile home opened to reveal a beautiful, fair-skinned brunette who looked to be about 20 years old.

"You about ready for some lunch, baby?" she said, stepping into the shack. She wore short cutoff shorts, a loose tank top, and a necklace.

After her figure, it was the necklace that caught Ballantine's eye. The little green jewels sparkled in the shadows as she padded over to the men. Ballantine thought for a moment the jewels were, in fact, glowing, but decided there was probably just some optical science behind it that he didn't understand.

"Baby," said Ken, "shouldn't you be inside?" He cast a sidelong glance at the mesmerized monster hunter.

"Oh baby," she pouted, "this is as close as I get to getting out."

"Yeah, but still—"

"But, but, but," she jibed. "Chalk it up to cabin fever."

As she stepped into better light, Ballantine stole a glance at her tenting nipples before being taken by her eyes. He'd seen beautiful eyes before. At least, he thought he had. But these sparkled as vibrantly as the jewels she wore. These were deeper than the rest. These told him nebulous stories of hopeful love.

If her eyes were the lure, her smile was the hook. Ballantine was dumbstruck. He'd never seen anything like it.

She extended an elegant hand, saying, "I'm Jenny."

Ballantine snapped out of it, glanced from Ken to her as he took her hand, and said, "Dallanti—Ballantine... Del Ballantine." He kicked himself, shook it out, then went on the offensive. "That's a really pretty necklace you got there."

"Thank you," she smiled and pressed her fingertips to it, at which point Ballantine noticed the wedding ring on her hand. "I got it from my mother."

"Lucky girl," he said. Then he looked at Ken and said, "Lucky husband too."

"Don't I know it," Ken said. Then he said to Jenny, "Look baby, why don't you fix me a plate and I'll be right there."

"Sure thing, baby," she said. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Ballantine."

"Nice to meet you, Jenny."

The door closed behind her, shutting off the tingle in Ballantine's heart and taking a little extra with it.

Ken counted out the money and asked, "So how long you gonna be in town, Mr. Ballantine?"

"As long as it takes."

"$440... one, two, three, four. Heh. Guess you'll be staying a while, then."

"You think?"

"Take you all year and a team to get all them wood devils, and they'll probably just migrate anyway. Plus, you'd never get all the ones on Witch Mountain, assuming she's still there."

"Why?"

"She got the whole thing spelled. You can hike and hike but never gain any ground. Walk an hour, walk a day. Soon as you turn around, you'll see you never went anywhere."

"No getting through it?"

"No. No getting through it. Now go on, hunt your devils, and your hellcats, and your gremlins. Just make sure you get 'em to me before you go after the witch or the cave worm. Be a shame if they all went to waste."