We were sitting there by the campfire. The tall pine trees swayed above us. When Jack stood up to grab some sticks for the fire, his shadow was cast out as a big dark giant on the surrounding pine branches. Nico was poking up sparks from the fire by jabbing a stick into the red hot coals; she had a bored detached look. Legolas was hunkered down on a big log and fumbling with a fresh bag of marshmallows.
“Tell us a story,” Legolas suggested to me. His long locks of light brown hair fell down into his face. Shaking his head to see, he tied the laces of his hiking boot. A drab color flannel shirt was thrown over his yellow ‘Holy Trinity’ basketball style tank top, and he rolled up his blue jean cuffs to tie his boot lace.
“Well I don’t know,” I stammered.
“Yeah, tell us a story,” Nico chimed in. She was wearing a light blue work shirt and tight faded jeans with holes in the knees.
“Okay, well, I don’t know if it’s true,” I started, “but I heard people talk about swamp gas.”
“Oh no!” Nico exclaimed. She smacked her palm to her forehead.
Kurt was sitting off to the other side of the fire. He made some noises and started laughing. “I’ll show you gas,” he called out.
“Oh no, not that kind of gas,” I said. “It’s swamp gas. I’m serious, way down in the bayou country of the south, out in the swamp lands; they got ‘swamp gas’. Some folks say it is from all the wet vegetable matter rotting out there in the muck of the swamp.”
“What was that show called?” Kurt called over to us.
Jack was standing with his back to the fire and he called over his shoulder in response, “The Man in Control of the Everglades!” He had on a long, ragged denim jacket, more to combat the mosquitoes than to stay warm. The jacket was speckled with frayed holes from some long past accident with battery acid. Thrusting his hands deep into the large side pockets, he turned and stared into the crackling blaze.
“Oh yeah, he had that swamp buggy boat thing,” Kurt called back.
“That was cool,” Jack chuckled.
“No really I’m trying to be serious here,” I said boldly. “They got this stuff called swamp gas. Out on the bayou country, people can see lights glowing out in the swamps at night. There are like blue and green lights that can be seen at night.”
“Like foxfire,” Kurt remarked. He was referring to rotting forest wood that glows at night with an eerie phosphorous green light.
“Maybe it’s like that, I don’t know, because I ain’t never seen it,” I continued saying. “I heard about that ‘swamp gas’ in the story of ‘Wicked John’. You see, Wicked John lived down in a little town on the edge of the swamp country of Florida. He was a big old mountain of a man. All covered with black hair and he had a big scruffy black beard. He was the local blacksmith for the town, and he looked the part. Wicked John was the meanest man that anyone ever had heard of. Just for fun, he would cuss at old people, throw rocks at children, and he even kicked puppies.”
“Not the poor puppies,” Nico exclaimed.
“Yes, he even kicked puppies,” I noted again. “He was just the biggest, meanest man that was ever born. He was so mean that God took a notice to him. It seemed that Wicked John didn’t have any good check marks next to his name. This seemed like it had to be some kind of book keeping mistake. Because, usually everybody does at least one or two good things in their life, and there are a couple of check marks in that column. God was so concerned that he decided to send Saint Peter down to earth to check on Wicked John.”
Jack threw another log on the fire. Smoke and sparks swirled around us, and we doubled over on our knees for a moment. Then the fire settled back into a comfortable, crackling blaze and we relaxed into our positions about the circle. I edged up to the firelight and stretched my hands out to momentarily bask in the heat.
“So God sent Saint Peter down to check on Wicked John,” I continued saying. While I talked, I was swatting by the blaze and I rocked back on the heels of my moccasins, as I stared into the fire. “And Saint Peter, he disguised himself as a poor old man who hobbled down the road on a walking stick. He just hobbled down the road to the blacksmith shop where Wicked John was working. It was a hot day in the bayou. You know that hot, sticky, humid, southern kind of heat? The roads were dirt back then, and dust would parch a poor traveler’s throat. Saint Peter is disguised to be old and dressed in rags, and he props himself up in Wicked John’s doorway with his walking stick under his arm.”
The smoke was getting in my eyes, so I moved back to sit on a nearby tree stump.
“Keep talking,” Legolas called over to me.
“Okay, okay, the smoke was getting to me, speaking of which,” I said.
“Kurt roast one up,” Legolas said playfully. Across the fire, we could hear Kurt rustling about and muttering to himself.
I continued telling the story, “So, at first, Wicked John was trying to ignore the old man in his doorway. He kept pounding with his hammer on the anvil. Working steady with his back to Saint Peter, Wicked John just pounded on his anvil making as loud of a clanking sound as he possibly could. Meanwhile, Saint Peter, disguised as an old man, just stood patiently waiting in the doorway. Finally Wicked John put down his hammer and he turned around to face the crippled old man who stood in his doorway.”
Jack put another log on the fire. Meanwhile Kurt had roasted a nice marshmallow, Legolas was now lighting this with the end of a burning stick. The fire light danced on the pine trees above and around us.
“Wicked John felt like kicking the old man’s walking stick out from under his arm. But for some unknown reason he decided not to kick the cripple’s crutch, and he just stood there staring at Saint Peter. He was a big brute covered with dirt, and hair, and soot…”
“’I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a drink of water?’ Saint Peter said to the big, burly blacksmith. ‘It’s so very hot and I have traveled such a long way.’”
“Wicked John looked at the old man, and didn’t know what to say. Usually he would knock such an old man down and then kick him out into the dirt street, but that day he did something that he had never done before. He decided to be nice to the old man who was asking for water. Wicked John said, ‘Well I’m going to take a break now, you can come over to my house next door and I’ll get you a drink of water.’”
“There was a little wooden house with a big front porch next to the blacksmith’s shop, and that’s where Wicked John lived. So they walked over to the house and Wicked John had the old man sit down in the shade of on the front porch. Saint Peter set down in a big old rocking chair, which happened to be Wicked John’s favorite chair. Instead of getting mad and cussing the old man out, he just went inside the house to get a cup of water. Instead of just water, Wicked John had some lemonade made from the local tree fruit and decided to share this with the old man.”
“The two men sat under the shade of the porch and drank their lemonade. Saint Peter was rather surprised at the big blacksmith’s hospitality and quite taken aback. He started to feel sorry for that giant man of meanness. So after a while, Saint Peter decided to tell Wicked John the score. He says to him, ‘Wicked John, I’m Saint Peter and God sent me down to check on you.’”
“This surprises Wicked John and he says, ‘What do you mean by that?’”
“Saint Peter says to him again, ‘Wicked John, I’m Saint Peter and God sent me down to check on you. He didn’t believe you were as mean as they say. So he sent me down to earth to check on you. You see, he thinks there’s some kind of bookkeeping error, but I keep the books… And you and I know different, don’t we?’”
“’I suppose so,’ Wicked John agreed. Then he added, ‘Being nice just ain’t my strong suit.’”
“’We both know that the only time you were ever nice to anyone, was the way you treated me today,’ Saint Peter said.”
“’I suppose so,’ Wicked John agreed again. Then he once again added, ‘Being nice just ain’t my strong suit.’”
“”I don’t think you’re going to get in upstairs,’ Saint Peter told Wicked John. As he said this the old man pointed upwards with thumb.”
“’I suppose so,’ Wicked John agreed again.”
“’But I’ll tell you what, since you were nice to me, and I know you probably won’t get into heaven, I’ll grant you three wishes,’ Saint Peter told him. ‘That way you’ll get something out of the deal.’”
“‘Why thank you very much,’ Wicked John responded warmly. ‘That certainly is kind of you.’”
“’What are your three wishes?’ Saint Peter asked.”
“After sitting on the porch thinking for a spell, Wicked John thought of his wishes. He said to Saint Peter, ‘Well my first wish is…. Sometimes after work, some kids will come by my shop and play with the hammer. They start clanking away on the anvil, and I have to throw rocks at them to scare them off. The next time someone uses my hammer and anvil, I just want them to start hammering and hammering and not be able stop, until I say for it to stop.’”
“’Well that’s quite a mean wish,’ Saint Peter said forlornly. ‘But I said you got three wishes, what is the next two?’”
“‘Well my second wish is…. You see that rocking chair you’re sitting on?’ Saint Peter nodded in affirmation. ‘Well sometimes when I’m working and a customer is waiting, they’ll wander over here and sit in that chair. The next time someone sits on that chair, I just want it to start rocking and rocking and not stop, until I say for it to stop.’”
“’Well that’s also a pretty mean wish,’ Saint Peter said. ‘But I said you got three wishes, so what’s the third one?’”
“‘Let me see, my third wish is….,” Wicked John said as he rubbed his chin whiskers. My third wish is….You see that rose bush over there?’ Wicked John pointed with his finger to a big rose bush that was growing along the wooden front yard fence. After raising his eyebrows, Saint Peter once again nodded in affirmation. ‘Well sometimes when someone is walking along, they’ll grab a branch off that rose bush. Maybe they need a switch for their mule or a rose for someone special; I don’t know why they break twigs off my plants. But, the next time someone breaks a branch off that rose bush, I want that bush to start beating the person with its thorny branches and beat them and beat them and not stop, until I say for it to stop.’”
“Dropping his head in his hands, Saint Peter was almost sobbing when he said, ’Well that wish is so mean, I don’t know if I’m even allowed to grant it. But I said you got three wishes, so there you go.’” After shaking his head sadly, he got up from the rocking chair, and thanked Wicked John for the lemonade. Then Saint Peter walked back up to heaven.”
“Can you really walk to heaven?” Nico asked.
“Don’t they have an escalator?” Natasha joked.
“How about an elevator?” Kurt chuckled. Then in a nasal comical voice he said, “Going up.”
Legolas passed me a burning marshmallow, and I blew out the flame, “Do you want me to finish the story or not?” Then I took another bite of the charred candy.
“Just pass the marshmallows and tell the story, Bogart,” Jack interjected.
“Yeah shut up and tell us the story,” said Natasha. She had moved from over by her tent, and now sat down on the tree stump beside me. She was wearing slender black jeans and a black leotard top, with a light blue down vest to fend off the evening air.
“Okay, so old Saint Peter goes back to heaven and Wicked John goes on being mean. He was kicking puppies and throwing rocks at children and old people. He skinned a cat, and kicked a crippled person’s clutch. He did all the usual mean person stuff, and he was so mean that they started to notice him in Hell. The Devil and his two little brothers started talking about old Wicked John. They decided he was so mean, there was no reason to wait until he died. They decided to just go up and get him and bring him back to Hell early.”
“The biggest Devil decided to send his youngest brother up to earth to get Wicked John. So the little Devil goes to Wicked John’s blacksmith shop and stands in the doorway. Wicked John tried to ignore the little devil in his doorway. He hoped the sound of the pounding of the hammer on the anvil, would drive him away. Wicked John just pounded on his anvil making as loud of a clanking sound as he possibly could. After an hour, Wicked John put down his hammer and turned about to face the little devil who stood in his doorway. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked the little red varmint.”
“Varmints,” Kurt chuckled. I couldn’t see him. He was lying down on the other side of a log, enjoying the campfire.
I ignored him and continued with the story saying, “The little devil says to Wicked John, “Wicked John, I am the Devil’s younger brother and we decided you are so mean, that we decided to come get you early. I’m here to take you back to Hell with me.”
“Wicked John was sweating and covered in soot, from working so hard in his blacksmith shop; so he says to the little devil, ‘I need to finish this last order, because I promised to have it done by sunset. How about you finish my work, while I go clean up, pack a bag, and lock up the house?’ That sounded okay to the little devil, so Wicked John shows him how to use the hammer and anvil. Then Wicked John went to his house and washed up.”
“After Wicked John was done washing up, he made himself a nice glass of sweet mint tea. He listened to the sound of the little devil pounding the hammer on anvil in the nearby shop, as he settled down in the rocking chair. Enjoying his tea, Wicked John sat rocking in the shade of the front porch. Of course, by this time the little devil was starting to figure out there was something funny going on. The little devil couldn’t stop hammering. He was hammering and hammering on that anvil, and his arms started wearing out. Then finally he starts calling out and begging Wicked John to help him. For a while, Wicked John sat on the porch drinking his tea. Finally he couldn’t stand listening to the sound of the devil begging anymore, and he walked back over to the blacksmith shop.”
“At first Wicked John stood there in the shop’s doorway with a big smile on his face. The little devil was hammering his arm off, while screaming and begging Wicked John to make it stop. Then he says to the little devil, ‘Little Devil, if you promise to go back to Hell and never come back to bother me no more, I’ll make it stop.’ The little devil agreed to this and went back down to Hell.”
“Poor little devil,” Nico said quietly. Natasha threw a small pine cone and hit Nico in the head, and she pretended to be rendered unconscious. There was a round of laughter from our peanut gallery.
“Yeah, poor little devil,” I agreed. “The big devil, he was not happy about this. Since they were already in Hell, there wasn’t any other punishment he could think of. So he told the second older bother to go upstairs and get Wicked John. He reminded him in no uncertain terms that he should not fall for the hammer and anvil trick. So the next brother goes up to the blacksmith shop to get Wicked John.”
“Wicked John had just finished work, when the second little devil came to fetch him. After some words, Wicked John agreed to go back to Hell with the other little devil, and went into the house to gather some personal items. While he was waiting, the other little devil sat down for a rest. He was rocking in the big old rocking chair, enjoying the shade of the porch. After a while, Wicked John comes out on the porch. He was all washed up and feeling fresh. The other little devil looked at him and asked, ‘Where’s your bag?’”
“’I don’t think I’m going to need it,” Wicked John replied.”
“’Why not?’ asked the other little devil, as he tried to stand. But, he couldn’t stand up. That rocking chair just kept rocking and rocking. First he started cussing and then after a spell, he started begging for the chair to stop. Wicked John went into the house and made himself dinner, while the other little devil was out on the porch, rocking, cussing, and begging. Then after a few hours of this, he said to the other little devil, ‘Other Little Devil, if you promise to go back to Hell and never come back no more, I’ll make it stop.’ The little devil agreed to this and went back down to Hell.”
“You can imagine how mad this made the big devil, and he saw only one course of action. The big devil decided to go up to earth by himself, and drag Wicked John down to Hell. So he goes up to the blacksmith shop, but looks over and spies Wicked John sitting on the porch. There he was sitting in that rocking chair that the big devil had heard about. The big devil, he walks right over to the porch, and he crosses his arms over his chest. Puffing himself up to be as big and evil as possible, the devil says to Wicked John, “Wicked John, I am the devil and I’ve come to take you to hell. Now no funny stuff, no packing bags, no washing up, no rocking chairs or hammers and anvils; just come with me now!”
“But Wicked John just sat in his rocking chair. He was rocking just as cool as a cucumber,” I said.
Cucumber,” Kurt laughed.
“Oh no!” Nico laughed, “Rural perversion!”
“Oh brother,” smacking my palm to my forehead I feigned irritation.
“Just tell the story,” Legolas pleaded. He poked the fire with a long slender stick. Then he lit a marshmallow by poking it with the burning end. I watched him puff out billows of smoke, as he burned the gooey white candy from its black, charred exterior.
I started talking again, “So Wicked John just sat there rocking in his rocking chair, and the Devil got mad. He demanded that Wicked John get up and come with him to Hell. But Wicked John, he just sat there with a smirk on his face.”
“Oh, he’s smug, like you,” Natasha said to me.
“Shut up,” Legolas said.
“Then throw me a marshmallow,” Natasha said to him.
“Okay, but only if you, Shut up!” Legolas told her.
“I’m not talking,” Natasha replied. “I’ve stopped talking.”
“All the while, Wicked John just sat there rocking in his rocking chair, and the Devil got madder and madder. So that devil gets so mad that he breaks a thorn branch from the rose bush in the yard, and he is going to beat Wicked John with the thorn branch. But suddenly the branches of the rose bush reach out and grab the Devil and the thorn branches start to beat and whip him. The Devil screamed and bellowed in pain. The rose thorns ripped through his leathery, red skin and he bleed purple blood. As the thorn bush whipped him, purple devil blood started making a puddle at his feet. He was screaming and begging for mercy. Now, Wicked John, with a smirk on his face,” I elbowed Natasha to make a point. Then I said again, “Now, Wicked John, with a smirk on his face, just sat there in his rocking chair. Then after a few hours of this, he said to the other Devil, ‘Devil, if you promise to go back to Hell and never come back no more, I’ll make it stop.’ The big devil agreed to this and went back down to Hell.”
“Then Wicked John just goes on being mean. He just doesn’t do one more nice thing for the rest of his life. Then he dies and goes up to heaven.”
“Does he get to use the escalator?” Nico asked.
“Yes, he got to use the escalator,” I replied.
“Why, was the elevator broken?” quipped Natasha.
Kurt chuckled. Then in a nasal comical voice he said, “Going down.”
“Do you want to hear the story or not?” I asked, pretending to be irritated. Someone passed a burning marshmallow to me, so I blew it out and took another bite.
Natasha pretended to knock me up the side of the head with the palm of her hand. “Bogart,” she hissed. So I took another quick little nibble, then passed it to her.
“So anyway, he gets up to heaven and gets in line to see Saint Peter,” I continued. “You know that Saint Peter’s has this desk outside the gates of heaven, and has his book of check marks. He counts up the good marks and the bad marks, then he divides the totals by pi or something, and then tells you if you get to go inside and see the show.”
“But, you know Wicked John was the meanest man ever and he never did nothing good for nobody,” I reminded them. Shifting my weight on the stump I said, ”Saint Peter didn’t have any good check marks in his column. So he says to Wicked John, ‘Wicked John you never did one nice thing for nobody, except that time you were nice to me. Since I gave you three wishes for that, it doesn’t really count, and it wasn’t enough anyway. You could get some marks for what you did to those devils, but the meanness kind of cancels it out. So I hate to tell you, but you are going have to go downstairs.’”
“Wicked John asked Saint Peter if maybe if he slipped him a twenty, maybe they could cook the books a little. Saint Peter assured him such heat would surely start a fire, so he might as well, face the music. With a forlorn look, Wicked John picked up his bag and headed down the long stairway to Hell. There ain’t no elevator or escalator on the way to Hell. The farther down he went, the hotter it got. The stairs started creaking and he started sweating. At first the heat reminded him of his blacksmith shop, and he got homesick. Soon it was so hot and steamy, that he couldn’t stand it anymore. Still he walked down the creaking stairs, as the heat became more and more intense. Finally, Wicked John came to the “Gates of Hell”.
“You know the “Gates of Hell” are always open, and everyone is welcome to enter. It’s a one way ticket though. But when those devils saw Wicked John coming down the staircase, they ran to close the gates. They hadn’t been closed in so many ions that they would barely creak close. But they closed the gates and left Wicked John standing outside.”
“The Devil came to the gates and told Wicked John to go away. He wasn’t welcome in Hell. They didn’t want nothing more to do with him. It seems Wicked John was considered too mean, to be allowed in Hell. ‘But they won’t let me in upstairs, I have nowhere else to go,’ he pleaded. But the devils wouldn’t let him in.”
“After a few years of begging to be let into Hell, Wicked John sat down by the gates and started to cry. For several years he sat on the last step of the stairway crying. Finally, the devils had to concede that he was bad for business. This guy crying at the ‘Gates of Hell’ seemed to make the newly arriving patrons nervous. So the three devils came up with a plan and invited Wicked John to listen to them.”
“So the big devil says to Wicked John, ‘Wicked John, we have a plan. Since, you can’t go to heaven and we don’t want you down here. We decided that we could give you a wheel barrow full of hot coals and you can go make a place of your own, somewhere.’”
“’But, where?’ asked Wicked John.”
“’Anywhere,’ said the big devil.”
“’But not here,’ said the little devil.”
“So Wicked John took the wheel barrow of coals and went looking for a place to call his own. He didn’t know where to go, and all he ever knew was the bayou country. So he headed out into the swamp lands of the deep south. The dead blacksmith’s ghost took his wheel barrow of hot coals and made a place of his own. Some people see his lights out on the bayou at night. Some people call it swamp gas, but other folks say its Wicked John’s coals glowing in the swamps at night.”
Wicked John - by: W. Dire Wolff