Hiram Grange: The Devil's Dancers

Hiram Grange is a dark anti-hero character created by Shroud Publishing Company. Using 3ww I fashioned a tribute to the character. I hope you enjoy.

HIRAM GRANGE: THE DEVIL’S DANCERS

In a dark corner booth, two fingers reached for a saturated sugar cube on a slotted spoon held above a short glass of a liquid opalescence.

“And now, the Hidden Hand is proud to present pure temptation."

“Temptation,” sneered Hiram to himself. He started to suck on the dripping cube.

“Welcome Miss Eve--”

Rammstien’s ‘Du Hast’ droned into the room as the slit of red velvet curtains parted. A mulatto woman with long legs and a green thong strutted onto the stage in thigh high stilettos.

Hiram reached for the short glass and quaffed it down.

“--and the devil.”

A white, yellow stripped snake coiled around her right arm, curled around her neck and lifted her perfect left tit as she held its head before her.

The lodestone under Hiram’s shirt began to heat up as he watched her dance. She and the snake moved as one, hugging the dancer’s pole, bending unnaturally before the mesmerized crowd. She accepted money from men and women alike with her fingertips and teeth, allowing a select few to finger a Jefferson or two into her thong. Before departing, she tongued the snake sending the crowd into a frenzy.

Hiram retrieved a red pill from his inner coat pocket and popped it into his mouth. His legs tingled before becoming pleasantly numb.

Mrs. Bothwell was right about this place. The Naga were trying to return and he just watched the head priestess charm more followers.

The numbness reached his tongue and then colors flowed into swirls and streaks. Hiram’s head felt heavy, too heavy to hold up. He laid his head on the table as blackness slithered over him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Hiram eyes cracked opened. He struggled up from the table, tossing a couple crumpled bills. The place was empty. The only lighting was staggered blinking from beer signs behind the bar.

“Hhhiram,” called the darkness.

Hiram pulled his Webley Mk. VI from its holster.

“Come to usssss.”

A naked woman, with long blonde curls hiding her face, leaned on the door jam leading backstage. She was one of the earlier dancers.

She turned her shoulders to him and with her eyes closed, swayed to an inner tune. Her hands caressed the flat of her stomach, slid up around the curves of her breasts and then the sides of her neck. She dug her fingers into her hair, opened her yellow eyes and smiled.

“Where is your head priestess?” Hiram pointed his Webley at her head.

She pulled off her wig revealing a scaly bald head and no ears. She hissed.

“Wrong answer!” Hiram shot her in the face.

Stepping over the twitching Naga worshipper, Hiram entered the backroom.

#

The backroom felt moist and smelled of rotting flesh. Mud and decaying bodies littered the floor. Three bald women slithered over the corpses of men and woman alike, tearing body parts and swallowing them whole. The head priestess squatted on a table, licking the finger of a severed hand before peeling away its fingernail with her teeth.

“Hhhiram Grange, welcome,” the head priestess said.

Hiram kicked the closest worshipper in the ribs. She flipped over and hissed. He aimed at her head and pulled the trigger. Brains splattered the other two.

The second one jumped to her feet, fleshly fragments dangled from her mouth. Hiram kneed her in the stomach, stuffed his muzzle in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

The third watch Hiram drop the headless second into the mud as he raised his Webley up to her head.

“Please, no,” said the third as her face softened. Hiram could see a resemblance to his beloved Jody.

“Become one of us Hiram, and she can be yours,” enticed the head priestess.

The Jody look-a-like kneeled before him and pleaded with her eyes, her beautiful hypnotic eyes.

She punched him his balls. Hiram dropped his Webley and fell to his knees.

The Jody look-a-like stood up and punched him in the face. With the first punch, Hiram felt his nose cartilage crunched. His fingers wrapped around his Webley. With the second punch, blood flowed from his mouth and off his chin. She lifted his chin and brought her face to his face.

“How about a kiss,” she teased as a long tongue slithered out of her mouth and tasted his blood.

Hiram pushed the barrel of his gun under her chin and pulled the hammer back, click. “I don’t think so.” Hiram pulled the trigger. Head fragments splattered the wall. The body slumped to the floor.

The high priestess observed Hiram. The albino snake coiled under her feet fixed its gaze on Hiram. Warmth slithered over his mind.

“I want you Hiram…,” the snake said. “She wants you, Hiram….”

Hiram felt the snake lick his inner thoughts and recoiled with a hiss.

“Kill him! Kill him!”

Hiram shook off the trance and raised his Webley. Two shots later all was quiet.

Hiram walked out of the back room to the bar, reached over the slab and grabbed the nearest bottle. Something clear sloshed. He smiled and took a deep drink. It stung his throat in a good way.

He pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial as he walked to the exit. "It's done," he said, dropped the phone and squinted into the sunshine.