Hope you never have to meet the Marshal

The door opened, and a guy walked in.

The dim light of the back-alley bar clung to him, hiding his face but doing nothing to mask his size.

He was tall and broad across the shoulders.

He looked like the type of guy who made his living breaking things, or maybe breaking people.

He moved with a quiet, deliberate grace that immediately set off my internal alarm bells. Not a threat, exactly, but something to watch.

He slid onto the stool next to me, leaned his forearms on the sticky mahogany, and let out a long breath.

“You look like a man who knows things,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, gravelly, and tired.

I sipped my craft beer

a local IPA that tasted like pine and hops. It wasn’t the Southern Pecan I missed from Memphis, but it was what they had in this nowhere town in South Mississippi.

“Depends on what you’re asking,” I said. I didn’t turn my head, just kept my eyes on the mirror behind the bar.

It was a good way to watch without looking like I was watching.

He tapped a thick finger on the bar top.

“I saw something. In the woods.”

“A lot of things in the woods.”

“Not like this.”

I finally turned to look at him.

He had a face that looked like it had been carved from a block of granite by an amateur sculptor.

Deep lines etched around his eyes and mouth, a nose that had been broken more than once, and a scar that ran from his left temple down to his jawline.

“What did you see?” I asked. I wasn’t just making conversation. I’m the Marshal of Magic, and if something weird was happening in my territory, it was my job to know about it.

“People around here,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl, “they’re saying it’s Bigfoot. The Skunk Ape. Whatever you want to call it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Bigfoot?”

“Yeah.” He snorted. “But I ain’t buying it. Bigfoot doesn’t leave tracks like that. And Bigfoot sure as hell doesn’t smell like brimstone and rot.”

Now he had my attention. Brimstone and rot. The scent of a demon. Or something worse.

“Where exactly were these woods?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He gave me the location—a dense patch of forest a few miles outside of town. “I wouldn’t go out there,” he warned. “Whatever it is, it’s big. And it ain’t friendly.”

I finished my beer and stood up. “I appreciate the warning,” I said. “But I’ve got a job to do.”

I left a twenty on the bar and walked out into the muggy Mississippi night. The air was thick with humidity and the smell of pine. I headed for my truck, my mind racing.

Bigfoot? Unlikely. A demon? Maybe. But there was another possibility, one that made my blood run cold. A Troll.

Trolls were rare, especially this far south. They usually stuck to the colder climes, the deep forests of the north. But sometimes, they wandered. Sometimes, they were looking for new territory.

if a Troll had decided to set up shop in South Mississippi, I was going to have a very bad night.

I climbed into my truck, the old Ford groaning in protest. I fired up the engine and pulled out onto the dark, winding road.

“Elvis,” I muttered, not expecting an answer.

“Yeah,?”

The ghost of my former watcher materialized in the passenger seat, his sequined jumpsuit shimmering faintly in the dim light of the dashboard.

“We got trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind that smells like brimstone and leaves tracks the size of dinner plates.”

Elvis shivered. “Troll?”

“Maybe.”

“I hate Trolls.”

“You and me both, buddy.”

I pressed the accelerator, the truck surging forward into the darkness. I had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.

The woods were exactly where the guy in the bar said they would be. Dense, dark, and foreboding. I pulled the truck onto the shoulder, killed the engine, and grabbed my gear.

I didn’t bother with a flashlight. Magic users have other ways of seeing in the dark. I whispered a quick incantation, feeling the familiar tingle of power wash over my eyes. The forest sprang into sharp relief, the shadows receding, the details becoming clear.

I moved into the trees, my senses on high alert. The smell hit me almost immediately—a sickening stench of rot and decay, tinged with the acrid scent of sulfur.

It was definitely a Troll.

I followed the tracks, deep gouges in the soft earth, leading deeper into the woods. The deeper I went, the stronger the smell became, until it was almost overpowering.

Then I heard it. A low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate in the very air around me.

I stopped, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Marshal,” Elvis whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s close.”

I nodded, my eyes scanning the darkness.

Suddenly, a massive shape lunged from the shadows. It was a Troll, alright. At least ten feet tall, its skin thick and scaly, its eyes glowing with a malevolent intelligence.

It roared, a sound that shook the trees, and swung a massive, clawed hand at my head.

I ducked, feeling the wind of its passing ruffle my hair.

“Ralph!” I shouted, the vomit spell rolling off my tongue without a thought.

The Troll stopped, its eyes widening in surprise. Then, it bent over and let loose a torrent of foul-smelling bile.

I didn’t waste any time. I raised my hands and focused my will, sending a barrage of lightning bolts into the creature’s chest.

It roared again, this time in pain, and stumbled backward.

I pressed the attack, hurling spell after spell, magic crackling and sparking in the darkness.

The Troll fought back, its massive fists swinging, its claws tearing at the air.

I was faster, and fueled by adrenaline and a desperate need to survive.

the Troll collapsed, a smoldering heap of flesh and bone.

I stood over the creature, my chest heaving, my body slick with sweat.

“Is it dead?” Elvis asked from over my shoulder

I nodded, my eyes fixed on the creature’s lifeless form.

“Yeah. It’s dead.”

I turned away, the adrenaline draining from my body, leaving me exhausted and aching.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Before any more of its friends show up.”

I walked back to the truck, the silence of the woods broken only by the sound of my own footsteps. It had been a close call.

But I was the Marshal of Magic. It was my job. And tomorrow, I’d do it all over again.

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