"Savannah Sammy is an important guest, even more important than Mr. Collier-"

"Come on, Ma. You're just all in a swivet 'cos you got the hots for him, just like ya had fer Mr. Collier-"

"Watch your mouth, boy!" his mother cracked even louder, "or you'll be out'a here just as sure as pigs can s.h.i.t!"

Jesus...

"Now you GET that gra.s.s mowed and you GET those hedges trimmed and you GET those weeds pulled! And did you even pick up the ham hocks yet?"

Jiff rubbed his temples, agonized. "Ham hocks?"

"Jesus, boy, everything I SAY to you goes in one ear'n out the other! I done told ya yesterday to go to the butcher's and pick up twenty hocks'n start gettin' 'em smoked 'cos I'll be makin' my ham hock and wild green gumbo fer the guests this weekend! But I guess yer just too drunk to remember!"

Jiff groaned.

Mrs. Butler waved a stack of something in his face, then thwacked it all into his lap.

"What the h.e.l.l's all that, Ma?"

"It's yer mail, if ya can believe it!"

Letters were scattered all over the bed. I never get mail, he thought.

"I don't know what you got in that pea brain'a yours, boy, but you better get it out and I mean in a jiffy!" Her finger wagged before his face one more time. "You ain't responsible enough to have a credit card, so what'choo doin' applyin' for 'em?"

Credit cards? Jiff scratched his head, looking at some of the mail dropped in his lap. Multiple letters from Visa, MasterCard, American Express. "Ma, I ain't applied fer no credit cards."

"Well that's good 'cos if your lazy, drunken, do-nothin' a.s.s ain't out of that bed in two seconds, you ain't gonna have a f.u.c.kin' JOB to PAY fer a credit card!"

Jiff knew she was serious. His mother never said "f.u.c.kin'."

"Two seconds, boy!" she yelled one last time and then slammed the door so loud, the walls shook and his George Clooney poster rattled.

d.a.m.n. That ain't no way to start the day. He creaked out of bed. And what's all this credit card stuff? Just junk mail, but why this?

A cold shower barely revived him. But he knew that he would indeed have to watch the drinking. He was about to get to work but noticed his message machine flashing. He hit the b.u.t.ton, then regretted it because he could guess who it was.

"Jiff, my G.o.d," the voice croaked. "I'm a wasteland without you. Please, please, don't do this to me. You must come and see me-I'll pay whatever you want. I-I-I...love you-"

Jiff deleted the message and saw that all of the others were from him, too.

Poor fat old b.a.s.t.a.r.d. But...s.h.i.t on him...

The phone blared, spiking Jiff's hungover brain. d.a.m.n! He knew it had to be Sute. Might as well get this over with- He snapped up the phone. "Listen, J.G., I done told ya we'se finished. I'se sorry you're so bent out'a shape but you're gonna have to stop callin' here-"

A pause. "I'd like to speak to Mr. Jiff Butler."

Jiff frowned; it wasn't Sute. "That's me. Say, look I'se got a lot of work to do and if you're one'a these telemarketer people, I ain't inter-"

"No, sir, this is the bank. Sorry to disturb you, but about that check you deposited last night-"

Jiff strained his brain. That last one Sute gave me. "d.a.m.n, don't tell me that hunnert-dollar check from J.G. Sute bounced. His checks never bounce."

Another pause. "No, sir. We're just calling to confirm your most recent deposit, which you made last night from our twenty-four-hour ATM. Typically, we don't do this by phone but given the amount of the check, we just wanted to confirm."

Jiff scratched his head. "Oh, you mean that hunnert bucks..."

"No, sir. I'm referring to the check you deposited last night, at 1:55 A.M."

More wheels began to turn in Jiff's booze-stepped-on brain. What's this guy talkin' about? he thought but then-slam!-it clicked.

Holy s.h.i.t! What the h.e.l.l did I do?

He remembered being drunk out of his gourd at the bar, and he was fiddling with those old railroad checks he'd found in Mr. Collier's room. He'd shown them around to everyone. He also remembered that one of the checks had been signed but not filled out...

"Hey, Jiff," Buster had joked, "why don't you fill that check out to yourself for a million dollars?" and everybody had laughed, but the thing was...

Jiff had been so drunk that he'd actually done it.

"Oh, look, sir," Jiff b.u.mbled. "About that check. See, I was drunk last night and, see, I'se only did it as a joke. I never meant-"

"Mr. Butler, I'm not sure what you mean; perhaps you've misunderstood me. The only reason I'm calling is to confirm the deposit and let you know that the check cleared."

Now it was Jiff's turn to pause. "You mean-"

"Your current balance is now $1,000,141.32."

Jiff stared into s.p.a.ce.

"But if I may, sir, let me switch you over to our investments manager-"

There was a click, and then another man's voice came on the line.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Butler, I'm Mr. Corfe, and since you're a valuable customer I want to make you aware of some investment possibilities that are at your disposal."

Jiff felt as though he were standing atop a mountain...

"Your current balance is an awful lot of money to keep in a checking account, after all."

"What, uh, what's your name again?" Jiff droned.

"Corfe. William Corfe. I'm the investments manager here at Fecory Savings and Trust, and I'd just like to offer my services in the event that you're interested. We want your money to work for you, Mr. Butler, and we can transfer as much as you want into a money-market savings account, a high-interest certificate of deposit, treasury bills, short-term CDs, whatever you want. You'd make a lot of money in interest, Mr. Butler, and it's all F.D.I.C. insured."

Jiff nearly hacked out the words. "Do I really got a million bucks in the bank?"

"One million, one hundred and forty-one dollars and thirty-two cents to be exact, Mr. Butler..."

And then the silence between the line began to get scratchy...and so did the voice...

"And, Jiff, about that old iron forge in your backyard? You use that for a barbecue sometimes, don't you?"

Jiff's mouth stretched open. "Well, yeah, but what's that got to do-"

"And I happen to know that your mother wants you to get it fired up so you can start smoking some ham hocks in it, isn't that right?"

"How...can you know...that?"

More scratching over the line. "Start thinking about some other things to put in that barbecue once you're done with the ham hocks, all right?"

The phone was hot against Jiff's ear.

"You won't understand it all right now, Jiff, but believe me, in time, you will." Then the crackling faded, and clarity came back to the line.

"-for example, a 4.4 percent interest rate on a ten-month CD for starters. So please feel free to come down to the bank at your convenience, Mr. Butler, and I'd be happy to discuss a solid, protected investment package with you."

"Uh, uh, yeah. Sure."

Jiff hung up.

He stared out the window for a long time, and the thing he stared at the most was the old forge.

The man on the phone was right: Jiff didn't understand it all yet, but he did have a strange feeling he'd be calling J.G. Sute back in the very near future and maybe even inviting him out to the inn.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

This is a revised edition of Gast, originally published as a limited-edition hardback by Camelot Books, and for that original edition, I'd like to especially thank Tony and Kim Duarte, and artist extra ordinaire Glenn Chadbourne. I also need to thank, among others, Wendy Brewer, Don D'Auria, Bob Strauss, Tim M., Liz, Karyn, Bill, Christy, Alicia (who is a YANKEES fan first and foremost), Tim and Anda, Charlie, Tim Fogarty, Ken Arneson; Nick and Rhonda from Wild w.i.l.l.y's Bar in Largo; Tom Moran, Judy Comeau and Count Gore; Amy, Paul and Kirk at Ricky T's; Art at Sweet Bay; Geisenhuth, Travis Deputy Theinsatiablebookreader, Nanci Kalanta, Mark Justice; Scott Bradley, Del Howison and Amy Wallace of Book of Lists; Ian Fischer, Miranu Lepus, Lefteris Stavrianos, Nick Nick Roussos, Kathy Rosamilia; dutiful fans Linda Reed and Caroline Vincent of States Saving Bank; Josh Boone, Thomas Deja, Jeff Funk, Ryan Harding, Pam Herbster, Monica Kuebler, Michael Ling, Michael Pearce, Shay Prentiss, Terry Tidwell, Tom Weisser, Aaron Williams at Wheels of Terror; Christine Morgan and Nick Yak from HFR; lthrby1, Chris aka flahorrorwriter, bateman, jpoleka, jonah, Trever Palmer, onemorejustincase, G.o.dawful, harleymack, serra, GE65, babaganoosh, horrorfan, Andrew Myers of the 1st Armored Division, Bobby "Smitty" Smith, Brandon Lee Spitler, darkthrone, xrascalxkingx, mrliteral, psychomule, VT Horror Fan, Dathar, Aaron2010, Boota, Harvester, Lazy, madtrav, RabidDecay, sjmsy, Jimbo1168, Jack Staynes, Mille Umbra, Smokey-101, vredebyrd and Wetbones.

HIGH PRAISE FOR EDWARD LEE!.

"The living legend of literary mayhem. Read him if you dare!"

-Richard Laymon, Author of Flesh.

"Edward Lee's writing is fast and mean as a chain saw revved to full-tilt boogie."

-Jack Ketchum, Author of Cover.

"He demonstrates a perverse genius for showing us a h.e.l.l the likes of which few readers have ever seen."

-Horror Reader.

"Edward Lee continues to push the boundaries of s.e.x, violence and depravity in modern genre lit."

-Rue Morgue.

"One of the genre's true originals."

-The Horror Fiction Review.

"The hardest of the hardcore horror writers."

-Cemetery Dance.

"Lee excels with his creativity and almost trademark depictions of violence and gruesomeness."

-Horror World.

"A master of hardcore horror. His ability to make readers cringe is legendary."

-h.e.l.lnotes.

Other Leisure books by Edward Lee.

THE GOLEM.

BRIDES OF THE IMPALER.

HOUSE INFERNAL.

SLITHER.

THE BACKWOODS.

FLESH GOTHIC.

MESSENGER.

INFERNAL ANGEL.

CITY INFERNAL.

end.