Darkfell Bayou

-Interval I ‘The Town in the Swamp’-

           

All was quiet on the rocky road weaving through the murky expanse except the sounds of the bayou on a lazy summer afternoon. That was until the sounds of an approaching vehicle broke this natural rhythm. A olive drab off-road jeep would appear over on the horizon in a flurry of dust and rock going down the road like the big metal beast owned it. On backroads with no speed limit on a road lucky enough to be officially recognized by the state the locals took full advantage of using it as they pleased for sure as the jeep weaved around corners and sped along, sounds of classic rock played up loud audible over the engine and crunching rock under the tires. One could tell it belonged to an experienced person in the swamp with two-ton winch in front, a front towing mount latched back ontop of the hood, and the front was decorated by a bleached gator skull tied to the front vents in the hood and the top had real swamp leaves and moss camouflage put over it. The driver clearly didn’t mess around with extra fuel tanks mounted on the sides with a spare tire in back and underneath the front towing mount. That and a closer look would show the front dash had a hunting rifle mounted on it and shotgun secured in the middle of the front seats.

Zearoth sighed to himself as the coywolf longed back in the back seat of the jeep. It was a hot summer day, the midday sun beating down on the headfur of Zea as he reached up to wipe his brow a little and grabbed a bottle of water he had next to him. The gray and black hybrid unscrewed the top and took a quick swig of his refreshment before capping it and looking off to his side up ahead of the jeep, wind making his fur flutter wildly in the breeze he clearly was enjoying. For miles ahead it seemed like nothing but rocky swamp road that cut through the bayou they were driving along. Mossy and vine-strewn trees, murky water, plains of Lili pads, tall grass, and cattail, and murky shrub for as far as the eye could see. The sight was a new change of pace for him, but truth be told Zea just wished he was there already. He was impatient to see what he traveled all this way for, because he knew he was going to hopefully love it. The humid air didn’t help, but Zea knew he’d get used to it.

​

Across the back where he sat was a black and green-colored husky, younger than Zea by a few years most likely, a college student most likely by how he seemed to dress and act. Other than the sounds of cicadas, wind, the jeep engine, and the crunch and throwing of rock under the tires everyone seemed silent. Rather than not say anything Zea thought best to at least strike up a conversation with the husky… that was before their driver actually beat him to it.



“Naw whut brings ya’ll down this way eh? I know ya just paid meh to drive ya’ll to Amsel up dis way, but I’m curious what brings you city folk up north to these parts,” their driver asked, grinning curiously in the back mirror at them. The driver in question was a tall, large, and very well-built kangaroo anthro. Besides his sunglasses, a straw hat tied to his neck, some green sandals, and tan cargo shorts hat was about all he wore besides some string wristbands and ankle bands. He spoke with a piece of reed in his maw with that heavy southern accent, and by the worn and dirtied look of his trousers he was a local that didn’t care much for hygiene or how he looked most likely. He had a type of rugged look even with his long chin fur and his fur was dark gray and cream instead of the stereotypical brown. What Zea also noticed is his left ear was torn at the tip and the big boomer’s tail was worn-looking with the onset of white hairs. It was hard not to when the jeep seats were designed for furries, holes built into the lower backs of the front seats to let tails comfortably slide through into the back if needed.

​

“Vacation. There’s a town nearby I wanted to check out for a while,” Zea explained simply with a shrug, the husky nodding.

​

“About the same thing here,” the husky replied with a slight chuckle, putting his tablet away into his bagpack.

​

“Oh? Whut town may that be? That is if ya’ll don’t mind ma curiosity. We dun get very many tourists in dese here parts. Name’s Jack by the way,” the roo explained back to them as the drab green off-road jeep rumbled over a stretch of wooden bridge spanning a break in the land bridge that cut through the swamp, likely to allow boats underpass below.

​

“It’s supposed to be called DarkFell Bayou. That’s where I’m going. I’m Zearoth,” the coywolf introduced himself, before the husky looked over in surprise.

​

“No way! Hah, that’s where I’m heading dude. Oh. My name is Davis,” the husky replied with a smile and slight blush at nearly forgetting to say his name.

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“Oh darn!” the kangaroo commented, seemingly in frustrated dismay, slamming on the breaks. Dust and rock flew as both in back braced in shock to the sudden stop.

​

“What? Something wrong?” Zea asked in sudden concern, looking out ahead looking for a reason the roo may have stopped.



“Oh naw! Not at all mates. I know whut ya’ll are doin’ and ya ain’t gonna get to DarkFell through Amsel. I know dere’s a road east to DarkFell, but Old Markson Road floods durin’ the rainy season. DarkFell Bayou is in-accessible fo’ three whole months by land. Ain’t no one gonna git’ dere by foot or car,” the boomer explained, Zea cocking an eyebrow as the husky shot a concerned glance at Zearoth, before the roo.

           

“So what do we do? I have some cash on me, but not too much. Is there a boat or ferry?” the husky asked, ears going limp with a disappointed look on his face.

           

“Oh dun worry yer cute lil’ tail off Davis. I live in DarkFell. I fish and trade durin’ the rainy season and do handyman work in Mableferry and Darkfell the rest o’ the year. I got a swamp boat back at mah own private fishin’ dock outside Mableferry Junction. We’ll jus turn dis rig around and I can give ya a ride straight there, no charge,” Jack chuckled, Davis perking up as Zea smiled a little.

          

“That’s a relief,” Zearoth, commented, Davis nodding in agreement. The roo just shifted though in his seat and grunted a bit.

           

“Speakin’ of relief… I need tah take a piss, I’ll be right back,” Jack grunted a little, popping open his door to edge off till he was sitting on the edge. The roo reached down, a zipping noise heard as he just let his cock hang out his pants and pissed off the side of his jeep. Sounds of splattering over the rock heard before Zea shuffled a little.

           

“I think I’m gonna go now too while we’re stopped,” the coywolf commented, before Jack chuckled.

           

“Jus go in teh jeep bed if ya like boys. No point in having to jump out and climb back in,” Jack suggested. Zea shrugged and Davis turned around and gasped when the Zearoth so casually unzipped his pants. What baffled Davis was how… easily and without even needing to think about it the hybrid whipped out his sheath and let himself lounge at an angle to let his piss arc into the jeep. A hot fluid steam shot out with so much power and strength the stream actually didn’t stay in the jeep. Davis gasped, his jaw slightly dropping as he watched that stream spatter over the ground several feet away from the jeep as Zea sighed. Nearly a full minute passed and by then Zea purposely lowered his stream to hose down the tailgate and make a very large puddle inside on the floorboard.

           

Davis was blushing and with a look of nervousness he too thought he might as well join in since everyone else was. The husky reached for his pants zipper and undid them, fishing though his underwear to pull out his semi-swollen sheath. Truth be told part of it was resisting not growing an erection from two men… just so carelessly urinating around him. The husky relinquished control of his bladder, but had trouble getting himself to actually piss until he felt the release and a second arc of urine shot out into the jeep. However Davis didn’t have nearly the bladder Zea must have had and his stream died out in a matter of less than half a minute.

           

Zearoth though had other… plans and decided to cut himself off, his stream suddenly subsiding and ending after probably three whole minutes of constantly urinating.

           

“You… must have a huge bladder,” Davis commented in shock as soon after the big boomer in front sighed and clambered back in, shutting the door to the jeep and shifting it into reverse.

           

“You could say that. Only that was hardly all I had,” Zearoth admitted before the jeep sped back down the road towards town. The husky couldn’t help but blush at the thought of just how much the coywolf could actually piss, but kept his thoughts to himself. It was still tempting given he was thinking the other was heading to Darkfell for the same reason as him,

               

“Hope ya’ll not comin’ here for thinkin’ the bayou is gonna be some resort, Darkfell is as real as it gets boys,” Jack commented to the two in back.

           

“Oh I’ve heard plenty about this town, no worries,” the coywolf mused, Jack looking back with a cocked eyebrow, but grinned and nodded.

           

“Figured you seemed like the type. I think you’ll come to like it in our little piece of heaven,” Jack chuckled, the jeep rumbling across the wooden bridge back into Mableferry Junction.

           

One thing Zearoth did take note of was how… eerily clean but quiet the main part of town was as they passed by the equivalent of a small general store, Barbour shop, and bar before rounding a corner at the end of a warehouse into a unused lot behind it. The gravel lot they were in was clearly starting to get overgrown with weeds from being neglected, much like most of the outskirts of this town it seemed. Although across the way laid what appeared to be an old wooden walkway with a tattered netting roof over it heading out into the swamp towards what looked like a ramshackle boathouse out on the water.

           

The coywolf assumed that walkway was to Jack’s shack as he climbed over the back tailgate and hopped off the jeep, Davis right behind him. Zearoth took the time to stretch a little a yawned as Jack locked up the jeep and produced a small metallic canteen he popped open and took a swig from. He had no sooner capped it and stashed it away when a very loud, deep, and long belch from him turned both Davis’s and Zearoth’s heads.



“Theeere we go. Well youz two we gotta use da river from heres. Ain’t no roads dis time o’ year ta drive to Darkfell. I gota swamp boat up da ways here we can use,” Jack explained, stretching before he’d sigh to unleashing a loud malodorous fart erupting from his backside!

​

Davis would plug his nose some in shock and Zearoth would grin to the wretched stench that soon reached both their nostrils. Whatever the roo had eaten it clearly wasn’t anything sweet by how foul the aromas were wafting behind him. It was so bad they almost could have sworn they were seeing visible fumes of the stench coming off the aged boomer’s backside.

​

 “That was a good one,” Jack chuckled, before lifting his tail to let out another loud rumbling fart that would last more than five seconds. Davis’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head as he groaned in dismay to the disgusting fumes that made Zearoth coo.

​

“I may regret asking but I gotta know what you eat to be able to pass good ones like that,” Zearoth chuckled before they began to walk for the shack, Jack lifting a toolbox he carried with him.

​

“Typical swamp diet really. Snake, swamp rat, feral alligator, and deer meat. Cook it just right in a soup and that’ll put fur on your ass,” Jack chuckled as they walked into the mire of the swamp next to the town.  Davis shuddered in disgust at the mere notion of it as they walked along, them able to feel their steps creak over the aged floorboards.

“Don’t let the creakin’ and shifting of the posts scare yah. Had the pier inspected jus’ this year and she’s jus fine. The mud shifts and settles all the time,” Jack explained to both his concerned passengers as they went along.

​

Mableferry was a quaint small Louisiana town, but it rested right next to the vast expanse of swamplands. The shrill whine of cicadas filled the air with the chirping of birds and the croaking of frogs while they walked over the gangway. The occasional splash of water from the old plank support beams going into the mud told the two visitors they were now getting into the water as well.

​

They could also eventually tell the trees so hung with vines and moss were resting in mud now more than hard soil before they came to their apparent destination, a testament to what Jack was talking about.

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Up ahead was what appeared to be a very old shack resting on a wooden pier that jutted out into where the swamp became full water instead of mud. It was then to a wretched stench hit both their noses as the husky would cover his own nose.

​

“What is that smell?” Davis nearly gagged. It smelled positively horrific like aged shit, urine, and decaying corpses.

“That dere my friend is the smell of freedom,” Jack replied with a grin, the husky gasping and Zearoth chuckling to the kangaroo suddenly dropping his pants and slinging them over his shoulder.

​

“Umm…” Davis began, before he gasped to turning to see Zearoth taking off his shirt.

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“Trust meh Davis you’ll want ta shed dose clothes after a while in dis humidity. Darkfell has no dress ordinance so I let it all hang loose once out of Mableferry limits,” Jack mused, before he would lift his tail.

​

At first he let out a long and very vile-smelling plume that reeked of hot dung and rotten eggs mixed with sulfur before the smell of hot feces really did reach the air as the Jack would rip a nasty shart behind him that splattered all over the walkway and quickly piled up into a patty before the roo farted out a few more chunks and walked on.

The scat was so awful-smelling the husky thought his eyes were burning while Zearoth just grinned and side-stepped the mess, but not before dropping his pants and ripping a loud fart of his own. He could tell Jack was just his type while the husky bewilderedly tarried along behind red across the face.

​

The smell outside was bad, but inside the shack it wasn’t much better with evidence of dried shit and mud likely all over the floor boards.

​

“This your home?” Zearoth asked, looking around at how… culturally enriching the inside was. It was a simple setup of three tables with a few chairs under two of the three with a bed and refrigerator in one corner and an old analog box TV across the other side of the shack next to what had to be his freezer for storing his catches. The shack clearly had power, but the lighting was from old oil lanterns that hung from the ceilings, but otherwise the shack seemed to have no extra rooms besides the door to the boat port.

​

“In the wet season yeah dis here is mah digs. I got a sink and shower outside in the boat port, but otherwise yeah this is my little private abode,” Jack noted, setting his toolbox on one of the tables and hoisting his shotgun up on his shoulder.

​

“Let’s get goin’ shall we?” Jack mused, motioning to the rusted storm door across the shack.



He had to live humbly to afford that fancy brand-new looking jeep and what the coywolf saw next in his boat port.

They exited the shack to what appeared to be a fan-propelled boat of some sort. It looked old but was still floating in-between the two sides of the pier the ramshackle port housed a fraction of. Outside was a wooden canopy of waterproofed planks over where Jack had to fish judging by the chair out there with fishing rods against the rails and a… rather massive pile of aged feces behind the chair.

​

“Good fishin’ here. Would sit back fo howas here jus listin’ to da radio and enjoying the calm of the bayou,” Jack explained, the two nodding before they joined the coyote stepping off the pier and onto the boat.



“I can tell…” Davis commented, looking around. The port was old and not made the best, but it was solid and well-stocked with netting and all sorts of fishing equipment.



“You keep all this lying around?” Davis asked, finding it hard to believe Jack was never robbed.



“Of course not hah. I’m whut the townsfolk in Mableferry call a hoodoo,” Jack explained, Zea bursting out laughing as Davis looked at them both confused.



“What’s… a hoodoo?” the husky asked.



“They think I’m som creepeh witchdocta cuz’ I practice swamp culture an’ spiritualism,” Jack chuckled, winking at him as he turned over the engine.  At first it didn’t seem it wanted to fire up, the blades in back barely moving as the engine sputtered and starter whined. Then, it roared to life after a few sputters and a blast of smoke out of the exhaust.



Seconds later the giant fan behind them spun to life and the swamp boat lurched out of its holding dock, the husky nearly jumping in shock having never probably seen a fanboat before, let alone knew what it did.



“Just hang on and relax fellas. It’ll be a bit before we’re there,” Jack yelled with a smirk as the boat glided over the murky waters of the swamp. The group had to admit Jack had fun in the boat. He’d purposely make Davis spaz-out flailing and holding on for dear life as the boomer made unnecessary turns and stunts with the boat and would gun it as fast as the boat would go out in the open.



“Aww now c’mon Davis ya look like your gonna puke all over mah boat at this rate. Whut you never been to an amusement park before?” Jack teased, grinning to Zearoth who shook his head with a smile and laid back in content as the boat cut through the waters of the bayou towards they assumed had to be Darkfell.



“Whyyy does this thing feel like a damn hockey puck on the water? I feel like we’re just gonna lift off the water any moment and fly into a tree,” Davis murmured.



“It’s a fanboat. It’s meant tah glide on de water in shallow waters too congested and/or shallow fer regular propeller boats to pass through. It’s also really fun to play with,” Jack explained, as they passed something both husky and coywolf looked up at.



It looked like some sort of… totem pole out in the water just in front of the treeline with a driftwood sign with the letters ‘Darkfell’ carved into it… animal heads carved out of the pole with a aligator’s head dominating the top with its maw wide open. What made Zearoth curious is all the trinkets and what he had guessed were wards on it in the forms of skulls, beads and string, and other knickknacks.



“Interesting town sign,” Davis remarked not knowing what to make of it.



“Oh don’t let that ol’ thing spook ya. That there is an ooold remnant when Darkfell used to just be only the clansfolk. Now it’s a thriving town. The county just has no real reason to tear that down when it marks the bend up ahead that leads to town,” Jack explained, before the roo turned the boat off to the side in a small bend in the waterways through the forested regions of the swamp now.



Even approaching one could begin to smell the town before they saw it… or at least it seemed that way to the two as they began to see rooftops in the distance through the moss and vine-laden trees. It came in the onset of what smelled like a distant sewer exploded and it only got stronger as they pulled into town.



They were here at last, Darkfell Bayou. Despite the rather ominous name in the bright sunlight through the shade of the trees it wasn’t a bad-looking town. Jack throttled the boat down as it came in close and began to move to dock with a pier right outside what looked like a type of bar of sorts.



It was a corner building out by the water on stilts like most of the town, a three-leveled building with second-floor balcony that wrapped all the way around at least two sides of the place that overlooked the town. It was made of weathered boards and crudely-forged glass pane windows, but the carpentry was good and solid if improvised in places. Above the front doors on the corner of the building on bottom was a flickering red neon sign that read ‘Bar.’

Of course the group also did find themselves rather distracted watching a townsfolk at the end of the pier… relieving himself. He was a gator man likely in his mid-thirties early forties naked with a paw on his cock pissing into the bayou water itself as log after thick brown reeking log plopped down from his backside piling up on the pier behind him.

           

Zea smirked and Davis blushed with a gasp as the gator was also not hiding the fact he was stroking his most-erect penis while he was urinating.

           

“Hey Duke! Catch a line for me eh?” Jack called out to the gator, rope in paw.

           

“Bit busy Jack can’t yah tell?” the gator chuckled, grunting as he’d let out a wet bubbling fart that would send a thick spray of shit over the pier. The boomer just irked his head some with a sigh and grin, continually staring at the man.

           

“Now is that how we’re gonna introduce these fine young folk to our town? C’mon Duke yah can keep shittin’ and tie a rope at the same time,” Jack replied knowingly with an accusing stare to his friend, who sighed and tapped off his urinating before he motioned for the roo to toss him the line. While still defecating the alligator tugged the boat closer to the pier and bend over tying it to a post while letting a thick log push out over the heels of his feet as he tied the boat securely and the group was able to step off the boat.

           

“Dere ya all are. Welcome to Darkfell,” the gator man chuckled, tipping his hat as he ripped another long deep fart that sent smaller clods of shit on top of an otherwise very large pile forming beneath him,

           

“I’d say you do actually got business here after all by the looks of it you two. If you can stand Duke’s stench and still look so enthused I got a feelin’ your in the right place,” Jack mused, helping the husky step off the boat into what either had to be dried mud or shit-crusting the old peir.

           

“We got a rule about needing to relieve yourself in town. We got no outhouses or bathrooms the water level is always way too high. Unless your some expert plumber that can build us proper facilities if you gotta shit go wherever and whenever ya all please. Just no shittin’ in the water ya hear? Helps keep our well filtering safer that way,” Duke explained, the two nodding to him while looking around.



“You guys built all this yourselves?” Zearoth commented, rather impressed if this town was paw-made by swampfolk.

           

“Don’t let the looks now fool ya. We eventually scrub the moss and shit away every few months. Town was built by our forefathers in the 1800s outa the lumber they could make fer themselves and ship salvage. You seal the stilts with a water and weatherproof coating and treat tha lumber before ya put it up this town will still be standing fifty years from now as good as the day it was built if ya keep fixing things up and replacing what needs tah be replaced. The bar is a fine example. She dun look a day over ten does she? What if I told ya this building was over a hundred years old?” Jack explained, the husky’s jaw dropping.

“That’s impossible… the decay would have claimed it by now… you guys use the frontporch as your toilet alone,” Davis muttered half-heartedly.     

“Wrong again lil’ fella. We do well to keep this town intact despite our little choices of lifestyle,” a new deeper and louder voice commented from across the porch. Leaning against a veranda support beam was a large grizzled black bear who wore a large sheriff’s hat, a stained old uniform with badge that barely fit over his large chest and enormous stomach. He had an over-sized utility belt to fit around his gut, but otherwise was pants-less and wore no shoes. the sheer size of his stomach lifted the police shirt up and yet despite that massive stomach one could clearly see that surprisingly thick cock dangling more than half-way to his ankles below. despite that Even leaning he had to have been over seven feet tall… muscular despite his burly build and obvious age by the graying fur.
           
“Sheriff! So nice tah see yah today,” Jack chuckled.
     
“Oh don’t worry Jack. I haven’t forgotten about the registration for your jeep back at Mableferry. Deputy Alex over there’s been tellin’ me over the radio you’ve been driving around without your updated registration sticker. You’re lucky you’re my favorite,” the bear sighed, shaking his head. when the roo approached the bear extinguished his cigar and handed the embarrassed roo a paper.

Zea and Davis both looked to one-another, Zea chuckling.

“He didn’t write you a ticket?” Davis commented in shock entering the bar.

“Oh dun think I’m off da hook yet. I gotta repay the sheriff for covering that,” Jack murfed, the three stepping inside the bar.

“Anyways, I figured youz two could use something to eat before having a look around yourselves,”

the inside of the bar was as dirty looking as the outside practically. the place was lit by old kerosene lanterns, candles in mason jars lighting all the tables. most importantly the smell... the smell of shit and piss was very thick in here. Only smells that dared combat it were the smells of cigarette smoke. 

///UNDER CONSTRUCTION///