Weird Shadows Over Innsmouth Read online

  “Dagon?” McAlpine inquired.

  “Some kind of fish deity. They all believe he lives in some sunken city in the deeps off Devil Reef.”

  I nodded. “We’ve come across people like this before. Weird cults in the bayou country. But it seems to me that what you’re suggesting here might be something more than that.”

  “Take my word for it,” he said, and there was no doubting the earnestness in his tone. “This is far worse than anything you’ve come up against before. This heathen worship is bad, but there’s even worse than that in Innsmouth.”

  “Worse?” I prompted, as he hesitated again.

  “Much worse. I’ve seen them and even those I saw aren’t as bad as those they’ve got hidden away in the big houses on Washington, Lafayette and Addams Streets. You can hear about it from the people in Arkham. They call it ‘the Innsmouth look’. It comes from the time when those foreigners were brought into the town by Obed Marsh.

  “Seems he called up others from the sea off Devil Reef and forced the folk in Innsmouth to mate with them. Call their offspring hybrids, or whatever you like, but they change. Bulging eyes, wide mouths, ears that change into gills. They often swim out to Devil Reef, maybe beyond, and when their time comes, when the change is complete, they leave Innsmouth and go down into the really deep water and remain there for ever in their sunken city they call Y’ha-nthlei.”

  I threw my colleague a quick glance at that point. Closing the file in front of me, I said, “Well, Mister Olmstead, thank you for your information. We’ll certainly pass it on to the proper quarter. It will then be up to our superiors as to what action, if any, needs to be taken.”

  When he had gone, McAlpine and I sat looking at each other in silence. I had little doubt that something had occurred in Innsmouth to have frightened Olmstead so much that it had sent him running for his life along the abandoned railway line to Rowley.

  Once our report had been sent to the Bureau, we heard nothing more until I received orders to report to a Major Fenton, a war veteran, in Boston where I was to place myself under his command.

  He turned out to be a short, stocky man in his late forties with dark hair already showing signs of grey.

  Taking me aside, he said gruffly, “I’ll expect the fullest co-operation from you. You’ll already know something of what’s been planned. I also understand you know a little about Innsmouth.”

  “Only what I’ve read in the preliminary file and what I’ve learned from Robert Olmstead,” I told him.

  Without making any further comment, he signalled to one of the officers accompanying him.

  A map was spread out on the table and he motioned me forward. “This is the road from Arkham.” He traced the outline with his forefinger. “As you see, it enters Innsmouth along Federal Street and continues all the way to the town centre. That’s the route we’ll take. At the same time, a second force, including the Marine Corps, will enter from the west, while others will go ashore and come in through tunnels which were used for smuggling in the old days.”

  “And if some of the inhabitants try to escape by boat?” I asked.

  He gave a grim smile. “We’ve taken that possibility into account. Three ships will be patrolling the shoreline. They’ll take care of anyone attempting to get away by boat.”

  Leaning forward, he stabbed a finger at the map. “One other thing. There may be no truth in this but we do know there’s been a lot of activity here, near Devil Reef. For more than a century, contraband has been landed on this reef. It’s a dangerous place for vessels but apparently the old sea-captains brought natives and other illegal goods there before ferrying them ashore. More importantly as far as we’re concerned, there’s a two-thousand-foot drop there down to the ocean floor.”

  He paused, as if for dramatic effect. Personally, I couldn’t see what he was getting at.

  “I don’t believe half of this myself,” he continued, almost apologetically, “but from scraps of information we’ve gathered from a couple of Federal agents who did return from Innsmouth, there’s talk in that town of some sunken remains on the seabed in that region.”

  “What sort of remains?” asked one of the officers.

  Fenton looked across at me. “You’ve read the file which was given you some weeks ago. You’ll know that every Christian religion has been outlawed in Innsmouth. Everybody there belongs to this weird cult, the Esoteric Order of Dagon. They actually worship this god and believe a sunken city lies at the bottom of the sea, just off the reef. A city they call Y’ha-nthlei, where this Dagon lives.”

  “Surely you don’t believe that, sir,” said the officer.

  “I only believe what I can see, Lieutenant. Nevertheless, someone in the government seems to take it all seriously. A submarine has been ordered to dive down towards the sea bottom and take a look. If there is anything there, they have enough torpedoes on board to blast it to Hell and back.”

  * * *

  Two days later, I was in a convoy of ten Army trucks approaching the outskirts of Innsmouth. It was now dark and the vehicle moved without any lights showing. Each of us had received specific orders before we set out. We would stop at the end of Federal Street and from there proceed to the building which housed the Esoteric Order of Dagon, where half of our force would then move off to occupy the Marsh mansion on Washington Street.

  Reaching the end of Federal Street, we disembarked. A few dim streetlights shone along its length but nothing showed in any of the once-grand Colonial buildings as we passed, moving from one shadowed doorway to the next. Within five minutes we were within sight of our objective. The building stood facing an open space covered in rough grass. It boasted several massive pillars with the name still visible above the pediment. Its original use as the Masonic Temple still showed where the set square and pair of compasses of that Order, although partially obliterated by time, were still visible.

  Sending twenty men to watch the rear of the building, Major Fenton led the rest of us towards the front door. Not bothering to check whether or not it was locked, he gave the order to smash it down. The rusted hinges yielded readily and, switching on our torches, we rushed inside. A sharp, fishy stench met us, catching horribly at the back of my throat.

  In the torchlight we saw that the large lower room was empty apart from a long table flanked by two high-backed chairs.

  Then, without warning, a door at the far end of the room suddenly burst open and a horde of dark figures poured into the room. For a moment, I stood absolutely still, abruptly shocked by what the wavering torchlight revealed. I had expected the citizens of this town to offer some resistance to our invasion, but this was something neither I, nor any of the others, had been prepared for.

  Only their apparel was normal. They moved forward with a hideous hopping, slithering gait and there was something bordering on the ichthyic, or batrachian, about their leering features. Huge, bulging eyes glared unwinkingly at us from beneath sloping foreheads. Their skin, what little we could see of it, appeared scaled and the wide mouths reminded me of frogs. I think we had all anticipated finding some signs of degeneracy among these folk, but nothing like this.

  How such monstrosities had come into being, I was unable to guess. Certainly, the tales of mixed breeding with another race seemed to have some basis in fact.

  Uttering guttural croaking sounds, utterly unlike human speech, they threw themselves upon us. Several were clubbed with rifle butts as they attempted to force us back towards the door. Five minutes later, it was all over. Six of them had been killed and the rest were securely tied up. We had lost two men, their faces and chests ripped to shreds by webbed, taloned hands.

  Leaving three men to watch the captives, the rest of us followed Major Fenton through the far door. Here there was a flight of stone steps leading down below street level with a faint light just visible at the bottom. The sight which confronted us there was one which shocked all of the warmth from my limbs.

  The room was large, even bigger than the one a
bove, decked out in tattered tapestries, all depicting some repellent forms of marine life; giant, octopoid creatures, malformed denizens of the deep and, worst of all, creatures which had the shape of men but with webbed hands and feet and features not dissimilar to those creatures we had just encountered!

  The light came from several burning brands set in metal brackets around the walls and by their light we made out the huge altar at the far end, flanked by two massive statues. One was clearly male, the other female—but beyond that they bore no resemblance to anything I had ever seen before.

  “What in the name of all that’s holy is this place?” Fenton muttered hoarsely, speaking to no one in particular.

  Somehow, I forced myself to speak. “I reckon it’s obvious, Major. This is their temple where they worship this heathen god—Dagon. God alone knows what rites they hold down here.”

  Fenton’s face twisted into a scowl. “Put a light to it,” he ordered tersely. “I’ve seen enough.”

  By the time we left the building the flames had taken a firm hold. Through the billowing smoke, we emerged into the street. Already, the sound of rifle fire was coming from several positions around the town centre. Since our orders had been to fire on these people only as a last resort, it was clear that other units had run into serious trouble.

  Fifteen minutes later, after fighting our way through a group of yelling figures who attempted to block our path, we linked up with the force which had been sent to raid the Marsh house on Washington Street. They, too, had captured several of the hideously disfigured hybrids. Three of their men had been killed and five wounded during the attack.

  After collecting a number of the alien artefacts from the house as evidence, we returned to where we had left the trucks, herding the prisoners on board. For the most part they offered little resistance, but I noticed that the men ordered to guard them kept their distance. I could guess how they were feeling and doubted if any of them would ever be the same after what we had uncovered in Innsmouth.

  II

  TESTIMONY OF FEDERAL AGENT WILLIAM T. DARNFORTH: MARCH 2, 1928

  Acting on sealed orders from the Federal Bureau, I proceeded by train to the small town of Rowley, situated some seven miles west of Innsmouth. My orders were to place myself under the command of Lieutenant Corlson of the Marine Corp. I knew very little concerning Innsmouth, only that a number of Federal agents had disappeared when visiting the town and our task was to enter the place under cover of darkness, proceed to the town centre where it was believed that a number of tunnels, used for more than a century for smuggling contraband into Innsmouth, had their exits.

  From the Lieutenant I gathered that our attack would be coordinated with that of a further force moving in from the south. Some resistance was expected and we were to maintain radio contact for as long as possible with two other squads who would be entering the tunnels from the beach. Any of the inhabitants who attempted to flee the town through the tunnels would be trapped between ourselves and those men coming in from the sea.

  The first part of our task was accomplished without any serious incident. Small groups of the townsfolk made half-hearted attempts to prevent us advancing along Rowley Road and Dock Street but these scattered for cover after a few shots were fired. As we entered Federal Street north of the bridge across the Manuxet, however, we encountered a larger force and here we were compelled to take cover before we finally succeeded in driving them off.

  The bridge was the first real obstacle we had to tackle. It was evident at once that it had received no repairs for many years and we had no idea how secure were the ties across the gorge. But now we had progressed this far, there was no turning back. Two at a time, we crossed the decaying structure until we were all safely across.

  By now, a number of fires had been started and the conflagration was spreading rapidly inland from the decaying warehouses along the waterfront, lighting up the sky in that direction.

  Reaching the town square we dispersed to search for the hidden entrances to some of the tunnels reputed to exist. It was unlikely they would be well concealed since few visitors ever came to Innsmouth and, from what little information we had of the place, those who did were watched closely. It was not long before we stumbled upon one of them, covered with a thin layer of earth and coarse grass.

  There was an iron-runged ladder fastened to the circular side. It didn’t look particularly secure, testifying to the fact that the tunnel had probably not been in use for several decades. Lowering ourselves down, we used our torches to delineate our surroundings. The tunnel was larger than I had expected, fully ten feet in height and only a little less in width.

  Pools of stagnant water lay everywhere, oozing from the muddy ground and running down the slimy walls. Weird echoes came from somewhere in the blackness ahead of us, and not all of them could be put down to sounds of our own making. I struggled desperately to keep my emotions under tight control for there was something about those faint, elusive sounds which set my nerves on edge, lifting the small hairs on the back of my neck.

  Then, still some distance ahead, I made out other noises, more distinct, that increased the tension in my mind. Low, throaty mutterings and occasional piping whistles which seemed oddly out of place down there. In addition, there were faint splashing sounds like objects being dropped into water.

  Corlson had also picked them out for he gave a hissed order to halt. In the ensuing silence we could now hear the noises distinctly, although it was impossible to pinpoint their position accurately.

  Waving an arm, the Lieutenant signalled us to continue. A few moments later, the torchlight showed where the tunnel turned abruptly to the right and, rounding the bend, where the beams from our torches illuminated the area ahead, we all saw the full horror which dwelt within those accursed tunnels which burrowed like gigantic wormholes through the rock!

  It was a scene out of a nightmare. Lit by a nauseous green radiance which came from countless luminous algae encrusting the rocks, a vast grotto lay spread out before us. Large stalactites hung from the roof, finding their distorted reflection in a vast pool of sluggish water.

  But it was not this that sent me staggering back against the Lieutenant. It was the sight of the indescribable creatures that flopped and floundered around the edge of the black water.

  Fish-headed monsters, which belonged only in the mad visions of a deranged mind came surging out of that pool as we emerged onto the slippery, treacherous rocks at its edge. Somewhere there had to be an outlet to the sea for common sense told me such monstrosities had never evolved on the land.

  Several of the men with us seemed on the point of running but Corlson shouted a sudden, urgent command and, somehow, succeeded in bringing them back to their senses. Military discipline reasserted itself. My own actions were instinctive. Bringing up my revolver, I fired several shots into the midst of the slithering creatures. Steeling themselves, the marines opened fire as the Lieutenant signalled to them to spread out and take cover.

  How many of the hideous ocean dwellers there were it was impossible to estimate, but in the face of the withering rifle fire they were forced to retreat, diving back into the water and disappearing beneath the oily surface. When it was all over, we went forward to examine the bodies. Two of them were still alive with only minor wounds and these were trussed up and left with two men to guard them while we moved on.

  Apart from the tunnel along which we had come, three more opened out from around the walls. Checking his compass, the Lieutenant pointed to the one on our left.

  “That way,” he said decisively. His voice shook a little. “The others seem to lead deeper into the town.”

  Moving cautiously into the tunnel, now fully aware of the danger that lurked beneath Innsmouth, we went forward in single file, our weapons ready for any further attack. Every man among us had been visibly shaken by our recent experience. Normal degeneracy and inbreeding such as was common among small, isolated communities living in the bayou regions and other townships
such as Dunwich, we had expected. But these creatures were something completely different. At that moment, some of the odd stories I had heard from one of the few agents to have spent some time in Innsmouth and left to tell the tale, began to assume something approaching the truth.

  In places, the tunnel we were following widened out into larger spaces but here we found nothing more abnormal than driftwood and splintered wooden cases which had evidently been left there to rot by bygone smugglers moving contraband into the town from ships lying off Devil Reef.

  Everywhere there was a fishy stench. We had first noticed it on entering the grotto, but now it grew stronger and more pronounced and I guessed we were nearing the sea. On occasions, we passed other tunnels branching off from that which we were traversing but only darkness and silence lived in them.

  Then, almost an hour after we had lowered ourselves into the depths, a sound did reach us from directly ahead. It began as a faint slithering noise, followed by hoarse croaking gutturals, which bore no resemblance to human speech. Corlson uttered a sharp warning and we immediately switched off our torches, pressing ourselves hard against the slimy, moisture-running walls as we struggled to pinpoint the exact location of the sound.

  Soon it became obvious that a large party of creatures were moving rapidly in our direction and, a moment later, I picked out more normal sounds superimposed upon the obnoxious mutterings—the shouts of men—and guessed that part of the force which had landed on the beach were close on the heels of these unnatural abominations.

  A couple of minutes later, stabbing torchlight showed along the walls of the tunnel, highlighting the large group of Deep Ones now almost upon us. In the confined space of the tunnel with a squad of our own men at the rear, we were unable to open fire on the creatures. Using their bayonets and the butts of their rifles, the Marines clubbed most of them as they struggled to break through our lines. Caught between the two forces, they were speedily overcome. The pitched battle lasted for less than ten minutes.