The House in the Port: The House in the Port

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THE HOUSE IN THE PORT

J.R. Torina

Printed by Sutekh Productions Press, 2010.

In the spirit and tradition of the H.P. Lovecraft Cthulhu Mythos, or "Yog Sothorery”...

THE DIARY OF AMBROSE SMITH

OCTOBER 13, 1951

Well, here I am- Portland, Oregon! I can’t say I really miss Salt Lake City. There wasn’t much happening there, though I did make a few friends that I’ll surely miss.

But, the offer to come to the beautiful and dark coast of Portland, working in my dream field, was just too good to pass up!

So far, I’ve had quite a time getting all of my things unpacked into old Uncle Varley’s house that he willed me. Shame about the poor old man.

Max is very excited; he already can’t wait every day to run down the beach, jumping into the ocean. He even caught a fish once. A true hunting dog, if ever there was one; and a dirty dog, too. I had to bathe and shampoo him twice already, and I’ve only been here for two weeks!

The Portland Gazette had caught wind of my extra-curricular activities and interests; in particular, my (somewhat unhealthy, according to mom and dad!) interest in the macabre. Oregon seems to be a hotbed right now for secret cults and their activities, as well as UFO’s, martians, bigfoot- you name it.

I can’t wait!

The Gazette has already printed a few of my columns, those that I have already had printed before, but only in pulp magazines, such as Fantastic Science Fiction. I have received a post from somebody here, who has caught wind of my affairs. This guy- whose name is Mustus Marsh- claims to have a plethora of insider information on a secret devil worshipping cult from somewhere along the coastal towns; apparently, they meet, have rituals and even sacrifices. I’m sure it’s just some crazy old fisherman’s tale of people he just doesn’t understand, but- what the heck.

I bet the “cult” in question is probably just some religious sect, like the Mormons or Jehovah Witnesses.

But, a good reporter can’t turn down any leads, now can he?

This should be interesting...

“Innsmouth? I remember old Innsmouth, fer sure!” chortled old Mustus Marsh. “I remember them ol’ houses, all sagged and disrepaired, the Order’s new building…and them Innsmouth folk…”.

Here, his voice trailed away, somewhat ominously. His face seemed almost dreamily lost in time, yet calm, complacent, even…happy? It was here that I for the first time noticed the strangely distorted features on Mustus’ face… His strangely…piscine? Yes, strangely piscine features…

His head seemed as if it was once as large as, if not previously larger than, a normal man’s; yet, it seemed as if it were pressed inwards from the sides… His ears also bore something of those strange “qualities”, if one could refer to them in anything remotely of a positive nature. They seemed flattened, almost pressed into the sides of his head. But these were not the worst of it…

His lips, or rather, his mouth, which was so very wide, almost as if it were a parody of a normal human man’s mouth. It had to be at least five inches across; his lips were thick, ropey- unbelievably so. His teeth… Those terrible teeth… Small, like a child’s, but sharp…like a fish…

But, most terrible of all- those eyes…

The eyes seemed to be dull and glassy; very moist. In fact, almost dripping wet. The eyelids, what there were of them, shrunk back almost completely behind the orb of the eye.

Upon this inspection, I noticed his skin, even around the distraction of the shock of mane he called a beard, which was ragged and coarse looking. Were those…scales?

Surely my imagination was playing tricks on me! Scales…on a man?

The hoarse sound of the old man’s voice brought me out of my serene investigations of his fish-like features, and back to the present, sitting on his rotting porch, surrounded by refuse and filth.

“The Order o’ Dagon, they had themselves a buildin’ that was all new and such, while the rest of the town went to hell!”

To hell indeed, I thought to myself.

“Well, the Order’s buildin’, their church, and the Refinery!”, said the old man.

“Refinery?”, I asked him.

“Yep, the Marshes had themselves a refinery they ran, refinin’ oils and salts from the sea.”

“But, surely, that was just the cover story, right? I mean, they just used that refinery as a front to make money for their real activities- didn’t they? The Marsh family, I mean? They were really actually devil worshippers…weren’t they?”

Here the old man shot me a look…

“Ye think so, boy?” the old man said almost challengingly.

I simply froze, not knowing what I had unlocked here…

“Best ye come see! Ain’t no devil a Christian man kin make up that rivals the devils I’ve seen! I’ll show ye!”.

Cursing myself for a being a fool for even coming here, alone, I stood up to leave. Before I could muster up an appropriate lie to simply get the hell out of here, the old man’s gnarled hand was on my elbow- firmly, but gently.

He opened the front door.

The front door was rotting, warped and old. It’s paint was flaking and peeling off all over; the knob, a rusted antique, was loose and rickety, almost barely hanging in the door itself.

If ever I had had any clue whatsoever of the horrors that lay further inside the house past the other side of this rotting wooden door, I would have turned and run before ever having gone near the place to begin with.

The first thing to assault me (so to speak) was the unbelievably oppressive odor or rather stench, of fish.

As if reading my mind, the old man called out in front of me, “Don’t mind that stink, I jis’ been doin’ some night fishin’. Fishin’s always better at night! Aint’ done cleaned anything yet!”

I found it curious to note that there was no fish to be seen anywhere, nor were there any freezers to keep said fish in…

Thinking it best to keep this observation to myself, I said nothing.

Then, I offered some paltry conversation, lest the old man suspect my observations or discomfort in this filthy den of decay.

“What were you fishing for? Cod?”

“Heh, well, jis’ about anythin’ I kin catch, ye see!”, the old man laughed.

He rummaged through a few stacks of musty old tomes lying about on an ancient, pitted and scarred oaken table in the den. Some of them literally spewed dust from them as he opened them. He continued peering inside to glean it’s contents.

“Ah, here we are!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

Slapping the old leather-bound book onto the smaller but equally old and battered oak coffee table, he motioned me to sit down next to him, on what was one of the filthiest, dirtiest couches I had ever seen. It seemed as if a myriad of stains and drips colored it here and there, and the dust of centuries covered the thing. It seemed as if nobody had ever much used it, with all that dust.

I looked up, and saw various plaques on the wall of animals he had pulled from the sea. Some of them, like the occasional trout or cod, were rather large, but normal; normal, mind you, compared to some of the other things he had. Whether or not they were real, I don’t know.

There were plaques with deep sea anglers- both male and female. There were blob fish, porcupine fish, barracudas, and a few other varieties that I just didn’t recognize.

The shelves along the other wall contained a carnie’s dream.

More preserved fish, a shrunken human head, a human skull, various occult trinkets (they appeared to be of an occult nature, anyway; at any rate, they were esoteric, to be sure!), and an arsenal of books, most of them dealing with magic, the occult, or ancient civilizations.

Again, the old one’s voice tore me away from my attentions to the details of this bizarre rookery of occult books and objects.

“Ye can see here the hall itself”, he said, pointing to the picture on the first page. The paper was yellowed, curled, torn; the photo contained therein was a black and white photo, in relatively decent shape, considering the weathered condition of the book it was kept in. The photo was of a church, or cathedral, ancient in design. Even though it was night in the photograph, I could clearly read the sign in front of the building, proudly declaring it as “The Esoteric Order of Dagon”.

Before I could ask the old man who or what “Dagon” was, or what “the Order” was about, he asked another of his cryptic questions.

“Notice anythin’ strange?”

I noticed two or three dark figures in front of the edifice in the photo, as if making their way inside. From the distance the photo was taken from, one could not ascertain who, or what these figures may be.

“Well, it’s very…old?” I asked him, not sure what he was getting at.

“No, no, well, yeah, it’s old, fer sure, but what else do ye notice?” he asked.

I looked again.

“Give me a hint!”, I asked.

“Lookit them, the folks- what do ye see?”

I looked yet again- more closely this time.

This time, I noticed that two figures, somewhat slumped, were heading up the steps of the cathedral. The one from the right, similarly bent over, was also heading in that direction.

“So, some of the people here, they seem to be…deformed?”

“Yea, yea, and…!?” he asked excitedly.

I looked at the fourth figure in the photograph.

It was a man, a person- a being…wearing a robe, but- what was that? He seemed to have…fangs protruding from his face?

“The guy in the doorway- he’s got…fangs?”

“Not fangs!”

“Well, what?” I asked.

“Remember what ye heard, why you were investigatin’!”

“I am investigating rumors of purported devil worshippers and human sacrifice in the coastal towns out here” I exclaimed. I wondered why he asked me something he already knew.

“No, ye’re not!”
“Oh?”
“No! Ye’re gonna be investigatin’ fish men! Deep Ones! Cthulhu!”

“Whom?”
“Fish men, that come from the sea- they look like a man- two arms, two legs- but that’s all! They have scales, fins, webbed fingers and toes! They been breedin’ with people here- and back east, on the coast there too- for years!”

“Excuse me…?”
“Yes, yes, ye gotta believe me!”

“Piscine creatures- that walk upright, like a man- in the villages of men, off of their coasts; and worst of all, intermingling…and breeding with…men.”

“Yea, yea, yew got it so far!” the old one carried on.

Deciding to just sidestep this, I returned to the photo.

“So, I don’t get it- exactly what is it? Fangs? A mask?”

“Yea, a mask! But not fangs! Think fish!” he said, his voice raising in pitch.

Fish- again. “Uh, well…” Then it hit me.

“Tentacles?”

“Yes, yes!”, he proudly exhaled, sounding relieved, as he slapped me on the back.

“So, we have here a very old photograph, of a church, or what was once a church, sort of a fog or mist in the area, with a few hunchbacks going inside. All this, and a man wearing a robe, and a mask with…tentacles? So, what’s the connection? What does it all mean?”

“Innsmouth, the whole village was once a fishin’ village” the old man started.

“The Marshes, the Gilmans, the Eliots, and a few other families all lived there! For generations back, they was always a fisher folk there, til…” His voice trailed off.

“Until?”, I pressed him.

“Until somewhere along the way, they took to worshippin’ fish-gods!” he said. His attitude was one of relief for getting all this off his chest, as well as one of fear, for telling me any of it at all.

“Well, when did this happen?”

“I’m thinkin’ it was somewheres around the early 1900’s at least, when the folk in Innsmouth were first visited by…them…

“Them?”
“The Deep Ones!”

I am a practical and rational man, but the old man and his mysterious way of speaking were beginning to annoy me. He seemed as if he wanted to tell me some things about Innsmouth, but every small, cryptic nugget of information he gave me merely opened up two more questions. I pressed him again for more information.

“Mustus, who or what, are Deep Ones? Are they deep sea fishermen? Pirates? What are you talking about, man?”

“No, no, Deep Ones ain’t no pirates, and they ain’t fishermen- they are fish-men!”

“You mean, literally?” I asked him, somewhat surprised, hiding the smirk that was creeping up the side of my mouth.

I reasoned that I came here for the Gazette, looking for some story information, but about devil worshippers; occultists. I had no idea about rumors of fish-men, or churches where freakish people followed masked men into churches! I decided to get what I could from him, and see if I could possibly get a story out of it, or link the devil worshippers and cultist activities with the so-called fish men, or “Deep Ones”, as he called them.

“Fish men, yes!” he said, interrupting my thoughts.

“The people of Innsmouth are basically slaves- or…aco..aco..” he trailed off.

“Acolytes?” I finished for him.

“Yea, ye got it. Acolytes! They’s acolytes- servants- of the Deep Ones. The townsfolk do their bidding, whether it’s buildin’ temples, attending rituals, or…” again, trailing off.

“Or?”

“Or…” Here he was stammering, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say whatever it was he was going to say.

“Mustis, you wrote me a letter and invited me here to tell me what you know- so spill it, man!” I barked.

“These acolytes, they work, worship…and breed…with the Deep Ones!”

The look on his face was one of horror.

“Breed?” I asked him, incredulously. "How, exactly? I mean, you’re telling me that these fishermen, this entire town, they live in nocturnal obeisance to some supernatural belief that men- fish men- from the sea will come to them? Is that good or bad?”
“’Pends on yer point a’ view” he said, his voice hushed now.

I was ready to strangle the old man. The way he kept seemingly baiting me then giving me so little information was annoying, to say the least. I was about to remark to him on this and make my way to the door, when I suddenly noticed him staring at the next photo in the book, as if he were hypnotized by it.

I looked at it to see what it was that had him so mesmerized. A photograph, equally as old as the one before it of the cathedral exterior, but this one was clearly, evidently inside the place.

From what I could see of it, it seemed as if there were strange gargoyle type decorations and bas relief carvings all along the wall of the place. There, in the center of the photo, was the man in the black robe, with the strange octopoidal mask on. He was standing to face what was obviously the congregation, arms in the air in some type of gesture.

I commented to Mustus- “High Priest, of whatever this cult is?”

“Yes…”

“You seem distraught, Mustus- what is it?”

“Memories, jis’ memories…” he trailed off.

I glanced over to the opposing page in the old man’s photo album, or whatever this book was.

To my astonishment, I saw the unbelievable!

There, in that second old photograph, was that same room I had just noticed, with it’s strange “fishy” decorations, and what was an altar of sorts. Upon this altar, a beautiful, lithe nude woman was seated, staring as if into space, as if she were waiting for something…

I noticed she wasn’t completely nude; she wore a necklace, which bore a small icon or medallion. It was of some obvious ritual significance, but it was too hard to make out in the picture.

This photo was both beautiful yet repulsive. Beautiful, for the woman, her pretty face, her curves and soft, white skin; repulsive, that such a beautiful sight, a work of art at any other time, in any other place, should be found- willingly, I wondered?- in a repulsive place such as she was photographed here.

As Mustus turned the page, breaking the spell we both seemed to have fallen under, I suddenly remembered what it was that I was here for- if that even mattered any more, after being exposed to some of the macabre wonders that the old man kept.

“So, Mustus- tell me. There is a cult- an Order- of someone or something called “Dagon”, correct?”

“Yes…?”

“Apparently, they have some connection with the people in the fishing town of Innsmouth, whom are either members, or just followers. There appears to be a man in charge, a high priest, who is wearing a mask resembling some octopus thing. Now I see a beautiful woman sitting on a stone block, or an altar. Are you trying to tell me that there followed some sort of grisly ritual sacrifice? Was she killed, in sacrificial offering, to this “Dagon”?”

“No, no- she weren’t killed!”

I lost patience. Leaving my normal reserved character, I grabbed the man by the shoulders, brought my face to his, raising my voice- “Mustus! You agreed to talk to me, not give me bits and pieces of cryptic musings, not to answer questions with vague answers and more questions! You invited me her for answers that you assured me you had, about a suspected evil cult along the coast! You assured me you had ties to this cult, which you have severed, trying to shirk off that dark past life. Now I need to know, since we had a deal, as well as that is seems that you are trying to tell me something, but are having…reservations? Damn it, man, tell me what is going on! Tell me what has gone on!”

He seemed to somewhat removed from his stupor, as well as a bit angered at my treatment of him. Straightening out his filthy jacket, he sat down, dust flying up from the wretched couch.

“The church, well- it ain’t no church. It’s a grand cathedral from ancient times, but it ain’t no church anymore. It’s used by the followers of Dagon- The Esoteric Order of Dagon.”

“And who, what- is Dagon?”

“Dagon is a fish-god, from ancient times. If you look up in the bible, you’ll see. Dagon, He’s the Philistines’ god. A fish, but He walks like a man. He’s part of both, I guess. Don’t know much history, much less ancient times an’ such!”

I remembered the books on his shelf…

He continued…

“Anyways, the pictures yer lookin’ at, they was taken inside the cathedral.”

“I had gathered as much”, I stated.

“Well, every so off’en, they would gather, have the fertility ritual. Other than that, there were nightly services. The music- if ye can call it that- that came outta that place… It frightened me no end! Sometimes I’d hear screams.”

“You mean…” I was about to ask about ritual sacrifice, though he told me that didn’t occur.

“No, no- no one was killed, nothin’ like that. Them girls- they was brought in, fer the fertility ritual. I can only guess they screamed, when they realized what a mess they’d gotten themselves into.”

“What do you mean?”

The old man removed his hand from the second photo he was seemingly transfixed by- to reveal something so utterly horrid, so stupendously ghastly, that at first I simply didn’t believe what I saw.

“That’s what I mean.”

There was the beautiful woman from the previous photograph; but now, she lay on her back upon that stone block or altar. She lay spreadeagled, and between her thighs, obviously engaging in sexual intercourse with this poor woman, was a creature straight out of Greek- or Philistine?- mythology.

It was shaped like man, but not shaped like a man. It was obviously biped; it had two legs, two arms; a grotesque parody of a human head jutted directly from it’s squared shoulders. It was darkly colored, wet and glistening in what could only be torchlight inside that hellish place. It’s skin appeared to be soft, baggy…

The face was a vile distortion of some man and fish hybrid. Large, dull eyes, ears pressed into the sides of the skull, no real nose to speak of. The mouth- that ghastly, grotesque mouth…

Large, fleshy tubes for lips, those small, sharp, numerous teeth; it’s mouth was agape in a rictus of pleasure, for all I could make out on that vile…thing. But how could that be? Surely, this was some character in some ritual costume? Surely, this was a mask? Wasn’t it?

But how could a mask contort like that? I looked so real...

Mask or no, it struck me that despite being a foul beast, I had seen these types of features before; only too recently, in fact…

Looking again at the picture, the woman in the photo seemed to be in a state of total complacency, almost as if she was willing for this to happen.

“She seems…unfazed...”

“She done given herself over to them, freely, wholly!” he cried, almost with more than a hint of regret in his voice.

“Mustus, did you know her?”

“She was my wife!” he exclaimed.

Now things were starting to make sense. I wondered if I should press him further for information, and if I should still even consider any of this for my story in The Gazette.

Not sure what to say, I simply asked him how she came to this obscene fate, and apparently willingly so.

“They told ‘er, they told ‘er that they would come git us anyway, and that we couldn’t leave if we tried. They told us if we didn’t join them, they’d kill us. That was it. It was either join ‘em or be killed by ‘em. What would ye have done?”

Before I could answer, he continued.

“My Emma- my dear, sweet Emma, she realized the only way out was for her to sacrifice herself to ‘em, and she done it all jus’ to save me! She saved me! It shoulda been me savin’ her. But what could I do?”

“So, these people, these Deep Ones, they kidnapped her?”

“No, no- they ain’t the Deep Ones, and they didn’t kidnap ‘er! They gave us the ultimatum, and at first we refused. The Deep Ones, they’s the fish-men, the beast like in this picture. I keep this picture- you would think Id’ve burned it first thing, but I keep it- to remind me of her sacrifice, and of my revenge! They ‘pregnated ‘er, so they could birth more Deep Ones. I wasn’t the only man in town that had to give up his woman!”

“So, you don’t think there were just a few extremists, in this…this cult?”

“Ye ain’t never been to Innsmouth! Ye ain’t never seen the folk there! They’re freaks, the lot of ‘em! All of ‘em!” he cried.

“Well, no…Maybe if you gave me the right people to talk to-“

Interrupting, he cried out “But ye kint go there, ye kint! If ye go, they’ll take you too! Ye crazy or somethin’?”

“Well, I have this story I’m due to turn in for my paper, but believe me, I don’t wish to put in print anything of your personal life. But the rest- it sounds like a story to me, Mustus! What about here, in Portland?”

“Ye go near Innsmouth, even jis’ near it, you’ll be sorry! And they’re even worse out here!”

“Is that a threat, Mustus?” I was becoming a little worried.

“No, no threat- it’s a fact. People there don’t take to strangers. And it’s about that time o’ the year now, that the Deep Ones, they’ll be rising outta the sea, for more of…”

His voice trailed off, as he cast another sorrow-filled glance down at the obscene photo of his wife and that piscine abomination.

“Alright, Mustus; you invited me here for a reason, and I gather it wasn’t to show me musty old photographs, and it’s obvious now you don’t intend for me to write this piece for my paper. What, then, are we working towards here?”
“I wanted ye to come here so I could warn ye off of writin’ this story fer yer paper! I want ye to drop the whole matter- that’s why I called ye here! I figured if I showed ye enough stuff about what’s goin’ on over there, ye’d jis’ give up an’ ferget it!”

Something didn’t add up. He originally asked me here, but now he was saying he asked me here to warn me off of the whole thing? I wanted to try something-

“Obviously you’ve read my work before, right?”
“Of course, that’s how I came to ask ye here!”

“Well, being a what, a student? Yes, a student of the esoteric, the strange, even the macabre- you have to understand that I need to investigate this further! If anything, I can- or even we- can rip the lid right off of this whole foul situation! You can help me! You can help yourself! You can… you can have your revenge!”

“Oh, I’m plannin’ my revenge, all right” he said, somewhat ominously.

I should have just left then and there, like the voice in the back of my head was telling me to do, but… That damnable curiosity that led me to write accounts of the unexplained and the weird for my paper had a grip on me, as it usually does. I wanted my first real job for The Gazette to be a doozie!

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Nuthin’, jis’ nuthin’. I’m thinkin’ that someday, someday I’ll go back, and maybe bring me a gun or two! They may take me down with ‘em, but at least I’ll take some of ‘em down with me!”

“Mustus, that’s ridiculous! Why let yourself get killed, when we could simply call the authorities? Especially after the public learns of this, if I could print the story!”

“Ain’t nothin’ the gover’ment kin do, boy!”

“How so? Surely the armed forces, the health departments, the…”

“Back in the 1930’s, the gover’ment, they went out to ol’ Innsmouth, and they went out in force. They burned most of the village, the wharves- almost everything! Many of the people were rounded up- some say they was jis’ killed, in secret, or studied…

“Then, they bombed the living hell outta that island out there off the coast…”

“What island?” I asked.

“Devil’s Reef! That’s where the real evil was takin’ place out there!”

“An island- called Devil’s Reef? They met there- these…Deep Ones?”

“Yes! Them gov’ment men, they bombed it to kingdom come, then they sent submarines out into the seas off the coast, but I dunno what they was doin’ out there; some say they torpedoed they island, some say they torpedoed an underwater city. Other folks believe it may have been ol’ Dagon hisself they was shootin’ at!”

His voice was reaching a fevered pitch talking of all this, as if he had really been there…

“Were you there at this time?”
“Yes I was! An’ I jis barely escaped with my life!”
From whom, the Deep Ones and their acolytes, or the U.S. government, I wondered to myself. “And…Emma? Your wife?”

“She… She stayed… She…left with…them…”

Confused again, I pressed him for more.

“You mean, the government agents?”
“No, no! She went into the sea! With them! The Deep Ones! She’s one of Them now!”

“You mean, she was a willing vessel, for more of those obscene creatures? You mean, she sacrificed herself, for you, but then left with them? Into the sea? How? Why? I don’t understand!”
“They have ways, they do. They git in yer head. When they mesmerize ye, it’s hard- real hard- to break their spell!”

“And you…you’ve broken this spell? Only you?”
“Yes, I did- because of what they did!”
“Emma?”

“Yes! They forced us- forced her to make the decision she did- to sacrifice herself for me. So she gave herself up! But, she was like ye- she was naïve, young. She thought if anything, she would be a prisoner, or killed; she prob’ly never dreamed she would turn into one of ‘em!”

“That’s as good a reason as any, I would say, for revenge, Mustis! But I still think that you should wait-“

“That’s not the only reason!” he yelled.

He took off his jacket, throwing it down on the dirty couch. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing scales on what was a strangely smooth chest. Upon looking upwards, I noticed for the first time what his shirt collar had covered earlier- gills! He had gills in his neck! Small ones, to be sure, but gills nonetheless! I couldn’t believe it! Now it all made sense- his grotesque appearance, the smell…

“You…you’re a Deep One? Or an offspring?” I asked, not a little fearfully.

“No, not a Deep One- never was, never will be. But they have been breedin’ off the coast an’ on the land, in Innsmouth, fer longer than either ye or I been livin’! My parents moved there ‘fore I was born. At least that’s what I was told. My grandfather told me the story, only he’s dead now. All I know is, I got Deep Ones blood in me, somehow. Ye kin see, can’t ye!?”

I nodded, saying nothing.

“My parents, they had an accident.”

“Accident?”

“My mother and father, they was out off the coast, not too far from Devil’s Reef, fishin’ one day, when one of the deckhands yelled out he saw a mermaid!”

“Come on, a mermaid? How can you believe-“

“Believe it!” he blurted out, interrupting me again. It was obvious to me that Mustus needed to vent all of this information out, and that whether or not he deemed it to be in print was still unclear to me. But, of one thing I was now certain- somehow, I was to play a part, at least in the old man’s mind- in his “revenge”, or at least in some type of vindication he must be seeking.

“Believe it, young man! Only this weren’t no mermaid, not in the traditional sense. It weren’t no pretty girl with a fish tail. This were a true Deep One, scaly all over, sharp teeth, glassy eyes…you saw it in the picture!”

“Yes.”
“Well, I remembered something about my father saying he wanted to move to a different port other than ol’ Innsmouth; he had heard too many bad tales of that place, and would rather’ve moved his family elsewhere, like Cape Cod. But I remember, he said, that he went there against his better judgement, that it was my mother who insisted they go to Innsmouth!”

“So, your mother was already somehow under the influence of these Deep Ones?” I asked.

“Yes! She ended up much the same way my Emma did, only my father told me later, he told me, that she went willingly!

“Went willingly? To where, to Innsmouth?”
“No! She went willingly- into the sea, when those mermaids- those Deep Ones started calling! She jumped right over the side of the boat, she did!”
I was astonished. “So your mother leapt over the side of the boat, leaving your father there, and he apparently had no clue what was transpiring?”
“He knew only very little. Only rumors and stories about Innsmouth; nothing solid. No facts. At first he thought maybe she’d taken ill while out at sea, and for some reason jumped in. It wasn’t until she popped her head out of the water, surrounded by Deep Ones- her smiling back at him from the water, all glistening wet and naked- that he realized the truth; that somehow, not only were the stories he’d heard true, but he’d realized that he had been used. Used to make a new baby, and that his new baby, still in the belly of his pregnant wife, was now floating in the sea, surrounded by Deep Ones, those beasts from the depths…”

Completely fascinated by this tale, I had almost forgotten that Mustus was still before me, shirt hanging loose, exposing his offensive fish odor and ichthyic appearance. I must have been staring in disbelief, or even shock. The old fisherman suddenly buttoned his shirt back up, and put his jacket back on.

“Come on, I got to show ye somethin’.”

III

The cellar door was located in the kitchen. The closer we got to the cellar door, the stronger and more oppressive the fish odor became. Mustus seemed not to notice it…

If the front door to this rotting edifice was the doorway to a bizarre world, then this particular door- the cellar door- was surely it’s very gate to true horrors hitherto unimagined. Perhaps the doorway to Hell!

Not sure if I wanted to delve any deeper into this, I hesitated.

“Come on, ye ain’t in no danger!” the old man called out from in front of me.

Somewhat curious, somewhat repulsed, I cursed myself for being so weak of will, and did as he asked.

He led me to the kitchen, which was in a filthy state of disarray. I noticed an even stronger presence of the smell of fish, as well as flies buzzing everywhere. The counter was covered in plates of old food, as if the dishes had been used once, then discarded there, some still with food on them. Maggots and flies wriggled chaotically in the rotting filth heaps, and fish bones lay strewn about everywhere.

I harkened back in my mind about my dear old grandmother Annie, and what a religious person she was. At this point I was given to abandon all her teachings, after all I had seen and heard today. I discounted with a derisive snort, almost a chuckle, that without Mustus’ “fish stories”, I would surely have thought this the entrance to the lair of Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, as described by my superstitious old grandmother in days past.

This was surely a sign of things to come.

We descended into the cellar on weak, creaking wooden steps, rotten with age. I noticed that the walls were of bare stone; the cellar was obviously carved out of the ground and never finished. Whether this had been done by the builder of the house or by a former occupant, I couldn’t tell.

“Did you dig this cellar out, Mustus?” I asked, more for my own voice to console my fears of this hellish place than anything else.

“No, but I digged out a little bit of the other one!” he said.

“Other one?”

I could just make out where he was pointing to; a wooden door, in the raw earth, heavily chained and locked with a heavy, ancient padlock, like the kind one would expect to find on a pirate’s treasure chest.

The dim light offered by the single bulb, hanging by it’s wire from far up into the ceiling, offered no further visual assistance.

Where my eyes met darkness, my other senses reeled. The smell of fish, yes. Stronger than ever now, but of something else. Dead things? I also could hear the sea, or a river of some kind. I could hear it, smell it, almost feel the water rushing… beneath me? I could taste the salt in the air. I hoped that is all that it was- and not fish, decay, or any other loathsome, noxious vapor.

Mustus produced a key from a rusting iron hook embedded in the wall. Hanging on another, similarly rusting hook was a lantern, ancient as well, all cast in black iron, with hewn glass panes inside it. With matches from his pocket, he lit the candle that was inside. A soft, luminous glow lit up the area. I could see that the wood in the door in the floor was also somewhat wormy and rotten, probably more from the effects of the salty sea air down here. Unlocking the ancient padlock, he lifted the seemingly ancient door, it’s rusting iron hinges creaking in protest at being moved from their resting position.

I heard from below what could only be described as a…bellow?

A set of stone steps, I would guess carved from the very granite of the earth below, descended into the darkness. Mustus went down first, holding up the ancient lantern, it’s light only partially illuminating the gloom.

“Mustus, what is this? Where are we going?” I called out.

“Are ye afraid?” he called up from the darkness that swallowed him.

“Well…” my voice trailed off, my pride a little wounded. I was now Portland’s foremost “ghost hunter” and “spook chaser”, wasn’t I?

“I take that as a yea’, I do! And ye should be!”

This revelation did not do anything to improve my state of mind, which I will confess now, was somewhat fearful of this dark, reeking hole in the earth.

“Well, is ye comin’, or ain’t ye?” the voice called up.

Reluctantly, I descended onto the first step…

As I went down, I could make out more steps where he held up the lamp for me to see.

We were in a small cavern, much like an underground sewer tunnel. This, though, was no man-made affair.

“This all looks natural” I mentioned. “I thought you said you did some digging down here?”

“And ye’s right! The whole dang thing is a natural underground cavern; a small one, but natural, ‘cept fer my bricks over there.”

He jerked his head towards the area directly behind where I stood, on the last of the stone steps. Behind me I could see the area he referred to: it was small, roughly the size of a bedroom, but laid out completely in bricks and stones. Some chunks of granite were strewn about in that area as well. The brownish bricks were glowing phosphorescently from lichens and foxfire. There was brown slime and green moss all over some of them. Clearly, this structure was erected some time ago; but then, the old man had lived here now for years, at least since the mid-thirties.

Mid-thirties… Innsmouth, secret cults, government agents…

He headed over to the area, and picked up an iron pail, sitting in the mud. He walked over to the side of the estuary, and dipped the bucket into the water. Carrying the bucket of water back to the bricked area, he stopped short just before the bricks began in the ground, and tossed the contents of the bucket- foul, somewhat oily water- into the bricked up area.

Again, that hoarse croaking or groaning…

A damp chill pervaded the air, accompanying the stench of fish, and of something rotting. I heard the bellowing again. More like…a croaking? Yes, a croaking; as if some large size fish or frog was out of the water, it’s lungs making some type of obscene sound for the first time against the air of the surface. Except, I could not get past one thing about this…croaking. It seemed not only to belong to something larger than an average fish or frog, but it seemed…intelligent?

I cannot explain why, but I felt very strange. I knew that any sane, rational man would undoubtedly feel fear- dread, even, in this place…

However, I felt the fear slipping away. Perhaps it was the old man’s aloof manner while he mucked about down here? After all, I thought- what is really down here? Some filthy estuary, a cavern- and some cultist area that a crazy old man from a town back east full of inbreds had built, probably to worship some island deity he had heard of during one of his fishing runs.

Yes, nothing to fear…

Somehow, I wanted to believe the stories old Mustus had been telling me; but of course, how could they be true?

You may wonder about the photographs I had previously seen- I can liken them to optical trickery, ritual tomfoolery… The old man, and others like him, they probably got involved in some ritual cult from some faraway land, probably an island of aborigines, and brought it back with them to the states. Most of the members of some sleepy little town get involved, things got carried a little too far, the authorities are called in…

I’ve heard it all before. Kids involved in supposed “Satanic” rituals. More just a form of rebellion against their parents, who made them go to church and school.

Mustus probably had become bored of his life, and needed some excitement. He cooked up this story, called me- the gullible young man with connections to a major newspaper- and I fall for it hook, line and sinker. Well, I had had enough of this.

“Old man!” I called out. “Going to summon the Devil, are you? Going to bring forth Leviathan himself, from this filthy little underground river? Built yourself a little Satanic sanctuary down here, have you?”

I walked over towards him, in his ridiculous little brick hideaway. “Old Nick going to swim up from Hell, is he? And what do you get? Some nubile, naked…” My mouth just stopped moving abruptly. The babbling nonsense I had previously been spouting off at the old man just ceased, as if some great hammer of realization just smashed down onto my brain! For there, in the center of those mossy, brownish colored bricks, was an altar of sorts, hewn out of the very granite rock from the ground itself. It emerged from a pond of sorts, a shallow pool of water, clearly having been filled by Mustus. A star shape was carved roughly into it’s surface. Great, thick chains, caked with filth and slime, emerged from two sides of the altar. What was in those chains I found impossible to believe…

All thoughts of mockery towards the old man faded instantly; for there, before me, writhing pitifully in those massive chains, was something that had the shape of a man, but that was where the similarities ended. It was, from what I could tell, roughly about five feet tall, somewhat lithe yet brutish. It was slender, yet heavily muscled. The beast was a grayish green color, a scant few dull yellow highlights under the neck and on it’s belly. It was covered in scales, and had fins emerging from it’s back, the hinds of it’s legs and arms, and a fin-like crest on it’s head. Some slight…hair? Yes, greenish yellow hair was matted down under it’s chin, with the crusty, filthy water in which it currently resided. Having no neck, really, it’s head jutted from a mass of muscle that was it’s shoulders.

The head itself was elongated, somewhat like a fish. Huge, tuberous lips gashed from side to side. Yes, side to side, for the beast had no real ears to speak of. Only small holes in the sides of it’s head served as auditory organs of any kind I could recognize. It’s eyes were large, about the size of saucers; dull, lifeless, in color- like a fish out of water… A flash of an eyelid zipped over each of it's eyes as I stared, followed by oozing fluid of some kind, weeping out over the lenses.

It seemed to me that this creature, as hideous and alien as it seemed to me, was to be…pitied, somehow?

The loathsome beast stared back at me, with an almost pleading look on it’s…”face”… It turned it’s view to the old man, with what I perceived as hate filling that horrid face. I wondered if I had read that emotion correctly, when it lashed out at him, trying to grab him. Apparently I was correct. It seemed to not only resent the old man, but wanted desperately to hurt him, maybe kill him. I wondered if this was only due to the apparently forced incarceration that Mustus had bestowed upon this creature, or if there was more to it.

As if anything further could surprise me on this dark day, that beast- it spoke!

“Vor’li’ka!” it croaked, in a voice- if one could call it that- that was more of a fish out of water, or a frog, than that of a man… “Vor’li’ka!” it whispered again.

Vor’li’ka…

My mind reeled. If it could reel any further after all that it had been subjected to in this house of horrors. Vor’li’ka? What was that? A name? A plea? Was this beast able to speak? If so, was that a word from it’s own language, asking for help? How is it that this…this creature…can speak?

Surely this is just some anomalous thing that this crazed old man had somehow caught in one of his fishing nets? Surely… I mean, how, how can such a thing exist? I mean, really exist? But, I’m looking at it- and I can’t believe it, but there it is!

The creature made one last desperate swipe of it’s taloned, webbed hand, which was stopped forcefully by the heavy manacles and chains adorning it. A swipe of pitiful rage and loathing at the old man that stood before it, with a crazed but firm smile that indicated he was feeling anything but happiness at this moment.

The strange beast fell, face down, into the slimy pool, seemingly unconscious. I noticed that fish bones and crab shells littered the area surrounding it. Apparently Mustus had been feeding this thing, keeping it alive, yet imprisoned, for some sinister reasons of his own, which I now meant to find out. The creature’s breathing was heavy, labored, but rhythmic. I watched, as the water bubbled from it’s gills, it’s face down in the muck and tepid water. The laborious breathing resonated loudly, and it took me a moment, as I was almost entranced by the rhythm of this horrid thing in the pit, to notice that Mustus had been speaking to me.

“That, my friend, is a Deep One!” the old man chortled, with almost a hint of excitement in his voice.

I was so overcome with emotion, so many different emotions, that I couldn’t quite come up with anything to say.

“I…I…”

“Ye can’t believe, can ye! Well, yer lookin’ at it! It’s real, boy! Ye seen it! It’s real!”
“Yes, obviously… But…”

“Now, I have to tell ye- don’t go writin’ nothin’, not jes yet!”

“Writing?” I was still a ghost of a man, incoherent.

“Yeah, don’t go and write nothin’ yet, about what I been tellin’ ye, and what ye seen here today! Ye has to wait!”

“Wait? Wait for what? And anyhow, what am I going to write? I write the facts about the unexplained- not fiction! If I were to write about seeing a crazy old man that lives on the coast, who has some wretched creature, part man, part fish- I’d be writing fiction, as far as my readers are concerned! The Gazette makes me walk a fine line concerning what I write! If I wrote of this…”

“I’m not talkin’ about ye writin’ anythin’ about this…I’m talking about after!”

“After? After what?”
“I got this one so I could get more information from ‘im! Where their city is out in the Pacific, how to get there… Ya see, they don’t trust me no more!”

“Don’t trust you?”
“When they took my Emma, and she went willin’ with ‘em, I vowed- I vowed to myself then and there, that I’d make ‘em pay! I’d make ‘em all pay!” “I tried to call the gover’ment, but they just thought I was some crazy ol’ fisherman. So I had to take matters into my own hands!”

“They took your wife? They took Emma, and because she went with them willingly, you have vowed vengeance upon them? All of them? And how many of them are there?”
“Out here, on the west coast, they have a city too- I’m not sure where, see, cuz there ain’t no island out in the Pacific- none that I know of, anyhow. Nobody knows fer sure how many Deep Ones there are either, but there ain’t as many as there were off of Innsmouth. But they’s playin’ it smart now, not like they was off of ol’ Innsmouth! Then again, now that I think of it, there could be more of ‘em here than back east!”

“So, is there some port town here, too, that is infected by these creatures, like Innsmouth?”
“I ain’t seen a one, but there are rumors. Fer the most part, they are only here and there; they mostly stay under the water, from what I seen out here. Anyhow, I come from that Marsh bloodline- so I got the blood of the Deep Ones in me, too; ye seen how I look…”

“Yes, you mentioned that…”

“Well, I caught this one, hoping he’d lead me to the underwater city. So far, nothin’. I figure, if I keep ‘im here long enough, he’ll eventually give in, and take me there. I’m just as much able to breathe underwater as they are!”

“So, you’re a Deep One as well…”
“No! And don’t ye go sayin’ that ever again! Ye hear me? Ever!”

“I’m sorry, but…you have scales…gills…”

“I got the “Innsmouth look”, like folks back east call it. But that’s what’s going to get me in to the city out here! But don’t ye ever refer to me as a Deep One- I ain’t one a them kind! And neither is…my Emma…”
“Mustus, you’re crazy! This one is almost dead! Look at the pitiful thing!” I motioned down to the glistening, slime-coated thing in the pool.

“And you think it’s going to thank you, by taking you to it’s domain? After you’ve imprisoned it so? Did you tell this beast of your plans for vengeance upon it’s kind?”
“If it don’t do what I want, I’ll just capture another, or just go lookin’ on my own, if I have to!”
“And do what? Do what!? What are you going to do? Bring a gun and shoot them? And how many are there? Hundreds? Thousands?”

“If I kin find their leader- or high priest- then that’ll do!” the old man said evilly.

That last was rather chilling, in particular the odd look he gave me when he said it.

“I want no part of this! You’re crazy! You want to drown yourself, looking for an underwater city full of mermen, then you go ahead, but I’m having no part of this, and I’m leaving!” I turned to ascend the filth covered ladder, out of this hellish cavern.

“Ye can’t leave!”

I turned to face him.

“Excuse me?”
“Ye can’t- ye can’t leave!”

“Don’t try and stop me, you crazy old fool! Trust me, I’ll tell no one of this, but I most definitely have no further wish to stay! I’ll just have to change my story to flying saucers or something else; I think there was a sighting of a UFO over McMinnville.”

“No, no- ye have ta stay! Ye’r a part of my plan!”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, and I’m not sure if I want to know, but…”
“I don’t mean ye no harm, I jis’ need yer help!”

“I thought you wanted me to write of this in the paper, expose them, at least to write about it, to generate public interest?”

“No, no, that’s not it!”
“Then what?”
“I need ye to take me there!”
This stopped me short. After all of the old man’s ravings on this day, I was suddenly starting to realize he was less crazy than he was dangerous.

“Me? Take you there?”

“Yes- ye don’t know it yet, but ye’re the Chosen One!

I stepped down off of the ladder.

“Chose One? Tell me, Mustus- what is “Vor’li’ka”?”

“Not what- who! Vor’li’ka is the Chosen One. Their leader! The one these Deep Ones off the coast here, in the west, chose to spy out the land and make sure things don’t go wrong, like they did over in Innsmouth! Vor’li’ka will be the one that will bring the Deep Ones to “their rightful place”, so the legend sez…”

“So why did this beast look up at us, and say that to me? Is this “Vor’li’ka” coming for us, or me, because of what you’ve done?”

“No, no…he ain’t comin’ here- he’s already here!”

“Is it that beast?”
“No. It is…”

His voice trailed off, and as it did so, he was just standing there, staring at me… He lifted his arm, pointing directly at me…

“It is ye!…”

It is you…I ran it over in my mind again and again… It is you…

“Me? Chosen by them?” I stammered, uttering some nervous laughter. Nervous, because even though I seemed to be sure of myself when I arrived here at this place, I had to cast out all certainty, and now entertain doubts about everything.
“That’s what I’m sayin’! They…”
“But I don’t even know of these creatures! I’ve never seen or heard of them before today! I’ve heard rumors of mermen off the coast, mostly older stories, but then there’s you- and I’m nothing like you! I don’t have scales! I don’t have gills!”

“Where did ye come here from?”
“To Oregon? I moved here from Salt Lake City. That’s where I’m from, originally.”
“Mountains and a little lake! Desert land! Now, that ye are back here, ye’s ready to become!”
“Become what? A Deep One?” I asked sarcastically.

“Yes!”
The earnestness and sincerity with which he spoke kept me from leaving right then and there, and made me nearly believe in his sincerity.

“Mustus, I have been afraid of the water since being a child! I would never go near it! You’re telling me now that not only am I a merman that lives in the seas, but I am the leader of these creatures? You- you’re crazy, you old lunatic!”

“Maybe I am crazy, a little, anyways. But, I know what I know, an’ I know what ye are! And that’s why ye’re here. I want ye to help me, not them!”

Things suddenly started making sense… I had tried for years while in school to get my works noticed. My work involving the supernatural and the macabre was filler material at best to most publications. It seemed that nobody ever took it seriously, or they just merely treated it as a curiosity.

It made sense now, that I should have suddenly received an offer from an official newspaper, instead of some digest magazine of science fiction or horror/supernatural stories…

“Mustus, who owns the Gazette? The paper that I write for?”
“Ye didn’ know?”
“Deep Ones…”

“Silas Marsh, owner. Took over, so they say, from his father Jonas.”
“So they say? What do you mean?”
“Same fella! The Deep Ones, they live a long time… Some of ‘em so long, they gots to change their names from time to time, so nobody gets to figerin’ out who or what they really are!”

It seemed now that everything he said was not only true, but made absolute perfect sense. The offer of work and relocation, so far out on the coast… “But how did they know? And why me? My family is as normal as anyone else’s! I was all the way back in Salt Lake City; a sleep town if ever there was one!”
“Yer parents, they settled there, but they ain’t from them parts, now are they?”
“Well, no, my father was…”
Curse me for a fool! Why hadn’t I seen it? All this time…

“My father was from Rhode Island! Not too far from…”
“Innsmouth!” the old man finished for me.

“So, my father was…one of them?”
“Had ta be, but you- you’re somethin’ different! That’s why yer the Chosen One! Ye looks normal, ye can move around without anyone ever suspectin’!”
“No gills? No scales?”
“They’ve been getting more success with breedin’… They’re inta science an’ the like now!”

“So, what- they simply willed me to look… “normal”?”

“I can’t explain it myself- I’ll show ye…come on, back up!”

The old man started to ascend back up the stairs. I followed, looking back one more time at the ichthyic thing lying in the pool…

The old man hung the lantern up, slammed the trap door in the floor shut, locked it, and hung up the keys back on their rusting hook in the nitre streaked wall.

We went back up the rotting steps into through the nightmarish kitchen and back into the study. The old man started rummaging through a stack of wormy old newspapers.

“Ah, here we are!” he exclaimed. He shoved an old, yellowed newspaper in front of me. It was a copy of The Advertiser, a newspaper from Arkham, Massachusetts. “Test tube embryo creation a success!”, read the headline. Upon reading the headline, I scanned the following story. It concerned one Dr. Percival Alexander, making a breakthrough with the creation of a baby without intercourse, but involving the fertilization of female eggs with sperm from a donor. “Here’s another!” muttered the old man, flopping another dusty old paper down on top of the one I was looking at. “Test tube embryo and scientist disappear!” read the headline. Reading on, the story detailed how the eminent scientist Dr. Alexander had just disappeared, and with the embryo he created, as well as all of his research.

“Authorities suspect foul play from the Russians, or possibly even secret agent government involvement”, I read aloud.

“Heh, yeah, if ye believe that…” mumbled the old man.

“So what does this mean? What does this have to do with me? Surely you don’t mean to say that I am this man’s son, born in a laboratory, do you?”
“Ye cen’t deny it!”
“My name isn’t Alexander! My name is Ambrose! Ambrose Smith! If you’ve truly read my columns in The Gazette, you’d have known that!”
“Yer name is really Alexander! Yer first name- Ambrose- ye can look it up fer yerself! Check the meanin’ of yer name, and check yer background! Bet ye won’t like what ye find!”

“And just how do you know all of this?”

“I know the Deep Ones, an’ I knows what they know! And don’t forget…” he pointed down, indicating the piscine charnel house that housed that pathetic, moaning creature that spoke to me.

“I might do that, but I wish to borrow these papers, if I may?”
“Sure, sure. But give me yer word that ye’ll come back, and that ye will help me- not them!”

Wishing at this point not only to simply leave the company of the fishy old man and to delve deeper into this new mystery, I promised him. We parted company then, and I got into my car and left- noticing that he was watching me, from a window in the old house. It was evening now, but something told me I would be up for a great deal longer tonight…

As I gleaned all the information that I could from those moldy, old newspapers, I remembered my mother and father. My mother was as much of a “plain Jane” as any lady. She liked shopping, cooking, makeup. My father I knew for a short time, for he had gone off to fight in the war that destroyed most of the major powers during the 1930’s; He was subsequently killed during the fighting over Pearl Harbor.

Or at least that was what I was told.

The more I thought of this, the more I realized that I only had my mother’s word. My mother, whom I had lived with in the sterile town of Salt Lake City since that young age when I last saw father.

Funerary rites involved the scattering of father’s ashes over the sea…

I began to wonder now, what the truth really was, and how it all involved me.

Or, perhaps I’m just being a fool, and falling prey to the whims of some crazed old fisherman? But then, all of this supposed evidence seems undeniable, if a little circumstantial. The job offer, the letter from Mustus, the beast in the cellar. But that creature…

I also can’t seem to admit to myself the feeling that came over me, when I saw it. Revulsion, at first, as well as fear, to be sure; however, I wasn’t quite prepared to feel…pity? But then, that couldn’t be! Who could pity such a horrid creature, and why would they do so? The thing was an abomination, and most certainly meant no good to the human race!

The human race…

I was starting to get drowsy, and began to nod off…

VII

I was there, floating, in the water, gazing at the stars above me in the nighttime sky… I noticed all around me, suddenly, strange creatures…and they saw me! I tried to move, but I could not! They swam towards me… I noticed their bodies were generally shaped like a man, but looked more piscine; scales, fins, webbed hands, bulbous eyes and the wide, large mouth and tuberous lips of a fish. One of them spoke- a low, throaty, croaking- but it- he?- spoke! He said “Vor’li’ka!”… Now, why should that sound familiar? The thing in the water motioned for me to follow him…and to my surprise, he dove head first, under the water! How did he expect me to follow him? I immersed myself underwater, and saw a whole group of these aquatic beings, all surrounding me, but below the surface of the water. I began to panic, thinking that I would drown if I didn’t go back up! During these few seconds, I also thought it odd that I did panic, but only about losing my breath underwater- not about being surrounded in the sea, miles away from any noticeable land, by strange, fierce looking beings that were…not men! The creature that spoke to me beckoned at me again to follow. To my surprise, I found that not only was it of the utmost ease to slice through these green ripples of ocean with my body, but I found it…exhilarating! The full moon, waxing gibbous over us, lit the sparkling seas as we threshed to the surface… The lead merman stopped short, and turned to face me. He pointed straight ahead; I followed the direction where his webbed talon pointed, and saw it- an island! An island, small, secret- out here, in the Pacific! I noticed some buildings on it; some ruined, some intact. The moonlight beamed down all over the island, lighting it up in an eerily incandescent way out here, on the sea… The merman thing- the Deep One?- motioned that I should go to the island. The others in the group submerged back under the water, while the lead Deep One and I headed for the shore of the island, only a few feet away. As I walked to shore, I felt no chill, despite being naked. The Deep One that walked with me glistened in the moonlight. I suddenly felt as if I knew where I was, what I was here for! I walked ahead, forgetting the Deep One that came with me. Proceeding into a series of columns, some slanted with age, some still jutting straight up, twice as tall as a man of average height. I noticed carvings all over these columns; some of men, some of Deep Ones, some of fish. Some even depicted dinosaurs, indicating the extreme age of this place, and whoever- or whatever- built it. There were other creatures, too. Alien things, strange to behold. There was a creature in one of the carvings that was larger than the all the other life forms depicted. It was a massive being, with wings like a bat, and a great, massive head that displayed tentacles, like that of an octopus, but jutting from the place where it’s mouth should be! That is, assuming this were some normal being, and not some strange, piscine…deity? Some of these carvings depicted the Deep Ones in tribute to the large octopoid being. Some showed Deep Ones interacting with men. The Deep One that accompanied me to the island was beside me now; he pointed to the last column in the row, which was placed between the two rows of all the others. I examined it carefully, and noticed that the “story” was told, from top to bottom of the thick column. The “story” was of a child, apparently a human child, since it bore no resemblance to a Deep One’s appearance. This child bore a crown of sorts upon his head, and he was with a human female, and a male Deep One! The next tier down depicted what was now very familiar to me- my new home, the west coast of North America! Some lines radiating outwards from the relief of the landmass of the north American continent must have been intended to indicate…movement? Yes, movement, outward- to sea- from the land! Next tier down was a human male, wearing the crown the child in the carving above was wearing; obviously, this was the same person, at an older age. But what connection does a human of royalty have with Deep Ones? Or is it the other way around? I looked over the carving again, and noticed the human male was standing, arms outstretched, while a Deep One stood on either side of him; but they weren’t conveying fear- quite the contrary. They seemed to be basking in his presence! I looked over at the Deep One where it stood beside me. He pointed to the man in the drawing with the crown, then to me- and said “Vor’li’ka!”… When I was about to speak, the Deep One suddenly turned and shambled down the causeway, between the rows of columns, and rushed back into the water, splashing wildly as it submerged into the nighttime sea. I looked up, and saw a pink dot on the horizon; sunrise! I turned, reluctantly, to leave. I wanted to see more, learn more…but somehow, I knew I’d be back. I jumped back into the ocean. As I did so, I noticed one of the Deep Ones, far off in the distance, the way I had originally come from, watching, thoughtfully stroking it’s large, scraggly beard…

VIII

I opened my eyes to a dark room. I leaned up on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I stretched, groaning with delight as the tension left my aching muscles. I wasn’t sure why my muscles should be so sore; all I did yesterday was visit that mad, old man, and climb his ladder to hell. As these thoughts passed through my mind, I noticed there was a strange odor on my hands; no, my entire body, my bed seemed to be saturated with the cloying odor of the sea.

How could that be? I likened it to having spent so much time yesterday with the somewhat crazed old man in his house in the port, and down in that sump, with that horror in the chains. I didn’t recall showering when I arrived home- just studying those newspapers he had given me. I thought perhaps it may be my clothing that smelled; I checked the garments I had worn the previous day. They did reek of the sea as well, but not nearly as strong as I myself did! Now how could that be?

I also noticed something that sent a jolt through me, banishing the last vestiges of sleep from my foggy mind- sand! There was wet sand along the edges of my pant leg bottoms, and my shoes! And my pants were not only caked with sand around the bottom edges, but they were still wet around the bottoms of the pant legs! Wet? Sand? What the hell was going on? Had someone been in my home, while I slept? Not likely. I didn’t recall ever going anywhere outside of the house in the port with Mustus, only from my car to the porch, then inside. There was no sand in that cavern below his house- only dry rock where I was standing. Certainly not ankle deep water or sand.

I was not prone to sleep walking, nor did I have to let Max out last night.

Simply likening it for the moment to something in the cavern at the house in the port, and not thinking too much more on it, I descended to the kitchen, for a cup of coffee and some breakfast. Stopping in front of the circular window at the end of the hallway upstairs, I peered out and noticed that the skies outside over the beach were swirling and gray, getting ready to storm.

I thought it odd that I should end up here, on beachfront property on the coast of Oregon, when I had been so inherently afraid of the water at a young age.

After my uncle had passed on, he left the house to me, since nobody else existed any longer in our family. I must admit, I find the sea somewhat relaxing these days, despite having childhood fears of the water. I looked around, without success, for my dog Max. I finally found him, whimpering, far off to the back of the house, in the laundry room.

“What are you doing, Max? Here boy! What’s wrong?” He seemed to back away from me, then began growling, as I reached for him beneath the chair he had stuffed himself under. “What the devil is wrong with you, old boy? It’s me!” Still growling, he shrunk back even farther. “Max! Come out of there! What the hell’s your problem, boy?” Nothing. “Okay, then stay there! You’d better not piss on the floor, then!”
Deciding to tend to my own needs, I went to the kitchen again.

As I began making a pot coffee, I stepped in something.

Something…wet…

I looked down, fully expecting to see a puddle of urine from Max; what I saw made the everyday problem of one’s house pet soiling the floor seem trivial by comparison. I had bigger problems.

It was water; plain, dirty, seawater, with some sand mixed in with it. The troubling thing was this- it was in the shape of a large, webbed foot! The tracks stood out almost glowingly, against the yellow tiles of the kitchen.

There were more tracks, side by side, leading from the sliding glass door that opened out on my deck, which opened out onto the sea! What the hell!? Footprints? Webbed footprints?

Next to the row of webbed tracks were smaller tracks, which were drying already. I couldn't tell what they were or what they were from. One almost looked like a human footprint, but obviously that was impossible.

I suddenly remembered my sand and seawater caked pants upstairs… Had someone been in the house, and somehow, for some bizarre reason, worn my clothing, then left the premises?
Or…

Could they still be here? Worse, could it still be here? Not sure what I was looking for, and hoping desperately that I would find nothing, I began searching the house methodically. I thought to myself that suddenly Max’s strange behavior made more sense now, though why he would growl at me was puzzling, but perhaps something had frightened him so badly, that he was in shock?

I grabbed a baseball bat that I kept in the hall closet for just such occasions, and began up the stairs. I noticed that the footprints ended at the beginning of the stairwell, but the steps were carpeted. I felt down on the plush of the carpet, checking for moisture or sand.

I found both! Not much, but enough to be a telltale sign that someone, or something, had been in my home, and only recently, while I slept!

Mustus, perhaps? But he was more or less an old hermit, save for his fishing trips; for what reason would he come to my home, break in covertly, then leave? No valuables seemed to be missing.

I checked the rooms upstairs- nothing.

Deciding to check the attic, I opened to the door that led to it. Creeping up the dusty steps, I saw that only my uncle’s old junk remained. I noticed quite a few trinkets and items of nautical origin. There were also many stone carvings and statues, seemingly of a foreign nature. Certainly nothing one would find locally.

Curbing my curiosity, I thought to myself that I should come back later and delve into the mysteries of this attic at another time.

I descended from the attic, then downstairs. Only one place left to check- the cellar…

The mere thought of this filled me with dread, after what I had seen in the cellar at the house in the port belonging to Mustus Marsh!

“You’re being ridiculous!” I said aloud, more to curtail my fear than for any other reason.

Descending into the cellar, I flipped the antique light switch on the wall, illuminating the single bulb hanging above the stairwell. Holding the flashlight in my hand, I looked down there, noticing that there were indeed wet footprints on the dry wooden steps.

Nothing here. Just walls of shelving units, still holding bottles of wine and preserved jams, fruits and other foods (presumably from my uncle, preparing for a hurricane, or some great catastrophe?). I noticed that there seemed to be a curious amount of preserved sardines and fish.

Looking over to the left, I saw the door that led to outside from the cellar, which opened from the side of the house. It was locked. And determinedly so, with not one, not two, not three, but four sliding bolts, from top to bottom, as well as the lock installed in the doorknob itself.

Finding this somewhat odd, I likened it to my uncle being extra cautious, presumably against burglars. One could foresee this door being the entrance of choice for any intruder, being isolated downstairs.

I looked out the dirty single pane in the door, seeing only the angry, boiling clouds outside over the beach.

Deciding there was no intruder after all, I ascended the stairs, not fully satisfied that the mystery of the intruder was solved.

I decided that wet footprints or not, I was starving, and went back to the kitchen to prepare my breakfast. Dumping out the sludge that was yesterday’s coffee, I thought bacon and eggs sounded good, but as I reached for them in the refrigerator, I suddenly had a sharp craving for…fish. Not finding this particularly relevant at the time, I decided against bacon, and found some crab meat I had purchased at the market a day or two earlier. Frying it up in a pan alongside the eggs, I poured a cup of coffee, still wondering exactly how or why wet footprints, with webbed toes, appeared in my home, and while I slept.

Taking my eggs and crab on a plate, along with a cup of coffee, I walked outside, into the gently blowing winds of the oncoming storm. I saw the footprints lead all the way from the bottom of the deck. Following them backwards from the top of the deck and down the steps, I saw that there were prints that were in the sand as well, leading all the way to…

The sea!

If I were to take the evidence at hand, then I could deduce that some being, perhaps a Deep One, as Mustus had referred to them- a foul smelling, loathsome fish-thing- had swum up to the shallows, shambled on two legs out of the sea, proceeded to my deck, and then entered the house! But for what purpose?
Stranger still, there were no tracks or any indication that this beast had left the house! Having checked it from top to bottom, I was satisfied that nothing was inside, save for my strangely behaving dog Max.

Gazing out to sea, I watched the crashing waves, the occasional fish springing forth from the water, as the rain began to come down. I went back inside the house, leaving my half eaten breakfast in the sink, making a mental note in the back of my mind that I had only eaten the fish…

I decided to go back to my study, and pore over the mystery imparted to me by the old man. How he insisted that I came from a somewhat questionable beginning, and that I was not the person who I know I am, but somebody else entirely!

Ambrose Alexander…

I took out a reference book of names, and researched my own names for once, instead of that of some philosopher or long dead fiction writer or his characters.

Ambrose: “Protector of Men”.

Strange; not what I expected. But then, I don’t really buy into a lot of this stuff! I just write about it.

Smith: “Blacksmith”.

Well, I didn’t know much about my past family or their ancestors, but I suppose one or more of them could have been blacksmiths.
Wait… What was it the old man had called me? Alexander? Ambrose Alexander, not Ambrose Smith.

Alexander: “Belonging to the Immortals”. Strange, indeed!

I wondered if my parents had researched these names, and their meanings, when choosing my name? If the old man was correct, and my name was somehow “Ambrose Alexander”, my name literally meant “Protector of men, belonging to the immortals”! Pondering this, I listened to the thunder and rain outside.

I went upstairs, almost on impulse, to the dusty, old attic. There was the obvious junk up there, to be sure: Christmas decorations, old clothing, my uncle’s old yearbooks and scrapbooks…

But there were the items that I had noticed earlier, during my search for the intruder. Statues, small and somewhat large, ranging in composition from regular coarse stone to what looked like jade. There was also one carved from some type of green/gray stone, like a “soapstone” of sorts.

What was strange about the statues more than their chemical make up was their subject matter; most of them were of representations of some fish-type creature, walking on two legs but clearly having scales and piscine features.

Some were the reverse; a man’s torso, with a fish’s tail, like a traditional mermaid. One statue was carved in wood, about a foot in length, and much heavier than it looked. It was some being, crouching on top of a rock. This being, or rather this creature had large wings folded up against it’s back; wings that came down in points and ended in claws, like a bat’s. It had a massive head and it’s body was carved to represent it being covered in scales. It had talons protruding from it’s hands and feet. Most striking of all, though, about this thing, this beast- was that it’s massive head had eyes that seemed to be…knowing? Intelligent? And another oddity, it had a literal “spaghetti” mass of tentacles protruding from just under it’s evil eyes, where it’s mouth would be located.

There was another item which was nothing more than a simple bas-relief, on a sort of round tablet. It was carved into some strange, smooth, black stone, which I had never seen before. I noticed immediately that in the center was some type of large opal, or a pearl, or some jewel of the seas that I had never seen before. It sparkled, somewhat ominously, in the center of that black tablet. Inscribed all around this strange, alien jewel were odd symbols and some obvious type of text or cuneiform that I had never before encountered. Most of the artwork- and I shudder to think of what type of people hold such things in regard as “art”- was of something I was becoming quite accustomed to now. Fish. Or rather, fish creatures. Inscriptions of half men, half fish beings adorned the tablet. The carving at the top was the largest, being a pair of batwings, with a mass of tentacles and two large, fearsome eyes inlayed over the wings. It was the same “being”, or at least an artistic representation of it, as the one in the statues. Still, apart from the statues, it struck me as something rather familiar, but I couldn’t remember what.

Surely it was some story I had written about recently... Perhaps, maybe, some remnant of recognition of some “fish tale” that the old man had gibbered to me yesterday? Heaven only knew my mind still was reeling from that macabre afternoon.

Scanning the bottom of the plate, I perused the other of the two larger inscriptions. It was of another beast, somewhat larger in scale in comparison to the two figures carved next to it. I knew immediately who the figures next to it were- a man and a woman, covered in scales, with those now all-too-familiar piscine features. They stood on either side of a much larger being or creature, who appeared just as they did. I noticed that the male and female “Deep Ones” in the carving wore hats, or more appropriately, crowns.

I was having a sudden déjà vu, and I wasn’t sure why- but these thoughts of inscriptions of fish creatures and other blasphemous obscenities from the sea were riveting my memory back to something. Something I could not as of yet identify. But fish men; Deep Ones… Wearing crowns? What did it all mean?

Crowns… Hieroglyphs… Deep Ones…

My mind was reeling, almost as if I was under the mesmeric influence of some sinister hypnotist. My mind raced, thinking of the creature in Mustus’ basement, of all that he had told me of my “parents”. I remembered what I had read about my supposed “birth” in that old newspaper.
And then, I heard it. A strange, high-pitched sound, like a squealing, or a…flute? Yes, a flute-like sound, and it was coming from outside the house. The attic had a round window in it as well. I rushed over to the window, pulling the latch down, and opened it. I pushed my head outside, the cool, stormy salt air brushing my face and blowing through my hair. All I could see was the cloudy skies, the churning seas, and the sand.

I heard it again!

It was a high pitched sound, like a flute, but it seemed to be…talking! What it said, I cannot say, but it was no animal! Animals are not so articulate.

The wind came in through the window, and blew so hard that it knocked over some rolls of ancient-looking papers that were stacked up on a table in the center of the attic. The rain was starting to blow in, so I closed the window. Intrigued by the ancient paper, I walked over to the table where it was located, and held it up to the light hanging from the ceiling. It was an ancient map, seemingly from a time long before I or even my parents were born. Perhaps, I thought, it’s possibly even older than that.

After an invigorating hot shower, I put all of my dirty clothes in the laundry, prepared a meal of meat and pasta. I went to the study, noticing Max. He had decided to come out from his hiding place, investigate his food dish, and sleep. He still refused to go outside. He also seemed a little more satisfied that I was his original owner and still human, not some fishy beast from the sea.

While the storm still raged outside, I sat down in the study, the warm glow from the lamps filling the room with light. I hadn’t bothered to remove my uncle’s decorations throughout the house, not really having the time. I also noticed a kind of “old world charm” about the place, due to those somewhat antiquated decorations, so I left them. Many photographs and paintings of family members adorned the place throughout.

I sat at the desk, and uncurled the maps. The first map was a map of the sea, though which sea I was not sure; there was an island or land mass located in one part of this ocean, and a larger one off to the right side. None of these continents had a name to them, but rather some rune or symbol on each one, which I could not translate. I was fairly certain, however, that the larger land mass on the right looked rather familiar. And as well it should, for it was the outline of the coast of Oregon, beneath Washington!

The second map was of some vast labyrinth, or tunnel network. I wasn’t sure what this was supposed to be, but if I was reading this correctly, it seemed that there was a house or building, with a way to an underground network of tunnels located directly beneath it. I noticed that the map was charted in miles. According to this, I was in the very area the map covered. There, about two miles to the west, was the old, disused lighthouse that I would normally walk to down the beach with Max. According to the map, there were miles of tunnels, beneath this very house, leading to what appeared to be other houses along the coast. Some of these tunnels led to other areas that were not houses, but I wasn’t sure what they actually were. To my knowledge, there were no structures, though according to the map, these could possibly be underground domains of some kind. Storm or bomb shelters, perhaps?

Deciding to investigate, I hurriedly put on some warmer clothes and my heavy boots, assuming that the way beneath would most likely be watery or at least muddy. Gathering up some supplies and stuffing them into my backpack, I noticed my supper still sitting on the desk in the study, untouched. I put the plate of food in the fridge, looking down at Max. He looked up at me from where he was laying under the kitchen table. The look he gave me back was almost perceptible as “Don’t go!”- more a warning than a plea, I thought- but I seemed overtaken with the desire to explore this new territory.

“Stay, boy.” I offered. I wasn’t sure he intended to come along anyway.

Steeped in thought, I wondered if perhaps my uncle had left valuables hidden in one of these tunnels? Or maybe they were the way to oil, or petroleum? I could be rich!

Deciding that the most logical place for any supposed tunnel entrance to this cryptic labyrinth was going to be someplace underground, I descended again into the cellar. I wasn't sure why, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched...

Jerking my head suddenly behind me, I saw only the stairs and the door above. I felt silly for being so paranoid, but I still couldn’t explain those wet footprints in my house, though I was starting to liken it to imagination and a restless sleep. I could only guess that the shock of that beast Mustus had chained up in his own cellar still stayed with me throughout my sleep, and perhaps the water was just from my getting the newspaper earlier that day, or from the previous night when entering the house.

On to business, I thought to myself. I scanned the area in the dim light of the bulb, and didn’t see anything located on the floor. No trap doors or others entrances, like the one old Mustus had. The floor here was laid out in neat, rectangular flagstones. Could my uncle have paved over this entrance? The map didn’t specify exact entrances, only tunnels and destinations.

I decided to look along the walls; possibly there was some priest hole style entrance that needed a pulling of a secret lever or switch to open it?

I realized that I could be right about that. Looking down, I noticed the wet footprints- this time, only the larger webbed ones- stopped right in front of this bookshelf.

The light offered by the lone, dim bulb swinging overhead of the stairway was not enough, so I turned on the heavy battery powered lantern I had brought with me. The place was awash in bright, artificial light, and it was now easy to see everything. I noticed now that there were bookshelves down here as well as shelves of preserved food and supplies. On one shelf were the tins of sardines, some pressed, dried fruit, and bottles of water. I put some of each item into my pack. My uncle had become increasingly paranoid in the last year of his life and had taken to provisions, shelters and such, though we were never sure why or what caused this paranoid behavior. Since he had only passed away last year, this food, being preserved this way, should be perfectly edible still.

I tore open a tin of the sardines, and gulped down a few, while I studied the bookshelves I had failed to notice earlier. Gods, if only I had bothered to fully investigate the house earlier, I would have had much more material to write on in my column for the Gazette! I could easily glean a few years or more worth of writings from these mad tomes! The dusty old shelves were stocked with an occultist’s veritable dream collection of books!

I noticed many titles that were completely alien even to me. But then, it was starting to seem that in the past few days, I was becoming more and more humbled as an “occultist”. Apparently, there was more going on in the world than mere devil worshipping cults and the raising of Biblical demons in the name of power or sex.

I saw Feery’s “Notes on the Necronomicon”, Herzinger’s “Neo-Aquatic Civilizations”, the “Cthaat Aquadingen”, Keogh’s “Book of Vampires and Undead Fiends”, and “Manifesto of the Maleficent” by “Zandar”, to name a few. There was also a strange, very large book; actually, more like a sheath of papers and notes. These were all handwritten, clearly by someone with no schooling in literature and writing whatsoever. It was bound by hand, and the front and back “covers” consisted of wood. The front read as follows: “Seth Bishop, His Book:: Being Excerpts from the “Nekronomicon” & the “Cultes des Ghouls” & the “Pnakotic Manuscripts” & the “R’leh Text” Copied in His Own Hand by Seth Bishop in the Yrs. 1919 to 1923”. The contents of this “book’s” writings, misspelled words, bad grammar and doltish literature aside, were intriguing. They contained descriptions, drawings, rites, spells and more, concerning such gods and deities that I’ve never heard of.

Most of these gods were elemental in nature, while some were more metaphysical, almost metaphorical! There was Cthulhu, a water deity, Ithaqua, Master of the Air, also referred to as the “Wind Walker”. Hastur, who resided currently in the celestial darkness, was apparently a bat-like creature. Next mentioned was Cthugha, the Lord of Fire, followed by the burrowing Shudde-M’ell of the earth.

Bishop wrote of Lloigor (another air deity); Yog Sothoth, who was said to be the “All In One, One In All” (whatever that meant!). There was mention of yet more- Shub Niggurath, the “Goat with A Thousand Young”, Azazathoth (referred to as the “Blind Idiot God”), the hardly pronounceable Tsathoggua and Nyarlathotep, Zhar (“the mad”) and finally, Arinot of the Fourth Dimension and the Cosmos.

Intrigued to no end by these sinister and hardly believable tomes, I stacked them in a pile on the workbench that was in the corner of the room. Glancing once more at the shelf before setting to the original task at hand, I noticed a large, deep red leather-bound book, which simply said “LOVECRAFT”. I reached for this book and made to pull it out, but when I tugged upon it, it only slid forward just a bit- and to my surprise, the bookcase itself jerked forward slightly!

At first I thought that I’d pulled the bookcase out away from the wall a bit because the book was lodged in somehow. Upon closer inspection, I realized the book was not a book at all, but a mechanism. My original task in the cellar was solved. I had found the entrance I originally sought.

Moving the massive bookcase aside a little further, I saw a heavy, oaken door, latched shut. The door was inset inside of a heavy frame, while behind the big bookcase, was not noticeable at all. Inside the frame, a lone key hung on a small nail hammered into the side.

Taking the key, I unlocked the door, which protested at being opened after God only knows how long, with a whining, creaking groan. Curiously, the door wasn't locked.

XII

Folding up the parchment map and stuffing it in my pocket, I picked up the heavy flashlight and proceeded into the gloom. Directly to my left, hanging on the wall was a bracket mounted at head level, holding a few torches, as well as what looked like flints! Apparently, my uncle (or whomever) had a somewhat regular need to be here, which told me one thing- there must be something down here- at some point. I picked up a torch, struck the flint against a rock conveniently placed just beneath it in the ground, and lit the torch. I decided to conserve the battery power in the flashlight, for the deeper depths of these darkened halls of earth. I noticed also that the rock on the ground where I struck the flint had many such markings on it, from other individuals that had been here times past…

The walls and ceiling seemed to be hewn directly out of the underground earth by hand. As I walked somewhat cautiously down the dark tunnels, I wondered exactly who did this, and why. I also wondered about how much manpower it took to perform such a task, if the vast network indicated on the map was to be construed as accurate. Perhaps, I wondered, it may have been some power other than man.

I couldn’t be sure why, but I had a sudden, sharp attack- for that is what it came on like- of déjà vu. This “attack” was so instantaneous, that it made not only my mind reel, but my entire body! Looking around, I saw nothing at first that could have possibly triggered such an attack. The walls and ceiling were simple earth and rocks, the floor for the most part being earth, with occasional large rocks in the ground, possibly intended to be stepping stones. With the déjà vu passing, I proceeded further.

I removed another of the sardines from the resealable tin. Since I was certain that whatever I was destined to find, if anything, wasn’t going to be a beautiful nude woman waiting to sweep me off my feet, I continued munching on the fish. The fact that torches were provided meant that there was surely some type of oxygen supply further ahead, which indicated that this claustrophobic tunnel did indeed lead to some other area along the coast.

Along the wall, I was beginning to see symbols. Some were etched or scratched into the rocks in the sides of the walls, while others were simply painted or drawn in crayon or chalk on the rocks or in the earth of the walls themselves.

As to what the symbols were and what they meant... Some of them seemed to be glyphs or some type of alien writing. At first, I shrugged them off as some strange, ancient form of Hebrew or Greek, but then, it occurred to me that I had seen something like these before! I took out the map, and noticed that some of the symbols on it corresponded with what was written on the wall. Not sure exactly what this meant as of yet, I continued on, making a mental note of them.

XIII

If my watch was any indication, a period of thirty minutes had already elapsed since I had entered the tunnel. Assuming that I had come at least a mile or so, I decided to make a marker for myself, just to be on the safe side. I drew a Roman numeral “I” on the wall, on the surface of a slab of shale wedged into the wall. Pressing on, I saw that the artwork along the walls not only became more elaborate, but it also became more frequent. To my right was a mural painted onto the wall (which, I noticed, was entirely of stone now.). The mural depicted what looked like a man in a black robe, with a head colored green, with tentacles emerging from the area where the mouth should be! Clearly, it was that same High Priest from the photograph that Mustus had shown me. Surrounding him on either side were beings, that walked like men, having two arms and two legs, but were green and scaly, like fish. These beings also bore the piscine features of fish on their loathsome heads, just like the photos I had seen at Mustus’ home. All along the edges of this mural were depictions of conches, shells, crabs, starfish- all types of deep sea life. Apparently, the depictions in the murals were of goings on supposedly taking place under the sea.

Turning to my left, there was a mural that illustrated a castle of sorts, or fortress. This fortress seemed made of impossibly angled architecture, and was huge in scale, compared to the whales, squids and sharks swimming about it in the painting. I wondered to myself if anything like this might actually exist under the oceans. After all, mankind had only explored very little of the ocean, some depths being too dangerous for men to descend. It didn’t seem likely, but who knows... Above this fortress, painted in red, were letters from the English language, though this arrangement was seemingly either totally foreign or completely nonsensical. This time it appeared to be an entire sentence. It read: “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fgtagn!”.

Glancing below the fortress, seemingly written in red in the sand depicted at the sea floor in the painting, must have been the translation: “In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu lies dreaming.”.

Cthulhu? R’lyeh? Lies dead, but dreaming? What the hell? I had heard the name “Cthulhu” before, from the old man. But what was “R’lyeh”?

As a rational man who was interested in the darker things of life, I was admittedly enjoying this. As a practical man that thought he had mastered his particular field, I was somewhat agitated, not knowing anything at all about these matters. I also felt as if I should or did know, but somehow, was being blocked from remembering!

Not sure what to make of this swirl of thought entering my mind, I decided to carry on. For about another mile or so down the tunnel, to my left and to my right, mural wall paintings abounded.

These paintings displayed deep sea creatures, the likes of which I’ve never seen before; they showed Deep Ones, the “mer-men” that walked like men but lived under the sea; they showed men and women, clearly human, having interactions of every kind with Deep Ones.

Lastly, there were many murals of some type of giant “fish-god” deity, and more than one illustration of an even larger deity, the beast I had noticed earlier in the attic amongst my uncle’s old statues and junk. The being that was of titanic size, with bat wings and tentacles!
Was this the “Dagon” that Mustus had mentioned? Or perhaps this was supposed to be Cthulhu? I had wondered why yet again that sense of déjà vu had come over me, as I studied the grotesque details of these two beings. I remembered Mustus speaking of a “Dagon”, and the Hall of Dagon in Innsmouth. He also mentioned that these Deep Ones were acolytes of this Dagon creature.

As for who or what this “Cthulhu” is (was?), I had no idea. But based on the malignant statues I saw in my attic, what I glanced at as I perused those strange books earlier, and these marvelous yet terrifying mural paintings it seemed as though it was indeed something ominous and terrible.

The déjà vu still clouding my mind, I wondered why this mammoth being, in all of it’s infernal glory, seemed so...familiar to me. I also wondered why I felt no actual fear, even though at first glance, this thing- even in statue and painted form- instilled absolute fear and respect at the same time within me!

Where had I seen this before? Surely not in any science fiction pulp magazine. But if not there, then where?

As I pondered this, I suddenly became aware of something that I had not noticed earlier- water.

I could feel a coolness, and indeed hear- running water. Obviously, some body of water, possibly even an underground river lay ahead.

As I descended further into the darkness of the tunnels, I noticed that along the walls, the murals had stopped, and were replaced by an even more elaborate form of art- carvings out of the stone walls themselves.

As I stared in awe at the amazing yet horrific art carved into the very walls themselves, I also noticed that the floors were also covered with the very same type of stone flags that my uncle had used to cover his cellar floor. I wondered if there was some connection; there most certainly had to be, considering his cellar was an entrance into this cryptic and mysterious realm.

The carvings on the walls depicted a ritual of sorts, step by step. The High Priest with the tentacle mask, a nude woman, and a Deep One… Their macabre union that followed, and then some of the beastly “Dagon” again.

As I studied the carvings, I suddenly found myself stepping into an antechamber, which was round and about the size of the entire lower floor of my house. Everything was paved over in stone flags and all of the walls were covered in carvings of all sorts, from Deep Ones to Dagon to human men and women, in all sorts of blasphemous activities.

The center of the room was…the altar? Yes, the altar. Except this particular altar was for Deep Ones; this particular altar was a pool of water, it’s edges flush with the floor, yet having a decorative tile surrounding them. The area was covered in slime and water, as if there was some overflow here recently. I also noticed that there was a tunnel, completely paved and showing elaborate carvings dead ahead on the other side of the altar pool. But this was apparently the destination of that long, dark tunnel I had followed for an hour or so from the cellar.

My uncle, building tunnels, worshipping these Deep Ones? I couldn’t quite believe it, but then, my uncle always was a little bit on the macabre side, much as I turned out to be. I recalled that my father had spent a lot of time here visiting before he went off to the wars.

I leaned over the edge of the pool, and peered down into the murky water. It was hard to see much by torchlight, but I thought I could see something down there. Possibly fish? I wondered. Turning the torch downwards, closer to the water, I saw…

A face! A face, staring back up at me from the depths!

“Jesus! Oh shit!” I yelled out.

With a sudden shock, I screamed out and I dropped the torch, right into the water! But, before it hit the surface of the water and snuffed itself out, it illuminated fully what it was I saw down there, only for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough to know that it was sheer horror.

A Deep One! One of those submariner horrors, like the one that I had seen chained up in the sump beneath the old man’s house.

I panicked, and began fumbling through my pack, clawing like a madman, trying to find the electric lamp that I had brought with me. As I did so, I felt a cold, wet, slimy claw grab hold of my ankle. The grip was like steel!

The thing was trying to pull me into the water, under the water!

Finding the flashlight, I quickly turned it on, and shone it at the surface of the water! With an aquatically stifled roar of disapproval, the thing let go of me, shielding it’s terrible, bulbous fish eyes from the harsh, synthetic light.

With the shock finally subsiding, I gathered my wits- and my pack- and began to go back the way I had come.

I made it as far as the beginning carvings along the walls of the hall and turned back. I saw, to my horror, that for whatever reason, this creature meant to have me, for it was slowly rising out of that scummy pond. Webbed, slimy talons came up first, then that ghastly face, in all of it’s piscine hideousness. Not wanting to see any more, I quickly turned and started to run back up the way I had come down the dark hallway. This time I had the blinding light of the halogen lamp to lead the way, and pure adrenaline and fear to fuel my expedition.

XIV

Finally seeing the doorway at the end of the tunnel, I was panting and my chest aching from the arduous journey and the frightful shock I had just experienced. I foolishly stopped to catch my breath, thinking that something as large and cumbersome as a Deep One- literally a fish out of water- would never catch up with me. That’s when I heard that deep, throaty breathing, coming from not too far away, accompanied by a wet, slogging, shuffling sort of sound.

I turned to look behind me with the lamp; about ten feet away, there it was! Shielding it’s eyes again, it continued it’s shambling gait towards me. Again, launched into action by pure adrenaline and fear, I sprinted the last few feet to the door, fumbling with the locking mechanism.

“Open! Open, damn it! Open!!! Come on!!!” I screamed. Finally opening, the groaning, heavy door slowly gave way. I quickly oozed into the house through the narrow opening, seeing Max on the other side, barking furiously and violently. I turned to look behind me, and there it was, directly behind, only an arm’s length away.

That’s when the beast simply stopped. It stopped, and stood there, staring at me, almost quizzically.

Giving in to panic and fear, I slammed the door literally in the “face”- if one could call it that- of this beast, and locked the door with the key, hanging where I had left it.

The creature pounded once on the door, then trying the handle again, seemed to give up. I could hear it’s heavy breathing and growling on the other side of the heavy door. Max, still barking, may have scared the thing, though I doubt it.

“What the hell! What the hell is going on!?” I yelled out to nobody in particular.

With my back to the door, I slid down onto the floor, exhausted. I pulled Max over to my by his collar. “Good boy!” I said, petting and hugging him. He wagged his tail a bit, but still pulled away from me . Not sure what to make of that, I decided I had bigger problems than my dog acting strange. It’s not every day one discovers an underground ritual chamber beneath one’s home, and certainly not a pool that produces sea monsters. The thought of the thing, and it’s easy access to the door that leads into my home set me completely fraught with despair for the rest of the night. It seemed that despite all this, I wasn’t too concerned, though. My curiosity was already returning, wondering why my uncle had done all of this, and just what his connection was to that area down there, obviously meant for the worship and ritual of some aquatic being or beings. I wondered if he had known of these beasts. But, how could he not? One doesn’t build a place of worship or ritual, without expecting something to happen, or someone- or something- to appear.

I also pondered exactly why it chased me all the way up the corridor, then stopped and just stared at me, like…it knew me? No, not that- but…?

A distant sound came from down the hall behind me, even through the closed door: “Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li! Vor’li’ka!” I started, hearing this piping ululation.

Nothing followed for the next few minutes. I decided that the thing had gone.

Somehow, that call- whatever it was- seemed as if it was directed towards me; by name! But, what does “Vor’li’ka” mean!? Again, I wondered what that meant- and decided that I would go to see the old man again tomorrow, and get some answers. Wiping the cold sweat from my face, I turned off the light, and proceeded back up the stairs, ready for a good night’s sleep.

I swam with purpose tonight. The Deep Ones were nowhere to be seen. I was alone in the sea. I saw only the darkly rippling waves in the moonlight. I continued on towards my destination. The island- there, straight ahead, floating above water, just as it should be. I could see the pillars standing up from here. With renewed vigor, I continued on. As I finally reached the shore, I walked up the wet, sandy beach. I walked down that causeway of sand, lined by those pillars and their ancient hieroglyphs. As I looked over them again in marvel, I noticed that someone stood at the other end of the pillars, waiting for me. A Deep One! So, they were here after all. But only the one? And this one appeared somewhat different than the Deep One that had accompanied me on my journey to the island the last time I was here. This one was small, more frail looking, and had a long, white beard! “I been’ waitin’ fer ye!” it said to me. Mustus? I walked closer to the little creature. “Ye be wantin’ to ask me all sorts o’ questions, I’m guessin’!” it said. Mustus! It had large, glassy eyes, those characteristic fleshy, fat lips. Scales covered the thing, and it had withered claws for hands and feet, with webbing in between them all! The giveaway was the beard; that ragged, gray-white beard that I remembered… So it was him, after all! But…here? How? And why? “You’ve got that right!” I said. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Don’t ye remember?” he said. “Don’t ye remember when I showed ye my scales and my gills? I thought you were all educated an’ such, boy!” he said. “I followed ye out here two nights ago, when ye was with the others; I was off in the distance. I didn’t want em’ to see me. But I was watching ye…” “I am educated, but not, it seems, about Deep Ones!” I retorted. “Mustus, who are the Deep Ones, and what is their purpose? And why am I seeing so much of them lately? I’ve never known them before, never heard of them. Yet now…” “You’ll be hearin’ lots more of ‘em yet, boy!” he said. “You’re one of ‘em!” This caught me off guard. “One of them? No I’m not! I’m a man! I’m human being, you old fool!” “Ye are human, but ye’re a Deep One, too! Ye didn’t come out to this place by boat, didja?” “What do you mean? I don’t have scales! I don’t have gills! I don’t have big fish eyes and lips!” “Ye don’t, but ye’re becoming one of them!” he said. “But ye won’t look like ‘em. That’s why ye’re the Chosen One! Ye’re goin’ to lead ‘em into a new time, a new era! Ye’re they’re protector! You’re Vor’li’ka!” “Their protector? Leading them into a new era?” What the hell are you talking about?” “It’s all here! Remember, last time? Last time, when ye was readin’ the poles here?” He pointed to the carved hieroglyphs on the columns. “The whole story is here! It tells of how ye were born of the Marsh family, just like all of the “important” people out of the Deep Ones. It tells of how ye are going to take yer place as the rightful leader- and protector- of the Deep Ones. It tells how ye’ll be meetin’ with Cthulhu himself, real soon!” A small chuckle of laughter came from him. “Cthulhu…” I said. “Yep, the big C! He’s the real leader of the Deep Ones! People say it’s Dagon, but Dagon’s only a lesser god! Cthulhu is the real deal!”

“What- who is Cthulhu?” “Dead Cthulhu, who lays waitin’, in R’lyeh, dreamin’…” he said. I’d heard that particular saying before. “What did you say?” I asked him. “I said Dead Cthulhu, who lays waitin’ in his sunkin’ home in R’lyeh, dreamin’…” Of course! I had seen this on the wall, painted into that bas- relief in the hall under my house! I suddenly remembered the Deep One, and the place of ritual worship I had discovered. “Mustus… You knew my uncle… Do you know anything about the network of tunnels on an old map, that are beneath his house?” The old man started laughing. He ran off in the opposite direction. “Come see me tomorra’, boy! I gots to git outta here now! They’re coming back! Come see me tomorra’!” They’re coming back? I turned around. There, rising out of the sea, were the Deep Ones! The same Deep Ones I had met the night before, when I swam out here. Looking behind me again, Mustus had disappeared. The Deep Ones, wet and slimy, slowly shambled up the beach towards me, down the row of pillars. “Vor’li’ka!” the lead one said, as it approached me. I said nothing. It stood, facing me, then pointed to just directly behind me. There, in the distance, on a hill on this small island, was a temple. The creature put it’s huge, webbed talon on my shoulder- gently, I noticed- and pointed to the temple. Obviously, he expected me to go there, for some reason. I proceeded, noticing that the fish men were staying behind me, some of them dispersing to different corners of the tiny island, no doubt to find Mustus, for whatever reason. As I approached the temple, I felt that now somewhat familiar feeling of déjà vu again… I noticed that the temple was made of the same greenish white stone, totally alien to me, that comprised the pillars just behind me. As I began to walk up the enormous flight of steps, towards the entrance, I noticed that the statues at the stairway entrance flanking each side were of that same squat, loathsome piscine entity with the batwings and tentacles on it’s face. “Cthulhu?” I wondered to myself. Walking upwards, I heard the remaining Deep Ones behind me, chanting something. What and why, I could not be sure. Finally reaching the top of the stairs, I stood there, at the entrance, staring in awe at the sheer size of the megalithic temple. The entrance itself was at the least twenty feet high, to give it my best estimate. The entrance was carved with those same alien runes and symbols I had noticed earlier, during my trek down that strange tunnel that presumably my uncle had constructed under my house. Inside, I froze upon entering, with a mixture of terror, shock, and…delight? Joy? I was confused, that much is certain. But that which froze my blood down to the last corpuscle was there, larger than life, right in front of me, on the huge wall- a massive, painted, three-dimensional carving of- Cthulhu! Suddenly, I knew Him! This painted bas relief was so detailed, so huge, so nearly realistic down to the last scale, that I almost thought that He was here, right in front of me! I stood in awe for what seemed like hours, but were really only minutes, speechless at this leviathan deity that seemed as if it were coming out of the very wall itself! This sculpted monstrosity was obviously the life’s work of some insane artist, for it surely would have taken any man nearly a lifetime- or more- to complete such a piece. Man? Perhaps something more than a man. This sculpture depicted Him- Cthulhu- squatting on His massive, thickly muscled hind legs, arms outstretched in a gesture of…greed? Grabbing for something? The entire body was painted a sickly greenish color. His wings, a pale black color, were spread widely, almost to their full extent. His scales rippled in concordance with His thickly muscled body, highlighted by the moonlight coming down through the opening in the roof. His huge head, impossibly large for His already massive body, sat directly on top of His broad shoulders, showing no sign of a neck whatsoever. The tentacles that issued from that terrible zone where His “mouth” should have been were carved in a suggestion of them wriggling wildly. They were a paler green than the rest of the body; the undersides of them were a nauseating mauve or pink color. Most terrible of all though, were the eyes… Glowering with eternal hatred and contempt, they stared from under His ignoble brow, in a scornful bloody crimson red gaze, with the odd “w” shaped pupils that were so characteristic of a squid's eyes. I found those eyes impossible to ignore, even from this…statue. The pupils seemed to burn right through anyone who dared to stand here and look at Him. Noticing that the chanting outside was growing louder, and more rapid, I managed to finally tear my attention away from the hideous carving. I noticed directly in front of that massive, loathsome yet incredible sculpture, was an altar! Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder again. I turned, startled, to see the lead Deep One, standing there next to me. He had a huge grin on his already huge mouth. I was repulsed, yet somehow, I felt…excitement? I knew that he was pleased with me for some reason, as if I had passed some test, or reached some understanding that I myself knew nothing about! I asked him waving in a sweeping gesture across the temple’s interior- “What is this place?”. He looked at me, then the walls of the temple, and spoke, in a low, throaty voice that was more a croak, like a frog or fish speaking, than that of a man speaking. “This… is… where you… shall… take your place… your rightful place… as leader… protector… of… us…!” “Me? Why me? Who am I?” “You… protector… Leading us to Him! To Cthulhu! You… are… Vor’li’ka!” “What is that? What does that name mean?” “Name means… Protector of… people of the seas… lead us from… weapons and rage… of… men…” “But I am a man! I am not a… a Deep One!” “You… are Vor’li’ka! You… are both!” The thing smiled at me again, showing it’s collection of small, sharp teeth.. The man? I looked over his shoulder, seeing a smaller mural on the opposing wall on the right, of Dagon, and on the left- Deep Ones. “It is… destiny! We shall awaken… Him!” He pointed to the massive icon of evil sculpted into the wall in front of us. Pointing to the mural of Dagon on our right, he said continued. ”You… will lead us all!” I noticed, when he said that last, that in this particular mural, Dagon was wearing a crown…”You will also kill… the traitor!” That last sentence struck an ominous chord… “Traitor?”, I asked. “Traitor… Mu..stus… Old man… Deep One, but no longer… He keeps one of our kind… prisoner! We cannot… get to him… the star… stones!” Star stones? “I have seen this prisoner! I know the old man!” I suddenly found myself talking to this…this thing, as if it were an old friend! What the hell was going with me? Have I gone insane? “You kill… old man… or bring him… to us! Help us… free… the other!” At that, the man- the “mer-man”, turned, and began shambling down the steps. It seemed as if this creature just assumed- or knew?- that I was just going to help them! I followed, turning one last time to look at the leviathan deity on the wall behind me. Our eyes met again, locked. An infernal gaze met a confused one. As I walked in the moonlight down the rows of columns, I noticed there was no sign of the Deep Ones. I walked straight for the water, without a second thought. Diving in, I headed for home.

XVI

I awoke with a start. Looking out the window, I saw that it was still night. The moon hung ominously over the churning seas, showing off it’s pits and craters, glowing like a phosphorescent sea creature suspended in the sky. I noticed that my skin felt oddly clammy and somewhat chill…and wet! At once, the smell of the sea began to invade my olfactory senses. This time, I didn’t have to wonder how- or why. I woke up with memories of what I had done, and of the previous time. These were no dreams- they were real events. I wasn’t sure how I came to be doing these things while I was “asleep”, if I was indeed asleep. Then again, I thought to myself, maybe I was just sleepwalking, after all. Maybe I went down to the ocean, and that would explain the wet footprints in the house the other night. Wouldn’t it?

I suddenly remembered the old man, and how he told me to see him later the next day- that was odd. Perhaps I would go to see him, and perhaps he may actually know of my dream!

“Huh! Absurd!” I said to myself.

However, everything I experienced was so realistic! One can hardly deny that creature Mustus had chained up in the sump beneath his home. I know for sure that I encountered a Deep One as well, in the secret underground passage downstairs in the cellar. I also cannot fathom, other than perhaps sleepwalking, how I could reek of the ocean upon waking up? I also remembered my clothing, how it was wet with seawater and caked with wet sand.

So if all of these events in the waking world are true, what of the dream events? Was I really some benefactor to the “people” beneath the waves? If so, why? When? How and where did I fit in, with…Him? With…Cthulhu?

This other world that I seemed to be a part of, it seemed so unreal, so dreamlike. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps this other world is a dream world, trapped in the world of men. The two existing together should not be, and is unnatural, yet Deep Ones and the paths of men crossed infernally and infrequently, yet more frequently than should ever have been allowed.

I felt very hot and clammy in the bedroom. I went downstairs, heading out to the deck at the back of the house. I saw no sign of Max. I felt a burning in my stomach, and realized it had been some time since I had eaten. Opening the refrigerator, I saw the meal of spaghetti I had made from the previous night. Taking out a fork from the drawer, I proceeded to shove a large forkful of pasta into my mouth. Almost at once, I recoiled at the taste, which was dry, or stale. The more I chewed it up, the more unpalatable it seemed to taste. I spit it out into the sink, and tried another bite from the bottom of the bowl, assuming it may be more edible and moist and I had just taken in a dry bit that had been sitting on top. Again, it seemed dry, tasteless, devoid of any nutritional value for my needs. I spit it out again, into the sink.

I remembered the backpack, which I had left sitting on the kitchen table. Taking out the tin of sardines, I popped one in, and was immediately satisfied. The salt, the oil, the taste of the fish itself.

“For my needs”? What?

I was beginning to notice that I was thinking in an almost dual sort of way; this troubled me, but only remotely, as I had many things on my mind at the time.

I went out to sit on the deck, under the moonlit midnight skies. Stars shone brilliantly over the sea, along with the luminous beacon of the moon. I saw something splashing in the water a short distance out in the ocean. A fish, jumping around? A shark attacking it’s midnight meal, perhaps?
No! This was most definitely a person. I could clearly see arms and a head. It almost seemed as if this “person” waved at me? A midnight swimmer, who happened to see me, or know who I was? Or was it a Deep One?

At this last thought, I saw no more splashing. There was no sign of the “man” in the ocean, just the relatively calm water and gentle waves.

Strange…

I decided that I would go to see the old man again tomorrow, and get him to tell me everything he knows about this supposed “destiny” of mine, about the Deep Ones, Dagon and Cthulhu.

XVII

It was Thursday, about three in the afternoon. I was driving over to see Mustus. It was fairly overcast out, almost as if it were going to storm. There was some weak sunlight shining in through the clouds here and there. The singular rays reached down into the ocean, almost as if the light wanted to purify whatever ancient evil lay beneath the waves, but the ominous clouds swallowed most of them up…

I put on my sunglasses, as the light was hurting my eyes. I couldn’t figure out why this should be the case, but I likened it to staying up so many late nights and sleeping most of the days as of late.

As I drove on the lonely country road to see the old man, I lost myself in thought. I kept thinking of that creature from my dreams. “Vor’li’ka! You are protector! You are both!” Vor’li’ka…

So, apparently I was destined to lead the people of the oceans- the mer-men or “Deep Ones”, as they are known- to Cthulhu!

How I came to be of this destiny still eluded me, but I was beginning to have the unnerving suspicion that perhaps I was beginning to come to, so to speak, from the real dream- my past life as a typical, ordinary man!

If that were the case, then according to the creature in the “dream”, I was to lead them to Cthulhu, as well as protect them before and during this event, from the harms of man! How was I to do that? And, did I really want to do that?

But one question kept nagging at me- why? Why me? I know nothing of Deep Ones or Cthulhu, save what I’ve discovered for myself these past few dark days. How could a man, a mere mortal human, with no apparent affinity with water, be a leader, let alone savior, to creatures that spawn, and indeed live in the sea all of their lives? As I mulled this over, I arrived on the gravel driveway of Mustus’ home.

Exiting the car, I decided to leave the glasses on; some of the rays of light shone directly upon his house. I found that rather oddly coincidental. As I stepped onto the rotting old porch, the door swung open so quickly that I was a bit startled.

“Come in, come in! I knew ye’d come!” chuckled the old man.

“Here we go again” I thought to myself.

“Alright, Mustus! No games! No riddles! This time, I want some answers! I want you to kindly tell me exactly what the hell is going on!”

“Hell is exactly what’s goin’ on, my friend!” he said. I was feeling rather irritated; not by the old man, but just in general. I was suffering a bit of a headache, possibly from the light in my eyes earlier. I opened my mouth to make a sharp comment, but the old man cut me off before I could. “Now lissen’ to me” he said. I took off my sunglasses and clipped them onto my shirt collar. “Yer father was a doctor, right?”
“Right.”

“Well, he did all he could to get by and make hisself and his family a comfortable livin’. But, he also was a doctor of other things, too!”

“Other things…”

“Fer example, I showed ye the paper last time ye were here, remember? The paper about the test tube baby?”
“Yes?”
“That was you! You were created in a lab!”

“You showed me the paper, I remember. That doesn’t really prove anything, though- but, go on.”

“Well, it be true. I used to be a member of the Order, at the lodge back east. When the government came out an’ blew ‘em all up, well…they disappeared, the Deep Ones, for a real long time!”
He went on.

“They moved out, most of ‘em, ‘cept my kin- ‘cept fer the Marshes.”

“The Marsh family- I read that they were the largest family in Innsmouth, but as of late they had been, well, petering out? Due to inbreeding, as well as breeding with…those things?”
“Yes, yes! Ye got it straight.”
“And?”

“And, most of them people out there, they left and came here.”

“Here? To Portland?”
“Yes, here!”

“But, I haven’t seen any conglomeration of townsfolk around here- indeed, there are no real “fishing villages” around here…”

“They’re here, believe ye me, lad.”

“Where?”
“Everywhere! They’re everywhere! They done learned their lesson, they did! Back then, back east- they was all in the town of Innsmouth, and they got caught! The government blew most of ‘em to kingdom come. The rest of ‘em, they just holed up in their houses and carried on in secret, or they came here….

“So, they’re just spread out, all over Portland?”
“Fer the most part. But a great deal of ‘em, they’re…” He trailed off, and pointed down with one finger.

“What? Where?”
“In the sea, some of ‘em in the caves!”
“Caves? What caves?”

“You seen ‘em! There’s a whole network of caves, tunnels- even an underwater city somewhere out there, but I dunno where it’s at! Maybe ye can remember, or find out. Anyhow, ye seen the some of the caverns, under my house! Down there, where I got one of ‘em chained up, ‘member?”
“Yes.”
“Well, some of ‘em went off under the sea, cuz they was ready, ye see… And the others, them regular people- they’re either around the surrounding towns on the coast, or…in the caves underneath!”

“So, some of them turned into these Deep Ones?”
“Yep, sure did. It was only a matter of time.”

Vor’li’ka, Protector of men. Men? I wanted to ask him about the dream, but he continued on.

“So, the government, they got wind of what yer father was doin’. They tracked him down, but when they did, yer father done disappeared too! With the baby- with ye!”

“My father died in the war, remember?”
“That’s the official explanation. That’s what he spread ‘round, so’s they’d quit lookin’ fer him.”

“Come on, Mustus! You really expect me to believe…”
“Believe it, cuz it be the truth. I ain’t given over to tellin’ lies. I may be old and a bit daft to some people, but when it comes to Deep Ones, I know what I know, and I’m tellin’ ye the truth. I swear it!”

“So according to you, my father supposedly didn’t die in the war; how did he die, then?

“He didn’t die.”

“What?”
“He’s alive.”

“Alive? Where? Where is he?”
Again, he pointed downwards.

“The sea? My father is a Deep One, is that what you’re saying?”
“That be the truth.” I wasn’t sure how to take this news. If the old man was telling the truth, it would explain a great deal of the strange events that have been happening to me suddenly, in the past few days. It would also explain why he and my uncle spent so much time together, as well as the house and it’s dark passages, the strange statues and items in the attic. If not, well- he had a hell of a sense of humor, and I might just have to have him committed. There was so much evidence to support his story, and I needed more information.

“Tell me, Mustus- who, what- is Cthulhu?” The old man froze, his eyes widening somewhat, as if I had blasphemed so terribly that a bolt of lightning may at any moment strike us down!

“If ye don’t know, then ye don’t need ta know!” he said.

“Come on, old man! I’ve been in the middle of some strange events for the past few days, and you’re somehow involved. All of it somehow seems to lead up to him, it, whatever! This “Cthulhu”. Come on now, tell me!”
“He… He is the most evil of all the Ancient Ones! He is the Lord of the Abyss! He rules over the oceans, over the Deep Ones!”

“What’s the connection with the Deep Ones?”
“They serve him! Only, the ones out here, out west, they don’t know where He is! All the old records were destroyed, when the government agents blasted up Innsmouth and Devil’s Reef! They're searching for R’lyeh, where…”

“Where Dead Cthulhu lies dreaming!”. I finished it for him.

“Yes! Yes, exactly!”
“What does that mean, exactly? What or where is “R’lyeh””?

“R’Lyeh is His place; His city. He an’ all of His brethren, they took on the Elder Gods, and they lost! They got sent to prisons all over the place! Hastur, He got sent off to someplace out in the heavens; Ithaqua, to the snowy wastes of the north…”
“…and Cthulhu, to the sunken building or city, of R’lyeh, under the seas.”

“Exactly.” Things were starting to fall into place- somewhat.

“So, what does Cthulhu need…from me?”

Here, the old man seemed to hesitate. “He… He… I don’t know…”
I sent him a sharp look.

“Well…”
“Well, what?”
“Accordin’ to legend…and to yer father…ye are the Redeemer! The savior, I guess.”
“Vor’li’ka?”
“Yes, you got it! That’s yer official name- yer official title!”
I wasn’t sure, but it seemed that the old man seemed somewhat…fearful of me? It was as if a switch turned on in his brain, as if he suddenly thought I was going to lash out, and kill him? I wasn’t sure what it meant.

“So, “Vor’li’ka” means “Protector”?”

“No, no! It… It implies that. It’s more what ye are, what ye do. The name, well it’s more of a title, than a name. Sort of.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Vor’li’ka- the word, it’s a name for ye, and ye only! That’s a Deep One name, it is.”
“So, I have a given name, in the language of the Deep Ones.”
“Yes, and it has an English translation!”
“What?“
“Dagon!” I stopped short. The blood suddenly turned chill in my veins, and my scalp and palms broke out in a cold, clammy, oily sweat. Somehow, I wanted, hoped that this was all an elaborate story by a lunatic old man, but I knew, I knew…that is was the truth! It was as if someone had turned on a switch in my brain. It seemed as if this whole time, I had been living a sort of a lie- or rather, performing a façade of a life, when in fact…

“I didn’t want to tell ye that, but know ye knows!” the old man said, in a hushed voice.

“How was I born?”
“Yer father, he made ye, as ye know… But with the donated cells and sperm of…Him…”
“Him?” The old man just looked at me, not daring to speak His name aloud. “Say it!”.

The old man hesitated, unsure of what to do. “SAY IT!” I screamed.

“C-C-Cthulhu!” he moaned, almost as if in agony to merely say the name.

“Dagon… Dagon was a mythical fish creature! Ponape, Philistines… Every culture has a legend of some sort of a fish god! Neptune, for god’s sake! Are you saying…”
“Some myths have a basis in fact, lad!” he said.

“But Mustis, I’m not thousands of years old, and I’ve never been much for the water!”
“Not lately.”

“What do you mean? What do you mean by that?”
“I mean… I mean there is a legend among the Deep Ones, that in order to free Him, to free Cthulhu. They need a leader and protector. They learned what they done wrong at Innsmouth. Yer father, he somehow got the…material…to make you, while back there. Somehow… Somehow, boy- ye’re the key to it all. Those other Deep Ones back there, they got to bein’ so degenerate, those ones that survived the government raid, that they’s pretty much killed themselves off. Only yer father knew the secret of Cthulhu!”

I listened intently as he went on.
“They always used the name Dagon; they used it as a cover. The Esoteric Order of Dagon, back in Innsmouth- they was really worshippin’ Him.”
“Cthulhu…”
“Yes, yes.”

“So, there really was no Dagon, except…”
“’Cept for ye!”

“Dagon…”
“See, it was a front. More like a double bluff, really. They acted like they used Dagon for a front fer worshippin’ Him, when in fact, there really was- or was going to be- a Dagon anyway. They was protectin’ the secret of Dagon, and in so doin’, they was protectin’ the secret of Cthulhu.”

“Me…”

“Yes. “It was all in the name of Him, of Cthulhu, and that’s why ye have to help me, instead! I know there’s good in ye, boy! I know there is! Ye has to help me, not them!”

“Mustus, are you absolutely sure of all this?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“’Pretty sure’ doesn’t convince me- I need facts. I need hard evidence!”
“I don’t know what else I can do. Ye’ve seen the Deep One downstairs, ye seen the paper I showed ye!” The old man looked me, grabbing my arm. “Tell me ye’ll help me! I need yer word! Ye gots to help me!”

“I don’t know what you expect me to do!”
“Come with me. Ye knows where we’re going to go! Ye been there already!”
“Yes, and that reminds me- how is it, exactly, that I had a dream and you were in it, talking to me? Talking to me, well, as if it was real, and not a dream?”
“It weren’t no dream, ye knows that.”
“Somehow, yes…but…”
“But nuthin’! Ye’re under their spell! Yer one of ‘em! But ye can fight it! Ye can help me fight them!”

“You have to quench your thirst for revenge, for what they did to your wife Emma?”
“Yes, and to me!”
“But, if you’re one of them-“

“Never!”

“Okay, if you were one of them, why don’t you just go back to them? What’s the big deal? Your wife, in your own words, is there, with them! Surely she would be happy to see you again?”
“If ye had a wife, would ye done give ‘er over to some…monster, as a sacrifice? Or to birth more monstrosities? Would ye?”
“No, I don’t suppose I would.”
“I’m an old man! They know about me, they know where I’m at. I can’t go back to ‘em, even if I wanted to. I don’t know how long I can hold ‘em off! Sooner or later, it’s gonna be me or them. If I gotta go, I’ll damn sure take some of ‘em with me to hell!”
“Mustus, I would really rethink this…”
“Ain’t nothin’ to rethink. My mind is made up. Now, are ye gonna help me or not?”
“What do you want me to do?” At that, the old man laid out his plans, and I listened. There was a voice in the back of my head, telling me to leave and to leave now, but I ignored it. I wanted to hear exactly what it was that he had in mind. Then, I would actually gauge for myself if I would really partake of this lunacy.

XVIII

The old man had insisted that I gather up some supplies from my home, and returned immediately to his house. Half the day had already passed since I was here previously. As soon as I walked in, the old man sat me down right away and handed me a medium sized burlap bag.

“What’s this?” I said, as I opened the bag. Looking inside, I thought at first that it was full of sand dollars. The bag was full of round, stone discs, which were flat and smooth. On either side of each and every one of these discs was a five pointed star, much the same as a pentacle, cut into the stone. “Some kind of sand dollar?” I asked.

“Star stones! Not sand dollars!” he said.

“Star stones?”

“Ye don’t remember yet about ‘em, but they’re used against Deep Ones, acolytes, Shoggoths.”
“What? Shog-“
“Nevermind!” he said. “Jus’ remember, if you run into a Deep One, ye can use one of these stones to ward it off! Ye can also lay ‘em on the ground, or hang ‘em in the wall or roof, so they can’t pass!”

“How do you mean?”
“They can’t pass the Stars, or touch ‘em. It’s like a cross to a vampire, or silver to a werewolf, sorta. How do ye think I’ve kept that one down below prisoner all this time? The very chunk of rock he’s chained up to has a star on top of it! There’s more down there, too; all over the place. Don’t want no Deep Ones swimmin’ up and gettin’ inside my place, now do I?” The old man issued more of his crazed laughter, and I wondered after this just what I had got myself into. Star stones? I found the whole thing ridiculous… Or did I? For some reason, the stones mildly jogged my memory…

“We need to get some rest before we head out!” the old man declared.

“Rest…” I repeated.

“Yes, I’ll be headin’ up to my bed- ye can stay in the guest room, at the end of the hall down there!”. When the old man turned in shortly after, I pulled out the old photo album he had shown me days ago. Silently, I perused through the black and white gallery of obscenities…

XIX

I was staring at photo after photo, amazed at the pictorial history of Mustus Marsh and the Deep Ones. I still couldn’t quite believe what I saw in some of these photos, even though I had seen far worse in recent days past. I suddenly just put the book down, and moved to the kitchen, almost as if possessed by the will of some other. Hardly noticing the filth and debris this time, I descended into the cellar through the door in the kitchen. It struck me then that I had hardly noticed the strange house, or the fishy odor this time. I noticed also that I could see a little better in the dark, though the same single, dim bulb still swayed from it’s cord down here. Grasping the old key, I unlocked the ancient padlock on the trap door in the floor, removed the heavy chains and flung it open, and descended. I didn’t need my flashlight, as the old man had apparently been down here recently; torches were blazing here and there in the area. I walked over to the area of tumbled stones that the old man had shoddily constructed, and saw that pitiful creature, still lying there, in it’s pool of filthy water. I felt both revulsion and pity; I didn’t know which was more important, or which of these emotions belonged to which of my now seemingly dual identities. Dual identity, yes; that of a common man, with a possibly unhealthy interest in the macabre, and that of…what? Deep One? Leader of Deep Ones? Dagon? Looking down at the thing, I noticed that I felt no fear this time. I also noticed that the thing itself, it this were at all possible, seemed relieved to see me? I don’t know how I could possibly have detected any hint of emotion of any kind in that awful, fish-like face, but somehow…

Somehow, I did know. I knew that I- Ambrose Alexander Smith… Yes, Alexander Smith- Protector of Men, the men of the sea- I knew that I was the link- the missing link, if you like- to men and Deep Ones!

I looked down at the beast- the man- again, and decided that either way, there was no point in keeping this pitiful thing locked up like this. As I reached for the manacles that bound it, it spoke!

“Vor’li’ka…”

“Yes… I am…Vor’li’ka.”
“My… son…” I stopped cold.

“My father?”

“What the hell is ye doin’ down here!?” came a frenzied shout from behind me. It was the old man. I turned around, feeling a swirl of contempt and hatred rising in my soul, without even having to have thought about it.

“You! You old fool! You dare!?” I grabbed him by the lapels. "You dare!?" The old man had a twisted look of fear and surprise on his face. “I should kill you right now for this!”

“If I woulda told ye, ye wouldn’a helped me!” he said. “I was gonna tell ye, when the time was right!”

“Oh, and when would that have been? After you had coerced me into killing my…my own father?” As I spoke these words, it seemed as if they would seem to be absurd, regarding this creature as having anything to do with begetting me or any human of the normal world above. However, I also felt as if things were falling into place, or like mental blocks were being lifted. I knew that the mer-man chained before me was my own father, Percival Alexander, and that I was his son, Ambrose Alexander! I turned to the old man again, not sure if I should strangle him, or press him for more information.

“It was you! It was you that I sensed, watching me, in my…my “dream”. Only it wasn’t a dream after all, was it? It was real- I was actually out there, swimming, in the sea! Walking around, on that island!”

“Yes, yes. Ye was really there. I was watchin’ ye from far out in the deeps, but I had to stay unseen from the others; they want to git me for what I done here!” He pointed to my father, chained below.

“Ye is a Deep One! Ye is the Leader! That’s why…” The old man stopped short, as if he had caught himself…

“That’s why what?” I asked, accusingly. Suddenly… A rush of information just came in, like the tidal seas bursting a dam. “That’s why you told me this feeble story of vengeance! You held my father… You held my father captive! You did it all- to get me!”

“I still want to have my revenge, for my wife…but, ye may be right!” At that, the old man produced a knife from inside his boot. Holding it towards me, he continued.

“I tricked this one- I told him years ago, back east, I’d have my revenge. I got this one here to swim up under the house… Told ‘im you were down here!”

“You dirty old bastard!”
“Only I didn’t tell ‘im about the star stones I got everywhere!” More crazed laughter.

“How is it that you- and myself, for that matter- are resistant to these star stones?”
“I turned a long time ago from the ways o’ the Deep Ones. I can only guess that when I did that, I somehow got up a resistance to ‘em! But not much! I had to hire someone to hang ‘em up down here all over; they thought I was crazy! But, I still avoid ‘em like the plague! But I also had to do what I had to do, so I endured a little pain. But it’s not a pain like it used ta’ be! Maybe it’s God hisself helping me along!”

“And myself?”
“Ye don’t know much, do ye!” he chortled.

“Tell me!” I snapped.

“Ye is a Deep One, but created by Deep Ones in science. They musta found a way to make ye immune! But the rest of ‘em, they ain’t never gonna have that immunity! Only ye have it! That’s why ye’re goin’ to lead the way for ‘em! Ye are Dagon!”

I stared off into the depths of the cave, pondering that last statement. As I did, I noticed that there were indeed stars almost everywhere; some carved into the walls, some scattered on the ground, some carved into the rock on the ground, some smaller stones hung from stalactites.

“Ye’re father named ye what he did, hopin’ ye’d find out fer yerself who ye are!” he said. “He left clues everywhere, hopin’ ye’d find it all out fer yerself.”

“Names…?” It was all making sense. That tidal rush of information coming in again. “Ambrose”… Greek for “belonging to the immortals”… “Alexander”… Greek for “Protector of Men”… Of course. I was standing on the threshold of a great change in my life- and in the lives of many others! The old man must have noticed me pondering my destiny, for he lunged at me with the knife. In a broad, sweeping motion, I grabbed his wrist, twisting so hard and violently that he dropped the knife almost immediately. With his wrist caught in my grip, he hunched over, trying desperately to swat me with his other hand.

“I was only gonna hold ye, I wasn’t gonna kill ye!” he said.

“I’m sure I can believe you!”, I replied coolly. I punched him squarely in the side of the temple with my free hand. He dropped face down in the muck next to father. Finding the key to the shackles that held my father in bondage, I unlocked the cuffs. When I did, the…man…slowly stood, with not a small amount of effort. I looked at him, still somewhat bewildered that this thing- this man- was in any way related to a human. Was I human? I was no longer truly sure.

He pointed down at the unconscious form of Mustus. I chained the old man the same way he had chained up my father. He still didn’t come to yet. Realizing that the old man had “mined” the river entrance with star stones, I knew father could not pass, but I could. I wasn’t sure how we would get him back. Back to where? Suddenly, I knew.

The long tunnel beneath my house glowed again with the dank torchlight. I didn’t really think that I even needed it anymore. As if reading my thoughts, father took the torch, and snuffed it out in the mud in the ground.

“Trust… your eyes!” he told me.

As soon as the burn of the light faded from my eyes, I realized he was right. I could actually see the tunnel, as if it were lit up on a brightly moonlit night! I wondered how long I had been in possession of this gift. I thought to myself that only a mere week ago, I would have laughed or been repulsed, at the thought of myself, walking next to this shambling creature from the deep, as if I was taking a walk in the park with my father.

Father…

I thought how absurd I would have thought it, a week ago, that such a creature could even exist, let alone give me life. Reaching the end of the tunnel, we entered the ritual chamber. I knew this would be the way… The way home.

I took another look around the room. The glorious carvings, telling the story of…my people. Their rise and fall; the story of Cthulhu; and…my story! Staring down into the pool in the center of the room, I now felt no fear or trepidation; instead, I knew this was a ritual pool, a channel to the island. Built by my uncle and by father- for me. Father stood to the side, waiting for me to enter first. I threw off my pack, and removed my clothing, which now felt restrictive, hot and uncomfortable. I jumped in, relishing the cool water encompassing my body. I swam instinctively, as if I had done so all my life! Perhaps I had… I looked up, seeing father looking down from the edge of the pool, a somewhat ghastly smile on his ichthyic face. He entered the pool as well, following me down. I noticed that the entire chasm in which we swam was man-made; or rather, mer-man-made! There were also carvings along the walls here, too. Some of them depicted a human man, or a man who appeared human, standing amongst the Deep Ones. The “human” man wore a crown. Another carving depicted the man again, this time standing in front of the grand Cthulhu, both facing the same direction, as if aligned together, against some antithetical force. The chasm or tube curved downwards, and we entered a tunnel that ran parallel to the ground, yet still slowly steeped down deeper and deeper into the sea as we went. We swam through for a few miles, noticing carvings along the walls the entire way. We could see the end of the tunnel in the distance; open sea was ahead. Upon exiting the tunnel, I could see that straight down was dark, even to my eyes. The deep sea realm of my people; free, open seas. I looked behind me to see father swimming up to me from the mouth of the tunnel. He stopped next to me, and suddenly cupped his webbed hands to his wide mouth.
“Ia! Ia! Pht'thya-l'yi! Ia! Ia! Pht’thya-l’yi!” He pointed upwards. Following his lead, we swam a few miles back up, to the surface of the sea.

I cannot detail enough what an exhilarating experience it was, swimming in the undersea currents, then emerging head first from beneath, but without the slightest gasp for air. I had all but forgotten that boon to mankind; that boon that I no longer had to worry about! I wondered if I ever had any cause to worry about that. I hadn’t even given my underwater breathing a second thought. I realized that the gills I possessed were situated inside my throat and nasal cavity; they were not outside, on the neck, or anywhere visible to any others. I looked up at the dark, foreboding sky, filled with angry, boiling clouds. A few rays of sunlight, rapidly diminishing, peered through the clouds directly in front of me. I squinted my eyes just a bit, feeling the light burning them, but just ever so slightly. Father’s head popped out of the water next to mine. I noticed that the clouds had now completely enveloped any remaining rays of sun.

“Ahead!” he said, pointing to my left. Looking in that direction, I saw it- the island. That mysterious island, that I had seen so many times in dreams past, and even visited, during the past week, in “dreams”… We swam towards it, seeing the great towering columns looming in the distance as we drew closer. Emerging from the water onto the shore, I stood again in awe of the place. I heard a murmuring from behind me. I turned to see father smiling proudly, as Deep Ones started standing in a sort of formation alongside the rows of columns, more emerging from the water in droves! I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Vor’li’ka! Dagon!” some of them cried.

My destiny was becoming clear. The Deep Ones- the Pht'thya-l'yi- lined up on either side of me, all the way from the beachhead to the steps of the temple, and even lining up alongside the steps. Some of them even appeared to be human hybrids- the offspring of Deep Ones and men… Regardless of purebloods and hybrids, all stood as one, unified, for a single purpose.

I couldn’t believe how many there were.

My father still stood beside me. Turning to face me, he spoke in that guttural, croaking voice, so indicative of the race:

“Proceed! Proceed… to… destiny!”

I walked slowly at first, not sure what destiny he implied. But then, it seemed as if with each step, things became clearer. I quickened my pace, until finally reaching the steps. I heard them begin to chant; a low, throaty chant, which rose higher and higher as I approached the temple. Reaching the temple entrance, I stood there in awe yet again, as in my “dream” before. There it was- the massive, painted sculpture of grand Cthulhu, reaching greedily towards me.

I finally entered the temple itself; as I did so, the chorus rose in pitch again behind me. I saw the “altar” straight ahead, just beneath the sculpture of our dark God. Walking up to it, I saw a pit just beneath the legs of great Cthulhu; the pit was filled with skeletal remains and bones of men. Apparently it was a trap to dispose of those sailors or fisherman or anyone else unlucky enough to happen across the island, and make their way to the temple. Apparently this place was guarded at all times, and viciously so. I somehow knew what I was to do. I turned from the idol, to face the multitudes out there. The chanting grew even louder. Looking down at the altar, I saw that on top of it was inscribed yet another carving. This one showed the “human” man- myself, I knew- producing the crown I had seen in other carvings from within the altar. I looked downwards, seeing only stone.

Had one of these dead pirates in the bone pit beneath great Cthulhu’s statue pilfered it away? Was it sitting in some house somewhere, revered as a mere trinket by some mortal man? Had that old fool Mustus taken it, and kept it at his filthy house? Somewhat unsure and a bit frustrated, I placed both my hands on the altar, seeing if perhaps there was a way to open it. The stone glowed a bright, greenish color beneath my hands- and the top layer shattered to shards and fragments beneath my very hands. Somewhat surprised, I had no time to marvel at that…technology, for there it was! The crown of Dagon! Removing the crown, I held it up slowly out of the dust from the disintegrated stone. As I did so, the acolytes’ voices rose higher and higher in their ululations. Feeling the power I had rightfully gained, I held the crown up above my head, gazing at its silver sheen, its green emeralds. I fitted it to the top of my head. What could only be described as a cheer, a roar, or better yet a cacophony of jubilant sound emerged from hundreds of ichthyic throats.

“Ia! Ia! Dagon!” they cried, over and over.

I noticed that as I watched, I felt a slight electrifying current cascade through my body. The altar began to slide back. I moved, watching it go. It sunk down, beneath the idol of Cthulhu, and came to rest over the opening of the bone pit. The top of the altar was now flush with the floor. On top, beneath where the crown had rested, was that same strange, black stone, like the one I had found in the attic. It bore the following inscription, in the runes of the Deep Ones- the Pht'thya-l'yi:

“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl phfnah!”.

I heard and felt a massive…earthquake? But not an earthquake…

The chants grew in even more fervor, if such were possible, which it gloriously was! Only this time, the chants became:

“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl phfnah!”.

A tremor shook the island temple. It felt as if some gigantic, Cyclopean machinery was starting into motion, far beneath us… Somewhere down in the depths of the sea…

“In his home in sunken R’lyeh, great Cthulhu awakens!”

News clipping from “The Portland Gazette” October 21, 1951

The mystery man and the little green men

How’s this story for strange and macabre? This very paper you hold in your hands, the good old Gazette, had hired on a young man from Salt Lake City to write the “Supernatural Corner” feature usually found in the back of this paper. This young man- Ambrose Smith- had already had some of his previous works published here that had earlier appeared in pulp magazines.

Well, it seems as if Mr. Smith has disappeared, and nobody has seen a trace of him. The last we heard, he had mentioned something about investigating little green men- and flying saucers over McMinnville! Could they have taken him away?

News clipping from “The Portland Daily Post” October 21, 1951

Local fisherman disappears along with reporter; police uncover ritual chamber of horrors

Strange and mysterious events have been reported all over the coast as of late. It seems as if a missing reporter from another paper and an old fisherman disappearing from his home have some connection, authorities say. The authorities found a day ago the lair of possibly Old Nick himself down in the cellar of Mustus Marsh. There were black magic icons everywhere in this underground cavern, as well as an altar of sorts that Marsh had apparently constructed. Even more disturbing was the series of manacles and chains that emerged from the altar, which also had a large pentagram- a symbol used in Satanic worship- right on top of it, carved into the very rock itself.

Worse still, a human hand, severed off at the wrist, was found still encased in the manacle that bound it. The knife used to perform this grisly act was found a few feet away. The hand has been identified as having belonged to Marsh.

Authorities suspect Marsh and the young reporter- Ambrose Smith- had met previously to talk about a story the young man was writing for his paper.

Marsh’s home contained a number of strange books and objects, most of which could be for use in magic or black magic rituals and other irreligious practices. Among these articles were various bones and a human skull. No connections had been made previously to Marsh- who was mostly a recluse- to anything other than tall tales and fish stories.

Smith’s home was also similarly abandoned. His dog was still there, and food was in the bowl, tipping authorities off that Smith had been there recently.

While Marsh may or may not be dead, foul play of the worst kind has been suspected, though authorities would not offer any comment on whether they thought Smith was also a victim, or the perpetrator, or if even Marsh himself was to be implicated, despite his apparent maiming.

No other sign of either man has been found yet, but police are still searching and questioning the surrounding townspeople.

The House in the Port by J.R. Torina

Contact:

J.R. Torina

P.O. Box 510163

Salt Lake City, Utah

84151 USA

sutekh777@yahoo.com

http://www.myspace.com/117352834

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I think this short story would make a great movie. If you are a film maker, get in touch and let’s work together!

The House in the Port

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

The House in the Port

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