The Shadow over Innsmouth

The REAL story, as told by the great great grandson of Zadok Allen

Lovable old coot blows the slimy and barnacle-encrusted lid off of the Royal Order of Dagon and them priests what wear the funky tiaras

Say what?

And it was MY 'frightened appeals for government inquiry' what brought down the Fish People's stack of vaguely gelatinous and ill-smelling playing cards in one fell and scabrous swoop!

What is this old man talking about?

Yo, dude, check out the priest with the funky tiara on his head.

Where?

Over there by that rundown church.

Which one, dude? We're surrounded by rundown churches here, in case you hadn't noticed.

Sadly, however, they came back after the heat died down.

What? Who came back? What IS this old man talkin' about?

Now don't tell me that you young'uns ain't never heard tell on the infamous Fish People of Innsmouth.

Man, this dude is wack. Look we just be waitin' for the bus to Arkham, homes.

Well, heh heh!

Man, we're apprentice street thugs, dude, on the way to a rap concert. You ain't scarin' us.

Okay, okay: I'll bite: What happens 'in these parts' on Hallows' Eve, grandpa. (Sheesh!)

Hallow's Eve, sonny boy? Oh, nothin'. Nothin' That's just when the malignant sea creatures in question be a-congregatin' on Devil Reef out yonder in anticipation of the annual human sacrifices that Old Cap'n Obed done promised them 80 year ago in return for plentiful fishing off the coast. That's all.

Yo, dude, you've been sniffin' too much methane in the local salt marshes.

How say ye, young man? Ye think ye be safe around here in lovely downtown Innsmouth tonight, do ya? Ye think old grandpa Quasscraft is plumb loco, eh?

Heh! Heh!

I think you'll find that it was P.T. Barnum who said that, homes.

Oh, yeah? Well, did P.T. Barnum add the following disturbing caveat to that home truth, which I was about to recite in toto, by the way, before you so rudely interrupted me:

All we can hope for is that they're born with actual fingers on actual hands rather than those lobster-like pincers that Old Cap'n Obed and his aptly named toadies began sporting shortly after cutting that satanic deal with the Fish Frogs of Devil Reef!

No, I don't think P.T. Barnum would have added that particular qualification.

Man, you ain't scarin' nobody. We're only listening to you because we're waiting here for the bus to Arkham.

Ha! The bus to Arkham! Ain't it funny how that bus always seems to break down all convenient like, whenever outsiders like yourselves are waiting for a ride out o' town?

Oh, man, now that is wack.

Chill, dude: This motha don't know what he's yammering about.

Yeah, well, the bus is already 30 minutes late, dawg.

Listen, old man, if there's somethin' you ain't tellin' us --

Somethin' I ain't tellin' you, boy? Why, bless my soul, I'm already liable to be flayed alive this evening thanks to what I've done tol't ya already!

What?

Aye, there be forces in this town that outsiders like yourselves t'aint never heard tell on!

Yeah? And what forces would those be, exactly?

Ye boys ever heard o' the Royal Order of Daaaaagon?

Is that anything like the Royal Order of Water Buffalos on the Flintstones?

Shut up, dawg: Let the man talk.

How's about the bus driver (what's his name, that Sargent feller) what brung ye boys in this morning from Newburyport?

The bus driver? Oh, yeah, dawg, you gotta admit: He was creepy.

What did you make of that narrow scaley head o' his'n and his odd way of shufflin' in and out of Old Man Sanders' drug store upon arrival to buy his usual pack o' cigs?

Now that you mention it...

And how about them scale-covered eyes o' his'n, what never shut?

You know, he's right, dude: I never once saw the man blink!

Funny, how them oily looking peepers o' his regarded you all suspicious like in the precariously balanced broken glass of the rear-view mirror --

Well, now that you put it that way --

Aye, them bulbous orbs that like to have popped right out of his head on account of they were bulging so -- and not from the front of his face neither, but they was bulging from the SIDES, giving him a sort o' queer fish-like appearance that made your recently scarfed-down breakfast biscuits from the Newburyport McDonald's turn in your stomach like the tide beneath a harvest moon!

How did YOU know that we ate breakfast at McDonald's?

The more so in that the driver's malignant body odor soon supplied those visual horrors with their perfect olfactory analog: namely, the reeking of fish flesh some three days' dead just a-bakin' in the sun on the scale-encrusted concrete of -- Hiccup!

Of Hammond's Drug Store, that is, right 'chere in Market Square!

Where is that bus to Arkham?!

Don't tell me you're scared, G.?

Naw, I ain't scared, dawg -- but you got to admit, we've seen our share of creepy lookin' townsfolk while taking this so-called shortcut of yours to Arkham.

Hey, dawg, this was your idea, dude!

Whoa, wait a minute, back up here, old man. Check it out.

Are you seriously saying that the town folk (such as this bus driver dude) have actually mated with some mythical sea creatures, thereby acquiring a vaguely piscatorial physique?

Piscatorial nothin', son, they look like fishes, I tell ye! The townsfolk here look like fishes! And what's more, those unblinkin' eyes of their'n don't look kindly on the presence of strangers in town as ain't got the Innsmouth look themselves.

Yeah, but what about you? You look normal enough. I mean, you're dog-ugly, of course, but in a normal sort of way.

Come again?

Then why do they tolerate you?

What, ME, boys? Heck, they just think that I'm a harmless old drunken coot.

Huh! Now, WHATEVER gave them THAT idea?

Besides, I done took the First Oath o' the Order of Dagon back on the very day when the Fish People first issued up from the briny deep

Yes, yes?

...demanding what they somewhat mysteriously referred to at the time as 'fealty'.

Fealty?

Of course, I was but a young shaver at the time, and couldn't sabe what the dashed blazes they was a-talkin' about... but I soon realized that the seemingly biped sea creatures merely wanted guarantees from us land folk that we weren't gonna blab to the outside world about the amphibian invasion what had just tooken place?

Tooken place?

Dawg, I'm gettin' nervous. The bus is now 50 minutes late.

Eh, boys, ye be nervous NOW, eh? Heh heh!

I told ya we shouldn't have taken this blasted short-cut of yours.

Um, hello? It was your idea, dude, remember?

Now, don't be lyin' on me, dawg --

Well, now, I don't like to get all up in y'all's bi'ness like this, but you could always stay overnight in the Gillman place cross't the street here, maybe get a cheap rate on account of you're students, ain't cha?

The Gillman House? No, thank YOU!

Not to worry, though: Old Man Gillman is normal enough -- he lives in a sort of human 'green zone' on t'other side of the Marsh refinery, where most of the town's 'normal' bi'ness people live, as a matter of fact, on account of the poor condition of the roads in these parts what make commuting difficult.

Human 'green zone'?

Mind you, I can't answer for the vaguely gelatinous footsteps that you boys might hear in the corridor outside your room come midnight, just a-creepin' down the hallway outside your inadequately bolted and flimsy excuse for a door, what a grandchild o' mine could shatter with one noncommittal blow of an ax!

Noises?

Noncommittal blows???

But where be me grog?

Man, what are we gonna do? We're gonna miss the rap concert!

Oh, snap! There he goes again: That freaky priest with the ridiculously tall tiara is giving us the evil eye again from the church door. You want a piece of me, baby?!

Huh! Guess that told him!

Easy, dawg, I don't think we should be trying to attract notice like that.

Okay, baby, but what's the plan, Dan?!

Well, we could at least SEE if they have any rooms.

Dawg, the town is empty: Of COURSE they have rooms.

Aye, the Gillman House has rooms enough -- and let's not overstate the case here, boys -- there's every chance that you two will still be alive in the A.M. when the much-more-reliable MORNING bus shows up yonder in front of Hammonds Drug Store.

Well, that's comforting -- relatively speaking, at least.

No, them Fish Folk don't normally get up to no mischief -- less'n it be Hallow's Eve, of course: Then 'all bets are off,' as my old grandpappy Zadok used to say.

That grandfather of yours was just a walking treasury of home truths, wasn't he, old man?

When is this Hallow's Mass Eve, anyway?

Oh, I can't rightly say -- but I expect it's still far off. Not till October, I should reckon.

Hey, wait a minute: It IS October, dude!

Oh, really? Well, not to worry. I don't believe that Hallow's Eve is till (let's see now...) the 31st of October round these parts -- and you boys can't possibly have been so unlucky (not to mention just plain jackass stupid, of course) to have a-stumbled on this den of iniquity and blasphemous decay on...

B-b-but it IS Hallo-Hallo-Hallo...

Well, now...

And that the sea things are going to run riot round about midnight?

Well, see...

And that their first order of business will probably be to kill us in some probably disgusting way on account of we're strangers here in Innsmouth?

Okay, here's what you're gonna do --

Oh, they're gonna kill me fer helpin' you boys -- See! Even now, that 'funky priest' as you call him is a-peepin' out the church door, just a-spyin' on this confab that he sees us holdin' here. Aye, he can see me fraternatin' with the enemy with his own two eyes -- with his own two fish-eyes, that is, what never shut. Aah! Beelzebub! Belial! Ebru Labadon! Yabba Dabba Dooooo!

This man is crazy.

Yeah, dawg, but what if he's telling the truth?

He no doubt hopes to document my infidelity for the elders at the next weekly Order of Dagon meeting on Thursday night in the old VFW building on Madison Street: Be there or be dead.

What?

Quick! Quick! You've got to run down to the old abandoned railroad line on River Street!

Okay, okay: Which way is that?

Yonder, down Madison Street. Get on the ocean side of the embankment and then crawl through the marsh grass on your bellies till you reach the iron-railed highway bridge near the grassy bluff.

Grassy bluff: Check.

And steer clear of all churches -- and whatever you do, do NOT loiter around the Elks Lodge at the corner of Chestnut Avenue -- the place is a beehive full of stinging fish people.

"A beehive full of stinging fish people"? What kind of a lame metaphor is THAT?

Man, cut the dude some slack: He's saving our lives here!

What about you, old man? You'd better come with us!

Naw, my reward will just be a-knowin' that you boys got to your rap concert in one piece.

Gee, thanks.

Well, two pieces, I mean.

What?

Since there be two of ye, I mean. Ahem. Now then, where be old Cap'n Hooch? Oh, yes: Booze, ahoy! Whoop! And a-down the hatch, me bucko! Ha!