The Lonely Shadows: Tales of Horror and the Cthulhu Mythos (14 page)

“We have a hydrophone operator on board,” Lowrie explained, “and he’s listening out for obstacles since we don’t know accurately how far that reef extends below the surface.”

Twenty minutes later, we had safely navigated the southern edge of the reef and were soon in deeper water. Now, the submarine angled more steeply downward and Commander Lowrie remained at the search periscope, using it for the first time underwater in an attempt to pick out anything visible in the beam from the searchlight.

In this manner, we proceeded to within thirty feet of the ocean floor, then assumed a more even keel. Motioning me forward, he indicated I could take a look at the scene outside. At first, even with my eye pressed hard against the lens, I could see very little. The searchlight beam, powerful as it was, scarcely penetrated more than ten feet into the inky black water. Then something suddenly flashed across my field of view. I caught only the barest glimpse of it before it vanished but that had been sufficient to recognize one of those creatures we had spotted on the surface.

It was followed, instants later, by another and this time I almost cried out at the sight. Whatever it was, I doubted if that creature could ever have been human. It seemed octopoid in outline with tentacles rather than two arms, yet the rest of the body was almost like that of a man!

Beside me, I heard the Commander issue a terse order. The next moment, we began to descend once more and now, through the periscope, I was able to discern the seabed some thirty feet below. It sloped gradually downward but two minutes later a black, almost straight line of utter darkness appeared directly in front of us, stretching away in an unbroken line in both directions.

I recognized immediately what it was; the dark abyss at the edge of the shallows around Devil Reef, a fathomless deep whose depth we did not know.

Sucking in a deep breath, I relinquished the periscope to the commander and heard his muttered exclamation as he, too, saw it.

“How far down is it possible for us to go without cracking the hull?” I asked.

“Certainly not more than three hundred feet,” he replied. “More than that I wouldn’t like to attempt.”

“That’s still a good distance above the bottom if the reports about the depth of this area are accurate.”

“I’m well aware of that, Agent Tarpey. There’s nothing in my orders about going to the bottom. There are ten torpedoes on board this vessel. Once we reach the designated position, these are to be fired straight down and then we get out of here.”

“How long before we reach that position?” I inquired. The feeling of claustrophobia, which had made itself felt the moment I had come aboard was now beginning to tell on my nerves. A small number of the men also appeared to be similarly affected.

Lowrie checked his watch, holding it close to his eyes in the dim light. “Another twelve minutes,” he said briefly. He called Lieutenant Commander Westlock and gave him orders for the torpedoes to be made ready for firing.

While this was being done, I returned to the periscope. Not that I expected to see anything even though the vessel was now descending slowly, but at a steeper angled than before, into the inky blackness of the abyss.

Yet there was something.

At first, my vision refused to take it in. A wavering phosphorescence far below us. I knew that certain deep sea creatures emitted a fluorescent glow—but what I saw covered a vast area and would have required a shoal of millions of such creatures to produce such an effect. Furthermore, there seemed to be an odd regularity about the masses of palely glimmering light. Although it seemed impossible, to me they held ineffable suggestions of structures utterly unlike anything I had ever seen. Squinting, I struggled to imbue them with some form of normality.

How high those alien configurations loomed above the distant ocean floor, it was impossible even to guess, for the glowing radiance seemed to come only from the lowermost regions. But even this was sufficient to show the sheer alienness of their overall outlines.

Had they been nothing more than amorphous masses, it would not have offended my sense of perspective to such a degree. But there were vast bulbous appendages and oddly truncated cones, which intermeshed in angles bearing no relation to Euclidean geometry and I felt my eyes twist horribly as I tried vainly to assimilate everything in my field of vision.

But even this outrage of nature was not the worst. Just before I removed my eye from the periscope, I saw something black and monstrous outlined against the flickering light of that vast city far below. To describe it as tentacled or winged would be to ignore completely the quintessential horror of that slowly ascending shape. I had seen pictures of giant squids reputed to haunt the midnight depths of the ocean but this was far larger, far more abnormal, to belong to that class of creature.

Hearing my sharp exclamation, Commander Lowrie thrust me hurriedly to one side and took my position at the periscope. Clasping the handles in a white-knuckled grip, he turned it slowly. Then, without moving his head, he barked, “Increase the angle of descent. Ready all torpedoes for immediate firing.”

Once his orders had been carried out, he turned an ashen face in my direction. He seemed to have some difficulty in finding the right words. Finally, he muttered, “What in God’s name is that down there?”

“Y’ha-nthlei, perhaps,” I replied. “I can’t think of anything else. God knows how old that place is. And don’t ask me what that—
thing
—is. All I know is that it’s coming this way and the sooner we get this over with and surface, the better.”

I could not analyze the reasons for my certitude that whatever that monstrous thing was, we were its target and there was not a moment to be lost if we were to extricate ourselves from this horrible predicament. From what little I had seen, I knew that creature was ten, maybe even twenty, times larger than the submarine and if it succeeded in reaching us, it could drag us down into those alien depths with ease.

In front of me, Lowrie stood, tensed and rigid, at the periscope. I knew he was seeing exactly what I had seen and I firmly believe that the mere sight of that incredible horror might have driven a lesser man over the edge. But he did not flinch. His features set into a mass of grim determination, he waited until he judged the torpedoes would find their mark, then gave the order to fire.

From where we stood, there was little to indicate that the torpedoes were on their way. Five minutes passed with complete silence inside the submarine. Then there came a slight, but distinct, shudder as the detonation waves hit us.

When I stepped forward at Lowrie’s gesture to take my last look through the periscope, I was trembling all over. At first, my eyes refused to focus properly. Sucking in a deep breath, I forced myself to remain calm. Slowly, everything became clear.

That frightful distortion of nature I had seen only a few minutes earlier was gone although I thought I caught a fragmentary glimpse of something amorphous dwindling into the depths. As for that vast city, the torpedoes had clearly done their work for here and there were irregular patches of blackness like scars on the overall phosphorescence. Nevertheless, large areas still shone with that sickly radiance and it was evident that, although Y’ha-nthlei, like that creature which had risen to attack us, had been badly damaged, they had not been totally destroyed.

By the time we surfaced, there was no sign of the Deep Ones who had earlier swarmed over the hull. To the west, Innsmouth was burning. The shells of those Colonial houses built of stone would remain as smoke-blackened monuments to the night’s raid but almost all of the wooden structures would be reduced to ashes by morning.

I must end this report on a warning note. Innsmouth must remain under close surveillance and a continual watch kept on the ocean just beyond Devil Reef. That which is merely injured, may rise again!

INNSMOUTH BANE

I am writing this narrative in the sincere belief that something terrible has come to Innsmouth; something about which it is not wise to speak openly. Many of my neighbors, if they should ever read this account, will undoubtedly assume that any accusations I make against Obed Marsh are based upon jealousy since there is little doubt that he, alone, is prospering while those of us who lost much during the years of depression are still finding it difficult to profit from this strange upturn in fortune which is his alone.

My name is Jedediah Allen. My family left Boston and settled in Innsmouth in 1676, twenty-one years after the town was founded, my grandfather and father being engaged in trade with the Orient, prospering well following the success of the Revolution. The war of 1812, however, brought misfortune to many Innsmouth families. The loss of men and ships was heavy, the Gilman shipping business suffering particularly badly.

Only Obed Marsh seemed to have come out of the depression successfully. His three vessels, the
Sumatra Queen
,
Hetty
, and
Columbia
still made regular sailings to the islands of the South Seas. Yet there was, from the very beginning, something odd about these voyages. From the first, he returned with large quantities of gold trinkets, more treasure than anyone in Innsmouth had ever seen.

One rumor had it that this hoard of gold had been discovered by him concealed in some secret cave on Devil Reef, left there by buccaneers more than two centuries earlier; that he covertly ferried it ashore on nights when there was no moon. Yet having seen some of these artifacts for myself, for Obed displayed many of them quite openly, I was more inclined towards the former explanation as to their origin.

Certainly, the objects were beautiful in their intricate workmanship and design but this was marred by an alienness in their imagery. All of the objects appeared to have an aquatic motif. To my eye, they had disturbing suggestions of fish or frog symbols, totally unlike any of the Spanish trinkets from the West Indies.

There was also something strange about the metal from which they were fashioned which indicated a non-European source.

My attempts to get Obed to divulge any information about them all met with evasiveness. He would neither confirm nor deny any of the rumors.

There was one man, however, who might talk.

Matt Eliot, first mate on the
Sumatra Queen
, was known to frequent the inn on Water Street whenever he was in port and it was from him that I hoped to learn something.

It was two weeks before an opportunity presented itself. Entering the inn just after dark, I spotted Eliot in the far corner, among the shadows, and for once he appeared to be without his usual drinking companions. After purchasing two drinks, I walked over and sat in the chair opposite him. He clearly had had a lot to drink although the hour was still early.

I knew him to be a man of violent temper, readily aroused, one who had to be approached with caution and diplomacy.

Setting the drink down in front of him, I sat back and studied him closely for several moments. I wanted him to be sufficiently drunk to talk, but not too drunk to fall into a stupor. For a time, he gave no indication that he had noticed my presence. Then his hand went out for the glass and he took several swallows, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

Leaning forward, he peered closely at me. Then he grinned. “Jedediah Allen, ain’t it?”

I nodded. “I’d like to talk with you, Matt,” I said. “About these voyages you go on with Captain Marsh. Where’d he get all that gold? I’d like to buy some of it for myself.”

His eyes opened and closed several times before he replied, “Reckon you’ll have to speak to Obed about the gold. He keeps all of that for himself.”

“But you do know where he gets it.”

“O’ course 1 do. Every man on those ships knows where that gold comes from.” He leaned forward a little further, pushing his face up to mine, and dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Every trip he makes, Obed sails for Othaheite. Couple o’ years ago, we came across an island to the east not shown on any of our charts. The natives there, the Kanakys, worship some kind o’ fish-god and they get all the fish and gold they want in exchange for sacrifices to this heathen god. Obed gives ’em beads and baubles for it.”

He took another swallow of his drink. “There’s somethin’ else, somethin’—”

He broke off abruptly as it suddenly aware he was on the point of saying something he shouldn’t.

“Go on,” I urged. “This is just between you and me, Matt.”

“There’s another island close to that where the Kanakys live. That’s where they offer their sacrifices. Obed got me and two others to row him out there one night. God, it was horrible. Not just the ruins that looked as if they’d lain on the bottom of the sea for millions of years, but what we heard and saw while we were there, on the other side of the island. Things comin’ up out o’ the sea like fish and frogs only they walked on two legs like men, croakin’ and whistlin’ like demons.”

I saw him shudder at the memory. “Obed never went back to that accursed island again. I reckon even he was scared by what we saw.”

Finishing my drink, I thanked him for his information and left. As a staunch member of the Baptist Church, I knew that it was my duty to warn others of Marsh’s activities. But without proof, it was doubtful if I would be even listened too. Obed was a prominent figure in town and after all, it had long been an established practice for sea captains to exchange goods with the natives of these far-flung islands. Before I could tell anyone, I needed to know a lot more about what Obed was bringing into Innsmouth apart from gold.