Weirder Shadows Over Innsmouth

INNSMOUTH BANE

by JOHN GLASBY

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 neighbours, 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 rumour 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 artefacts 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 rumours.

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 I 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 if 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 to. 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.

It was then I decided to wait for his return from his latest voyage. I already knew that both the Hetty and the Columbia had sailed some seven months previously, leaving the Sumatra Queen tied up at the harbour for repairs.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, I made discreet enquiries concerning these ships and finally ascertained they were due off Innsmouth some five weeks later. I had already decided upon the best vantage-point to maintain a close watch on any activity without exposing myself to view. Accordingly, on the night in question, I made my way along Water Street to the harbour. The night was dark and starlit with no moon, and I let myself into one of the large warehouses lining the waterfront.

Going up to one of the upper storeys, I crouched down by the window from where I had a clear and unrestricted view of the entire harbour. Although dark, there was sufficient starlight for me to readily make out the irregular black outline of Devil Reef perhaps a mile and a half away.

It was almost midnight when I spotted the two ships rounding Kingsport Head. The Columbia was in the lead with the Hetty about half a mile astern. Twenty minutes later, after following the movements of the two vessels closely, it became apparent that Marsh meant to bring them both into the harbour rather than anchor offshore.

By the time the vessels had docked, a further hour had passed. There was much activity on both ships and the tall figure of Captain Marsh was clearly visible. By shifting my position slightly, I was able to watch closely as the cargoes were unloaded onto the quayside. Much of it consisted of large bales, which were carried into the warehouse adjacent to that in which I had concealed myself. There was little talk among the men, much of the work being carried out in complete silence. After a while, the crews vanished along Water Street and only Marsh and one crewman were left on board the Columbia.

When they eventually disembarked they were carrying a large chest between them and it was this, I guessed, that contained more of the gold which Marsh was bringing back from that unnamed island in the South Seas.

I now had ample confirmation as to the source of this gold and, had Marsh continued merely with smuggling such trinkets, there was little that could be said against him. Prior to the war, during the privateering days, such activities were commonplace in Innsmouth and were certainly not frowned upon by the townsfolk.

* * *

By now, Marsh seemed to have fully accepted this pagan religion of those natives with whom he traded on a regular basis. He began to speak out vociferously against all of the religious communities, urging anyone who would listen to abandon their Christian faith and worship this pagan god, promising them wealth beyond their wildest dreams if they did so.

Had we all listened to the Reverend Joseph Wallingham, who entreated his congregation to have nothing to do with those who worshipped pagan gods and worldly goods, and had I known then what I was to discover the next time the Sumatra Queen returned from that accursed island, all of the ensuing madness might have been averted.

But few heeded the Reverend Wallingham, and it was a further year before that fateful night when the Sumatra Queen docked. Is it hard to say what gave me the notion that Obed Marsh was smuggling something more than gold into Innsmouth, or what brought to my mind the recollection of the old tunnels beneath the town, leading from the sea into the very centre of Innsmouth.

But remember them I did. For two nights I concealed myself on top of the cliff overlooking the shore, but without any untoward happenings. On the third night, however, a little before midnight, I observed a party of men moving along the beach from the direction of the harbour. It was clear the men believed themselves to be safe from prying eyes, for they carried lanterns and, as they drew near the entrance to one of the tunnels almost immediately below my hiding place, I recognised Obed Marsh in the lead, with Matt Eliot and five of the crew close behind.

But it was the sight of the others accompanying them that sent a shiver of nameless dread through me, so that I almost cried out. Without doubt they were natives brought back from that terrible island and, even in the dim light cast by the bobbing lanterns, I could see there was something distinctly inhuman about them.

Their heads were curiously distorted with long, sloping foreheads, out-thrust jaws and bulging eyes like those of a frog or fish. Their gait, too, was peculiar as if they were hopping rather than walking.

Trembling and shaking, I lay there and watched as the party entered the tunnel mouth and disappeared. Not until a full half-hour had passed was I able to push myself to my feet and stagger back into town.

God alone knew how many of those creatures Marsh had smuggled into Innsmouth under the unsuspecting noses of the population, concealing them somewhere in his mansion on Washington Street.

At the time, I could tell no one. Marsh had too tight a hold on all who sailed with him for any of them to talk. What dire purpose lay behind this wholesale importation of these natives, I couldn’t begin to guess. I knew full well there had to be a reason, but Marsh kept it to himself and none of the creatures were ever seen on the town streets, even after dark.

* * *

Over the next two years, whenever he was in town, March continued his tirade against the established churches and, when several of the leading churchmen unaccountably disappeared, it became abundantly clear that he intended to become the only force in Innsmouth. Those who did not join him also had a tendency to vanish in peculiar circumstances or were driven out of the town.

Then, suddenly and without warning, disaster struck Innsmouth. A terrible epidemic swept through the town, a disease for which there seemed no remedy. Hundreds, including my own wife, died during the outbreak. The few doctors could do nothing to stem the spread of the disease, merely declaring that it was one of foreign origin they had never encountered before. Almost certainly, they maintained, it had been brought into Innsmouth by one of the vessels trading with the Orient.

The dead and dying were everywhere. There was no escape since the Federal authorities, on hearing of it, quarantined the entire town and surrounding region. By the time the contagion had burnt itself out, almost half of the population had succumbed.

Now, for the first time, I spoke out of what I had witnessed that night on the cliffs. Other townsfolk then came forward to tell of curious foreigners glimpsed in the fog, particularly along the waterfront at dead of night, some swimming strongly out to sea in the direction of Devil Reef, and many more coming in the other direction.

We knew that something had to be done, and a meeting was hurriedly convened to discuss the rapidly deteriorating situation. There, it was agreed that no other course of action was open to us but to raid the Marsh mansion. Further action would depend upon what we found there. It was essential, of course, that no intimation of this plan should reach Obed, for there were now several of the townsfolk who appeared to have thrown in their lot with him.

Two Federal investigators, agents Jensen and Corder, were present at the meeting, and although at first reluctant to support this taking of the law into our own hands, they eventually agreed to lead the raid. One group, led by Jensen, would go in at the front, while agent Corder would command the second, which would enter by the rear.

Arming myself with a pistol, I accompanied the second group. In all, we numbered twenty-two men. None of us knew what to expect as we made our way silently along Lafayette Street towards the rear of the huge building. Once we were in place, we waited for the two blasts on a whistle, which would signal that the other band was ready to move in.

Lights were visible in three of the rear windows, and occasionally a shadow would pass across the curtains. Clearly the house was occupied, but whether the shadows we saw belonged to members of the Marsh family or to servants, it was impossible to tell.

The signal to attack came five minutes later. Running forward, three of the men smashed in the heavy door and moments later, we were inside the house. A long, gloomy corridor led through the house towards the front of the building. Several rooms opened off from it on either side, but a quick search revealed only two terrified servants and little out of the ordinary.

Meeting up with the first group, we found Obed Marsh seated in a chair before the fire. He had obviously attempted to reach for a weapon when the men had burst in, for a pistol lay on the table. Now he sat covered by the revolver in Jensen’s hand.

“Did you find anything?” Jensen spoke directly to Corder.

“Nothing in any of the back rooms,” Corder replied. “But if there is any contraband here, it’s likely to be well hidden.”

“You’ll find nothing!” Marsh snarled. He half-rose to his feet, then sat down again at a gesture from Jensen. “And you’ll all pay for this unwarranted intrusion. I’ll make damned sure of that.”

There was something in his threat that sent a shiver through me. I had long known him to be a man who never made idle threats.

While the rest of the men made a thorough search of the house, with five of them climbing the stairs to the upper storeys, I made a slow circuit of the room. A number of portraits of Marsh family members, going back for several generations, hung on the walls, but it was not these that made me feel uneasy. There were also other things, lining the mantelpiece above the wide hearth and on top of several long shelves around the walls.

There could be only one place where Marsh could have obtained them. Grotesque statues depicting hideous monstrosities, the likes of which I had never seen before. In particular, I came across a trio of statuettes, each about ten inches in height, which were frightful in the extreme. Apart from the nightmarish contours, which appeared to be hybrids of various sea creatures, the anatomical quintessence of these idols, the grotesque tentacular nature of the limbs and malformed torsos, suggested to me things from some distant pre-human era. The nature of the material from which they were fashioned was also highly peculiar. A pale, nauseous green, striated with minute black lines, it was extremely heavy and none of us could even hazard a guess as to what it was.

A sudden shout from one of the adjoining rooms jerked my attention from them. In a loose bunch, we made our way towards the sound, leaving Jensen to keep an eye on Marsh.

In one of the rooms, the men had come across a locked door which, on being broken down, revealed a flight of stone steps, clearly leading to cellars beneath the house. Lighting three of the lanterns we had brought with us, we descended the steps, almost retching on the stench which came up to meet us. It was a sharp, fishy odour, which caught at the backs of our throats, almost suffocating us.

At the bottom, in the pale light from our lanterns, we saw the shocking confirmation of what I had said earlier concerning my nocturnal vigils on the cliffs. There were more than a score of natives crowded into the cellar, and one or two of the men cried out as we tried to assimilate what we saw.

Several of us had sailed to many foreign ports during the prosperous trading and privateering days and were fully conversant with the many native races found on different islands of the Pacific. But what we saw in the wavering lantern light was something none of us had ever witnessed!

These were the most repulsive creatures I had ever set eyes on. Apart from some curious deformity of their bodies, their bulging eyes and oddly shaped heads held something of the aquatic physiognomy of fishes, and I could swear that some of them had hands and feet which seemed to be webbed!

Sickened by the sight and smell, I turned away, and it was then that I noticed the hastily boarded-up doorway in the far wall where the shadows were thickest. Drawing Corder’s attention to it, we soon ripped away the boards and shone the light of one of the lanterns into the gaping aperture that lay behind them. There was no doubting what it was—the opening into one of the old smugglers’ tunnels leading down towards the sea.

“So that’s how he brought them here,” Corder muttered grimly. “God alone knows how many more of these creatures are in the town, probably concealed in cellars like this.”

Charged the next day with illegally importing unidentified aliens, Obed Marsh and several of his crew were thrown into jail to await trial, and for two days thereafter an uneasy quiet reigned in Innsmouth.

* * *

It was not to last, however. For then came the day which was to change Innsmouth forever.

As far as I was concerned, my suspicions were aroused when I noticed several groups of men in the streets adjoining the jail. All of them were either men who had sailed with Marsh in the past or those who had joined him later, when he had spoken out against the various religious denominations.

It was clear their intention was to secure Obed’s release by force, and this seemed confirmed when they began moving in the direction of Main Street. Hurriedly alerting several of my neighbours and telling them to spread the word, we succeeded in gathering more than fifty men armed with muskets, pikes, knives and any other weapons they could lay their hands on.

By the time we reached the jail, we found it had already come under attack. Some of the raiders had forced their way inside, and the unmistakable sound of shots came from somewhere within the building. Moments later, we were set upon by the yelling mob, and I was fighting for my life against men I had known for years who now acted like crazed madmen.

For a time, since we outnumbered them by almost two to one, we succeeded in driving them back from their objective. But as they retreated along Main Street, a great horde of natives burst out of Waite Street, forcing us back towards the bridge over the Manuxet.

In the distance, I could clearly pick out more gunfire coming from all directions, but concentrated mainly near the centre of the town and along the waterfront, and I guessed that fighting had broken out in several places. Already we had suffered a number of casualties—seven men had been killed, and almost twice that number wounded.

Luckily, the majority of the natives were unarmed, relying on sheer weight of numbers to overwhelm us. Several were killed within the first few minutes, but the rest came on, heedless of their casualties.

It was the bridge that temporarily saved us. On either side, the riverbank as far as the falls was far too steep and treacherous to be readily scaled, and the Manuxet was in full flood after the recent rains, thereby preventing the creatures from crossing the river and assaulting us from the rear.

For almost an hour we managed to hold off the attackers, inflicting terrible carnage among their ranks. When they began to pull back, we believed we had beaten them off, and although firing could still be heard around the town centre, it was sporadic, and it appeared the situation was slowly being brought under control.

After what several of us had witnessed in the cellar below the Marsh mansion, I think we believed we were prepared for anything. But nothing could have prepared us for what came next.

It was Silas Benson who suddenly called our attention to the river below us. As I have said, the Manuxet was in full flood, but now it teemed with black shapes, swimming upstream against the racing current. That they had come from the sea was immediately obvious. Literally hundreds of them came swarming onto the bank, and one horrified glance was enough to show that these creatures were even less human than those we had stumbled upon earlier.

Hopping in a manner hideously suggestive of frogs, they clambered up the steep sides with ease. There was no chance of defeating such a multitude, and our only hope of survival was to flee across the bridge and along Main Street. Another bank of natives, surging out of Dock Street, attempted to halt us, and our ammunition was almost spent by the time we broke through them. Four more of our number were killed before we reached the relative safety of my house, where we barricaded ourselves in.

By now it was abundantly clear that those monsters from the sea had taken over the whole of the town. Sporadic firing could still be heard in the distance, but we all knew that further resistance was futile.

By the morning of the next day, after spending the night confined to the house, we finally pieced together the full story of what had happened. Obed Marsh and those imprisoned with him had been released. Both of the Federal investigators who had accompanied us to the Marsh mansion had been slaughtered. John Lawrence, editor of the Innsmouth Courier on Dock Street, who had often spoken out against Marsh, had been dragged into the street and murdered. The presses and printing equipment had been smashed and the offices set on fire.

Thus it was that Obed Marsh now controlled the whole of Innsmouth. His word was law. Within weeks, the old Masonic Temple on Federal Street had been taken over and replaced by the Esoteric Order of Dagon.

Only a handful of the townsfolk were allowed to leave Innsmouth. These were mostly Lithuanians and Poles. Whether Marsh considered that no one outside Innsmouth would believe anything of what they said about the town or whether, not being descendants of the original settlers, he adjudged them to be of no importance, no one knew. After they had gone, those who remained were allowed to join the Esoteric Order of Dagon. There were few who declined.

It was not only the gold which made people join this new religion Marsh had brought back with him, nor the fact that, by now, most folk were mortally afraid of him. What persuaded the majority to join was Marsh promised that, if they took his five oaths and obeyed him implicitly, they would never die.

When I was asked to join, I refused, as did my son. I had read sufficient concerning the rites that had been practised in nearby Arkham during the witch trials to know that similar inducements had been made then—that all who worshipped Satan would be granted eternal life. At the time, I knew it to be nothing more than myth and superstition, merely an enticement to get people to join in their unholy rites.

Now, however, I know differently. It soon became apparent that Marsh was involved with those deep ones much more deeply than was first thought. In return for their continued aid, he declared that the townspeople must mate with these creatures. He, himself, was forced to take a wife from among them, although she was never seen abroad and no one was able to tell who—or what—she was.

* * *

All of that happened almost twenty years ago. More and more of the folk, particularly the younger ones, acquired the same look as many of those natives we had found in Marsh’s cellar and some, as the years passed, were even worse—being little different from those creatures which had come from the sea to take over the town. Almost all of the Marsh, Gilman, Hogg and Brewster families were affected by this ‘Innsmouth look’. Curiously, Ephraim Waite’s family remained untainted, even though he was one of Marsh’s closest acquaintances.

Rumour had it, however, that Waite had once resided in Arkham and had a reputation as a wizard, some even suggesting that he was the same warlock as was present before and during the witch trials there, two centuries earlier. That this was nothing more than idle gossip, spread by those who were more afraid of him than of Obed Marsh, seemed undeniable.

It was now becoming more difficult and dangerous for me to keep watch on Marsh’s activities. Even though the deep ones had returned to the sea shortly after Marsh’s release from jail a score of years before, those who bore the ‘Innsmouth look’ were in the majority, and any of the population untouched by it were kept under close scrutiny.

Only those who belonged to the Order were allowed in the vicinity of the Esoteric Order of Dagon hall. Nevertheless, on a number of occasions I managed to approach within fifty yards of it under cover of darkness. Even on those nights when there was no service taking place, the building was never silent. Strange echoes seemed to come from somewhere deep beneath the foundations—weird sounds like nothing I had heard before.

But things were worse whenever a service was being held. Just to see some of those who attended made me want to turn and run. Scaled things that wore voluminous clothing to conceal the true shapes of what lay beneath, walking upright like men but with a horrible hopping gait that set my teeth on edge. And the chanting which came from within was something born out of nightmare. Harsh gutturals such as could never have been uttered by normal human throats—croaks and piping whistles, more reminiscent of the frogs and whippoorwills in the hills around Arkham than anything remotely approaching human speech.

Dear Lord—that such blasphemies as those could exist in this sane, everyday world! I found myself on the point of believing some of the tales spread abroad in Innsmouth concerning some deep undersea city, millions of years old, lying on the ocean floor just beyond Devil Reef. When I had first heard them from Elijah Winton, I had immediately dismissed them as the ravings of a madman. But hearing those hideous sounds emanating from the Temple of Dagon made me think again.

Something unutterably evil and terrible lay out there where the seabed reputedly fell sheer for more than two thousand feet into the abyssal depths. Whatever it was, from whatever internal regions it had come, it now held Obed Marsh and his followers in its unbreakable grip.

Then, two days ago, I found myself wandering along Water Street alongside the harbour. What insane compulsion led me in that direction I could not guess. I knew I was being kept under close surveillance all of the way—that eyes were marking my every move.

Where the sense of imminent danger came from it was impossible to tell, nor was it any actual sound. Rather it was a disturbing impression of movement in the vicinity of Marsh Street and Fish Street. I could see nothing to substantiate this, but the sensation grew more pronounced as I halted at a spot where it was possible to look out over the breakwater to where Devil Reef thrust its sinister outline above the water.

It was several minutes before I realised there was something different about the contours of that black reef. I had seen it hundreds of times in the past—I knew its outlines like the back of my hand. But now it seemed far higher than normal, almost as if the sea level around it had fallen substantially.

And then I recognised the full, soul-destroying horror of what I was seeing. That great mass of rock was unchanged. What distorted it was something huge and equally black, which was rising from the sea behind it.

Shuddering convulsively, unable to move a single muscle, I could only stand there, my gaze fixed immutably upon that—thing—which rose out of the water until it loomed high above Devil Reef. Mercifully, much of its tremendous bulk lay concealed by the rock and the ocean. Had it all been visible, I am certain I would have lost what remained of my sanity in that horror-crazed instant.

There was the impression of a mass of writhing tentacles surrounding a vast, bulbous head, of what looked like great wings outspread behind the shoulders, and a mountainous bulk hidden by the reef. It dripped with great strands of obnoxious seaweed. I knew that, even from that distance, it was aware of me with a malevolent intensity. And there was something more—an aura of utter malignancy which vibrated in the air, filling my mind with images of nightmarish horror.

This, then, was the quintessence of all the evil which had come to Innsmouth—the embodiment of the abomination which Captain Obed Marsh had wittingly, or inadvertently, brought to the town in exchange for gold.

I remember little of my nightmare flight along Marsh Street and South Street. My earliest coherent memory is of slamming and bolting my door and standing, shivering violently, in the hallway. I had thought those creatures which now shambled along the streets of Innsmouth were the final symbolism of evil in this town, but that monstrosity I had witnessed out in the bay was infinitely worse.

What mad perversity of nature had produced it, where it had originated, and what its terrible purpose might be, I dreaded to think. I knew it could be none other than Dagon, that pagan god these people now worshipped. I also recognised that I now knew too much, that neither Obed Marsh, nor the deep ones which infested the waters around Innsmouth, could ever allow me to leave and tell of what I had witnessed.

There is only one course open to me. I have set down everything in this narrative and I intend to conceal it where only my son, now serving with the North in the war which has torn our country apart, can find it.

Through my window I can see the dark, misshapen figures now massing outside and it is not difficult to guess at their intentions. Very soon, they will come to break down the door.

I have to be silenced, and possibly sacrificed, so that the Esoteric Order of Dagon may continue to flourish and the worship of Dagon may go on unhindered.

But I shall thwart whatever plans they have for me. My revolver lies in front of me on the table and there is a single bullet still remaining in the chamber!