by JG Faherty
Flannery paid no attention to my distress and pointed at a large charred mound in the center of the room.
“Care to tell me what the fuck that is?”
I stepped closer and a new odor assailed me, the vile stench of over-cooked meat and fish. My stomach threatened to rise up but I forced myself to move closer, knowing I had to face the horrors waiting for me.
And somehow explain them to Flannery.
Someone had laid the corpses next to each other, shoulder to blackened, flaking shoulder. The faces were completely gone, nothing but skulls peering through remnants of flesh. Most of the clothes had burned away as well, and bone showed in several places.
Of the abhorrent tentacles, no trace remained.
I shook my head. How was I to explain what we’d witnessed, the monstrous things that had attacked us? No doubt Flannery, in all his misguided hatred of me and my family, was ready to arrest me again, this time for murder and arson. I looked back. Perhaps if Ben and Flora were with me to lend credence to my story….
“Don’t play coy with me, Gilman. I saw them with my own two eyes. The things.”
I jumped at Flannery’s words. “You did?”
“Aye. Disgusting creatures. Two officers heard screaming and saw the broken door. They went in and one of those demon bastards came at them, clothes afire, and…”
Flannery’s voice trailed off and he looked down at the corpses.
“…it was fucking Stemple, one of them said,” he finally finished. “How can that be?”
“This isn’t my doing.” I wanted nothing more than to run from the building, but I had just one chance to clear my name with Flannery.
“Despite my feelings about you, I tend to believe that. No man, not even a twisted loon like your father, could create something like that. Not without….” He frowned and poked his foot at one of the bodies before glaring at me. “But I think you know more than you’ve told. So spill it, Gilman, or I’ll lock you up just for the hell of it.”
A picture appeared in my head, and a sick feeling came to life in my stomach. The demon-faced man standing outside the morgue while his undead slaves entered to carry out their dastardly mission.
And that mission was?
“The book.” The words left my mouth before I knew I was going to say them.
“Book? What in hell are you yappin’ about?”
A great relief came over me. No more secrets. I’d spill all my beans for Flannery. I needed police protection, or at least their help. The ghoul-faced demon wanted me dead, and with the squid creatures to do his bidding, nowhere was safe.
“I’ll tell you what I’ve learned,” I said, motioning toward the door. “But not here. My house. And Ben and Flora have to come as well.”
Without waiting for an answer, I walked out. Flannery would believe me or he wouldn’t. If he did, the police would hunt down the demon and kill it. If he didn’t, he’d lock me away in the asylum same as they did my father.
Either way, it didn’t matter.
I’d be safe.
Chapter Eleven
I opened my front door and came to a stop. Behind me, Flora gasped.
The front parlor lay in shambles. Furniture overturned, books and papers scattered on the floor, and shelves swept clean. Cushions ripped open and the stuffing torn out in clumps. Shattered glass from broken figurines and curios that had once belonged to my mother littered the floor. A rancid odor hung in the air, akin to decomposing fish.
Fear raced through me. Him! It was him!
On the heels of that, a second thought rose up.
The book.
“I take it you didn’t leave the house like this?” Flannery asked. I ignored him and rushed into the adjoining study, which had been my father’s examination room and office when his medical practice operated in good standing. Like the parlor, it showed obvious signs of vandalism. Desk drawers open, contents spilling out in haphazard fashion. Bookcases ransacked. Cabinets emptied. Liquor cart overturned, the sweet fragrance of brandy overpowering the lingering briny stench.
I crossed the room, stepping around broken glass and tacky, wet stains, and knelt by a plain-looking wooden cabinet set against the wall. The doors stood open and more papers were scattered in front of it.
Please no, don’t let him have—
I reached inside and relief surged through me. The would-be thief hadn’t found the hidden compartment I’d originally installed to store morphine and laudanum back when I intended to pursue a degree in medicine. With the rapid decline of the neighborhood, it wasn’t safe anymore to keep such things out in the open. After being forced to leave school, I’d begun using it as a place to hide my valuables.
“It’s here.” I pressed the tiny button that unlocked the panel. It swung open, revealing a square space in which sat the book I’d found in the alley. I lifted the heavy volume out, my skin crawling as my fingers touched the cover.
“This is what they were after.”
I set the book atop my desk. Flannery, Ben, and Flora gathered round.
“This?” Flannery placed his hand on the cover and pulled back with a start. “Bloody hell. It’s….”
His words trailed off and he frowned at the book while wiping his hand against his leg.
“Yes, it feels awful to the touch.” I looked at the others. “I need to tell you how I came by it. I haven’t been quite honest with any of you.”
This time I left nothing out, starting with being accosted in the alley and ending with the ghastly life-forms living inside the dead bodies at the morgue. When I finished, there was a moment where no one spoke.
Then Flora let out a cry.
“You bastard!” She flew at me, gloved hands clawing at my face. Ben and Flannery grabbed her, pulled her away. She didn’t fight them but she continued to shout.
“You should have told us! Bloody demons following you. My brother’s dead because of them! Why didn’t you—” She buried her face in her hands, sobbing.
“Might be best if you took her home,” Flannery said to Ben.
He nodded. “I’ll stay with her. Just to be safe.” Fire lit his eyes as he cast a glare in my direction.
“Flora, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” I took a step toward her but she turned away. I could only watch as Ben led her to the door. Neither of them looked back.
The sound of the front door closing stabbed cold ice through my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape. Thanks to my own fear and stupidity I’d lost the woman I loved and my best friend, had brought ruin into their lives. Would they ever forgive me? What would I do if they turned their backs on me forever? How could I go on?
Flannery cleared his throat. “Worry about them later. Tell me why this thing is so blasted important.”
The damned book. If only I’d never found it.
“I don’t know,” I said, when Flannery made a point of harrumphing again. “I only opened it once, briefly, the night I found it. It’s gibberish. Not Greek nor Latin, nor anything I’ve seen. Definitely ancient. I was going to bring it to the college to get it translated, but with everything that happened….”
Flannery lifted a few of the stiff yellow pages with a fingertip, his scowl deepening from even that slight touch. They appeared to be made of leather or heavy parchment rather than paper. He peered at the unreadable symbols and letters covering them and let the cover drop down.
“You think someone there can read this shite?”
“I don’t know, but there may be someone in the administration department I can ask.” That is, if I could speak to Callie before Ben turned her against me as well.
Flannery stood up, his bulk towering over me.
“Well then, what are we waiting for?”
* * *
In the obscured light of another gray morni
ng, Miskatonic University evoked comparisons to long-forgotten civilizations more than proud institutions of higher learning. Square buildings formed of carefully laid stone blocks loomed like half-finished pyramids and oversized crypts. Tall obelisks rose up menacingly from the fog, origins and purposes both unknown.
Cobbled pathways wound in mystifying patterns through the wide campus. As a freshman, I’d gotten lost more than once dashing from one class to the next, and even seniors and instructors had been known to get disoriented on the foggiest mornings. According to legend, there’d once been a student who’d ended up so off course during spring recess he’d stumbled through the mist for days, never realizing he’d ended up in the athletic fields. When school resumed a week later, they found him curled in a ball, spouting gibberish, his eyes wide, his skin covered in creeping mold.
He died not long after.
Many say his ghost still haunts the paths at night, forever seeking his dormitory.
I’d scoffed at the tale when I heard it, but on more than a few occasions it had brought a shiver to me when I had trouble locating a particular building in the murky haze.
A subtle taint hung in the air, an integral component of the mists that formed a constant blanket over the area. The metallic tang of wet, mineral-laden mud, redolent with the briny reek of seafood markets and stagnant waters from the nearby harbor, and something else, something darker and older than time, an unpleasant yet somehow familiar essence that induced thoughts of cold and gloom and infiltrated a person’s very body, as if carried through the lungs into blood and tissue.
Setting foot onto the campus brought back memories I preferred to keep locked away. Although more than a year had passed since I’d been unceremoniously cast out, I still couldn’t think of the place without tasting bitter resentment at the back of my mouth. I’d only been back a few times since then, once to help Callie move into her apartment near the campus and to see her office in the administration building, and the others when I required a book from the library or got paid to demonstrate embalming techniques for the medical students.
“Damned fog. Just as bad here as Innsmouth.” Flannery wore a navy peacoat over the clean suit he’d changed into. Silvery beads of moisture dotted his hat and shoulders and ran down the wool like spilled mercury. I pulled my sweater tighter but didn’t respond, my mood as bitter as the weather. There’d always been a particular chill to the Miskatonic campus, a damp, raw cold that gnawed at the bones. My physics teacher once gave a vague explanation involving localized depressions and sea caverns that made no sense. Everyone else I queried simply shrugged and said it was ‘one of those things’.
After a couple of wrong turns, I managed to find the administration building. It looked the same as the last time I’d visited, a two-story stone structure with the bare minimum of windows, as if the architects wanted to keep out the depressing view of the campus. Red and brown vines crawled across the outer walls in ominous patterns.
Despite the early hour, we found Callie at her desk, a steaming cup of tea and a pile of papers in front of her.
“Henry!” She stood, a broad smile lighting up her face. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Her greeting informed me that Ben hadn’t yet contacted her. All the better for us.
Dressed in a fashionable yet conservative blue skirt, white blouse, and black jacket, Callie brightened up the gloomy institutional gray office just by her presence. She wore two pieces of jewelry, a silver-rimmed cameo on her lapel and a small brooch of green stone over her left breast. My heart stuttered when I saw the design: a triangle with what appeared to be an octopus inside it. Then I remembered it was the university’s mascot, had been for decades. Several teachers had worn similar pieces when I’d attended. I calmed somewhat. Just a coincidence, although it still engendered a sensation of disquiet in my bowels.
Seeing Callie always put me in a reflective mood, and this time was no different. As always, I wondered what our lives might have been like if Flora had found a man and put an end to my besotted dreams. Most likely Callie and I would be married with several children, living in Arkham rather than Innsmouth. A part of me wished it had happened; that imaginary life had to be better than the situation I found myself in now.
But my feelings for Flora overwhelmed any regrets for the road not taken. Someday I would have both the girl and the life I desired. I felt it in my heart.
“Hello, Callie.” I kissed her chastely on her cheek and stepped back. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call. Inspector Flannery and I are here on police business and we need your help.”
Her gaze shifted from me to my hulking companion and her eyes narrowed. “Mine?”
“Yes.” Flannery stepped forward. “We need a book translated. It’s in a language we’re not familiar with.”
“Something old,” I said. “Neither Latin nor Greek.”
“Really?” She glanced at me, her expression one of sudden interest. “Can I see it?”
I pulled it from my valise and held it up, but didn’t pass it to her. The feel of the cover no longer sent shivers down my back but knowing the effect it had on people, I spared Callie that discomfort. Her eyes went wide and she almost seemed disappointed when I returned it to my bag.
“That does look old,” she said.
“Henry believes there might be someone on the staff who could assist us, and he feels you could aim us in the right direction.”
“I see.” She stared at Flannery for a long moment, her expression no longer quite as friendly. Finally, she favored me with a smile. “Of course I’ll help. You probably want Professor George Angell.”
“Angell? He’s still around?”
“Some say he’s been here forever,” Callie said, and I didn’t doubt it. He’d certainly looked ancient when I’d last seen him.
“And where might we find him?” Flannery asked.
“The Morgan-Ashley building.” Callie’s face went hard again at his words. She took pen and paper from a drawer and jotted something down. “Here are the directions. The campus can be somewhat confusing if you haven’t spent much time here.”
Flannery let out a derisive snort. “That’s a bit of an understatement.”
Callie’s eyes narrowed at his words, then she handed the paper to me, her cool fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary against mine.
“I’m glad to see you’re recovered from that awful occurrence at the pub. Is everything all right in Innsmouth? How is Flora doing?”
“You can chat with your friend on your own time, Gilman,” Flannery interrupted. “Let’s get a move on.”
“Maybe you can tell me about your police work some day, Henry.” She ignored the inspector and stared up at me. I noticed that her eyes were the same exotic sea green as her pin. They’d always attracted me. “I could come up on Saturday.”
“Er, um, we’ll have to see. It all depends if I’m finished with our, er, project.” I motioned at Flannery.
“Soon, then,” she said. “We must catch up.” I nodded, and we bid our goodbyes.
“Seems the lass has an interest,” Flannery said, once we were outside. I glanced back at the building, saw Callie peering down at us from her second-floor window, her face nearly hidden by eons of grime.
“We need to turn left here.” I pointed at an intersection of paths, ignoring the inspector’s comment. He took the hint and we both remained silent as we made our way through the maze of buildings until we reached a massive oblong structure of ancient stone and brick that, according to Callie, housed the history and archeology departments.
Once inside, after we’d stomped and shaken off the worst of the dew clinging to shoes and clothes, I consulted Callie’s note.
“Professor Angell’s office is in the basement.”
“You know this fellow? Thought you studied to be a surgeon or something.”
“I did.
” I was surprised Flannery knew anything about my background other than my father’s sordid past. “I’ve never met the man, but I saw him around campus a few times, and his picture’s been in the papers. He’s rather renowned in archeological circles. Specializes in Egyptian and Sumerian cultures or something. Spends much of his time traveling the world and digging up ruins. If he can’t translate this book, he’ll surely know who can.”
Our footsteps echoed off the smooth tile floor and stone walls as we descended the stairs. The air took on a decidedly dank chill and the walls held a dampness to them that made me think of ancient stone passageways covered in faraway lands.
We pushed through the doors at the bottom and entered a hallway that was more like a tunnel, illuminated poorly by a few widely spaced lights on the walls. We’d arrived well before first classes and had the place to ourselves, it seemed.
“Not what I’d call an atmosphere conducive to learning,” Flannery muttered, and I had to agree with him. The gloomy surroundings were anything but inviting. Even the air seemed wrong, tainted with hints of decomposing mushrooms and swamp mud.
Halfway down the corridor a door stood open, spilling weak yellow light into the hallway. As we drew closer, I saw the name George Gammell Angell stenciled on the frosted glass. Inside, a dour-faced woman sat at a simple wooden desk, sorting through a pile of folders. She wore a lapel pin identical to Callie’s.
I approached the desk and cleared my throat. “Excuse me. We need to speak to Professor Angell.”
The woman glanced up, her dark brows nearly meeting as her frown deepened.
“No, you’ll have to come back another time.” She returned to her filing.
Flannery strode forward.
“Madam, this is police business. We must speak to Professor Angell right away.”
