Keyport Cthulhu
Page 14
Taffy was explaining her day at the beach when she mentioned how she couldn't make a sand castle. Cthulhu offered to make her one. She was excited to see how it would come out. When the castle was finished, Taffy was amazed. It was humongous and Taffy thought it was the most romantic thing she had ever seen.
As the sun set over the water, Taffy knew it was time to go home, and so did Cthulhu. Taffy and Cthulhu were so in love that they decided to get married on the beach that very same night.
Taffy was so excited that she was finally going to be married. She invited her whole family and all of her unicorn friends to the wedding.
The fishy people of Innsmouth rowed out to the island, the Esoteric Order of Dagon did the catering, Shub Niggaruth and Nyarlotep stood in as Maid of Honor and Best Man, and the Pickman Bakery of Massachusetts provided the wedding cake.
The wedding was so pretty and it was the one Taffy had always dreamed about growing up.
They spent their one and only night as a married couple on the beach together, watching the stars. Cthulhu pointed out which one he was from.
* * * * *
The baby had her fathers eyes. Oh, and his tentacles. Even though her hide was a weird color you couldn’t really describe with words, she was still perfect to her mother. Most days and nights, while Taffy taught her daughter how to be a unicorn and also how to honor her father, they would sit on the beach near Innsmouth and wait for Cthulhu.
And pray for Father, roaming free…
The Terrible Old Man of Keyport
Chuck Buda
Jerry was itching for a drink. He glanced over at Richie who puffed away on a cigarette, with his foot resting on the passenger dashboard. Charlie napped in the back seat.
“I need a drink. Can we stop for something?” Jerry kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. He didn’t want to lose control of the’55 Chevy wagon. It was cherry.
“I could use a snort. Let’s find something in this Podunk town.” Richie tossed the remains of his butt out the window and looked at the sleeping man in the back.
The men were good friends and had been since Kindergarten. They did everything together, including prison time. All three had decided long ago that they would take what they could without permission and without apologies. So there was the little mishap in Middlesex County. Six months later, they were back on the streets for time spent with good behavior. Now they were headed to the Jersey shore for some action.
The plan was to hit some places in Rumson and Avon on their way to Atlantic City. If they scored enough cash then they would try their luck on the casinos to double it. Technically, it was Charlie’s plan. He was the brains of the operations. Richie always provided the muscle. Jerry was the lookout. Their system had worked well over the years with just the one hiccup.
Jerry cut off Route 35, opting for Amboy Road instead to avoid the typical shore traffic. Amboy Road eventually funneled into West Front Street in Keyport.
“This town stinks, man. Like the bottom of a tuna boat at low tide.” Richie wrinkled his nose and rolled up the window.
Jerry laughed at the elaborate metaphor. His eyes caught a sign that indicated Broad Street Pub on the next block. He didn’t bother to use the signal on the classic car and just turned down Broad. The pub sat on the corner. An ancient, brick façade belied an extensive existence, probably dating back to the last century. Jerry pulled into a parking spot between too very old vehicles.
“Wake him up.” Richie pointed to Charlie in the back seat. Jerry rolled his eyes. Richie liked to pull rank and make Jerry do the dirty work. Jerry tossed an old bottle cap at Charlie. It bounced off his nose and the big paw shot up to jiggle the nose in a circular fashion. His eyes blinked open.
“Get up, sunshine.” Jerry slammed the car door and the three men walked up the hill to the pub.
When they entered, it was as if they had been transformed back in time. The bar was dark and smelled of old cigars and spilled beer. An undercurrent of bay water permeated the doorway. The pub was small, barely enough room for a decaying pool table, a few scratched up tables with chairs and the grizzled bar.
Jerry wasted no time. He found a seat at the counter and immediately lit up a cigarette. Richie nuzzled into the stool on Jerry’s right. Charlie remained at the door, like he was still in a fog from just waking up.
“Three of your finest. On this guy.” Jerry ordered and thumbed at Richie. He seemed to enjoy the opportunity to give his pal a shot as retribution. Richie nodded at the barkeep. The man was bald with a long, gray goatee. He didn’t look particularly pleasant. The kind of guy that the three friends liked to rumble with. But this guy’s arms were pretty muscular. Jerry and Richie kept their mouths shut.
“You gonna block the fire exit or are ya gonna come join us?” Richie’s tone betrayed aggravation. If there was one in their bunch who always took slack, it was Charlie. He nodded and sat next to Richie.
The men sat and smoked while they sipped their ales. An old transistor radio spewed polka music through a lone speaker. It looked like it hadn’t been dusted in decades, bookended by two ceramic steins. Richie asked the barkeep if he could change the station, but the request went ignored.
“Man, am I glad to be free again.” Jerry rubbed his calloused hands together as he smiled at Richie.
“Yeah, the air smells better outside the joint. Except in this town.” Richie made sure to state the second part loud enough for the rest of the pub to hear. The bartender spat on the floor and continued cleaning mugs.
Charlie pulled a small pad from his pocket and scribbled some notes. Richie took an interest in the writing.
“What’re you writing down there?”
“Notes.” Charlie continued without looking up.
“I can see that.” Richie’s tone showed aggravation. “What kind of notes?”
“Some accounting. How much we can afford to gamble, eat and drink before we go broke in Atlantic City.”
Richie shook his head. “And how much is that?”
Charlie scrunched up his face and slid the calculations across the bar for Richie to see. Richie’s eyebrows shot up. “Then we’ll have to hit a few more places before we enjoy the attractions.”
“I gotta squirt.” Jerry tapped Richie’s shoulder as he slid his stool back. “Need anything from the men’s room?” He joked with Richie.
“Yeah, let me know if you find anything down there.” Richie shot Jerry a wise smirk which was returned with a grumble.
Charlie and Richie drank in silence. Every few seconds, the bartender shot the men the stink-eye. Charlie ignored it. Richie met the look with steely resistance.
A few minutes later, Jerry hurried over to the bar. He elbowed Richie and whispered in his ear.
“Hey, see those old coots at the table?” Richie casually glanced around Jerry’s shoulder.
“What about ‘em?”
“On my way to the can, I heard them chatting it up about some guy who is a bit bonkers.”
“So?”
“So, when I came out of the can, they were talking about how loaded he was.”
Richie faced Jerry. “Oh yeah? Loaded how?”
Jerry shrugged. “I don’t know. They just mentioned this old guy named Pike who was losing his faculties. And they were wondering how he was going to divide up his estate amongst his relatives.” Jerry tapped some ash and blew a plume of smoke at the dusty tin ceiling. Richie glanced at Charlie who hadn’t heard any of the whispers.
“Change of plans, Charlie.” Richie patted Charlie on the shoulder. Charlie just nodded and guzzled his ale down in one gulp. The barkeep came over to refill his mug.
“Say, Mac. You know where I can find somebody named Pike?” Richie realized his tone came off a little too familiar.
The barkeep put Charlie’s refill down and leaned over the counter. Richie noticed the man’s hands were the size of baseball mitts. His knuckles chewed up from brawling, or years spent lugging heavy cases of alcohol from the basement.
Richie looked after him. He turned and shot an incredulous look at Jerry before addressing the barkeep again.
“Who wants to know?”
Richie and Jerry both jumped. A small, corpse of a man had managed to fit in between their stools without their awareness. The man‘s eyes were covered by the brim of his round hat. Tiny white whiskers dotted the man’s chin and his breath reeked of rotten fish.
“We do.” Richie replied, holding back some vomit from the overwhelming fish smell.
“Bring a pitcher.” The old guy pointed over his shoulder as he made his way back to the small table.
Richie ordered a pitcher. The barkeep reluctantly set it in front of them with a disapproving leer. They pushed back their stools and all three men crowded into chairs around the old man’s corner. Jerry filled the mugs and the two old men wasted no time draining their drinks. He couldn’t be certain, but Jerry thought there were scales on the back of their hands. He dismissed it as the beer and the bad lighting playing tricks on his eyes.
“So?”
The old man smirked out of the corner of his mouth. “The name is Seymour Pike.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Seymour.” Jerry extended his hand.
“Not me, you imbecile. The man you were asking about.” Jerry lowered his hand quickly, embarrassed. “Pike is one of the originals. Family goes back nearly two centuries in town.” The old man’s teeth made a clicking noise that unsettled the trio.
“Tell us about his wealth.” Richie pressed on.
“What for? You aiming to steal something?” The old man’s cohort finally spoke up. He, too, hid his face beneath the brim of a cabby hat. Richie sat up stiff, looking uncomfortable with the question.
“Just a weary traveler. Collecting interesting stories. Nothing underhanded.” He grinned to satisfy the old men. Jerry topped off their mugs and the old guys drank them down as fast as they were filled.
“Pike is sitting on a wealth of old books. Originals, mostly. Tomes that could fetch much coin in today’s collector’s markets.”
Jerry and Richie exchanged glances.
“The books are his real wealth. Of course, the house is full of exotic art works and rare treasures from the bottom of the sea.” The old man leaned across the table and spoke in a hushed voice. “Nobody really knows how all the treasure made it from the floor of the sea to his possession.” He nodded his head definitively to put an exclamation point on the statement.
“Sounds like a great tale. Mind pointing us in the direction of his home? I’d like to…interview him to learn more.” Richie spoke softly to keep other patrons from overhearing his request.
“GET OUT!”
The shout froze the men in place. Richie watched the two old men snicker into their fists before turning to face the barkeep.
“What did you say?”
“Get out.” The barkeep’s voice was steady and lower than his initial bark.
Richie slid his chair back and sauntered to the bar. He made sure to let the barkeep see his anger in his eyes. Both men held each other’s gaze for several long moments. “I don’t believe that’s the way to treat your guests.”
The barkeep folded his large arms across his barrel chest. “You are not guests. You are strangers. And no longer welcome in my pub.”
Jerry and Charlie formed a wall behind Richie. The three men faced the barkeep in menacing solidarity. They ignored the two old men who continued to giggle and whisper back at the table.
“What do we owe you? Wouldn’t want to leave a bad taste in your mouth about out-of-towners.” Richie dug in his pockets for cash.
“Nothing. Consider it your gift. Now keep moving through town. There’s nothing here that should interest you.” The barkeep pointed at the ramshackle wood door that blocked out all signs of daylight.
Jerry and Richie again exchanged glances and then smiled. They slowly made their way to the door, never taking their eyes off the barkeep. Charlie followed them out. He paused at the door before leaving. “This town stinks like dead fish.” Then he let the door swing shut behind him.
* * * * *
The skies over Keyport had turned murky while they drank at Broad Street Pub. A grayness settled over the buildings and the air seemed to close in around the men. It felt like they were breathing under water.
The men quietly got into the ’55 Chevy wagon. They rolled down the windows even though they all believed the town smelled bad. Charlie quietly sat in the back seat while Jerry and Richie lit up cigarettes in the front.
“How are we going to find this guy Seymour?” Jerry looked at Richie with smoke flowing out his nostrils.
Richie shook his match out and tossed it through the open window. He placed his right foot up on the passenger dashboard. “I can use a pork roll, egg and cheese sandwich. Let’s hit a diner and see if we can scare up the address.”
Charlie made a yummy noise from the back seat. “I love pork roll, egg and cheese.” Jerry shook his head as he started the car and pulled out of the spot. Richie just chuckled under his breath.
* * * * *
They stumbled upon Keyport Diner after leaving the pub. The diner was practically empty. Two teenagers sat in a booth in the back corner. An old man, who stared a little too long at them sat at the counter, eating a slice of pie and chasing it down with a black coffee. Charlie led them to a table near the street. He plopped down into the booth and immediately went to work shuffling through the coin-operated music machine. Charlie loved to listen to the classics from Sinatra and Valli. He wasn’t as fond of more recent Jersey artists like Springsteen or Bon Jovi.
Jerry rolled his eyes at Charlie. Richie picked up on it and chuckled. A few seconds later, a buxom waitress made her way to their table with a stack of menus.
“Can I help you boys? Maybe some coffee while you decide what you want?” She offered to hand them the menus.
Richie stared at her breasts for an inordinate amount of time. Then he spoke to her chest as she left them in his face. “Three orders of pork roll, egg and cheese sandwiches on hard rolls. Side of fries for each. And three colas.”
The waitress seemed to enjoy the attention Richie paid to her. She winked at him and snapped her gum. “Comin’ right up, sugar.” She walked back to the counter, checking over her shoulder every few steps to make sure Richie was still watching.
“Mm-mm. Nothing like Jersey diners, huh fellas?”
Jerry rolled his eyes at Richie this time. “Keep it in your pants, Richie. We got business to attend to.” Richie wiggled his eyebrows at Jerry.
“So how are we going to find out about this Pike dude?” Charlie piped in for once.
Richie kept grinning. “Oh, I think I can get the deets from that broad.”
Richie stood up and made like he needed to ask where the restroom was. Jerry and Charlie watched as the waitress leaned forward, breasts spilling through her slightly unbuttoned uniform. She giggled at whatever Richie was telling her. Richie caressed her forearm while he leaned closer to her ear. If he was whispering sweet nothings then she was giving up sweet somethings. The waitress laughed out loud, an obnoxious, nasal laugh. Then Richie sauntered off to the restroom. He turned to wiggle his eyebrows at the guys again.
When Richie returned to the table, he let the suspense build for a while. Finally, Charlie spoke up. “So? Did you get the info on Pike?”
Before Richie could answer the waitress came back with three hot plates of pork roll, egg and cheese sandwiches. After she placed the dishes before the boys, she leaned down to whisper to Richie. “I get off at 10. You can come pick me up after you visit your Uncle Seymour.” She brushed her hand across Richie’s flat-top.
Charlie stared at Richie with his jaw wide open. Jerry shook his head at Richie while he took an enormous bite of his sandwich, wearing the ever-pr
esent grin.
“Unbelievable.” Jerry threw a French fry at Richie in disgust.
* * * * *
The ’55 Chevy wagon pulled up in front of the ancient home on Atlantic Street. The house stood apart from the surrounding single-story fishing bungalows. The Victorian-style mansion loomed against the starless sky. Each window appeared to be lit by a gothic lamp or electric candle, casting pallor shadows against the old glass. The men stared at the home, feeling as if hidden eyes watched over them from behind dusty curtains.
Charlie shivered in the back seat. “Creepy, man.”
Jerry was suddenly glad he wasn’t going inside. His job was to sit on lookout, with engine running for a speedy getaway. This would be one time when he wasn’t jealous for having to wait in the car.
Richie wasted little time. He got out of the car and started to walk up the overgrown brick path to the porch. Richie didn’t hear Charlie behind him so he stopped and turned to the car. “Charlie. Get your ass moving.” Charlie hesitated a moment longer, his breath fogging the back window. Then he opened the door and followed Richie.
The front porch was mired in cobwebs and dust. It looked like it had been centuries since someone had crossed the threshold. Richie waved his hand through a web and cleared a path to the knocker. He lifted the iron and clapped it upon the door three times. The face on the knocker was some sort of octopus with tentacles swirling around its head. The eyes looked like they stared right through Richie’s soul. He averted his eyes before he could change his mind about hitting this house.
After a minute or so, nobody answered the door. Richie reluctantly used the knocker a second time. No response yet again. Charlie leaned forward and twisted the knob. The door slowly creaked open. He looked at Richie and shrugged. Then followed Richie into the home.
“Hello? Seymour?” Richie looked around the foyer. Old paintings hung from dusty wires along the cloth wallpaper. He wrinkled his nose at the fishy smell that lurked amongst the décor. “What is with this town and the smells?”