He nodded. There was a candle light on a table. The room itself was sparse.
I blinked twice when I took his shadowy figure in because my eyes must be deceiving me.
Marsh had a sickly green tint to his skin, which looked wet. He was bent at the waist and looked to be in pain. I wondered if he'd been shot and had internal bleeding, barely able to stand.
"There is much to tell you and a short time. Once they realize you are here they will come. Then nothing will be able to stop them from entering this home," Marsh said.
"Are you ill?" I asked as he fell onto a well-worn couch but didn't offer me a seat. He looked like a bag of leaves, bumps and jarring bones riddling his body underneath his tattered clothes. If I didn't know any better I'd think the man had never been in NYC and taken such a long journey only a day or so ago.
"I've been spiked," Marsh whispered more to himself. He closed his eyes and with his heavy breathing I thought he'd fallen asleep until he began tapping his fingers on the couch. He looked much older than I knew he was, and his look was unsettling. I'd been on many cases with drug addicts and lost souls but Brendon Marsh was beyond all of it.
He turned his head and sighed, fear playing in his eyes. "They've arrived. We need to hurry. Let me up so we can go to the basement before it's too late."
I didn't bother asking why because he was reaching out a skeletal hand and I knew talking would only slow down whatever was about to happen.
I helped Brendon Marsh to the basement door and down into darkness as the first knock came to the front door.
* * * * *
I'm not sure what I was expecting: burning black candles, pentagrams in blood on the walls and floor, or a virginal sacrifice on a cold obsidian altar.
What I saw in the basement was much more horrifying... there was nothing out of the ordinary save for an ancient table with rusting tools scattered on its well-worn top and a file folder. A single weak bulb was suspended above the spot.
"This house used to be the funeral parlor for Keyport for the first hundred years," Marsh said and sighed loudly. "Many families died on this very table, the rest destroyed with the inbreeding." He turned to me and parted his dry lips as if to say more but stopped.
I looked away.
"What part of England did you say you were from?" Marsh asked.
I hesitated to answer the man for some reason. When he pressed me impatiently I told him. "Severnford, but I'm sure you never heard of it."
"Ahh, but I have. Directly northwest of Brichester."
"You've been there?" I asked.
He stooped suddenly and looked about to scream in agony.
I heard a crash above and supposed the front door had been breached. I needed to move this along and chatting about my origins made no sense.
He held up a finger. "I was there once. It's all it took. You know Brichester well, no?"
I shook my head. "I wasn't fond of the area. My family stayed clear of the odd things people said." I smiled. "It was a place we steered clear of. Even the unruly kids who wanted to find a spot to have a pint went south."
"The lake will corrupt," he said, almost as a whisper.
I shuddered. I'd heard this very thing somewhere a long time ago and I searched for the memory of it. "We're running out of time."
Brendon Marsh went to the folder on the table and opened it, showing the six handwritten pages contained within as he spread them on the table.
"This is what is so important? What you killed a man over?" I asked, incredulous. It wasn't bank or land titles. Deeds to anything. Simply mindless scribbles on old weathered sheets of paper.
"They needed to be destroyed before it's too late," Marsh said. "But I can't bring myself to doing it."
"Tell me what they are."
"Volume ten. Several pages ripped from one of the copies which can do great harm to those in possession," he said.
"I don't understand," I admitted. I could hear many feet running upstairs now. It would only be a few minutes before they found the upper level was unoccupied and found the door to the basement.
"Revelations of Gla'aki. You know. I can see it in your eyes. You were born too close to it." Brendon Marsh pushed the papers back into the folder and clutched the to his chest. "They need to be destroyed, but we need to escape first."
"We're trapped in the basement."
Marsh shook his head. "Through the small room to the west you'll find where they used to embalm and prepare the bodies for viewings. Underneath the slab you'll find a secret route to the original sewer system. It is no longer on the maps of Keyport but many residents know of its existence. We need to use it to run and find a safe area below so we can burn these wretched pages." He began walking to the west. "I have matches in my pocket. Why did I not burn them when I had the chance? Why do they torment me so?"
I followed to the room and slid the heavy slab to the side while Marsh watched, tears running down his sickly cheeks. "I'm cursed, you see. It is too late for me. Even now he calls me back to the lake to give back what has been stolen. They want the pages to complete their book before the Green Decay takes me."
I didn't know exactly what he was talking about but I could see the papers were of utmost importance to him and whatever he was babbling about.
"Graeme, are you down there?" It was Briggs calling from the top of the stairs. I guess he'd either gotten a fix or was about to fall. A part of me was unhappy to know he was still alive, to be honest. The man was a waste and if he was now working with the local Keyport police it could only mean trouble for me.
Brendon Marsh put a foot on the rusting ladder that led into darkness.
In one sudden move I grabbed the folder from his hand and pushed Marsh down into the hole and darkness. He didn't cry out but I could hear the thud below as his body found solid ground.
"Graeme, the police need to talk to you," Briggs was yelling. I could hear him coming down the steps.
I moved down the ladder into inky blackness and stepped on Marsh, or what I hoped was the man. I fumbled through his pockets in the dark and found his pack of matches. They would have to suffice for now.
The first one I lit showed me a wet tunnel and I had to stoop to traverse.
I clutched the folder as I began my escape, hoping they wouldn't find the tunnel above right away so I could make my way out of Keyport and find my way back to England and find out why these crudely written sheets of paper were worth killing for.
Dark Waters of Sin
Chuck Buda
Kenny’s calloused fingers fumbled with the knot in his line. Dealing with tangled fishing tackle was difficult enough in the sunlight. It was even harder to fix in the darkness.
A stiff wind bit into his hands, numbing Kenny’s fingertips. He dug his filthy fingernails into the nylon string. Ordinary fisherman would clip the line beyond the knot and start over. But Kenny couldn’t afford to throw away perfectly good fishing equipment. Even a two-inch stretch of yellowed line.
He took a moment to collect himself before losing his temper. His eyes searched the heavens above for the familiar constellations which kept him company these last few years. Their brilliance was dulled by the glare of the full moon, which rode low along the horizon. It cast a whitish streak of luminance along the choppy waters of Matawan Creek.
The pause was helpful. Kenny smiled at the beauty of the moment, before returning to his task. It was important for him to stay focused so he could bring home some food, or money. Kenny had lost his job at the plant several years ago, and had struggled to make ends meet ever since. He lost almost everything since the day his employer dismissed him. First his wife, Gisele. Then the house. And then the car which he and his daughter had lived in for a few months. Although, Kenny hadn’t really lost the car. Kenny had traded it for temporary accommodations and food. He finally swallowed his pride and applied for government assistance. Now, he and his daughter, Camille, lived in a roach-infested trailer. It was parked in a dumpy, fenced-in lot. The lot wa
s situated in the backyard of someone’s fishing bungalow. But the price was perfect for a man of simple means. A man like Kenny.
Kenny used the Keyport Fishing Pier in the wee hours of the night. He couldn’t afford a fishing license. And the Fish & Wildlife Commission worked the piers and waterways religiously in order to protect the precious resources. Kenny didn’t harbor ill will of the officers who did their jobs. He just figured out a way to work around the system. In Kenny’s mind, he didn’t catch enough fish to put a dent in the population. So it eased his conscience and helped him sleep during the day. Most times, Kenny caught very little to nothing.
His numb fingers worked the knot free and he sighed with relief. Kenny wondered what Camille would say if she watched him waste so much time untying a miniscule knot instead of cutting and retying. She would curse at him and call him a bum. Their typical communication pattern consisted of her complaining about his uselessness and how much he embarrassed her. The other children in the high school had cell phones and went on vacations. Camille had to create lies in order to hide the truth behind her lack of things. And she found it difficult to make friends with anyone for fear they would find out where she lived, and how bad the conditions were. Kenny felt ashamed for how he forced Camille to live. He had tried for so long to find another job. He had stretched all their savings and possessions as long as he could so they wouldn’t have to move. But the sands of time finally filled the bottom of the hourglass.
Kenny hurled the line back into the creek. His eyes followed the bobber as it danced along the ripples. He prayed for some action tonight. It had been almost a week since his last catch. They were down to their last two cans of soup in the cabinet.
His life had become a trance-induced routine. Same thing, day in and day out. Kenny fished from midnight to five in the morning. If he was lucky, he peddled his measly catch to the fishmonger up the block. The businessman knew Kenny was not a professional fisherman so he paid Kenny at less than fair market rates. Kenny graciously accepted whatever he could get, so he could feed his daughter and pay the rent. If the catch was too small, Kenny would shuffle home and fry it up or pickle it to stretch the meals. The rest of the day was spent sleeping restlessly on the broken couch. Kenny allowed Camille to stay in the one bedroom. He figured it was the least he could do make her feel more normal. But once she came home from school each day, Camille would harangue Kenny whether he was awake or not.
The bobber jumped under the tiny wave and popped back up. Kenny’s yawn broke while he slowly reeled the line in. It felt taut and his heart began to pound in his chest. He thought it could be a very nice fish on the line. As he worked the crank faster, Kenny felt the string fall slack. Whatever he had hooked had made a clean escape. Kenny groaned and finished reeling the line in to put more bait on the hook. He stared at the empty metal dangling from the end of his string. He glared at the dark waters and cursed his never-ending bad luck.
Kenny took off his knit cap and ran his dirty hands through his dark hair. It was quite salted these days as the grays became more prevalent. And his hair was getting much longer because he hadn’t had a good haircut in months. Kenny told himself things would change soon. They had to. He couldn’t be this unlucky for so long. The worm would have to turn for him.
Kenny chuckled to himself for thinking about worms. It reminded him to put another night crawler on the line and get back to work. He spread his arm wide and cast as far as he could.
The bobber danced along the choppy currents, glowing in the streak of cold moonlight.
* * * * *
“I can’t believe my luck!”
Kenny flinched at the sound of his exclamation. His excitement caused him to shout louder than he had meant to. His terrible streak ended in glorious fashion. The ancient bucket was nearly filled to the brim with fish. And he had another one on the hook. Kenny squinted away his tears of joy as he reeled in the new catch.
Kenny had arrived at the pier, expecting a typical night of frustration. While he set up his gear, Kenny felt something in the air. Something seemed off. Even the creek smelled different. More acidic. Suddenly, a horrific sensation slid up his spine. Kenny’s flesh chilled as his eyes searched the pier and marshy banks. A presence, lurking and watching him, pervaded the cool breeze.
He had dismissed the eerie sensations as ghosts of his bad luck. Kenny had prepared his line and he spoke to the dark waters beneath him. “Please let me have a good night tonight.” He had stared at the choppy waves, imagining thousands of fish lining up to snag his hook. “I would sacrifice everything I have in order to bring home a bountiful catch.” Kenny had closed his eyes and kissed the slimy night crawler on the end of his string. He swung the rod wide and cast a beautiful line.
The bobber disappeared into the darkness. Last night’s full moon was absent, hidden behind an overcast sky. The heavens were black with no spark of starlight visible. Kenny focused his vision along the choppy waters to find the red and white bobber.
While Kenny dangled his legs from the pier and watched for a nibble, something insidious grew near. An ancient god had come home in search of new beginnings. It hid beneath the icy cold whitecaps, watching. The softly spoken wishes of the man on the dock brought it promise. The ancient one was interested in fulfilling Kenny’s desires. For a price.
A slippery limb broke the surface of the water and slithered up the wood, feeling for Kenny. It clutched his leg and wrapped itself around him, wetness soaking through his pants. Kenny started to scream when an enormous being rose from the dark waters, towering over him. Cold spray misted upon Kenny and the pier. Kenny’s scream caught in his throat as he tried to figure out what rose before him. He thought it had to be a dream. Maybe he had fallen asleep while fishing. Until he noticed the eyes.
Glowing red orbs glared at Kenny. Smooth, green slime surrounded the piercing eyes. Dark appendages twisted and reached for Kenny. He couldn’t make sense of the towering figure with its slithering octopus arms and thinly veiled wings. But he could feel the power within the beast. It absorbed all light and thought. Kenny understood what the creature was. It represented everything as it had been, and everything as it would ever be.
The ancient one groaned and slid below the rocky waves it had created. Kenny was dragged along against his will. The great creature took Kenny beneath the surface. As the icy water filled his lungs, it showed him what was possible. And it made Kenny understand the truth behind promises. Even promises made to the wind. It showed Kenny that true gods were always present and listening. Especially when they were unseen.
* * * * *
Camille paced the cramped trailer. She was worried about her father. He hadn’t returned from the pier yet today. On her way to school in the morning, she noticed he had never come home last night. It gave her hope that he had caught some fish. After school, Camille realized her father still hadn’t returned home. She had checked down by the water to see if he had continued fishing into the afternoon. She thought it unlikely since he didn’t own a fishing license. But she made herself check for peace of mind, at the least.
The flimsy door to the trailer creaked. Camille spun to see who opened it. Her father stood in the doorway with a wide grin on his face. His eyes appeared to have sunk into the back of skull.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you and I’m sick to my stomach with fear that something happened to you.” Camille stomped her foot with her hands on her hips. She noticed a vacant look in her father’s eyes. A shiver worked its way up her legs.
“I had a very good night.” The words came out slowly and deliberately. Camille thought his voice sounded like an echo within a long tunnel.
“Great! At least YOU had a good time while everyone else was worried. I hope you managed to catch something so we could ALL enjoy some fun staying in this crappy trailer.” She waved her hand around to sarcastically indicate their massive wealth. Camille’s eyes watered as she tucked a curl of black hair behind her ear. The tears
were mostly relief for her father’s safety.
Camille’s father raised a dirty fist in front of his face. In his hand was a stack of cash as thick as a deck of cards. Possibly thicker, Camille thought. She dropped her jaw and ran to her father. Her hands grabbed at the wad of money. Camille fanned the bills in front of her eyes, counting several hundred dollars. Her words caught in her throat.
“It was amazing.” Her father licked his lips. “They kept biting. I thought I had lost my mind. Then I figured I must’ve had magical worms.” He shuffled to the crooked couch and plopped down into the seat. Dust particles lifted around him.
“But…how?” Camille dropped the money on the table and kneeled between her father’s knees. He caressed her cheeks as she implored him to tell her more with her hopeful brown eyes.
He burped. Camille wrinkled her nose at the sulfuric odor which passed his lips. He apologized to her, searching the ceiling for the words to his tale. Camille thought his breath smelled like rotten seaweed.
“It was darker than dark last night. And I had a weird feeling…”
Camille cut her father off. “Wait. Why are you just getting home now? Did you go drinking with some of the money?” She grimaced with distrust. Her father took to the bottle when her mother walked out on them. But he had been sober ever since.
Her father laughed. “No. Be still while I tell you what happened.” He scratched the back of his hand and Camille thought his skin looked puckered, like he had been in the bath too long. “I felt like I was being watched even though I was all alone on the pier. But I fished anyway. We need money. And food.”
Camille nodded and rolled her eyes. She hoped he would get around to the good part of the story. And soon.
“I wished upon a star for good luck but there were no stars at all. The sky was dark with clouds. And then the fish, they kept coming and coming. I never had a chance to take a break.”
Keyport Cthulhu Page 17
