The Nyctalope Steps In

by Jean de La Hire

  The man-shark closed the book, feeling very uncomfortable. A few years ago, he had been the victim of two mad scientists, willing to sacrifice many innocent lives in order to accomplish their megalomaniacal ideals. But these illustrations were even more repulsive than those men; they were the very negation of the ideals of humanity. Something extremely ancient, savage, ruthless and cold oozed from those pages. The Hictaner felt he had to identify the owner of the ship.

  Quietly, he returned to the bridge, plunged back into the waters without a stir, and swam towards the coast.

  Back at the harbor, the Hictaner again played the part of “Inspector Charbonneau” and, once more, the harbor master was impressed by the authority of the official from the Métropole. He identified the owner of the ship as Tobias Marsh, from the town of Innsmouth, in Massachusetts. The worthy sea-faring merchant of forty had just acquired a dilapidated colonial mansion on the island that he planned to renovate. So far, every transaction had been conducted through an emissary, a solicitor’s clerk, and Captain Marsh had not yet introduced himself. The harbor master said, while rubbing his belly as if trying to lend more gravitas to his words, that Captain Marsh would no doubt be a welcome addition to the island’s small community of notables, especially given his impressive fortune, certainly more welcome than that mad painter, he added, his voice dripping with contempt.

  The sun was about set on the island, turning the sky dark-red in color. Leaning on his cane, he Hictaner found his way to a hotel. His back hurt after the afternoon and only underlined his increasing difficulties in moving on land. He had lost another tooth after meeting with the harbor master. His right arm was getting increasingly stiff. Time was definitely against him. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to walk and would be forced to abandon his quest. He would have to leave his beloved Moisette, and his young daughter Christiane, who would grow up fatherless. It broke his heart. But before he got to that point, he wanted revenge.

  Tobias Marsh... The name meant nothing to him. There was no connection with Fulbert and Oxus. No traces of the Mad Monk and his associate. Yet, these disappearances, the strange semi-aquatic creatures seen in the water, everything pointed to some new experiment by these two lunatics. However, dabbling in the occult was not their specialty... What role had Captain Marsh and his mysterious books played in this affair?

  The man-shark had trouble falling to sleep. The air was heavy, his lungs burned. He tossed and turned under the mosquito net, crumpling his sheets, sweating, growing restless, feeling pain all over his body. He also hurt because he needed to feed. A dull hunger twisted his guts. He dreamed of greedily shredding flesh and bone, then swallowing ravenously…

  He finally decided to get up. There were still a few hours before dawn. If he wanted to invade Marsh’s house surreptitiously, this was the best time to do it.

  The house overlooked a small cliff, giving it an impregnable view over the ocean. It was almost a ruin. The roof was torn off and one of the wings had partially collapsed, probably during a tropical storm. Vegetation had invaded the building. A mapé tree had deployed its immense trunk right in the middle of the entrance, pushing away the door frame and the walls. This house was clearly uninhabitable. It would have been easier to destroy it and rebuild a new one. There seemed to be nothing left to save. The Hictaner approached quietly. While the house appeared empty, he had noticed the presence of recent footprints…

  The lobby was filled with dead leaves, too damp to beneath under his steps, forming a putrefying, sweet-smelling carpet. His presence disturbed the tranquility of a few bats which flew away in spiraling panic. The footprints led the Hictaner to a door that seemed to access the cellars. Behind it, a spiral staircase descended into the murky depths. It seemed to have no end. The steps were rough, having been cut directly into the stone. A few torches hanging on the wall were almost burnt out, giving off a pale glimmer and witness to a recent visit. It was more than enough for the Hictaner. His eyes had developed the ability to see in complete darkness, almost like those of a cat—or a shark. That’s what allowed him to notice the strange murals etched along the staircase. It depicted creatures half-fish, half-frog, dancing and praying, and the carvings were in a language that resembled Aramaic.

  After several minutes of descent, as he almost reached the bottom of the stairs, the Hictaner heard the weak sound of an electromagnetic field. It was one of the new powers that he had recently acquired. That meant that there were people not far away. The man-shark hid behind a pillar decorated with more bas-reliefs and observed.

  He had arrived in a great, vaulted room full of wooden crates. He heard the sound of water which told him that the cave opened out onto the sea, at the foot of the cliff. He advanced cautiously between the crates. He had set aside his cane and instead had grabbed a long hunting knife with a serrated blade. The air was filled with the smell of the ocean, the mud saturated with the unpleasant scent of rotten fish--and death.

  He eventually reached the center of the cavern. At last, he saw the ocean and a small bathyscaphe anchored to a pier. The man-shark found the source of the disturbance in the electromagnetic field which he had detected earlier: there were three women, obviously pregnant, whose bodies were laid on tables, chained and shackled, their swollen bellies heaving painfully. One of them looked dead. On the wall, strange machines hissing steam gave off powerful, crackling arcs of energy, illuminating the dark cavern with a fleeting glow.

  A little further away, there was a cage with thick bars. The Hictaner approached it. Indistinct shapes shrank back, uttering weird little cries: they were the same humpbacked creatures that the painter had mentioned. There were half a dozen of them, all similar, with large heads, drooping mouths with wattles, scaly skin and bulging eyes, on top of twisted bodies, inhuman and yet humanoid. Around their necks, the creatures wore a kind of mechanical apparatus fitted with different colored bulbs. Their webbed hands waved frantically, trying to repel the Hictaner or, perhaps, protecting themselves. They gave off an odor that disturbed the man-shark; it was at once repulsive and appealing.

  Behind him, one of the shackled women moaned softly. Turning around, the Hictaner saw that, at the far end of the cave, a halo of light was signaling that approach of another visitor. Silently, he crept behind a massive machine that hummed.

  Two men arrived. The Hictaner quickly identified the magisterial and slightly disapproving timbre of the voice of one of them. It belonged to Fulbert, the Mad Monk, his creator. A shiver went up his spine; too many painful memories were tied to that voice. His hand gripped the handle of his knife. The other voice seemed to carry some barely repressed anger; he didn’t recognize it. The two men moved into his line of sight. He recognized Fulbert’s robe-clad silhouette. The other man was burly and wore a sailor’s jacket.

  “Fulbert, I don’t know what you’ve done here, but I don’t like it,” said the other man. “This wasn’t the nature of our agreement. This temple has to be ready for the ceremony!”

  “But, Tobias...”

  “Captain Marsh,” interrupted the other man, abruptly.

  “Captain Marsh,” said Fulbert, “what I propose is not a mere mystical ceremony, but to use science to build our empire. All the oceans of the world will be ours!” Fulbert stretched his hand, as if to embrace an imaginary globe. “We’ll control all the trade routes to India, China, the Americas! No ship will be able to travel without our permission. We’ll be masters of the seven seas!”

  “I do not desire economic power, nor do I care about your plans to achieve it. I worship Dagon. I am a member of his Esoteric Order. My family has been totally devoted to Him for two generations. Your attempt to establish a maritime monopoly has nothing to do with the rehabilitation of this temple. I have been financing the founding of a new chapter of our cult here, not the start of a trade war!”

  The two men had reached the part of the cavern where the tables, the crates and the cages were. Marsh took off his hat, his eyes wide with surprise at beholding such a spectacle. Co
mpletely ignoring the women prisoners, he approached the cage. After scrutinizing the creatures trapped inside, he turned around, his face flushed with anger, and looked darkly at Fulbert.

  “How dare you!” the Captain exclaimed. “The Children of Dagon! You’re a monster! An impious blasphemer!”

  Fulbert could no longer contain his anger.

  “You pathetic cultist! Can’t you see beyond the tip of the nose of your heathen god—an ordinary man-fish! I created a man-fish once, and he was a lot more effective and useful than your underwater monkeys! I had to fit them with control boxes because they’re so primitive and stupid! And this would be my army? An army composed of a bunch of degenerate humanoids with the brains of tuna fish!”

  Captain Marsh seethed in anger. He did not reply to the Monk. Instead, removing his jacket, he pulled out a small knife. Fulbert quickly stepped back but then realized that the other man was ignoring him. Marsh began chanting in an incomprehensible, unknown language, with chopped syllables and disturbing rhythms. This immediately calmed the creatures in the cage. Fulbert, jeering, shouted:

  “Stop your singing, you second-rate zealot! You’re not impressing me at all!”

  But Marsh only continued to recite the prayers of another age. Raising his knife, he planted it without hesitation in his right arm, twisting it into the wound. He was so focused on his litany that his face barely registered a grimace of pain.

  The Hictaner shuddered. He looked at the cage. The creatures, which until now had been agitated, suddenly became unnaturally calm. They seemed to be waiting. The smell of blood hit his nostrils. It flowed along the arms of the Captain and spread toward the edge of the pier. When the first drop of blood fell into the water, a shock wave ran through its cold and dark surface. The ocean began to stir, first with small waves and then gradually with more powerful ones which shook the bathyscaphe.

  “Iä ! Iä ! Cthulhu fhtagn ! Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’Ihel wgah-nagl fhtagn ! Come, Father Dagon! Come and avenge thy children for this infamy! Come, I beseech thee, O Father!”

  Tobias Marsh was using witchcraft. The Hictaner did not know exactly what for, but it felt dangerous. He stood up to try to stop him.

  Fulbert, initially awe-struck, responded quickly when he saw his former servant emerge from behind one of his machines. He guessed why the Hictaner was there. Ignoring Marsh, he launched himself at the cage and opened it. The creatures, surprised, did not stir. The Monk then grabbed a small box and pressed a few buttons. Immediately, a small red light flashed on the metal necklaces clamped around the creatures’ necks. The Children of the Deep shook and fell upon the Hictaner en masse.

  The battle was fierce. The Hictaner was overwhelmed, surrounded on all sides by a half-dozen Deep Ones. They tried to seize him, but he overcame each of their attempts with fierce savagery. One creature threw a pale arm over his face, apparently trying to strangle him. The Hictaner bit powerfully though the gray-green flesh. His teeth penetrated deeply, tearing away the muscle. His mouth filled with dark blood that was thick and cold. The creature screamed and tried to free his arm. The Hictaner spat the flesh out. His mouth—his jaws—were dripping with blood, his fangs gleamed. There was glimmer of defiant madness in his eyes. He threw himself upon the nearest Deep One and tore out its throat with a single bite.

  But the others were not afraid of him. They continued in their attempts to overwhelm him through sheer numbers—and they nearly succeeded! The Hictaner had killed three more Deep Ones, but the others managed to immobilize him against the ground, pressing against his neck and mouth. He tried to bite into whatever came close to his jaws, but without success. The hand that still held his knife was similarly immobilized by a large webbed foot. One of the Deep Ones approached, holding a heavy stone. He raised it above the skull of the man-shark, preparing to crush it like an egg. It looked like the end.

  Suddenly, a powerful earthquake shook the cavern, making the support pillars tremble. One of them collapsed, split in half by a large crack. Pieces of the ceiling crashed to the ground. A boulder fell onto the bathyscaphe, sending it to the bottom of the ocean in seconds. Dust was everywhere. On the ceiling, cracks began to appear, then merged into a larger crack that spread out like a spider’s web. A huge wave rolled into the cavern, sweeping away the creatures and freeing the Hictaner.

  Fulbert realized that the cavern was going to collapse, and tried to reach the open sea in a small boat tied to the pier. Marsh continued his horrible incantations, his face twitching and his eyes rolled back into his head. Blocks of stone fell around him but he ignored them. The Monk now understood the true power of the Captain and blamed himself for having underestimated him, but it was too late.

  Now rid of the Deep Ones, the Hictaner stood with difficulty. His swollen face reflected the savagery of the fish-men’s attack. He saw Fulbert trying to climb into the boat; an operation that was made difficult because the surface of the water was now crisscrossed by large waves, and thick blocks of stone fell into the water, creating additional turmoil. The Hictaner ran towards his erstwhile torturer. Fulbert saw him and became even more frantic. Now in the boat, he tried to untie the ropes that still held it moored at the pier. The man-shark did not have time to reach the Mad Monk. A huge wave suddenly lifted the boat and flung it against a stone pillar, smashing it and its occupant. Fulbert’s body fell heavily to the ground, disjointed, surrounded by wood debris.

  A creature began emerging from the water. He looked like a Deep One, but much more massive. His grinning face was that of a monstrous shark with teeth protruding from its jaws, but its appearance was much more savage. His bulging black eyes expressed such wickedness, such hatred, that the Hictaner cringed. The monster was more than two meters high. His squat limbs lacked agility, but endowed him with formidable power.

  Dagon paid no attention to the Hictaner. He swept the bulky crates away as if they were nothing but empty cardboard boxes, uttering a hoarse cry. They smashed against the wall, scattering various mechanical parts across the floor. Marsh uttered a cry of joy. His knife still planted in his arm, he knelt down before the giant sea monster.

  “You came, Father Dagon! Praised be Your Name! See the evils of Men! See how they have defiled thy children. Take umbrage at their impudence. Avenge yourself!”

  The monster, oozing, seemed to look around. His gaze took in everything, coldly analyzing the situation. Noticing the Children of the Deep with their neck collars, he raised his head and let out a roar of rage that shook the very foundations of the cavern.

  “Father, thy temple has been desecrated,” continued Marsh. “This crime must not go unpunished! Ravage this island! Destroy the humans to repay their arrogance!”

  Dagon bent forward to take a closer look at—and smell—his summoner. The Captain had closed his eyes, blissfully happy, basking in the aura of his god. The breath escaping from the jaws of the monster made his hair flow back. After a moment, the creature let out another roar and turned around. Dagon was preparing to return to the sea to do his worshipper’s bidding.

  During this silent exchange, the Hictaner had posted himself between Dagon and the ocean. He could not let this monster destroy the island. Suddenly, the man-fish stopped and looked down at the man-shark from his domineering size. His eyes expressed an undecipherable emotion. But when he saw that his opponent did not intend to let him pass, Dagon closed his scaly fists and rushed at him.

  The shock of the confrontation sent the Hictaner flying into the water, half-stunned. Dagon followed him mere seconds later. Scarcely had they entered the ocean than the cavern collapsed entirely. Massive rocks crashed into the water, creating huge waves, barely slowing down as they sank. A stalactite grazed the Hictaner, narrowly missing impaling him. He swam toward Dagon without losing his sense of purpose.

  Around him, the ocean was choppy. A cyclone was ravaging the surface of the island, probably created by the invocation of the sea-god.

  The man-fish moved through the water like a snake, undulating hi
s massive body with grace and speed. He quickly caught up with Dagon and planted his teeth into his side. The monster turned around to grab his assailant. His massive jaws grabbed the Hictaner’s left arm, breaking it like a twig. The Hictaner fought the pain that threatened to overwhelm him and clamped his teeth further. He had to stop Dagon, to prevent him from ravaging the island. He would save the people of Papeete—Moisette, his wife, and his dear daughter, Christiane. With his remaining arm, he repeatedly stabbed Dagon’s abdomen. Black blood escaped from the monster’s wound and began to permeate the surrounding sea. Finally, kicking and bellowing, the monster managed to free himself, leaving a large chunk of his flesh in the process. He turned around and watched the Hictaner as a predator looks at its prey.

  The Hictaner kept his left arm close to his body. His gills breathed the water in and out, creating a crown of bubbles around him. He pointed his knife at Dagon, barring his way to the port.

  After a moment, during which the sea-god examined the man-shark with an expression of cold cruelty, he rushed toward the Hictaner. The latter tried to dodge the blow but Dagon was faster and stronger. The man-shark was caught at the waist. With a snap of his cyclopean mouth, Dagon crushed his pelvis. The Hictaner spat a thick cloud of blood and nearly fainted. But he still had enough energy to bite the monster’s throat, his teeth sinking as far as possible into the flesh, using his jaws as a saw to slash and cut his foe’s muscles.

  Dagon, shaken by spasms of pain, fell onto a rock to try to get rid of the Hictaner. He was losing blood at an alarming rate now. The Hictaner collided head-on with the rock. He broke his jaw and was forced to release the monster’s throat. He waited for the coup-de-grace but it never came. His opponent had been too severely injured to continue the fight. He saw Dagon swim away, back to his hellish lair, leaving a bloody trail behind him.