by CW Hawes
When the shambling figures were out of sight, Mostyn and his team crossed the street and continued on their way.
At 3rd, there were more figures. Some seemed to be loping and others had a peculiar hopping motion to their gait. Mostyn watched one shadowy figure point and one of the party took off loping in the direction the other had indicated. When the rest of the party had turned a corner, Mostyn signaled for his team to cross the street. However, he hadn’t gone far when he signaled a stop.
He pointed towards Lake Superior. Over the lake the moon was not obscured by smoke and fire and cast a pale luminosity upon the water. The group followed Mostyn’s pointed hand.
Patel was the first to speak. “Oh, my God! What is that?”
“Looks like a lot of people swimming,” Baker observed.
“I don’t think those are people,” Patel corrected. “No human moves the way they’re moving.”
“A trick of the moonlight,” Kemper said.
“No,” Mostyn replied. “You’re right, Patel. Come on, we have to cut through the forest. No time to get to the railroad. And we need to get to the trees before those things get here.”
Mostyn turned and began running back up Washington, his team following. The moon was sinking in the west and obscured by the smoke and spreading fire. The sky was aglow and yet the streets were mostly in the shadows due to the buildings obscuring the direct light. Nevertheless, Mostyn avoided the middle of the street and kept to the shadows cast by the buildings on the west side of Washington.
At the liquor store, Mostyn smashed the glass of the door, unlocked it, and entered. Baker, Kemper, and Patel followed him in.
“Patel, use your flashlight. We have to find a telephone.” There was a hint of panic in Mostyn’s voice.
She played the beam around and found the phone underneath the counter. It was an old-style one with a dial in the base, a mouthpiece on top of a slender pole, and the earpiece suspended from the switch hook. Mostyn took the receiver off the hook, put it to his ear, and then dialed a number.
“Special Agent in Charge Pierce Mostyn. … zero-zero-eight-eight-zero-four-four. … Code Twenty-one. Repeat. Code Twenty-one. Agate Bay, Minnesota.”
He put the receiver on the switch hook and set the phone down. “Come on, let’s go. Patel, you lead.”
Down Washington they trotted. The fire over on Main looked to have spread to the entire east side of the street in the block containing the grocery store and the old clothier.
“If they don’t do something about the fire,” Kemper said, “the entire town is going to be burnt to ash.”
“Not our problem,” Mostyn replied. “Might even be a good thing. Come on. Quit dawdling.”
“God, Mostyn. I’m not an Olympic sprinter.”
At the intersection of Washington and 6th, as they crossed the street, several shots rang out. The team dropped to the pavement.
Behind them, could be heard the horrible croaking and guttural jabbering of a massive throng. In the building kitty-corner to them, a hoarse voice rasped out the word “surrender”. Kemper shouted back, “Go to hell!”
The fire seemed not to have crossed 6th. If they could make it across the intersection, they at least wouldn’t have the fire to worry about.
Mostyn ripped out a clump of weeds from a crack in the pavement. He called out, “Patel, watch the corner. Shoot when you see the muzzle flashes.”
“Yes, sir,” she called back.
Mostyn tossed the clump of weeds. Three flashes and reports and a split second later Patel fired. Behind them was the raucous noise of the horde from the lake. He laid down the shotgun and took the Sharps off his back and dug out two rounds from his pocket. He took aim at the windows where the shooters were located.
“Low crawl,” he called out, and the team members ahead of him began crawling across the pavement towards the nearest building.
Bullets whined overhead and smacked the pavement. Mostyn noted the position of the muzzle flashes. Two shooters was how he saw things.
He took aim as best he could in the flickering illumination of the fire off the smoke that was behind them.
Another muzzle flash, and Mostyn squeezed the trigger on the old rifle. It bucked and even though the report was loud it was lost in the cacophony of sound advancing up the street from the lake. The shooting stopped and Mostyn crawled the rest of the way across the intersection to join his comrades.
The advancing horde was a block or two away. In the reflected light from the burning buildings he watched their progress and for all their peculiar non-human loping, shambling, and hopping movements they were advancing quickly. The dull roar of their croaking, barking, and guttural grunts grated on Mostyn’s ears.
“Move on and quickly,” he said. “I’m going to see if I can’t slow them down.”
“I’ll join you, sir.”
“No, Patel, I—”
“No” was all she said and crouching low ran across the street. She got down into a prone position and after sighting in her target opened fire. Mostyn shook his head and did likewise. Within a minute they were both out of ammunition for the rifles. Mostyn looked longingly at the old antique and then set it down, waving for Patel to join him in moving out to join the others.
“There are a few of them that won’t be enjoying the party, sir.”
“That there are. Good shooting there, Navy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Running, they caught up to Baker and Kemper in the next block. Baker had twisted his ankle stepping on something in the street and was hobbling along, slowing their progress.
“You two keep going,” Mostyn said. “Get to the forest and keep going until you get to the highway. Understand?”
Kemper took a long look down the street. “God, what the hell are they?”
“The Deep Ones and their half-human offspring,” Mostyn answered.
Kemper continued, “They must be some manner of missing link.”
Mostyn waved his hand to indicate they needed to get moving and added, “Now is not the time for you to go all anthropological on me, Kemper, and they aren’t a missing link to anything except for maybe hell. They are pure, unadulterated evil. Now get the hell out of here.”
“That’s crazy talk, Mostyn.”
“How many of these missions have you been on?”
“Too damn—”
Patel screamed and pointed. “Oh, my God! What is that?”
Mostyn, Kemper, and Baker saw it coming around the corner. It was huge and it was indescribable terror in motion.
“Holy shit,” Mostyn said, almost under his breath. “It’s a shoggoth!”
10
The giant, amorphous, roiling blob of multi-eyed insanity slid around the corner with the ease of a giant snail, only much, much faster. The words “Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!” greeted their ears.
“Come on!” Mostyn yelled. “We have to get out of here and fast! Run! Run! I’ll help Baker.”
The others, however, didn’t move. They were staring at the horror that was the shoggoth and seemed glued to the ground.
Mostyn shook the women. “Patel! Kemper! Run. Or you’re dead.”
The women shook their heads as if coming out of a trance and took off down the street.
“Come on, Willie Lee.”
The photographer pointed.”Wh-what?”
“It’s a shoggoth. Now let’s go!”
Mostyn put his arm around Baker and Baker put his around Mostyn and they followed the women.
The howling, baying, and croaking mob had scented their quarry and were in hot pursuit. To make matters worse, sporadic gunfire began peppering Mostyn’s team, slowing their progress. Patel ran back to Mostyn and Baker. Mostyn passed his shotgun to Baker and, together, Patel and Mostyn formed a chair with their arms for Baker and continued the race to the forest. Kemper joined them.
“What the hell? I told you to run.”
“Oh, stuff it, Mostyn,” Kemper said. To Baker, she said, “Give me th
ose goddamn shotguns and get the hell out of here.”
Baker surrendered weapons and ammunition. Mostyn, Patel, and Baker took off down the street. A door opened and before the creature could get out of the building, Kemper had turned and fired one of the shotgun barrels into the thing. Its weapon clattered down the short flight of steps to the sidewalk.
Kemper picked it up, turned on the advancing horde and shot into the mass of creatures until the weapon was empty. She then picked up the shotgun she’d fired and discharged the remaining barrel, reloaded, and fired again; continuing until the ammunition was gone. She picked up the remaining gun, shot both barrels and then tossed the gun down, and ran after Patel, Baker, and Mostyn.
They’d crossed 7th Street and were halfway to 8th when a shot rang out and Patel stumbled and fell with a grunt.
Dotty Kemper caught up to her companions, and seeing Patel said, “Ah, shit. As if things weren’t bad enough already.”
Another shot smacked the pavement inches from Kemper’s feet. She whipped around and fired a double-tap at a figure in a window. The shadow fell back into the room.
“Dotty, you and Baker get to the forest. I’ll take care of Patel.”
Kemper hesitated and Mostyn yelled, “Go!”
They hobbled off and Mostyn turned his attention to Patel. The mob was getting closer. The thunderous sound of what had to be hundreds of flopping, hopping, crawling bodies was deafening in and of itself. Add to that the bestial babel of croaking, baying, and barking and the night was an inhuman cacophony of all the imagined and impossible to imagine horrors of hell. Not even, Bosch, Goya, Pickman, or Bacon could paint such monstrosities.
“Come on, Patel, I’ll carry you.”
“No, sir, leave me. It’s bad. I’ll hold them off—”
“Forget it. We don’t leave anyone behind. Remember?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. C’mon. They’re getting too close and I don’t want them for neighbors.”
He got her on her feet and they hobbled towards the woods. But not fast enough. A thing, impossibly bestial in its abnormality, charged ahead of the mob. Mostyn heard it, turned, and fired his pistol into its face. The .45 caliber bullet blew out the back of the thing’s head and it collapsed in a twitching, quivering heap.
Mostyn let go of Patel, got down on one knee and aimed for the robed thing with the tall tiara on its head. He squeezed the trigger and the thing fell back into the mob behind it and was quickly swallowed up in their advance. And towering over the sea of nightmarish things was the multi-eyed and tentacled abomination that was the shoggoth.
“Leave me, sir.”
Mostyn ignored Patel’s request and picked her up in a fireman’s carry. Off he went as fast as he could run towards the dense woods, which were beyond the last row of houses on 8th Street. Kemper was there, her pistol at the ready, to provide cover for Mostyn and Patel.
The horde of things too obscene for even hell to contain swept on and Mostyn knew they were gaining on him.
Kemper shouted and yelled for them to hurry.
He was close and ran as fast as he could, carrying his wounded teammate.
Kemper screamed, “Look out!” And began firing her pistol.
A tentacle looped around Mostyn’s leg and he pitched forward onto the overgrown weeds that had once been the yard of a Victorian-style home. He lost hold of Patel and in that moment another tentacle grabbed her, jerking her high into the air.
Her screams joined the bleating, croaking, and barking tumult rending the night. Mostyn got to his feet. He joined Kemper shooting at the viscous agglutination of impious horror. The bullets seemed to have no effect and in a moment, the thing, never ceasing its cry of “Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!, opened a hole in its body and dropped Patel into it. The hole disappeared and Patel was gone.
Kemper grabbed Mostyn’s arm and dragged him across the unkempt lawn, past the dilapidated house and into the forest. The things plunged in right after them.
Mostyn yelled, “Up!” And he began climbing a tree. Kemper followed suit, firing her pistol into the face of an especially determined creature.
The two shimmied up their respective pine trees. Below them surged the seething and noxious horde, the overpowering stench of fish, making Mostyn gag, filled the air along with their horrid and inhuman voices.
Kemper called out, “Any hope of getting out of here?”
Mostyn fired his pistol at one of the things trying to climb his tree. It’s face disintegrated and it fell, landing on top of its compatriots. Pistol empty, and with no more ammunition, he hurled it at another creature attempting to climb the tree. He pulled out his backup and fired it until it was empty.
“That was my last bullet,” Mostyn informed Kemper.
“I’m out too. Both guns.”
“I don’t know if the cavalry will get here in time. These things have us up a tree and we’ve nowhere to go.”
“Great. Goddamn bureaucracy. Not worth shit except when it comes to counting beans and even then they can’t get it right.” She threw one of her handguns at a thing trying to climb her tree and scored a hit. It fell back into the crowd.
“Where’s Baker?”
“I told him I was helping you and he should get to the highway.”
“Do you think he can with that ankle?”
“Probably. If these things don’t decide to go after him.”
“Hopefully he’ll make it.”
“Mostyn, if we don’t get out of this, well, I just want you—”
“Save it, Kemper. We’ll get out.”
Suddenly the seething sea of unholiness on the forest floor began moving.
“Looks like they’re leaving,” Kemper said. “Maybe it’s their bedtime.”
“Ever the optimist, Dotty Kemper. Unfortunately, I don’t think so. Look.”
On the forest floor, oozing around and between the trees was the many-eyed agglutination of indescribable blasphemy and horror. Even in the darkness of the forest it was visible due to the yellowish glowing of its bulging, lidless eyes. Eyes that lacked pupil and iris.
At the base of Kemper’s tree, the monstrosity took shape. A many tentacled orb, covered in eyes, with a gaping, putrescent maw.
“Oh, shit,” Kemper said and shimmied further up her tree.
The shoggoth, already fifteen feet tall, stretched out a tentacle passed Kemper, who was about forty feet up the pine, to block any further ascent.
She threw her remaining handgun at it. “Oh, God, Mostyn. This is it.” And as a tentacle snaked out in her direction, she screamed and screamed.
In an act of desperation, Mostyn threw his pistol into the thing’s gaping maw. A tentacle snaked out, wrapped itself around Mostyn’s tree, and began shaking it. His feet slipped and he held on with his arms, legs whipping to and fro. With a loud crack, the pine trunk snapped, and Mostyn felt himself falling.
The last thing he heard was the whump whump of a Huey’s rotor.
11
Pierce Mostyn sat at his desk, drinking coffee, and reading his own report on the Agate Bay case for the umpteenth time. He’d re-read the other reports in the file innumerable times as well. He’d been back to work for a week. Agate Bay seemed a lifetime ago.
He leaned back in his chair, coffee mug in hand, and thought back to that horrible night in the little village on the north shore of Lake Superior. A night he’d just as soon forget, but knew he never would.
It was cases like Agate Bay where he longed for the permanent oblivion dementia or Alzheimer’s would bring. He couldn’t help but think they might be a mercy. Something a good God should hand out to give peace at the end of life.
A comprehensive report had not yet been written on the Agate Bay case. From reading all the separate reports he’d been able to piece together a fuller picture of what happened on that night.
Five weeks ago, the helicopters arrived just in time to stop the shoggoth from making Kemper a snack. The Deep Ones had scattered and fled back to th
e lake. The shoggoth, being a shapeshifting being, had escaped.
The OUP operatives took him and Kemper to a secret medical facility run by the OUP, where he woke up the following day. He’d suffered a concussion and three broken ribs in the fall. Mostyn remembered the doctor saying they’d found him on top of some hideous being. A hybrid of human, frog, and fish. The creature had probably died on impact and without a doubt had saved Mostyn’s life. The being had been taken to a secret facility and dissected. Scientists were studying it.
Baker had been found on the highway, limping in the direction of Two Harbors. Aside from the twisted ankle, he’d suffered from exposure in the cold night, fatigue, and emotional distress. After a couple of weeks in the hospital, he was now at home.
Kemper was physically okay, but was suffering from Acute Stress Disorder due to the horrors she’d witnessed. Particularly that of the final moments with the shoggoth. The psychiatrists seemed to be of the opinion it was watching his fall from the tree that was the proverbial last straw. Seeing him disappear into that sea of living nightmares had sent her over the edge. She’d been found clinging to the tree screaming his name over and over. According to the reports, it had been with great difficulty that Bardon and the psychiatrists had gotten any information from her regarding the night in Agate Bay. She was sent home from the hospital a week ago and is currently on medical leave.
Bardon thought it best if Mostyn stayed away until she fully recovered. Mostyn smiled a bitter smile at that. After what she saw, no one would ever be able to fully recover. He knew that without a shadow of doubt.
Templeton, Patel, Caleb Peterson, and the grocery store couple had not been found by the OUP rescue team and were listed as missing in the reports. Mostyn, of course, knew Patel’s fate. He could only guess at the fates of the others and was confident their bodies would never be found.
