To the Stars -- And Beyond

by Robert Reginald

  It was beyond most of them, this vision of a war between gods. Not gods, though, Wish Jerome told himself. Merely life, exerted in an unconscionable violence to safeguard its own seed.

  Fear blew across the group, chilling as the wind, but their decision, too, rose like a wind, beyond fear.

  High above them, an opening dilated in the silver hull. The last of humanity went forward for their testing.

  * * * *

  That was the way of it, sings memory, here in the dusk. They took our soul and gave us the comfort of emortality amid a new-built Xanadu. The stars came clear in the dark of an unclouded sky. We can look into the black night and know that somewhere out there the spindles are warring against an enemy too terrible for understanding or compassion. And our soul is with them, sweating, slaving in the agony of death and victory. We spin on, we and our quiet garden, in an anesthesia of contentment.

  I see a hawk soaring on a high wave of song. His cry hangs in the air, and his lofty feathered body. Now he stoops, falls like a projectile, opens his wings, stills magically, climbs the sky again. It is cozy here, in the warmth of the sun. I seem, though, to remember a word from the past, from the repeated past. Why do I feel a stir of horror as I gaze upon my unaging hands? Did my innocence save me then? Perhaps, but I am innocent no longer. Our life will stretch on, for our bargain is sealed, and the sun is warm on our peace.

  Still, the horror remains, as the memory remains, that the meek have inherited the earth.

  INNSMOUTH BANE

  by John Glasby

  I am writing this narrative in the sincere belief that something terrible has come to Innsmouth; something about which it is not wise to speak openly. Many of my neighbors, if they should ever read this account, will undoubtedly assume that any accusations I make against Obed Marsh are based upon jealousy, since there is little doubt that he, alone, is prospering while those of us who lost much during the years of depression are still finding it difficult to profit from this strange upturn in fortune which is his alone.

  My name is Jedediah Allen. My family left Boston and settled in Innsmouth in 1676, twenty-one years after the town was founded, my grandfather and father being engaged in trade with the Orient, prospering well following the success of the Revolution. The War of 1812, however, brought misfortune to many Innsmouth families. The loss of men and ships was heavy, the Gilman shipping business suffering particularly badly.

  Only Obed Marsh seemed to have come out of the depression successfully. His three vessels, the Sumatra Queen, Hetty, and Columbia still made regular sailings to the islands of the South Seas. Yet there was, from the very beginning, something odd about these voyages. From the first, he returned with large quantities of gold trinkets, more treasure than anyone in Innsmouth had ever seen.

  One rumor had it that this hoard of gold had been discovered by him concealed in some secret cave on Devil Reef, left there by buccaneers more than two centuries earlier; that he covertly ferried it ashore on nights when there was no moon. Yet, having seen some of these artifacts for myself, for Obed displayed many of them quite openly, I was more inclined towards the former explanation as to their origin.

  Certainly, the objects were beautiful in their intricate workmanship and design, but this was marred by an alienness in their imagery. All of the objects appeared to have an aquatic motif. To my eye, they had disturbing suggestions of fish or frog symbols, totally unlike any of the Spanish trinkets from the West Indies.

  There was also something strange about the metal from which they were fashioned which indicated a non-European source.

  My attempts to get Obed to divulge any information about them all met with evasiveness. He would neither confirm nor deny any of the rumors.

  There was one man, however, who might talk.

  Matt Eliot, first mate on the Sumatra Queen, was known to frequent the inn on Water Street whenever he was in port, and it was from him that I hoped to learn something.

  It was two weeks before an opportunity presented itself. Entering the inn just after dark, I spotted Eliot in the far corner, among the shadows, and for once he appeared to be without his usual drinking companions. After purchasing two drinks, I walked over and sat in the chair opposite him. He clearly had had a lot to drink although the hour was still early.

  I knew him to be a man of violent temper, readily aroused, one who had to be approached with caution and diplomacy.

  Setting the drink down in front of him, I sat back and studied him closely for several moments. I wanted him to be sufficiently drunk to talk, but not too drunk to fall into a stupor. For a time, he gave no indication that he had noticed my presence. Then his hand went out for the glass and he took several swallows, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

  Leaning forward, he peered closely at me. Then he grinned. “Jedediah Allen, ain’t it?”

  I nodded. “I’d like to talk with you, Matt,” I said. “About these voyages you go on with Captain Marsh. Where’d he get all that gold? I’d like to buy some of it for myself.”

  His eyes opened and closed several times before he replied, “Reckon you’ll have to speak to Obed about the gold. He keeps all of that for himself.”

  “But you do know where he gets it.”

  “O’ course I do. Every man on those ships knows where that gold comes from.” He leaned forward a little further, pushing his face up to mine, and dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Every trip he makes, Obed sails for Othaheite. Couple o’ years ago, we came across an island to the east not shown on any of our charts. The natives there, the Kanakys, worship some kind o’ fish-god, and they get all the fish and gold they want in exchange for sacrifices to this heathen god. Obed gives ’em beads and baubles for it.”

  He took another swallow of his drink. “There’s somethin’ else, somethin’—”

  He broke off abruptly as if suddenly aware he was on the point of saying something he shouldn’t.

  “Go on,” I urged. “This is just between you and me, Matt.”

  “There’s another island close to that where the Kanakys live. That’s where they offer their sacrifices. Obed got me and two others to row him out there one night. God, it was horrible. Not just the ruins that looked as if they’d lain on the bottom of the sea for millions of years, but what we heard and saw while we were there, on the other side of the island. Things comin’ up out o’ the sea like fish and frogs, only they walked on two legs like men, croakin’ and whistlin’ like demons.”

  I saw him shudder at the memory. “Obed never went back to that accursed island again. I reckon even he was scared by what we saw.”

  Finishing my drink, I thanked him for his information and left. As a staunch member of the Baptist Church, I knew that it was my duty to warn others of Marsh’s activities. But without proof, it was doubtful if I would be even listened too. Obed was a prominent figure in town and after all, it had long been an established practice for sea captains to exchange goods with the natives of these far-flung islands. Before I could tell anyone, I needed to know a lot more about what Obed was bringing into Innsmouth apart from gold.

  It was then I decided to wait for his return from his latest voyage. I already knew that both the Hetty and the Columbia had sailed some seven months previously, leaving the Sumatra Queen tied up at the harbor for repairs.

  Over the next few weeks, I made discreet inquiries concerning these ships, and finally ascertained they were due off Innsmouth some five weeks later. I had already decided upon the best vantage point to maintain a close watch on any activity without exposing myself to view. Accordingly, on the night in question, I made my way along Water Street to the harbor. The night was dark and starlit with no moon, and I let myself into one of the large warehouses lining the waterfront.

  Going up to one of the upper storeys, I crouched down by the window from where I had a clear and unrestricted view of the entire harbor. Although dark, there was sufficient starlight for me to readily make out the irregular black outline of Devil R
eef perhaps a mile and a half away.

  It was almost midnight when I spotted the two ships rounding Kingsport Head. The Columbia was in the lead with the Hetty about half a mile astern. Twenty minutes later, after following the movements of the two vessels closely, it became apparent that Marsh meant to bring them both into the harbor rather than anchor offshore.

  By the time the vessels had docked, a further hour had passed. There was much activity on both ships and the tall figure of Captain Marsh was clearly visible. By shifting my position slightly, I was able to watch closely as the cargoes were unloaded onto the quayside. Much of it consisted of large bales, which were carried into the warehouse adjacent to that in which I had concealed myself. There was little talk among the men, much of the work being carried out in complete silence. After a while, the crews vanished along Water Street, and only Marsh and one crewman were left on board the Columbia.

  When they eventually disembarked, they were carrying a large chest between them, and it was this, I guessed, that contained more of the gold which Marsh was bringing back from that unnamed island in the South Seas.

  I now had ample confirmation as to the source of this gold, and had Marsh continued merely with smuggling such trinkets, there was little that could be said against him. Prior to the war, during the privateering days, such activities were commonplace in Innsmouth, and were certainly not frowned upon by the townsfolk.

  By now, Marsh seemed to have fully accepted this pagan religion of those natives with whom he traded on a regular basis. He began to speak out vociferously against all of the religious communities, urging anyone who would listen to abandon their Christian faith and worship this pagan god, promising them wealth beyond their wildest dreams if they did so.

  Had we all listened to the Reverend Joseph Wallingham, who entreated his congregation to have nothing to do with those who worshipped pagan gods and worldly goods; had I known then what I was to discover the next time the Sumatra Queen returned from that accursed island, all of the ensuing madness might have been averted.

  But few heeded the Reverend Wallingham, and it was a further year before that fateful night when the Sumatra Queen docked. It is hard to say what gave me the notion that Obed Marsh was smuggling something more than gold into Innsmouth, or what brought to my mind the recollection of the old tunnels beneath the town, leading from the sea into the very center of Innsmouth.

  But remember them I did. For two nights, I concealed myself on top of the cliff overlooking the shore, but without any untoward happenings. On the third night, however, a little before midnight, I observed a party of men moving along the beach from the direction of the harbor. It was clear the men believed themselves to be safe from prying eyes, for they carried lanterns, and as they drew near the entrance to one of the tunnels, almost immediately below my hiding place, I recognized Obed Marsh in the lead, with Matt Eliot and five of the crew close behind.

  But it was the sight of the others accompanying them that sent a shiver of nameless dread through me, so that I almost cried out. Without doubt they were natives brought back from that terrible island, and even in the dim light cast by the bobbing lanterns, I could see there was something distinctly inhuman about them.

  Their heads were curiously distorted, with long, sloping foreheads, outthrust jaws, and bulging eyes like those of a frog or fish. Their gait, too, was peculiar, as if they were hopping rather than walking.

  Trembling and shaking, I lay there and watched as the party entered the tunnel mouth and disappeared. Not until a full half hour had passed was I able to push myself to my feet and stagger back into town.

  God alone knew how many of those creatures Marsh had smuggled into Innsmouth under the unsuspecting noses of the population, concealing them somewhere in his mansion on Washington Street.

  At the time, I could tell no one. Marsh had too tight a hold on all who sailed with him for any of them to talk. What dire purpose lay behind this wholesale importation of these natives, I couldn’t begin to guess. I knew full well there had to be a reason, but Marsh kept it to himself, and none of the creatures were ever seen on the town streets, even after dark.

  Over the next two years, whenever he was in town, Marsh continued his tirade against the established churches; and when several of the leading churchmen unaccountably disappeared, it became abundantly clear that he intended to become the only force in Innsmouth, and those who did not join him also had a tendency to vanish in peculiar circumstances or were driven out of the town.

  Then, suddenly and without warning, disaster struck Innsmouth. A terrible epidemic swept through the town, a disease for which there seemed no remedy. Hundreds, including my own wife, died during the outbreak. The few doctors could do nothing to stem the spread of the disease, merely declaring that it was one of foreign origin they had never encountered before. Almost certainly, they maintained, it had been brought into Innsmouth by one of the vessels trading with the Orient.

  The dead and dying were everywhere. There was no escape, since the Federal authorities, on hearing of it, quarantined the entire town and surrounding region. By the time the contagion had burnt itself out, almost half of the population had succumbed.

  Now, for the first time, I spoke out of what I had witnessed that night on the cliffs. Other townsfolk then came forward to tell of curious foreigners glimpsed in the fog, particularly along the waterfront at dead of night, some swimming strongly out to sea in the direction of Devil Reef, and many more coming in the other direction.

  We knew that something had to be done, and a meeting was hurriedly convened to discuss the rapidly deteriorating situation. There, it was agreed that no other course of action was open to us but to raid the Marsh mansion. Further action would depend upon what we found there. It was essential, of course, that no intimation of this plan should reach Obed, for there were now several of the townsfolk who appeared to have thrown in their lot with him.

  Two Federal investigators, agents Jensen and Corder, were present at the meeting, and although at first reluctant to support this taking of the law into our own hands, they eventually agreed to lead the raid. One group, led by Jensen, would go in at the front, while agent Corder would command the second which would enter by the rear.

  Arming myself with a pistol, I accompanied the second group. In all, we numbered twenty-two men. None of us knew what to expect as we made our way silently along Lafayette Street towards the rear of the huge building. Once we were in place, we waited for the two blasts on a whistle, which would signal that the other band was ready to move in.

  Lights were visible in three of the rear windows and occasionally a shadow would pass across the curtains. Clearly, the house was occupied, but whether the shadows we saw belonged to members of the Marsh family or to servants, it was impossible to tell.

  The signal to attack came five minutes later. Running forward, three of the men smashed in the heavy door and moments later, we were inside the house. A long, gloomy corridor led through the house towards the front of the building. Several rooms opened off from it on either side but a quick search revealed only two terrified servants and little out of the ordinary.

  Meeting up with the first group we found Obed Marsh seated in a chair before the fire. He had obviously attempted to reach for a weapon when the men had burst in, for a pistol lay on the table. Now he sat covered by the revolver in Jensen’s hand.

  “Did you find anything?” Jensen spoke directly to Corder.

  “Nothing in any of the back rooms,” Corder replied. “But if there is any contraband here, it’s likely to be well hidden.”

  “You’ll find nothing!” Marsh snarled. He half rose to his feet, then sat down again at a gesture from Jensen. “And you’ll all pay for this unwarranted intrusion. I’ll make damned sure of that.”

  There was something in his threat that sent a shiver through me. I had long known him to be a man who never made idle threats.

  While the rest of the men made a thorough search of the house, with five of them
climbing the stairs to the upper storeys, I made a slow circuit of the room. Several portraits of the Marsh family members, going back for several generations, hung on the walls, but it was not these that made me feel uneasy. There were also other things, lining the mantelpiece above the wide hearth and on top of several long shelves around the walls.

  There could be only one place where Marsh could have obtained these grotesque statues depicting hideous monstrosities, the likes of which I had never seen before. In particular, I came across a trio of statuettes, each about ten inches in height, which were frightful in the extreme. Apart from the nightmarish contours, which appeared to be hybrids of various sea creatures, the anatomical quintessence of these idols, the grotesque tentacular nature of the limbs and malformed torsos, suggested to me things from some distant pre-human era. The nature of the material from which they were fashioned was also highly peculiar. A pale, nauseous green, striated with minute black lines, it was extremely heavy, and none of us could even hazard a guess as to what it was.

  A sudden shout from one of the adjoining rooms jerked my attention from them. In a loose bunch, we made our way towards the sound, leaving Jensen to keep an eye on Marsh.

  In one of the rooms, the men had come across a locked door which, on being broken down, revealed a flight of stone steps, clearly leading to cellars beneath the house. Lighting three of the lanterns we had brought with us, we descended the steps, almost retching on the stench which came up to meet us. It was a sharp, fishy odor, which caught at the backs of our throats, almost suffocating us.

  At the bottom, in the pale light from our lanterns, we saw the shocking confirmation of what I had seen earlier concerning my nocturnal vigils on the cliffs. There were more than a score of natives crowded into the cellar, and one or two of the men cried out as we tried to assimilate what we saw.

  Several of us had sailed to many foreign ports during the prosperous trading and privateering days, and were fully conversant with the many native races found on different islands of the Pacific. But what we saw in the wavering lantern light was something none of us had ever witnessed!