by J. M. Keep
Hemming’s Bay, it appeared, was much like sun-blessed Rome in that all roads led to the very heart of it. Charles found himself driving his struggling automobile past a central square and into a more commercial area of the town. Gradually signs of habitation began to emerge. Dour looking storefronts and a public house, closed for the night opened out onto the square, yet it was another, more prominent structure that dominated Charles’ attention.
A church loomed up on the right of the gloomy plaza. Whereas the rest of the town lay in half-light and menacing shadow, the church was illuminated like a dancer on a stage. That the locals would devote such attention to the building indicated that it was clearly an important place in the decaying settlement. Yet Charles, a God-fearing man, found something infinitely disturbing about the brightly-lit place of worship. He couldn't put his finger on it.
That was until he noticed the lack of crucifixes mounted upon the entrance. Instead there was a strange, twisted symbol that he did not recognise and certainly resembled nothing in any form of Christianity he had come across. Perhaps, he thought, it was some sort of local offshoot of an obscure Christian sect, favoured by those who worked the sea.
Still, the squirming icon made Charles’ eyes hurt to stare upon its ichthyic form and forced his attention back to the road. It was bizarre and unsettlingly, yet he simply attributed the mild delusion to a grievous lack of sleep and far too long squinting though fogged glass and drizzle. He noted however, as the car crawled by the vaulted foyer of the church, an engraved sign describing the building as the ‘Resting Place of the Great Father’.
The sign settled his nerves a little, confirming in his mind the notions about the locals practicing some devolved and cultish form of Christianity. Such things weren’t unheard of among the less developed, simpler folk when exposed to God’s word. So long as they paid the one true lord his due, all was well. Charles smiled a little, thankful for his proper education and beliefs.
Both the Church and disturbing icon soon vanished beyond the rain-flecked rear windows and vehicle rolled on into the deserted down. It wasn’t long before Charles was presented with a sight that brought cheer to his heart. Luck, it appeared finally made its presence felt to the tired driver.
A sprawling three storey building with a sagging roof loomed out of the night. Vibrant, friendly lights and a clearly defined sign stated the place to be ‘Garland’s Boarding House’. Charles was immediately sold and pulled up to the curb. He turned off the engine and the headlights flickered out. The hotel’s bright electric lights flooded the car with illumination.
Beside him, Rebecca slumbered soundlessly and for several long moments he waited, listening to the sound of the rain rhythmically drumming against the roof of the car. Then, very gently, he roused his snoozing bride with a gentle shake of her arm.
Rebecca stirred and smiled at her lover with heavily lidded eyes. The two shared a very gentle kiss, savouring the sweet and familiar taste of each other's lips.
Charles pointed out the window at the nearby entrance to the welcoming hotel. Gathering their wits, the two newlyweds braced themselves and then, amid shrieking giggles and laughter, they made a break for it, out into the pouring rain and right for the boarding house’s front door.
The couple must have only been out in the elements for a few moments, but by the time they had reached the relative warmth and safety of the boarding house they were soaked to the core and shivering. The battered double doors were unlocked and the newlyweds had no difficulty in gaining entry to the musty interior.
Inside the spacious foyer the air was still and there was no attendant at the dusty front desk. It was fairly unsurprising considering the unsociable hour at which the newly-weds had arrived.
'Would you look at this place...' murmured Rebecca, her initial breathless panting replaced swiftly by curiosity. 'It's like some sort of museum.'
The petite blonde bride wasn't wrong in her assessment. The foyer of Garland’s Boarding House was brightly lit with fairly modern gas lamps, but was decorated in an incredibly archaic manner. Worm eaten oak lined every wall. The aged planks were interspersed with indistinguishable oil paintings of incredibly varied skill. They hung alongside all manner of fishing inspired decorations, from disturbingly alien aquatic icons to simple whalebone scrimshaw sculptures.
It was clear that the sea had been important to the town, judging by the number of nets, floats and other marine paraphernalia. Yet for all the apparent care that had been taken in collecting the myriad of items there was a great lack of care spared for the various decorations. Thick dust graced every surface, with the exception of the threadbare carpet upon which they stood, although even that appeared to have been worn into oblivion by countless feet. There was a smell in the air too. Damp, musty and old. It hung thick in the sprawling foyer, invasive and pungent.
'Any port in a storm...' offered Charles hopefully. Rebecca did not look overly convinced.
The couple made their way to the desk together. There was no sign of an attendant, but a burnished brass bell sat central upon the pitted divide. After a moment of contemplation, Charles swatted his palm down upon the lever to strike the hidden gong. The resulting sound was far louder in the stilled air than either Rebecca or himself had been expecting and it seemed to reverberate around the place in an unnerving manner. For several long moments there was no reaction, just the treacle thick silence of the dusty air.
Charles was on the verge of calling out for aid when the sound of movement in an adjoining room caused him to pause.
Into the foyer waddled a curious little man. Clammy, greying skin and prematurely thinning hair completed the alien look of exhausted malignancy. However it wasn’t the man’s curious swaying walk that that made Charles’ skin crawl. It was the man's eyes and the way that they bulged in a decidedly fishy manner. The strange manner in which his head seemed to vanish into the folded, flabby excuse for a neck that set Charles at such unease. The newcomer fixed the couple with an acetic glare, his pencil thin lips forming something that appeared between a scowl and a grimace.
'Room?' came the gurgled question from the flat-faced attendant. He was pale and rancid looking, almost like someone's finger tips after they had spent too long in a hot bath.
'Yes, yes please.' said Charles, still in shock from the barely human appearance of the man behind the desk.
'Just for the night. We're travelling through to Burnham.' said Rebecca with a tired smile.
The attendant turned toward Rebecca are glared at her with those ghastly staring eyes. Instantly she shrank back as if struck. He turned back to Charles and sighed.
'You should keep her on a leash. Women should know when to speak and when to keep their mouths shut.' gurgled the attendant. 'The room will be two dollars, paid up front.'
Aghast at the attendant’s sudden outburst Charles dug out his wallet and paid the man. The strange little man made a great show of stashing the money away and then took a key from the full rack behind him and then waddled out from behind the partition.
The shuffling, waddling proprietor to lead them to a room on the second floor. He showed them to a spacious set of rooms with peeling wallpaper and dim lights then left them alone. Rebecca, po-faced throughout waited for the clammy attendant to leave before exploding in seething rage.
'Why on earth did you let him speak to me like that?!' Rebecca exclaimed with folded arms.
'Simple folk, kitten, simple folk! Not everyone can be as progressive as we are...' explained Charles soothingly. 'Just be thankful that someone was awake and able to offer us a room, even if it is like a step back in time.'
Rebecca wrapped her slender arms around Charles and hugged him close. His black hair looked bedraggled by the rain and his features flushed by the sudden heat of the boarding house, but he was still managing to smile at her.
'I don't like it here...' sighed Rebecca softly. ‘There’s something not right about it.’
'Nor do I darling, but it's just for the night.
' said Charles, stroking Rebecca's cheeks. 'A few hours of kip, and we'll be back on our way.'
The room itself was a strange place, fitting the rest of the sagging old building all too well. The wooden walls were covered with more of the greasy oil paintings, portraying scenes of the sea and more of the sallow, flat-faced locals. There were several pieces of furniture in the room, not least the large four-poster double bed that seemed to demand the viewer's attention. The posts themselves were carved with intricate, twisted patterns that made little sense to any who might gaze upon them. Rebecca remarked upon their beauty, but Charles felt nothing but unease when studying the expertly worked wood.
Still, both of the travellers were weary and it wasn't long before they had stripped down to their undergarments and settled into bed. Rebecca was wearing one of his gifts, a sultry lingerie set from Paris. All black lace and red bows. Sadly for both, they were too exhausted for the titillating garment to stir any sort of arousal. Instead they lay together beneath a thick quilt, holding each other close and kissing tenderly until sleep overtook them.
~~
Neither of the sleeping newlyweds heard the secret door in the back of the wardrobe slide open with a well-oiled click. They were blissfully unaware as a shadowy figure pushed open the creaking doors with a bottle and a rag clutched in clammy hands. Slowly and carefully the dark smear in the night crept toward the bed and as it reached the two slumbering occupants, tipped a little of the bottle's wet content onto the rag.
It was held under first Rebecca's cute little nose, then under Charles'. Instantly the bride and groom's breathing seemed to slow down and their faces, screwed up with the concentration of pleasant dreams seemed to relax and sag a little. Seemingly content, the shadow over them left them to their slumbers and went to the door.
The heavy iron key turned in the lock, making an inordinately loud sound in the darkness. Unfortunately for the slumbering couple the chloroform had done its job and the two lovers remained in blissfully deep unconsciousness.
With a low creak the door opened inward and more shadows filed into the room until a relative crowd had gathered in the gloom. Almost as one shuffling being, the newcomers advanced upon the sleeping couple and dragged the quilt away.
From somewhere in the formless crowd there came a slithering gurgle of appreciation as Rebecca's Parisian undergarments were revealed. Then, wet grasping hands reached for the two and calmly drew the unfortunate souls into their midst. Together they bore aloft the sleepers, moving slowly and calmly into the darkness.
The secret door loomed up like a portal of infinite blackness and slowly, but surely, the crowd descended into that petrifying portal.
~~
Rebecca knew there was something very wrong long before she opened her eyes. Instead of the awkward softness of a mattress underneath her back there was something cold, wet and hard. Her eyes rapidly flicked open and Rebecca screamed. The sound echoed around the vast cavern into which she had awoken. It seemed to go on forever, bounding from wall to wall.
There wasn't much gloom to be had, for the foreboding cavern was well lit by innumerable candles and bright lanterns that hung from hooks on the slimy greened walls.
She tried to move, but found that her arms were bound to an iron ring behind her head. Her legs likewise were stretched out and tied up with thick green rope. Try as she might, all Rebecca could achieve was the smallest of pathetic wriggles. It was then she realised, sobbing and hoarse, that she was not alone. Dark shapes were gathered around her, sticking to the shadows cast by the flickering candles. Only one figure stood as large as day, confident where the others seemed almost afraid of Rebecca.
A quick look revealed that she was still wearing her sultry lingerie. It had been meant for Charles' eyes only. Now not only did Rebecca feel afraid, but she also ashamed. She called out her husband's name, but got no answer, then settled into a steady sob, constantly straining at her bindings.
The bold figure loomed up over her, straight faced, yet with all the fishy charm of the man they had met scant hours before. A local, it was clear. He was dressed in the manner of some perversely twisted priest. A crown of intricate metalwork was perched atop his balding head. The workmanship was extraordinarily exquisite, but completely alien and at the same time disgusting. Rebecca thrashed and squirmed, trying desperately to wriggle away from his loathsome countenance.
'Greetings, vessel. I thank you for joining us this most special of evenings.' said the priest. There was a slight gurgle to his words which made them pop and hiss.
'Let me go! Where is Charles!' yelled Rebecca. Some of the surrounding figures flinched back at the volume of her words, but the priest remained unbowed.
'You have been chosen by the Great Father to be here this eve, child. A rare honour.' continued the priest, clearly unbowed by Rebecca.
'Chosen for what?! Let us go!' stammered Rebecca, the fear in her was reaching boiling point.
'Why, chosen to bear the young of his people, of course. The Great Father makes you a fair offer for this honour of course. Immortality beneath the rolling waves, in the soothing darkness of the cold depths. All you need to do, my sweetling, is to provide him with children.' said the priest. He leant over Rebecca with a jug in one hand, smiling a thin-lipped smile.
'The only children I'm going to have will be my husband's! Where is Charles?!' yowled Rebecca, tears streaming down her cheeks. She tried desperately to twist away.
'He has been taken care of, vessel.' said the priest calmly. His words did not reassure Rebecca in the slightest, but he continued anyway, ignoring her distress. 'There are two ways this could work, pretty little thing. First there is the way of pain. The children of the Great Father, those that stand about us, will abuse you mercilessly, they will take from you, but not give. Your womb, fertile and precious will serve them, but you will hurt and you will suffer.'
Rebecca howled and thrashed. She could feel the surrounding mob getting closer to her. Between her desperate attempts to free herself, she could make out shapes in the mass of shadows. Shapes that were lumpen and large and clearly not entirely human.
'Then there is the way of bliss. You will not hurt, you will not suffer...and all of the joyous rewards of service to the Great Father will be laid out before you, like a banquet of glories. Each reward more wondrous than the last. Make your choice, vessel and make it fast, for the children of the Great Father draw close and they do not have patience.'
Shambling forms started stepping out of the darkness. They were relatively human, at first. The sallow, greasy-faced and clammy look of the locals. Then they started to change, the newcomers taking upon a much more ichthyic appearance, each more altered than the last until there was nothing at all comforting and human about the creatures that drew in close around Rebecca’s flat rock. Bulbous eyes, parted panting lips and skin like pitted leather. Their gills twitched and shivered in the air and webbed claw-like hands started reaching toward her.
'Bliss' whispered Rebecca, screwing her eyes up tight.
'What was that, vessel?' asked the priest lightly. 'Speak up so that they can all hear you.'
'Bliss!' yammered Rebecca much louder this time.
'Excellent, vessel. We're all so glad that you made the right choice. Now drink and drink deep.' urged the priest. He pressed the lip of the jug to the prone Rebecca's lips and tipped it slightly.
Rebecca, fearful but resigned to her fate, parted her lips and waited for the liquid to ooze forth. It smelled non-too unpleasant, but it was the taste that caught her by surprise. Thick, white liquid oozed forth from the strange jug and filled her mouth. It tasted almost exactly like honeyed cream and coated the insides of her cheeks effortlessly. When she started to swallow, the same thing happened. It seemed to cling soothingly to her throat and Rebecca could even pinpoint the exact moment that it hit her stomach, for it seemed to take over her senses. Like soothing warm light it seemed to fill her with intoxicating wellness. Her back arched from the wet rock and she sighed
with deep and unexpected satisfaction.
The pretty young blonde woman could feel herself changing somehow. Inside her something was altering, making her feel different. Perhaps, thought Rebecca, the liquid was some form of potent, creamy alcohol. Regardless, she no longer felt afraid and when she opened her eyes, the fear she felt from the surrounding mob of freaks and monsters simply ebbed away. No longer did the lumpen shapes and bulging eyes make her fitful and uneasy. She squirmed and smiled and allowed the priest to tip the last of the creamy ichor into her greedy, slurping mouth.
'The Great Father has chosen well this night!' exclaimed the priest. 'The vessel has drunk deep of his seed. Drunk down every holy droplet...a rare achievement. The vessel shall now be taken to receive her bounty. Take her to the Pool of New Life!'
Rebecca happily wriggled about on the rock. The liquid had made her dizzy and happy. She barely noticed when something was affixed about her neck and her arms and legs freed from their bindings. A gentle tugging at her throat brought her back from the happy place she was in. Rebecca opened her eyes and reached up to her neck. A collar had been attached, a lead clipped to it. She followed the line of the soft leather up to the hand that held it and smiled at the man who now held her. The hotel clerk grinned back at her. Someone had put her rightfully on a leash she realised, and was decidedly happy about the fact.
Then the crowd set off and Rebecca was forced to trot to keep up as her temporary master gave her encouraging tugs of the leash. Not that she needed any encouragement. Rebecca was excited, desperate now, to see what being the Great Father’s chosen vessel entailed. Of the fear there had previously been, none now remained. She scampered along, licking her lips and hugging herself as the crowd led her deeper and deeper into the cavernous depths of the dark cave. They only paused when the mob reached a semi-circular ledge of rock that was surrounded by a dark pool of frightfully still water.
