It was kind of hard to hide. Not just because everyone in Clam Bay had a tendency to wear gray, shuffle slowly as if dragging themselves reluctantly across the land, and speak in a slow, halting, decidedly non-quaint, nonfolksy way. They also looked alike. It was a small gene pool in this town, and it hadn’t really worked out that well for any of the citizens of Clam Bay.
Also, the clamming was lousy in Clam Bay.
Philip and Vance ate breakfast in near silence. There was no need to remark on their growing pile of bills and the lack of tourists. Without looking at the budget, Philip estimated they had another four months before the all-consuming debt . . . well . . . consumed them.
The bell attached to the front door jingled. Philip and Vance jumped up and ran to greet the visitor. Their hopes were dashed by the sight of the Clam Bay constable.
“Hello,” said Philip halfheartedly.
The constable nodded and tipped his gray hat. “Mornin’, fellas. I’m afraid we have us a slight little problem here.”
Philip tried to place the accent. It wasn’t New Englandish. Not quite. Clam Bay had its own special dialect. It really was a world of itself. Too bad it wasn’t in the charming Old World way, but the creepy, skin-crawling fashion. But for all their creepiness, the folks of Clam Bay hadn’t done anything to Philip or Vance.
And now there was a problem.
The constable led them outside and pointed to a hanging sign posted by the road. “Want to tell me about this?”
Vance said, “I found it in the attic. Thought it looked Old World. Kind of cool.”
The icy wind made the sign swing. The constable steadied it. “We’d like you to take it down, if you could.”
“Why?”
The constable made a snorting noise and spat up a wad of green phlegm. “We just would rather if you did.”
“Excuse me,” said Vance, “but this isn’t a police state, is it? We can have anything we want on our house, can’t we?”
The constable frowned. It wasn’t easy to detect, because the citizens of Clam Bay had mouths bent downward naturally. “Ehyah. It’s just, well, we don’t like to think about it. About the old town name, huh.” He worked his jaw as if testing to see if it still functioned properly.
“You can barely read it,” said Vance.
“It’s a memory,” said the Constable. “A bad memory that we would rather forget.”
He gazed out toward the ocean with a strange combination of yearning and dread. Nobody swam in Clam Bay’s waters. They were too cold. But sometimes, Philip would catch a citizen or two standing on the beach. Always with that same unsettling expression.
“We’ll take it down,” said Philip. “No problem.”
The constable nodded. “Ehyah.” He rubbed his face. “Ehyah.” He shuffled away, never taking his eyes off the sea.
“Why’d you agree to that?” asked Vance. “It’s a free country.”
“Oh, stop it,” said Philip. “Who really cares? We gotta live here, right? At least for another few months.”
“It’s censorship. It’s bullshit.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can fight the good fight when we go back to New York.”
Grumbling, Vance wrestled with the sign, stubbornly trying to uproot it with his bare hands.
CLAM Bay’s general store was large on the outside. But on the inside, it was half empty. The weird thing was that instead of splitting the store down the middle with empty aisles on one side and filled aisles on the other, the arrangement was seemingly random. There was the canned goods aisle, an empty aisle, the cereal aisle, produce, another two empty aisles, frozen foods, one more empty aisle, ethnic foods (which amounted to tortillas and taco shells), several more empty aisles, and at the very end, farthest from the entrance, the meat aisle. Even weirder, the lighting of the store was a murky twilight that refused to venture into the empty aisles, leaving them shadowy regions of darkness. Sometimes, Philip thought he saw something lurking in the aisle between frozen and ethnic. Not exactly saw, but sensed.
There was nobody ever in the store. He was sure that people shopped here. They had to. It was the only place to get groceries. But he never saw anyone other than the raggedy guy by the cash register. So Philip wasn’t really paying attention when he nearly plowed into the woman as he turned into the aisle.
They jumped simultaneously.
“Oh, jeez. I’m sorry,” he said.
She smiled. It’d been a while since he’d seen a smile like that. And she wasn’t wearing standard Clam Bay gray or black. No, she had on a blue sweater and some tan slacks, and Philip realized how cheery tan could be in these circumstances.
“Don’t worry about it. I should’ve been looking. It’s just . . . well, I’m just not used to seeing anyone else here.” She extended her hand. “I’m Angela.”
“Hi, I’m—”
“Philip,” she interrupted.
“Have we met?”
“Oh, no. I just arrived in town yesterday. But the village is buzzing with gossip about the two”—she made air quotes—“ ‘big-city fellows’ who moved into the Bay.”
He had a hard time imagining Clam Bay buzzing. The cashier was sitting slouched by the front of the store, motionless, staring out the window.
Angela moved past him and headed toward the register. He hadn’t finished his shopping, but he followed her. “So what brings you to Clam Bay?” he asked.
“Just visiting my mother.”
That surprised him. She didn’t have the look of someone born here. She wasn’t gorgeous. Or even especially attractive. In a different place, she might even be on the pretty side of plain. But here, in this place, she was a knockout. How the gene pool worked that one out, he couldn’t figure.
“I was adopted,” she said. “That’s what you were thinking, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, was it that obvious?”
“No, but it’s the first thought any outsider should probably have. So how about you?” she asked. “Why did you and your”—she broke out the air quotes again—“ ‘life partner’ decide to move to Clam Bay?”
“Not really a good reason for it, I guess. Just bad judgment on . . . Wait. What did you call us?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She blushed. “Was that the wrong term? I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You think . . . Uh, we’re not gay.”
She laughed. “Oh, it’s all right. Nobody here cares about something like that. We’re pretty tolerant of alternative lifestyles.”
“We’re not gay,” he said with a little more force than intended. “We’re just friends.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Girlfriends?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Confirmed bachelors?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Not confirmed,” he replied.
“So two single guys from the big city move to our little town and open a bed-and-breakfast. But you’re not gay.”
“We’re just friends,” he said.
“Right. Because straight men open bed-and-breakfasts all the time.”
“These straight men did.”
“Straight men named Philip and Vance.”
He wanted to argue, but he was suddenly beginning to question it himself. The thought was so distracting that he barely noticed when she ended the conversation and bid him farewell.
VANCE took the news of their “big-city fellows” status better than Philip. Probably because it turned out that he actually was gay.
“You’re what?”
“Well, I’m not entirely sure,” said Vance, “but I’d say it’s seventy-thirty for it.”
“But I’ve seen you with women.”
“That would be the thirty part of the equation,” said Vance as he sipped his coffee.
“Oh my God. That’s why you agreed to do this with me. You think I’m gay, too!”
Vance chuckled. “Dude, you’re not gay.”
“I know I’m not, but do you know I’m not
?”
“I’d say ninety-two-eight on the straight side,” said Vance.
“How the hell—”
“They’ve made some terrific advances in gaydar, dude.”
Philip laid his head on the table and thought about it for a while. “So eight percent gay?”
“Remember that week you went around humming ‘Hello, Dolly’?”
“That’s worth eight percent?”
“That, and the fact that you did want to open a bed-and-breakfast. Even I had my doubts when I first heard you mention the idea.”
“Bed-and-breakfasts are not an innately gay enterprise,” countered Philip.
“Fair enough,” said Vance. “But I wouldn’t lay odds on many single straight guys who start these things up.”
“But—”
“I don’t make the rules, dude. I just get them from the website.”
“So if you don’t think I’m gay, why did you agree to do this with me?”
“For the reason I originally said,” replied Vance. “I’d just lost my job, had nothing holding me in the city, and it sounded like something to do.”
“And that’s it?”
Vance shook his head. “Philly, I love you, buddy. I do. But you’re not my type.”
“I’m not?”
“What? Are you insulted?”
Philip was pondering that when the front door jingled. He didn’t know how he still managed to get excited at the sound. It never meant a tourist looking for a room. It had been raining for the last few hours, a slick, frozen rain that made the roads hard to travel. So maybe someone had to stop, and the Nook was the only place convenient. It was a long shot, but he peeked out into the foyer with a smidgen of hope.
It was Angela. Although she wasn’t a tourist, she wasn’t an unwelcome sight. He introduced Vance.
“This is my friend Vance,” he said, hitting the friend part hard. “My good friend Vance.”
Angela and Vance exchanged smirking glances. And he could see their point. Hitting friend too hard was a double- edged sword. It could be trouble.
“Don’t mind him,” said Vance. “He’s just discovering he’s homophobic, but otherwise, he’s a good guy.”
They gave her a quick tour. The rain started coming down harder, judging by the increasing beat on the roof. Lightning flashed, too. Lightning without thunder. Philip couldn’t remember hearing thunder once in Clam Bay, even in the heaviest storm.
“You guys did a great job. I hardly recognize the place,” remarked Angela when they completed the journey and ended at the kitchen. “Love the decorating.”
“That was mostly Vance,” said Philip. “I’m more of the carpentry and plumbing guy.”
“Yes, and I’m in charge of flower arranging and doilies,” said Vance with a perfectly straight face.
She reached out and put her hand on Philip’s. “I believe you.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Actually, I believe Vance. We had a talk when you were making the espressos.” She took a drink of hers. “You make a great espresso, by the way.”
Things were looking up in Clam Bay just then.
The front door jingled again, just as the lights flickered on and off. It wasn’t uncommon during a fierce storm.
“You two stay put,” said Vance. “I’ll check who it is.”
“Thanks,” said Philip.
Vance left as the lights continued to flicker.
“Wiring,” said Philip to Angela. “We’re still working on it. So I’m glad you stopped by.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
They shared a smile.
The lights went out. Given the darkness of Clam Bay nights, he expected nothing but black. But there was a soft green light coming from the foyer.
Vance screamed, but the sound was cut short. Philip and Angela ran to see what had happened.
It was hard to discern details. Vance was on the floor, groaning. And something stood over him. Something with large eyes that radiated an unearthly emerald glow.
“What the—” started Philip.
Silent lightning flashed, and the person, the creature because there was no other word for it, was illuminated, just for a moment. The thing was hunched, gray-skinned. It had a huge head with a gaping mouth. And frills on the side of that head extended as a strangled hiss rose out of its throat. Philip didn’t hear the sound, though. He was too busy looking out the windows, where shadows lurched. At least four or five of them. And each one sported those same unearthly eyes.
He stood transfixed, unable to move. It wasn’t terror that held him. Terror was too tangible. Terror was overwhelming. But this strange creature, even mostly hidden in shadow, was simply the unknowable. It was the intangible made real, and there was no easy way to absorb it. So he just stood there and gaped, even as the creature menaced Vance.
Angela rushed forward. The monster lurched at her. She seized it by the hand, spun into it, and did some kind of kung fu move that happened so fast, the creature was thrown to the ground before Philip even knew it happened. The fish creature shrieked, flopping around on its back. The creatures outside joined in on the gruesome dirge.
She yanked Vance off the ground and dragged him back to Philip.
The front door pushed open, and the bell jingled as several more creatures entered.
“Is there a back door?” asked Angela.
When neither Philip or Vance replied, she grabbed Philip by the shirt and shook him. “Your back door, Phil!”
“Uh . . . in the back,” he replied.
She pulled both the men with her as she moved toward the exit. They didn’t get far. Three other creatures must have slipped in the back and blocked the way. There was no way out. The creatures’ raspy breathing and eerie green glow alerted them in time to avoid stumbling into an ambush. In the foyer, something was smashed to the floor.
“My vases,” said Vance.
But he said it the fancy way, the way Europeans did. Philip wondered why it had taken him so long to figure out Vance was gay. Then he wondered about the stereotyping and how absurd it was. Then he realized how absurd it was to think about this while the creatures from the Black Lagoon were about to eat him alive. But that was kind of the point. It was easier to think about something stupid than about the alternative, pressing as it might be.
“The cellar,” whispered Vance. “We can hide in the cellar.”
Philip had always hated the cellar. It was musty and dank. But it was the only choice as the creatures closed in on the kitchen. They went down. Angela had the good sense not to let the trap door slam. Vance had spent a week organizing the cellar, so even though it was dark, there was little to trip over. Vance moved like a cat. At least, Philip assumed Vance did. It was hard to tell in the darkened cellar. But Vance managed to retrieve a flashlight without making a lot of noise. He flicked it on, covering it with his hand to keep the light low.
They said nothing as the creatures trod over their heads. They watched the trap door, waiting for it to open, waiting for the monsters to come down and devour them. But after a few minutes, the creaking stopped and the raspy breathing faded.
They still didn’t speak for another five minutes after that.
“What the hell are those?” Vance finally asked, so softly Philip almost didn’t hear him. “Are those monsters?” His voice rose. “Are those fucking monsters?”
“Deep ones,” said Angela.
“What the hell is a—”
“Just a story,” she said. “Not even that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She wiped her brow. “It’s hard to explain. You know how every small town has a story? Clam Bay is no different.”
“I’d say it’s different,” whispered Philip through clenched teeth. “I’d say it’s very goddamn different.”
The floor creaked, and they were quiet again.
Angela leaned forward, the flashlight casting eerie shadows on her face, making this seem like a ghost story tol
d around a campfire. Except the ghosts were real, and it wasn’t some dumb kid ready to jump out and yell “Boo” when you got to the scary part. No, it was an actual monster that was going to jump out.
“A long time ago,” she said in a low, low voice, “back before Clam Bay was Clam Bay. Back when it went by another name, the people made a pact with the ancient god who waits in the depths of the ocean.”
“What’s he waiting for?” asked Vance.
“Nobody knows,” replied Angela.
“Then how do they know he’s waiting?”
“That’s hardly important at this moment,” said Philip.
“Well, she brought it up,” said Vance.
“Will you just shut up about the waiting?”
Vance glared. “You don’t have to raise your voice at me like I’m the asshole.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
“If anything, you’re the asshole. If you hadn’t come up with this Band-B idea in the first place—”
“I know,” said Philip.
“I’m just asking a question, trying to get a handle on the situation—”
“Holy hell, Vance. I’ve already apologized. What the hell more do you want from me?”
“Are you sure you two aren’t a couple?” asked Angela.
“Just finish your story,” said Philip.
“There’s not much more to tell. The deep ones came as servants of the sea god. They offered secrets of power and immortality, and the people took them up on it. I’d rather not get into the details.”
“What details?” asked Vance.
Angela paused. “They’re not important.”
“Maybe there’s a clue to what these things want,” said Philip.
“I hope not,” she mumbled to herself, though they both heard. Caught, she was overpowered by their intent stares. “Okay, but you aren’t going to like it. They . . . uh . . . I believe the term used is mingled their blood.”
“You mean, they cut themselves?” asked Philip. “Like when kids make themselves blood brothers?”
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