Nightmare in Agate Bay

by CW Hawes

  “And folks here said, ‘Why not? The Christian God was worthless. He didn’t give nothin’ but cold, snow, and starvation. So’s they started worshippin’ that Dagon. Brinnell showed ‘em all the secret rites he’d learned o’ the original Esoteric Order o’ Dagon, ‘cept he called his group the Reorganized Esoteric Order o’ Dagon ta emphasize he was the leader.

  “Well, they took a young woman and a young man and offered them ta those devils out on Disaster Rock. And they did that several more times and nothin’ happened and the folks was gettin’ ready ta turn on ol’ Brinnell when the first o’ the Deep Ones showed up. That saved Brinnell’s bacon, it did, ‘cuz the Deep Ones they know’d he was their ticket ta spreadin’ their vile filth and they sent fish by the tens o’ thousands ta our little bay. So many we couldna count ‘em all. Not only were we never hungry, but there was enough for us ta start an industry and soon Agate Bay fish was bein’ sold all over Minnesota and up into Canada and money was a pourin’ into our little village as if we’d struck gold.”

  Peterson unscrewed the cap of the whisky bottle and took two long pulls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Yes sirree Bob. We had food and we had money. Brinnell got the railroad ta put a line into town so’s we could ship fish out in ice cars. Perch, salmon, whitefish, eel, smelt, and herring. Agate Bay was the fish capital o’ the Great Lakes. Freighters began docking here ta haul the fish away. And there was always more. We never ran out.

  “But all that success had a price, yes sirree Bob. Brinnell was the first. He took one o’ those alien beings as his wife. The thing gave him twelve children. After that it was Ole Svenson who took a wife from those monstrosities. And then Gunter Hanson and his wife Helga were forced ta take mating partners from those things. Helga had eight children from her various partners and who knows how many Gunter sired. When their human daughter was old enough, she was married off ta one o’ them things.

  “My parents were one o’ the last newcomers. My father was with the railroad. After I was born, old man Brinnell told my parents they was ta sacrifice me ta the Deep Ones and my father not only said, “no”, he gave Brinnell the business end of his shotgun. That was none too good, for a mob took hold a my pa and took him out in a boat ta the Rock and threw him overboard. The monsters took him. I never knew him. Or my ma, cuz they made her mate with one o’ those hideously deformed beasts and when she was done she took the meat cleaver and whacked the thing’s head off and then cut off her own hand so’s she’d bleed out and she did.”

  Old Caleb stopped there. He seemed lost in thought.

  Kemper, her voice soft, asked, “What happened to you?”

  Caleb eyed her. “You don’t believe. Well, you stay here long enough and you will. Helga and Gunter’s daughter took me in. She never did believe, even though she had ta marry one o’ those things. Most o’ her children with that thing died. I have a feelin’ she helped that wicked spawn she was forced to birth on ta an early rendezvous with hell. No proof. Just a feelin’. She treated me like her own. She’s the one who told me about my parents.”

  “So why do you stay here?” Patel asked.

  “I have no choice. I was in the navy during the war and I thought about not comin’ back, but my stepmother was ill and I came back for her. After all she’d done for me, I couldna leave her. After she died, they wouldn’t let me leave. I know’d too much and they couldn’t have me blabbin’ ta just anybody.”

  “How can these ‘monsters’ have children with us?” Kemper asked.

  Peterson laughed. “Well, missy, that’s simple. It’s called mating.”

  “Yes, I know that,” Kemper shot back. “I mean, they aren’t human. Or are they?”

  “Oh, they’s not so different from us as you’d think. Don’t those fancy pants scientists say we all came from fish? That everything came from fish? I read once that even humans have gills when they’s in the womb.”

  Kemper slowly nodded. “So what happens to these hybrids?”

  “If they don’t kill themselves, they go ta the lake and join the Deep Ones in their city in the bottom o’ the lake or in the ocean off Innsmouth. Before that they change and pretty much end up lookin’ like the monsters themselves. Hideous things keepin’ ta their houses until they decide ta take ta the water.”

  He took another pull on the bottle and then another. When Peterson didn’t say anymore, Kemper muttered something about a delirious drunk. Peterson heard it, jumped up, and threw the bottle across the large room where it smashed against the opposite wall.

  “Fool!” he screamed. “Pray ta God ya don’t see a shoggoth tonight, cuz they’s a comin’ for ya. All o’ ya. And you’re damned fools if ya stay.”

  Peterson saw the jug of Muscatel on the floor, snatched it up, screamed, “Fools!”, once more and lurched out the front door of the ruined clothier.

  Kemper repeated, this time out loud, “A delirious old drunk.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Mostyn cautioned.

  “You can’t be serious,” Kemper replied.

  “There are three men watching this place,” Mostyn said. “We can’t see them now because it’s dark. But I’d bet my new fishing boat, they’re there.”

  “What are we going to do?” Patel asked.

  “Go up to the roof and try to make our escape that way,” Mostyn replied.

  The window shattered and a Molotov Cocktail burst on the floor.

  9

  Kemper let fly with an expletive and Mostyn yelled the word “stairs”. Baker tried to beat the flames out, but they were spreading too rapidly.

  Patel shouted, “I found the stairs!” She waved her flashlight so the rest of the group could spot her in the back of the front display area, just before the dressing rooms. Up they all went to the second floor, which originally had been another display floor for customers.

  “We have to get to the roof, before this place goes up like a torch,” Mostyn said.

  He and Patel went looking for a set of stairs and found them in the back room, where there were rusting sewing machines and rotting cutting tables. A large area of the floor showed water damage and part of the ceiling had fallen in.

  Mostyn took the stairs and Patel waved her flashlight so the others could find her.

  Up they went and came out on a landing on the third floor. There was a door and a ladder. Mostyn played his flashlight beam on the ceiling and saw that the ladder ended at a trap door.

  “Hopefully that leads to the roof,” he said.

  He climbed up the ladder and pushed on the door. The rotten wood gave way and Mostyn poked his head up through the hole. The dark expanse of the roof was before him.

  “Come on up! The air is nice and cold.”

  From down below, he heard Kemper say, “Great.” He scrambled out onto the roof and in a moment the others had joined him.

  The sky was free from clouds and the moon was a few days shy of full. Its ghostly white light was being blocked out by the billowing clouds of smoke from the floors below.

  “Okay, people,” Mostyn began, “we need to find a way off of this roof and onto the one next door. Start looking.”

  There was a yell, followed by Baker’s cries for help. Patel’s flashlight picked up his hands holding onto the edge of a portion of the roof that had fallen in. Mostyn, Kemper, and Patel rushed to the edge and grabbed hold of Baker’s arms.

  “We got you, Baker,” Mostyn said. “Hold onto our arms.”

  He clasped Mostyn’s and Kemper’s arms and they began hauling him up until his camera strap got caught. Patel took out her knife and cut the strap. The camera fell to the floor below and Baker was hauled back up to the roof.

  “Damn,” he said. “I really liked that camera.”

  Kemper hit him. “Is that all you can say? Next time I’m stepping on your hands.”

  Baker laughed. “Sure, Dotty. You do that. And I’ll never take pictures for you again.”

  “Whatever. If we don’t get off of this roo
f, we’re going to be roasted long pork.”

  “Then I suggest you quit yapping and get over to the next building,” Mostyn said.

  “We only have one choice,” Kemper shot back, “you know the grocery store is only two stories and that means a one story drop to that roof.”

  “Well, Kemper, get moving,” Mostyn said.

  First Patel, followed by Baker, Kemper, and lastly Mostyn, jumped over to the next building to the south of the burning clothier.

  This building too had part of the roof fallen in, leaving a gaping hole which revealed the building’s interior.

  Mostyn went to the alley side of the building and looked over the ledge. He found the fire escape, but part of it had rusted away and fallen to the alley below.

  “The next building to the south is only half a story lower than this one and it has a slanted roof,” Patel reported.

  “Does it have a fire escape?” Mostyn asked.

  “It does. But it doesn’t reach the roof, sir.”

  Mostyn took a look for himself. He noticed a couple skylights, the glass having long ago disappeared.

  “We might be able to get inside that building through those skylights,” he told Patel.

  “Good plan, sir.”

  Behind them, flames were now visible through the hole in the roof of the old clothier.

  “Doesn’t this place have a fire department?” Kemper asked.

  “Thank God there’s no wind,” Baker added, “otherwise this entire block would be a raging inferno in no time.”

  A door opened and out shambled four men onto the roof. Mostyn and his group turned at the sound and immediately saw those bulging, unblinking eyes gleam in the moonlight. The ghostly light also reflected off the rifles and shotguns they were holding.

  “Down,” Mostyn yelled.

  He and Patel dropped their flashlights and took out their pistols.

  One of the men croaked, “Surrender.”

  However, before Mostyn could even reply, one of the others raised his rifle. Mostyn and Patel opened fire. In mere seconds all four of the Agate Bayers were down before they could get off a shot.

  “Patel, get the others to that building.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mostyn went over to the fallen men. In the background, he heard Patel’s voice directing Baker and Kemper. Before him were four men. Two were still breathing. He took their weapons and holstered his pistol. A motley assortment of two double-barreled shotguns, an old bolt action 30-06, probably an M1903 from the First World War, and an even older Sharps single-shot rifle.

  He searched the men for ammunition and found a dozen shotgun shells, two stripper clips for the 30-06, and four rounds for the old Sharps. He stuffed the ammunition into his pockets and hauled the weapons over to the edge of the building.

  Noises were coming from the stairwell leading to the roof. He ran back and closed the door, then ran back to where the weapons had been piled.

  “Kemper and Baker are on the next building, sir.”

  “Go, Patel. I think more are coming. Take this shotgun.” He dug around in his pockets and produced the shotshells. “Take these.”

  She took the shells and went to the edge of the building, while he stretched out prone on the roof with the shotgun in his hands.

  When he heard Patel announce she was on the roof, he got up and made his way to the edge of the building. The door flew open and a gun fired, taking out a chunk of brick just to Mostyn’s right. He whipped around and fired one barrel of the shotgun. The men tumbled back into the doorway. Mostyn aimed and fired the second barrel into the doorway.

  “Patel, take these!” He dropped first the empty shotgun and then the M1903 into her hands. The Sharps, he slung across his back, and then lowered himself over the side of the building and dropped down onto the roof.

  Above him he heard the horrible hoarse barking and spine-chilling croaking that apparently passed for some form of language amongst the Agate Bayers. It was, though, a sound Mostyn had never heard a human being make.

  First one and then a second shotgun blast sounded in the night. Patel was down on one knee covering him.

  “Come on, sir.”

  “Go!” Mostyn commanded.

  Patel dropped through the glassless skylight, having dropped the other weapons through to Baker and Kemper while Mostyn was dropping down onto the roof.

  Mostyn followed Patel, several bullets smacking into the roof around him.

  In the excitement, he’d forgotten his flashlight. Patel, though, had hers and she used it to illumine the room they were in, although dully due to it’s size.

  Kemper came back from a window. “There’s a bunch of them in the alley. The fire is spreading, too.”

  Baker added, “I counted about a half-dozen out on the main street. It’s not looking good for the home team.”

  “Don’t get all down in the mouth, Baker,” Mostyn said. “The fat lady isn’t even on stage yet, let alone getting ready to sing.”

  “So what’s the plan, Mostyn?” Kemper asked.

  “You know how to use a shotgun, Baker?” Mostyn asked the photographer.

  “I do. Just point and shoot. Like a camera, right?”

  “That’ll work. Patel give him the shotgun and the shells. Who wants the M1903?”

  “I don’t like rifles,” Kemper said.

  “I’ll take the rifle, sir.”

  “Ever shoot one, Patel?”

  “Yes, sir. M16.”

  “Right. Navy.”

  Mostyn passed the stripper clips to her and held out the other shotgun to Kemper. She shook her head. He held out his hand to Baker and Baker passed two shells to him.

  “Okay, people, let’s get down to the ground floor.”

  “Stairs are over here, sir,” Patel said.

  Down the stairs they went, Mostyn in the lead, having taken Patel’s flashlight. The building was empty, cleaned out sometime in the distant past. On the main floor, Mostyn went first to the back door. It was made of wood and was hanging crooked on its hinges, the doorframe splintered where the bolts had been.

  “Patel, you and Kemper create a diversion in the front. Hopefully, you can draw off some of the men in the alley. Once they’re gone, we’ll make our escape through the alley.” He handed the flashlight back to her.

  The two women went to the front of the building. Mostyn peeked out and looked up and down the alley. To the north, flames and smoke billowed out of the old clothier and smoke was pouring out of the buildings on either side. On the other end of the alley, blocking access to the street were several Agate Bayers.

  Mostyn pulled his head back inside.

  “What are our chances?” Baker asked.

  “If we can get across the alley and cut through one of the buildings or take the fire escape up to the roof, I think we’ll have a good chance to get out of here.”

  Gunfire sounded from the front of the building and in a moment Patel and Kemper came running into the backroom.

  “They’re making an assault!” Patel yelled.

  “I guess we have no choice,” Mostyn replied.

  He dragged the door fully open, peered out into the alley, and dashed across, inciting a volley of gunfire. Baker pointed the shotgun down the alley, pulled a trigger and dashed across, firing the remaining barrel when he reached the other side to allow Kemper to cross.

  Baker reloaded and Mostyn called out to Patel, “On three!” He counted to three, Baker fired one barrel of the shotgun, Patel dashed across, and then Baker fired the other barrel. A cry came from one of the Agate Bay men.

  With Mostyn leading, in single file they sidled along the building wall until he found a door. Though locked, the rotten wood gave way on the first kick. Mostyn went in, with Kemper and Baker following.

  The Agate Bayers were advancing up the alley. Patel dropped to one knee, squeezed the trigger on the rifle, worked the bolt, and squeezed the trigger again. The men scattered. She worked the bolt, stood, squeezed off another round,
getting a cry of pain from one of the men for her effort, and joined the others inside the building.

  Patel turned on her flashlight and the group walked through the abandoned building until they reached the front door, where she pushed the switch on the light to off. The store looked to have been a five and dime many years ago. Now it was nothing more than rotting and decaying wreckage.

  Mostyn crouched down and slowly opened the door. He crawled out onto the sidewalk. They were on Washington Street, next to the liquor store which was now closed. Moonlight illuminated a large section of the street, which appeared vacant. He looked up and saw the glow of the fire behind them in the sky. He stood and signaled for the others to follow.

  “For the moment, we’re safe. Now we have to figure out how to leave this place.”

  “What about the way we came in?” Baker asked.

  Mostyn shook his head. “If I were them, that’s where I’d be watching.”

  “There must be another road out of town,” Patel offered.

  Mostyn nodded. “Probably. Again, though, if I were them I’d be watching there as well.”

  “What’s that leave? A hike through the woods?” Kemper asked.

  “That’s one route,” Mostyn replied. “We can also try the rail line. They might not think of that, since it’s abandoned. Or at least looked like it.”

  “So what will it be, Mostyn? North or south?” Kemper asked.

  “Let’s try the railroad,” he replied. “Be easier than trying to find our way through the woods.”

  Keeping in the shadows of the buildings, Mostyn, followed by Baker, Kemper, and Patel, made his way down Washington in the direction of the lakeshore and the railroad siding. He paused at the intersection of 4th Street long enough to let several shambling figures move down the street to the west. The fire over on Main was sending great clouds of smoke into the sky and the moon was no longer visible. The light from the flames reflected off the smoke and gave the night an eerie feeling, as though one was in the very bowels of hell.