I could sense something in that carefully wrapped package. It was dark and spoke of deep and patient evils. It was hurt, as if shattered. I wasn't supposed to sense that bit, but I'm not your average person. The average person wouldn't have been able to sense the touch of this...thing... The average person would instead feel a shift in their mood towards something darker, something more susceptible to coercion. I, on the other hand, knew it for what it was. It was evil. It was from the void.
I righted myself and looked at each of the men before me. Now everything seemed a little clearer. They were protecting it, and they were not my roommates. That means there were at least seven of this...ethnicity... on board. They seemed to be everywhere and, if the large wrapping in front of me were any indication, they had connections to the darker realms of reality.
My palms were still raised and any peace I'd previously experienced had evaporated. I stepped forward, closer to these people. Without taking my eyes off of them, I pointed at their charge and asked, "What's that?" in my most naive sounding voice.
In a similar fashion to my roommates, they held their tongues and didn't answer. I decided to press my luck and stepped forward, dropping my hands. "My first guess was that it was a statue, but those curves are so organic, so alive." I made to move towards the object for closer inspection and the three large men stepped directly into my path. I stopped and looked the nearest one up and down, as if sizing him up. In reality, I was trying to locate the strong smell of fish that had wafted up my nose upon closery proximity. I sniffed, making no effort to hide my curiosity.
It wasn't his breath.
I sniffed again.
It was him. All of him, and I would lay all bets on his friends having the same putrid smell emanating from them. The smell was so strong. How had I not noticed it until just that moment?
This close, I also took note of the pistol being gently pressed into my ribs. The men spoke no answer to my prodding, but that gun spoke volumes.
I had a sudden and aching wish that I hadn't left my newly acquired pistol on my bunk.
Finally, I decided that I was outgunned and shoved my hands into my trouser pockets. "Well," I said, giving my best please dont shoot me smile. "I was only going for a walk. I should get back to it." I fought my better judgment and pulled my eyes away from the larger foreigners and walked away from them. I needed to find out what was going on and who these men were.
I had seen the cabins available, and I walked away with a a sincere curiosity: Where would these men be
sleeping during our journey? The bunks were all full. All I could assume was some sort of protective rotation with shared bunks.
I made my way back to the deck of the boat. The sun shone down on us, unimpeded by clouds. Coming out of the hold, I found myself near the bow of the ship and decided I'd like to see our path behind us and moved myself in that direction. The rail along the path to the back of the boat was set only several feet away from the walls of the main steering room. Without others on the path I could have easily walked along it without being impeded. Unfortunately, the ship was fully crewed, and I walked most of the path hanging partially over the rail, or squeezed tightly against the wall.
It was during this walk, and also during an almost dangerous lean over the edge of the boat, that I overheard the chatter of one of the younger crew. His name escaped me, but I saw that he was talking to a sailor I had met that morning. He was an older man, named James. James was doing his best to ignore the unstoppable flood of verbiage escaping this younger crew member.
"Three, do ya hear me? Three boats this year that have vanished." He had the hint of an accent, but I was unable to place it. Seeing that James had more pressing matters, or that he simply didn't have time for whatever tales the boy was feeling it necessary to share, I grabbed the boy as he began to pass me.
"What three ships vanished?"
He seemed surprised and looked me up and down, before finally settling on not caring who his audience was, as long as they heard what he had to say. "The Stout Dollar, the Hearty Pride, and the Hetty. All of them disappeared in the last year."
I pulled him into a doorway along the wall and we found a little bit of room to breathe. "What's your name?" I asked him.
"Alan, sir. And yourself?"
I decided that this was no place to drop titles. "I'm Andrew Doran. It's a pleasure to meet you Alan. Could you please tell me about these ships?"
He nodded and continued with his story. "Ships are no longer safe. The first ship, the Stout Dollar, crashed ashore a month after its disappearance. All that they found aboard, aside from blood spread across the decks, was the the Captain's log. They figure he must have been on the drink, as he wrote that they had been boarded by large fish that started attacking the crew. The log claimed that the fish could be seen trailing them for days." Alan fell into his story and his eyes fell between panic and excitement. "Aside from the blood on the deck, there were no bodies. Not even the Captain." He took a breath, "The Hearty Pride vanished soon after that. They found it off the shore about three hundred kilometers and tracked it to where it drifted. They only chanced upon it because of a radio broadcast that went on for seven minutes and thirty-four seconds." He drifted.
"You were there?" I pressed.
He came back to the here and now with a nod. "I kept the stop watch running while another wrote what was said. Most of it was static and we couldn't make it out, but we managed to get one complete sentence." Alan gulped. "There was a scream before we could all hear someone shout 'The fish are killing my men!'"
I grabbed Alan's shoulder and squeezed, trying to lend the man my strength as he relived his nightmares. "And the Hetty?"
"The other two boats had their accidents about eight months ago. The Hetty had hers about two weeks before we left the port. They found one survivor who managed to steer her in and only barely. They claimed he was mad and threw him into Arkham Asylum, but his story matched the others that had been heard.
"He claimed that the fish had most surely come aboard and that the crew had fought. They fought with all of their strength, but for every one fish they killed, two more would climb on board. The fish weren't killing the men, Andrew. This sailor, who only survived by hiding in a food pantry, claimed that the fish were subduing the
men and then dragging them over the side and into the depths of the ocean. It was as if they had plans for them."
At his mention of Arkham Asylum, I felt an involuntary shiver course through my body. Arkham is the madhouse for survivors. Any doctor who cherishes his career will tell you about the state of the art facility and practices for treating the mentally ill. They'll tell you that the people who are admitted suffer from a range of mostly diagnosed conditions and then all of them are treatable over time.
What those doctors won't tell you is that Arkham is a home of horrors. Everyone in there has had their psyche broken by the gruesome terrors they've seen. Usually those terrors come from the void and that dreaded book. Of the people in Arkham Asylum who aren't broken and shattered souls, they are monsters. Actual monsters who either possess or copy a being, such as shoggoths, and are captured. Our society has no idea what to do with these beings. They can't kill them, because the world would riot, thinking that society had just killed their beloved teacher, policeman, or postal worker. As an answer, society just locks them away with the same beings whose brains they've already broken.
They say that the doctors who stay at Arkham for more than a year stay forever.
The story of Arkham Asylum is a long and drawn out one, but only a small part of this lad's concerns. These tales of fishmen were not new to me. I have heard of similar rumors in reference to a port town not far from Arkham.
Within the Necronomicon is a large list of monsters and beings from the void that exist and hunt on land. Alongside this list is another large list of monsters that choose to live beneath the sea to hide from the pain that the stars caused them. One such supposed deity was Dagon, and his presence h
ad last been rumored to surround the port town of Innsmouth. The rumors said that he'd sent his children to the shores of Innsmouth to bring gold to his worshipers as well as to take advantage of the human female form. Dagon was a disgusting creature and he loved the idea of his children being half human.
The Federal Government had received word of these rumors and had acted quickly to quell them the only way that the Government knew how to quell anything: with bombs. In 1928, the entire reef surrounding Innsmouth was bombed and the government was satisfied that it had stopped a possible supernatural incursion.
That of course doesn't mean that Dagon or his ilk were dead. As a matter of fact, I had reason to believe otherwise. Rumors had sprung up all along the east coast claiming that half-men half-fish had been seen dragging women into the waters.
If what this young man had said was to be taken seriously, than these fishmen were now taking it upon themselves to kill sailors for apparently no reason.
I decided to file Alan's information in the back of my mind where I kept most rumors. Rumors were the only means of keeping track of things that people were not willing to admit existed. Myth and stories had become the only reliable source of tracking the kinds of monsters that I make it my business to destroy.
As to collect more evidence for the boy's story, I left Alan to make my way towards the back of the ship. I wished to catch sight of what had caused his fears. The aft of the ship was open and more spacious than the walk to the back had been and I was able to stand without a single soul within arm's reach.
I leaned over the railing and watched the foam that was kicked up by the turbines. I was staring with an intensity that would make most anyone who saw me think that I might have lost something. I had to know if we had those infamous fishmen trailing the Lush Delusion. As I peered into the depths of the foam, I ached for my newly acquired pistol to be in my hand.
I saw no fins, gills, or flippers but the foam was thick and the froth could hide the entire Nazi army from any of the best Ally spotters.
A slap on my back made me leap within my skin, and I spun around to confront my attacker. To my continued surprise, this was no attacker, but instead the captain of our fine vessel. I had caught his name from
the crew's discussions as I had helped them during preparations.
Captain Ian Drowill smiled and thrust his hand out to me. I took it and allowed him to shake it violently. His grip was strong and he was missing his ring finger on his right hand. He wore a sweater and slacks to compliment his Captain's cap.
"Welcome aboard, Mr...."
"Doctor." I answered quickly. "Dr. Andrew Doran. Archaeologist."
The Captain seem excited about this. "An educated man? We are blessed. What brings you aboard?" His accent had a slight English hint to it. He sounded as though he was from London, proper. I found myself glancing towards the foam again. "I have work in Barcelona."
The Captain nodded and then did his own glancing back towards the rest of the ship. "Aside from my crew, you must be the only person on board who doesn't look swollen around the head..." He let his thought drift, but I wouldn't let it go.
"Are they of mixed heritage? I can't seem to place their ethnicity." My query snapped Captain Ian's attention back to the here and now.
"What brings you eastward? Just what kind of work do you do, Dr. Doran?" His blatant shift of conversation was a message in and of itself, and I wasn't going to attempt to wrestle the conversation away from his control.
"Politics would be the best description." I answered.
"Trying to enter the war ahead of the rest of your country?"
I smiled genuinely at the Captain. "This trip was more thrust upon me, than of any decision of my own."
"There are easier ways, ya know? Belgium has a legion that doesn't look into people's pasts. What kind of war plan starts in Barcelona?"
"Unfortunately, one that I cannot discuss." I replied.
"Did your government send you?" The Captain continued to pry.
"No," I replied. "A college did." I said it with a finality in my voice that the captain picked up on.
Changing the subject yet again, the Captain became more formal. "The crew and I have our meals away from the ...rest of the passengers. For your comfort, you're more than welcome to join as our guest."
I nodded. "Thank you, Captain. I would greatly appreciate that." I tried one more time. "What exactly is their tale? They haven't been very sociable."
The Captain's attention drifted again as he spoke. "I'm not sure. I've only spoken with one of them, a Mr. Olmstead, and that was only to organize the trip for five of his men. He did not board with them." Captain Ian brought his gaze back to the now and turned it towards me. "From what I have taken to understand, they were forced to relocate after their home had been destroyed in a fire." His face took on a curious look. "They claim to be of Spanish heritage, but I have yet to meet a Spaniard with eyes like that."
"Only the five are on board then?" I asked.
"Olmstead asked for five and five is how many I watched boarding. but I have seen at least eight new faces since then.
"Are you certain?" I pressed.
He hesitated. "Not really, no." He folded his arms. "They are a breed altogether new to me, and I hate to admit that I cannot tell them apart with any sort of ease."
Unfortunately, I knew exactly what the Captain was referring to. I had lived among tribes all over the globe and had never come across a group of people that looked more alike than the few of these 'Spaniards' I had managed to meet.
"What about the wrapped cargo that they have down in the hold? Do you have any idea of what that is?"
The Captain shook his head. "I did not ask. The manifest read only 'building materials.' It is their matter,
and I look forward to the day that it is off of my boat."
His answer immediately sent a flag up in my mind. His decision to ignore cargo brought aboard his ship was a foreign idea to any captain, and reeked of a psychic defense. I wouldn't doubt that whatever was in the hold had put up a shield to protect itself from prying minds. As my suspicions grew, I became increasingly curious as to what could possibly be going on.
I could see that the Captain was beginning to see my conversation for the interrogation that it really was and I didn't want to see my dinner invitation revoked. I bid him farewell with a firm handshake and worked my way back towards my cabin. I silently hoped that my new roommates wouldn't be there.
I arrived to the first pleasant surprise of the day; my room completely empty. With my roommates absent for at least the next few moments, I took a moment to examine the room. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything to examine. My roommates had only one bag filled with basic clothing. Nothing else marked their existence in this cabin.
Much to my relief, I found my luggage and weapons as I had left them and seemingly untouched. I wondered if this was due to the lack of curiosity in the 'Spaniards' or if the weapons were enchanted. I had heard of some weapons against the void having a similar spell upon them as the package in the hold. I couldn't sense anything on them, but I hadn't been able to get a feeling for their special properties either. I would continue to hope, as such an ability would become useful in Nazi controlled territories.
The dinner hour was coming quickly and I decided that the suspicious nature of my roommates as well as the course of my Miskatonic mission permitted me to carry a weapon at my side. So as not to alarm anyone, I'd bring my sword attached to my belt. It would be dressier than the rest of the crew, but it wouldn't look completely out of place.
Once I was dressed, I made my way to the mess where the crew was mostly there and already preparing to dine. I took a seat next to several of the sailors I had met earlier that day and it didn't take me long to notice that Captain Drowill was missing. I decided to ignore it for the moment and went about making small talk and dining. Amid the conversing, I noted that the food was better than most crew slop I'd experienced and allowed myself to enjoy it.
>
It wasn't until the middle of dinner that I first sensed the danger that loomed over all attendance.
Previously, I had noted an increased amount of foot traffic coming from above deck and had filed that to the back of my attention. It wasn't until midway through the meal that I realized that the amount of noise above deck did not match with the number of crew that should be above deck. The crew was mostly in the mess with myself, yet it sounded as if double their number was above decks.
As the realization sprung to the forefront of my mind, I stood and shouted, "Where's the Captain?"
Alan, from the tale of fishmen earlier, answered, "The Captain was called to deal with an issue with our guests in the hold."
I did not hesitate. With my current suspicions and the now missing Captain, I expected the worst. "Grab your weapons! We've been boarded."
As the crew stood slowly and began mumbling among themselves, I drew my sword and ran to the door. Turning out of the mess, I could hear the sounds of battle and climbed the stairs two at a time before entering the battle.
The deck was swarmed with what the Captain had called 'Spaniards' and what I could only describe as fishmen. That was what they were, they stood on two legs, but they were definitely born of the void being, Dagon. The handful of crew that had been stationed topside during dinner had dwindled down to only two members and was barely holding the monsters at bay with makeshift weapons. The fishmen were each carrying an oddly shaped blade and were coming from the back of the boat; the wake of the ship.
The Captain was in the hold, as I understood it, and the quickest path to the hold was through the majority
of the monsters and towards the aft of the boat.
I was formidable, but this force swarming towards me was more than even I could handle.
I was contemplating the best way to attempt my suicidal run against them when I heard a cry from behind me. From the mess came the crew, all brandishing guns and blades and not hesitating a moment at the sight of the hideous horde.
The Adventures of Andrew Doran: Box Set Page 6