The Innsmouth Syndrome

by Philip Hemplow

  Stuttering Oliver was on duty behind the desk at the hotel when she got back. Khalil had left a message, he wanted her to call him. She did it from her room.

  He began apologetically. “Doctor Edwards. Thankyou for calling me back, I hope it is not inconvenient? I’m afraid I have unfortunate news. Well, rather I have an unfortunate absence of news. I have collated information from the birth records of Innsmouth children as you asked, but aside from a single case of cleft palate and several heroin-dependent infants, I can find no record of abnormalities. The records available digitally only extend back as far as 1985, of course. However, it does appear to rule out a congenital syndrome, does it not?”

  “Well, it’s what we expected to find, I suppose” answered Carla, staring out of the window. The rain had returned, driven before a stiffening gale that was already making the overhead cables whine. It was going to be a rough night. She drew the curtains. Khalil was enquiring if she was still there.

  “Yes, Doctor, I’m still here. Look, do you think there’s any way that – well, it sounds silly, but do you think they could be doing it to themselves?”

  It was his turn to fall quiet and her turn to prompt him. “Do you mean self-harm?” he asked, clearing his throat.

  “No. Well, yes, obviously we’ve seen some self-harm issues in Gary Taub and his friends.”

  “But that wouldn’t explain the other cases.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Cartilaginous deformities cannot really be self-inflicted, for example.”

  “No, I know, that’s not what I meant. Do you think the people here could be deliberately exposing themselves to … something? Something toxic?”

  Khalil thought. “You mean perhaps as if they were using recreational drugs that were contaminated in some way? I must say, the causative agent would have to be quite extraordinary.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of religious practices” Carla persisted. “People can do some very strange things because of their beliefs.” Her mother rose unbidden to her mind. “Snake handling, drug taking, refusing medical treatment, eating all kinds of unpleasant things …”

  “You’re talking about the E.O.D. aren’t you?” said Khalil uncomfortably, “I have to strongly recommend that you –“

  Carla knew what he was going to say, and interrupted. “Look, all the kids in that car were members, yes? The Taubs are members. Heck, most of the families in Innsmouth seem to be members. Right so far?”

  “Yes, but –“

  “The kids hated the Order. Gary Taub is terrified of them. There seems to have been some kind of rumour circulating on the internet a few years back about them using poisons. Gary Taub himself warned me not to eat or drink anything while I was there.”

  “You went there, then?”

  “Is it too far-fetched to think that they might, just might be using something ritually? Something highly toxic. As an entheogen, as a sacrament, whatever?”

  Khalil was quiet for a long time. When he eventually spoke he sounded cautious. “I suppose it might explain why there is no earlier onset of symptoms. Maybe if it was used in a ritual only for teenagers and adults.”

  “Right” agreed Carla. “It fits the epidemiology. The only question is: what is the agent?”

  “Ergot?” suggested Khalil, doubtfully. Carla considered it. “No, it fits some of the symptoms but it wouldn’t trigger the kind of abnormal tissue growth we’ve seen. It can only be genetic. Some kind of transposon? A deletion on chromosome 22 maybe? Or a collagen mutation? I don’t know! We need to characterise the syndrome to pin down the cause, we’ve got too many different symptoms in too many different patients at the moment.”

  It was a long time before Khalil replied. “Well. What do we do next?” he eventually inquired. “If you think deliberate poisoning is afoot, do you not need to inform the police?”

  Carla laughed, ruefully. “I don’t have anything to give the police. They’d think I was mad. I need empirical evidence to get anyone else involved and I need to get other people involved to get the evidence. So, tell me, where am I meant to even begin?”

  “Perhaps the Taub boy? Maybe he would be willing to talk to you more. I do not think that anyone else at the E.O.D. is likely to speak to you.”

  “Maybe. Maybe. On the other hand, my boss wants me back in Atlanta ASAP. I can recommend in my report that further investigation take place, though where we’d find anyone available to do that, I don’t know.”

  “You are leaving?” Khalil’s tone was accusatory.

  “I don’t like it any more than you do, Doctor, but I’ve been ordered to wrap things up here – and if I stay, and the church bring in Senator Dalton, then you can bet the farm that this will be the last bit of investigating that anyone federal does here for a long time. If I send it back to the EPA and they have to send someone down, maybe they’ll get further. Or maybe someone in the genetics department at Miskatonic would be interested enough to come out, do a broader study.”

  “I see. Well, maybe we should be flattered that the CDC sent anyone at all. Clearly you are a very busy agency.”

  “Get yourself a Senator, Dr Khalil. That’s all you can do.”

  “Well. I wish you the best of luck with your report, Dr Edwards. Do let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”

  Carla didn’t try to mollify him any further. She couldn’t blame him for being frustrated - she felt the same way herself. Though, secretly, she was looking forward to getting out of this gloomy, sick little town, with its squalid problems and vulgar, secretive people. The memory of Gary Taub squatting in the rain, grieving and bleeding, returned to her. OK, she felt bad for the boy, and the other kids, but there was nothing she could do about that. She’d seen poverty elsewhere. She’d grown up with it. As an adult, she dreaded it, but there wasn’t a great deal she could actually do about it. Especially not in Innsmouth.

  *****

  Carla spent the rest of the evening in her room, drafting a report that she hoped would sound authoritative despite its lack of conclusions. The Epidemiological Investigation Summary (Part 1) report was not meant to be definitive anyway. Descriptions of the index cases, the symptoms seen in Gary Taub and the likelihood of additional cases in the area were all included, as were the causes that she had ruled out. She proofread it, making a few minor changes and then considered the final section.

  There were two checkboxes. Check the first and further, more detailed investigation would be considered, resulting in a fully comprehensive Part 2 report. Check the second and no further action would be taken by CDC. Carla stared at the two boxes for five minutes, debating which to tick. In the end she decided to leave the decision until morning, and closed her laptop.

  Half an hour later she was in bed, listening to the rain battering against the window and the mournful droning of the telephone wires. It was probably as well she hadn’t driven back to Boston tonight. There would be no flights leaving in these conditions anyway. Maybe it would be over by the morning. She could be back in Atlanta tomorrow afternoon.

  She woke so abruptly that she wasn’t even sure she’d been asleep, until a glance at the clock showed that it was after one in the morning. Had she been dreaming? There had been a noise. Wind and rain howled around the hotel, stronger now than earlier. That had probably been it. The storm must have woken her up. Apart from the pulsing red display of her alarm clock, and the faint grey rectangle of the curtains, the room was in blackness.

  A heavy, metallic creaking made her sit up. The noise was familiar but she couldn’t quite place it. There it was again. And again, a slow steady rhythm now, getting louder, getting closer. And – was that a voice she could hear?

  Carla rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to concentrate. Whatever the sound was, it was coming from the direction of the window. It was coming from outside.

  She flicked the bedside lamp on, shielding her eyes against the sudden glare. Exec Lodge hotels didn’t provide robes, but her coat was
on the back of the bathroom door. As she moved to get up, and put it on over the long t-shirt she habitually slept in, a sudden, loud crunching noise made her jump and then freeze, senses suddenly wide awake and straining to take in as much information as possible.

  It came again, from the direction of the window -the sound of splintering wood. Carla stared at the curtains. Above the wind and the rain – and a third grinding impact against the window frame – an unearthly, chanting voice was now unmistakeable. It, too, came from the window. Was it … singing?

  Someone was trying to get in! Someone was trying to get in, and the window lay between Carla and the door. With a final groan of straining wood the casement gave way and the windows burst open, the curtains suddenly billowing inwards as a poltergeist of freezing wind blasted into the room.

  Carla drew in a long, shuddering breath, her eyes riveted to the flurrying curtains – and when a fat, stubby-fingered hand reached in and clutched at the wall she screamed, a shocked, wailing counterpoint to the baying of the storm.

  Another hand appeared, and the invader levered himself clumsily through the window, water cascading from a torn, yellow sou’wester as he fell to one knee. The crowbar he had used to lever the window open was still clasped in his hand. It was Saul Taub.

  He raised his head and leered idiotically, vacantly, his pale, round face slick with rain. One malevolent, bulging eye fixed itself on Carla while the other swiveled madly and uselessly in its socket. A thick rope of drool fell from the corner of his mouth as he drew back his lips, exposing sharp, little teeth. He began to chant as he pushed himself to his feet, his speech slow and glottal.

  “Goooosey, Goooosey Ganderrrrrrr … where – shall I – wander? Up – stairs, and down – stairs … and in – my la - dy’s cham - ber!”

  He shambled forwards, stiff-legged and rolling, reaching for her. Carla shrieked and lunged across the bed, grabbing for the phone. Taub grunted and swung the crowbar downwards, aiming for her skull. Carla flinched instinctively and it missed her, the tip embedding itself in the veneered plywood headboard with a deceptively soft `thunk’.

  Taub abandoned the weapon and lumbered awkwardly onto the bed, grasping Carla’s ankle and dragging her roughly towards him before she could press the button that would connect her to the reception desk. She kicked out, screeching with terror and adrenaline, catching him hard in the nose, but his grip only tightened. Desperate, Carla leaned towards him and smashed the telephone receiver into the side of his head.

  The plastic splintered, and his skin split, blood leaking down his face, but he didn’t even seem to feel it. Straddling her, he grabbed her throat with both hands and abruptly cut off both her cries and her air supply.

  Despite the raging storm outside, and Saul Taub’s rasping breaths as he strangled her, the room suddenly seemed deathly quiet as they wrestled for Carla’s life. Her eyes began to bulge until they resembled her would-be murderer’s. Her head was hanging off the edge of the bed, neck fully extended as his stubby thumbs dug into her windpipe. She turned to the side, trying to open her throat, to no avail. Her face began to darken as the deoxygenated blood failed to drain from her head. She was going dizzy, about to pass out.

  Her handbag was on the floor next to the bed. She could see her mobile phone in it as her vision began to swim and her fingers became numb and unresponsive. It was a mile away. She reached for it uncertainly. It was ten miles away, down the wrong end of a telescope. The fingers of unconsciousness began to close around her brain.

  She registered sudden movement, a muffled thud, a sudden loosening of the fingers around her throat. Startled, she snorted a huge lungful of air and made a grab for her handbag. Taub’s features were contorted in pain and he was sneering over his shoulder at somebody standing behind him. Carla’s fingers found her mobile phone – wait, no, it was something contoured. An aerosol? Of course, the pepper spray that the salesman had given her!

  She threw an arm across her eyes to shield them, squeezed the trigger cap and kept it held down. On top of her, Taub grunted as a noxious jet of laychrymatory agent hissed directly into his face. She felt his weight shift. A second later he began to roar.

  Carla held her breath as a fine fog of spray drifted down towards her, but for Taub it was too late. He bellowed like a dying bull, clawing at his features, with blood, tears and mucous running over his fingers as the chemicals stung his eyes and skin. Carla started struggling, trying to free herself from the man’s bulk. Behind him she saw the crowbar that he had used to break-in being raised above his head. It wavered there for a moment and then fell with breathtakingly savage force, smiting the top of his skull like a thunderbolt from God, pitching his blubbery torso forwards on top of her.

  Carla fought hysterically to free herself and scrambled to her feet. As well as the cut she had inflicted on his face, gore was trickling from two immense gashes on Taub’s head where the crowbar blows had landed. Standing next to the bed, bloodied crowbar in hand, was his son.

  Still gasping for breath Carla backed away, massaging her throat.

  “Is he dead?” asked Gary, calmly. Carla forced herself to look at the body sprawled on the bed. The torso was still rising and falling gently, he was still breathing. “N-no. He’ll live.” she croaked, wincing at the pain from her bruised vocal chords.

  Wordlessly, Gary walked around the bed. Before she could stop him he raised the crowbar and brought it down again with sickening speed. Carla recoiled as fresh blood splattered across the sheets. As Gary raised the weapon again she reeled forwards and caught his arm – but it was too late. Saul Taub had stopped breathing.

  His son seemed unaffected. “Come on” he said, crossing to the door. “Get your coat on, before the others come in.”

  “You killed him!” cried Carla, unable to tear her eyes away from the dead man’s face. “We have to call somebody. I can’t deal with this. Oh, my God.” She sank tearfully to the floor.

  Impatiently, Gary came back and grabbed her wrist, tried to drag her to her feet. “Come on! There are more of them outside. You have to come with me. I’ll show you what you wanted to see, but we have to go now.”

  “The police! What about the police?”

  “Forget the police, they’re not going to come. Here” – he thrust her coat at her – “put this on. Where’s yer shoes?”

  He located her shoes, grabbed an armful of her clothes and tried again to pull her towards the door. Carla snatched her arm away. He was about to grab it again when a soft metallic tapping made them both freeze. It came from the window. Someone else was climbing up Saul Taub’s ladder.

  “Quickly!” hissed Gary. Gripped by panic, Carla stumbled to the door. Just as they reached it, another dark shape appeared in the window frame. With a squeal of terror she bundled the teenager into the corridor and slammed the door behind them.

  Gary led the way to the stairs. As they reached the first floor they could hear guttural voices travelling up the stairwell. Abruptly changing course he led her into the first floor corridor, to the stairs at the far end of the building. Achieving the ground floor, they plunged through a fire exit into the driving rain, triggering a moaning fire alarm throughout the building.

  “Wait!” panted Carla. “My car keys!”

  Gary shook his head. “Your car’s no good. They bust the engine already.”

  “Why? Why are they doing this? Who sent them?”

  “The Reverend, who d’ya think? Me, Dad, Ramram’s dad, Kara’s brother, a few others. He said you had to disappear. You were causing problems and we had to get rid of you. Now come on, we have to get moving!”

  “Where? Where are we going?”

  “The temple. Come on!”

  *****

  “We need to find a car or something” panted Carla as she struggled into the mismatched clothes that Gary had grabbed from her room. They were hiding in a darkened shop doorway somewhere between the hotel and the seafront. Gary was keeping lookout. He answered her over his shoulder.

>   “It’s only round the next corner, we can make it on foot.”

  “On foot? I told you, I’m not going to your blasted temple. I want to get out of here. I’m not going back there. Not without a National Guard unit right behind me!”

  “It’s a full moon, high tide. There’s a ceremony tonight. I can get us to where you can see it. Once you have, maybe you can convince your FBI friends to come and help us.”

  “I don’t have any FBI friends.”

  “Whatever. Look, it’s safe. We can go up the next-door fire escape and get onto the roof that way. We can see in through the skylight. I’ve done it loads of times before.”

  “What if they see us? I wish you’d picked up my phone!”

  “They can’t. There’s no lights up there. Trust me, it’s safe. And it’s a full moon tonight, so there’ll definitely be communion.”