by CW Hawes
Templeton, standing somewhat taller than Mostyn, also peered around the corner. “What are you looking for?”
Mostyn lowered the glasses. “Just looking.”
“There are more of them now.”
“Uh-huh.”
Having joined the original three that had been outdoors were another four men. They were having what looked to be a very animated discussion. While Mostyn and Templeton watched, two more joined the group and after a couple minutes shambled off in the same direction Mostyn and Templeton had come from when approaching the factory.
“C’mon,” Mostyn said.
The two men crossed the street and entered the yard of a house that was falling in on itself. The grass had long ago given way to a surfeit of weeds and shrub-like growth. Mostyn and Templeton made their way through the brown and brittle vegetation and walked along the side of the house, at last entering the backyard. Some one hundred feet from the house and sitting higher than it, for the terrain rose from the lakeshore in a fairly steep incline, was a small wooden building.
“I’m going to guess that’s a garage,” Mostyn said, and he immediately made for it. Templeton jogged after him.
“What’s going on?” the anthropologist asked.
“I think they sent two of their number to follow us.”
“Oh, shit. That can’t be good, can it?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Mostyn said, while turning the doorknob and pushing open the side door to the garage.
He stood in the doorway and took the flashlight out of his coat pocket and played the beam around the interior of the place. The grime-covered windows let in but a modicum of light. The beam of the flashlight picked up several rats, and there were cobwebs everywhere. He played the light over a workbench with a few rusting and moldering tools on it, but the thing of most interest was the ancient automobile sitting in the middle of the floor.
Mostyn entered the garage and walked around the car. Templeton stepped through the doorway and pushed the door closed.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Mostyn said.
“I don’t think that’s a wise choice of words.”
Mostyn looked up at the young scientist. “The place getting to you?”
“Yes.”
“This is nothing. So far, anyway. How long have you been with the OUP?”
“Just a couple missions.”
“What were they?” Mostyn asked.
“Examined a site that may have been an ancient UFO landing field and explored a supposedly haunted cavern.”
“Well, if you stay with the OUP…” He paused and then said, “Let’s just say this is nothing. Yet.”
Mostyn inspected the grimy old car. “A Columbia Six. This is an impressive find. Not many of these were made.”
“How long are we going to stay here?” Templeton asked, his voice betraying his apprehension.
Mostyn took out his smart phone. “Great. No reception. Goddamn boondocks.” He paused and then continued, “I need to get word to the others. If the villagers view us as a threat, or at least enough of a threat to put tails on us, I don’t think that bodes well.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Let’s get back to the car. You can stay there, while I find the others. Depending on what they’ve found, we’ll decide what’s next.”
“Do I have to stay at the car by myself?”
“You’ll be okay, Templeton. I doubt they’ll try anything in broad daylight.”
Mostyn opened the door a crack and peered out. He crouched down and exited the garage, holding up his hand indicating Templeton should stay put. He moved to the alley, looked up and down the length of it, and then motioned for his partner to follow.
The alley was weed choked and the men proceeded with some difficulty over the broken and crumbling asphalt. When they came out onto the street, they turned north.
“That house there, Mostyn, the curtain just moved.”
Pierce Mostyn followed the pointing finger of his partner. “I wonder if they have a phone tree in operation to keep tabs on strangers?”
“Maybe. The women in my grandmother’s church were all on one. More effective than social media.”
“No doubt.”
“Uh, that’s not a good thing. Is it?”
“For us? Probably not.”
The two men made their way through the deteriorating streets in the direction of the grocery store and the SUV, their progress marked by subtly moving curtains all along the way.
“Maybe we should run,” Templeton suggested.
“No. We’re just tourists. We can’t let them think we’re anything else.”
“This place is creeping me out big time.”
“Don’t let it. Just focus on getting back to the car.”
They continued walking at a leisurely pace. Twice Mostyn caught glimpses of shambling-gaited figures ducking into the dark recesses of crumbling houses. He pretended he didn’t see them and walked on, making idle chit-chat with Templeton.
They reached the SUV by quarter to one. The store was closed.
“Don’t you think it odd the store would close in the middle of the day?” Templeton asked.
Mostyn shrugged. “This isn’t the big city. Maybe there’s no good business reason to be open past noon.” He tried the driver’s door. It opened. “Good. Patel left the door open. Get in and wait here. Lock the doors if you want. I’m going to find the others. Should be back soon.”
“Good luck.”
Mostyn nodded and took off at a leisurely pace, conscious of the watery, unblinking eyes watching him from behind curtained windows.
5
Mostyn walked down the street to Adams and turned north. He took in the decaying architecture. Most of the buildings were in a late Victorian style, with a crumbling Romanesque appearing here and there. In their day, they would have been grand homes. Once out of sight of the store, he picked up his pace. On reaching the first cross street, he paused and looked first right and then left. He didn’t see the other members of his team.
At the next block he again looked up and down the street. Deserted like the others. He turned around. Most of the village stretched out before him down to the shore of Lake Superior. The east-west streets gave the place a terraced look. From where he was standing he saw the fish factory rising above the surrounding darkly dilapidated and rotting structures. And further out, about half a mile off shore, was the rock; rising no more than a few feet above the waves.
Mostyn murmured, “So like Innsmouth,” and then moved on up the hill to the next cross street. There were no street signs in this part of town. Time and weather must’ve taken them. He also noticed how the forest was beginning to encroach on the nearly abandoned village.
He looked up and down the cross street and there they were, maybe four blocks away. He whistled and waved to get their attention. In the unnatural quiet, the whistle sounded loud and shrill.
Dotty Kemper waved back. Mostyn trotted towards his team members and they began walking in his direction. When they met up, Mostyn asked if they’d run into any trouble.
Kemper answered. “No trouble. Haven’t really seen anyone.”
Patel interrupted. “We’re being watched. Lots of furtive movements behind curtained windows.”
Mostyn nodded.
Kemper continued, “We did catch a glimpse of something that might prove to be of significant interest.”
“Unfortunately, I couldn’t get a picture,” Baker said. “It all happened so fast.”
“What was it?” Mostyn asked.
“Nothing ‘happened’,” Kemper corrected. “We were over on the other side of town and saw a building.”
Baker continued. “Probably a church at some point in the past. Looked like an old church would look. Just no crosses or crucifixes.”
Kemper shot him a perturbed look.
“What?” he replied. “Pissed that I added some data?”
Kemper ignored him and went on, “A sign outsi
de gave the name as ‘The Reorganized Esoteric Order of Dagon’. What is it, Mostyn?”
At hearing the name of the building, Mostyn had blanched. He regained his composure and then explained. “Some ninety years ago the Federal government raided the town of Innsmouth, Massachusetts. The main church, maybe religious cult would be a better description, was the Esoteric Order of Dagon. Very little is known about the group. Aside from incidental and non-important papers, the order wrote nothing down. Their beliefs and practices were maintained by oral tradition and are virtually unknown to this day. Very little information was gotten out of the inhabitants the government took into custody.”
Kemper’s eyes lit up. “So are you saying this group is the same as that group?”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m pointing out a coincidence.”
Kemper laughed. “Come on, Mostyn. I know you well enough to know you don’t put much, if any, stock in coincidences.”
“Where is this place?” Mostyn asked.
“About five blocks from here,” Patel answered.
“Where’s Templeton?” Kemper asked.
“I left him in the vehicle. We were at the processing plant and…,” he paused a moment before continuing. “We were advised to leave town.”
“Really?” Kemper said.
Mostyn nodded, then asked, “What did you see at the church building?”
Patel answered, “The door was open, so we decided to go in and look around.”
“To see if we could find any clues as to what’s going on,” Baker added.
Kemper continued the narrative, “The building had obviously been a church at some point in the past. Pulpit, altar railing, even an old organ. The pews, though, had been removed.”
Patel interrupted. “We were standing just inside the front doors. The windows were dirty with dust and grime and the light wasn’t good. At the front of the church were two open doors, one on either side of the choir area behind the pulpit.”
“That’s when we saw it,” Kemper said.
Patel’s olive skin was virtually drained of color. “It was hideous, sir, hideous beyond description.”
Kemper cast her a look of annoyance. “We briefly — and I mean briefly — saw a figure in a black robe. I have to admit my initial impression was that the shape of the robe indicated a very peculiar body shape beneath it.”
Baker picked up the narrative. “It was wearing a tiara, but it’s head couldn’t have been human. More like some kind of giant toad.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Kemper exclaimed. “It was misshapen, that’s for sure. But a toad? Get a grip, Willie Lee.”
Patel quietly, almost to herself, said, “Yes, a toad.”
And Baker shouted, “I know what I saw, Kemper! It was like a goddamn toad!”
“It was dark in there!” Kemper’s voice was filled with anger. “Get a grip, you two. We could hardly see anything clearly.”
Patel looked in shock. “A person changing into a toad.” Then somewhat wild-eyed, she said in a louder voice, “What’s going on here?”
Kemper shook her head. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
“Alright,” Mostyn said. “You all saw something. And…?”
“It was gone, “ Kemper said. “The person saw us and fled.”
“Did you pursue the person?” Mostyn asked.
“No,” Kemper said. “We’re supposed to be tourists. So we let it go.”
Mostyn nodded. He was thoughtful for a moment before speaking. “Did you get a picture of the building, Baker?”
“I did.”
“I’d like to see this place for myself,” Mostyn said.
“Do we have to, sir?” Patel asked, her voice containing a silent plea.
“Get a grip, Patel. And you can cut with the ‘sir’.”
“Yes, sir, uh, Mostyn. Sorry. It’s my training, sir. Sorry.”
Kemper chuckled and even Mostyn had a smile on his face.
“Alright, Patel. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, I want to see this place for myself. So let’s get going. I don’t want to leave Templeton alone too long. He’s nervous enough as it is. Seems like this place is getting on all our nerves.”
“Not mine,” Kemper said.
“Of course, not you, Dot,” Mostyn replied. She gave him the finger in response.
Patel took off walking in the direction of the former church building. Kemper and Baker followed, with Mostyn forming a rearguard, his eyes sweeping the dilapidated houses for any signs of life. And in the upper story of one old Victorian home, he caught a glimpse of a face. The bulging eyes and peculiar shape of the head gave the distinct impression he was looking at a man-sized toad.
***
The church was indeed nothing special. As with the fish plant, the building showed signs of some attempts to maintain a state of repair. Once upon a time it had been painted white, for flakes of the old paint still clung to the gray weathered boards in spots. A simple one floor affair, with wings at the back to form the shape of a cross.
The double front doors were closed and, when Mostyn tried them, he found them to be locked.
“I guess they don’t want any visitors,” Kemper said.
He walked around the building. The windows, though covered with dirt and grime, were intact. There was a door in both of the wings and one at the back of the church and all three were locked. On the north side of the building was an entrance to the basement. The ground-level double doors were locked.
“It appears they won’t make the same mistake twice,” Kemper said.
Mostyn nodded his head in agreement. “Apparently. Let’s get back to the car.”
The team walked southwest on 6th street and when they reached Main turned south toward the store. They hadn’t proceeded more than a dozen steps when they became aware something was incredibly wrong. And even though Mostyn and his team were a block and a half away, the lack of vehicles anywhere in Agate Bay made what they saw or rather didn’t see that much more obvious.
It was Patel who put their surprise into words. “Our wheels! They’re gone!”
6
“Where’s Templeton?” Kemper said, her voice betraying a touch of fear for the first time.
“He was with the SUV,” Mostyn replied. “Come on!” he shouted, and took off running down the street. The others followed, matching his pace.
Mostyn got to the store first. The big black Ford was nowhere to be seen and the only thing that indicated it had been there was broken window glass.
Patel pointed to the glass. “That can’t be good, sir.”
“No, it can’t. And I made him stay with the car.” Mostyn hung his head for a moment, lifted it and looked around, then yelled Templeton’s name. Patel, Baker, and Kemper took up the cry, but after just a few moments Mostyn motioned for them to stop.
“This isn’t going to get us anywhere,” he said. “We need to find a phone.”
“Tell me about it,” Kemper said. “I can’t believe they have no cell phone reception here.”
“Alright,” Mostyn began, “let’s see if we can find a pay phone, the cafe, or the Bayview. Or any other store for that matter. Any place that might have a phone we can use.”
“If we split up—”
“No, Patel. We’re going to stay together. This isn’t a movie. We’ll go down to 4th and walk around the block. We’ll cover every block, if we have to. Let’s get going.”
They walked down to 4th Street and turned east. Vacant store fronts in crumbling buildings stared at them. Baker took a couple snapshots; the sound of the shutter, like their footsteps, was loud against the silence of the village. At Washington, they turned north. The opposite direction Mostyn and Templeton had taken just a few hours earlier. There, mid-block, they found a hardware store and a liquor store. Both were open.
“Patel, Baker, see if the hardware has a phone we can use. Kemper and I will try the liquor store. And Patel?”
“Don’t hesitate to use your firearm.”
“I won’t.”
Patel and Baker entered the store and when the door closed behind them, Mostyn and Kemper went into the bottle shop. The shelves weren’t particularly well-stocked. Cheap wine, both table and fortified, cheap American blended whisky, gin, bourbon, and beer were clustered together on a few shelves, leaving most of the shelf space empty.
To their left was a counter, cash register, and clerk. A young woman, somewhere in her twenties. She was sitting on a stool and looked up when they came in. Her blonde hair was in patches, her ears smallish, and her skin scabrous and grayish hued. Her eyes had not yet begun to change, although lines were forming on her neck.
“Excuse me,” Mostyn said. “Do you have a phone we can use?”
Kemper added, “Our friend and our car are missing. We want to call him.”
The young woman just stared at them and then slowly began shaking her head.
“There’s no phone here at all?” Mostyn pressed.
A smile spread across her thickening, grayish lips. “No phone.” Her voice was harsh and guttural sounding.
“Right,” Kemper said. “And my mother is from Mars.”
The woman focused on Kemper and the smile disappeared. Slowly she said, her pacing staccato, “No-phone-for-you.” And then broke into a rasping, croaking cackle.
Mostyn and Kemper left the store. Patel and Baker were waiting for them.
“Any luck?” Mostyn asked.
“No,” Patel answered.
Baker added, “The guy in there didn’t say a word. Just stared at us with those unblinking eyes and that damned dull expression and slowly shook his head.”
“At least yours didn’t say anything,” Kemper said. “Ours was a loon.”
“Let’s keep moving,” Mostyn urged.
They walked up to 5th, turned left, and walked down the abandoned block. After crossing Main, they continued to the next street, Bay, and turned left again. There, halfway down the block they found the Bayview Hotel. A large three-story Italianate-styled structure, which, like the church and the fish factory, showed some attempt at maintenance.