Shadows Over Innsmouth

by Stephen Jones (Editor)

  The Library episode faded from the general consciousness, to be supplanted by more subtle and esoteric manifestations. This time the occurrences were in both women student and men student dormitory wings. They consisted merely of subtle movements in the night; windows and doors which, originally fastened and secured, remained obstinately open until the daylight hours; faint footsteps echoing along corridors; taps in communal washrooms that turned on by themselves; and electric lights that inexplicably switched themselves on or off, according to the position in which the switches had been left.

  Many were the theories advanced by the students but the consensus was that a sort of war was being waged by young men from other faculties on campus and a period of faintly amused hostility prevailed for a time until two more incidents, the most serious to date, supplanted the earlier ones in the collective consciousness.

  The first, which passed at the time for an accident, though it later assumed its true proportions, concerned the Dean himself. There had been a night of particularly high winds and as the Miskatonic University stands on rising ground a number of small trees had fallen victim to the storm. The wind continued fresh at dawn but it had dropped considerably when an extraordinary thing happened.

  There was an enormous stone cross standing in the north-western corner of the Jefferson Campus which commemorated some of the University’s dead from the War of Independence and the Great War. It was made of granite and time had evidently made no inroads into its fabric, even though some 200 years had passed since it was first erected, originally as a purely religious symbol; only later did it fulfil a double use as a Christian motif and as a war memorial. Dr. Darrow was passing on his way to deliver a lecture at about 10:00 a.m., when there was a sudden gust of wind. To the horror of nearby undergraduates passing and re-passing, the vast stone cross suddenly split from top to bottom.

  Two alert students dragged the horrified doctor from the path of danger, at some risk to themselves, and while Darrow was slightly injured by being hurled to the ground, their prompt and heroic action certainly saved his life. Covered in dust and shaking with fear Dr. Darrow presented a pitiable sight and his amazement at the unexplained collapse of the memorial was mirrored by all those students and members of faculty who had witnessed the incident.

  Even more extraordinary was the fact that the inside of the column was “wet and sticky,” as one observer termed it. The University’s scientific brains were called into play and to their astonishment they found that the interior of the column had “rotted away.” The thing was a manifest impossibility as granite cannot rot and is one of the most impermeable of materials. Nevertheless some thing or some agent had worked on the column’s interior until it was a mess of friable, gelatinous matter.

  The second and more ghastly incident occurred a short time later. In a remote area of the University grounds was a stand of thick woodland, favoured by students in the summer months for various amorous activities. In a small, rocky glen was a miniature pond, no more than a hundred yards long and about forty feet wide, which was believed to be fed by some sort of underground spring. Its black water reflected back the sky sullenly, even in summer, and its brackish contents gave off a faint odour that was somehow repellent. Consequently this was a corner shunned in general; certainly at times of dusk or darkness and one which it was far pleasanter to stroll by on summer days rather than to linger at.

  The earlier incidents were certainly eclipsed by the sight of one of the Miskatonic janitors, Jeb Conley, an elderly man who had been absent from duty for some days, floating face downward in those black waters early one February morning. A female student first gave the alarm and, prudently as it turned out, refrained from turning over the body. It was fairly obvious that the man was dead so she very courageously seized a dead branch lying on the bank and gently guided the pool’s sombre burden to the shore.

  Dr. Nathan Kelly, a medical man on the staff of the University, was hastily summoned and his practised eye saw at once that life was extinct. He was alone at the pond at the time, though knots of students were gathering beneath the trees that fringed the area. He found, as he turned the corpse over, that though the body could not have been in the pool for more than twenty-four hours—as was later established by the autopsy—the man’s face had been erased as though it had never existed.

  The features were all squashed and flattened by some unknown and hitherto unique agency, so that they were unidentifiable and the whole was coated with a film of nauseous grey slime that no amount of cleansing in the dissecting room could alter or remove. Dr. Kelly did not know it then but it was the beginning of a time of terror.

  III

  Dr. Darrow was in his office collating college records one afternoon some days later when his secretary told him that the surveyor in charge of renovation of the memorial cross had called to speak to him. The two men had long been friends but when Andrew Bellows entered the inner office the Dean was at once struck by the changed demeanour of the former. He looked ill at ease and rather furtive, if that were not too strong a word; quite unlike his normal, cheerful self, and the academic was at first puzzled and then concerned as he motioned Bellows to a comfortable leather chair. He ordered two cups of strong coffee from Miss Blomberg and the two men fell into an uneasy silence until the secretary had left the big, panelled room.

  Bellows had been engaged to supervise the restoration of the memorial cross, if that were technically possible, and at first the Dean had thought the other’s demeanour had something to do with a further disaster, or perhaps a greatly increased estimate of the cost involved. But it was nothing like that, as his visitor soon made clear. He put his cup down meticulously, wiping a small bead of coffee from the rim of the vessel with his handkerchief before coming to the point.

  “We had a little accident this morning,” he said. “There was a fall of earth in one corner of the roped-off area. It was quite unexpected. In fact, one of the contractor’s men would have gone with the earth-spill if I hadn’t grabbed him by the arm.”

  The Dean looked surprised.

  “Oh,” he began hesitantly. “I hope he does not intend to sue the University...”

  Bellows shook his head. He gave the other a wry grin.

  “Nothing like that. But there’s something queer about all this. Quite beyond my experience. I have all the plans for the buildings and grounds, covering every foot of University property. I could have sworn there were no crypts or catacombs near there; at least any other than those already built by the founders.”

  Darrow shook his head impatiently.

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  Bellows leaned back in his deep chair and took another long sip of the coffee, choosing his words with particular care.

  “That earth-fall didn’t seem natural to me,” he said. “I know the terrain and there was no normal reason for any such subsidence. We put some planks round the area, of course, and warned people off. I could see a dark hole opening up where the soil had collapsed. This was about fifteen feet from the base of the memorial. One of the reasons, obviously, which led to the near accident you had. But it wasn’t the entire reason for the collapse of the cross. Merely a contributory factor.”

  He could see small signs of impatience on the Dean’s face and hurried on before his companion could interrupt. “When the men broke for lunch I got a torch and a rope,” he explained. “I went down there. I found something quite extraordinary. So extraordinary, in fact, that I’d like you to take a look at it.”

  The Dean sniffed. He disliked extravagant language or superlatives as the surveyor knew.

  Darrow raised his eyebrows.

  “Extraordinary? Isn’t that rather a strong term?”

  Bellows shook his head.

  “It might seem so sitting here. When you’ve taken a look...”

  The Dean put down his coffee cup rather abruptly, making a sharp cracking noise in the quiet room.

  “But what interest should I find in a hole in the gr
ound, Andrew?”

  “You don’t understand,” Bellows went on. “I got a rope and a torch, as I said. I lowered myself down, taking great care, as you might imagine, as I had no wish to be suffocated by any further earth-falls. But as I got down there I could see that the opening widened out considerably. And what’s more, a draught of cold air was coming up.”

  Again Darrow raised his eyebrows.

  “I fail to see...”

  He fell silent as his visitor made a derisive clicking noise with his tongue.

  “If you’d just let me finish. The draught of air denoted that I was not descending into a hole or even some sort of well. It told me there must be a passage, perhaps with another entrance, because a draught would not emanate from below otherwise.”

  He paused a moment and took another reflective gulp at his coffee.

  “There was a passage,” he said simply. “Or rather, a series of passages. I found myself in a large circular chamber, obviously man-made, because there were tool-marks on the rocky walls. The centre of the roof had supported the cross, now fallen, which had caused the subsidiary collapse. I went carefully round the circle, noting there were strange marks in the dusty floor.”

  A tremor passed through his frame as he went on.

  “It looked as though someone had been dragging heavy sacks along. The marks converged in the central area beneath the cross.”

  “Curious,” Dr. Darrow broke in, his sombre eyes gazing unseeingly across at the rows of ledgers set against the far wall.

  “You may well say so,” said Bellows. “And that’s not all. There were other dark passages leading off at intervals, in a semicircle, facing west. They seemed long and as I penetrated into the largest I found it appeared to go on for an immense distance. The wind blew steadily down this and brought with it a nauseating smell.”

  His voice trembled briefly.

  “Like decaying vegetable matter. I did not investigate further, as you may imagine, as I had no wish to get lost on my own. There were seven tunnels or passages in all—three each side of the larger, central one. And round the walls of the circular chamber there were incised inscriptions I couldn’t make out. I regained the surface without delay and made a series of sketches while the details were clear in my memory. Then I had a heavy wooden trap made, sealing off the entrance to the chamber, and my men placed wheelbarrows filled with rubble upon it to prevent anyone else going there.”

  The Dean gave him a crooked smile, licking suddenly dry lips.

  “It sounds rather as though you were trying to prevent something coming out,” he said in a would-be jocular voice. The attempt to lighten the atmosphere was lost on Bellows.

  “You are the only other person who knows about this. I felt we two should make some further preliminary investigation before giving this wider circulation.”

  The other’s eyes never left his visitor’s face.

  “What are you trying to say, Andrew?”

  Bellows shrugged.

  “I’d like an independent witness of your standing. And I don’t care to go down there alone again.”

  There was a long silence between the two.

  “You must have good reason.”

  “I have. While I was down there I heard sounds. Coming from far off down the passages.”

  The Dean made a dismal attempt at a laugh, which trailed off into an awkward silence.

  “Traffic, perhaps? Drains? Sounds percolating through grilles from the college buildings above?”

  “Perhaps,” said Bellows slowly. “But I think not. That was the reason I went back to my office and got this.”

  He tapped the capacious right-hand pocket of the shooting jacket he always wore when visiting building sites.

  “My old service revolver. Are you ready?”

  The Dean rose reluctantly.

  “Very well,” he said grimly. “This business must be investigated thoroughly.”

  IV

  It was late afternoon when the Dean and Bellows arrived at the site of the collapsed column; it had been winched aside and was now covered with tarpaulin, the workmen having finished for the day. The Dean pursed his lips and looked ominously at the scene of his near-fatal accident; the earth was torn up for yards around where the column and the plinth had been removed and the gaping hole of the tunnel, now covered with the rough board trapdoor of which the surveyor had spoken; the rope enclosure and the plank barriers made the whole place look like a building project rather than the campus of a great university.

  It was a quiet time of the day; most of the faculty and students were at the early evening meal or engaged in preparing for their next lecture sessions, and only an occasional passing figure emerged and disappeared in the far distance. The Dean’s figure was well-known on campus and the respect in which he was held ensured the two men’s privacy.

  “Shall we begin?” the academic asked.

  Something in his companion’s stiff attitude arrested him and the words died on his lips. Bellows had turned a little white beneath his tan and his lips trembled slightly. He was in so rapt an attitude of listening that Darrow had to take him by the arm before his companion realised he had spoken.

  “What is it?” the Dean asked.

  The surveyor shook his arm off.

  “Nothing,” he said abruptly. “I thought I heard something, that’s all. Like a distant rumbling.”

  The Dean shrugged.

  “Passing traffic outside the University grounds,” he suggested.

  Bellows deferred to him reluctantly.

  “Perhaps,” he said stiffly. “Well, we’d better get below.”

  He moved swiftly over to the rough trapdoor, as though shaking off a trance. His movements seemed stiff and mechanical to Darrow, but he said nothing, merely followed, watching carefully, as the large black hole, fringed with fallen earth and small pebbles, lay revealed.

  Bellows had equipped himself with a large electric lantern and the Dean had also brought along a hand torch and his leather driving gloves, so that they were reasonably well equipped for their brief expedition, for neither man intended to stay below more than a few minutes. When it would be time to properly explore the passageways below, it would be with a large party, much more comprehensively equipped, for if one was to believe the surveyor’s story, the cave system might be quite extensive.

  Neither man made any move to descend, merely standing as though hypnotised at the brink of the dark hole in the troubled earth.

  “By the way,” said the Dean, as though to break a spell. “You have not shown me those drawings you spoke of earlier.”

  Bellows gave him a relieved look. He fumbled in an inner pocket of his jacket.

  “I have them here. Look at this rough copy of one of the inscriptions. What do you make of it?”

  The Dean drew in his breath with a loud implosion. Though he did not know the crude symbols his companion had so accurately depicted—nor could he understand their import—he had seen their counterparts before. He had studied many similar things in some of the ancient books in the locked section of the University library. But he merely nodded, as he bent closer to examine the sheafs of ruled paper Bellows had pressed into his hand, oblivious of the keen wind that was now blowing steadily across the dusky campus.

  He grunted at last and handed the sheets back.

  “Interesting,” was the only comment he allowed himself. “Had we not better get on? I have a lecture to deliver later.”

  Bellows mumbled his apologies and then stooped to the slope of loose shale which descended into the inky blackness below. The Dean now saw that the opening was about four feet square and he hesitated, waiting until his companion had switched on the powerful electric lantern, edging gingerly down the steep incline. Darrow noticed that there was a considerable expanse of the rough concourse below, ending in the dusty, uneven stone floor of which the surveyor had already spoken.

  He waited until the latter had gained firm ground below and then descended hesitantly in hi
s turn, glad of the brightness of the lantern which showed him increasingly better detail of the surroundings as the daylight faded out above.

  “There’s no need to worry,” Bellows said, as though he could read the Dean’s thoughts. “We’re not going far in and I’ve brought a ball of twine with me in case we decide to explore the passages.”

  It was indeed a remarkable sight which the surveyor’s torch revealed. The Dean gazed round intently at the large circular chamber, licking his lips, his professional instincts gradually erasing the slight fear he had felt on coming below. The fear, he realised, almost entirely engendered by the content of some of the ancient books in the University library; only those in Latin, French and Old English, of course, for some of the works had so far defied the ablest translators of Runic scripts.

  The faint sounds of traffic and those slight noises endemic to every great seat of human activity were now completely erased for the two men and an oppressive silence reigned in the vault-like chamber.

  Bellows walked slowly round the circular concourse, holding the lantern high so that his companion could make out the strange hieroglyphs which ran in an irregular banded frieze, following the curve of the walls in one unbroken sequence. There were the seven dark tunnels set into the western side of the concourse, facing them like so many black eye-sockets. Each passage was surmounted by larger inscriptions of the banded sequence, as though they had titles or particular functions and Darrow was so absorbed that, after a few minutes, he was completely oblivious of the presence of his companion.

  But the latter had been looking round at his feet in the dimmer glow cast by the torch and now he stopped abruptly.

  “Hullo!” he said sharply. “These weren’t here before.”

  The Dean followed the dancing lantern beam and saw at first only smudged outlines of something in the dust at his feet.

  “They weren’t here before,” Bellows repeated stubbornly.