by CW Hawes
“Not many people around,” Mostyn said. “Thought the place was abandoned until we saw a person. Looked like he, or maybe she, had been in an accident.”
The man and woman looked at each other. The man said, “You folks aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, we’re not,” Mostyn affirmed. “We’re from Illinois visiting your state. Someone told us to visit the North Shore.” Mostyn shrugged. “So here we are.”
The man nodded, accepting Mostyn’s story. “Yep. The North Shore is beautiful. All except this place. If there’s a hell, this place has to be the vestibule.”
“Why’s that?” Kemper asked.
The man hesitated and the woman said, “Tell ‘em.”
“The godawful smell, for one,” the man said. “And, for two, the people themselves. My wife and I…,” he waved his arm toward the woman at the cash register, “…we’re from Superior, over in Wisconsin. Took this job without quite knowing what we were getting ourselves into. But we need the money and the pay’s decent. Jobs are hard to find up here and we didn’t want to move to Milwaukee or Minneapolis.”
The wife interrupted, “So we took the job to run this store. Awful place. Wish now we hadn’t, but hindsight is twenty-twenty as they say.”
“People here are peculiar,” the man said. “Not at all friendly. You won’t find Minnesota Nice here! I think they actually do their best to drive strangers away.”
“What about you?” Templeton asked.
“Oh, they didn’t want us here at first,” the man explained. “Probably still don’t. They mostly just ignore us now.”
“Don’t forget the vandalism,” the woman said. “Broke a couple windows they did.”
“They also dumped fish guts on our porch a couple times,” the man said. “When we didn’t leave, they started shunning us.”
“Do they come into the store?” Patel asked.
“Rarely,” the man answered. “Not sure why the owners bother to keep the place open.”
“What are the people like? Besides being unfriendly,” Templeton asked.
“Weird,” the woman said.
“That they are,” the man concurred. “Although they’re pretty normal until they reach puberty. A lot of them start changing then. That’s when they start stinking of fish too.”
Mostyn asked, “What do you mean by ‘once they begin the change’?”
The woman interrupted. “I wouldn’t say ‘a lot’, Phil. A few of them get the disease that early. Most seem to get it in their twenties. The rest in their thirties.”
“Disease?” Kemper asked, feigning fear.
“Oh, it’s not anything you can catch,” the man said.
“Just affects the locals,” the woman added. “That’s why we haven’t got it.”
“Anyone immune?” Kemper asked.
“None that I’ve seen,” the woman said, adding, “If you’re a local, that is.”
“What’s the disease like?” Templeton asked.
“Most hideous damn thing you’ll ever see,” the man said. “It’s the change and none of them seems to be immune. It starts with the skin turning that peculiar grayish color and the hair begins to fall out. The head begins to elongate and the hands and feet begin to change. Creases develop in the neck and gradually get deeper. Remind me of gills in a fish. Then the voice starts changing, becoming hoarse and guttural and pretty disgusting to listen to. Lastly are the eyes. They turn dull and expressionless, as does the entire face, and then they gradually bulge outward. The eyes do. Eventually the person ceases to blink at all.”
“But it doesn’t stop there,” the woman said. “They just keep getting uglier and uglier until their own people can’t no longer stand the sight of them and they lock them away.”
“Seems the older they get, the worse the symptoms of the disease,” the man added.
“And you’re sure we can’t catch it?” Templeton asked.
“Nope.” The man shook his head. “That’s the good part. Seems to only affect those born here.”
Templeton’s face took on a thoughtful and far away look.
Kemper asked, “How long have you been here?”
“Year and a half,” the woman replied.
“Do you have any friends—?” Baker began before he was cut off by the woman.
“With these people? Ha! I tell you we’re lucky to be alive.”
“Now Linda,” the man said.
“It’s true, Phil.” She turned to Mostyn’s group. “I know they leave us alone now. But I still don’t trust ‘em. No, sirree. Why, several locals have disappeared. Those people killed them. I know it. That priest of theirs. They worship the devil. Sacrifice people.”
“Now Linda. None of that’s ever been proven.”
“Maybe not,” she shot back, “but something weird goes on in that church of theirs.”
“Any chance the locals will talk to us?” Mostyn asked.
“Not likely,” Phil said. “If you find ol’ Caleb, you might get him to talking. He’s, what, Linda, about ninety? Ninety-five?”
She nodded.
Phil continued, “He’s a drunk, but completely normal. You might get something from him.”
Mostyn thanked Phil and Linda for the information and made ready to leave, when Phil spoke up again.
“I don’t know how long you’re staying. You might, though, want to buy something for lunch. The café in town is run by a local family and the food is none too good. Seriously. I’m not saying that just to make a sale.”
Mostyn thanked him for the tip. The group bought food and drink for lunch and left. Out on the street, Dotty Kemper asked how they should proceed.
“Dotty, you, Baker, and Patel form one team. Templeton and I will form the other. Let’s meet back here at four to compare notes.”
Phil stepped out onto the sidewalk. “One more thing. I hope you weren’t planning on staying overnight.”
“We weren’t,” Mostyn said.
“Good. Because the Bayview Hotel doesn’t have a good reputation. Not long after we arrived here a tourist went missing. Supposedly got lost in the woods. However, they never found his body. Then just a couple months ago two tourists that stayed there became completely unhinged and apparently no one was able to get anything coherent out of them. Just some babbling about monsters.”
“That could describe most of the town, couldn’t it?” Templeton said.
The man nodded, “Yep. I guess it could.”
3
From the back of the big SUV, the team members loaded up on equipment. Baker got his camera. Patel and Mostyn picked up extra ammunition and retrieved their backup weapons, as well as pocket flashlights. Mostyn added a small pair of binoculars to his collection. Kemper and Templeton each retrieved a little recording device with which to keep a record of their observations.
Mostyn directed Kemper, Baker, and Patel to explore the north end of the village. He looked at his watch. The time was just before eleven. That gave them five hours to gather whatever information they could.
“Which way, Mostyn?” Templeton asked after the others began walking away to the north.
“Let’s go down to the lake and start there. We’ll work our way back to here.”
Templeton nodded and the two men walked over to what turned out to be Washington Street, turned right, and began walking towards the lake. The buildings were uniformly unkempt. If there was any paint on the wooden boards, it was peeling off. The universal color seemed to be a weathered gray. Many, though, if not most, were derelicts and showing the decay that goes with a building long abandoned. Many roofs had holes in them or had fallen in completely. Windows were frequently broken and many were boarded up.
The streets themselves were in an advanced state of disrepair. Much of the asphalt was broken up and plants, even trees, were growing in the cracks and potholes. The sidewalks were no better.
“Where is everyone?” Templeton asked. “Given the size of this place, there had to be at leas
t three or four hundred people here at one time.”
Mostyn nodded. “At one time. Can’t be anywhere near that number now.”
Templeton recorded his observation and was putting the recorder in his pocket when he motioned with his head and said, “Just saw the curtain move in that house. Maybe we should knock on the door. Ask directions or something.”
“No. Not unless we have a really good cover story that gives us a reason to do so. We need to ask ourselves, ‘Is that something a tourist would do.’ If the answer is ‘no’, we don’t do it.”
“Okay. You’re the boss.”
Washington dead-ended at Lake Street, which ran along the shoreline of Lake Superior. Paralleling Lake, just to the north, was a rail line overgrown with weeds. Standing at the corner, the two men looked left and right. In both directions they saw warehouses collapsing in on themselves and the crumbling, rotting wharf stretching up and down the shoreline. The sole exception to this depressing vista of decay was the fish factory several blocks away.
Mostyn pointed towards the factory. “Let’s take a look. The processing plant seems to be the only building, aside from the grocery store, that isn’t falling down or in danger of doing so.”
When there was no response from Templeton, Mostyn looked at him. The anthropologist’s gaze was directed towards the lake.
Mostyn smiled. “Never seen Lake Superior before?”
“No. It’s huge!”
“That it is.”
“I mean, look, it just goes on forever. There’s no land whatsoever out there. Just water and sky.”
“Yep. And when there’s a storm it can be as bad as being on the ocean. Some say worse.”
Templeton took out his phone and took a picture of the vast expanse of water.
“Okay, now that you’ve taken your bona fide tourist photo, can we focus on the mission?”
“Sure. Sorry.”
Mostyn took out his binoculars and examined the building. “Well, maybe I spoke too soon.”
“About what?”
“The building being in good shape. It needs work, but still looks solid.”
He put the binoculars away and the two men set off for the factory, Templeton complaining vociferously about the overpowering fish stench. And the closer they got the more he complained.
Mostyn, on the other hand, was looking all around, his pace gradually slowing until he’d stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Templeton asked, he also stopping.
“Birds.”
“What about them?”
“There aren’t any. Which is pretty damn odd. No seagulls around a fish plant?”
“Yeah. Come to think of it, there usually everywhere making a nuisance of themselves.”
“Right. So where are they?”
“Don’t know. That’s kind of spooky. And now that you mention it, there hasn’t been so much as a squirrel since we entered this place.”
“Right.”
“I mean, squirrels are everywhere. So why not here?”
“Good question, Mr Templeton. Good question.”
They started walking again and Mostyn turned his attention back to the fish plant and the activity around the place. Several villagers were clearly visible, having just come out of the building to do something on the platform that was next to the factory and projected out over the water. He pointed them out to Templeton.
The anthropologist stopped walking and stared at the villagers, asking Mostyn for his binoculars. Mostyn handed them over, and Templeton stared at the workers for some time before handing the field glasses back to Mostyn.
“They are hideous beings,” he said. “Worse than what they were saying at the grocery store. I mean it’s one thing to describe bulging eyes and the gray, scabrous skin, but it’s another thing to actually see it. God, it’s creepy. Just like a horror movie. Whatever this disease is, I’m glad it hasn’t shown up anywhere else.”
“Actually it has.”
Templeton stared at Mostyn. “It has? Where? When? I’ve never heard of it before.”
Mostyn started walking and Templeton joined him. “Innsmouth, Massachusetts. The winter of nineteen twenty-seven and twenty-eight. The Federal government received a tip regarding the strange goings on in the town. There were so many arrests and deportations, the town was effectively depopulated.”
“I’ve never heard of this.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Templeton took out his phone.
Mostyn gave a little laugh. “Oh, you won’t find any references to Innsmouth. All very hush-hush. The town doesn’t actually exist anymore. At least for the regular old citizen of the US of A. The little I know came from a heavily redacted report I read when I first started with OUP. Not even Director Bardon knows all of it, although he has other sources at his disposal and probably knows all about it in spite of what the government refuses to tell him. That’s why he took this case away from the FBI.”
“Why would the government keep this disease a secret?”
Mostyn stopped and took a deep breath. “Keep this under your hat, Templeton, understand?”
He nodded.
Mostyn continued, “From what I read, the little I read because the report was so heavily redacted, mind you, the people of Innsmouth didn’t suffer from any disease. And whatever it was that afflicted them, apparently is also at work here in Agate Bay.”
4
Templeton swallowed. He cast a glance towards the people working on the platform next to the plant. “If it…” He cleared his throat. “If it isn’t a disease, then what is it? Genetic mutation?”
“You’re the scientist. You tell me.” Mostyn started walking again and Templeton with him.
The anthropologist walked, looking at the ground. Apparently deep in thought. In a few moments, he said, “You’re sure it isn’t a disease?”
Mostyn shrugged. “No. Not one hundred percent sure. And the Feds aren’t sure that it isn’t. But if it is, pretty odd that no one’s gotten it except for the people who lived in Innsmouth and those living here in Agate Bay.”
Templeton nodded. “Doesn’t seem like a disease. Which means it probably is genetic and successive generations of inbreeding has brought out some nasty recessive genes, or it’s caused by something in the environment. But if environmental, very odd that at two different times and two different locations the same catalyst would be present to cause the same symptoms.”
“Right. Personally, I don’t think the origin of these people’s problem and those of Innsmouth is environmental in nature. Which leaves genetic. But what recessive gene would produce this?” With a movement of his hand, Mostyn indicated the men working outside the fish factory.
“I don’t know,” Templeton said. “Quite honestly, this is beyond anything in my experience.”
In another minute they were at the factory. The smell of fish was overpowering. The villagers were in plain sight and it was easy to see their deformities, the hideousness of which had to at least rival those of the famous Elephant Man, if not actually surpass them. Mostyn and Templeton were getting their first close look at citizens of Agate Bay, Minnesota. And it was not a pleasant sight.
They saw for themselves the dull, expressionless faces. The narrow heads with the bulging eyes that never seemed to blink. The flat noses and the ears which seemed to have almost disappeared entirely, leaving only vestigial remains. The large-pored grayish skin, which, in places, looked to be peeling and scabrous, as if from some particularly noxious skin condition. The sight made Templeton shudder.
The village men working out on the platform walked with a peculiarly clumsy and shambling gait, undoubtedly due to their exceptionally large feet. Their hands were overly large as well, although the fingers were thick and stunted.
Templeton seemed speechless. He simply stared at them.
Mostyn called out, “Say, we’re visiting the area and wondered if we might have a tour of the factory.”
There was no response by the men.
Mostyn repeated the request.
One man stopped his work, looked up, and in a harshly guttural voice, his words slurred to an almost indecipherable dialect, said, “Leave. Not safe.”
Mostyn and Templeton looked at each other and back to the fellow, who lifted a large, deformed hand, pointed to the north, and repeated, “Leave. Not safe.”
Templeton muttered, “Holy shit.”
Giving the fellow a lazy salute, Mostyn turned and started walking in the direction he and Templeton had come. The anthropologist followed and caught up.
“What needs to be done,” Templeton said, “is to spend some time with these people and run tests. That’s the proper way to do it.”
Mostyn simply said, “Maybe. You want to do it?”
The anthropologist said nothing, until Mostyn’s gaze prompted him to speech. “It’s… It’s the only way to find out what is actually going on here.”
Mostyn stopped and looked at the lake. It went on seemingly forever, just like the ocean. He pointed. “See that low-lying rock out there in the water?”
“What of it?”
“Innsmouth had the same thing. Devil Reef they called it. It was said to be the source of all their problems.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said.”
“Come on, Mostyn. What do you mean?” There was a tremor in Templeton’s voice.
“I don’t know anymore. Kind of odd, though, that Agate Bay and Innsmouth should both have a low-lying rock situated offshore.”
Mostyn started walking again, with Templeton following, and, at the next cross street, he turned up the street, and at the next intersection turned west again. When he was directly north of the processing plant, he stopped. The building in front of them was falling in on itself. Mostyn got up next to the side of the place and peered around the corner, taking a long look at the fish factory.
The processing plant was a big building. If what Phil had said was true, they needed a big building to handle the large number of fish that they apparently caught. Mostyn took out his field glasses and noted the condition of the building. It needed work, that much was obvious. But since it was in a much better state than any other building except the grocery store, it was pretty obvious that the villagers were willing to give what was probably the source of their livelihood at least a modicum of attention.