Return of the Deep Ones: And Other Mythos Tales

by Brian Lumley

  “Listen, man,” he stopped me, “I know he’s real. Christ, if you’d read the Johansen Narrative—and I have—then you’d know it, too!”

  “The Johansen Narrative?” I said. “I never heard of it.”

  “No,” Belton was suddenly calmer, resigned, “and I don’t suppose it makes much difference, really.” He shook his head disgustedly. “If you did read it, you’d probably call it fiction. But let me tell you, anyway:

  “In 1925, the bed of the Pacific buckled and tossed R’lyeh up to the surface. Johansen was the sole survivor of a ship that landed on that hellish upheaval. It was a crazy place, of monoliths and mad angles, all covered with monstrous carvings. Johansen’s story, a tale he didn’t long survive, is more terrifying than anything I’ve told you so far. But he saw Cthulhu, and his hair turned white at what he saw!”

  “Go on,” I pressed him. “What, exactly, did he see?” Before he could answer, as I tried to ease my legs by changing my position, the chair rocked beneath me. I held tight to the corners of the grille to steady myself, and felt the metal plate move under the pressure exerted by my fingers. In another moment, I had managed to steady myself.

  “Have you got that thing loose?” Belton asked, peering up at the grille. “I thought I saw it move, then.”

  “It did, yes,” I answered. “Just let me get this last screw loose, and—”

  I took up the screwdriver, turned its blade in the slot of the screw—and the grille moved. Three or four more turns of the blade, and it was almost loose. I forced the grille down until it hung from that single screw, then stared at the face of Belton through the small opening. He stared back—stared up at me—and in a moment his mouth fell open and his eyes went wide.

  Then he stumbled back, away from the metal wall, away from me, arms wide and flailing, an inarticulate gurgle welling in his throat.

  I was too amazed at Belton’s inexplicable reaction to do or say anything on the spur of the moment, and only a second or so later it would have been impractical to try, for even as I heard the sound of muffled footsteps from outside and the grating of bars being removed—even as I fumblingly replaced the grille and stepped clumsily down from the chair—the door of my tank burst open and Sargent, the doctor, and one other entered single-file and in great haste. From the adjacent tank, I heard Belton shouting something in a defiant voice, and the sound of vicious cursing and desperate activity, followed by a sickening thud of flesh against the wall as a human scream, rising, was cut short.

  Caught red-handed, I faced the three who cautiously approached me. I had placed the screwdriver out of sight in my pocket; now I thought to reach for it, and only just managed to check myself. The tool would be of no use against the three of them. I needed to keep it until later, when there might be only one of these creatures to deal with.

  As they backed me up against the wall, I merely glanced at Sargent, whose face was now puffed up in rage, and at the doctor, who bit his lip in annoyance—but as for the third one …

  … him I could not take my eyes off!

  For if he were not that same creature which had dragged me from the boat in the bay, then certainly he was its brother! The Deep One came closer, fish-eyes unblinking—approaching with movements which were half-slither, half-hop—and my instinctive reaction was to flee. Then I remembered how weak I was supposed to be, and backed along the wall until the back of my legs struck the edge of the bed. Down I fell on the bed, unresisting as the three closed with me and took hold of my arms.

  While Sargent and the Deep One held me, the doctor produced a needle and hovered over me. “So,” he said, “we found a way to chat with our friend next door, did we?” He glanced up at the grille which had fallen half open of its own accord, then at the chair where it stood close to the metal wall. “And doubtless he told you many lies. Well, no matter—no matter at all.”

  He slid the needle into my arm, and in the space of a few seconds I felt a numbness creeping over me. I closed my eyes, and the two who held me released their grip. Their voices came to me from far away.

  I heard Sargent say: “The fish—he’s taken some of them. Bones over here.” And he was answered by another voice—that of the Deep One, whose texture and tone still do not bear detailed description—which seemed to concur with and approve of Sargent’s observation.

  Then the doctor said: “Yes, he makes rapid progress. Sarah made a good choice. But it was a mistake to put Belton next door. Still, what’s done is done.” I felt his fingers at my neck, probing gently in that area where the skin was rough through my constant chafing and rubbing. Then he lifted the lid of my right eye, and his face swam into view. He smiled, but his face was out of focus, so that his expression seemed to me like the grin of one of hell’s own demons. “Rapid progress, indeed!” he repeated, lowering my eyelid like a shutter and allowing me to slide down into the darkness of oblivion …

  And again the nightmare—but this time more monstrous than anything I had dreamed so far.

  … I swam in frozen, weed-shrouded deeps between basaltic towers of titanic proportions, and behind these massive stone facades I knew that somewhere the loathly Lord Cthulhu dreamed his own damnable dreams of dominion. I was searching for something, a door, yes, and at last I found it looming open behind a slab of coral-encrusted basalt fallen in ages past from the main structure.

  Down into gloom I swam, in lightless vaults whose immeasurable antiquity numbed the mind, until finally I came to those inner chambers which housed the sleeping god. And, at last, glowing in fires of luminescent rottenness, I saw Cthulhu Himself!

  But it was an unquiet sleep that the Great Old One slept, and his demon claws tightened threateningly on the sides of his great throne even as I watched, while his folded wings moved as if to open over his tentacled head and lift him up from the deeps to the unsuspecting world above! The eyes in his great face were closed—which I knew was a mercy—and the tentacles that fringed and bearded his head like the tendrils of some obscene anemone were almost, but not quite, still, so that I went carefully indeed, for fear of waking him.

  Then, when I would have turned to steal silently away, he sensed me. His wings stopped their trembling; his fitfully scrabbling claws became purposeful and started to reach out towards me; his eyes became great slits which hideously, hypnotically began to open; and, horror of horrors, his face tentacles uncoiled like waking snakes, groping with unimaginable intent in my direction where I backed frantically away, stirring up the aeon-deposited silt and slime in my haste to be out of that place! And as I fled—

  —So I awakened.

  Sweat—soaked, I awakened to darkness. The light was out, and the tank was stifling as a tomb. As my dream receded, I remembered all that had gone before, and felt for the screwdriver where it lay in my pocket. Reassured, I listened to the pounding of my heart until it slowed and returned to normal. Not too far away, I could hear the gentle hush of the sea against the beach, and guessed that the tide was in and that it was night outside. Night, and the place was dark and silent—or was it?

  From somewhere overhead, a muted creaking sounded, and the merest suspicion of voices told of life in the building above me. Anger—yes, and hatred, too—tightened my face as I determined to wait no longer, but make my escape at the very next opportunity.

  And with the decision came pain, enough to make me put my hands up to my neck and feel tenderly the ruptured skin beneath my jaw on both sides. I felt … and what I discovered brought instant panic! For the lesions beneath my unbelieving fingers were fresh and deep, regular slits that ran parallel to my jaw-bone and felt like flaps of raw flesh.

  Sheer panic, but only for a moment, and then I knew a cold and calculating calm that should have frightened me almost as much as its cause—which was a sudden and shockingly illuminating knowledge of the truth!

  The truth at last, yes, for of course I now knew. I knew what had frightened Belton when first he had seen my face through the open grille, knew also why I had been “chosen�
�� in the first place. Oh, there was much I still did not know, but these things I knew—in one cataclysmic moment I knew them—these and one other. That through no doing of my own, I had acquired the Innsmouth Look, and that one way or another I would make the Deep Ones pay!

  A moment later, I slipped out of my clothes and into the water in the sunken area of the tank. Even in the dark the fish were easy to find; I seemed to sense their whereabouts. They were not yet dead, though very nearly so, but even had I found them floating belly up on the surface, still I would have eaten of them. Oh, yes, for I would need what strength I could muster now for what was next to come …

  Semple did not come alone, but with Sargent. Lying on my bed in feigned sleep, I silently cursed my luck as the door opened with its customary clanging, and their voices reached me. My plan had depended upon only one of them coming to see me, for come he surely must, sooner or later, if only to replenish my “food” and see how I was“progressing”. I had not had to wait for very long, but now I was at a loss what to do; it fully appeared that I might have to put my plan back. Then I felt the light burn through my closed eyelids, and heard Semple step through the raised portal into the tank. As he did so, he said to Sargent, “Here, take the flashlight.”

  Sargent answered, “Should I wait?”

  “No need,” Semple answered. “He’ll be weak as a kitten. Shove the door to, but don’t bar it. I’ll let myself out.”

  So, I was to be left alone with Semple, was I? My pulse quickened on the instant.

  “Good-night, sir,” came Sargent’s phlegmy reply, then the dull thump of the door closing, and finally the sound of slow footsteps retreating.

  Now I had to fight to control my breathing, my pounding heart as Semple approached my bed to stand over me. What was he doing, standing so still? Did he suspect?

  I was startled at what came next. I had been prepared for a hand on my arm, shaking me “awake”—not the gentle tremor of Semple’s fingers at the freshly opened gill-slits of my neck!

  I started up, my hands reaching to close viciously on his own silk-covered throat before he could cry out, forcing him down to the metal floor and holding him there, motionless, until his eyes began to glaze and his fleshy lips started to tremble spasmodically. By now, Sargent would be well away, in his room up above in the main building. Still, best to be sure.

  Gradually, I released my hold on Semple’s neck, and he drew air—but only with difficulty. The silk scarf he still wore had been displaced, and beneath my fingers I could see his bruised and battered gills. Already I had done him grave injury. Not fatal, however, as yet, for he was an amphibian and could use his lungs like a normal human being.

  “Fool!” he hoarsely croaked. “You’ll pay!”

  “No, you'll pay, Semple—for what you’ve done to me. Now listen. This can be easy or hard—hard on you. I'm getting out of here, and I’m taking Belton with me. He's not in the next tank; I know because I've looked. You left the light on in there, and the place is empty. So the first thing you're going to do is tell me where he is.”

  “You … can't help Belton,” he wheezed. “Not now.” Then his voice became pleading. “Listen, John, you don’t know what you're doing. The penalties for—”

  “Penalties? I’ll pay no penalties, Semple. Not to you, or the Deep Ones, or anyone. You’re coming with us—you, me, and Belton—and there’s no chance my story won’t be believed. Let’s face it, there isn't a medical man in England who wouldn’t know you for an alien on sight! Whatever you are—half fish, frog, whatever—they’ll declare you inhuman. And just suppose they do mistake you for some poor unfortunate freak … what about me? What you’ve done to me—or started to do—will be more than sufficient proof, even without Belton’s word. I’ll have the authorities down on this place before you can turn about!”

  “Oh?” he croaked as I allowed him just sufficient air to keep talking. “And how will all of this help you? What good will it do you? You’re a Deep One, John. You always have been. The seeds were there all along, but they were dormant. We’ve only set them working—accelerated a natural process—to bring about the change. When it’s complete, then you’ll be an amphibian, a Deep One.”

  “But I was a human being!” I hissed through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to throttle him there and then. “I still am. What you’ve done to me will go no further. I haven’t taken a single one of your damned pills for more than a week.”

  “You what?” He choked the words out, stopped struggling, and gazed up at me in utter astonishment. “Man, have you any idea just what those pills were?”

  “Oh, I know what they were,” I answered. “They did this to me—” and I inclined my head, showing him my neck.

  “No,” he croaked, squirming beneath my grip. “The drugs for the change—the hormones and catalysts—they were in your food, in the injections you’ve been given. You can’t stop the change, John; it's irreversible. It's in you, working even now. But those other drugs, the pills, they were to help you retain your sanity!”

  “What?”

  “What have you done, you fool? You were a perfect subject!”

  The wave of horror—horror and red rage—which his words conjured in me was almost too great to bear. I bit my tongue and felt tears of frustration wash down my face as I tightened my grip on him. “You … you … you!” I hissed furiously. Then I threw back my head and screamed voicelessly, in my mind, screamed through a mist shot with blood as I applied still more pressure through my fingers and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed!

  Gone now were all thoughts of preserving Semple’s life, of keeping him as a specimen with which to alert the authorities. I myself should be evidence enough. My own person, coupled with what Belton had to tell, should satisfy even the most—

  —Belton! I still didn’t know where they had put him!

  I released my grip on Semple’s throat, and his head thumped on the metal floor like a lump of lead. His eyes had almost left their sockets, and his gills were crushed to pulp. He was stone dead.

  All emotion left me in a moment. All horror, hatred, passion, drained from me in a split second. I had murdered a man!

  Then—

  No, I told myself, I was no murderer. I had merely killed a Deep One, destroyed an enemy of Man, crushed a scorpion. I shuddered in loathing of the thing on the floor, took out my screwdriver, glanced once more about the naked tank which had housed me for … how long?—then carefully pushed the door open and stepped through into a gloomy corridor.

  It was not completely dark, though nearly so, and I could only just see to make my way to the door of the adjacent tank. It, too, was unbarred, and I managed to open it silently, sufficiently to peer inside. Momentarily the light blinded me, but then … I was correct: Belton had been taken elsewhere. His blanket lay on the floor, but otherwise the tank was quite empty. Then, remembering that Semple had told me there were three tanks, I moved cautiously along the corridor until I found the third door.

  This door was also unbarred—which alone seemed to suggest that the prisoner was not to be found here—but I decided nevertheless to enter the tank and make sure. As I was about to do so, I became aware of a red, dimly glowing light behind me. My eyes were more accustomed to the gloom now, and as I turned I could make out the shape of a door in the wall of excavated rock directly opposite me across the wooden flooring of the corridor. The upper panel of the door—of conventional design, unlike the metal manholes of the tanks—was of frosted glass, behind which the red light burned.

  For a moment I paused breathlessly. I still did not know how I would get out of the place; and what if there were Deep Ones behind the door? True, the place seemed silent enough, and even with my ear to the frosted glass panel I could hear nothing at all of voices or movements …

  —Well, I must do something, for plainly I couldn’t stay here much longer. For all I knew, Semple's companion of a few minutes ago might well be up above, even now waiting for him to put in an appearance. He would hav
e to wait a long time.

  Since it seemed unlikely that Belton could be in the unbarred third tank, perhaps he had been put in the room with the redly glowing light. In any case, my curiosity had been piqued. Despite my terrifically dangerous position, I had to know what lay behind that door.

  Carefully, with each and every nerve in my body shrieking its tension, I turned the knob of the door and opened it, then entered silently and closed the door with the merest click behind me. The room was completely still, with only that single, dim red bulb glowing at some indeterminate distance from me. On the wall, my hand found a nest of light switches, one of which was depressed. I tripped this one switch and the red light went out. Immediately, my heart skipped a beat… but nothing else happened. I switched the light on again—and a second, a third. Three red lights, evenly spaced out, now lit the gloom; but their combined light gave little more illumination than one bulb on its own. I tripped a fourth switch … and was almost blinded as the white glare of a large industrial bulb blazed into life close to where I stood!

  Wide-eyed in shock, I gritted my teeth, expecting … something!

  But no, the seconds passed with the leaden thumping of my heart, and there was no sign of life. The place was still, and utterly silent. I started to breathe again, and began to take in the size of the subterranean room in which I now found myself. After spending so long in the tank, this place and its unexpected hugeness completely overawed me. Tiled walls stretched away for at least thirty yards or more, and the width of the room was only a little less than its length. The entire area beneath the place on the beach had been completely hollowed out.

  A tiled walkway some ten feet wide surrounded a large sunken area six or seven feet deep, with metal steps leading into—or rather out of—the pool. Without the slightest shadow of a doubt, this was a pool, empty at the moment, but destined for a great deal of use. The unfinished pool which fronted the building up above was merely for show, an acceptable excuse for cutting a channel from the sea direct to the Deep Ones' headquarters; and this secret pool was where the Deep Ones would emerge, unseen by human eyes, whenever they came in from the ocean.