There was no point trying to run into the dark after my vanishing car so, after venting my anger into the night, Barney and I headed back into town, following the old train tracks east towards the sea. In the blackness, slogging through swampy ground, tripping over bent rails and rotting railway sleepers, the tenor of my temper was in no way improved. When we hit that point where the tracks and the main road out of Innsmouth parted company, we switched to the pitted tarmac and trudged the rest of the way back to the Temple of the Esoteric Order.
We made our report and the Elders seemed content with what we had to say. Afterwards, Barney was tasked with something that would see him head out into the waves while I was let go with a warning to stay nearby in case I was needed again. I slouched off to the Gilman House Hotel, where the distant sound of the disco winding down could be heard on the night breeze.
Entering the musty foyer I caught my reflection in the age-etched mirrors behind the reception desk. If I’d needed a reminder that I’d just spent several hours tromping my way through a swamp and up a steep hill this was it. I decided to forego the dubious pleasures of descending to the Boathouse where the party was limping through its final phases and just head up to the private room that Winston had arranged.
The lift gaped wide and vomited me out onto the sixth floor. I stepped out into the sticky-carpeted gloom and it almost seemed like the potted palms to either side craned inwards towards me in an attempt to suck down some fresh atmosphere. I headed towards the deluxe suite at the end of the corridor from behind the door of which something loud and moody was thumping with an over-abundance of bass.
Suddenly, a door on my left sprang open and Boothe lurched out into the hallway. ‘Uh, hey Benson,’ he droned, pulling the door quickly shut behind him, ‘how’s it going, man?’
Behind him in the room there was a tinny sound of pop music and the high-pitched giggling of schoolgirls. ‘‘sup Boothe – you having a private party?’
He grinned at me sheepishly. ‘Summat like that,’ he said, ‘‘m just going to get some more - supplies.’
‘Okay dude,’ I said, ‘lead the way: after the evening I’ve had, “supplies” is something I could definitely use.’
He carefully locked the door behind him and we shuffled through the rotting carpet pile to the door of the suite.
As we approached, the door opened releasing a wave of Hawkwind’s “Spirit of the Age” to wash over us. Carrying her with it was Prudence Gilman, shrugging into a hip-length white furry jacket over her shimmering disco mini-dress. Seeing us, she stopped and beamed a broad smile at me, idly wiping a streak of white powder away from beneath her nostril. Her lips were bright red and glossy, her eyes heavily shadowed in blue with extra-long lashes and her bouffant hair shimmered. She sashayed sideways on her platforms as Boothe slinked through the open door.
‘Why, Benson Waite,’ she said, throwing a long arm over my shoulder, ‘I was wondering when a real man would be joining this shindig.’
‘Hey Prudence,’ I smiled, ‘you talk to like that to all the high-school seniors you meet?’
‘Only the good-looking ones,’ she purred, smiling to show all her pointed teeth. ‘Are you heading on into this Dutch oven or do you wanna come with me?’
‘Where you headed?’
‘Ol’ Abner wants me to run an errand for him.’
‘Let me guess,’ I said, ‘something to do with the Drowners? I’ve already been trekking through the wilderness for him on the same duty.’
‘Then you’re all up to speed,’ she said, slipping her arm through mine and turning me to walk back towards the lift. ‘All he wants me to do is to head out to the Eliot place and see if anything else has come through the ether.’
We caught the lift back down to the lobby and stepped out into the moody atmosphere. At once, I steered Prudence behind some limp greenery.
‘Why so pushy?’ she smiled.
I nodded towards the entrance. On the far side of the glass doors stood a guy peering into the gloom, his hands making spectacles against the glass. I’d recognised instantly the flared polyester pants and the shiny shirt – it was the boss Latino from Newburyport, and his presence here signalled no good thing. On the street behind him at the base of the stairs a long car loitered by the kerb with the Latino’s two buddies standing next to it; I saw no sign of the big guy, but it was even money that he’d be somewhere in the neighbourhood.
‘Who’s that?’ Prudence asked.
‘Not someone we particularly want to run into,’ I said.
As we watched, the head Latino turned around and signalled to his friends to circle around the building; he did likewise, heading in the opposite direction. I watched the other two on the street: they were walking close together – a bit too close really – and they lurched rather than strode, like they were taking part in a three-legged race. Then a flash caught my eye: The head Latino stopped on the sidewalk briefly, looking left and right; as he smoothed down his nightmarish shirt and slipped a pistol in his belt at the base of his spine, a flicker of light beamed out from what appeared to be a hole in the fabric, shining silver up the stairs. Then he turned right and skulked away.
‘Looks like they’ve gone,’ said Prudence, ‘shall we go?’
I nodded, and we slinked across the dead carpet to the doors.
‘Where’s your car?’ I said peering out into the night.
‘Where’s yours?’ she responded.
‘AWOL,’ I growled, ‘I’m currently without wheels.’
Prudence dug in her purse and pulled out a set of keys, jangling on the end of a tiny glitter ball. ‘I’m over there,’ she said, placing a finger on the glass, ‘on the other side of the square.’
‘Right, then’ I said, ‘let’s go, quick and quiet.’
She slid her stacked heels off and slipped her hands through the straps to grab her purse. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to want to hear all about it.’
We moved smoothly through the doors and down the stairs to the sidewalk. I manoeuvred us around the Latinos’ Lincoln Continental and angled towards Prudence’s Chevrolet Caprice and thought we were doing fairly well until the sound of rending metal broke upon the night.
Spinning around, I pulled Prudence behind me and stared. The rear passenger’s-side door of the car had blown off and the chassis screamed as – something – burst its way out on to the street, bellowing as it did so. Tyres burst beneath its bulk and the car’s roof pitched over and onto the stairs of the Gilman House like a trifling annoyance.
The entity behind this mayhem was a mound of hideous flesh that quivered and moved like soap bubbles erupting up out of the base matter. With each bubble that rose up from its centre, it put on more shuddering, gelid mass. There was a distorted - but familiar - face, a mask of towering rage that floated atop this bulk and this – along with some shreds of garish polyester – signalled to me that the Latino’s muscle had seen us and wasn’t too happy about that.
‘What the Hell is that?’ yelled Prudence.
‘No idea,’ I responded, ‘try to get to the car.’
The brute reached down to the wreck of the Continental and tore off the front side panel. This it lifted up towards the night sky and bellowed a battle cry before slamming it down, like a makeshift club, sparking on the tarmac. Its shiny, veined flesh swelled up even more, domes of the rancid skin boiling up across its hide.
‘Screw this,’ I said.
Suddenly, a shot rang out from behind me and a portion of the horror that might once have been its shoulder burst wetly, like a brick dropping into a pond. The creature screamed and dropped the panel, clutching at its wound, its flesh running like soup through its fingers. I turned my head to see Prudence standing next to her Caprice, the front door open, a pistol in both her hands.
‘Come on,’ she called, ‘while it’s distracted.’
I needed no further encouragement but, if I did, it came in the form a bullet ricocheting off the twisted remains of the Lincoln. Obviously, the big guy’s friends had heard the ruckus and were coming to his assistance. A few more shots rang out before I landed in the back seat of Prudence’s car. Without waiting for me to close the door, she gunned the engine and we took off like a startled rabbit, across the Manuxet and into the dark…
*****
To Be Continued...
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