Across the Reef and into the Sea

"This is it," said Richie. "Welcome to Innsmouth. You'll need a place to stay. The Gilman House Hotel is just over there. It's okay and you'll be able to eat there. 'Course, it's not the original hotel--that was bulldozed years ago by the Feds, said to have been pretty bad. It was rumoured that strangers staying there disappeared, no traces ever found." The driver left his cab and helped Lomax down with his luggage. "Not too late to come on to Arkham with me," he suggested. "No? Okay, so I might see you on your way back."

At least the lobby of the Gilman House was moderately welcoming. The desk-clerk, a fresh-faced young fellow with a buzz-cut brightened at Lomax's request. Going by his looks and cheerful demeanour he was not a local. "A room, sir? You bet. Tell the truth, you can pick just about any room you want. We're a bit light on guests right now."

"That usual?"

"It's the norm," the kid blurted. Flushing a little he explained. A bit like Richie's bus, there was some kind of old covenant that there had to be a Gilman House Hotel open on this spot regardless of circumstances.

Lomax's room was clean and bright with its own bathroom, although the view from his windows--a dismal one across the time-worn roofs of Innsmouth--left much to be desired. Having unpacked his small valise and freshened up, Lomax decided to get out and make some preliminary sketches. Ascertaining from the desk-clerk the way to the shore, he set out.

As Lomax left the hotel to cross the cobbled square, the various drinkers fell silent and stared at him. Not all of them shared the 'Innsmouth look', but regardless of appearance they seemed united in a state of misery and surrender. Lomax could feel eyes upon him as he exited the square. He noted with interest that there were some signs of lost grandeur, such as groups of solid Georgian town-houses. At one time, he decided, Innsmouth must have known a period of considerable prosperity. Eventually Lomax entered Main Street to head shoreward.

Again there were few people to be seen around as he followed his route. The streets were desolate slums, depressing to the eye, buildings and houses by appearance largely deserted. Here and there were odd but cheerless signs that a dwelling might be occupied--a ragged drape fluttering behind a partly-open window, a sad-looking plant drooping in a doorway. And the whole area was permeated by a peculiar odour, a combination of decomposing fish and rotting weed, as if the buildings had been steeped for too long in stale harbour mud. The smell triggered a memory. Lomax realised that it was much like that peculiar, underlying smell Eli Sargent suffered from, save that Eli's body odour was greatly muted compared to this.

Lomax reached the first stretch of shore. The beach was not of a kind to invite a family picnic. The foul-looking sand was of an almost corpse-like hue, dull greyish-ochre interspersed with leprous patches of olive and white. He had walked barely a few yards when a thick voice hailed him. "Hey you, stranger!"

Further up the strand, almost hidden in lengthening shadows cast by the dunes, a skinny man was sitting on an upturned row-boat. The man was dressed in torn and filthy blue dungarees and a floppy cap was pushed down on the back of his head. Despite the chill--to which he seemed impervious--his shoulders and arms were bare and clutched in his hand was the almost inevitable brown paper bag. Lomax gave a friendly wave and the other beckoned him closer.

As Lomax approached, he saw that the man, probably in his early forties, was normal-enough looking, although there was a vagueness about the face and eyes and an air of general self-neglect that suggested he might be slightly simple. Lomax guessed that he was about to be asked for a few bucks which would be spent immediately on cheap booze.

"Hi there!" he called, already reaching into his pocket for a five-dollar bill.

Instead of the expected touch, the man asked: "What you doin' here? Don't get many strangers down here. Don't get many strangers in Innsmouth nohow, not no more."

"Name's Joshua Lomax--I'm a painter. I thought I'd do some pictures around here." He pointed towards the sea. "Devil Reef looks interesting."

"Interestin'? Hah! You don't know the half of it, mister." The man took a swig from his bottle. "Gotta smoke?" He grunted his thanks as Lomax passed him a cheroot. He gestured with his shrouded bottle. "Bad things come outa Devil Reef. My great-great-Granfer, he knew, he coulda told ya. Yeah, ol' Zadok Allen, he'd' a told ya. [see The Shadow over Innsmouth by H P Lovecraft],"

"What kind of bad things?" Lomax asked.

"Didn't know ol' Granfer Zadok... afore my time... heard a lot about him... Ol' Zadok, he knew about the bad things... sure did, couldn't hide 'em from ol' Zadok... finished up he disappeared... reckon they kilt him sure enough..." He talked as if he had forgotten Lomax.

"What kind of bad things?" Lomax repeated.

A shadow of bewilderment suddenly crossed the dull face and the man shook his head. "Crazy talk..." he muttered, "just crazy talk... 's what folk say... crazy talk... poor Norrie Allen... drunk and crazy just like his great-great-Granfer... Ol' Zadok knew...yeah..." The dull eyes brightened a little. "Gotta coupla bucks to spare, mister?"

Lomax slipped him a ten instead of the intended five and walked away. When he turned back to wave farewell, he saw that Norrie Allen was already shuffling his way back to town. The paper bag and its now-empty contents lay abandoned by the old boat.

After about another half-mile trudge, Lomax stopped and set up his equipment. Out by Devil Reef, a light mist had crept in to create the sort of atmosphere Lomax enjoyed. With a satisfied grunt, he set up his equipment and started work.

He worked steadily for two hours or so, producing several good sketches and a very reasonable preliminary painting, then stopped for a break, lighting one of his cheroots. As he smoked, Lomax examined his various sketches critically. Finished with them, he turned to the picture on the easel and stopped as an anomaly caught his eye. There was something in the water-colour that he no recollection of painting. There, amid his trademark monochrome strokes, was a touch of pale green.

Lomax peered more closely. Although tiny in the sketch, it looked very much to him like a female form sitting on the reef. He raised his eyes to Devil Reef. Was it... yes, there was something out there on the reef, something with a marked greenish tinge. But he could not be sure because of the mist which he had so recently welcomed. And even as Lomax watched, whatever it was moved or stood--even given the distance, definitely a female form he was sure--and appeared to slip into the water on the far side of the reef.

"Jesus! A mermaid!" The words just slipped out before the painter realised what he was saying. "Shit! No such thing," he muttered. Lomax remained there for some time, straining to see, willing the whatever-it-was to reappear. It was only when he realised how rapidly the light was fading that he packed his gear and with great reluctance returned to The Gilman House.

Following an adequate supper and settled in his room with a drink--a fifth of Jack Daniels had been purchased from a dingy little store just off Main Street--Lomax took a powerful magnifying glass he carried to carefully study the water-colour. Magnified, the image was certainly female. There was a cascade of hair tumbling over a naked back, there was a swell of breast seen beneath one arm, there was grace. Because the figure was seated, Lomax could see little of the lower body other than a curve of buttock. He realised that to have achieved such detail in miniature, he must have worked really close, used his finest brush. And yet, and yet... he was quite unable to recall having done so.

"A mermaid..." Lomax shook his head. "Shit, does this town make everyone crazy?"

* * * * *

That night he dreamed, seemingly all night through, a peculiarly vivid dream. It could have been one long dream or perhaps it was the same dream repeated over and over. In the dream, Lomax found himself swimming in clear green waters. The surface was far above his head and yet he felt neither discomfort nor any desire to reach the air. Several lengths away from him swam the mermaid, beckoning him on and ever on...

Lomax was out early the next morning, well before the daily gathering of vagrants or whatever they were. On his way to the beach he passed a number of early walkers, no doubt coming from or going to whatever Innsmouth provided in the way of employment. Quite a few of them had the "Innsmouth look" and they either responded with surly grunts or turned their faces away when Lomax called out a greeting. In a doorway near to the end of Main Street, he found Norrie Allen slumped in a semi-stupor, an empty gin bottle hanging loosely in his fingers.

Lomax squatted down beside him and gave him a little shake. "Hey Norrie," he said gently. Bleary, uncomprehending eyes peered at him. "It's me, Norrie, Joshua Lomax. The artist---you remember, down at the beach yesterday?"

"Artist... beach... oh yeah..."

"You said there were bad things at the reef. What did you mean?"

"Yeah, bad things at reef..." Norrie gestured vaguely in the general direction of the beach and muttered: "Poor Norrie Allen... crazy drunk... just like ol' Zadok... Zadok knew... he'd'a told ya... they kilt him ya knows..." His voice trailed off into incoherence as the rheumy eyes closed once more. Lomax tucked another ten-dollar bill into Norrie's grubby hand and left him to whatever dreams might disturb his clouded mind.

When Lomax reached the sea-shore, round about the spot that Norrie Allen had hailed him yesterday, the first thing he saw was a mixed flock of birds--mainly crows and gulls--tearing at and quarrelling over some carrion lying in the sand. Curiosity arouse, Lomax wandered over to see what was exciting them. With indignant cries and squawks, the birds hopped and flapped off clumsily, to gather a few yards away in a menacing semicircle. Although their glares were malignant and croaks threatening, none seemed inclined to venture nearer to the intruder.

Lomax saw what lay on the sand and his stomach lurched momentarily. It was a human forearm, truncated at wrist and elbow... But then, at second look, perhaps not... It was grey-green in colour and the shreds of skin not yet torn apart by the scavenging birds bore what were undoubtedly scales. Lomax let out his breath in a long sigh. Just some kind of fish, he decided, some kind of fish unknown to him. It was only coincidence that at first glance it had seemed so human. And yet... that nub of bone protruding from one end... No... no, just some kind of fish.

The painter walked on and with raucous cries the scavengers moved back in to continue ripping at their feast. When Lomax reached the approximate point at which he had worked on the previous day, he settled in the sand and began to scan Devil Reef with a small pair of binoculars. This morning the sea was calm and despite the low cloud there was no mist out there. He could see nothing. After an hour or so, he laid the binoculars aside, lit a cheroot and took several long pulls from a bottle of mineral water.

"You must be going off your head," he told himself. "Sitting here on this dismal beach in this god-awful town, looking for something which doesn't exist. Thirty more minutes and you go get your paints, do some serious work and then get the hell out of Innsmouth on the first available bus."

Lomax ground out his smoke, screwed the stopper back onto the water-bottle then looked out again to the reef. Even while he had rested, the thin mist had crept back in. And more... There, sitting among the needled tips of Devil Reef, was a pale-jade form... the mermaid...

Lomax whipped the binoculars up to his eyes. The tiny figure enlarged several times, slightly blurred. Lomax eagerly rotated the focussing ring and the image sharpened. The thing's back was towards him but it was assuredly female. And as Lomax stared, it... she... turned towards him. There was a beauty in the face and the flowing hair and gracefulness in the long arm which was raised to beckon him. Momentarily Lomax thought of Homer's Odyssey and the legend of the Sirens, the sea-nymphs whose irresistible song lured sailors to their doom. And then his sea-nymph was gone, sliding back into the water.

"Shit!" What the hell could he do now? Lomax knew that he was facing the most momentous thing in his life, eclipsing his fame as a painter. But he had to get to the mermaid. He couldn't simply return to the city and tell of what he'd seen. At best he would be treated as a hoaxer, at worst as a madman. He needed a boat...The boat! The upturned row-boat that he had seen Norrie Allen sitting on. If that was okay...

Lomax hurried back to where the boat rested, upside-down on the sand. The squabbling birds were still there, furious bills pecking at the sea's bounty. Ignoring them, Lomax went to the boat and examined it carefully. On the outside, it seemed to be in good condition. The boat was not very large and Lomax was able to right it without too much effort. A pair of oars were stowed inside, held down by simple metal clips. Now, he might need to go into the water and that was bound to be cold. He needed a wet-suit and other equipment.

By early afternoon, Lomax was ready. He had returned to Innsmouth town centre and on guidance from the desk-clerk at The Gilman House had found a sports equipment store. The owner was an incomer who freely admitted to Lomax that he was about ready to give up and take his business elsewhere.

The hire of a wet-suit was no problem but the store's owner had demurred at suggestion of scuba gear. "You a good swimmer?" he asked. Lomax nodded and the man added, "Ever done any scuba diving?"

"No," Lomax admitted.

"Then I'd be doing the wrong thing if I let you have it," the man said. "You need professional training to use scuba--could get into real trouble otherwise. Hey, why not use a snorkel? If you just want to take a look underwater in the bay like you say, then a snorkel will do you equally well and it doesn't need much practise."

Back at the shore, Lomax went out into the shallows of the bay--where the icy water was surprisingly clear--to test out the snorkel. He found it easy to use and quickly became accustomed to it. Then he dragged the row-boat down to the water's edge. Before launching the craft, he could not resist having a look at where the birds had been scavenging that morning.

The birds had long departed, leaving little more than odd scraps, including pieces of bone which did not look much like fish bone to Lomax. With his artist's basic knowledge of anatomy, he found he was still thinking in terms of the human forearm. Perhaps the dead thing had been some kind of lizard, he rationalised. Were there any big lizards on this part of the Massachusetts coast? He didn't know.

Lomax pushed the boat onto the sea and clambered over the gunwale. Years before he had rowed some at high school and college and the knack had not left him, although this boat was heavier and more clumsy than the craft he had known back then. He had gone only a few yards, though, when a thought occurred and he rested the oars and cursed himself.

"You asshole! How are you going to capture the mermaid?" He shook his head. At his age he should have learnt to think things through. Okay, so just treat this trip as a reconnaissance. He pulled on the oars again, heading for Devil Reef.

Lomax glanced over a shoulder. The ubiquitous mist was settling in around the reef again and... yes, she was there, standing facing him. No tail, then. Not the traditional mermaid. Using one oar only, Lomax turned the boat to face the sea-woman. He was now about half-way to the reef and could see that she had very human-looking breasts. She waved and beckoned Lomax on, waiting for him.

When he was within a few yards of Devil Reef, Lomax paused to take a good look at his quarry. At first glance she seemed so very human and yet... not so... The face was attractive enough and the breasts and hairless genitals looked normal. But there was that pale verdancy of skin and the fine scales and the obvious gill-slits on either side of the slim neck. While Lomax was taking all this in, the woman pointed to the sea at the far side of Devil Reef and dived gracefully into the water.

Lomax edged the boat to the dark reef formation, taking great care not to damage the hull, and looped the mooring-rope around a tall finger of rock. Gingerly, he picked his way across the sharp surface of the reef. The water on the seaward side of Devil Reef was much darker to look at and Lomax recalled that the ocean was said to be very deep here. Then he cried out in shock as the woman's head suddenly appeared on the surface, no more than inches away. For the first time he saw her eyes. They were black orbs with yellow slits of irises. She smiled at him, a small, closed-lipped, Giaconda smile, jerked her head as if in invitation and disappeared once more.

Adjusting his goggles and the mouthpiece of the snorkel, Lomax slid into the water and dived beneath the waves. The sea-maiden swam close by him, the eddy from her sudden movement rocking him a little. For the first time, Lomax realised that she was actually quite big, as much as a foot taller than he himself. She backed off some little distance and grinned. Then without warning she lunged towards him in a swirl of bubbles.

The last thing Lomax saw was the widely gaping jaws and the rows of needle-sharp, predator's teeth.

The End