Sins of the Father Read online

  I needn’t have worried. At the next corner, the shadow materialized again, turned right, and vanished into the soupy vapors. He continued to lead me along, taking corners in seemingly random fashion, never close enough for me to get a decent look, never so far ahead that he disappeared for more than a few seconds.

  After several minutes, I arrived at yet another intersection and found my way blocked by a gaping chasm in the ground where a huge section of road had collapsed. I stopped a few feet from the edge and paused to catch my breath while I regarded my surroundings.

  Dark edifices loomed to my left and right. Once stately, they’d devolved into deadly traps, capable of swallowing a careless visitor unlucky enough to step on a weakened floor or fail to see a missing stair.

  A muted thud emerged from the atmospheric shroud, leaving me with the impression of a door closing nearby. I eyed the obscured buildings, unsure of which direction the noise emanated from. Nothing moved. The idea that I’d been lured into an ambush returned to me, bringing with it a shiver that had nothing to do with the damp sea air.

  Cursing myself for a fool, I moved toward the closest building, shuffling my feet to avoid tripping over any unseen obstacles. For the first time since entering Old Innsmouth, I wondered how I’d get back to the other side of the river. Three bridges joined the two sections of the town, but at the moment I had no idea which was closest or which direction it lay in. The idea of being lost seemed absurd; I couldn’t be more than a few minutes’ walk to safety.

  Or could I? If the fog could play hell with my sense of direction when it came to pinpointing a sound, I might be just as confused about distance and not even know it.

  Give it up. Go home before you are well and truly lost.

  The time had come to admit defeat. Personal pride no longer mattered; now the only important thing was to get home again with my skin intact. I turned and stared back the way I’d come.

  Which way led home?

  Moisture ran into my eyes and I blinked it away. Wary of anyone sneaking up on me, I put my back against the building for safety’s sake. This far into the dead heart of Old Innsmouth, weeds and lichen had a firm hold on everything, not only overgrowing the paving stones but sprouting through gaps in the mortar of walls and stairs. Cold, fetid air wafted down from the empty holes where windows once looked out onto bustling streets.

  I moved a few steps to my right and stopped, halted by indecision. Was it the correct direction? Spending the hours until dawn wandering decrepit streets held little appeal. That’s if I lived to see the dawn. Who knew what depraved scoundrels might be eyeing me even now, ready to take my life and wallet with a flick of a blade.

  Think logically. As it so often did, my mind provided the advice in my father’s voice.

  I took a deep breath to calm myself. Logic, yes. All I needed was to locate one point of reference. And all the ones I knew would be near the river. So, if I could determine which direction the river lay, it would be a simple matter of just heading east toward the harbor until I came to either Federal Street or Water Street and followed them to their bridges.

  Keeping my back firmly against the wall, I inched toward the front of the building while doing my best to ignore the slime fouling my coat. The street signs that once stood at the corner were long gone, thanks to the anarchy and looting following the town’s descent into chaos in the aftermath of the plague. Bemoaning my decision to pursue the demon, I edged around the building and slowly followed the wall until I came to a rusted iron railing and a wide set of brick stairs that rose crag-like from the vapors. At the top, a dark rectangle showed at the entrance to the manmade edifice. Above it sat a faded sign, only the first part still legible: Marsh Canning and

  My attention returned to the open door. The entrances to all the other buildings I’d passed were either closed or the doors missing; none had stood ajar.

  I remembered the sound I’d heard earlier. Perhaps someone pulling open a warped door rather than closing one? The stranger could be inside, prepared to waylay the man imprudent enough to forego the safety of Innsmouth on a wild goose chase.

  As if in response to my thoughts, a muffled clattering broke the silence, followed by a hoarse grunt and then a single word.

  “Damn.”

  My jaw tightened. What demon cursed like a man? Shame burned my cheeks. How stupid I’d been! ’Twas not a monster at all. In my head, the pale-faced creature with the inhuman tail morphed into something completely different and far less terrifying. A mad scientist in a dank underground laboratory, performing twisted experiments on corpses until he discovered a way to reanimate the dead.

  A fellow who deserved to get his arse kicked – or shot! – for the trouble he’d caused.

  Science, not magic, lay at the heart of things, as I should have known it always did.

  With renewed determination, I climbed the stairs. Cracks, some several feet long, created mosaic patterns in the brick and made the footing treacherous. I avoided the worst of them and stepped inside, where an offensive odor slapped my face in greeting. Waving in vain at the rank stench, I moved carefully through an enormous space. A warehouse or factory, abandoned like so many others in the days of the plague’s aftermath. On the second floor, rows of large windows, most of them empty of glass, allowed in just enough light so that I wasn’t completely blind.

  Ahead, a stack of crates loomed like a miniature pyramid in the murk. One of them had fallen over.

  The sound I’d heard before the muttered curse? Perhaps someone watching me, someone who’d gotten careless?

  A series of obscure marks in the grime caught my eye, leading from the door to the crates and then into the depths of the building, where the darkness claimed them. From the looks of the tracks, either more than one person had entered or the building was frequented on a regular basis.

  I moved forward, my feet kicking up filth and spores that turned into malignant clouds. With each step, the stink grew worse, a fetid mix of dead fish and human waste that soon forced me to cover my nose with my arm to block the stench.

  Several yards in, the tracks grew more distinct. I lit a match and knelt close to examine them as best I could. Something about them seemed…odd.

  Definitely footprints, with an occasional smudge between them that sometimes obliterated part of the tracks. A man, walking fast, the hem of a long, wide coat touching the ground now and then. A large foot for sure, much wider in the front, with strange protuberances. Almost like….

  The claws of an animal.

  Once the thought took hold, I couldn’t shake it. A flattened, paddle-shaped, webbed foot, with five claws extending out. The creature’s tail swinging behind it, occasionally bumping or dragging….

  Somewhere ahead, the unmistakable slam of a door echoed through the cavernous space. I looked up. The tracks continued on, leading deeper into the unknown.

  Man or demon, I’m coming for you.

  Pistol aimed forward, I continued on, alert for any signs of movement. I did my best to avoid looking too closely at the prints after that. When they faded back into obscure smudges, blending in with all the others on the floor, a sense of relief came over me and I increased my pace.

  The trail ended at a small door with a broken window. To my left, an entire section of wall had collapsed, which earned my gratitude as it allowed fresh air to dilute the omnipresent reek of death and decay. It also provided a touch of light, which enabled me to see what lay beyond the door: a small landing that led to a downward staircase. As I reached for the knob, a whisper of voices drifted up. Indistinct, but most definitely spoken words.

  I hesitated, my hand in midair. It would be much darker at the bottom of those stairs, and therefore more dangerous. I only had a few matches in my box. And who knew if one of the voices belonged to the Fish Street Strangler or just some common cutthroat and his cronies?

  It doesn’t matter. This
thought, more than anything, broke my paralysis. I had to see this fool’s errand through to the end. I pushed open the door just enough to squeeze through and crept across the landing to the stairs. Halfway down, the last vestiges of light disappeared. Rather than give myself away by striking a match, I descended the rest of the way like a blind man, keeping my free arm against the wall as a guide. When both wall and stairs came to an end, I stopped and slowly spread my arms out.

  Nothing.

  Once more, I considered using my matches and chose not to, having no desire to make myself an obvious target. With no idea of what kind of space I stood in, I settled for shuffling forward three steps, wary of holes in the floor or objects blocking my way. I repeated this tedious strategy twice and then stopped again.

  Now what? My eyes had not grown accustomed to the dark at all; the lightless cave extended in unknown distances around me. Moving in tiny increments, it could take me all night to explore the space, and even then, what would I learn? Unless the demon allowed me to walk right into it, the damned thing could be right beside me and I’d never know.

  That thought immediately brought to mind visions of dead men and women lined up just out of arm’s reach, waiting their master’s command to fall on me and rip me to pieces.

  I strained to hear any sounds but all I perceived was the thump-thump-thump of my own heart and a high-pitched whistling from my nose as I breathed. Nothing overly loud, but I assumed any self-respecting demon – or criminal – would hear me a mile away. Not to mention smell me, as I took in the nose-wrinkling odor of sweat from beneath my raised arms. The pungent reek informed me I’d not be wearing this particular suit again anytime soon. My man-stink was so strong it nearly overpowered the odors of the long-vacant building, a mix of sour mold and dead fish that—

  Dead fish? No!

  My heart banged against my ribs as I recognized that particular odor. I turned to run for the stairs. If I could make it back to the relative brightness of the upper level—

  A heavy blow struck my back and I fell forward, landing hard on rough wood that scraped my arms and face. I tried to twist around and aim my pistol but an unseen hand stripped the weapon from me. I crawled forward, scraping my arms in the process. Splinters dug into my flesh, the stinging pain barely registering in my terrified state. I collided with the bottom of the staircase and grabbed at the first step. Something coiled around my leg. A pinprick stabbed my calf and a wave of dizziness overcame me. I tried to lift my hands to reach the next stair but waves of nausea tore conscious thought away and brought forth a maelstrom of confusion in my skull.

  “I knew you would come, Henry. It’s been too long, my son.”

  The deep voice pinned me in place like an insect pegged to a board. The world shrank around me until all that remained was the echo of those words in my brain.

  No! It can’t be – supposed to be—

  The whirlpool grew stronger, pulled me down into a warm, black sea, deeper, deeper, until nothing remained but a single word.

  Father?

  And then even that was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There was a moment when I thought time itself might have stopped, the Earth frozen in place by some cosmic magic spell. No air moved through my lungs. My heart hung suspended between beats. Absolute silence lay upon the world. In that total absence of sensation a curious whine filled my ears, reminiscent of distant summer grasshoppers at dusk.

  Then the voice spoke again and shattered my stasis.

  “Henry. Good, you’re awake.”

  My eyes opened of their own accord and I let out a gasp at what I saw.

  Surely I’d died and gone to hell.

  Not ten feet away stood two corpses, their gray eyes reflecting the flickering light so they appeared to be blinking rapidly. A foul reek emanated from the dead men, yet it didn’t churn my stomach any more than the bodies I worked with in the morgue, which told me I’d grown used to the odor, a rather frightening thought. How long had I been incapacitated while they stood there watching me with their opaque eyes?

  Behind them, a wide cavern stretched into darkness, the stone walls illuminated by lamps set on poles or hanging from hooks. The ground, comprised of the same ancient rock, was damp and cold against my body. Abhorrent shapes crawled in queer patterns across the rock walls and I shivered when I realized they weren’t living creatures but rather the same vile symbols that had come alive on the ancient pillars I’d seen at Miskatonic. Just like the last time, the gruesome images cavorted in peculiar rhythms, their forms somehow immoral to the eye.

  I sat up and immediately regretted the decision. The cave spun around me and I let out a moan. One of the dead men took a step forward. Despite my light-headedness, I pushed myself away, not stopping until I’d put several more body lengths between me and them.

  “They won’t hurt you. I swear it.”

  The sepulchral voice came from the shadows to my left. I couldn’t help another sharp inhalation of breath at those words. There was no mistaking their origin.

  My father.

  Unimaginable, but true. The intonation, although deeper and rougher, was his. Each sentence delivered with the same cadence, the same touch of patronizing superiority. Silas Gilman had always considered himself smarter than everyone else around him. It was that arrogant belief that sent him down a path to madness and eventually imprisonment.

  I slowly shifted in the direction of the voice, not wanting to see yet having to see. Invisible steel bindings squeezed my chest and my bowels twisted painfully.

  A long oval head, bereft of hair and no longer hidden by a bowler hat, glowed like an obscene white egg in the lamplight. Two ragged slits gaped where the nose should have been, edges widening and closing with each cycle of air. My father’s once-full lips had withered to thin colorless ridges of flesh that seemed to stretch from one shrunken, circular ear to the other. And the eyes….

  Black pupils floated in a sea of mustard yellow, each a different shape, one a crooked oval and the other a dented sphere.

  It only took a single encounter with those inhuman orbs to know that hell most assuredly existed.

  The creature – I couldn’t yet think of it as my own sire – spoke again, revealing multiple rows of sharp, deadly teeth that would have been well at home in the mouth of a shark or some other dreadful sea creature.

  “Henry, do you know who I am?”

  I nodded. A dozen questions fought to be asked, but only one emerged, hoarse and weak, from my dry, cracked lips.

  “How?”

  That single word encompassed so many possibilities.

  “I’ll tell you everything. But first, believe me when I say that you are safe here. There are things I need to show you, things you can’t imagine, but you mustn’t be afraid. Come, walk with me.”

  A pale hand reached down. The long fingers that had once deftly sutured wounds and mixed medicines now had fine webbing between their bases and black claws at the tips.

  I recoiled at the sight, my stomach churning at the thought of touching that inhuman flesh. Instead, I pushed myself to my feet, fighting through a momentary dizziness. I glanced around for my gun but saw no sign of it, and I didn’t bother to ask. The desire to escape, to just run into the darkness beyond the lamps, nearly overwhelmed me. The only thing that kept me from fleeing was the acceptance that if my father wanted me dead, surely he’d have done the deed already. And he could just as easily stop me before I covered a dozen paces.

  Still, as I fell into step beside him, it took all my effort to cling to logical thought when my entire being wanted to give in to my terror.

  “I’ve both anticipated and dreaded this moment since that night in the alley. I never…I hadn’t planned on revealing myself to you. Not until I was ready. And not in that manner.”

  Thoughts raced in my head, making it hard to concentrate on his words. Th
at it was my father I no longer had any doubt. Buried within the rough tones were all of Silas Gilman’s mannerisms, down to his choice of phrases. If I closed my eyes I could almost imagine I’d stepped back in time, that I was again a child engaged in one of our typical father–son conversations where he would espouse his opinions and impart words of wisdom.

  “There are no such things as demons.” Too late, I realized I’d spoken aloud. The pallid face turned toward me, inhuman eyes widening just a bit before Silas looked forward again.

  “I remember when I first told you that. You were only seven, perhaps eight. Still afraid of boogems under the bed. I told you that science is the only real truth. I believed it then, and I believe it now. I remain dedicated to facts, not fantasy. But I have learned many things since then, things beyond the ken of man, things our science cannot explain. I have changed, in more than just the physical sense.”

  Silas came to a stop and placed his arm in front of me, blocking my way. My heart gave a jump when I saw that just past us the ground ended in a sharp drop-off. In the near-dark, my mind on things other than where I was walking, I would have stepped right over the edge. I cursed myself for not paying attention. I needed to keep my wits about me if I wanted to survive.

  The gentle susurration of flowing water drifted up from the ebon depths, but the peculiar acoustics of the cavern made it impossible to tell if we stood above a small stream close by or a river hundreds of feet down. The air, already damp and chill to begin with, gave no clue.

  “I was wrong about one thing, though. Demons do exist. And I found one. Or rather, one found me.” Silas picked up a lamp from the ground and lit it. Holding it over the edge, he motioned for me to step forward.

  Wary of a trick – a quick push to send me tumbling to my death – I moved closer to the edge. After another glance at Silas, who merely stood there, I peered into the abyss.