What October Brings

The House on Jimtown Road Ran Cartwright

Two days and it would be Hallowe’en.

Falcon Point was in full spook mode as if the area wasn’t already spooky enough. You’d think so with the tales of spooks, ghosts, shadows, rumors of things in the bay, the ruins of the old Enoch Conger place out on the Point (who the Hell knows what happened to old Enoch; a lot of silly tales were spread back in the day, but were largely discounted long ago). And, of course, across the bay to the north was that fish bait slime pit, Innsmouth. That place alone is enough to spook your drawers down around your ankles.

But the tikes and teens just love their Hallowe’en.

So, parents were running off to Kingsport with their happy laughing wild-eyed youngin’s buying Hallowe’en decorations, costumes off the shelf, pumpkins to carve into Jack o’Lanterns, and bags and bags of candy to satisfy those wild-eyed youngin’s that would be showing up on their doorsteps.

Jack o’Lanterns decorated porches and sidewalks. Fake cobwebs were strung across doorframes, windows, and front yard shrubs. Fake tombstones decorated yards, and dancing skeletons, witches with glowing eyes, zombies, and bed sheet ghosts were popping up everywhere. And there was the Jaycee’s haunted house, decorated to thrill the older thrill seekers.

Yeah, Hallowe’en was just two days away.

And there were those late teens, early twenties folk looking for a good time, parties, pranks, and tricks.

Like Martin Gilford.

Martin was always looking for a good time, a prank, a trick, a laugh. Mostly at someone else’s expense. Hallowe’en provided the perfect excuse. Yeah, at someone else’s expense.

“I’ve got an idea,” Martin said with a grin, leaning over the table in Falcon Point’s Dockside Diner.

It was nigh on evening and the diner was mostly empty; most of those who frequented the joint had gone home to prep for the coming spooks and festivities.

“You always have some fool stunt of an idea,” Billy Finley said from across the table, a blank expression on his face. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

The guys were sitting with their girls in that diner booth, Martin with that young hot blonde, Julie Harper, and Billy with that young hot brunette, Donna Wilson.

Martin’s eyes danced from Julie to Donna then back to Billy. His smile widened to a full on mischievous grin. “TP and paraffin,” he said.

Billy sat back in the booth with a sigh. “Who’s place?” he said.

“The MaGee place over on Jimtown Road.”

The girls suddenly glanced at Martin as though they had seen a certified genuine Hallowe’en spook while Billy sat bolt upright and glared across the table at Martin.

“Are you nuts?” Billy said.

“Why not?” Martin said.

Billy was indignant. “Well, first of all, they call that old dude The Shark and for good reason…”

“Yeah yeah, I know, they say the old dude eats people,” Martin interrupted with a nod and a chuckle. “You believe that bull?”

Julie giggled. Apparently she didn’t believe the stories about The Shark.

Billy ignored Martin’s question. “Second of all, he’s one of them.”

“One of who?” Martin said.

“One of the Marsh clan,” Billy said. “That old dude’s uncle, James Marsh, founded Jimtown and his grandpap was Ezra Marsh, Obed’s brother. That old dude is named after his grandpap.”

“I don’t need a history lesson,” Martin smirked. “Besides, Jimtown is long gone and the old MaGee place stands alone out there with no neighbors for miles. Nobody is going to see us if we…”

“Nobody except that old MaGee dude and those two things that live with him,” Billy interrupted. He sat back, tapping the fingers of one hand on the table top. “I ain’t going and neither is Donna.”

Martin sat back and sighed his disappointment. “Okay, Julie and I will go alone,” he finally said, squeezing Julie’s hand under the table. “Tomorrow we’ll hook up and check out the Jaycee’s haunted house over on First Street.”

Donna and Billy remained silent, scowling, Billy still tapping his fingers on the table top as Martin and Julie slipped out of the booth. They walked away without another word.

“Billy…?” Donna said, looking up at her man after their friends had gone. There was concern in her voice.

Billy Finley just shook his head and stared at the table top. His thoughts were dark, ominous. The MaGee place. Nothing good could come of that.

“Foolish stunt,” Billy suddenly muttered the thought.

The sun had long since set. It was cold; a heavy gray cloud cover hung over the eastern seaboard. Night was fast approaching.

Martin and Julie had gathered up a couple rolls of toilet paper and a bar of paraffin at the corner market, eliciting a cross-eyed glare from the grocer. He knew what was up. Hallowe’en. Youngin’s will be youngin’s. The foolish stunts youngin’s pulled, it happened every year. The grocer had shook his head, tallied the goodies, bagged them, and Martin and Julie were out the door and on their way.

By the time Martin and Julie had crossed the Alternate Route 1 Bridge, night had fallen. Two miles up the road Alternate Route 1 became Federal Street cutting into the heart of Innsmouth. One mile up Alternate Route 1 the Jimtown Road branched off to the northwest where it merged with Garrison Street at Bates before turning west, passing through the ruins of Jimtown five miles west of Innsmouth then turning southwest toward Ipswich.

A mile west of the Garrison/Bates intersection on Jimtown Road a lone three story house stood off the north side of the road. The MaGee house.

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” Julie said softly, more out of concern for having to suffer the cold than TPing and paraffining that old dude’s place.

Martin and Julie stood at the edge of the road, peering up at the old MaGee place. Just like the old dude, the place was creepy. A two foot high stone wall surrounded the property with an additional two foot high wrought iron fence and rail atop the wall. Centered in the front wall was a wrought iron gate, two steps up to a cracked and broken sidewalk that led to the front porch.

The grass looked as though it hadn’t been cut in years. Shrubbery was dead and the few trees that dotted the property were bent and twisted with branches reaching for the ground as if they were trying to steady themselves from toppling over.

There was no street light out there on Jimtown Road, just a dim yellow light on a pole behind the house, backlighting a part of the third story casting an ominous black edifice against the night sky haloed in the dim yellow light, and highlighting the shadowed forms to two gibbets that had been erected on the west side of the house.

The place looked like something out an a Hollywood horror film. Martin stared, his heart racing. Two films had come to mine – Rattlesnake Pit and The Deathtrap Horror, long time favorites. Martin hesitated and sighed out of momentary fear. Maybe Julie was right, he thought, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But he chuckled softly and brushed the thought off.

“You TP the place and I’ll get the porch windows,” Martin whispered as he held up the bar of paraffin then started toward the gate, Julie hesitantly following behind.

He swung the gate open slowly, the gate protest whining on its hinges. They hadn’t gone ten feet into the yard before a blinding white light suddenly erupted and shown in Martin’s eyes. They stopped, Martin raising a hand to shield his eyes against the glare.

The light was coming from the porch. Something was there, on the porch, a form, a thing, and mad laughter. Then suddenly a shadow rose up from the tall overgrown grass next to the sidewalk.

Something cracked hard against the back of Martin’s head and everything spiraled black as he pitched forward unconscious while Julie’s sudden scream trailed down the long black corridor in his consciousness until silence and oblivion.

It was late afternoon on Hallowe’en day.

Billy and Donna sat opposite each other in a booth at the Dockside Diner. They were silent, staring into the drinks they had ordered, waiting for word from Martin and Julie. But there was no word. Martin and Julie hadn’t shown. No one had seen them since they had left the diner the evening before.

Donna slowly raised her head and looked across the table at Billy. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll check out the MaGee place,” he said softly, still staring into his drink.

A chill ran up Donna’s back. “Then we’d better go before it gets dark,” she said, none too thrilled at the idea.

Billy shook his head. “We’ll wait until dark,” he said, looking up at her.

She stared back at him, her eyes wide and fearful.

“Less a chance of us being seen or caught,” he answered her fear.

Dusk had come to Falcon Point.

Festivities had already begun. Little Supermans and Batmans, Howdy Doodys and Buffalo Bobs, Cinderellas and Snow Whites, and bed sheet ghosts with their eye holes cut out were crisscrossing Falcon Point streets, their parents tagging along close behind, making sure pranking teens weren’t going to rush out of the shadows and nab bags of Hallowe’en goodies from the expectant and happy little tikes.

No such festivities were going on across the bay in Innsmouth. It was mostly quiet there with a scattering of young Deep Ones in various stages of transformation hanging out on street corners or in alleys. Some had gathered in taverns, quietly sniffing and gurgling down drinks, and shuffling in and out of the shadows to mingle. Some were swimming in Innsmouth Sound, some hanging out on Devil Reef waiting for nightfall, some breeding with their own kind and humans alike in a couple of teetering dockside warehouses.

Billy and Donna had crossed the 1A bridge. Steering clear of Innsmouth, they had cut across open fields, moving northwest to Jimtown Road beyond Innsmouth’s town limits. By the time they had made Jimtown Road, night had fallen.

They walked along the side of the road, Billy focusing his thoughts on the dim yellow glow from the pole light behind the MaGee house a half mile away. His apprehension and uncertainty were building.

Donna walked behind him. She was silent, lost in her own thoughts, her eyes turned to the ground as she walked. She was more and more convinced that they shouldn’t have come. Martin and Julie hadn’t been seen or heard from since the night before at Falcon Point’s Dockside Diner. Something had happened to them, Donna was convinced, something terrible.

She raised her head, her eyes meeting the dim yellow glow of the pole light, the house black as a burial shroud against the sky as they approached.

Yeah, something had happened to them, she thought, there…at that place.

“That sure is one scary looking place,” Billy said softly as they stood on the road, staring up at the old MaGee place.

“Yeah,” Donna said, barely a whisper. “I don’t like it. Let’s go back to Falcon Point.”

Billy ignored her comment. His eyes danced across the MaGee property, straining to cut through the shadows, see what he could see, deciding on a course of action. The house was dark but for the dim yellow glow of the pole light behind the house.

“If Martin and Julie are here, they’d be insi…,” Billy said softly then fell silent. A subtle movement in the shadows cast by the dim yellow glow of the pole light had caught Billy’s eye, something turning on a slight breeze.

“They’d be what?” Donna whispered.

But Billy had already started for the gate and the cracked and broken sidewalk that led to the front porch. He swung the creaking gate open. Half way up the sidewalk he turned into the tangle of overgrown grass and vegetation, making his way toward the west side of the house. His eyes were focused on the two shadowed gibbets that were backlit by the pole light behind the house.

Donna’s eyes wandered, peering about the shadows, the brush, bushes, trees. No toilet paper, she thought, they didn’t TP this old place.

Billy and Donna emerged from the shadows into the dim yellow glow of the pole light and stopped. Donna gasped, raising her fingertips to her lips. Her eyes were big, round, watery, and fearful. Billy stared as a sudden fear closed in around him, his mind suddenly invaded by images of things lurking in the shadows and high overgrowth, watching and waiting.

Two naked bodies hung by their bound feet from the gibbets, one male and one female. Their hands were bound behind their backs and their heads were missing. They had been gutted like ocean caught tuna, their bodies split open from pubic bone to severed necks.

Billy caught his breath as he slowly approached the gibbets. He knew instinctively that the two headless gutted bodies were those of Martin and Julie. His gut feeling was confirmed when he noticed in the dim yellow glow the mermaid tattoo on the upper left arm of the headless male body. Martin had such a tattoo.

“Billy, let’s go home,” Donna called out fearfully from the edge of shadow.

There was sudden movement in the high grass then three figures appeared in the dim yellow glow, old Ezra MaGee and his boy and girl, Joshua and Martha Jean.

Billy momentarily stared at each in turn. Old Ezra MaGee, what a piece of work. His hair was gray, frizzled, a beard hung to the middle of his chest, and he showed a perpetual scowl. The old dude looked like he’d been in the sun way too long. Weathered and leathered, lines crisscrossed his face looking like a road map to Helltown.

Joshua MaGee was a hulking brute with hunched shoulders, wildly disheveled black hair, a lopsided drooling sneer, and lazy left eye. He looked a few bricks short of a full load.

Martha Jean MaGee, the term blonde bombshell came to Billy’s mind. No more needed to be said or thought.

“Well, looky what we have here,” the old dude said, holding a shotgun pointed waist high at Billy. “A coupla fish come t’dinner!”

“Billy…” a sudden glare from old Ezra’s narrowed eyes cut Donna off.

The two young MaGee siblings were smiling, Joshua making eyes at Donna while Martha Jean was making eyes at Billy.

“You the Shark?” Billy stammered.

“Some folks call me that,” the old creep hissed as he approached Billy, the shotgun still leveled waist high. “But m’name’s Ezra MaGee. It ain’t no matter to no fish.”

Ezra suddenly swung the shotgun around and buried the stock end into Billy’s gut. Billy grunted, hissed air, and doubled over. A swing of the shotgun caught Billy under the chin and sent him out cold on his back at the foot of a gibbet.

“Joshua, bring it inside,” old Ezra said, glancing over his shoulder at his boy.

“Sure pa,” Joshua said, crossing the yard to where Billy lay and hoisting him over a shoulder.

Old Ezra turned to Donna. “You, fish bitch,” he said, motioning with his shotgun, “around the back.”

Martha Jean prodded Donna with a shove, Donna stifling back a sob while tears trickled down her cheeks.

It was nigh on 10:00 pm when Billy’s eyes fluttered.

He was disoriented, his thoughts fragmented. He winced and groaned. There was pain in his gut and jaw. Something hard was pressed against the side of his head and a bright light shown in his eyes. He tried to move his arms to raise and steady himself, but found he couldn’t. His hands were bound behind his back with baler twine.

Piece by piece the surroundings became clearer. He was in a kitchen, seated at a kitchen table, leaning forward, his head laying on the table top. The bright kitchen light shown in his eyes. Suddenly, what had happened came flooding back. The MaGee house. The bodies hanging from the gibbets. The old creep and his two…

Billy’s eyes shot open wide. Unsteady and nauseated, he forced himself to sit up and peer about the kitchen through squinted eyes.

Donna sat at the kitchen table opposite him, her hands also bound behind her back with baler twine. She was lost in horror, a blank stare at the table top, tracks of tears trailing down her cheeks. Old Ezra was leaning against the kitchen counter, still cradling the shotgun, Martha Jean and Joshua flanking him, the two MaGee youth still grinning and making eyes at Billy and Donna.

“So, the fish man has finally woke himself up,” old Ezra said with a sneer.

“You’re a Marsh,” Billy stammered, fighting back the pain in his jaw.

“Yeah, I reckon so,” old Ezra said, “My grandpap was Ezra Marsh, brother t’Obed. My ma Celia gave me Ezra’s name.”

“You’re not one of us,” Billy said.

“I don’t cotton t’no tainted fish,” old Ezra said. “We ain’t got no truck with Obed’s line. Theys tainted. I ain’t havin’ none o’that taint in my line.”

Joshua suddenly pushed off the counter and rounded the kitchen table to where Donna was sitting. “Can I keep this one, Pa?” he said, leaning over and gently touching the side of Donna’s neck with two fingers, “she got pretty little gills forming.”

Donna didn’t move.

“What you want with a fish, boy?” old Ezra said.

“I wanna have some fun, Pa.”

“What kind o’fun you talkin ‘bout?”

“You know, down in the basement,” Joshua grinned.

“Ain’t your sister good ‘nough for that?”

“Pa…”

“Martha Jean’s good ‘nough for me,” old Ezra interrupted, “Why ain’t she good ‘nough for you?”

“Pa, I ain’t never had me no fish b’fore,” Joshua said.

Old Ezra sighed and stared at the floor for a few seconds. “Ah’right, boy,” old Ezra finally said then looked up at his son, “Take her down t’the basement an’ have yur fun. But I’m warnin’ you boy, I ain’t havin’ no fish babies in my house!”

“Don’t you worry none, pa,” Joshua said, his eyes lighting up.

“Billy!” Donna suddenly cried out as Joshua dragged her off the chair and out of the kitchen. Her screams trailed away as Joshua dragged her down the basement steps.

Martha Jean pushed off the counter and swaggered over to the kitchen table. “Pa, can I have him?” she said, sitting on the edge of the table next to Billy. She grinned as she leaned over and began to play with his damp hair.

“No!” Ezra glared at his daughter. “I ain’t havin’ m’daughter tainted with no fish man! Now git that outta yur head, girl!”

Angry, Martha Jean slammed a closed fist on the kitchen table, jumped to her feet, and stormed out the back door into the Hallowe’en night.

“Now you, fish man,” old Ezra growled after Martha Jean had gone. He prodded Billy off the kitchen chair with the barrel of the shotgun. “You git outside t’the back of the house. We gonna have us a fish fry in the mornin’! Y’all make for good eatin’!”

Martha Jean had wandered around to the east side of the house and to the stone wall with the black wrought iron fence and railing. She leaned against the wall, mad and brooding, gazing across the open field. She was sick and tired of Pa MaGee telling her what to do. Her eyes narrowed and she frowned. I’m nineteen, an adult, she thought. I can do whatever I want.

The back door of the house suddenly slammed open, interrupting her thoughts. She glanced back over a shoulder. Under the dim yellow glow of the pole light, she saw Pa MaGee and the Deep One that called itself Billy leaving the house, saw Pa MaGee force that Deep One to its knees, saw Pa MaGee put the money end of the shotgun against the back of the Deep One’s head and pull the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the night as the Deep One toppled over, Pa MaGee howling and laughing and waving the shotgun in the air before picking up an ax to cut off the Deep One’s head before gutting the poor fish man.

She shook her head and turned her eyes away. It was cold and the jacket Martha Jean wore was thin. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. It didn’t matter. Nothing much mattered to Martha Jean anymore. The dim street light in the distance caught her attention. It was nigh on a mile across the open field at the Bates and Garrison Streets intersection.

Innsmouth, Martha Jean thought.

On a whim, she suddenly climbed the stone wall, hopped over the wrought iron fence and railing, and jumped to the open field on the other side. She started across the field, heading for the corner of Bates and Garrison Streets.

As she neared the intersection, she spotted five male Deep Ones, early to mid-twenties, nearly transformed, nigh on tadpoles to a toad, standing on the corner under the street light. They were young and rebellious, dressed in jeans, jean jackets, cowboy hats and boots, their cowboy hats pulled down low over their brows.

And they were bored, looking for fun. It was Hallowe’en, but the holiday was foreign to them. They didn’t celebrate; even the humans that lived in Innsmouth didn’t celebrate. The humans were mostly an older lot, their kind dying out. The sooner the better as far as Innsmouth’s Deep One populace was concerned.

Martha Jean suddenly appeared out of the shadows. The five Deep Ones turned, stared, gurgled and grunted, their big round watery eyes glistening in the street light. Here was a human female, young, blonde, stacked, and grinning. She approached the young Deep Ones and ran a hand over an arm. It was cold, clammy, and slick, like slime.

“Happy Hallowe’en boys,” Martha Jean said, a sensuous taunt to her voice. “Any plans for the night?”

Well, it looked like fun had just arrived.

The young Deep Ones, all five of them, grinned and gurgled and grunted with excitement as they gathered around her, tugging at her jacket, toying with her hair, running cold and clammy webbed fingers over her face.

Fun had indeed arrived.

It was a small abandoned shack just off Elliot Street on Innsmouth’s southwest side. The wood was rotting, some roof tiles stripped away by Atlantic storms, some wall slats missing. The place contained a scattering of dust and cobwebs. A four legged table was pushed up against a wall. An oil lamp rested on the table; a small flickering flame cast dancing and writhing shadows on the walls.

Martha Jean lay on her back, her jacket and clothing piled in a corner of the shack while boots, cowboy hats, and jeans and jackets were scattered about. She smiled up into the large round watery eyes of a Deep One that was hovering over her. Her time had come, she had decided. The old man wasn’t going to tell her what to do anymore.

Pa ain’t gonna like it, she thought as she reached up for the Deep One, but it serves him right.

When the sun rose on All Saints Day, Martha Jean MaGee would be tainted.

Across the bay, all was quiet again in Falcon Point. It was late, nigh on midnight, and Hallowe’en had ended for the night. Jack o’Lanterns were dark, TP fluttered on a slight breeze, some windows were waxed. The Jaycee’s haunted house had been a success. The streets were now deserted but for a few straglers shuffling along the Falcon Point wharf.

The little tikes and early teens had all gone home, prodded by their parents. Fat and happy, they had sampled their hordes of candy before slipping off to sleep the night away, eager to wake on All Saints Day to sample more.

Somewhere in town a lonely bell chimmed the mightnight hour while out on the Point a mist was rising off the ocean. Something was there, something dark in the mist, briefly returning to the old Enoch Conger place. It would be gone back to the ocean by morning.