The Innswich Horror

She wiped her eyes, smiling. “Foster, the first time in years I’ve felt good about myself is right now—thanks to you.”

“You have every reason to feel good about yourself, and I hope you always do.”

“I better get your dinner before I start on a full-blown bawling spell,” and then she was up and rushing into the back.

I sat, now, in a platonic ecstasy. This lovely woman seemed to be genuinely fond of me, something rare in my life of indulgent seclusion. What made me happiest was knowing that my words and earnestness had helped give her a more positive conception of herself.

When my dinner was brought, it was an aproned cook and not Mary who’d brought it. “Sorry, sir, but your waitress is indisposed for a moment. All tearing up about something.”

“Allergies, I’m sure,” I said. “And thus far she’s done a marvelous job in attending to me.”

“Enjoy your dinner, sir.”

“I’m certain I will, thank you.”

As I dined on this sumptuous feast, I noted varnished plaques mounted on the walls—they were name-planks for old ships. HETTY, one read, and the others: SUMATRY QUEEN and COLUMBY. I couldn’t be sure why—and perhaps it was the diversion of the ambrosial meal, but… did those names ring a bell.

The chowder proved superior to the standard Providence recipe, and the striped bass may have been the best I’d ever sampled. Toward the meal’s end, I felt like the most sinful of gluttons, especially in times when food was scarce for so many.

Mary returned—freshened up now, and recomposed—and after she cleared the table, she sat down again opposite me. I couldn’t have complimented the meal more. But her look told me something still troubled her.

“What you said earlier, Foster,” she began, “about Cyrus Zalen? You said you’re seeing him again?”

“Yes, tomorrow at four.” I knew she wasn’t comfortable about me being in this cad’s proximity, so I meant to assure her. “It’s purely to purchase a copy of the Lovecraft photo, so that your brother won’t be deprived of his. Zalen needed some time to process the negative. But after that, I give you my guarantee, it will be the last time I ever cross paths with the man.”

“That’s good, Foster. He has a bad way about him—he’s a conniver.”

And also the father of one of your children, the darker thought flashed in my head. But he’ll never connive you anymore, Mary. I’ll see to it. “A conniver and then some,” I went on, in a more light-hearted voice. “I caught the man actually stalking me twice today, once before I met him and once after.”

“Stalking you?”

“Slinking about from the woods, tailing me. I’m sure robbery was what he was considering. I’d walked up to the Onderdonk’s stand for a sandwich, and it was on my way back that Zalen began to follow me more overtly. I went in the woods after him, to show him I wasn’t afraid of his kind.”

“Foster, you shouldn’t have!”

“The man knows I have some means, so I guess he figured robbing me might yield more profit than my purchase of the Lovecraft photo. But I made it quite plain to him that I was well-able to defend myself. He’ll not be doing that again, I’m sure. But this unpleasant incident occurred not too far from where young Walter was engaged in his archery session—that’s how I came to meet him. Zalen was long gone by then.” Naturally I neglected to add that it was Zalen who revealed the rough location of Mary’s ramshackle house.

“The man’s like a blight,” she bemoaned. “It’s rare that I see much of him but when I do… all it does… it reminds me—”

I squeezed her hand in reassurance. “You must disregard any negative memories that are triggered by Zalen. He counts for nothing. Revel, instead, in the promise of your future. I assure you, it will be a bright one.”

She looked sullenly at me. “Oh, how I wish that were true, Foster.”

My only response was a smile, for I’d decided to say no more. It wasn’t necessary because at that moment, I already knew what I was going to do…

After a bit more small talk, I rose and prepared to excuse myself. “Well, by now it’s certain that Mr. Garret won’t be making an appearance, and I’m a bit fatigued from a day of travel. But please know, Mary, that spending this little bit of time with you was the highlight of my day. You’re a lovely person.”

She blushed and blinked another tear away. Then she glanced about to see that no one was looking, and kissed me quickly on the lips. I shivered in a sweet shock.

Her lips came right to my ear. “Please come and see me at the store tomorrow. I’m off at twelve.”

“I’ll be there. We’ll have a fabulous lunch somewhere.”

Then she hugged me in something like desperation. “Please, don’t forget.”

I chuckled. “Mary. No force on earth could make me forget.”

Another quick kiss and she pulled away, then picked up the fifty-dollar bill I’d left on the table. “I’ll be right back with your change.” When she hustled away into the back, I quietly left the restaurant.

The sky was darkening in a spectacular fashion as I made the main street. The sinking sun painted wisps of clouds with impossible light over the waterfront. The street’s quaint cobblestones seemed to shine in a glaze; neatly dressed passersby strolled gaily along, the perfect human accouterment to an evening rife with tranquil charm. At that moment, it occurred to me: I’d never felt more content.

It was a shrill siren that ripped the evening’s placidity. I turned the corner and noticed a long red and white ambulance pulled right up on the sidewalk, with several uniformed attendants bustling about. Several residents stood aside, looking on with concern.

What’s this all about? I thought, then felt my spirit plummet when I noticed that the commotion was centered around the bargain store I’d visited previously. At the same moment a stretcher was borne out from the shop, and on it was a very still and very blanch-faced Mr. Nowry. In the doorway, the man’s expectant wife sobbed openly.

Oh, no…

“Poor Mr. Nowry,” a small voice announced to my side. “He was such a nice man.”

I turned to see an attractive red-haired woman standing next to me. “I-I hope he hasn’t expired. He was as congenial a man as you could ever hope to meet; why, I spoke to him just hours ago.”

“Probably another coronary attack,” she ventured.

“I’ll go and see,” I said, and made my way to the receding commotion. “Sir? I’m sorry to intrude,” I asked of one of the ambulance men, “but could you confide in me as to the status of Mr. Nowry?”

The younger man looked bleary-eyed from a long day. “I’m afraid he died a few minutes ago. There was nothing we could do this time—his ticker finally went out.”

I bowed my head. “I scarcely knew him, but he was a good man from what I could see.”

“Oh, sure, an Olmsteader through and through.” He forearmed his brow. “But it’s been a strange day, I’ll tell ya.”

“In what way?”

“Small town like this, we don’t get more than two of three deaths a year, but today? We’ve had two now.”

“Two? How tragic.”

Now the stretcher bearing the decedent was loaded into the rear compartment of the vehicle. The man to whom I was speaking pointed inside. “A young girl, too, not a half-hour ago. One of those not in with a decent crowd, but still… She died in childbirth.”

I looked to where he was pointing and noticed a second stretcher.

Instantly, my throat thickened.

It was a thin, lank-haired girl in her twenties who lay dead next to Mr. Nowry, a sheet covering her to the chin. Even in the pallor of death, though, I recognized her face.

It was Candace—one of Zalen’s ill-reputed photo models and prostitutes. But the great, swollen belly was gone now, only swollen breasts showing beneath the white sheet.

“Please, tell me her baby survived,” I implored.

“The baby’s fine,” he said matter-of-factly.