The Innswich Horror

obviously not an ‘Olmsteader,’ to use the driver’s designation.”

“No, I’m not. I’m from Boston, an accountant—er, I should say an unemployed accountant. So you haven’t seen a blond fellow walking about, have you?”

“I’m sorry, no. I’m just taking a stretch before the coach is off again. Why do you ask?”

Now his deportment shifted to something more intense. “It’s my friend, you see—his name’s Poynter. We worked in the same accounting firm but both lost our jobs when this depression—as they’re calling it—got the best of our business. He came here a month ago and recently wrote me. He found a job, I should say, but now I can’t find him.”

“Is that so? Did he say who’d hired him on?”

“One of the fisheries, down at the point, to keep records,” and then he turned and gestured the source of that wispy fish and tide smell. “There are several there but none I’ve found know anything of my friend, and none are hiring accountants.”

“Perhaps your friend Poynter didn’t care for his new job and has already left town,” I suggested.

“No, no, he wouldn’t do that. He was expecting me.”

My next question seemed the most logical. “Where did he direct you to meet him once you arrived?”

Now Garret pointed to a multi-storied blockhouse across the street. “The motel there, the Hilman House. I took a room—only fifty-cents a night, so I can’t complain about that—but the strange thing is…” He paused though an aggravation. “When I checked myself in, the clerk said that Leonard Poynter, my friend, had indeed rented a room there, and was currently still a guest. The problem is I can’t for the life of me find him.”

So obvious was Mr. Garret’s enigma but now I possessed an enigma of my own. That excited fugue-state came back into my head, and I knew that I’d discovered something for sure. First a town called Olmstead and a character called Olmstead, and now?

In Lovecraft’s The Shadow Over Innsmouth, the protagonist checks into a motel called the Gilman House, and now here I stood looking at a motel called the Hilman House. I’m sorry, but this was more than coincidence. It had to be. Something about this tedious town, without a doubt, impressed Lovecraft enough to at least borrow some names from it, and I was suddenly convinced that there must be more influences waiting to be divulged.

Garret peered close, concern in his eyes. “Mr. Morley? Are you all right?”

His voice snapped me out of my mental revel. “Oh, sorry. Something sidetracked me. But, you know what? I think I’ll be staying on for a few days after all.”

“Splendid!” He whispered again, through a tight smile. “It’ll be good to know that I’m not the only normal person in town.”

I laughed distractedly but before I could say more…

“Hello, gentlemen,” a soft voice greeted.

We both turned to take wide-eyed note of a commonly attired yet perfectly attractive woman. She strolled down the walk, arms full of groceries, and grinned more than typically at the two of us.

Garret tipped his hat. “Miss…”

“Gorgeous day, isn’t it?” I plodded.

“Oh, yes it is,” and that was the extent of our discourse.

“There’s a looker,” Garret whispered.

“I should say so,” I remarked, actually a bit ashamed, for this woman’s over-typical good looks gave me cause peer more than I should’ve. Her bosom could be described as raucous, as she was not only endowed but appeared un-brassier’d. The respect I had for my Christian faith reminded me what Jesus said regarding lust, but not in enough time to avert my eyes.

“As they say in England,” chuckled my friend, “there goes the apple-dumpling cart,” but then he leaned closer to denote discretion, “but that’s another queer thing about this little town.”

“That being?”

“I’m serious, man. I’ve never seen so many pregnant women in one place in my life.”

“Preg—” I began, and when I gave myself another yet more distanced glance, the more than moderate gibbosity of the woman’s abdomen told all. “Well, I’ll be. You seem to be correct.”

“Four or five months at least, and it’s not the first biscuit in that one’s oven, either.”

I looked dismayed. “How on earth can you tell that?”

He elbowed me with a grin. “You saw the jugs on her. They’re still filled up from the last one.”

The uncultivated talk was making me uneasy, for it wasn’t my bent. “But, really, what did you mean when you said you’ve never seen so many—”

“This town—I’m serious. I’ll bet that’s the dozenth pregnant woman I’ve seen since I’ve been here, and I’m telling you, most of them have been lookers.”

“Really… Still, it’s a good thing, if you don’t mind my opinion. The government is wise to encourage propagation since the Spanish Flu epidemic of ‘18. We lost half a million in that, they say, and almost all of them young men.”

Garret nodded grimly. “And right after losing—what?—another hundred-some thousand more men in that devilish war with the Huns. I agree with you. America needs more birthing, especially if we have to get into this next one with Germany, like so many believe.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt on this subject; I tended to trust authority. “But the President just declared neutrality in the European War.”

“It doesn’t give me much comfort, I’ll tell you. Right after Germany and Russia signed the non-aggression pact, look what happens. Russia invades Finland. And don’t believe that Brit Neville Chamberlain either. Peace in our time? Hitler’s pulling the wool over the whole world’s eyes. And what are the Japanese doing in the meantime? Invading Manchuria.”

“Let’s pray God that men can find a diplomatic solution.” It was my nature not to engage in political conversation, though the man had some points that perhaps gave me cause to feel naive. “But getting back to our previous, if not a bit too earthy topic, we must be fruitful and multiply—”

“Just as it says in the Good Book, yes. And I tell you,” he went on, “I’m not too pleased about Congress striking the Comstock Act—when was that? Last year?”

“No, no, it was ‘36, and we agree again, William. Barrier prophylactics should remain illegal except when prescribed by a physician for the prevention of disease. An open market for such things really does circumvent nature—”

“And God’s will, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Not at all,” but then we both looked at each other and laughed. “Not exactly everyday conversation, eh?”

“No, my friend, it isn’t, but it’s still invigorating to find someone who shares my doctrines,” he said.

“Likewise. So now I suppose you’ll be returning to your search for your friend, Poynter. I’m going to check in to the Hilman and then take a stroll about. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for your friend. Let’s meet for dinner tonight. If I happen to find your friend, I’ll bring him. Say, seven o’clock?”

“A terrific idea, Mr. Morley—”

“Call me Foster, please. And where’s a suitable restaurant?”

Again, he pointed just across the street, to the small restaurant I’d noticed earlier, Wraxall’s Eatery. “It’s not bad, and large portions for a slight price.”

“Good. Seven—I’ll see you then.”

Garret walked off, a spring in his step now that he had a “normal” confidante. I, on the other hand, had a new exhilaration to feed my Lovecraftian obsession. Though the town looked nothing like the Master’s Innsmouth, what little tidbits of recognition might I find in its details?

I fetched my valise from the coach, and when I returned to the street, the driver stood sullenly before me. The look on his face might be called hateful. “Why ya got your bag? We’ll be takin’ off for Salem now. Ya t’ain’t staying in Olmstead now, are ya?’

“Actually, yes,” I told him. “I’ve changed my mind and decided to stay a few days.”

At first, he appeared about to object, as though the prospect offended him. After all, I wasn’t an