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.