H.P. Lovecraft's The Shadow Over Innsmouth by Mack Mani

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To the real Howard Philips Lovecraft, who lives within us all.

H.P. Lovecraft's

The Shadow Over Innsmouth Adapted for the stage by Mack W. Mani

The following message to be included in programs or fiers accompanying the performance/reading of this script. Excerpt from the Arkham Review March 17th 1928: During the winter of 1927-28 offcials of the Federal government made a strange and secret investigation of certain conditions in the ancient Massachusetts seaport of Innsmouth. The public frst learned of it from this periodical in February, when a vast series of raids and arrests occurred, followed by the deliberate burning and dynamitingâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; under suitable precautionsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;of an enormous number of crumbling, worm-eaten, and supposedly empty houses along the abandoned waterfront. Un-inquiring souls let this occurrence pass as one of the major clashes in a spasmodic war on liquor. Keener news-followers, however, wondered at the prodigious number of arrests, the abnormally large force of men used in making them, and the secrecy surrounding the disposal of the prisoners. No trials, or even defnite charges, were reported; nor were any of the captives seen thereafter in the regular gaols of the nation. There were vague statements about disease and concentration camps, and later about dispersal in various naval and military prisons, but nothing positive ever developed. Innsmouth itself was left almost depopulated, and is even now only beginning to shew signs of a sluggishly revived existence. Complaints from many liberal organizations were met with long confdential discussions, and representatives were taken on trips to certain camps and prisons. As a result, these societies became surprisingly passive and reticent. Only one paper, the Arkham Review, mentioned the deep-diving submarine that discharged torpedoes downward in the marine abyss just beyond Devil Reef. That item, gathered by chance in a haunt of sailors, seemed indeed rather far-fetched; since the low, black reef lies a full mile and a half out from Innsmouth Harbor...

CAST OF CHARACTERS Robert Olmstead: A curious young man, mid-20s. Anne Marie Tilton: A curator, for the museum at Miskatonic University, Early 30s. Dale Monroe: A ticket agent at the Danvers Train Station, 50s. Joseph Sargent: The bus driver and Innsmouth local, 40s. Thomas Morin: The deskman at the Gilman House, born in Arkham, late teens. Zadok Allen: The Innsmouth town drunk and resident historian, 60s. Obed Marsh: The leader of the Order of Dagon, 60s. Derek Waits: Innsmouth local, late teens, bigger. Logan Mowry: Innsmouth local, late teens, smaller. The Priestess: The matriarch of the Order of Dagon. Middle aged. Extras: 7-10 as Cultists and locals.

Setting Rural Massachusetts, 1927. The Stage is divided into four main areas, with an open space in the center. Area 1 –The Desk A rolling platform with a chair and desk. From here, Olmstead tells his story.

Ritual Room A dark room, somewhere in Innsmouth, MA.

Tilton's Offce Anne-Marie Tilton's offce is on the third story of the old Library building, at the Miskatonic University, Arkham, MA. The bottom foors are under construction. She is the only one still working in the third foor.

Area 2 –Danvers Train Station Small train depot on the outskirts of Danvers, MA.

Area 3 –The Gilman House Innsmouth's only Inn, probably the only building with any upkeep, other than the old Masonic Hall, of course...

Area 4 –Waterfront Park Innsmouth's only public park, overlooks the harbor, once the home of bustling industry. Now the park sits unkempt, frequented only by the occasional school kids and the town drunk.

Center stage –Innsmouth streets The roughly paved streets of Innsmouth proper, where they say all paths lead either to the EOD or the ocean.

Upstage Center, is a large projection screen. [*] Notes suggested moments for the projection of OLMSTEAD's photographs and the shadow casts in scene VI.

Scene I Darkness. The sound of waves and wind, rising. Lights up on Area 1, the Ritual Room, where two cultist kneel, in tableau. They wear dark green robes, their faces obscured by hoods. They break and draw a wide chalk circle on the stage foor of Area 1, before exiting. ROBERT OLMSTEAD sits upstage of this, at a rolling desk. His head bent over a typewriter. OLMSTEAD and the desk are moved downstage, into the light. Wearily, he looks up at the paper in front of him. He types as he speaks, slowly at frst. As he continues a photograph of Devil's Reef from the shore is projected on the Cyclorama. OLMSTEAD: April 31st 1927, offce of the late Anne-Marie Tilton, Miskatonic University, Arkham Massachusetts. (He trembles slightly) My name is Robert Olmstead and I am a fction. A character in some strange and perverse tale of horror. I have been maneuvered and positioned and now, I am no longer in control of myself. There is an inhuman element inside of me. Perhaps it was always there, waiting, sleeping...and dreaming. Perhaps I am the dreamer (A sickly smile at the thought). For this cannot be reality. Yet, I am present and I breath and I perceive the world around me with as I always have. And yet, if I am to believe in the notion of my own sanity, I must also assume that which would compromise it. Innsmouth. A squalid town, worm-eaten and decayed. What I found there, what...found me, is old and very deadly. A dangerous kind of belief that ends in the destruction of all that we know. Or I am mad. But that does not mean that I have not seen the truth. If there is any part of this account which should be heeded, let it be this: The town must be destroyed. Down to it's very foundations, the waterfront and the reef. He continues to type as lights and projection fade. The sound of the waves take over, eventually tuning into white noise, then into a haunting jazz number. The sound of rain, a train pulling out of the station, a high whistle. Lights up in Area 2, the Danvers train station, mid-morning. The elderly CLERK sits in his booth, rummaging through paperwork. AnneMarie Tilton, sits with her large suitcases reading a magazine, she's dressed fashionably, for travel. The sound of a distant bell, before the depot returns to the rain and the low jazz tune. After a few moments OLMSTEAD enters carrying a brown attache. He approaches the CLERK as TILTON watches. OLMSTEAD: Excuse me. (CLERK doesn't notice him) Sir? CLERK: (Adjusts glasses) Oh, what can I do for you, son? OLMSTEAD: I need the next train to Arkham. CLERK: (Strains to look out at the board above his booth) Let's see, last train for Arkham leaves... TILTON: At seven-thirty. CLERK: (Nodding, points to Tilton) 7:30! 8

OLMSTEAD: (To Tilton) Thank you. (To CLERK) That's fne. I just need one. He and TILTON share a moment. CLERK: Alright...comes to three dollars, seventy-fve. OLMSTEAD: 3.75?! CLERK: That's tax included. OLMSTEAD: (Pulling out a small book) It says in this travel book, it's only two dollars. CLERK: Ayuh. The boys in Boston raised the price for Saturday fares back in July. OLMSTEAD: (Pulls out his wallet, leans to shows the clerk, in a low voice) Listen, I've only got these last few dollars, see? And, it's all I've got to get home on. CLERK: (Clerk cranes over, with little enough interest) Mmhm. Been out seeing the sights have you? OLMSTEAD: (Nodding) Since I graduated, I've been been touring the coast. Photography, history. CLERK: Ayuh. OLMSTEAD: And I'm trying to get to my aunt in Arkham, she's putting me up again until I fnd work. She's very old and expecting me. (CLERK just stares) Is there anything you can do for me, really, it's all I have. CLERK: Well, if it was up to me...but I don't set the prices and I can't change 'em. B&M would have my collar taken in, if you follow me. (CLERK considers) What I can do: sell you a ticket for Monday, be...$2.00, like you say. OLMSTEAD: That's two days from now! Is there any another way? CLERK: Arkham 202's the last train of the day.

TILTON: (Pulling out her cigarette case) There is a bus to Arkham. Though, it's not much to look at, I'm afraid. OLMSTEAD: (To CLERK) When does that leave? CLERK: (Reluctantly) Depends, 'tween 2 and 3...depends. OLMSTEAD: Then there's time, how much is it? CLERK: One dollar, ffty. OLMSTEAD: Ah, excellent. Here. He lays his money down, CLERK does nothing CLERK: ...You might be happier waiting tomorrow. OLMSTEAD: (Pushing the money forward) Nonsense. I've told you I've got to get home. CLERK: Does have a lay-over...just so you know. Beat. OLMSTEAD: Where? CLERK hesitates. TILTON: Innsmouth. (She lights her cigarette) Low lights come up on Area 1, the desk is upstage. The two cultists sit in the ritual space. While the conversation continues, they rise and slowly draw the frst segment of the Mark of Dagon inside the circle, then return to their positions, before lights go down on Area 1. OLMSTEAD: Innsmouth? I haven't heard of it. (Pulls out his travel guide) TILTON: I'm not surprised...and you won't fnd it in there. OLMSTEAD: Ah, this book is very thorough. 10

TILTON: I know, I helped write it. (OLMSTEAD looks skeptical) Go on, look under the section for Kingsport. OLMSTEAD: You're...Anne-Marie Tilton? TILTON: Call me Anne. (They shake) OLMSTEAD: Robert. You're a travel writer? TILTON: I'm a curator for the Miskatonic University in Arkham, I do pieces like that in the Summertime. OLMSTEAD: Why isn't Innsmouth in here? TILTON: I suppose none of the publishers thought it worth mentioning. CLERK: (Stroking his beard) Used to be a city almost, back before the war. Bit of a queer place. OLMSTEAD: Queer? TILTON: Just another crumbling artifact of New England history. OLMSTEAD: Is it known for anything in particular? CLERK: It's an old fshing town. TILTON: It's more well known for it's gold now. . OLMSTEAD: Gold? Is there a mine? TILTON: Refnery. Only real business the town has left. CLERK: Old Marsh still got that place a running, eh?

TILTON: He and his sons. CLERK: (Under his breath) Half-breeds. OLMSTEAD: I'm sorry? CLERK: Ah, everybody knows old captain Marsh brought back one of them island girls with him. TILTON: And what exactly would that mean? CLERK: Everybody knows not a one of Obed's sons looks right. TILTON: It's an unfortunate...condition. OLMSTEAD: Wait they have some kind of...deformity? CLERK: The Innsmouth look, we call it 'round here. TILTON: They just look a bit...off. CLERK: Not just the Marsh's, her blood's in more'n half the town by now. TILTON: (Rolling her eyes) Ooh, scandal. CLERK: I know what happens, one bad apple... OLMSTEAD: What do they look like? CLERK: Pale. Big eyes, sunken in the neck. You can spot 'em in here sometimes, mostly they deny it, but you can spot 'em. TILTON: In isolated areas, it's not uncommon for unique features to crop up among small communities, but that's not everyone in Innsmouth. I did business with a man two days ago, he looked as 12

normal as anybody. CLERK: What were you doing in Innsmouth? TILTON: I'm on a kind of tour for the university. We've become very interested in the jewelry that came out of Innsmouth in the later half of the last century. I'd heard of a man named Zadok Allen who lived sort of about town, a local historian. Turns out he was more of a town drunk than anything. He was actually living on the street with these, if you can believe it. (Pats her carrying case) Must have been holing them away for decades. OLMSTEAD: You've got the pieces right here? Could I...take a look? TILTON: I don't see why not. (She begins to unpack her fndings) This style was popular here on the East coast during the 1850s and 60s, and was the toast of Europe for a decade after that. (She pulls out a display with an array of rings and amulets) What's remarkable is that Innsmouth is the only known source of this type of gold work, these are some smaller pieces, in fact, it's been said that Innsmouth Jewelry â&#x20AC;&#x153;defes cultural categorizationâ&#x20AC;?. OLMSTEAD: (Inspecting them closely) It looks almost...alien. TILTON: I believe it's of East Indian origin, but, frankly, that's just tentative. We'll know more once I get them back to the museum. OLMSTEAD: They're very striking. CLERK: Here. (OLMSTEAD reluctantly hands them over to the CLERK, who views them casually) Hm. Say, you aren't in the business of free samples are ya? TILTON: (Laughing) Sorry, they're not even for sale. It's become diffcult to acquire Innsmouth jewelry, most of it is either overseas or has been bought up by the Marsh's. OLMSTEAD: They're buying it back? TILTON: The older pieces, yes. The gold they put out these days is much less intricate. The university has already received an offer for these from Barnabas Marsh. He's particularly interested in this piece... She pulls out a large tiara. It's curved oddly and marked with strange geometrical patterns. It shines dully like worn gold. OLMSTEAD is immediately drawn to it. 13

OLMSTEAD: What is it? TILTON: As far as I can tell it's a kind of...ornamental headdress. Though, it's much too large to wear by itself, it must have been part of a larger arrangement. OLMSTEAD becomes lost in the tiara. OLMSTEAD: It's...it...it's almost...it's so precise, these markings, very...mathematical. Do you...know anything about them? TILTON: Not knowing it's origin makes that diffcult, but hopefully we can make some headway at the university. CLERK: When I's a boy, word was it all come from a stash of pirate gold Marsh found, down on the islands. TILTON laughs, OLMSTEAD continues to trace the patterns of the tiara. TILTON: I heard that too. Seems to be the consensus in Innsmouth. CLERK: Not in Danvers it ain't. These days cont-senus seems to be about ol' Marsh and the Devil's Reef. TILTON: That's just rumors. CLERK: Oh, yes, rumors! They got wings out here, fy all around. TILTON: (Sarcastically) Oh, alright then, what have you heard? CLERK: Well, you know, ever since epidemic of '46, Ol' man Marsh has all but disappeared? OLMSTEAD: (In a haze) Epidemic? CLERK: They lost almost half the town, couldn't a been but 400 of 'em left, (with a wave of the hand) some Chinese disease or something. Anyway, since then, place he's been seen most is a mile out in Innsmouth Harbor, in the dark of night-

TILTON: Oh, please... CLERK: (Insisting) At low tide! When Devil's Reef pops outta the ocean. TILTON: (Playing along) And what was he doing out there? CLERK: I can't say, but I hear tell of lights out there with him...and fgures moving in the darkTILTON: (Interrupting) Oh, don't believe everything youCLERK: (Continuing) I know what they saw and whatTILTON: Don't believe everything you hear! CLERK: (Pointing) You have to admit they are strange people. TILTON: Small townsfolk are always secretiveCLERK: StrangeTILTON: in small rural areas andCLERK: Oh, don't give me that! TILTON: No, listen, listen! In small rural areas it's common for communities to become tight knit and especially in cases of economic hardship, adverse to outsiders from more prosperousCLERK: Alright, alright! That's all well and good for the classroom, Miss Tilton, butTILTON: I'll have you knowCLERK: No! No, let me ask you a question! Just one question! Now, did you stay a night there in Innsmouth? 15

TILTON: Yes. Yes, I did. CLERK: At the Gilman house, I reckon? TILTON: Yes. CLERK: Alright. And how'd you sleep? She doesn't respond, doesn't like this line of questioning. CLERK: Well? TILTON: I...I didn't. CLERK: Any reason? Too cold? Creaky mattress? TILTON: There were...voices. OLMSTEAD snaps out of his daze. OLMSTEAD: Voices? CLERK: What kind of voices? TILTON: (Shaking her head) Through the foor. They sounded...foreign, I don't know. CLERK slaps the counter. CLERK: Ayuh! I knew it! TILTON: That doesn't prove anything! CLERK: Nah, bet my bottom dollar, that's the new religion of there's, the, uh, Order of, uh, ah, whatchamacallit-

TILTON: (Annoyed) The Esoteric Order of Dagon? CLERK: The E-O-D, That's right! OLMSTEAD: I don't follow... CLERK: Presumably it's something devilish brought back by that devil woman of Obed Marsh. TILTON: Okay! (To CLERK) I think we've all heard enough about Obed Marsh's â&#x20AC;&#x153;old foreign devil womanâ&#x20AC;? thank you very much. (To OLMSTEAD) It's just a new organization in town like the masons or Elks. Innsmouth is a strange town, with...admittedly strange people, but I challenge you to fnd a small town that isn't. CLERK: Doesn't change the fact you couldn't sleep a wink 'til you crossed that Innsmouth city line, missy. As she speaks, JOE SARGENT the bus driver enters, he wears a large hat and a collared shirt, but the Innsmouth look is still there. Pale skin, sunken eyes just a little too far apart. TILTON: Listen! It was cold and the place stank and there were rats in the walls, and I couldn't get to sleep, but that does not mean that Obed Marsh is in bed with the devil! SARGENT coughs, wet and deep. CLERK: Joseph Sargent! Heh heh, got in a little early today....How's the weather, up Innsmouth way? SARGENT: No passengers today. CLERK: Ah well, I got a live one for you here. If you're still wanting to go? OLMSTEAD: Yes, I'll take it. CLERK: Okay, last name? OLMSTEAD: Olmstead, (Watches him write it) O-L-M...right. He purchases the ticket

SARGENT: (To TILTON) You shouldn't talk about things you ain't got no idea about. TILTON: I...apologize if I offended you. SARGENT: Asks for trouble. CLERK: Uh, I got some coffee back here, Joe. SARGENT: (Staring at TILTON) Don't touch the stuff. CLERK: Right right. Well here's the gas key for ya. SARGENT stares for a moment longer before moving to the counter. OLMSTEAD steps out of his way. SARGENT: Thanks. CLERK: Just leave it on the rung out there, I gotta fll up the uh, 202. SARGENT: Mhm. CLERK: I'll send out the boy. SARGENT lingers for a moment before turning, he looks to OLMSTEAD as he exits. TILTON: (letting out a breath) Charming fellow, isn't he? CLERK: Ol' Joe...he's a character. (Looks after him making sure he's out of earshot, then to OLMSTEAD, almost excited) Did you see what I mean about the eyes? OLMSTEAD: Yes, the neck too. CLERK: That's what I'm talking about. OLMSTEAD: They're all like that?

TILTON lights another cigarette. CLERK: (Nods) Now, he'll be done in a minute, if you want to put this on your bag. CLERK hands him a pass. OLMSTEAD: Thanks. TILTON: How long will you be in Arkham? OLMSTEAD: Until the Summer. TILTON: With your Aunt? OLMSTEAD: On Beneft st. Her husband...passed away this Fall. TILTON: I'm sorry. OLMSTEAD: He and I weren't close, but my Aunt and I used to spend Summers together. You're going...? TILTON: The last leg of my trip, I'm visiting Dunwich tonight, but I'll be back at the University tomorrow, processing all this. You should come by, you might learn something. OLMSTEAD: Who should I ask for? TILTON: Miss Tilton. He opens his mouth to speak, but he's interrupted by the honking of the bus horn. OLMSTEAD: That's for me. TILTON: If you're interested in Innsmouth's history, talk to the boy at the Gilman house or Zadok Allen, if you can fnd him. The locals...don't warm up to strangers very quickly. OLMSTEAD: Thanks. I'll see you in Arkham? 19

TILTON: It's a date. CLERK: You'd better not make Joe pump that thing twice. OLMSTEAD: (Lingering) Alright, good luck in Dunwich. He exits, leaving us alone with Mrs. Tilton, the Clerk, and the sound of rain. They watch him go out to the bus through the front window. Their gaze lingers for a few moments. CLERK: ...And we never saw him again. TILTON: That's not funny. Both laugh, in spite of themselves, a little too loudly. The haunting jazz song fades up and the lights in Area 2 fade to black.

Scene II Lights up, Area 1. OLMSTEAD is at the typewriter. His chair functions during the monologue as his bus seat. He looks out the window before departure. As he speaks, the photographs he takes are projected onto the cyclorama. Sounds for the engine and waves. OLMSTEAD: Outside, the small motor-coach was in a state of extreme decrepitude* (He takes a photo of the bus) and though I did not relish the idea of riding alone with the driver, I produced my ticket and boarded the bus, taking a seat far behind the man Sargent. After a few turns of the engine, the vehicle slumped forward onto Slate Street, with a start. Glancing out at the people on the sidewalks, I thought I detected in them a curious wish to avoid looking at the bus. We turned onto Brady Street, and then onto highway 33 North, cruising past stately old mansions and farmhouses. By 3:00 we had fnally left Danvers, emerging onto a long stretch of open shore country. Out of the window, I could see the grey waves and the weather-worn telephone poles*. (Snaps a photo of the countryside) Together, they seemed to stretch into the countryside forever. I found myself thinking of the crown that Mrs. Tilton had shown me, the patterns of it stuck in my mind like an old song...and I let myself drift into a kind of sleep. The waves and engine become louder, lights dim for a few moments. OLMSTEAD drifts off, time passes. OLMSTEAD: I must have dozed for an hour or more, for when the bus jolted me awake, we had reached the top of a crest and I saw the outspread valley beyond, where the Manuxet joins the sea, and the misty cliffs of King's Head jut out over the ocean, far in the distance. But for the moment, all my attention was captured by the nearer panorama just below me. I had, I realized, come face to face with rumor-shadowed Innsmouth*. As he speaks the two cultists enter the space and draw another section of the Mark of Dagon onto the foor before exiting. They whisper inaudibly. OLMSTEAD: As we drew closer, I saw it was a town of dense construction. Vast huddles of sagging gambrel roofs and peaked gables gave a sense of wormy decay, that worsened closer to the waterfront*. And out there, I glimpsed a long, black line scarcely rising above the water. This, I knew, must be Devil's Reef. As I looked, a subtle, sense of curiosity mixed with...a grim repulsion flled me. My view was quickly obscured by the tall and ominous buildings on the outskirts of the Innsmouth town line. As the bus shook down the main avenue, I saw no one on the streets. The whole town looked as if it were falling apart. At last, the bus came to a sudden halt outside of a tall once-colorful home. (OLMSTEAD looks out the “window”) The weathered sign on the lawn read: “The Gilman House”. Lights down on Area 1. Another slow jazz tune, broken by a bad signal, comes up, it is raining harder here. Lights up on Area 3, The Gilman House. A young man, THOMAS is sitting behind his desk, reading a worn paperback. OLMSTEAD enters, wet. A radio behind the counter plays the tune we transitioned with, he turns it down. The rain outside has picked up, OLMSTEAD is nearly soaked. THOMAS: Wet out there? 21

OLMSTEAD: Just a bit. Can I hang this? Removes his coat. THOMAS: (Smiling) Be my guest. Are you here for a room? OLMSTEAD: No, I'm just passing through. THOMAS: I saw your bus pulling in, should have known you'd be heading for Arkham. Can I check your bag? OLMSTEAD: Please. Puts his attache on the counter. THOMAS: And who knows, you might fnd a reason to stay. Mr..? THOMAS touches OLMSTEAD's hand as he takes the bag, they share a moment. OLMSTEAD: Olmstead...ITHOMAS pulls the bag to his side of the counter. THOMAS: That'll be a dime. OLMSTEAD: ...Right. OLMSTEAD hands it over and THOMAS stows the bag. While his back is turned, OLMSTEAD picks up the book from the counter. OLMSTEAD: Looks like I caught you reading. “The King in Yellow” what's this about? THOMAS: Hard to say, the frst act was so boring. Some kind of fancy masked party, I guess. OLMSTEAD: Sounds kind of dry. THOMAS: I like it.

OLMSTEAD: (Setting it back down) Say uh, how much do you know about Innsmouth? THOMAS: Depends. Anything in particular, Mr. Olmstead? OLMSTEAD: (Not knowing where to start) Well...it's history, I suppose. THOMAS: Some of the buildings are real old. This one's built over hundred years ago, to hear Mr. Gilman tell it. OLMSTEAD goes to a window. OLMSTEAD: This one across the street's practically fallen apart. THOMAS: That's the old school house, came down last year. OLMSTEAD: (Snaps a photo of it) The snow? THOMAS: (Shaking his head) I wasn't here that night. Hallowe'en. OLMSTEAD: (Thinks for a moment) It's the 31st today, isn't it? That was exactly six months ago. THOMAS: What's that they say about Walpurgis night? Halfway to Halloween, Halfway to Hell. OLMSTEAD: That's a very old saying. I'm surprised you know it. THOMAS: Ayuh. My uncle used to say it to scare me, when I's a kid. OLMSTEAD: Do you live here in town, Thomas? THOMAS: Mr. Gilman gives me a room, but I stay with my Aunt and Uncle in Arkham whenever I can. (Lowering his voice) Truth is Innsmouth kinda weirds me out. OLMSTEAD: (In confdence) It is bit depressing.

THOMAS: The worst thing about it, is the smell. Some of it rolls off the sea, some of it's from that damned refneryOLMSTEAD: The Marsh refnery? THOMAS: You know it? OLMSTEAD: I...have an interest in Innsmouth jewelry. THOMAS: I've seen some it, but folks mostly keep to themselves around here, not really the “dress up” type. Marsh is something of a local legend, though. That's him right here. (He points to a framed photograph on the wall) OLMSTEAD: (Leans forward, reading) Prize marlin, 1902, huh. I hear he doesn't get out much these days. THOMAS: Well, he's gotta be close to 100. But I hear, he's still as sharp as a tack. You know he speaks seven languages? OLMSTEAD: (Smiling) No, I hadn't heard that one. A creaking noise comes from below. OLMSTEAD: (looking down) Are we the only ones here? THOMAS: As far as I know. OLMSTEAD: (distracted moving about the room looking at the foor) Huh. Seems like a nice job. Quiet. THOMAS: If you're a man who appreciates privacy, Mr. Olmstead. OLMSTEAD: Robert. Call me Robert. THOMAS: Thomas. Thomas Morine. They shake, THOMAS holds on for a moment too long, OLMSTEAD speaks to end the moment.

OLMSTEAD: Tell me, Thomas, is there a library in Innsmouth? THOMAS: Uh, (chuckling) no library in Innsmouth, no museum or chamber of commerce either. Just townies and sand. (As an afterthought) And drunks. OLMSTEAD: Drunks? Is bootleg liquor a problem in Innsmouth? THOMAS: No, but prohibition is. Both laugh THOMAS: It gets worse north of the river, the buildings and the locals. OLMSTEAD: How do you mean? THOMAS: Well...the look. OLMSTEAD: Yes, I saw it in the driver, Sargent. What is it? THOMAS: It's weird. Some of the children seem...almost normal, but the look starts to set in around puberty. OLMSTEAD: In the eyes. THOMAS: And the neck, that's the most obvious. OLMSTEAD: What causes it? THOMAS: (Sighs) Some say it's disease or deformity...I don't know. But I do know, it gets worse as they get older. You know how old people seem to...get shorter? (OLMSTEAD smiles, nods) Well, Innsmouth people seem to just shrivel up. And once someone gets old enough, you start seeing less and less of them. Let's just say...they keep the more extreme cases at home. OLMSTEAD: That's...disturbing information, Thomas.

THOMAS: You stick around long enough, you'll see more than that. OLMSTEAD: How do you mean? THOMAS: Ah, you know...there's a lot of talk about this place and I try not to hear most of it, Mr. Gilman doesn't pay me to spin yarn. OLMSTEAD: Right. How did you get this job? They dislike outsiders so much, why hire one? THOMAS: My charm, for people like you. OLMSTEAD: People like me? THOMAS: Locals don't stay here, outsiders do. Who would you rather get a room from, me or Joseph Sargent? OLMSTEAD: When you put it like that, I have to pick the more handsome man. THOMAS: Mr. Olmstead... OLMSTEAD: Well I'm not saying much, Ol' Sarge looks a bit like a dead fsh, doesn't he? THOMAS laughs. THOMAS: You'll want to be careful talking like that too much, Innsmouth folk are real proud. OLMSTEAD: Proud of what? The gold? THOMAS: And they defnitely don't like people asking questions. OLMSTEAD: Sorry, Innsmouth has my curiosity. THOMAS: What's that they say about curiosity again? OLMSTEAD thinks. 26

OLMSTEAD: When it rains it pours? THOMAS: Something like that. OLMSTEAD: Say, think you could to draw me a map of this place? THOMAS: You have someplace in mind? OLMSTEAD: Well, the Order of Dagon not to put too fne a point on it. I'd...like to take a look. THOMAS: I'd stay away from there, if I were you. People that ain't got business, tend to get the cold shoulder. Why don't you check out the waterfront instead? At low tide you can make out the reef real clear. OLMSTEAD: I saw it when I was coming into town, it's got to be a mile out. THOMAS: Or more. You know the kids around here swim out to that thing. OLMSTEAD: No! THOMAS: Like fsh to water. The high school swim team used to take state every year, before the school shut down. OLMSTEAD: Huh, I'm impressed. There a nice view from the waterfront? THOMAS: If the rain'll let up. OLMSTEAD: Draw me a map...to the park. THOMAS: (Pulling out a pen and napkin) I'll have to, the street signs 'round here are as old as sin. Now, here's the Gilman house and...the post offce, understand? Now if you follow this street, Maple over, around the Landing, you'll be able to make your way down the shore...through this old neighborhood, see? OLMSTEAD: And the Order of Dagon? 27

THOMAS: It's uh, over here. Sort of...off napkin. OLMSTEAD: Are they dangerous? THOMAS: It takes two to make an accident Mr. Olmstead. Olmstead becomes serious. OLMSTEAD: Has something happened here before? THOMAS: Nothing happens in Innsmouth. It's a boring town... OLMSTEAD: But? THOMAS: But...every once in a while, you'll hear something. Something like, a census taker went out north of town, never came back. Or a prohibition offcer was seen snooping around the Refnery. They found him on the beach twenty miles south, drowned. Not a mark on him. Innsmouth isn't always friendly. I like you Mr. Olmstead, I want you to be careful. Hands over the map. OLMSTEAD: Thanks. THOMAS: No trouble. Do you need anything else? OLMSTEAD: I don't think so. THOMAS snakes around the counter. THOMAS: Well, I might have something I could offer you...if your interested. OLMSTEAD: Yes? THOMAS comes closer. THOMAS: I know that a man sometimes needs to relieve himself of certain stresses, you understand that don't you, Mr. Olmstead? (OLMSTEAD only nods) And the law, and what people think doesn't begin to cover all of what a man is, or wants. 28

OLMSTEAD: (His mouth is dry) What are you saying? THOMAS: Well, that you look like you could use a drink. OLMSTEAD: A drink? THOMAS: I could sell you some. Not a lot, but... He pulls out a pint bottle of brown liquid. OLMSTEAD: You...make it yourself ? THOMAS: Yeah, me and my uncle. Does the trick. (Jiggles the bottle) Beat. OLMSTEAD is unsure. OLMSTEAD: Uh...(Laughing, in spite of himself) Fine! Sold, I'll take a bottle, how much? THOMAS: One dollar. OLMSTEAD: Alright. I've...never done anything like this before. THOMAS: Just because Woodrow quit, doesn't mean you have to. THOMAS hands OLMSTEAD the bottle. They shake. OLMSTEAD: Thank you. THOMAS: Thank you. Have a nice walk. Come see me before you go. OLMSTEAD: I will, I like you. THOMAS: (Smiling) And you'll need your bag. OLMSTEAD: Of course. I'll see you. 29

THOMAS nods, OLMSTEAD exits. THOMAS sighs as he picks up his book again. THOMAS: (Shaking his head) That's a damn shame. Lights out

Scene III Lights up on Area 1, OLMSTEAD sits again at the desk, he speaks to the audience more directly. OLMSTEAD: I had no intention of going to the waterfront. As soon as I was out of view of the Gilman House, I headed north towards the tall black spire in the center of town.* (A photo of the spire is projected on the screen) One of the things I remember most clearly, even now is the smell. The stench of the place was almost unbearable, a cross between rotten fsh and fresh seaweed. But I was eager to stretch my legs and Innsmouth, had me at attention. I took in as much as I could given the weather, keeping one eye out for the old drunk, Zadok Allen, for whatever I had heard of Innsmouth so far, the jewelry I had seen seemed echoed in my mind. Close to the Gilman House, the buildings were quite old, and must have dated back to the 1600s. As the rain let up I found myself almost charmed by the decaying piece of history that was the cause of so much rumor and suspicion. Soon, a thin sprinkling of people became visible on the sidewalks. Innsmouth locals sporadically walk past the desk throwing OLMSTEAD suspicious glares No one spoke to me as I made my way through the maze of dense alleys and sporadically paved streets. Once or twice I saw listless people working in gardens or digging, far out on the beach. (OLMSTEAD stands and moves to center stage) One thing that puzzled and disturbed me, was that even in some of the best-preserved mansions, the third-story and attic windows were tightly boarded up, and the words of the boy at the Gilman House rang through my mind. Were some of the â&#x20AC;&#x153;extreme casesâ&#x20AC;? of the Innsmouth look hiding just behind those nailed shutters? (He shivers in the cold, turning his collar up to the wind and moves upstage)...shortly, I found myself at the Order of Dagon.* (He takes a photo upward, and a projected photo of the Order of Dagon comes up on the cyclorama) The clock tower chimes four. He regards the projection. In Area 1, the circle is in low light, the Priestess and the two cultists enter. The building was old...17th Century cold stone, ominous. The markings of the old masonic hall, faded, but still legible. I have no doubt the building was a cathedral or temple of some kind before that. The streets adjacent to the building were silent, but as I lingered I detected a faint noise, rhythmic like a kind of singing. (He moves slowly downstage center regarding Area 1 as the Hall) I followed it around the building, but I saw no one. Listening closely, I determined the noise was coming from inside the church. There was a door, around the back, leading down to the church basement and I...it was already open, just a crack, and as I looked inside, a certain...object crossed that darkness; a living object. Area 1, lights up a little more. The Priestess and two cultists march in and out of the light chanting low. She wears one of the large headdresses. OLMSTEAD slowly approaches, enthralled. He reaches out his hand to them, ready to take a snapshot with the other, before he is interrupted by a voice, and a hand pulling him back by the collar, the lights on the basement cut to black. OLMSTEAD is pulled back into the Center stage light. Two local boys, 17 or 18, have OLMSTEAD by the collar. They are clearly affected by their worsening Innsmouth look, their voices are scratchy. They wear simple uniforms, the chanting continues quietly as underscore. DEREK: What are you doing here?

OLMSTEAD: I was just looking around, I was...(mumbling) DEREK: What was that? OLMSTEAD: -I'm from out of town. DEREK: Yeah, we kinda guessed. LOGAN: Nice camera. OLMSTEAD: ...Thanks. LOGAN: (Reaching for it) Let me see. OLMSTEAD: No. It's expensive. LOGAN: I'll be gentle. DEREK: What's your business? OLMSTEAD: I'm just...passing through. LOGAN: I bet. Fancy camera like that. DEREK: Shit, you think he's the law? LOGAN: Or a reporter. OLMSTEAD: No, listen. I'm notDEREK pushes him back against the wall. DEREK: Stay. 32

LOGAN snatches the camera from around his neck, breaking the strap. OLMSTEAD: Hey! That's mine! LOGAN: I'm just looking. OLMSTEAD steps forward only to be pushed back by DEREK. OLMSTEAD: You- be careful! LOGAN: Yeah, yeah... He inspects the camera greedily. DEREK: So what are you, then? OLMSTEAD: I'm...nothing. A student. I've been traveling. DEREK: So you thought you'd come to Innsmouth, take a look for yourself ? OLMSTEAD: No- (LOGAN snaps a photo of OLMSTEAD*) I studied history, I'm just...curious. DEREK lets go of him slowly but stays in his face, blocking his way, OLMSTEAD looks him right in the eyes. DEREK: Curious? OLMSTEAD: Yeah. DEREK: You get a good look around yet? See the sights? OLMSTEAD: The town's...very old. A lot of history. DEREK: What else? OLMSTEAD: (Sarcastically) Many beautiful, period homes.

LOGAN: This place is a dump. He takes a few more snapshots of the city* DEREK: Don't look at him, look at me. You know what building this is? (Points up) LOGAN: Derek... DEREK: Shh, he already knows. Don't you? OLMSTEAD: The Hall...The Order of Dagon. DEREK: That's right. You know what we do in there? OLMSTEAD: (Shaking his head) Honestly, I'm just passing through, I'll be gone in two hours. DEREK: I wouldn't count on that. OLMSTEAD: What do you mean? LOGAN: Send him on his way man, let's get out of here. DEREK: Nah...I want to hear what he knows. What'd you hear about Innsmouth? LOGAN: Derek! OLMSTEAD: Nothing. Rumors. DEREK: I love rumors. OLMSTEAD: (With a smirk) They say...the fshing's not what it used to be. They laugh at that.

DEREK: I like this one! What did you hear about us? OLMSTEAD: Nothing. DEREK: You didn't hear a thing about Innsmouth folk? OLMSTEAD: Closed off maybe but you know, show me a small town that isn't. DEREK: What else? OLMSTEAD: Listen, just let me go back to the Gilman House, I'll wait there. Hell, I'll wait on the damn bus. DEREK: Tell me what they say about us. OLMSTEAD: Just, let me go. I'll call the police. DEREK: Go ahead, if Mowry's not piss-drunk, might make it before dark. LOGAN: He's got a bum back! DEREK: Yeah, bum's right. Hey, maybe we ought to bring him in ourselves. LOGAN: Derek, no! DEREK: Grow a spine, man! Hey, get a photo of him and meDEREK tries to put his arm around OLMSTEAD, who pushes him away and makes a grab for the camera, it falls to the street, taking a photo through the cracked lens.* The chanting stops. LOGAN: Hey! OLMSTEAD tries to scramble away, DEREK grabs his coat, spinning him back around. OLMSTEAD swings as he does, whacking DEREK in the ear, he lets go, backing up, LOGAN approaches slowly, OLMSTEAD moves backwards upstage.

OLMSTEAD: Get away from me! (then, under his breath) God damned freaks. LOGAN: What did you just say? OLMSTEAD: You're a bunch of freaks! That what you wanna hear? DEREK: (checking for blood) You're gonna wish you hadn't said that. OLMSTEAD: And your town stinks! It's like a rotted fsh house. OLMSTEAD is up against a wall. He puts up his fsts and takes a boxing stance. DEREK: (Grinning) You got no idea what's coming do you? OLMSTEAD: Stay back! DEREK throws a punch, but OLMSTEAD ducks, DEREK whacks his fst into the wall, OLMSTEAD swings at LOGAN again, but he's ready for it this time, maneuvering OLMSTEAD into a hammerlock, holding him for DEREK, who shakes his hand, swearing. OLMSTEAD cries out, struggles. LOGAN: You alright Derek? DEREK: Yeah...fuck! Yeah. Hold him there. OLMSTEAD: Ah! Let me go! Logan kicks him in the calf, OLMSTEAD lets out a yelp. DEREK: Hey...hey! Calm down, calm down. OLMSTEAD: What do you want? DEREK: Shh...this is what happens now. DEREK pulls out a switch blade, clicks it. OLMSTEAD: No! Please! Help! 36

DEREK: No, no...none of that, now. I'm only gonna cut you a little bit. OLMSTEAD: Don't! HELP! DEREK: It'll only take a second. ZADOK: (off) What are you boys doing?! ZADOK ALLEN has come around the corner. He is a dark-skinned Jewish man in his 60s, and speaks with a Yiddish accent. He has shaggy hair, a large beard, and many coats. DEREK doesn't turn. LOGAN releases OLMSTEAD, pats him on the back. LOGAN: Just talking. Isn't that right? OMSTEAD rubs his arm silently. ZADOK: You boys run along, this man has places to be, things to be doing. More important than you two. LOGAN: Mind your own business, old man. DEREK: (Under his breath) Kike. ZADOK: Do you boys hear that? DEREK: The hell are you talking about? ZADOK: Listen. (Silence) The music, it's over. They have stopped for the day. (The boys look to each other) I'm sure you two are being missed. By your mothers, yes? And your father, Charles, he will be waiting, yes? LOGAN: Shit. ZADOK: Maybe you should run along, to the front of the Hall. LOGAN moves to go, but DEREK remains.

OLMSTEAD: Better listen to him, wouldn't want you to get in trouble. DEREK: We ain't the ones in trouble, stranger. Be seeing you. (Spits to the side, exits with LOGAN) OLMSTEAD watches them go before releasing and chuckling a little bit. He looks to ZADOK ALLEN. OLMSTEAD: Thank you, I...I don't know what I would have done. Robert Olmstead. He puts out his hand, Allen does not take it. ZADOK: What are you doing here? Where do you come from, eh? OLMSTEAD: I came on the bus. ALLEN grabs his camera off the ground for him, inspecting it. ZADOK: You're a reporter? OLMSTEAD: No, just...curious. ZADOK stares at him for a moment, then gives the camera back. ZADOK: A bad place for it. You know what happens to you if someone important catches you with this? OLMSTEAD shakes his head. ZADOK: Neither do I, that's how deep they bury you. OLMSTEAD: (Shaking himself off) I didn't mean to intrude. ZADOK: (Waving him off) Heh, I don't give a damn, but I don't want trouble. Too much trouble here. OLMSTEAD: What kind? ZADOK: Heh. How long until your bus? OLMSTEAD: Couple of hours, maybe more. 38

ZADOK: I suggest you spend it inside, young man. He turns to leave. OLMSTEAD: Are you Zadok Allen? Zadok stops. ZADOK: That would depend. OLMSTEAD: I was told you were a kind of...expert on local history. Zadok turns. ZADOK: History, eh? OLMSTEAD: ...I understand you spoke with a Mrs. Tilton a few days ago. ZADOK: Oh, yes I remember her very well. OLMSTEAD: She's...an associate of mine. She said she...conducted some business with you. ZADOK: That was the last of it, if that's what you're getting at. OLMSTEAD: The gold? ZADOK: Marsh has been offering me twice what she pays, but I'll be damn before that shlemiel gets another dime out of me! A tin can falls to the ground from offstage. ZADOK looks around cautiously. OLMSTEAD: Is there a place we could talk? In private? ZADOK: Well, I'm not into anything...funny, if that's what you're thinking. OLMSTEAD: I have some questions, and I've been told you're a man who...knows certain things. He pulls out the neck of the bottle. 39

ZADOK: From time to time...(He glances over his shoulder then hisses) But not here! Put that away! ALLEN whispers harshly. ZADOK: Meet me at the waterfront park, 15 minutes. Walk back past the Gilman house -don't be followed. ZADOK exits USL, leaving OLMSTEAD alone at the foot of the church. The wind blows. He exits DSL, in a different direction than ZADOK. Lights out.

Scene IV Lights up on area 4, the park.. Shrubs surrounds the bench, which sits under a large oak tree, overlooking Innsmouth harbor. ZADOK is already seated on the bench, the sound of waves is louder here. OLMSTEAD enters and sheepishly approaches ZADOK, who is lost in the waves. OLMSTEAD: Hello. After a moment Zadok speaks. ZADOK: There is no one behind us? OLMSTEAD: (Looking) I wasn't followed. ZADOK: (Under his breath) Heh, eyes everywhere. OLMSTEAD: I'm sorry? ZADOK: (Finally looking up) Sit down, you are making me nervous. OLMSTEAD sits and waits a few moments before speaking. OLMSTEAD: What can you tell me about InnsZADOK: No one knows. (Silence hangs in the air) Even less care. The things that happen here. None of it adds up to anything. Nothing makes sense. There is a story here, yes...but not one you would believe. (Another long silence) You have heard the rumors of this place? OLMSTEAD: ...a few, I'd like to hear from you though. ZADOK: Heh, an old man like me who sees everything, must choose what he tells, or he doesn't get to be so old. You see? OLMSTEAD: I...think I understand. OLMSTEAD pulls out the bottle, and sets it down on the bench between them, after a moment ZADOK inspects it, smells it. ZADOK: Did you make this yourself ? 41

OLMSTEAD: I bought it here in town. ZADOK: (Frowning) Not on Bellow street? They shut him down last June. OLMSTEAD: No, the boy in the Gilman house. ZADOK: The cobblestone boy? Heh, I would not have thought he would have a taste for such things. (He takes a small drink, regards the bottle, then takes another, larger) She remembered me, did she? OLMSTEAD: Ms. Tilton? Yes, she...spoke very highly of you. ZADOK: Heh, told you to come see me didn't she? Looked like a yente from the frst. But a beautiful one, yes. To her. He raises the bottle before taking another drink, offers it to OLMSTEAD, he drinks, reluctantly. ZADOK drinks again, not offering this time, after they sit in silence for a moment, ZADOK looking out to sea. As ZADOK tells his story he offers the occasional drink to OLMSTEAD, who accepts more frequently as the story progresses. ZADOK points out to sea. ZADOK: That is where it all began. OLMSTEAD: The reef ? ZADOK: Devil's Reef. The Gate to Hell, the fsherman used to call it. My father. After that reef, it is a cliff. A sheer drop, straight to the bottom. OLMSTEAD: How deep? ZADOK: Already you are asking questions with no answers. No sounding line has ever touched the bottom. That is where the trouble of Innsmouth is. (He drinks) Marsh found too much out there. You know Obed Marsh? OLMSTEAD: He runs the refnery. ZADOK: He runs the town, or used to. But that was before...

OLMSTEAD: Before? ZADOK: (Quickly) Before he got old. We all grow old, you too young man, one day you'll wake up and (snaps) So you know Marsh and you know the gold. What else have you heard of this place? OLMSTEAD: It's a fshing town, even through hardship. A new religion settled in, the Order of Dagon, to some controversy. ZADOK: And the people? OLMSTEAD: The locals look...strange, due to some (Looks away)...unknown affiction. ZADOK: Heh, you know nothing. OLMSTEAD: I know Captain Marsh is at the middle of it. And I know that the gold from here is more than just pretty jewelry. Beat. ZADOK: And how do you know this? OLMSTEAD: I...I just know. As soon as I saw it, I knew. ZADOK:

Drinks

Heh, you are not the frst, the gold has a strange glimmer, very pretty on a woman. This Tilton, though, she buys for a museum. It all should be melted, down to nothing, and poured out to sea.

OLMSTEAD: It seemed very unique, like nothing else. ZADOK: And you know where it all came from? OLMSTEAD: I know he traded with islanders, in the South sea. He even married one. ZADOK: You are getting ahead of the story, Mr. Olmstead. Things begin earlier. Around 1840 or 41, I owned a small shop in town, up on Talker street, it was not much, but clean, for selling trinkets, 43

gifts, antiques, things like this, very nice things. The fshermen in town, back then, they were always out to sea, and had no time for their wives. I would fnd out what these women would like, a bauble, a birdcage, anything, and I make sure to have it when husbands come, in this way I make many friends. OLMSTEAD: Did you ever sell Innsmouth gold? ZADOK: At frst, yes. I was quite close in this time, to Matthew Eliot, Obed's frst mate onboard the Elizabeth...or the Lysa or some such thing. We were drinking one night in the back of my shop and he showed me a bracelet, like nothing I had ever seen, the craftsmanship, the beauty. I made him an offer and I asked him where he found such a thing. (Drinks) He told me about the islands, out on the far side of Otaheite, where not many ships would go. Two islands. One with no inhabitants, only statues. OLMSTEAD: Statues? ZADOK: Of creatures none had ever seen before. Monsters. All old, crumbling, and engraved with strange symbols not even Marsh could decipher. So, they sailed East from the ruined island and found another, this one a paradise. A small island, the tribe maybe ffty or sixty, they had not encountered many ships. And these people, they were thriving! On other islands, they were rationing or starving, but here, they could haul in net after net. And what's more, they were rich! The look on Obed's face when the chief brought boxes of gold jewelery and coins for blankets, hah! (Drinks) OLMSTEAD: But, where was the tribe getting the gold? The markings I've seen don't resemble any known South PacifcZADOK: None of them would talk as to where they were getting it. But Obed began to trade with this tribe exclusively. OLMSTEAD: What did Marsh fnd down there? ZADOK: Find? Gold, a wife, a mystery. Who knows? OLMSTEAD: You know. Where it was coming from. Where it is coming from. ZADOK: This part of history is...not so pleasant. Maybe I tell you about the harbor instead, this whole section here is man-made, you know? 44

OLMSTEAD: I don't care about the harbor. ZADOK drinks, says nothing, OLMSTEAD looks away, frustrated. ZADOK: There are things on this earth that most people never hear about, and would not believe if they did. OLMSTEAD: You don't seem like the kind of person who cares if he's believed or not. (Zadok laughs) Tell me what he found on that island. ZADOK thinks for a moment, drinks. ZADOK: He found gods that would listen to a man's prayer. (OLMSTEAD gives him a cynical look) Remember, you asked the question. OLMSTEAD: Alright, I'll listen. ZADOK: One night, Obed traded to the Chief a barrel of whiskey and found out what the tribe was doing for this gold. What they were doing to each other for it...it is a very bad thing. OLMSTEAD: Sacrifces. ZADOK: You have heard of such things? OLMSTEAD: The people of the Fiji islands are known to strangle a woman if she becomes widowed. ZADOK: Truly? (OLMSTEAD nods) Why would they do this? OLMSTEAD: They believe in a god named Nanganga, that sits on the road to the afterlife, he has no tolerance for women who travel the road alone, so he lifts them up, and...breaks them. A sort of primitive belief. ZADOK: Perhaps...but together, a man and woman, they are better. In this life or after. OLMSTEAD: What were these people worshipping?

ZADOK: It is as we say, Yactmechen, or lost, something that is forbidden. (Drinks) The things from the ruined island, the idols. They would pay tribute. OLMSTEAD: I don't understand. ZADOK: (Sighs) This is only what I have heard: The chief would choose a person from the tribe, always a younger man or woman, and they would go out alone, and meet them on the shallows, in the inlets, where the streams meet the sea. OLMSTEAD: Who would they meet? ZADOK: They have no name...The Deep Ones, the Chief called them. Something from the old world, lurking on the bottom, worshipping darker and deeper things. OLMSTEAD: Do you believe that? ZADOK: I laughed when I heard, I thought, â&#x20AC;&#x153;what silly men in the jungleâ&#x20AC;?. I thought them like you, primitive. But Obed was not laughing. Whatever the truth, the gold was pouring in. He started the refnery in '43 and made a lot of work for Innsmouth folk. Marsh became popular here, he was once a very generous man. By then, the fsh here were sparse and we needed him. He ran for mayor unopposed in November, and after that, he had us. Next year he made regular trips down to the island, staying with the tribe, sometimes all night. OLMSTEAD: What was he doing out there? ZADOK: Marsh was learning, talking to the Chief. They became very close, these men, and one day, the Chief needed help. He pulled Marsh aside, it seemed he had some trouble with... with the others. OLMSTEAD: The Deep Ones. ZADOK: They wanted more, more than the occasional youth. To come up on the islands, twice a year to the ruins, October thirty-one andOLMSTEAD: April 30th. The sound of distant thunder rolls for a few seconds. 46

ZADOK: Yes, the chief was scared, he did not want this deal with the deep ones any longer. They had begun asking a price too high. OLMSTEAD: More sacrifce? ZADOK: In a way. They wanted the women, mostly the girls, and a few boys, the younger the better. OLMSTEAD: For what? ZADOK: What do you think? For breeding. OLMSTEAD: (Hesitant) That...that's insane! ZADOK: Yes. And yet, it is what they believed. That these things would come for them, if they did not agree. The Chief begged Marsh to take his daughter, Oleanna, in return for rifes, one for every man on the island. OLMSTEAD: How old was she? ZADOK: Old enough for Marsh. She...did not ft in so well, he kept her in the house most of the time. OLMSTEAD: What happened on the island? ZADOK: The last time Marsh went out past Otaheite, to bring the guns back to the Chief, he found the tribe vanished. No blood or bodies, they seemed to just disappear from the earth. Gone, without a trace. None but Obadiah and Oleanna Marsh, locked away in their mansion. OLMSTEAD: And the gold? ZADOK: All gone, not a coin on the island. And that gold...it was all that the town had. After a few months of tightening our belts...well, it did not seem so crazy when Marsh would go on at the pub after a town meeting. How to get all the fsh we could catch. All the gold we would need. (Pause) He began to win people over. OLMSTEAD: Even you? 47

ZADOK just looks out to the reef, he drinks, says nothing, OLMSTEAD thinks he might be thinking. Mr. Allen? No response. OLMSTEAD: Zadok? ZADOK: Shh...the waves. They listen for a moment. Then ZADOK begins again, slowly. ZADOK: Even me, yes. I knew there would be a price. I owned a shop for twenty years, everything comes with a price, everything. I thought we could pay it, that maybe it would be something small. My wife she was...none of us knew how far he would go or that he would take one of our own. Matthew tried to rally the town against him, but Marsh... OLMSTEAD: What did he do? ZADOK: He was smart. He started by running the Parson out of town. Then he made the methodist fellow quit, a few went North with him. No one saw Reverend Babcock again, if I recall. (Drinks) After that, it was easy, just pick someone who would not be missed. And in 1845, when smoke started coming out of the refnery chimney again, and that Spring, fsh began to swarm into Innsmouth harbor, who could explain our good fortune? OLMSTEAD: What are you saying? That Obed Marsh made a deal with these gods, these imaginary things? ZADOK: Don't believe me? I didn't either. All big talk, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Obed's drunk again, ranting about the cost of living and stories that wife of his told hi...and magic,â&#x20AC;? all horse's shit, right? But then tell me, why Captain Marsh and a dozen other men would row out to Devil's Reef in the dead of night, eh? And Obed carelessly dropping things down into the water where the bottom shoots down like a cliff, remember? OLMSTEAD: That can't be right. He was fshing or...or, there's a hundred explanationsZADOK: Maybe you'd like to be me in those days! Not believing, not wanting to believe, but hearing them all the same a howling on May-Eve, and, again the next Hallowe'en? Seeing the new priests wearing robes, covering themselves with new gold! Or one night you hear a man talk about going up to Landry, to have a talk with the sheriff, and the next day he is gone, like that! You don't believe, then you see these things...it was not so easy!

OLMSTEAD: If people saw what he was doing...I mean, didn't anyone try to stop him? ZADOK: In the beginning, Matthew made quite a stir to have Obed Marsh hauled in, to be put in jail, but for what? Who outside of Innsmouth would believe such a story? And by then Marsh had organized the Order of Dagon, and bought Masonic Hall part and parcel, most of the town was converted by then. ZADOK drinks. They sit in silence. OLMSTEAD: You knew what was going on...what did you do? ZADOK thinks. ZADOK: Suppose one night you saw something heavy heaved of Obed's dory and then learned next day a young fellow was missing from home? Did anybody ever see Hiram Gilman again? Or Nick Pierce, or Lully Waits? They were innocent, and you want to know what happened to the people that â&#x20AC;&#x153;tried to do somethingâ&#x20AC;?? That Summer some of the people in this town, did some looking and thinking for themselves. Too many folks missing, too much wild preaching and meeting of a Sunday...too much talk about the reef. This was 1846. OLMSTEAD: The plague. ZADOK: It was a plague yes, but we have a better word for it, tsuris, to become less. OLMSTEAD: A lot of people died? ZADOK: A lot of people were killed! OLMSTEAD: How? ZADOK: How do you think?! Marsh...out on the island, he learned how to call them from the deep, the devils...from the other side of the reef...he told them what was happening, how the town was turning against him, against them...and one night, a very hot night, when the air was still and charged...they came. From the deep, they came into our homes, and all of those who protested were taken. It was a plague, yes. I only survive because no one knew I disagreed, Eliot, Mowry, my wife she would say things, but I...too often I said nothing. He bows his head.

OLMSTEAD: ...what happened next? ZADOK: Whatever they wanted, who was to stop them? Even the lines Marsh drew before were scattered, the Deep Ones...they have had this place for some time. I don't think Marsh wanted this for us just the fsh and the gold, but he was greedy. We all were. Since then...the children have been growing up wrong, strange. OLMSTEAD: The Innsmouth look. ZADOK: Even the members of the order, born natural have been changing...more slowly, but still. Sometimes I think I imagine it, the look, that I'm just old...that I remember it all wrong, that the only thing in this town that doesn't make sense is me. I like that...but- But you've seen it too, eh? Worse to see it in the children. Old Mrs. Marsh had two herself that year, one boy who looked strange like the rest, but a girl as looked like anybody else...she was educated in Europe. Obed fnally got her married off by a trick to an Arkham man as did not suspect. Nobody will have anything to do with Innsmouth now. OLMSTEAD: What about the refnery? ZADOK: Barnabas Marsh that runs the refnery, Obed's grandson, by his son. Right now Barnabas is about changed. Can't shut his eyes any more, from what I hear. They say he still wears clothes, but he will take to the water soon. OLMSTEAD: The water? ZADOK: Most reach twenty or so and then...(he gestures out to the sea. Drinks, considers, drinks again) You want to know what the real horror is? Well, it isn't what the devils have done, but what they're going to do! They're bringing things up out of the water, now. They come into the town under the docks, have been for years. The houses north of the river between Water and Main Street are full of them, the devils and what they brought. There's tunnels, you see under the whole city, (He's getting worked up) from the warf to the EOD to the Baccus House...And when they get ready...when they get ready...have you...have you ever hear tell of a shoggoth? OLMSTEAD: Mr. Allen, IHe grabs OLMSTEAD

ZADOK: Hey! Do you hear me? Are you listening?! I tell you I know what they are! I saw them one night when I should have been sleep, it was moving and when they -ah! (He clutches his chest, struggles for breath) They keep it in a chest in the dark, the...pieces (He coughs roughly) What they're doing -agh! What they did to her...she never knew, ugh. (Breathing heavily with tears in his eyes) Always in the deep water, Marsh, he found out. Oh yes. Deep...deep in devil's reef. I...I...(Speaking low, in a kind of trance) Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn! (This bleeds into a violent coughing ft) ZADOK bends over double, retching, breathing laboriously. OLMSTEAD tries to help him. OLMSTEAD: Are you alright? Do you need a doctor? ZADOK: (breathing heavily) No...no. OLMSTEAD: Are you sure? I can go. ZADOK: Just...let me sit here awhile... OLMSTEAD: Alright. But if you'reThe bus horn rings out in the distance. OLMSTEAD: That's my bus... ZADOK: Go. OLMSTEAD: Are you sure you're alright? After a few moments ZADOK speaks. ZADOK: Any of that gin left? OLMSTEAD regards the bottle. OLMSTEAD: I'm afraid it's fnished. ZADOK seems disappointed. ZADOK: I'll be alright. (OLMSTEAD lingers for a moment, ZADOK doesn't want his sympathy, waves him away) Give a man some privacy!

OLMSTEAD: Alright. OLMSTEAD goes nowhere. ZADOK: You had better not keep Joe waiting. OLMSTEAD: Thank you, Mr. Allen, for telling me your story. ZADOK: Ah, but, you don't believe it. OLMSTEAD: Not all of it. ZADOK: Then go. Get out of here! There's nothing for you. OLMSTEAD: Goodbye. ZADOK waves him off again. OLMSTEAD lingers for a moment before exiting. ZADOK looks out to sea, rubbing his chest and begins singing a song under his breath, as the sound of waves gets louder. Lights fade on ZADOK. Lights up on OLMSTEAD center stage for his monologue, he looks over his shoulder occasionally as he speaks, locals pass him by with suspicious looks. As he speaks lights come up on the ritual room where the desk has been pushed back, the two cultists are present, they draw another segment of the Mark of Dagon. OLMSTEAD: I can hardly describe the mood in which I was left by this episode. Mr. Allen was at once mad and pitiful, grotesque and terrifying. Tilton had prepared me for it, yet the reality left me none the less bewildered. Puerile though the story was, old Zadok's insane earnestness and horror had communicated to me a mounting unrest. Later I might sift the tale and extract some nucleus of historic allegory; just now I wished to put it out of my head, which had become foggy, the gin affecting me unexpectedly. I had not had a drink in over a year and with the hour growing late, the twilight streets seemed to sway slightly, and my head began to ache, dully. The locals I saw now gazed at me with a certain knowledge...I had to get away from there. Lights fade on center stage and Ritual room.

Scene V The Gilman House, evening. OLMSTEAD enters, he is having some trouble maintaining his balance, and his words are slurred slightly. THOMAS sits reading at the desk, he stands as OLMSTEAD enters, SARGENT is at the telephone. OLMSTEAD approaches the counter. OLMSTEAD: I need my bag, please. THOMAS: Well, just a minute, Mr. Sargent'd like to have a word with you. OLMSTEAD: The bus is leaving soon, isn't it? THOMAS: You'd better talk to Joe. OLMSTEAD: Please. THOMAS: I'm sorry... SARGENT hangs up the phone. Turns to OLMSTEAD. SARGENT: Afraid there's a problem. OLMSTEAD: Will we be leaving soon? SARGENT: That's the problem. Old hunk ain't startin'. OLMSTEAD: Well...what are you going to do about it? THOMAS: It's an old bus. It happens sometimes. OLMSTEAD: I don't understand. You can fx it, right? SARGENT: ...Ayuh. It's gonna take some time. Beat. OLMSTEAD: I'm expected. There are people waiting for me, you know. In Arkham. I'll be missed. 53

SARGENT: I'll get you there as soon as I can. OLMSTEAD: When? SARGENT: Tomorrow. Probably before noon. OLMSTEAD: (To Thomas) I'd like my bag please. THOMAS looks to SARGENT, he shakes his head. THOMAS: Tell you what, Mr. Olmstead, why don't I get you a key, for a room, on the house? I'm sure, Mr. GilmanOLMSTEAD: I don't want a room, I want my bag! Just please, give it to me, and I'll...I'll go. Be fne. He grips the counter, suddenly dizzy, he swallows hard, trying to steady himself. SARGENT: No other way out of town. OLMSTEAD: (eyes closed) I would rather not stay the night. THOMAS: (places his hand on OLMSTEAD's) It'll be alright, Mr. Olmstead, I stay here every night. OLMSTEAD: (looking up) You're a good kid. THOMAS: Let me get you that room key, okay? You can lie down for a minutes upstairs? OLMSTEAD: I don't feel so well. THOMAS: You don't look so well, you just need to lie down. OLMSTEAD: Water. THOMAS: Alright.

THOMAS motions to SARGENT, who rolls his eyes before moving offstage. OLMSTEAD: What was...in that gin? THOMAS comes around to help OLMSTEAD. THOMAS: Oh, you know, Juniper berries, orange peels...enough grain alcohol to choke a horse. OLMSTEAD laughs, has trouble standing. THOMAS puts an arm around him, moving him to the couch. THOMAS: Here we go... OLMSTEAD: Sorry I shouted. THOMAS: It's alright. OLMSTEAD: No, you've been good to me. He sets OLMSTEAD down. OLMSTEAD's hand lingers on THOMAS' neck. THOMAS: There, that better? OLMSTEAD: Yes...this town is strange. THOMAS: You have no idea. OLMSTEAD chuckles. OLMSTEAD: I found Zadok Allen. THOMAS: Oh, yeah? OLMSTEAD: He had a lot to say, loved the gin. THOMAS: Did -did you give him some? OLMSTEAD: Damn near drank the whole bottle. 55

THOMAS curses under his breath. Joe enters with a glass of water, sets it down next to OLMSTEAD. THOMAS crosses to him, they discuss something heatedly downstage. OLMSTEAD is fading fast. OLMSTEAD: Everything alright? (They ignore him) Gentlemen? I'm...I'm having a some trouble seeing...Hello? (They regard him warily, the phone begins to ring) Hello? ...Help? SARGENT picks up the receiver. SARGENT: Gilman House? Yes, sir. Yes sir, right here. Fine. Yes. Well, if he didn't he's one heavy sleeper. Ayuh. Alright. (Hangs up) THOMAS: Well? SARGENT: Be here soon. They regard OLMSTEAD, who is now half laying on the couch, nearing unconscious. THOMAS: I really liked this one. SARGENT: Hm. They move about the stage, tidying up, laying OLMSTEAD out, pulling out his valise, etc. as single low piano note plays. Ping. Ping. Ping. Silence. Ping. Ping. Ping. Silence. Ping. Ping. Ping. Stage darkness, time passes. The door opens, MARSH enters. He is old, hunched over, but with his cane, gets around quickly. He wears a large coat, glasses, a scarf and hat. He is well covered but clearly affected by the Innsmouth look. THOMAS puts the counter between them. SARGENT greets MARSH as he enters. SARGENT: Y'ha-n. MARSH: Thlei. You have him sedated? SARGENT: Yes, sir. MARSH crosses to OLMSTEAD, looks him in the eyes. MARSH: Can he hear me now? SARGENT looks at THOMAS. THOMAS: Yes, but he can't move. For now.

MARSH: Good. We've waited a long time for you young man. How long has he been like this? SARGENT: A few minutes. MARSH: It should have taken affect immediately. THOMAS: He...didn't drink it all. MARSH is clearly angry. He approaches the counter. Joe works to conceal a grin. MARSH: Oh? How much did he take? THOMAS: It was enough, you can smell it on his breath for god's sake. MARSH: How much did he take? THOMAS: I don't know, I couldn't get him to stick around. MARSH regards THOMAS for a moment before turning to SARGENT. MARSH: Where did he go? SARGENT: Straight to the Hall, nearly walked in on the preparation. THOMAS: I drew him the map to the waterfront and back. I told himMARSH: Quiet! (to SARGENT) Who did he speak to? SARGENT: The Mowry boy. Derek Waits. Zadok Allen. MARSH: Allen? What did they speak of ? SARGENT: I couldn't get too close. They shared the gin.

MARSH: Oh, yes? (Laughs. Looks to OLMSTEAD) Useful boy. Have you checked on the Jew? SARGENT: He's passed out. Memorial Park. MARSH: Send the boys out there later tonight. Right now, bring him downstairs. (to THOMAS) Is everything prepared? THOMAS: Just as you asked. MARSH: Then you are dismissed. THOMAS: ButMARSH: Do not come downstairs tonight. THOMAS: Are you going to hurt him? MARSH turns from THOMAS to regard OLMSTEAD. MARSH: We only harm who we must. And sometimes we must. MARSH begins to undress. OLMSTEAD makes a groaning sound. MARSH: What's he saying? SARGENT bends down, then shakes his head. SARGENT: Something about Arkham, sounds like...Tillman? MARSH: Tilton. He's saying Tilton. Come, Mr. Sargent, there isn't much time now. SARGENT: Yes, sir. SARGENT bends down to lift OLMSTEAD, MARSH begins to hum a tune, undoing his scarf and hat, we don't quite get to see his face. OLMSTEAD makes what little noise he can, a slight whimpering as lights fade to back.

Scene VI The ritual room, night. The chalk drawing is complete, the desk is upstage. 10-15 Hooded cultists equipped with candles and lanterns food the room, surround the circle, and begin chanting, quietly. In the center, a large black curtain hangs over something. A hooded JOSEPH SARGENT in stands beside it, his head bowed. There is an air of hushed anticipation. Something moves beneath the curtain. The PRIESTESS comes forward out of the crowd. She motions, toward two others who bring out a large wooden chest. They carry it down stage center, and place it on a small platform and rejoin the crowd. The PRIESTESS turns to the assembly looking at each cultist, the chanting fades and she begins. PRIESTESS: Beneath the sea, in his house at Ashad, Dagon lies, fallen. CULTISTS: (In unison) Baal-Dagon! PRIESTESS: Dagon, who fell before and after the Elder Things. CULTISTS: Seven times seven cycles of sleep! PRIESTESS: Sleep, in the city of Y'ha-nthlei-Ashad. Until the Lords of Dagon assemble. CULTISTS: Baal-Dagon! She turns back to the dark curtain. PRIESTESS: For the offering of a great sacrifce, in His name. She motions to SARGENT, who removes the sheet in one motion. Underneath is OLMSTEAD naked, strapped to a vertical platform by his wrists, ankles, and abdomen. He shifts, groggily. The PRIESTESS takes a step towards him. OLMSTEAD: (Mumbling) What...h-hello? PRIESTESS: And there shall come the sound of a cry from the gate of the fshes. OLMSTEAD: Where am I? PRIESTESS: A howling from the second quarter. OLMSTEAD: What...what's going on?! The PRIESTESS acknowledges him, and looks about to answer. 59

PRIESTESS: In the fouls of emptiness, the priests of Dagon will come again... She reaches out and tenderly touches his face. He squirms, but can not get away. OLMSTEAD: What are you doing? NoPRIESTESS: (tenderly) The sons of God shall have intercourse with the sons of man. OLMSTEAD: Please... CULTISTS: Baal-Dagon! OLMSTEAD: God... PRIESTESS: And bring forth the mighty ones from eternity. CULTISTS: Baal-Dagon! OLMSTEAD: (Beginning to panic) Help! Help me! PRIESTESS: And they shall adorn the heads of man and Dagon. She motions and two Cultists approach OLMSTEAD and paint him with their hands. His jaw and forehead with markings, symbols on his abdomen, and lines extending down his arms and legs. The paint glows faintly in the darkness. OLMSTEAD gets some in his mouth, spits. OLMSTEAD: Stop! Please, let me go! PRIESTESS: In the silence of the night... CULTISTS: In his house at Ashad! PRIESTESS: Lord Dagon shall rise! She approaches OLMSTEAD, reaching out to him, but not quite touching.

OLMSTEAD: Please, don't! PRIESTESS: We have waited for you. (He tries to turn from her) OLMSTEAD: (tearing up) Please, I didn't do anything... PRIESTESS: (Looking him in the eyes) You do not know your destiny. OLMSTEAD: I just want to go home. PRIESTESS: (Touching his temple) Shh...soon you will be able hear the waves, even in here. That is our true home. Your true home. OLMSTEAD: (Screaming upward) Help me! Somebody help me! PRIESTESS: Do not be afraid of what is inside you. Of what we will unlock tonight...it will change your very dreams. OLMSTEAD: Jesus! PRIESTESS: Shh...there is no one to hear you. OLMSTEAD: (Struggling less now) Somebody...god... PRIESTESS: Your false god is not here. OLMSTEAD begins to weep, his tears making the paint run. PRIESTESS: It will be easier, if you relax. OLMSTEAD: Why are you doing this? PRIESTESS: For our Lord!

CULTISTS: Baal-Dagon! PRIESTESS: To tell the story of his rise and his fall, and to uphold his agreement. OLMSTEAD: You- you're crazy! It's not real! Silence in the hall, but for one cackling voice of laughter. MARSH steps forward, handing his lantern, to a nearby cultist. He pulls back his hood, his head a greyish beige, in the light his eyes appear even more sunken. MARSH: Have you ever been surprised before? OLMSTEAD: (weakly) I don't believe in any of this. MARSH: You will see, as we all have. OLMSTEAD: (muttering) Things from the sea...it doesn't... MARSH approaches him. MARSH: Do you know me? OLMSTEAD doesn't reply, only continues muttering. OLMSTEAD: It couldn't...we'd have found it...I...I...didn't... MARSH gently turns OLMSTEAD's head towards him. MARSH: Do you know my face? (OLMSTEAD stares) Do you know who I am? OLMSTEAD: (With diffculty) M-Marsh. MARSH: You do know me. OLMSTEAD: Your picture. The Marlin. MARSH: Yes. Of course...another life. (He turns away) But you will know us all very soon. And Him.

CULTISTS: Baal-Dagon! OLMSTEAD: No! Stop! MARSH: You can not obstruct fate, Robert. But you may meet it. OLMSTEAD: What are you going to do? MARSH: (He looks to the chest) Bring something dead, to life. OLMSTEAD: I don't understand... PRIESTESS: (taking back the room) Tonight, with our telling and our bodies we pay tribute to the Deep Ones: To Lady Hydra, The Great Cthulhu, and the sleeping titan, Lord Dagon. The cultists begin chanting: Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Dagon Ashad wgah'nagl fhtagn And blow out the candles leaving only lanterns lit. As the story is told, shadow casts are projected on the cyclorama. PRIESTESS: In the time before man, there came from the darkness behind the stars, before the stars, old things. Elder Things. They came from the void with great power, and great minds!* Several cultists wearing green colored robes step forward, they wear dark amulets and bands. They take the stage in front of the Priestess, near the chest, and enact, the story being told. The remaining cultists make sound effects for the story. PRIESTESS: And they settled, far to the South, on the edge of this world* (Shadows: snowfall) They began to experiment, creating and destroying life (Shadows: their creations shift and become, eventually, the Shuggoth) But the earth was not meant for them, they were merely playing games, playing at gods! (The Elder Actors stand tall, hooded. An assistant brings forth to the Priestess her tiara, much like the one TILTON had shown OLMSTEAD previously, she dons it. Another is brought out for MARSH, who stands next to the PRIESTESS. As soon as they appear onstage. A shrill note plays three times and OLMSTEAD reacts to their presence,; head pain and a burning deep inside of his stomach) OLMSTEAD: Please stop! PRIESTESS: The true rulers of earth, our true lords, came after. They were of the ocean.* (Shadows: waves. The Cultists making the noise) When they arrived, they gave the seas what was needed to create true life, The Deep Ones. And they lived alongside their creations, in the depths -cyclopean and terrible. (The cultists gather closer around the Priestess as she speaks, they are the Deep Ones, they whisper three 63

bars of the chant. The Elder Actors huddle closely around the chest protecting it. Shadows: a Cthulhu fgure roving the earth, the Priestess/Marsh and cultists approach the chest) Mother Hydra, Lord Cthulhu and Father Dagon drove the Elder Things to the edge of the sea and rained hell upon them, in the greatest war this world has ever known; (Shadow consumes the projection screen as the cultists draw nearer to the box, it stays black) Thousands of years of slaughter and dark, brooding magick. The Elder Things used their creations as weapons, the Shu'ggoth, Cthulhu using only the power within him and his allies. The cult chanting rises quickly to a pitch, as the 'Deep Ones' swallow the 'Elder Things' into their masses. They break away so that it is only the box, the Priestess, MARSH, and OLMSTEAD in the center. PRIESTESS: After a millennia of confict, the Elder Things sat defeated and with the coming of the Icefall, they retreated to their homes, to sleep. To dream. And to wait. It was in this time that the cities of Cthulhu, Hydra, and Dagon sank beneath the sea. As the world changed its shape, they, tired and wounded from an age of war, too began to dream. (Marsh departs the center stage, holding onto the Priestess' hand as long as possible. The chanting fades away) Many have risen and fallen while they slumber. Until one day, in his house, at Ashad, Lord Dagon shall rise, and awake his brethren. To reclaim the earth and place their creations where they have always belonged, close to the Gods. And the fnal era will begin. She places on OLMSTEAD's head, his own pieces of jewelry, different from the others. One around his neck, tightly. Shadows end. PRIESTESS: Do you see now? What you are? OLMSTEAD: Please... PRIESTESS: You are man. What we once were. OLMSTEAD: It hurts! PRIESTESS: Many years ago, beyond Devil's Reef and the colony it holds, we found something thought lost. A creation of the Elder Things, a Shu'ggoth. It was long dead, broken into pieces of stone nothing but a fossil...a ghost. (She tenderly touches the chest) But it has been retrieved, piece by piece. And ritual by ritual, we are bringing it to life. CULTISTS: Baal-Dagon! PRIESTESS: It is the key to Ashad, the sunken city...the holy place. Too dark and deep...But this creature...this abomination was created to fnd the cities and what sleeps within. It will lead us to the end of our faith and to the beginning of something ancient. And when our Lords awake, 64

they will see our offering, and do you know what they will give us, in return? OLMSTEAD shakes his head. MARSH: A new era. Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Dagon Ashad wgah'nagl fhtagn! The cultists, in unison pull back their robes to reveal their various degrees of the Innsmouth Look, their deep, dark eyes and bulging oval heads, many faces almost completely transformed. OLMSTEAD tries to turn away, but they are all around him. The cultists move in pairs to the sides of the stage. The PRIESTESS stands before OLMSTEAD. She removes her robe, her back to the audience. OLMSTEAD: No! Please! The other cultists begin to disrobe as well, they too are naked beneath their robes, and turn to their partners and embrace one another. Lights begin to fade everywhere but the center of the ritual room. PRIESTESS: It is time. OLMSTEAD: I don't want to. She grabs his genitals. PRIESTESS: When have you ever gotten what you wanted, my son? OLMSTEAD: No... She climbs onto him, as the vertical platform is lowered to the foor, she clings to his body, PRIESTESS: Give it to me! Give me your life! OLMSTEAD struggles with her. PRIESTESS: Give it unto him, give all unto him! OLMSTEAD slides into the PRIESTESS. He gasps and cries out as she chants. PRIESTESS: Yes! YES! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Dagon Ashad wgah'nagl fhtagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Dagon Ashad wgah'nagl fhtagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Dagon Ashad wgah'nagl fhtagn! Lights fade. We can hear the chanting, panting, gasping, moaning, crying, and screaming. Lights only on the chest. It does nothing. Then something moves inside. Just a noise. Then louder. The cult noises fade as the noise from the box gets louder, something moves inside, tilting it slightly. Suddenly, the box begins to crash about on the platform, something inside wants out. A throbbing sound begins, not unlike a heartbeat. We watch the box thrash for a few more moments before the stage fades to black and we are left in the dark with the throbbing and crashing. Eventually these fade to silence. 65

Scene VII The Gilman House, morning, it is raining. OLMSTEAD lays on the couch where he was placed last night before the ritual. He is clothed, asleep, unpainted, and alone. He stirs and sits up trying to remember where he is and what has happened. He aches all over, there is a foul taste in his mouth, and his clothes are disheveled. He looks around the lobby before speaking. OLMSTEAD: Hello? Silence. He puts his head into his hands. Outside the bus honks. It hurts OLMSTEAD just to hear it. He feels around for his case, and stands, cautiously looking out of the front windows. The honking comes again, making him jump. OLMSTEAD: Shit... He takes several steps back, looking around in the silence. He spots the telephone, and moves to it, glancing back at the door. He lifts the receiver and holds it to his ear. He hesitates...then dials. OLMSTEAD: Hello? Operator? Collect call. Tilton, frst name Anne-Marie...that's Arkham, Arkham Massachusetts. YesSARGENT enters through the front door. OLMSTEAD: I can hold. SARGENT: We're leaving. OLMSTEAD: ...Where? SARGENT: Arkham. OLMSTEAD: What about the bus? SARGE: Old belt in the garage. OLMSTEAD: Is it safe? SARGE: She'll hold. OLMSTEAD hesitates.

OLMSTEAD: I don't remember... SARGE: You got into a fght with a couple of boys yesterday, took some hits to the head. OLMSTEAD: (Shaking his head) Last night... SARGE: You went out cold. You alright? OLMSTEAD: I don't know. SARGE: Listen son, I need to be in Arkham by 1:30 today. OLMSTEAD: I- (TILTON picks up the line) Yes? Hello, it's me, Robert- (Surprised) Yes, Robert Olmstead! From the train station, right...No, no, I'm still here....Innsmouth...yes (He looks to SARGENT) I spent the night...I'm calling from the Gilman house...Well I'd like to see you...As soon as possible, if that's- Alright. Yes, we're leaving now...Oh, yes, in fact he's right here...Well, if I don't show up, you know who to call...I'm glad you think so...Yes, I know where it is...Thank you...Goodbye. OLMSTEAD hangs up the phone. SARGE: Ready? OLMSTEAD: I think so. He picks up his attache. But pauses on his way to the door. OLMSTEAD: What happened to the boy? SARGE: The parents are taking care of it. You...got a few good one's in yourself. OLMSTEAD: No, the boy at the counter. SARGE: ...Must have the day off. He looks to the counter longingly.

OLMSTEAD: Alright. After you. SARGENT waits a moment then nods and exits, OLMSTEAD lingers for a moment, before exiting and moving up to the desk in the center of the circle. OLMSTEAD: As I staggered out to the bus, the daylight hurt my eyes, and not a living creature did I spy in that cursed town. As much as I mistrusted Sargent, I knew had to get away, so I took my seat from the previous day...god it had only been that long? The reality of what I had been through was highly uncertain in my mind, it seemed as though my memory were flled with a fog and...I am certain that I was drugged. Even then, I felt that something hideous lay in the background of that night. I tried to remain calm as the bus wound it's way up into the hills and away from the shadow marshes and dank felds. And as we left, I'm happy to say that with a cracked window, the smell of the Innsmouth bus and of Mr. Sargent in particular, was almost bearable. I took a fnal glimpse out at the ocean, all grey and mist, and I thought I spied for a moment, out in the fog, the thin stretch of Devil's Reef, and to me then, on that far side of the hills that isolate Innsmouth...that it very much resembled the mouth of some terrible creature, from a place and time I cannot begin to imagine. He looks out to the audience. I wasted no time, upon my arrival in Arkham to depart the bus, without a word to Mr. Joseph Sargent. (OLMSTEAD moves to the center stage area) At the station I was confronted with strange looks and averted gazes and it seemed that this strange effect followed me down the familiar streets towards Miskatonik University, where a young couple went as far as to cross Hanover street to avoid me...Perhaps I was more disheveled than I thought. (He smiles thinly) Anne Tilton greeted me in her offce.

Scene VIII OLMSTEAD moves to back Area 1 which has been converted to TILTON's offce, the desk is hers. The Mark of Dagon remains on the foor. She sits at the desk regarding some papers. She stops for a moment, listening, then pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and looks towards the door to her offce. In a moment, there's a gentle knock. She doesn't get up. TILTON: Come in. Enter OLMSTEAD, looking worse for the wear, though he's tried to clean himself up. His appearance catches her off guard. TILTON: Are...Are you alright? OLMSTEAD: (Nods) Can I sit down? TILTON: Of course! She stands, but OLMSTEAD motions her away as he slides into the chair opposite hers. She sits on the edge of the desk. OLMSTEAD: I'm alright. OLMSTEAD Stares ahead for a moment, then looks to her. OLMSTEAD: (Pointing to her) Could I have one of those? It takes her a moment to understand. TILTON: By all means... She holds out her case to him and he fumbles with it before getting it open. She gives him a light. TILTON: Here. OLMSTEAD: Thanks. They sit for a moment smoking. TILTON: Pardon my saying so Robert but...you don't look so well. Beat. OLMSTEAD: Something happened in Innsmouth. 69

TILTON: Are you...alright? OLMSTEAD: I'm not hurt. Not badly. She waits but he doesn't offer anything more. TILTON: Was there a fght? OLMSTEAD: Yeah. Some kids. TILTON: Oh, Robert, I'm so sorry. Backwoods trash. OLMSTEAD: Did you run into anything unusual, while you were there? TILTON: (Hesitates) Well...no. Nothing so strange. Did you fnd Zadok Allen? He searches his memory. OLMSTEAD: I...think so, it's hard to remember. I spent the night. TILTON: Yes, I was surprised to hear your voice earlier. Was there a problem? OLMSTEAD: With the bus. TILTON: That's awful, if I had known, I wouldn't have suggested it to you. You stayed in the Gilman House? OLMSTEAD: Yes, there was a young man at the counter. TILTON: Yes, Toby or something. Cute kid. OLMSTEAD regards her for a moment. OLMSTEAD: I wouldn't say that.

TILTON: Of course not. Well, what did you do all night? I hope the voices didn't keep you up? OLMSTEAD can almost hear the chanting. OLMSTEAD: I feel like I didn't sleep a wink. TILTON: I was the same way...If you can keep a secret, I even tried some of the clerks homemade gin, but the taste! You'd think he'd been putting motor oil in it. I left it under the pillow in my room. OLMSTEAD: I had the same. I don't know how much. TILTON: Well no wonder, then! You must have had a rough night. I hope those kids got what they deserved...What did they want? OLMSTEAD: ...My camera, I think. TILTON: Pity. How did you get into that? OLMSTEAD: I was taking pictures of the old Masonic Hall. TILTON: Really? You didn't save the camera, did you? OLMSTEAD reaches into his bag. Lays his camera on the table. OLMSTEAD: Lens is cracked. TILTON: Do you think the flm is alright? OLMSTEAD: You can fnd out of you like. It's yours. TILTON: No, Robert... OLMSTEAD: It's busted anyway. You want the flm, you can have it. He pushes the camera across the desk rudely.

TILTON: You've been through a lot I can see. What do you remember about Allen? OLMSTEAD: I don't know...it's all mixing together. TILTON: Did Allen mention anything about gold? Either his own or Obed Marsh's? OLMSTEAD: I don't think so... TILTON: What about the Hall did you get close, could you see inside? OLMSTEAD: Is this why you wanted to see me? TILTON: I...don't follow. OLMSTEAD: To prod me about Innsmouth? TILTON: You came in here, looking half dead. I'm just worried about you Robert. OLMSTEAD: And the gold and Zadok Allen and the...the god damned EOD! TILTON: Calm down, Robert! OLMSTEAD: No! They took things from me! TILTON: What did they take? OLMSTEAD: (Shaking his head) I don't know! I can't remember.... TILTON: Why are you so upset? OLMSTEAD's voice cracks. OLMSTEAD: They made me so confused! 72

TILTON: (Comforting) It'll be alright. OLMSTEAD: (Getting upset) I think they tied me down... TILTON puts a hand on his shoulder. TILTON: Oh, my god. OLMSTEAD: (Tearing up) I can't remember... TILTON: Shh, it's all over now. It's okay. Shh. OLMSTEAD: What did they do to me? TILTON: I don't know. OLMSTEAD: God, it stank! Tilton lets out a sad little laugh. OLMSTEAD burrows into her. TILTON: Yeah, bad. They stay this way for a few moments, OLMSTEAD seems to center himself, he pulls back. OLMSTEAD: I think I met Obed Marsh. TILTON: No one's seen him in years. OLMSTEAD: He came at night. He spoke to me. TILTON separates from OLMSTEAD and straightens herself. TILTON: ListenOLMSTEAD: You have to believe me!

TILTON: I believe you. Of course I believe you. We're talking about the same Innsmouth. But I want to get this straight, the Order of Dagon did this to you? OLMSTEAD: I think so...but I...I can't remember. TILTON: Not yet. But they messed up this time. They let you get away. OLMSTEAD: What? TILTON: You know the rumors, the federal government just needs a reason to go in there and start asking questions. OLMSTEAD: (To himself) Why? TILTON: At least one prohibition agent's gone missing there, I'm sure someone at the Bureau would be interested in what you've been through. OLMSTEAD: No, why would they let me go? TILTON: ...I'm sure I don't know, but you're safe now, right? OLMSTEAD: I wasn't followed. TILTON: Good. Now, I want you to try to relax, okay? OLMSTEAD: I'll try. Do you have anything to drink? TILTON: Coffee, water...I do have something stronger in my desk. OLMSTEAD: (Immediately) No. Coffee's fne. TILTON: Alright. Then, I'm going to call the police. OLMSTEAD whirls, looks at her frantically. 74

OLMSTEAD: Why? TILTON: So you can tell them what you know. OLMSTEAD: I don't even know what I know. TILTON: That you were harassed, beaten, robbed, and...possibly drugged? OLMSTEAD: It sounds so crazy. TILTON: No, it sounds scary. And I'm glad you made it here. OLMSTEAD: Me too, just...don't call the police. Not until I can get it all straight. Okay? TILTON: Alright, I'll make some coffee and grab a few things. What I want you to do is to take that pen there. (He does, she moves across the room and grabs a sheaf of papers) And write down every detail you can remember, from when we met in Danvers to right now. About Innsmouth, the townspeople, the EOD, everything. OLMSTEAD: It's foggy. TILTON: Once you start telling it, you might fnd there's more, like remembering a dream. OLMSTEAD: Alright. TILTON: You can use my desk, I'll be right back. She puts her hand on his shoulder before exiting. OLMSTEAD turns to the papers, then adjusts and sits himself at the desk. He collects himself with a few deep breaths, then looks to the paper. He puts the pen to it, but is shaking to much to write, he scribbles a little, then notices the typewriter on the desk. He looks to where TILTON left, then turns it around, pulls out her last paper, and begins putting in the stack of blanks. Something in her paperwork catches his eye. OLMSTEAD: What? He stops what he's doing and reads the paper she was working on, then looks to the door she left though, then he sifts through the stack of paper next to the typewriter, face-down. He moves through them quickly, scanning the contents, he works into a frenzy as he reads and begins throwing the paper into the air, with quick violent jerks. He stops and slowly 75

looks towards the doorway, anticipating TILTON. TILTON: (off) Be sure to put in anything you remember about Zadok Allen, I'm sure if we can get ahold of him he'll back up your statement. Here, I've brought some of the jewelry, just in case it sparks anything- Robert? What's wrong? She stares in shock at OLMSTEAD who now appears somewhat mad, he's almost shaking. He holds up some papers. OLMSTEAD: What is this? TILTON: What are you talking about? OLMSTEAD: What is it?! She sets her box down. TILTON: It's my research. OLMSTEAD: Why does it have my name? TILTON: You weren't supposed to see that. OLMSTEAD: What did you do? TILTON: After we met...at the train station...I was curious. OLMSTEAD: About what? TILTON: You. Not to put too fne a point on it. OLMSTEAD lowers his anger slightly. OLMSTEAD: Why? TILTON: (Shakes her head) I don't know. Because I liked you, because it's what I do, genealogy. Or maybe the name Olmstead sounded familiar. I looked you up.

OLMSTEAD: What does this mean? TILTON: I did some digging, you said you had family in Arkham. It wasn't hard, I mean it is part of my job, that's all very rough but, all that I could fnd here at the University. OLMSTEAD: What did you fnd? TILTON: Well... OLMSTEAD: Just tell me. TILTON: Your grandmother was Eliza Orne, born 1867, married to James Williamson in 1883, when she was just sixteen. OLMSTEAD: I know all that, my auntTILTON: Did you know about Eliza's father Benjamin Orne? OLMSTEAD: I...know his name. TILTON: There wasn't much, some voided census documents. But there was at least a trail. I followed the Orne's back to Wales, but your great-grandmother's line was harder to follow. OLMSTEAD: She was an orphan. TILTON: Right. Her parents, her real parents, Enoch and Lydia Marsh, disappeared six months after she was born. OLMSTEAD: Marsh? TILTON: The records say...the Marsh's of Essex County. OLMSTEAD: I don't understand.

TILTON: It doesn't mean anything, your great-grandmother was raised in a loving home, just because she was...well... OLMSTEAD: From Innsmouth. TILTON: Only born there. Her parentsOLMSTEAD: Left this surface life. TILTON: I'm sorry? OLMSTEAD: No. TILTON: Listen, I didn't know how to tell you. OLMSTEAD: No! TILTON: Or if I should tell you. Please, Robert. He sets down the papers and puts his head in his hands. OLMSTEAD: Jesus... She moves to go to him, knocking over the box. TILTON: Oh! As soon as the jewelry hits the foor, a low bass begins to throb, slowly. OLMSTEAD is immediately aware of their uncovered presence, and seems to almost hear them screaming. His eyes are fxed to the gold pieces. TILTON seems to almost not feel their energy. TILTON: Damn, it! Are you alright now? He does not respond. She bends down to pick up the tiara and bracelets. She turns her head. TILTON: Robert? OLMSTEAD steps forward and grabs her wrist as she picks up the tiara. She lets out a yelp. 78

OLMSTEAD: Stop. TILTON: You're hurting me. OLMSTEAD: Give me the crown. She lets it go. OLMSTEAD looks at it with reverence. He lets TILTON go. She takes several steps back. TILTON: What is it? He seems to be listening to the tiara. OLMSTEAD: Shh... TILTON: Robert? You're scaring me. He nods slightly and looks up to TILTON. OLMSTEAD: How long have you know about me? TILTON: We met, at the train station, remember? OLMSTEAD: You sent me to Innsmouth. TILTON: I'm sorry, I didn't know. OLMSTEAD: You sent me there! TILTON: No, no. OLMSTEAD: You told meTILTON: No! You're not remembering things right! OLMSTEAD: No. 79

TILTON: You're confused! OLMSTEAD: No, no, no. TILTON: RobertOLMSTEAD: No! NO! TILTON: Please, stop shouting. OLMSTEAD: You already knew who I was! I don't know how you knew, but you did! TILTON: I couldn't haveOLMSTEAD: They knew who I was! They pulled me in...and let me go... She steps towards him. TILTON: Come on Robert. We can fgure this out, you and I. OLMSTEAD: You know everything about me, don't you? Where do you come from Mrs. Tilton? Where's your family from? You think I'm a freak, too? From Innsmouth? TILTON: No, I think you're very confused. OLMSTEAD: The boy wasn't from Innsmouth either, but he was working for them. TILTON: I want to help you Robert, what they did to you was wrong! His head begins to pound, and he must close his eyes for a moment, when he looks up, he looks to the tiara. OLMSTEAD: Yes? (He looks to TILTON) I will. TILTON: Robert?

He rushes to her, she bolts towards the door, she gets only a few steps before he grabs her by the waist and throws her back into the center of the foor. TILTON: Help! He muffes her cry for help and gets on top of her, his hands wrapped around her throat. OLMSTEAD: Why? The throbbing from the tiara has reached a peak. TILTON makes small choking noises, trying to cry out. OLMSTEAD: Why?! I trusted you! He fnally lets go, she takes in a very strained gasp of air. He grabs the tiara and beats her with it, once across the face. Then back across the temple again. She lays still. He breaths heavily, stands, looks down at her, he wipes the sweat from his brow. He moves slowly, almost in a daze, stepping over her to pick up the bracelets and smaller articles he places them all inside the box and places that next to TILTON's body. He sits and regards TILTON, before setting his sights on the typewriter. He shakes his head, seems to be coming out of a spell, confused but resolute. OLMSTEAD: Everything. Everything I remember. He moves a hand down his face. He sheafs a paper, and then begins to type slowly, then more quickly. The sound of waves begins as the lights fade out on TILTON and the rest of the stage, solely on OLMSTEAD at the desk where he started. OLMSTEAD: The image that comes to my mind now is of that stretch of land off the coast of Innsmouth, that sticks up sometimes at low tide. Where the sea foor shoots down like a cliff. Where no sounding line has ever touched the bottom*. The thought of that drop, that abyss, does not fll me with terror as it once did, but now only a kind of longing. I wish to see it again...And I think of those very extreme Innsmouth types said to be hidden in the crumbling, centuried warrens near the waterfront. They should take to the sea soon. He holds up the crown to the light so that it catches for the audiences eyes. OLMSTEAD: Perhaps...I shall swim out to that brooding reef in the sea as well and with my family, dive down through black abysses to the Cyclopean and many-columned Y'ha-nthlei, and in that lair of the Deep Ones...dwell amidst wonder and glory for ever. OLMSTEAD smiles and looks out to the audience for a moment before it fades and he looks to the desk and begins to type again, he becomes lost in the keys.The sound of waves takes over. The lights fade. Darkness. The End

Notes All Photos Courtesy of The Library of Congress Photo Archives and

The U.S. National Archives Cover Illustration/Gallery Artwork Courtesy of Vintage Printable

Cover Font 'WW2 Blackletter' Courtesy of

The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society

Special Thanks Jordan Seider Sam Macy The Atlanta Radio Theatre Company The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society

This work is in the Public Domain. To view a copy of the public domain certifcation, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/publicdomain/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, PO Box 1866, Mountain View, CA 94042, USA.

Gallery

Refnery as Seen From Fishing Boat “Devil Reef, they call it. It's well above water a good part of the time, and never much below it...the story is that there's a whole legion of devils seen sometimes on that reef, sprawled about, or darting in and out of some kind of caves near the top.” -Dale Monroe Clerk at the Danvers Train Station

Gilman Family Plot “S'pose one night ye seed somethin' heavy heaved offen Obed's dory beyond the reef' and then learned next day a young feller was missin' from home. Hey! Did anybody ever see hide or hair o' Hiram Gilman agin. Did they?” -Zadok Allen 83

Gallery

Locals Go About Their Business “We met no one on the road, but presently began to pass deserted farms in varying stages of ruin. Then I noticed a few inhabited houses with rags stuffed in the broken windows and shells and dead fsh lying about the littered yards.” -Olmstead, describing Innsmouth

Innsmouth Proper “The air of death and desertion was ghoulish, and the smell of fsh, almost insufferable” -Robert Olmstead

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Church Steeple After Storm “Collapsing huddles of gambrel roofs formed a jagged and fantastic skyline, above which rose the ghoulish, decapitated steeple of an ancient church.” -Robert Olmstead, wandering Innsmouth streets

View From the Behind the Old School House “There were occasional gaps where tumbledown chimneys and cellar walls told of buildings that had collapsed.” -Robert Olmstead

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Something in the Waves “The tide had turned and was coming in now, and the sound of the waves seemed to arouse him.” -Olmstead, on Zadok Allen

The Old Mason Hall “The Esoteric Order of Dagon was a debased, quasi-pagan thing imported from the East a century before...when the Innsmouth fsheries seemed to be going barren. Its persistence among a simple people was quite natural in view of the sudden return of abundant fshing and it became the greatest infuence in the town, replacing Freemasonry altogether and taking up headquarters in the old Masonic Hall on New Church Green.” -Miss Tilton, describing the E.O.D.

Gallery

The More 'Extreme Cases' “His age was perhaps thirty-fve, but the odd, deep creases in the sides of his neck made him seem older...he had a narrow head, bulging, watery-blue eyes that seemed never to wink, a fat nose, a receding forehead and chin, and singularly undeveloped ears. His long thick lip and coarse-pored, greyish cheeks seemed almost beardless except for some sparse yellow hairs that straggled and curled in irregular patches; and in places the surface seemed queerly irregular, as if peeling from some cutaneous disease...” -Robert Olmstead, describing Joseph Sargent

“Guess they must die of looking in the glass!” -Ticket agent, Danvers train station.