The Innsmouth Syndrome Read Online Free

else in the security line.”
     
    “I certainly will.  Thankyou, Alby.  Here, let me buy you a drink.”
     
    “No thanks, Carla.  It’s time I was turnin’ in now anyway.  Never been much of a night-owl.  Mebbe I’ll see ya tomorrow though.  Gonna make some house calls early, hit the road again in the evenin’.”
     
    “Well, maybe we’ll bump into each other.  It’s been nice to meet you.”
     
    “Likewise.  G’night now.”
     
    “Goodnight, Alby.”
     
    The ruddy-faced salesman nodded – almost bowed – and waddled towards the door.  Carla turned the mace over in her hands.  She had a cupboard full of mugs given to her by drug reps back in her hospital days, and most of her pens had someone’s logo and phone number on them, but this was the first time a rep had given her a chemical incapacitant.  Times just kept changing.
     
     
     
    *****
     
     
     
    Back in her room, Carla brushed her teeth and took to the bed with her laptop, plugging it in to charge so that it wouldn’t die on her in the morning.  Having removed her contact lenses she was forced to resort to spectacles to resume studying the Innsmouth files.
     
    The medical examiner’s scanned photos were arranged in subfolders by body part, and then again by victim.  She started with Lfoot_EllisK.jpg. 
     
    It wasn’t the most attractive appendage she’d ever seen.  The toes were stubby and – she zoomed in for confirmation – yes, slightly webbed.  All but one of the nails were missing, leaving painful-looking welts, and the one that was left was badly ingrown. 
     
    Rfoot_RamsgateW1.jpg looked even worse.  Unless it was some weird trick of perspective, the toes looked to be about half the length they should be and were connected by livid, bloodless membranes.  The skin between and around them was discoloured, cracked and flaky.  Some kind of fungal infection?  She tabbed back to the M.E.’s report.  No microscopic evidence for any infection. 
     
    The other feet pictured were all similarly deformed, though none as badly as Wayne’s.  She opened the ‘hands’ folder.  Same thing.  Most of the fingers were webbed – two of Wayne Ramsgate’s were completely fused together - and the only one with any fingernails was Kara Ellis, who had three. 
     
    ‘Arms and Torso’ was exclusive to Wayne Ramsgate, and full of close-ups of deep, savage-looking scratches, blisters and scabs on his skin.  Carla zoomed right in and peered closely at the screen.  They looked self-inflicted, as if he’d been gouging and burning his flesh.  One on his forearm was deep enough to have exposed a vein.
     
    She’d never seen self-harm quite this dramatic in someone so young, but maybe it could be explained away by his meth habit.  Tactile hallucinations, bugs under the skin, compulsive picking ...
     
    ‘Hair’ was a little less grotesque, but was filled with pictorial evidence of premature balding.  It looked like Wayne had shaved his head, maybe in an effort to hide it.  He must have grazed his scalp horrendously in the attempt, judging by the lurid sores and peeling skin.  The girls had large patches of hair missing, as if clumps had just dropped out.
     
    The next folder was filled with photos and X-rays of the children’s teeth – or what was left of them.  Bad dentition was a classic result of crystal meth addiction, but for someone as young as Wayne to have lost all but three teeth already was staggering.  His step-siblings were almost as bad, and the X-rays seemed to rule out it being any consequence of the accident.
     
    Carla had been putting off clicking on the ‘Eyes’ folder.  She wasn’t good with eyes, it was the one thing that she was still squeamish about after her eleven years in medicine. 
     
    Shaznay Parker’s face had been pulverised beyond any hope of recognition, but the other three had been photographed with a short ruler placed across their foreheads, to quantify the immediately obvious