Quaint little Arkham's streets were busy, with markets and tourists roaming around. Amelia Watson passed by the old-fashioned buildings that reminded her of a time long past. Some of her cases had required her to make discreet leaps through space-time to find some clues, and locales like this were no stranger to her. Her research into this town granted her fascinating findings that inclined her to believe that the peaceful town to be anything but normal. Stories of disappearances, blood rituals, sacrifices, this place had enough unusual occurrences to fill a book. From the outset the townspeople were friendly towards the detective as she asked for directions, but the knowledge she held left a lingering paranoia in Amelia's mind, not enough to scare her away but enough to keep her on edge as she navigated the branching streets of Arkham. A massive building loomed in the distance where Amelia was standing.
An open gate stood before her with the name "Miskatonic University" read above it.
Strolling inside, Amelia saw students walking around the campus, eating lunch at the sprawling lawn in front of the entrance, and reading books under tall trees. She walked inside, making her way to the library. Amelia knew the university specialized in supernatural studies and had a gut feeling that she would find information that could give her a lead to locate another deity like Yog-Sothoth. Inside the silent library, an elderly librarian sat at the lobby.
"Good afternoon, can I help you?" the librarian asked.
"Hi, I'm a detective from the IDO," Amelia pulled out her magnifying glass and showed it to the man.
The old man focused on the glass, seeing the special IDO engraving on the handle.
"A member of the International Detective Organization? How surprising, what brings you to Miskatonic University, miss?"
"I'm on a case right now and I need to look through some of your archives. Could I take a look?"
"A investigation, huh? Follow me."
The old man stood up from his chair, his back hunched as the two made their way through the door behind the lobby. Walking down a long hallway with paint peeling off the sides, Amelia found herself in the back room, where a bunch of filing cabinets and boxes could be found. The air was musty, lacking any sort of ventilation.
"As you know, there must be no documentation of anything you read down here, but you are free to read everything. Are you finding something in particular, dear?"
"Do you have any records relating to cults around the area?"
The librarian stroked his white beard. "Those archives can be found over at the back corner of the room."
"Got it. Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome. Put everything back when you're done, please."
"I will."
The door closed shut behind the librarian, leaving Amelia to rummage through the many boxes to find some answers. As she rifled through the various boxes, she recalled the last time she went to the library. A detective of the Watson family had to be equipped to deal with any problem that had the potential of happening. Amelia, knowing she was no different, was inclined to adopt new skills, prompting her to learn new things at the library. A few hours of digging through and reading journals, newspapers, and accounts, Amelia found a story that piqued her interest.
A man had investigated the town of Innsmouth just north of Arkham after the government had vacated it a few months prior. He detailed rumors of strange occurrences and disappearances in the town. He wrote about the dilapidated state of the town and its inhabitants' distaste for outsiders. The journal remained unfinished, but it was all the evidence Amelia needed to investigate for herself. She left the library, bidding the old librarian farewell.
The sky had become dark, the hovering white clouds above becoming gray and shrouding Arkham in shadow as they blocked out any sunlight hoping to reach the land. A light drizzle began, prompting Amelia to find some shelter knowing a storm was afoot. Before the rain grew worse, she ran around the town asking for a way to get to the town north. Most of the locals informed her that taxis and buses seldom went there due to the rumors spread around town from an incident that occurred years ago, but a homeless person she inquired spoke of a carriage that came by at night that would take any curious soul to Innsmouth in a few hours' trip. Questioning the man where she would find the carriage, Amelia was pointed towards Tiller's Tavern, a bar bordering Miskatonic River. Seeing the rain starting to pour, she made haste, planning to stay inside until nightfall to get her ride.
Amelia arrived to a small, modest bar with dim, orange light flooding out from windows outside. Walking inside, a joyous atmosphere permeated from carefree patrons sharing a drink and a laugh with friends. Two men broke into song with flushed faces, mugs of beer in hand and soon fell face-first into the table, passed out. Moments like these coaxed a giggle from the detective. The front of the bar was a row of vacant stools, except for a woman sitting at the middle. Amelia sat next to her and she glanced at the grandfather clock standing behind the bar counter. Seeing that she had a few hours to waste, she called the bartender over.
"An iced tea please."
The woman tending to the bar nodded and prepared her drink, placing it on the table.
"Thank you," Amelia said, taking a sip of her cold beverage.
"Stormy night, huh?" the girl beside Amelia asked.
The detective glanced at her, watching her take a drink from a red cocktail.
"Yeah."
"Barely managed to make it inside before it started pouring."
She rested her head on her hand, her elbow on the counter. Straw in mouth, she wondered how she would spend the next few hours waiting. Times like these, she wished she had her smartphone or a game system around to relieve herself of boredom.
"Not much of a talker, huh?" the girl said, her crimson red eyes glancing toward the detective as she adjusted her eyeglasses. "You don't look like you're around here."
"I could say the same about you. It's not everyday you see someone dressed up like an office worker at a bar in a place this out here."
"You're right about that," she chuckled, taking another sip of her drink. "Name's Emma."
"Amelia Watson, nice to meet you."
"Watson? Are you perhaps a member of the Watson family from the London branch of the IDO?"
"Yup, third generation," Amelia nodded.
"I've heard so many stories about John Watson's exploits with Sherlock Holmes as a child. To think I'd meet one of his descendants here."
A soft smile flashed across Amelia's face, "You're giving me too much credit."
"So what's an IDO detective doing out here in rural America?"
"Conducting an investigation around town."
"Details?"
"Can't say."
"So you're here to find a place to stay? I don't think this tavern has any rooms to stay in."
"Actually, I'm waiting for someone here."
"Oh?"
"A carriage. I'm traveling to Innsmouth, a town north from here."
Emma's gaze turned to Amelia as she spoke. "What a coincidence, I'm looking for a way to get to Innsmouth too."
The detective sat up.
"You're heading there too?" she asked, and upon receiving a nod from Emma she inquired her further. "What's your business here in Arkham then?"
"My employers sent me here to meet a contact in Innsmouth."
"Someone from Innsmouth has business with your company? Just who do you work for?"
"Can't say," Emma smiled towards Amelia.
"Is your contact a local?"
Emma nodded.
"Is there anyway I can talk to them?"
"Why?"
"Questioning. It's important for the investigation. A local who lives there could have some useful info."
"Why don't we make a deal then? I can tag along with you on carriage to the town and you can meet with my contact. I'm sure my superiors wouldn't object."
"Alright then, sounds good."
Still the late afternoon, Amelia and Emma conversed with each other until nightfall came.
"That's a big bag you've got there," Amelia looked at the long bag leaning against the stool. "What's in it?"
"Just some equipment for the job. What's the story with that pocket watch you have? Seems like it's broken."
Amelia raised the watch in her hand. "This old thing? It's been passed down the Watson family for generations. I wanna get it fixed soon, it's special to me."
Emma adjusted her eyeglasses, staring at it. "Looks like it's made of gold."
"It is, Grandpa Watson told me it once belonged to Mr. Holmes before he passed away."
"Would probably cost millions if you sold it."
"Yeah, but this watch is too important. It can't get into the wrong hands," Amelia looked at the grandfather clock once more, the hour hand at ten. "We should check if our ride is here."
The detective and the office worker stood up from their seats, leaving money on the counter.
"Hey, you two," the bartender called out to the two as she wiped a glass with a towel.
"Yes?" Amelia asked.
"I overheard you talkin'. I'm guessing you're taking that carriage outside to that town, to Innsmouth, huh? Haven't you heard the rumors?"
"We have." Emma replied.
"Then you should know how dangerous it is."
"What do you want?" the detective inquired.
"Nothing. Just reminding you what you might be in for. A word of advice from an old bartender who worked in that godforsaken town. Trust no one, get out of there once you've finished your business, and stay the hell away from the churches."
The bartender declared the last point with an unmatched urgency that sent a chill down Amelia's back.
"You used to live in Innsmouth? And what do you mean by stay away from the churches?"
"Just stay away from them. Wouldn't want to get in a run in with those devil-worshipping lunatics?"
"Lunatics?"
"A bunch of religious fanatics. Call themselves the Esoteric Order of Dagon. A bunch of hooey, if you ask me. But that don't mean they aren't dangerous. They took down all the other religions in that town, every church around there is abandoned. Those people use some of the empty buildings to do God knows what."
Amelia took out a notepad and a pen. "Anything else you can tell us?"
"Nothing much else. The townsfolk all have their lips sealed when anyone asks. The people in town don't like strangers coming by, especially detectives like you. Don't expect a welcome party."
"We'll keep that in mind," Emma nodded.
"Thanks for your help, miss."
"Stay safe. Remember my advice."
Stepping out into the downpour, Amelia felt a chill run down her back from the howling winds. Under a lamp post, the shimmering droplets of rain landed above a small carriage attached to an idle horse. A man in a long cloak sat at the driver's seat, still as a statue. Emma opened the umbrella she was holding, covering the two from the downpour. Approaching the man, Amelia caught the putrid stench of something rotting. Slightly recoiling back from the smell, she reminded herself that she needed to get to the town as soon as possible. She regained her composure and spoke to the man.
"Excuse me, we're looking for a ride to Innsmouth. I heard your carriage could take us there."
The man pointed a sharp-nailed thumb behind him. The two looked at each other, then stepped inside the rickety wooden carriage. Holding the reins, the man commanded the horse to move with a raspy, guttural voice. As they rode through the night, the unpleasant smell never faded away and the two had to cover their mouths and noses using their clothes. Amelia again pondered about the peculiar nature of the man, but brushed it off once more as she knew she was getting a ride to her destination. She glanced at Emma, who was leaned against the tarp of the carriage, asleep. She wondered what Gura was up to, hoping she made it through the storm and found what she was looking for. A feeling of guilt swept her, remembering the little shark's enthusiastic demeanor. If Gura was a true Atlantian, Amelia could only pray that she would not be too broken by the realization. The rhythmic bumping of the wheels of the carriage against the ground and the relaxing sound of the rainfall helped the detective drift off into the comfort of sleep.
When Amelia opened her eyes, she found the carriage motionless. Peering outside, she spotted Emma standing in the mud, yawning and stretching under the cloudy, yet bright sky. The storm had subsided and the two arrived at Innsmouth. Stepping out of the carriage, she approached the cloaked man, still sitting in his seat.
"Thank you for the ride."
The man nodded without looking at her.
"How much do I owe you?"
He shook his head, raising a hand.
"No need."
"Alright then, we'll be off then. Thanks again."
Bag behind her back, Emma scanned around the town as they walked through its densely packed streets. The imposing height of a church steeple towered above Amelia. The disquieting calls of crows echoed across the cloudy sky. Amelia thought she saw someone peering out from a window from one of the houses, but when her eyes darted across the buildings to her side she saw nobody. The lingering odor of fish permeated through the air, though faint and not as bad as the stench that kept the two in discomfort during the carriage ride. A haze covered the area in thick fog and its greenish tint and limited visibility made Amelia look over her shoulder more than once. The deafening silence other than the occasional cawing of the birds, the howling wind, and their light footsteps did nothing to ease her nerves. The town of Innsmouth felt like a desolate, forgotten place.
"Where's your contact?" Amelia asked.
"He said he'd meet me at one of the bars around here. Didn't say which though."
"We should ask a local."
Emma nodded. "The bartender said people around here don't like stranger but what choice do we have? I haven't seen anyone at all, though. It's like this place's a ghost town."
"Let's keep walking, we'll find someone eventually. They wouldn't take us here if they knew this town was dead."
Seeing the empty markets, barren streets, and dark windows reminded Amelia of the man's journal. It was written decades ago, leaving the detective pondering how the town ended up this way. A part of her wondered if she was wrong and that the town was abandoned. However, catching the relaxed expression on Emma's face eliminated her doubts. Walking across another row of homes, Amelia at last spotted someone sitting on a rocking chair on a porch.
"Good morning," Amelia said, the two stopping in front of the house.
The person stared at them from their place in the seat. They wore a black scarf around their neck and a trench coat to match. The only features Amelia could point out were their eyes, their hair covered underneath a bowler hat.
"Morning," she said with a guttural voice similar to the man at the carriage.
"We wondering if you could point us to the bars around here."
The woman stared at Amelia with bulging eyes. "Only one here in town is near the ruined lighthouse at the harbor."
"How do we get there from here?"
"Keep going down Docks Street. You'll reach the harbor from there."
Amelia nodded, thanking the woman, who did not reply. As the two continued walking down the street, the detective could not shake the profound feeling of something being wrong. Her mind tried to figure out what bothered her, however she could not make any conclusions. She ignored it and turned her attention to the docks to her right, as decrepit and decayed as the ones in Arkham, perhaps even more so. Dirt-caked, weathered fishing boats floated on the surface of the river, men carrying open boxes filled with fresh fish onto shore. Not a single sound came from these slow-moving, men with emotionless faces and those bulging eyes staring straight forward. This did not help her ease her nerves in the slightest. She spotted cars and pickup trucks parked at the curb, with an equal amount of dirt and rust as the boats. Passing by an old church, Amelia caught the foul stink of something inside. Her eyes widened, knowing the scent all too well from investigating crime scenes. The shut door was unable to mask the metallic smell of blood inside. Grabbing hold of the ice cold doorknob, she opened the door a little, to get a peek inside.
Emma also took a look beside Amelia. The room was dark, except the dim glow of the sky outside pouring through the windows and a few candles hanging on lamps. The odor struck the two with unrelenting force. Amelia expected it to be strong, however she was almost knocked down by it. She grabbed her collar and raised it to cover her nose, before it became too unbearable. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could make out a row of pews leading to an altar. However, she did not see anyone worshipping inside. Whatever caused the smell remained a mystery to the detective and her curiosity got the better of her. She stood up and prepared to move in, but felt Emma's hand on her shoulder.
"Wait. We shouldn't be snooping around yet. We can't draw too much suspicion on us."
"But someone might be hurt."
"What if you're wrong? We can't be caught trespassing. Let's meet up with my contact and get some info before we start investigating."
Amelia sighed, closing the door. "You're right. Let's keep going."
Emma nodded, starting to walk down the street again. Amelia followed, but caught the sight of a large, rusted sign sitting beside the church.
Esoteric Order of Dagon .
The detective wrote the location on her notepad and moved on. Reaching the end of Docks Street, Amelia and Emma could see the lighthouse looming in the distance, its light and the white fog contrasting with its dark shadow the only thing illuminating its presence.
"The bar should be close by. I hope my client is there."
Reaching a ratty little bar cramped in between a humble general store and an abandoned restaurant, the two walked inside. It was dark and cold inside, the ceiling was leaking and Amelia thought she caught the sight of a nice scurrying across the floor. A few men sat at the tables around them, one group playing cards and another conversing in a language unknown to the detective. Emma took the lead, walking towards the front of the bar.
"Mr. Clark?"
A middle-aged man with unkempt brown hair and a short beard turned around, a glass of whiskey to his lips.
"Y-yes?" the man stuttered.
"I'm from the corporation."
"A-ah, you're the one Cover sent. I was wondering when the higher ups would send someone to check in with me," Mr. Clark gave a nervous laugh. "I've got some things to report."
Emma sat down on the chair beside the man. "Sounds good, why don't we get started."
Mr. Clark turned to Amelia. "W-who's your friend?"
"She's-"
"Amelia Watson," the detective interrupted, "I have a lot questions to ask."