Innsmouth Horror, 3


“I may report those gypsies at the Police Station or I may go for a wander to Rivertown and clear the air so to speak,” she thought, conscious of the flies buzzing around.


Patrice breathed deeply as she strode through Arkham, trying not to think about the troubling events that had happened; it was as if the entire world had gone mad! She smiled sardonically. “If everyone has gone crazy, except for me of course… then that probably means that it’s me, I’m the crazy one!—now there’s a happy thought.”

Shopping at the General Store was the place to let off stress. Patrice browsed the shelves: matches, tobacco, sugar, primus stove, etc. She glanced down an aisle at a customer who certainly was no resident of Arkham, the woman wore a brown jacket and a man’s shirt. On an impulse Patrice approached the woman, switching her violin case from right to left hand, and extended her arm for a handshake. “How do you do, I’m Patrice, Patrice Hathaway.”

Alarmed, Ursula looked up from the counter of penknives where she’d been lost with her thoughts. She gave Patrice the flicker of a smile and extended her own hand as well. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Ursula Downs.” She looked Patrice up and down. “A musician I assume? I’m afraid to ask where you’ve been playing… there’s a slight odour of barnyard animals.” She smiled apologetically and whispered: “It must be him,” her thumb indicating the fellow in front of her, a big burly fellow in suspenders and farm boots.

“An odour? Ah, yes, it is that yokel—disgusting people.” Patrice shook her head a little. “Oh! my manners. Ursula, I am pleased to meet you too. I’m in a bit of a tizzy this week, so I forgot myself.” Patrice straightened her posture, and glanced at her violin case. “I play for the Boston Philharmonic—well, anywhere where they need a soloist actually! And you, Ursula, what do you do?”

Patrice frowned at the penknives and assorted gimcrack stuff. “Look at all this junk!”


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