Innsmouth Horror, 2

Roland cursed foully under his breath when he considered the time he had wasted at the Curiositie Shoppe. He shook his head in despair—this was because Malone struggled to keep the damn dirty monkey under control. Since the primate was his only lead he thought it a good idea to find somebody to look after it, however, the boys downtown would surely laugh them out of the Police Station. “Maybe a student at the Science Building would want a monkey to experiment on?” he thought. Whatever, the Science Building could look after the little bugger until Roland had got his facts straight. This case was not going well at all. He pulled out the Enchanted Knife and imagined cutting himself again, “Just like back in high school. Yeah, that would be nice…”

“Come on, Malone,” he said. “And bring the monkey.”

The monkey scratched at Malone’s face. “Yes, sir. Monkeys don’t carry rabies do they?”

“That’s why you are carrying it and not me. Now, keep up—we’ve got a serious amount of pavement to pound.”

˜

Roland frowned when Malone told him of the long walk ahead. “This damn town ought to have a transit system or, at the very least, a bloody cab company. All of this hoofing around is for the birds!”

…As the two lawmen and their monkey crossed from Northside to the Merchant District Roland’s jaw dropped in terror–they were confronted by a massive worm shaped beast which towered above the street’s buildings. “Odin’s sac, Malone! Do you see it?”

“Down, sir—quickly!” Malone pulled Roland behind a car. Malone fumbled with his tome, flipping its pages frantically. After a few choice Sumerian sentences the two disappeared in a cloud of acrid yellow smoke; Roland felt his soul leak out through his colon. They reappeared in the Science Building surrounded by screaming monkeys in cages.

“Ah, here we are.”

˜

Wandering through the halls of the Science Building Roland spotted the flicker of strange lights coming from an open door. His investigator’s instinct was far too strong to ignore this telltale sign of trouble, so he stepped into the room with the confidence of a veteran plumber. He was confronted by a scene which could only be described as whimsical chaos. Two long-haired men in white lab coats pounded frantically with big black rubber hammers upon a metal hose. The hose was connected to a giant toaster which was covered with light bulbs, flashing clocks and spinning dials. Roland cried out: “Good God man! What in Kentucky’s name are you two playing at?” One of the long-haired scientists stopped for a second to stare up at Roland. His eyes were wide and crazed–white powder was dusted under his right nostril. Roland glanced at the table behind all of this insanity and saw the tell tale signs of popular pharmaceutical drug abuse: white lines upon a silver mirror, little bags of powder, small pipes… His eyes narrowed. “Users!”

He sensed the pressure building in the room.

Roland’s detective badge glinted from the chaotic lights, consequently one of the students dropped his hammer and ran. The other gasped: “It’s gonna blow unless we can break the seal!”

Roland shook his head, pulling out his revolver, and fired at the hose. He was rewarded with a mighty hiss as the ectoplasm of the universe drained into the flashing, blinking, beeping toaster. Far away he heard a series of pops, like a spiny demon being buggered by an army of balloon shaped puppies.

After everyone had settled down it was Malone who stepped forward, wiping a splat of monkey ejaculate off the shoulder of his tweed jacket. “Do you want this monkey?” he asked the student.

roland-banks

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