Weird Tales of Dread

Noir detective story - Shadow Over Innsmouth inspired - PI following up on strange cult; hired to find femme fatales brother? Grim, sketch art look. angular, harsh feel.

Port Town has suffered raids, mass arrests without charges and disappearances. Rumors of disease, terrorism, and concentration camps. Largely separated from surrounding towns by geographical barriers, the port seems to function only for local fishing business. You can bet that prying strangers aint welcome around Innsmouth. Lack of animals. Cats, dogs, squirrels. even insects seem to be missing, save spiders and their prey.

Minimal detail. No time for a conspiracy theory and real depth. Stick to the darkness, literally and figuratively. Implications take precedent over statements.themes of compulsion. not obsession, but obligation

[note for the basement sequence. while looking over tools and finding the hand, add bit about finding missing persons wallet, along with others.]

-Protagonist arriving to port town on train, steam billowing around the tracks. Timeline is early 30s. Stepping off the track, Protagonist lights a cigarette and surveys the area. Hes obviously displeased to be there.-

The smell is horrendous. Rotten fish and burning coal. The sewers vent hot stench, while the bitter wind howls and gnaws at my skin.

What am I doing here?

I dont even like this anymore. Its always the same. Working cases cold enough to kill the swelling. Grieving family members refuse to admit little Johnny is dead and gone 'til they see the body.

-Protag pulls picture out of his wallet, of the man hes looking for. Average looking guy, a little on the skinny. Clean cut. slimy-

They pay for their closure. Some might call me a vulture, but I dont go looking for this sort of work. I provide a service, is all.

-Walking through the streets, mostly void of life. a few kids kick a tin can back and forth

-Protag nearing hole-in-the-wall bar. Adjusts coat, finishes cigarette, left burning in the wet street-

It just ain't worth the scratch anymore. The kind of people Im looking for arent really missing in the sense theyve been misplaced. Somebody knows where they are. Its just a matter of finding out who.

-Entering bar, approaching strange-looking bartender, orders a whiskey, slipping extra to the barkeep for information. Receives only a dead-eyed stare- Keep the change. [strange-looking meaning that hes one of the more fish-y looking residents, though they all have the signature Innsmouth-look]

Nobody wants to talk. Or at least be seen talking. Im used to that in my line of work, but here it feels different. Feels personal. I wont let it get to me. Cant say I much care for anyone here either.

-Protags eye catches an older, wild looking man. Someone who looks like theyve seen some things, and somehow still the most normal looking individual in the bar-

-Sits near old man, seems to ask him question, though no dialogue is shown. Old man downs his shot of whiskey, and gets up, leaving Protag in the hole again, visibly annoyed-

Whats the deal with this place? Is it just me or are the people here a special kind of strange? Gotta have some screwy wires to think highly of yourself living in a town that smells like my bait-box.

-Stepping outside to the rain, lighting another cigarette-

Maybe Ill just head home. Cut my losses. Have a drink. Take a load off.

-Old man from inside appears around corner, and invites Protag into the alley. The two exchange words, Protag shows Old Man the picture. ending with old man pointing far in the distance, and disappearing hurriedly-

Seems my guy was was here for a few days. Rumor has it he got a little too interested in the goings-on at a nearby church. He was politely" asked to leave, but refused. Hasnt been seen since. Apparently that sort of thing is common around here. People come to town, stay for too long, then disappear.-Protag exhales smoke, smirking- That explains the old mans caution.

-Protagonist heading towards church, reaches area, looks around. He tests a window for weakness, before settling on picking a basement lock-

Ive run out of patience for this sort of thing and manners take time Im just not willing to part with.

-Basement is dark, hot, and wet. Strange tools and decorative pieces litter the area. Things that look like fishing baubles, and tools to gut dead animals.-

The towns signature smell is even worse down here. Youd think a church would aim for presentability. -protag eyes nets and fishing spears, most of which are still bloody. His eyes come to rest, and widen, upon noting the last spear has what appears to be the remains of a human hand, like it was chewed on.- Then again, this might not be a traditional sort of church.-protag brandishes his weapon, an old .38 revolver-

Ive really had it with this small town with a secret" shtick. Its always the same. What happened to originality? Whatd Id give to not already know what Im walking into

-Protag creeps through basement, a faint murmur of voices speaking lowly in unison leading his way. He comes to an open chapel, lit dimly by candle, with a circle of hooded beings, praying around some sort bloody artifact (mentioned earlier in alley) on an altar.- [artifact in question doesnt REALLY matter what it is, though I was picturing the ornate headdress that is described in early chapters of The Shadow Over Innsmouth. why are they praying to a headdress? who cares!?]

-A look of disgust on our heros face as he nears the prayer-circle, unsure of what exactly hes seeing. He missteps, and knocks over a candelabra, alerting the beings to his presence.-

-One of the figures stands and lowers its hood, revealing an Old One, human-fish hybrid. Clearly a more evolved or aged version of the people of the town, with the same dead-eye look and strangely shaped head, though now even more fish-like in appearance. excess skin folds unnaturally , and appears to be more scale than flesh-

Hows that for originality?

-The other Old Ones begin to rise and move towards Protag, as he takes aim and fires twice, three times. The first two hitting their mark, the third an error made in panic. Protag turns and begins to run back the direction he came, into that abyss of a basement.-

Panic screams at me to run, and keep running. Logic quietly reminds me that a foot chase through an unknown town is unlikely to end in my favor.

-Protag stumbles through dark corridors, locks himself into abandoned vestry. A dead end. He checks his revolver, ejecting the three empty shells and replacing them with new.-

A stand-up fight may just be my only shot.

-He steels himself. places his gun on a wooden crate, and reaches for his pack of cigarettes, finding it empty.

Of course.

A close-up of him staring blankly. inhale. exhale. he knows this is probably the end-

Part of me is still trying to answer the what and why of the horror Ive just witnessed. Cant see how it matters now.

-door handle rattles, and then shakes violently. Protag slicks his hair back, and reaches for his weapon, taking aim at the door-

Come on. - more of a whisper than anything else, inviting his attackers in.

-door slams open, hybrids bursting in all at once. The protag empties his revolver, clearly hitting his targets yet to no avail-

God, that smell...

-final frame is of crushed cigarette pack in foreground, with hybrids hunched over protags lifeless body, tearing it apart.-

That horrible smell.

END