It's HP Lovecraft’s turn, so he tells a story about a town with a dark secret that is almost certainly “There’s a squid”.
It's HP Lovecraft’s turn and nobody can stop it, so he tells a story about a town whose sinister residents guard a dark secret that is almost certainly “There’s a squid”. Howard and Mary go head-to-head in a high-stakes bet.
with
Script by Robin Johnson, edited by Bitter Karella. Production, editing, music and sound design by Robin Johnson. The dialogue editor was Liselle Nic Giollabháin.
A transcript of this episode is available at https://midnight-pals.simplecast.com/episodes/the-tale-of-the-shadow-over-innsmouth/transcript
HP Lovecraft's The Shadow Over Innsmouth, first rejected by Weird Tales in 1933, is one of his longer, better written, and more clearly xenophobic works. The novella, about a coastal town that has been reduced to decrepitude by an influx of immigra– uh, fish monsters, was printed in a run of 400 clothbound copies in 1936, half of which were pulped. This was the only book of Lovecraft's fiction to be published in his lifetime. Lovecraft was unhappy with the print run, which contained innumerable typographical errors, and insisted on the book being distributed with an errata sheet, which was also inaccurate. In 1942, five years after Lovecraft's death, Weird Tales printed an abridged version of the story.
Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Pals is a work of social and literary satire. All characters are fictitious, especially the real ones; any elements of work not in the public domain are used for the purpose of parody and comment, and no challenge is intended to the ownership or validity of any intellectual property. The Midnight Pals is the creation of Bitter Karella ©
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ANNOUNCER (Rodrigo Borges): Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Pals, created by Bitter Karella.
INTRO MUSIC PLAYS: A PIECE IN 3/4 TIME ON MARIMBA AND PIPE ORGAN, SET AROUND A CHURCH BELL CHIMING THE TWELVE STROKES OF MIDNIGHT.
SCENE 1--EXT. CAMPFIRE
FADE IN CAMPFIRE AMBIENCE.
EDGAR ALLAN POE (Rodrigo Borges): Welcome, everyone. Tonight’s storyteller will be HP Lovecraft.
HP LOVECRAFT (Robin Johnson): Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this the Tale of the Shadow over Innsmouth.
SPARKLE.
Our story begins with a small, innocuous-seeming harbor town... that's harboring a dark secret. And a bunch of boats.
STEPHEN KING (Jason Robinson): I like where this is going. Where is the town?
LOVECRAFT: New England.
KING: (EXCITED GASP) Maine?
LOVECRAFT: Massachusetts.
KING: Awww.
LOVECRAFT: The town of Innsmouth.
DEAN KOONTZ (Wren Montgomery): (EXCITED GASP) Does it have an inn with a mouth?
LOVECRAFT: No.
KOONTZ: Aww.
POE: Well, Howard, you've already ruined the evening for Dean and Stephen. I hope you're happy.
MARY SHELLEY (Rebecca D'Souza0: I would be.
POE: Yes, but you'd do it deliberately, Mary.
CLIVE BARKER (David Ault): Can't I tell the Tale of the Horny Ghost who Liked to Fu--
POE: No, Clive, it's Howard's turn. Whenever you're ready, Howard.
LOVECRAFT: Thank you, Edgar. The town of Innsmouth came into the public's eye--
BARKER: Funny that. The Horny Ghost does the same thing.
POE: Clive!
SHELLEY: Nice.
LOVECRAFT: --came to prominence in 1929, when the national news reported a vast series of raids and arrests.
FADE.
SCENE 2--INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE
FADE IN NEWSPAPER OFFICE AMBIENCE (CHATTER, TYPING, OCCASIONAL OLD-FASHIONED PHONES RINGING.)
SOUND OF AN OLD-TIME RADIO BEING TUNED.
ANNOUNCER (Robin): (A.M. RADIO EFFECT) --Innsmouth, Massachusetts, where a vast series of raids and arrests were conducted by the Bureau of Prohibition, along with the controlled dynamiting of several dilapidated waterfront properties. In other news, the search continues for a missing fishing vessel registered at Kingsport--
CLICK. RADIO STOPS.
LILLIBRIDGE (Brad Barnes): Olmstead! What'd I tell you about having that wireless on in here?
OLMSTEAD (Terri Lynne Hudson): I know, boss. Music stations only.
LILLIBRIDGE: That new-fangled contraption is gonna be the death of the newspaper business, mark my words. Bad enough trying to sell the Arkham Gazette off the newsstands without my own reporters goofing off to listen to that infernal talking box.
OLMSTEAD: I ain't goofing off, Mr Lillibridge. I think there's a story up there.
LILLIBRIDGE: What, apart from the vast series of raids and arrests that (SHOUTING) none of you hacks got wind of? We can't afford to wait till after something like this happens to report it.
JOURNALISTS: (SEVERAL VOICES, MUMBLED) Sorry./Sorry, sir./Sorry, Mr Lillibridge.
OLMSTEAD: A bigger story, I mean. Those weren't no prohibition raids.
LILLIBRIDGE: Well, what were they then?
OLMSTEAD: I don't know yet. But have you ever been to Innsmouth?
LILLIBRIDGE: Only once, when I took a wrong turn on the road to Wolfbrook. Don't suppose them yokels ever heard of signposts. Odd town.
OLMSTEAD: And did it strike you as a party town?
LILLIBRIDGE: Guess not. Folks all got that bulge-eyed stare, y'know? Something too damn... eldritch about it.
BARKER: (V/O) Is everything in this story gonna be 'eldritch'?
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) No.
LILLIBRIDGE: Something abnormal. Accursed, you might say. Drove through there with the folks just' gawking at me and I says to myself, Edwin, ain't this town the most alarming, arcane, awful, baleful, bleak, bloodcurdling--
POE: (V/O) Howard... why are all these adjectives in alphabetical order?
AMBIENCE BACK TO CAMPFIRE
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) Oh, uh, are they? Huh, what a coincidence--
POE: What's that behind your back?
LOVECRAFT: (PAUSE) N-nothing.
POE: Give it here.
BOOK BEING FLIPPED THROUGH.
Roget's Thesaurus? Howard, I'm very disappointed.
AMBIENCE FADES BACK TO NEWSPAPER OFFICE
OLMSTEAD: That wasn't no prohibition raid, Mr Lillibridge, I know it. What's the Bureau of Prohibition doing dynamiting old houses?
LILLIBRIDGE: Couldn't say. Maybe they was speakeasies.
OLMSTEAD: Speakeasies? In Innsmouth? You seen those folks, they barely speak at all. Let me go up there, Mr Lillibridge. Find out what's really going on. You wanna beat that wireless news, don't you?
LILLIBRIDGE: All right. Take the Ford and the rest of the week. See if you can get something for the weekend edition. You're to telephone in every evening. I wanna know what you're spending my money on up there. And tell the locals you're a tourist. They won't take kindly to a reporter.
OLMSTEAD: You won't regret it, Mr Lillibridge. I'll get the Arkham Gazette a story that's the most chilling, crazy, creepy, curious--
POE: (V/O) Howard!
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) S-sorry…
FADE.
SCENE 3--INT. CAR
FADE IN CAR AMBIENCE (ENGINE OF AN OLD JALOPY, RAIN OUTSIDE, WINDSHIELD WIPERS).
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) Miss Olmstead had been driving all day, and it was getting dark.
CAR PULLS OVER. WINDOW WINDS DOWN, MAKING RAIN LOUDER.
OLMSTEAD: Excuse me!
HICK (Kate Davoli): Yup?
OLMSTEAD: Is this the road to Innsmouth?
HICK: Nope.
OLMSTEAD: Oh. Well, which way should I go?
HICK: This way. 'Less you wanna go to Innsmouth.
OLMSTEAD: I do wanna go to Innsmouth.
HICK: With respect, ma'am, I doubt it. That ain't somewhere people go on purpose.
OLMSTEAD: Seriously?
HICK: You know what they say. No roads lead to Innsmouth.
OLMSTEAD: What else do they say about Innsmouth?
HICK: That it's more empty houses than people these days. Used to be almost a city, before the war. Ain't nothing there now but a few fishing boats an' the ol' gold refinery.
OLMSTEAD: A gold refinery?
HICK: Yup. Belongs to Old Man Marsh. Still alive, as far as anyone knows, but he ain't been seen these ten, maybe fifteen years. Word is he got some kind o' skin disease an' can't go out in the light no more. Must be richer'n Croesus by now. See, he's the grandson of one Captain Marsh. Decorated in the War of 1812, come home with a for'n wife. They say he used to dance with the devil an' summon imps outta hell.
OLMSTEAD: Is that so?
HICK: Town's been shunned ever since.
OLMSTEAD: Because there were dumb rumors about one fella summoning devils, over a hundred years ago?
HICK: No, ma'am. Because he married a foreigner. Round here, we stick to our own kind.
BARKER: (V/O) So the town was shunned for not being full of incestuous racists?
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) See? Clive gets it.
BARKER: (V/O) No I don't.
OLMSTEAD: Can you just tell me how to get there?
HICK: Well, against m'better judgment an' all... keep on going the way you're going, 'bout a half-mile yonder there's a dark, decrepit, dingy, dismal--
SHELLEY: (V/O) Gimme that fuckin' thesaurus.
LOVECRAFT: Hey!
AMBIENCE FADES QUICKLY BACK TO CAMPFIRE. BOOK BEING SNATCHED.
SHELLEY: Let's play a game. For the rest of the night, the only adjective Howard's allowed to use for spooky shit is "spooky". Every time you say some poncy bollocks like "eldritch", or "daemoniac", or fuckin' "Cyclopean"--
PAGE BEING RIPPED OUT OF BOOK, THEN THROWN ON FIRE.
LOVECRAFT: Aaa!
POE: Mary, in this club, we respect books.
SHELLEY: Oh, get over it, there's like 700 other pages.
LOVECRAFT: But I only used that one.
SHELLEY: I just wanna know if he can do it. Because I'm feeling generous, that one was a warning. Starting now, you got three strikes, Howard. Third strike, you're out.
LOVECRAFT: (HESITANTLY) Out of the Midnight Society?
KING: Hang on, Mary, you can't just--
SHELLEY: Oh, excuse me, were you about to explain to me that there's something I can't do?
KING: (WEAKLY) I mean... we all agreed to the rules...
POE: Steve. Steve, it's Mary.
KING: ...the rules are part of the fun...
LOVECRAFT: I-I'll do it. But she has to do a forfeit if I win.
SHELLEY: Not gonna happen.
LOVECRAFT: She has to... read all of Dean’s Frankenstein fanfiction.
KOONTZ: Oh goody!
LOVECRAFT: Out loud!
POE: Now, let's not say anything we might wish we hadn't--
LOVECRAFT: And tell him how much she liked it.
KING: Guys, why don't we all take a breather--
SHELLEY: Done.
BARKER: Jesus Christ.
SHELLEY: You're gonna regret this, Howard.
KOONTZ: In my story, Frankenstein has a little friend called Mr Jelly!
AMBIENCE BACK TO CAR
HICK: Keep on going the way you're going, there's a (BEAT) spooky farmhouse about a half-mile yonder, then you'll come to a fork in the road.
OLMSTEAD: And?
HICK: Whut?
OLMSTEAD: When I come to the fork in the road, which way goes to Innsmouth?
HICK: The wrong way.
OLMSTEAD: (SIGH)
WINDOW WINDS UP, MUFFLING THE RAIN. CAR STARTS.
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) Now, Olmstead drove on for what must have been a half-mile or more, but didn't see any fork in the road. And just when she thought the old hick must have been pulling her leg, she--
BANG OF A TIRE BLOWING OUT.
OLMSTEAD: Nuts!
CAR DOOR OPENS. RAIN NOISE UP. FOOTSTEPS.
OLMSTEAD: (FRUSTRATED SIGHS) What did I hit? (GRUNT)... a pitchfork?
KOONTZ: (V/O) The fork in the road!
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) That's right.
TRUNK OPENING.
OLMSTEAD: Damn it, there's no spare.
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) So now Olmstead's in the middle of nowhere with a blown tire. She's weighing up whether to try and walk to civilization in the dark, or sleep in the car and find help in the morning, when--
BUS HORN.
--a bus pulls up. Now this bus is unlike any bus you've ever seen.
BARKER: (V/O) You sure about that? Steve's pretty into buses.
AMBIENCE FADES BACK TO CAMPFIRE.
KING: I do love bus-spotting.
LOVECRAFT: Well this bus is--
KING: No, let me guess. Massachusetts, 1920s... was it a Versare 800? Gas-electric hybrid.
LOVECRAFT: I--uh--
KING: No, too obvious. A Yellowcoach Z-67? Solid wheels. Bumpy ride!
LOVECRAFT: Uh, it--it's quite a rare kind of bus.
KING: (AMAZED) Not the Corwin Model B!?
SHELLEY: Steve, why don't you let Howard describe the bus to us? Go on, Howard.
LOVECRAFT: Oh, it was an antediluvian rattletrap of a--
PAPER TEARING AND BEING THROWN ONTO FIRE.
SHELLEY: Strike one.
LOVECRAFT: It was a spooky bus.
FADE.
SCENE 4--INT. BUS
FADE IN BUS AMBIENCE (POORLY MAINTAINED ENGINE, METALLIC REVERB). HYDRAULIC DOOR OPENS.
DRIVER (Joel Butler): Late to be out on your own, miss.
OLMSTEAD: My car got a flat--
DRIVER: Ah, hit the fork in the road, did you? Hard to see in the dark. Gotta position your wheels just so an' it'll go right under you.
OLMSTEAD: Why doesn't someone move it?
DRIVER: Bad luck. Local superstition.
OLMSTEAD: What sorta superstition's that?
DRIVER: You wanna test it out? Go move the fork. Last person that tried to was run over by a bus the very same day.
OLMSTEAD: Your bus?
DRIVER: And the next morning, I put the fork back. I mean the fork had mysteriously reappeared.
OLMSTEAD: You got a spare tire and some tools?
DRIVER: Sorry, miss. This here's a Yellowcoach Z-67. Solid wheels.
KING: (V/O) I knew it!
OLMSTEAD: Where you headed?
DRIVER: Innsmouth.
OLMSTEAD: They got a mechanic there?
DRIVER: Yes, miss. Name o' Pabody. Won't open till the morning though. (PAUSE) Fifty cents.
CLINK OF MONEY GOING INTO BOX. BUS DOOR CLOSES. BUS STARTS.
OLMSTEAD: (ECHOING) Don't get many passengers at this time o' night, huh?
DRIVER: Got one now.
FADE.
SCENE 5--TELEPHONE
TELEPHONE FILTER FOR ALL OLMSTEAD/LILLIBRIDGE DIALOGUE IN THIS SCENE.
ROTARY DIALING. RINGING. RECEIVER BEING LIFTED. CRACKLE OF A POORLY MAINTAINED LINE.
LILLIBRIDGE: Arkham Gazette, Miskatonic County's most financially distressed newspaper, how can you help me?
OLMSTEAD: It's me.
LILLIBRIDGE: Helen, you know how late it is? I was getting worried.
OLMSTEAD: Well, that means a lot to me, sir, what with you not normally giving two shits about the wellbeing of your staff.
LILLIBRIDGE: Always did speak your mind, Olmstead. I like it. Save it for other people. You made it to Innsmouth?
OLMSTEAD: Yes, sir, but I only got here ten minutes ago. Got a flat and had to come the last twenty miles by coach. I'm staying at a place called the Gilman Hotel. Gotta tell you, this must be the most (PAUSE) spooky hotel I ever seen. (LOWERS VOICE) Everyone keeps staring at me. I don't think they like out-of-towners. And from what the folks in the neighboring towns told me, the feeling's mutual. One thing's for sure, though--those raids weren't about prohibition. Folks here may be weirdos, but they ain't boozers. Asked for a snifter with my supper, got a ten-minute lecture on the virtues of temperance. They, uh, maybe it ain't Pulitzer-winning journalism of me to say this, but... they look funny too. All bald and bulging eyes, and their skin's real--
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) Can I say "swarthy"?
PHONE CRACKLE OUT, AMBIENCE BACK TO CAMPFIRE.
KING:/POE:/BARKER:/SHELLEY: No.
KOONTZ: What's swarthy?
SHELLEY: It's a word racists use when they want to say something racist, but don't want you to think they're a racist.
LOVECRAFT: Oh, I don't mind you guys knowing.
BARKER: Yep, we're all well aware of that, Howard.
LOVECRAFT: What about "scabrous"? Is that word racist?
SHELLEY: Hmmm... no, I don't think it is racist.
CAMPFIRE AMBIENCE OUT, TELEPHONE CRACKLE BACK IN.
OLMSTEAD: --and their skin's real scabrous.
PAPER TEARING AND BEING THROWN INTO FIRE.
SHELLEY: (V/O) Strike two.
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) Hey, you just said--
SHELLEY: (V/O) Said it wasn't racist. Never said it wasn't poncy bollocks.
LILLIBRIDGE: Olmstead, perhaps I don't always appreciate you enough, and I definitely don't pay you enough, but I know if I got a reporter that can get to the bottom of it, it's you. Watch out for yourself, you hear? If you believe you're in any, and I mean any danger of not getting a profitable story, you get right back on that bus.
OLMSTEAD: Mr Lillibridge, I think the only place more dangerous than being on that bus is being in front of it. Talk tomorrow.
LILLIBRIDGE: You take care.
PHONE BEING HUNG UP.
SCENE 6--INT. HOTEL ROOM
MECHANICAL ALARM CLOCK RINGS. CREEPY HOTEL AMBIENCE IN (CREAKING WOOD, OCCASIONAL DISTANT TELEPHONE RINGS). OUT-OF-TUNE PIANO IN ANOTHER ROOM PLAYING "MORNING".
OLMSTEAD: (WAKING-UP GRUNT)
ALARM CLOCK BEING KNOCKED OVER. SMASH. ALARM STOPS.
GILMAN (Dexter Howard): (CLOSE) Good morning, Miss Olmstead.
OLMSTEAD: Gaah!
GILMAN: Breakfast in bed, courtesy of the house.
OLMSTEAD: Mmuh. Thank you. Coulda knocked.
GILMAN: Oh, we don't bother with them city formalities round here.
OLMSTEAD: This looks, uh. What is it?
GILMAN: Local specialty. Fresh coffee, corn muffin, saltwater taffy.
OLMSTEAD: It looks, uh... nice?
SIPPING.
GILMAN: Made to the traditional Innsmouth recipe, with local seawater.
OLMSTEAD: The taffy?
GILMAN: The coffee.
OLMSTEAD: (NOISE OF SUPPRESSED VOMITING)
GILMAN: I don't reckon you're ready to learn what's in the taffy yet.
OLMSTEAD: I'll, uh, I prefer to wash and dress before I eat, so...
GILMAN: Not a problem.
OLMSTEAD: ...so, without intending to be rude, I'd like you to give me some privacy now.
GILMAN: Oh. Excuse me. I do forget myself sometimes. Don't mean no offense by it.
OLMSTEAD: None taken.
GILMAN: Say no more about it.
PAUSE.
OLMSTEAD: All the same, Mr Gilman, I'd prefer if you got out of the room.
GILMAN: Then I'll see you shortly, Miss Olmstead.
DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES.
OLMSTEAD: (TO HERSELF) Ugh, I dunno what's more disgusting, him or that coffee.
WINDOW OPENING. PLATES BEING THROWN OUT.
AMBIENCE FADES OUT, THEN BACK IN AS HOTEL CORRIDOR (CREAKING LOUDER, PIANO SLIGHTLY CLEARER, MORE ECHO). DOOR OPENS.
GILMAN: Enjoy your breakfast?
OLMSTEAD: Aah! Hello again, Mr Gilman. Just bringing your tray back downstairs, where I thought you'd be. It was delicious, thank you.
GILMAN: I see you enjoyed it so much you ate the plates and the silverware.
OLMSTEAD: What can I say? Woke up famished. Must be the sea air.
GILMAN: You said you're here doing... sightseeing, is that correct?
OLMSTEAD: Yes, sir. Got my sightseeing notebook right here, and my... sightseeing trenchcoat and my sightseeing hat with my piece of sighstseeing card in the band reading... "press"...
GILMAN: Well, I was thinking, if you want to see what life is like in our town, you might accompany me to church? I dunno about the city, but it's still the done thing around here. Whole of the townsfolk'll be attending, if'n you wanted to ask 'em anything.
OLMSTEAD: Church? But today ain't Sunday.
GILMAN: That it ain't, miss. But when you arrive at the next life and Saint Peter... (DARKLY) as it may be... asks you if you been a good God-fearing believer, do you really wanna answer, "Yes sir... one day out of seven"?
OLMSTEAD: Guess not.
GILMAN: Good. I'll walk you there.
OLMSTEAD: (FORCED) How nice.
FADE.
SCENE 7--EXT. TOWN/INT. CHURCH
INNSMOUTH TOWN AMBIENCE (WAVES, SEABIRDS, OCCASIONAL HOOFBEATS).
LOVECRAFT: (V/O) So Gilman led Olmstead on a winding walk through the de--uh, spooky town.
OLMSTEAD: You got a pretty view of the sea there.
GILMAN: Can be.
OLMSTEAD: What's that island?
GILMAN: Whut, Devil's Reef? Ain't no island. It'll be underwater come high tide. Legend has it old Captain Marsh hid his pirate treasure there.
OLMSTEAD: Anyone ever gone and looked?
GILMAN: (STERNLY) No-one ever goes to Devil's Reef.
PAUSE. DISTANTLY A DOG BARKS, OR SOMETHING.
OLMSTEAD: And this is the church?
GILMAN: Sure is.
OLMSTEAD: What's with all the, uh, squid stuff?
GILMAN: Oh, we had all the crosses changed to squids back in 1878. Way we see it round here, human Jesus, two arms; squid Jesus, eight arms. Four times as pious.
OLMSTEAD: You guys worship squid Jesus?
GILMAN: In a manner of speaking.
THEY PUSH OPEN THE CHURCH DOOR AND WALK INSIDE. EERIE ORGAN MUSIC, HEAVY ECHO.
OLMSTEAD: Thought you said the whole town was gonna be here.
GILMAN: Why, this is the whole town, Miss Olmstead. There's me. Up front there, that's Mr and Mrs Pabody.
PABODYS: (INDIFFERENT GRUNTS)
GILMAN: An' you know Joe Sargent, drives the bus. Lock the door there, would you Joe?
JOE LOCKS THE DOOR
And there's Preacher Marsh, he'll be up directly.
OLMSTEAD: Marsh? Another relation of Captain Marsh?
PREACHER MARSH (Daisy McNamara): Great-great-grandson, by three different lines.
GILMAN: Preacher Marsh. This is Helen Olmstead, the newest member of our congregation.
OLMSTEAD: Oh, I'm just visiting for a couple days.
PREACHER MARSH: They all do say that. I do hear, Miss Olmstead, that you're interested in the vast series of raids and arrests that recently came to pass in this town.
OLMSTEAD: What? No, I'm just sightseeing.
PREACHER MARSH: Oh, come on. No one comes to Innsmouth to see no sights. What we got to see here? An old gold refinery and an intertidal reef that nobody goes to?
OLMSTEAD: And the squid church.
KING: (V/O) What? They have a Z-67! The place should be crawling with bus-spotters.
BARKER: (V/O) This may surprise you, Steve, but very few people want to roger a bus as much as you do.
PREACHER MARSH: I'd say we got ourselves a newspaper reporter here. What are you, Arkham Advertiser?
LILLIBRIDGE: Arkham Gazette.
OLMSTEAD: Mr Lillibridge?
LILLIBRIDGE: Actually, Helen, my name is Old Man Marsh.
OLMSTEAD: Your name is "Old Man"?
LILLIBRIDGE: My parents' first two sons died in infancy. I think they were trying to force the hand of fate. Seems it worked.
OLMSTEAD: So you know what's going on in this town?
LILLIBRIDGE: You were right, Helen. The raids weren't about alcohol. They were about my little gold refinery. See, it wasn't so much refining gold as laundering it.
OLMSTEAD: Captain Marsh's pirate gold.
LILLIBRIDGE: After a few uncooperative officials were... dealt with...
MR PABODY: He means murdered. We murdered them.
MRS PABODY: Well... Joe murdered 'em.
BUS DRIVER: Ran 'em over with ma bus. Never fails. Good ol' solid wheels.
LILLIBRIDGE: ...the higher-ups took a substantial bribe and agreed to blow up some fake speakeasies and pass it off as a Prohibition raid.
OLMSTEAD: So... what about the squid worship? Just a weird local thing?
PREACHER MARSH: Follow me.
A SECRET DOOR GRINDS OPEN AND THE PEOPLE ENTER A SPOOKY CORRIDOR.
FADE.
SCENE 8--UNDERSEA CAVERN
CAVE AMBIENCE FADES IN (DRIPPING, WIND THROUGH A CAVE SYSTEM, ROAR OF SEA). THE TOWNSFOLK AND OLMSTEAD TRUDGE THROUGH, SPLIDGE SPLUDGE
OLMSTEAD: Where we going? A crypt?
LILLIBRIDGE: Just a little further.
OLMSTEAD: Why are the walls dripping? Are we under the sea?
PREACHER MARSH: We were. Now we're under Devil's Reef. Human skins off, everyone!
OLMSTEAD: What are you--
SKIN PEELING.
OLMSTEAD: Oh my God! What are you all, some sort of frog people?
PREACHER MARSH: (VOICE DIGITALLY FROGGIFIED) We are the next phase in human evolution, Miss Olmstead! But (RIBBIT) "frog people"'s a fair description.
OLMSTEAD: What, all six of you?
PREACHER MARSH: Seven now.
OLMSTEAD: What? Oh my God--my hands are webbed... what's--what's happening to me?
NOISE OF HORRIBLE BODILY TRANSFORMATION
GILMAN: Just a little something we slipped into your saltwater taffy. Traditional Innsmouth recipe.
OLMSTEAD: I didn't eat the taffy.
GILMAN: We also put it in the coffee.
OLMSTEAD: (CASUALLY) Oh. Oh yeah, I did have some of the coffee.
PREACHER MARSH: We are the progeny of-- Everyone, do the chant! Remember your parts?
CHANTING. STONE GRINDING. SOUND OF GIANT SQUID GOD.
OLMSTEAD: (SCREAMING) What is that?!
PREACHER MARSH: Helen Olmstead, meet Dagon.
AMBIENCE FADES BACK TO CAMPFIRE.
LOVECRAFT: And as the huge stone gates opened, Helen found herself looking at a giant living thing that was...
SHELLEY: ...what?...
LOVECRAFT: Oh, y-you're gonna love this. Chill your spines.
SHELLEY: Go on, Howard. Describe the thing. I wanna know all the details.
LOVECRAFT: The thing... (TRIUMPHANTLY) was too terrible to describe!
SHELLEY: What?
LOVECRAFT: It looked like nothing you can imagine. (BEAT) (QUICKLY) But also kinda like a squid. The end.
SHELLEY: What sort of ending's that?
LOVECRAFT: I-it's called gothic obscurity. The idea is that the writer just has to create a sort of outline, and the reader's imagination fills in the gaps. Ann Radcliffe wrote that--
SHELLEY: You gonna give me a lecture on gothic imagery, Howard?
LOVECRAFT: Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I could have said it was spooky.
BARKER: ...Did Howard just win the bet?
POE: I'm afraid so. Sorry, Mary.
LOVECRAFT: I hope you’ve got your Frankenstein story written up nice and neat, Dean.
KOONTZ: I have! And I drew pictures!
SHELLEY: You’re fuckin' dead, Lovecraft. [OPENS SWITCHBLADE]
POE: (QUICKLY) I declare this meeting of the Midnight Society closed.
FADE.
END MUSIC AND CREDITS.
POST-CREDIT SCENE--EXT. CAMPFIRE
FADE IN CAMPFIRE AMBIENCE
KOONTZ: (CHANTING) Read it! Read it! Read it!
PAPER SHUFFLING
SHELLEY: (TIGHT-LIPPED, READING) “Once upon a time there was a lovely little monster called Frankenstein.”
KOONTZ: (DELIGHTED) And?
SHELLEY: “And Frankenstein and his friend Mister Jelly met a little boy called... Kean Doontz.”
KOONTZ: What happened next?!
SHELLEY: “And Frankenstein and Mister Jelly and Kean Doontz went on an adventure along a magic highway and met lots of dogs and found a magic pumpkin and made friends with some cops... and they fought crime... and I”--oh, you’ve crossed out “I” and you’ve written “the little boy”--“wasn’t sad any more.” (HEARTFULLY) Oh, Dean.
FADE.
END.