The Wreck of the Santa Ana, and the Death of a Great Actor

From the diary of Irwin Bowers:

- Pages empty.

From the diary of Jules Pollack:

Johnny Gale did come to his senses on board the Cormoran, and we were all happy about that, but none greater than his sister, Dorothy. He was most talkative, and he insisted on us going to Havana, as in Havana, Cuba. He explained that Digby Leighton and David Shaw went to Havana to search for the maps belonging to Tales from the Sea, the very book I had purchased by pure chance in a decrepit store in Kingston, Jamaica. The Leighton-Shaw expedition had been in the small coastal town of Oaxtaca on their way back from their jungle excursion, and they found out about Tales from the Sea and the connection between the Santa Ana and the odd Egypto-Mesoamerican finds in an old church ledger. The expedition split up, with Johnny Gale taking the stela to Kingston, and Leighton and Shaw travelling to Havana where they were hoping to find more information at the church of the Santissima Virga and the local archivist, Dr. Francesco Varga. Thus, it was decided to sail east and around Cuba to reach Havana, a city that had quite the reputation as a vacation spot for rich and famous Americans. We arrived on Tuesday, June 2, and Havana was quite the sight, especially if one compares to Kingston. Captain Feargal Sharkey would be taking care of the Cormoran as we headed to the Bristol Hotel. However, the Bristol did not accept blacks as guests, so we had to settle for a large and sparsely furnished apartment on the Calle Primavera, but oh how the Bristol, with all of its amenities, beckoned! We also realized that we had to find more suitable garments. Our maritime explorer's clothing was definitely not the attire to be worn if one wants to enjoy beautiful Havana. 

From the prescription pad of Franz Alter:

Despite some difficulties with the local police, we did find out that Leighton and Shaw were held in a comatose state at the St. Agnes hospital, a modern and well-equipped facility. They had been admitted to the hospital after being found unconscious in an alleyway by the police almost a month ago. They were both in stable condition, but they did not react to any stimuli. Miss Baker and myself proceeded to examine some blood samples from the two scientists, and after many hours of hard work examining the blood samples and comparing our findings to various references in the remarkable St. Agnes medical library, it seemed more than likely that Leighton and Shaw had been poisoned by Kiriltonium, a vicious drug used by the Okhrana of the Russian Empire. This drug was invented by a monk, Kirill of Minsk, back in 1882, and it was also known as Harpy's Breath. Many enemies of the Tsar had been killed by this vicious poison.

We also found a receipt from Sloppy Joe's Bar that matched the date on which Leighton and Shaw were admitted to St. Agnes. However, our investigation did not seem to go unnoticed, as we noted at least one person observing the entrance to St. Agnes Hospital while pretending to read a newspaper or feeding pigeons. Odd, indeed! Were we about to tangle with the Russkies, and perhaps even the shadowy organization Proletkult?

We finally managed to wake up Shaw after a round of dialysis, and he was moved to our apartment together with a nurse. He was in rather poor shape, but both Ms. Baker and myself are confident that he will be able to be moved back to Arkham through the auspices of the U.S. Consulate.

From the diary of Howard Lake:

Sloppy Joe's! What a place! Women, champagne, and much merriment! My main memory will be that fantastic broad that joined me for the evening, but yes, we did inquire about Leighton and Shaw. We managed to get hold of the main bartender, a guy by the name of Serge. He did indeed recall that evening, how two Americans, a mister Laggtone and mister Cho, were joined a by a burly-looking Slavic gentleman and a dashing young Latina by the name of Miranda. They had left together after enjoying cocktails. After that, I was off to enjoy an entirely different piece of tail.

Serge sports a most unusual an unkempt hairstyle, but he is an excellent bartender. He also makes espresso, with a lemon twist. You should try it!

From the diary of Dr. Mackenzie MacNamara:

There are many things I simply cannot stand: smacking while eating, gardening at odd hours, children, and white shoes after Labor Day. But one thing stands out, and that is incompetence. The clowns we hired as body guards seem to regard all of our important work as a mere pleasure cruise. Sergeant George Washington, Wilbur Fisch, Mattias Meara and Henry Dobson decided to leave the apartment without giving any notice, and I am most displeased. Buffoons! I would almost prefer the services of the local police, even if they treated us like commoners and even gave us the opportunity to enjoy their hospitality in their dreary jail cells. Lake claims all of that was my fault, but I am certain that is NOT the case.

From the diary of Jules Pollack:

That Thursday, June 4, led me to the church of the Santissima Virga, and hopefully to an archivist by the name of Dr. Francesco Varga. I found him in a unremarkable office outside the church itself, and he was quite helpful. Mackie and I spent many hours looking through manuscripts and books, and we did find the following addition to the map in Varga's copy of Tales from the Sea:

A Caribbean Observation

Up By Santa Maria

Behind the parrot plot

Naught and seven sevens

To your left

A Battle of Saintes

The docks of the Arsenal

And half of a quarter O and one

This riddle required the minds of all of my companions, and we sat down in one of our rooms at the Bristol Hotel (Sergeant Washington and our little guard squad were installed in a basic but comfortable apartment downtown where Mackie had been sulking while we visited Sloppy Joe's). As it were, there was a parrot headstone up by the Santa Maria church in Old Havana, and it had a number, 2321, on the back of it. Naught and seven sevens makes 049. The Battle of the Saintes happened in (17)82, there are ten docks in the Havana Arsenal, while half of a quarter and one leads to 451. This led to a string of numbers, 2321049821045, and with a left, or west divider, we found a position in latitude and longitude to the southeast of Havana:

23°21'04.9"N 82°10'45.1"W

We had all reason to believe this to be the location of the wreck of the Santa Ana, and therefore also the location of whatever antediluvian artifact that was carried by the unfortunate vessel! We would hopefully not follow in the footsteps of that brave mariner, Captain Henrique Diaz de Zaragoza. As it was written in Strange Tales from the Sea: "The cargo was rumored to be strange finds, apparently indicating some form of early connection between the Pharaohs and the Native American kings of old, and how they shared dark heretical secrets that were only intended for the eyes of God himself." Good thing I had already practiced in my diving suit.

Dr. Francesco Varga

From the diary of Moira Baker:

It was decided that Irwin Bowers would rent a speedboat to make sure that our diving expedition didn't attract unwelcome visitors. Whether they were Russians or not, our antagonists were a cause of significant concern, and we were glad to have Sergeant Washington's guard detail around - at least initially. That Saturday, June 6, we started heading out on the Cormoran with Captain Feargal Sharkey towards the position we had decoded. Bowers and Mattias Meara were in the speedboat, and we were all eager to find out what treasures and secrets could be found at the wreck of the Santa Ana. The weather was as gorgeous as only the Caribbean in early summer can be, with a slight breeze providing soothing relief from the sunshine. The Cormoran was followed by various birds as we left Havana, and we were checking our various pieces of equipment, and especially the diving gear. Dorothy Gale was up front and halfway up the little mast, an adorable lookout for our venture. 

After a couple of hours we reached what Captain Sharkey assured us was the exact location. We decided that Lake would actually be the one doing the diving, and he was cocky enough, ensuring everyone that he was a really good diver. We were all quite excited as Lake was lowered into the warm waters.

Captain Feargal Sharkey

The  Wreck of the Santa Ana

Irwin Bowers was scanning the horizon while Mattias Meara held their speedboat at a steady course. He thought he'd noticed something just over the horizon, and he was quite correct. It was not a smudge on the lenses of his binoculars, but smoke, possibly indicating a vessel sailing at high speed in their direction. There were no other boats around this rather remote part of the Caribbean, so Bowers ordered Meara to set course for the unidentified vessel.

Hello, Howard!

Meanwhile, Howard Lake was being lowered into the deep blue sea. He noticed that the seafloor ended in a steep decline, almost like a continental shelf, and the vista made Lake suffer a brief bout of undersea vertigo. It was unnerving to stare straight down into a dark blue, and eventually black, abyss. He turned around slowly in the heavy diver's suit, and noticed what had to be the wreck of the Santa Ana, which had settled just on the edge of the precipice. There seemed to be an unobstructed entrance through what might have been the cargo hatch, and Lake proceeded slowly towards the opening, his lead-booted feet stirring up sand and silt from the seabed. He also noticed a pattern of sizeable stones that were inlayed in the hull of the Santa Ana, and he recognized the glyphs on the stones as being similar to the ones inscribed by Mackie in their New York hotel to warn against intruders. Surely, these glyphs cannot be active after half a millennia? Lake continued towards the wreck. The Santa Ana did show several scars from what must have been a fierce fight with the Dread Pirate Roberts, and Lake had to be extremely careful not to get entangled in the various pieces of rotting nautica that abounded on the deck. 

The cargo hold was a mess, but among the remnants of provisions Lake noticed a sizeable chest or coffer, perhaps some six by four feet, and still sealed with the Royal Spanish Seal. This must be the prize, and Lake starting securing the coffer with rope. He did think he noticed a shadow passing by a gun port, and he was somewhat concerned that he would run into sharks while working with the heavy coffer. What he saw next was not even remotely related to sharks, or any other kind of fish, for that matter.

On board the Cormoran, Jules Pollack, Moira Baker, Mackie MacNamara, Franz Alter, as well as Johnny and Dorothy Gale were staring intently at where the air hose and the line met the surface of the sea. The three remaining guards were pumping air to Lake, while Feargal Sharkey worked on some piece of machinery. All of a sudden there was a tug at the line. Had Lake finally found something of value? The intrepid investigators barely noticed a vague shudder that seemed to move the boat ever so slightly, but Captain Sharkey put down his wrench and approached the railing.

Lake had just finished securing the coffer to be winched up when he once again noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He gave three tugs on the line to make sure that the crew of the Cormoran started winching up the Cormoran. and he then turned around as fast as the diving suit allowed. Lake was utterly terrified to see several thick, scaly tentacles pushing themselves in through portholes, gun ports and general holes and cracks in the hull. The tentacles varied in color, from a repugnant mauve to mucus-y green, and they were clearly intent on dragging the Santa Ana over the edge of the precipice, and also grabbing hold of the horrified Lake. He started tugging the line to the Cormoran as much as he could, while flailing at the tentacles with the axe he had brought down with him, his shrieks of terror muffled by his diving helmet and many feet of seawater. Had Howard Lake broken through the protective glyphs of the Santa Ana to release some eldritch horror that was intent on using the artifacts in the cargo hold for some heretical purpose?

The investigators on board the Cormoran started winching up the coffer, but they also noticed that the tugs at the line became more intent. They also noticed an unwholesome stench erupting, as if Lake had managed to release an enormous pocket of methane from the seabed. Johnny Gale suddenly yelled out as he noticed what seemed like a huge patch of boiling water next to the Cormoran, but the bubbles soon turned into tentacles similar to the ones attacking Lake. They seemed to be everywhere, with one grabbing Dorothy Gale up by the bow, while several others reached for the intrepid investigators to the aft of the boat. A wild melee erupted while Captain Sharkey started the engine. There was also a coffer to winch up, and Howard Lake to recover. Mackie darted front to help Dorothy Gale, while Johnny fired off several rounds at the tentacles from a handgun. Franz Alter was wielding a boat hook against the repulsively slick tentacles, while the other crew members continued pumping air to Lake while hauling the coffer on board the Cormoran. Mackie managed to sever the tentacle with a fire axe and drag Dorothy out of the stranglehold of the tentacle, although Dorothy's leg was a mess. Dorothy was helped by Mackie down below, so that Moira Baker could tend to her wounds. As the boat gathered speed, Howard Lake noticed the line being drawn taught, and he started moving away from the wreck of the Santa Ana just as the tattered remains of the ship was pulled into the seemingly bottomless chasm by what seemed to be dozens of tentacles. 

Lake had to remove his lead shoes to gain buoyancy, or he'd be dragged along the seabed and turned into a bloody pulp. He struggled with much difficulty, and just as he started bobbing against the seabed, he managed to finally remove the shoes. An arduous ascent awaited, but at least he was heading in the right way. As the Cormoran broke free of the tentacles, the crew could join forces and pull up a badly shaken Howard Lake. It was then that Johnny Gale noticed a pillar of black smoke east of the Cormoran, and within minutes it became obvious that an armed steamer was heading straight towards the intrepid investigators. Closer examination revealed the crew to be what seemed to be heavily armed savages, and as the Cormoran picked up speed, the steamer unfurled a strange flag.

Irwin Bowers was, of course, intent on making sure that the steamer wouldn't catch the Cormoran, so he asked Mattias Meara for full speed ahead. He was quite astonished when Mattias Meara instead pulled up a gun and pointed it at Bowers, telling him that he'd be getting off here. The remaining guardsmen pulled up their guns at more or less the same time, surprising everyone aboard the Cormoran. Sergeant Washington explained that they'd take it from here, and that the company of the intrepid investigators wasn't required anymore. For Franz Alter, having a gun pointed at him was just too much. Too much! Without emitting a single sound, his long fingers lashed out at Sergeant Washington, securing a chokehold that not even the strong sergeant could break. This became a signal for everyone to engage the traitors on board. 

Irwin Bowers was also trying to use the movements of the speedboat to gain an advantage over Meara, and his lithe body was ready to give Mattias Meara a solid kick. However, Irwin Bowers seemed to bang his head against the low ceiling of the boat. He fell down, amazed that hitting his head would produce so much blood. Seeing Mattias Meara standing in front of him with a smoking .45 seemed to indicate that there were other issues afoot.

The brawl on the Cormoran was less one-sided. Alter strangled Washington with silent and methodical efficiency, while Wilbur Fisch was killed by several rounds from a Browning Automatic Rifle. Henry Dobson was left standing, and he promptly surrendered to the intrepid investigators and their fearsome arsenal of guns, axes, stilettos and boat hooks. This scene was interrupted by Captain Sharkey calling attention to shots being fired from the rapidly approaching steamer. The intrepid investigators returned fire, but both the shells and the steamer itself were gaining on the Cormoran. A plan was made: the investigators were to roll an oil drum full of gasoline overboard and fire upon it, hoping that the gasoline would explode. This was a cockamamie plan at best, but worth a try, according to Lake who set up a BAR against the railing of the boat. Waiting for the steamer to get really close to the oil drum, Lake aimed carefully before firing off the last ten rounds of the magazine. The result was way beyond expectation. The gasoline exploded in a spectacular fashion, with flames engulfing the bow of the steamer, and shrieks from wounded and burning savages being heard across the water. The Cormoran would not share the fate of the Santa Ana!

As the boat set course back to Havana, it was time to open the coffer. It was a plain wooden box, still sealed as mentioned with the royal seal of Spain. The wood was porous, and it required little effort to unveil the contents, in this case a beautiful box of Egyptian design, only slightly smaller than coffer itself. The artwork was damaged by the sea water, but it seemed to display some form of building construction on a vast scale. Certain aspects of the work seemed to be intentionally blotted out, though, which seemed curious to Mackie in particular. The box was closed with a simple clasp, but sealed remarkably tight. Nevertheless, after some prying, the lid opened to show six egg-like organic items. each standing a full two feet in height. Four seemed to be opened, with the egg like containers being pale and dried out. Two were in much better shape, and unopened. But what were these things? 

 

By now, it was time for Franz Alter to give his full attention to Henry Dobson. Alter pulled out a case of very sharp and nasty-looking surgical instruments from his medical bag, and he proceeded to slice off wafer-thin parts of the screaming Dobson. The slices were unceremoniously thrown overboard, although some pieces were snapped up by the birds that once again trailed the Cormoran. It was not long before Dobson confessed that the treason was only for gain, and that they had been given very generous checks by a woman named Irene Polack, a middle aged woman with a mean face. Alter sliced off another couple of slices of Dobson before the bleeding captive fainted. However, the fish would feast tonight. 

Epilogue:

Irwin Bowers was in no pain, but merely semi-conscious at best. He really wanted to extinguish the fire that was threatening to engulf the speedboat, but he could not motivate himself, nor move his limbs. On the other hand, the boat was settling into the sea, stern first, so that should take care of the flames. Bowers' field of vision was narrowing rapidly as the speedboat slid in under the waves, but he still saw a large group  of what seemed to be divers that were swimming up to him as he went under. As they divers came closer, he could not fail to notice the gills, fangs and claws of his entourage before darkness engulfed him.

 

 

Careless Whispers

From the diary of nurse Agatha Pettenkoffer, Sunday, May 3, 1925

So, it was decided that we'd send poor Sergeant Edgar Broome up to some obscure town called Arkham up in Massachusetts. On the one hand, I felt really bad for the sergeant, since the rest here at the newly renamed Ashford Ranch seemed to do him good, but on the other hand, he'd benefit from being removed from the situation. I agreed to send him up to Arkham by train escorted by a couple of good men from the ranch, Mr. Charlie Ainsworth and Mr. Clive Beecher. We also sent a telegram to some of Lotus's friends in Arkham, requesting the best possible care for Sergeant Broome.

That being said, it was strange night at the Ashford Ranch. I still recalled the weird buzzing whispers from outside the ranch, and I could still recall sounds that seemed like my name being uttered together with calls for beckoning me to leave the ranch. Perhaps I was still hearing them in real life, or so it seemed. I had a dreadful time falling asleep, and my dreams were filled with these and other sounds and noises, leaving me tossing and turning in sweat-stained sheets. Are we just victims of stress caused by the several strange events we have faced, or are we actually hearing real voices from the woods surrounding the ranch? I would not go out at night, not at any cost, and I do not envy the ranch hands patrolling the Ashford Ranch at night. I do not fear the whims of man, but this feels so surreal and uncanny, and my usually sane and rational self seems subdued. I cannot stand living in uncertainty and worry. The general attitude of all of us at the ranch seems to have smitten the animals as well. The horses are skittish, and the dogs seem to bark at strange things only they can see. I keep a loaded shotgun next to my bed at all times, and I carry a holstered, but loaded, revolver at all times. 

***

The horror of the heights!

Following the successful landing of a pilot from Lockwood Airlines, Lotus Ashford, Bill McCloud, and Frank Cannon decided to greet the pilot, a certain Frances O'Hara. Mr. O'Hara had flied in the Great War, and he was more than happy to take up Lotus Ashford's offer of lodging. He was jolly fellow, quite social, and relived that he could get some help in maintaining and refueling his D.H.9 before resuming to carry the U.S. mail eastwards. Lotus, Bill, and Frank also took the opportunity to ask Father Bose about the strange book and its Greek text. The Three Amigos were joined by Frances O'Hara, and the pilot looked more than a little bit wary as Father Bose explained the translation. He claimed to have no knowledge of what Yog-Sothoth might mean, but he hinted at the potential connection between the Apache, the entity named "Yeeg", and a "realm of dreaming" or "Dreamlands" that the now quite dead James Gardiner was longing to visit. The incantation in the book seemed to be used to summon some other entity instead of enabling poor Gardiner to visit some "Dreamlands", and this is what may have killed Gardiner in the first place. The old Greek text was nevertheless quite valuable, and Frank Cannon added it to the small amount of disturbing texts that the Three Amigos had amalgamated. 

Frances O'Hara slept soundly while most of the inhabitants of the ranch had a disturbing night, seemingly struggling to fall asleep and then wishing that they could leave their surreal and uncanny dreams filled with buzzing and whispering voices. Next morning, Lotus Ashford and Frank Cannon asked Mr. O'Hara if he would mind taking Frank Cannon and Lotus Ashford on a trip over the western parts of the Capitan range, and more specifically around the mountain where they had seen a host of disturbing creatures some time before.

Cannon and Ashford found the former gunner's space in the D.H. 9 to be fairly spacious, all things considered, and after having some ranch hands unloading the mail, they were ready for takeoff. The would-be aviators were of course heavily armed, since they might have been anticipating a random landing. It was both weird and fantastic to fly over Lincoln and the Ashford Ranch, and after a couple of laps around town, O'Hara climbed in a northwesterly direction. Ashford and Cannon did bring a pair of binoculars, not to mention firearms, and they eventually noted faint outlines around the top of the Captain's Spike, the tallest mountain of the range. The outlines seemed to be geometric symbols of a most unsavory and dizzying quality. It seemed as if the lines varied in width and color intensity from different angles, and a few lines even seemed to pulsate in ways resembling the cardiovascular system of some ungodly entity. As the D.H. 9 circled the peak, it became increasingly sluggish, and the aeroplane started to lose altitude. O'Hara was struggling with the controls when Frank Cannon noticed long jagged claws tearing through the bottom of the aeroplane just by the rear gunner's seat. The plywood gave way, and Frank Cannon stared at a wildly shrieking creature straight from hell clearly intent on killing or maiming the native New Yorker. Frank Cannon had seen many horrific things, so despite shrieking horribly, Cannon emptied half a clip from his Browning Automatic Rifle into the vile creature. Chunks of putrid flesh-like matter were blown off the beast, and as it lodged into the undercarriage, Frank Cannon could not help notice that the flying obscenity bore some resemblance to one of the creatures mentioned in the unholy formulae that might enable travel in space. Uncanny indeed?

Meanwhile. Lotus Ashford noticed another beast landing on the outer edge of the starboard wing and clawing itself towards the pilot. Ashford was justifiably horrified, but he squeezed off several rounds with his pistol, and as several of the rounds hit the head of the abomination, it lost its grip of the aeroplane and cartwheeled to the ground. However, the plane was still descending, with the beast stuck in the lading gear providing much excess weight. Frank Cannon held on to Lotus Ashford for dear life as Lotus lowered himself through the hole in the fuselage to kick the beast off the landing gear. It was close-cut deal, but the monstrosity was dispatched off just second before the D.H. 9 would have hit the side of the Captain's Spike.

O'Hara managed to land without further incident, and as he re-loaded the mail bags into the back seat of the aeroplane, he swore that he's stay away from New Mexico in the future.