Deaths Excellent Vacation

opened. They searched for a place to hide, but there was none. A pair of deep ones lumbered down the stairs. They moved with the same shuffling gait the citizens of Clam Bay possessed. The flashlight and their glowing eyes mixed to form a putrid illumination, allowing Philip his first clear glimpse of the monsters. The resemblance to the citizens of Clam Bay was rather obvious. From the walk to the slack-jawed expression to the only slightly more scaly skin. If anything, the deep ones seemed less monstrous because they were fully monsters, not caught in some halfway genetic dead end.
    Despite his best efforts, his glance fell across the lead creature’s groin. They seemed to lack the necessary equipment for blood mingling, but maybe they were more fish than human. He was no expert, but he thought fish reproduce by laying eggs and then the male would come along and deposit his contribution. If that was the way this was going to work, he supposed he could handle it.
    A thunderclap rattled the house. The first thunderclap Philip had heard in Clam Bay. And possibly the last. The lights flicked back on, revealing the deep ones, in all their briny, mottled-green glory.
    Vance seized a wine bottle and smashed it over the leader’s head. The bottle shattered. Red dripped down the deep one’s body, but it was wine, not blood. The creature itself appeared unharmed. It didn’t even move with the blow. But it did turn its fish head slowly, degree by degree, in Vance’s direction.
    He smiled and laughed nervously, as if trying to pass the whole thing off as a bad joke.
    The deep one opened its mouth. A horrible gurgle bubbled up from its throat. Its body twitched in a spasm. Its gills throbbed. It retched, spewing a black stew of seaweed and fish bones all over Vance.
    Philip hoped this wasn’t foreplay. The last time he’d been willing to have sex while covered in vomit, he’d been in college. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough tonight.
    “Excuse me.” The deep one pounded its chest while clearing its throat. It was a horrible scraping sound.
    The humans all took a moment to analyze the creature’s apology. There was an accent. The same not-quaint, vaguely New Englandish accent as the good citizens of Clam Bay. The voice was raspy but decipherable. It had less to do with what the deep one said and more to do with that it said anything at all.
    A fit of coughs racked the creature. Seawater dripped from its open mouth. It wiped its lips and sucked in a scraping breath.
    “By Dagon, the air is dry. Could we trouble you for something to drink?”
     
     
    PHILIP sat on the porch overlooking the beach. The rain came down in a fine mist. His beach umbrella protected him from the worst of it, but he zipped up his jacket as a stiff breeze swept across Clam Bay.
    “Hey,” said Angela. “Vance said I’d find you here.”
    She leaned over and gave him a kiss, then sat in the chair beside him.
    “They’re coming,” he said.
    “How do you know?”
    “The beach,” replied Philip, taking her hand. “When the sand turns to a light brown mud, that’s when you know.”
    “How’s the remodel coming?”
    “Good. We finally got the bigger bathtubs installed. Now we just have to rip out the rest of the carpeting.” He took a sip of his soda. “They drip. A lot. Easier to mop up hardwood than fight a never-ending battle against mildew.”
    They watched the tides go in and out for a few minutes until the deep ones appeared. Strange how quickly Philip had gotten used to the sight of fish monsters lumbering from the ocean. Sometimes, there was just one or two. Never more than five. They trudged up the beach, toward Philip and Angela, and the lead creature spoke.
    “Is this the Innsmouth Nook?”
    “Yes, sir.” Philip could tell by the gills that this was a male. The females had a more elaborate fringe.
    “We have a reservation for three,” said the deep one.
    “Just follow this trail up to the house. My partner, Vance, is ready to check you folks in.” Philip jumped to his feet and saluted casually. The deep ones didn’t shake hands, and he didn’t mind that.
    They deposited a mound of fresh fish at Philip’s feet. Rusty bits of dull metal were mixed within. Philip spotted a couple of doubloons and several jewels. The deep ones shambled away.
    Tourism had come to Clam Bay. Cold even when sunny, gloomy even during the four weeks of “summer,” trees without leaves all year long, and full of weird people. But for the